"Well, I'll try," she said dubiously, "but I have to admit I don't know anything about engines."
Jack wore his old gray London Fog with the deep pockets and when Sara turned to look at the engine, he pulled a dark green bottle out of one of those pockets, and a handkerchief from the other. He carefully opened the bottle, doused the handkerchief with its contents and grabbed Sara from behind, covering her mouth and nose with the chloroform soaked cloth. She struggled for a moment then was limp. He carried her to the back seat of his Pontiac. From the paper bag on the floor, he got out the duct tape and cut off a piece with the clippers she had sold him, and carefully placed the tape over her mouth, then bound her hands with the wire. He hated to tie her up, but he wasn't sure how long the chloroform would keep her out-he would cut her loose later, after drugging her more heavily and getting clear of the area.
He covered her with the blanket, and checked the ground around the car to make sure he hadn't dropped anything that could be traced to him. Then he slammed down the hood, got in the car, and drove away. When he came to the old cemetery, he pulled in behind the wall and came to a stop. From the glove compartment, he took out a small black case. Inside were several disposable hypodermic needles and a vial of clear liquid. He wasn't sure what it was, but Abdulah had assured him it would put her out for at least six hours. He would probably have to give her another shot before turning her over to Abdulah, but when she woke from that, she'd be half way around the world, and he could forget the whole thing ever happened.
He stared at her face for a long moment, imagining her terror when she awoke in a strange land, no longer in control of her own life, then shook away the image and stuck the needle in her arm.