THURSDAY'S ORCHID (31 page)

“When will he be free?” I snapped. “I’ll call back.”

“He should be here soon. Only a few minutes. Please tell me where you are.”

“I’m at my hotel, the Hilton. I’ll wait for another fifteen minutes and then leave. If he doesn’t phone by then, ask him to stand by and wait for my call.”

I waited at the bar for ten minutes, checking my watch every thirty seconds. Each passer-by looked like some gangster; their satchels held bombs; and every jacket concealed a pistol.

The fifth scotch tasted the same as the fourth. Any more and I would be too drunk to think
straight. It had been a long time since breakfast. I looked at my watch again – almost three o’clock. It had been five hours since they had picked me up in the Mercedes.

The fifteen minutes were up. If I didn’t get him this time I would go to pieces. I dia
lled. The phone rang once and no more.

“Hello?” The voice was Tek’s

“Tek, it’s me, Jeff. God, am I glad to hear your voice!”

He cut in on me. “Where are you? Sang said you were at the Hilton. I have been calling for the last ten minutes, but the desk has not been able to raise you. I had them check the room, but there
was nobody there. All they could tell me was that you had made a short call to Australia an hour or so ago. There was also an inward call, also very short.”

I could feel the tenseness in his voice. He had as much riding on this as we did.

“I’m not at the Hilton!” I answered. “I haven’t been there since I made the call to Nick. The incoming call was from him.”

“Where have you been?” he demanded. “I have been searching everywhere for you. When you did not arrive outside the bank to meet my nephew, we thought you might have been picked up by the police. What has happened?”

It was obvious that Nick hadn’t called Tek. He probably thought I was having trouble getting the money out of him.

“I’ll tell you about it later, Tek. But it’s not the police. Somebody’s trying to muscle in, and I’m sure your phone’s bugged.” I paused. “I was picked up by a young Chinese guy driving a light-blue Mercedes claiming to be your nephew.” He didn’t interrupt. They could have been using a directional microphone, and picking up only his end of the conversation; and if he said nothing, they would hear nothing. “Tek, I would suggest that you go to another telephone, somewhere else. Don’t take anyone with you that you can’t absolutely trust, give me the number and I’ll call you there. Don’t tell me where you’re going, just the number.”

He gave me a number and told me to call in exactly fifteen minutes. It was still cloak and dagger, but there was no other way. If those bastards got hold of me again – I was dead!

I went back to the booth and ordered a cup of coffee. My nerves had settled. Somehow he had given me confidence. I knew he wouldn’t panic, and I knew he would be at the number in exactly fifteen minutes. The coffee was hot and sweet: sugar for energy, but not enough – I needed a bucketful.

The minute hand crawled slowly around the dial as I scanned the area. The clientele in the lounge appeared less sinister. Maybe they got a better crowd in the afternoons. The lunchtime set had seemed positively evil.

I called the number. It gave half a ring and he was there.

“Tell me what happened,” he said without introduction. “Do not worry about this telephone. Nobody would think to tap it. I never use this factory for business. I came with Sung, my nephew, and we were not followed. The workers have all been sent outside with orders to keep everyone away. So please, take your time, and tell me everything that has happened.”

I gave him most of the details. He interrupted several times, asking me to repeat some of the points in more detail.

“I think you are wrong about the house,” he said. “There is no way it could have been wired. I have the place swept by two separate organisations at least twice a week, at random times. Nobody knows when they are to arrive, not even me. They have both been known to arrive on the same day and scan each other.”

There was a pause on the other end, and then he continued.

“No. We have a spy. Somebody overheard part of our conversation and guessed the rest. A listening device in the lounge would have given them everything.” There was another silence for a few seconds. “The only time we spoke in any detail was during that one afternoon, and for a very short time the following morning. Did you tell Mee Ling anything?”

“Not a thin
g. And that reminds me.” I told him about the Malay’s reference to my
little orchid looking more beautiful
. He remembered the box he had given me as I had left for the airport. Mee Ling had selected the delicate bloom from his garden and Tek had given her the box.

“No, Tek,” I interrupted. “I would stake my life on it. It couldn’t be her.”

“Yes,” he said. “I agree.” But it must be someone in the house. Someone who was there when you were present, and when you telephoned last night. That excludes Mee Ling. She was only here for that one night. You will recall that I drove them both back into the city early the following morning, before our second discussion. Neither of them has been here since. Someone must have seen her pick the orchid, and correctly assumed that it was in the parcel she left for you. We will have to set a small trap.”

Not with me as
the bait he wasn’t.

“Can’t we possibly do it some other way?” I asked, my voice shaking.

“Do not concern yourself,” he replied quietly. “Nothing will go wrong.” God! What else could go wrong? “I will return to the house and put a call through to Nick. I will tell him that you have lost your nerve, that your imagination has run away with you.” He wasn’t far off the mark. “I will let him know that I have arranged to meet you at the Botanical Gardens. Do you know where they are?”

I told him that I did.
It was where we had collected the bodyguard earlier in the day.

“Good. I will say that I have organised a meeting with you there at say, six o’clock this evening; alone. I will tell him that I intend to calm you down and bring you back to the house before you do something stupid, like going to the police.”

Right at the moment it seemed like the best thing to do.

“I still don’t like it,” I replied. “Too many things could go wrong.”

“No. It will work. From four o’clock onwards I will have a number of my most trusted people patrolling the gardens, men from another section of my organisation. Nobody at the house will know about them. You will not see them, but they will be watching you. Whoever is behind this may even believe it will be a good opportunity to get hold of me as well. I will stress upon Nick that I will be going with only one bodyguard. Do not worry.”

I
wasn’t worried. I was scared stiff!

He sounded confident; but could I trust him; and if I couldn’t trust Tek, then who the hell could I trust?

Nineteen

The rest of the day went far too quickly. I was dreading six o’clock, hoping it wouldn’t roll around, hoping that something else would happen; but the clock raced ahead.

I moved into one of the other cocktail lounges and tried to get some food into my stomach, but my throat had gone dry, and half a cheese sandwich was all I could manage. At least I didn’t get back into the whisky, which took more will-power than I thought I had; although I guess it wasn’t really will-power, just the knowledge that my wits might yet be needed to save my life. They had already done so once that day, and a second time wasn’t out of the question. Tek might be good, but he wasn’t infallible.

There was no way I intended to be early this time. I would probably never be early for an
other appointment for as long as I lived.

It was exactly six o’clock as I left the Mandarin, pepped up on caffeine. I would be the last to arrive on the scene.

Tek had directed me to come in to the gardens from the main entrance and to make straight for the lake without stopping. He would enter from a gate on the opposite side and we would meet at the water’s edge at six. He was going to be twiddling his thumbs for ten or fifteen minutes.

I paid off the cab and made for the entrance. There were still a few camera-bedecked tourists strolling about, taking advantage of the coolness of the late afternoon air. I could see the lake in the distance, the smooth water shadowed dark beneath the trees; and, as I walked towards it, I could see the headlines in tomorrow’s newspapers:
Body Of Australian Tourist Found In Lake.

There was no sign of Tek
as I drew near to the lake; but I kept moving, looking from right to left and then over my shoulder for the fifth time. Where the hell was he?

Where were his men? Apart from several tourists – if they were – the rest looked harmless: an old man feeding the ducks; two couples sitting on par
k benches: one couple watching the old man, the other couple, in their early twenties, interested only in each other, self-consciously holding hands; and a woman coming up behind me, pushing a pram.

I thought the worst.
Maybe Tek never got back to his house, and never made the call to Nick. Perhaps the opposition had grabbed him as he left his factory and were lurking amongst the trees up ahead, waiting for a head shot with a silenced pistol. I would never even hear the crack as the bullet left the barrel. It is said that you don’t feel a thing as the bullet explodes your brain; so why worry about not hearing it?

Two men approached, Chinese, dressed in smartly pressed suits, striding down the path towards me. They had to be Tek’s men. The peacock’s hoodlums would be waiting under cover, they wouldn’t be moving around in the open. I was late, and it was just conceivable that Tek had already sprung his trap. I breathed easier as they drew level.

“Mr. Rider?”

The question was put by the older of the two. The young one glanced about, his eyes flicking everywhere. Neither of them smiled as they waited for my answer: cold, businesslike, hands inside jacket pockets. I nodded, my mouth dry.

“Would you please come with us. Mr. Cheh is waiting by the pavilion. Please hurry; you are late.”

They each took hold of an elbow, urging me along. We turned around; facing
back the way I had come, towards the woman with the pram.

It happened so quickly it was almost a blur. A corner of the pram was rammed into the groin of the man on my left, and the woman leapt at the other, both feet kicking out, striking at his head. I turned to see the two couples racing forward, arms flaying the air as they launched themselves at the two men. I was thrown to the ground, tackled from behind, the old man on top of me, his body pushing mine flat to the ground.

“Please do not move, Mr. Rider. I am from Mr. Cheh.”

Stupidly, I thought of the ducks he had been feeding only seconds before.

I heard a shot, but no scream, and then he allowed me to sit up. The two dark-suited men were being hustled away, pistols jammed into their necks. The two girls were on either side of me, facing outwards, their hands in open handbags, probably gripping firearms. The old man moved around to protect my front, the bulge of a holster now showing under his jacket.

“You can get up now.”

I turned to find Tek looking down at me, smiling. “You see. I told you that nothing could go wrong!”

I almost cried. There was nothing I could say. The old man gave me his hand, helping me up.

“Come,” Tek said. “Let us go somewhere a little more peaceful, where we can talk to these two gentlemen. I am certain they will have some interesting things to tell us.”

I had fallen for the same trick, twice. I should have known that Tek was too smart to have his men standing out so conspicuously. The courting couples, the woman with the pram, and the old man; they had seemed just another part of the landscape; so innocent.

We left the gardens in the Mercedes, but this time I knew I was now travelling in the correct one. Another Mercedes took up position ahead of us and one moved in behind. They were all powder-blue, with tinted glass windows making it practically impossible to see the passengers. The three vehicles constantly overtook one another as we drove along, changing sequence.

Our convoy headed for the coast, towards Pandan Reservoir, finally coming to a halt about a kilometre past that stretch of dark water. The two goons were lifted out of the
boot of Tek’s car, dishevelled and confused. The handcuffs were checked and they were frog-marched down towards the river. We followed. Nobody said a word. The only sounds were the crunch of shoes on the stony path and far-off noises from the rainforest.

It was only a hundred metres to the jetty: unlit, silent and deserted. There were a number of small sampans, decks cluttered, but devoid of people; and the one solitary dog cringing at a closed hatch, his tail curled up to his belly.

There was a Chinese junk at the end of the jetty: high poop-deck and overhanging stern, much larger than those which normally plied the rivers and waters around Singapore; but in poor repair: dirty grey sails covered in different patches, some of them torn, patches re-patched; the paint-work long since stripped by the wind; rubbish, broken timbers and frayed knotted ropes strewn about the deck. She had once been a grand lady but there had been no attention given to her for many a long year. A hulk.

We moved along the jetty, Tek’s people spreading out as we
went, covering us from the dense foliage on one side. We passed the sampans and headed for the end of the jetty, towards the junk. I looked at Tek as he pointed towards the hulk, indicating her as our destination, the place of peace and quiet he had mentioned. He could see the puzzlement on my face, but said nothing. Surely the junk could not be his? It wasn’t typical of him. Everything about him had been manicured, perfect: his house, immaculate; his choice of women, exquisite; his table, mouth-watering. Surely not this pile of rubbish!

We boarded and picked our way between the debris, the vessel reeking of dead fish and other unimaginables.

Sung unlocked the doors; fastened by a large and impressive stainless-steel lock, somewhat out of place against the impoverished surrounds. We stooped through the grimy hatchway, descending the short flight of steps and entered the main saloon.

I was brought up with a jolt, astounded at the impeccable sight that met me: polished brass and shining chrome; thick pile carpet on the floor; white upholstered furniture; heavy brocade curtains across the portholes; subdued lighting. The air was warm and
thick with the smell of polished leather; and then a generator started up, and I could feel the cool breeze begin to stir my face as the air-conditioning unit extracted the stale air, wafting in the new.

Tek spread his arms, index fingers pointing as he slowly turned through a full circle, proudly displaying the richness below that patently rotten deck; and enjoyed my amazement.

“My secret indulgence,” he laughed. “For when I wish to go cruising without drawing attention. I hope you like her.” I nodded my head, still trying to believe it was real. “You may care to have a look at the engine room later on. She is not as slow as she would appear. Do not let the exterior of the hull confuse you. She is watertight and solid. We are not able to out-run the patrol boats, but we can leave most of the others far behind.”

“Tek,” I said. “She is amazing!”

He bowed his head, pleased at the compliment.

There was a sound behind me and I turned to see the two prisoners, now almost convinced
of their fate, being dragged down the steps and dumped in a corner. They lay silent and unmoving, faces expressionless, arms drawn tight behind their backs like chickens on the way to market.

“Where are we headed?” I asked, but really wanting to hear what he intended for the two on the floor.

Tek sat down on one of the couches, indicating that I was to take one of the others. “I thought we might enjoy some fishing. We could trawl for shark. We seem to have the right bait.”

I wasn’t certain whether I believed him; but whether he was joking or not it sounded as though matters were likely to become messy. I didn’t think that my stomach could take much more blood and gore. The coffee and whisky weren’t helping matters.

We motored for nearly fifteen minutes at a steady speed of maybe twenty knots. Sung offered coffee. I nearly gagged at the mention of it, and finally settled for a large cool glass of orange juice. What I really needed was a thick juicy steak, smothered in onions, with four fried eggs and a pile of hot buttered toast.

We were no
w almost seven or eight kilometres off shore. Tek signalled for the junk to reduce speed and we dropped down to four or five knots, just enough to keep us on an even keel. He beckoned to the two on the floor and they raised their heads, glaring at us, eyes full of hate; but somewhere at the back of those rigid faces, a fleeting shadow of fear. He started to speak to them in Chinese, very quietly, the menace in his voice obvious even to me, but they said nothing, staring straight through him.

Calling to one of his men
, he made a flicking motion with his hand. The two young men who had marched the prisoners away after the fight in the gardens came forward and picked up the older of the two. They carried him out on to the deck and tied a heavy chain around his legs. He struggled, but it did him no good; and then he started to yell, his head turned towards us. Tek never moved a muscle.

They dragged him along to the back of the junk
, out of sight. There was a heart-rending scream and then a splash. After that, nothing.

The two men came back into the cabin and bowed to Tek. He flicked his fingers towards the remaining hoodlum: the front of his trousers now wet and stained; his whole body shaking as he saw death staring him in the face; petrified. They bent down to pick him up and he started to babble rapidly in
Chinese, tears falling down his cheeks, sobbing. They dragged him towards the door.

It was as though I was watching a movie on late-night television. Somehow it didn’t seem real, and my mind kept telling me that these things don’t happen in real life; that it was all a figment of my imagination; but I knew what they were going to do, and I sat there, watching the terror in his eyes.

Again Tek moved, crooking his little finger. The youngster was hauled back to the corner, the handcuffs removed, and they lifted him on to a chair. He was given a glass of water and allowed to sit in silence for five minutes, with the two bodyguards standing on either side, watching for any sudden move.

Tek breathed one short sharp word in Chinese and the poor bastard opened up like a floodgate, pouring forth information
, going on and on. I didn’t know whether he was begging for mercy or telling us what we wanted to know, but Tek seemed satisfied, listening intently, his face growing tighter and tighter. He asked several questions when the quivering mass had finished his ramblings. I could see by the set of his eyes that he was far from pleased. Tek’s cool had finally been broken.

He called out to somebody on deck. The hatch doors were pulled wide and the older of the two gangsters was dragged into the open hatchway, dripping wet, white-faced, but alive. The poor wretch on the chair took one look at him and fainted, his face a mask of terror.

Tek started putting questions to the sodden heap on the top step. They didn’t bring him in. He still refused to answer, believing that Tek didn’t intend to kill, but I wasn’t so sure. The look in Tek’s eye foretold death for someone.

There was a murmur from within the saloon.
The youngster had come to and was babbling quietly to himself.

Tek smiled at him, lips straight: the grin of death; and then yelled, a strident, bitter cry. It was the first time I had heard him raise his voice in anger, and I cringed back into the soft leather cushions, not wanting to risk his wrath.

They hoisted the poor young fool out of the chair and manhandled him up through the low hatch, knocking the other hoodlum out of the way as they crashed out on to the deck. Tek sprang up the steps after them and I followed.

The youngster was draped over the gunwale, facing the sea, a length of chain tied around his legs as the two bodyguards each grabbed an arm and a leg, holding him hard against the side of the boat. The old gentleman, the one who had been feeding the ducks in the gardens, the one who had politely helped me to my feet after he had lain over me and protected my body from stray
shots, stepped forward and took the lad’s thick black hair in his left hand, then yanked hard, jerking the head back.