The door slammed open and Steve strode forward onto the dirt of the airstrip. His legs were still unsteady like a baby and he wobbled as he walked, but his determination pushed out his chest and let the rest of his body follow.

"That hurt," he said as he flexed his throbbing arm. The lock and chain had eventually shattered under his bionic grip, but it had been a long wait on the dust of the hangar floor waiting for his limbs to warm up.

"Sorry Kiam," Steve whispered as he stumbled across the empty strip with its simple markings. The smell of kerosene and wing wax had added to his feeling of nausea as he lay on the floor beside the limp form of his some-time captor. Somewhere between the fall, the furniture, the bullets, the flesh-assisted punching and the snarling, Kiam had fallen and remained still.

He thought again about leaving the M-16 behind, but his enemy appeared determined and resourceful. He let the rifle hang down his back from the tight carry-strap. It swung awkwardly with his own awkward run.

"Kiam?" The clumsy military radio crackled at his side. Steve stopped at the edge of a long ditch and thought about replying to the call. He was already worried that he had killed Kiam, despite Kiam's own attempt to shoto Steve dead.

He pressed the call button. "Paul?" he asked. The radio stayed silent then crackled again.

"Colonel Austin?" The voice was overshadowed by the sound of vehicles approaching from the other side of the hangar.

"Kiam's down. Please help him." Steve threw the radio into the water.

He had a better idea of where he was now. A Rand McNally street map of Singapore was folded away in his back pocket. It was not a place he had ever been to, but the map made the distant lights and buildings seem less forbidding.

He stumbled down the side of a muddy ditch and splashed thru the cool water. His legs felt alive again.

:::

His best plan was probably to find an embassy that would let him use a telephone straight away. His back-up plan was to identify himself to the local police, but it might take days to convince them of his situation and possibly even weeks to be handed over to a friendly authority.

After thirty minutes of climbing up and down ditches, Steve emerged onto what he could regard as a proper street, although he was still some distance from the lights of the office tower blocks. He limped to a gloomy intersection and spotted a street name painted smartly on one corner of a large white brick building. He confirmed with a quick scan of the street map that he was still a long way from the center of the island city in the quieter suburbs.

The building had a hand painted sign hung above an arcaded doorway. It looked like it might be an open air cafe or a simple diner. Probably serving Indian food from the smell. Steve thought that he might be able to liberate something sustaining and make some kind of payment later.

He stepped into the long arcade and saw several rows of long tables. An open window to the side looked like a serving hatch. The light level was low so he chanced looking in the hatch. A man was cleaning a large pot and acknowledged Steve before he could turn away.

"Have you been swimming in the reservoir?" asked the man, dropping the pot into a deep sink.

Steve realized his clothes were wet and heavy and dirty and bits of plant matter were matted in his hair.

"It's a long story. And I don't know what the story is about yet." He tried to smile. "Just give me something to drink. Then I'll get out of your way."

:::

Steve sat at the long table, the steam from the tea clearing his heavy eyes. The jasmine leaves floated alongside big lumps of clear sugar.

"This tastes great," he said as a big metal plate with hot breads was placed beside him.

Iqbal nodded. "I need to clean up. And go." He wrapped a cleaning cloth around his fingers and remained standing.

"Don't worry. This won't take long to finish." said Steve. He tore the bread and chewed it quickly. The herbs and the hot oil tasted amazing.

"You will cause trouble with this," said Iqbal pointing to the rifle.

"I only need it for a little while longer. Do you have a notebook?"

"What do you want to write?"

"I need you to take a message to the American Embassy if I am sidetracked."

"I will not need a notebook. I take short orders from hundreds of people every day." He tapped the side of his head. "All up here."

"Okay. I need to trust you with this though. Are you ready? Probably three sentences."

"Say the words."

"To: Oscar Goldman, O.S.I., Washington D.C."

"That is simple."

"Okay. Um: Steve in Singapore."

"Of course. Is that all?"

"And: Is Paul Crowe alive?" Steve shrugged. "That's everything."

"Crow as in bird?"

"With an 'e', but 'Crow' is just fine."

"Easy. How long will I wait?"

"Wait one day. This time tomorrow night, you can… Wait. Just go in the morning, when you can."

Iqbal picked up the empty metal plate and the teapot. "Bring the cup thru when you are done." He disappeared into the dark room which passed as a kitchen.

The electric light-bulb which struggled to light the whole canteen flickered above him. Steve looked up then over to the main door. A man stood there.

"Don't move, Colonel," said the newcomer. His whole form was covered in an olive colored military rain-cape, but he looked sturdy. He sounded American.

Steve considered his options. One was a simple use of the weapon on his back. The other was the use of his own inbuilt speed and strength.

"Are you from Ohio?" asked Steve.

"Shut up," said the visitor walking forward.