Singapore Sling Shot (3 page)

“Was that bad news, Daniel?”

The speaker is the beautiful Mai Ling. She has shared my bed off and on for the past two weeks. She is propped up on one elbow looking across at me with genuine concern in her eyes. Mai is a very genuine woman. That much I do know.

“I'm not sure,” and I honestly wasn't. Was it bad news that my old friend needed me? Suddenly, for the first time in what seemed like weeks, months even, my brain was as clear as ice. It was a few minutes past one in the morning. Mai and I had enjoyed an evening of pubbing and a long romp in my ruined bed. Now it was time for another sort of action.

“I have to get ready to leave,” I told her as I got out of bed and headed for the shower, leaving one very beautiful and slightly bewildered lady staring after me.

As I showered I wondered what had happened to Sami's half-brother. The half thing was just that, unimportant. Brother was the power word. The different name didn't phase me. I knew Sami's heritage. He was a combination of Chinese, Japanese and Thai and I knew he had relatives all over Asia. Stanley Loh was most obviously one of Sami's Chinese half-brothers. Sami's mother, Mary Song, was a Chinese-Thai, his father a Japanese officer. There had been no marriage. His mother had been one of the unfortunate comfort women put into sexual slavery by the Japanese. Fortunately, perhaps, Sami's father had become Mary Song's exclusive patron. He was executed after the war. Mary then married Chinese businessman Martin Loh, and had several more children by him.

So what had befallen Stanley Loh? No doubt I could dial up CNN or Asia News or go online to find out, but I wouldn't do that. I'd pick up
The Straits Times
when I got on the plane. I had no doubt that he had met a nasty end. Sami wouldn't have called me unless he wanted to use my particular skill set.

The thing is, as a nanny or a shrink I'm useless. Sami knows that only too well. He also knows that I can offer him only two things: my friendship and what is perhaps my singular talent. That talent is not particularly marketable in the world at large, however in the world Sami and I spent many years living in, and perhaps the world Sami still lives in, my skills are a currency in themselves.

If I had a CV, it would probably dwell on the fact that I have the unique ability to find people and kill them. I am a hunter. I'm trained to hunt people to the death, and that being the case, Sami probably wants me to kill someone. So be it!

Out of the shower, I stood dripping on the plush carpet as I used my laptop to book a flight to Singapore. Mai Ling was dressing. She knew a cue when it came her way, even when it was unspoken. I gave her cab money and made a promise that I'd call when I got back. I probably wouldn't call, and she probably wouldn't expect it. Our words were just farewell smoke. There are plenty of girls like Mai around Hong Kong, and variety, they say, is the “‘spice of life'. Cynical? Yes, I am a cynic and that's, in part, why I am still alive. I doubt anything and everything. In my world there are no such things as coincidence and luck, good or bad. It just is or it isn't.

Maybe I won't survive Singapore. Of course, if my old friend and enemy Tuk Tuk Song dies in the meantime I may return to Thailand instead, and I may not ever come back to Hong Kong.

It is 02:30. My flight to Singapore is the early 07:10. Cathay bus. I try to find tourist clothes but my wardrobe doesn't extend that far. I'll shop when I hit town. It's about a four-hour flight on a good day, so I'll have plenty of time. I selected my Ed Davidson passport from the twenty or so in my under-floor safe. There is a current Amex in the same name. I add a back-up passport and a few thousand US dollars in cash and pack a small bag. Unfortunately I will be leaving my favourite hardware behind. My Walther P99 stays in the safe along with the several other weapons stored there. They included the .380 Beretta I took from Sir Bernard Sinclair after I killed him. Ah, the memories!

I got dressed and made coffee. No more alcohol, at least until I'd read the newspaper. I hadn't done much of anything physical for almost four months and it showed. I knew I was seriously out of shape and quite probably I was going to regret that. The life of the rich and indolent unfortunately overtook me in the aftermath of the Thai incident. Incident is a pretty ordinary word to describe a most extraordinary situation, I suppose, however it will do for now.

At 05:15. I was in a cab on my way to Chek Lap Kok Airport. Oh, by the way, my name is Daniel Swann. Pleased to meet you!

4

FAMILY AND STAFF EXECUTED — SINGAPORE IN SHOCK

Singapore is in shock following the discovery late yesterday of nine bodies in the luxury Goodwood Hill residence of Singapore business entrepreneur Stanley Loh. Initial police reports indicate that all nine victims had been shot execution-style.

The dead have been formally identified as: Stanley Loh, 65, his wife Helen, 60, son Arthur, 27, daughter Amy, 25. Also found dead at the Loh's exclusive Goodwood Hill residence were staff members, identified as: Cheah Kah Hin, 78, Teoh Sui Lan, 77, Mary Yap, 47, her daughter Emily Yap, 26, and Michael Yee, 29.

The police have released no further details, but are appealing for information from the general public. Mr Loh was one of the principals behind the Intella Island Development, the proposed creation of a twelve-hectare artificial island to be constructed off Marina Bay. The US$6-billion development has been hailed as the most significant development of its kind ever seen in Singapore.

“Fuck!” I muttered laying the paper down. The stewardess was hovering. She pretended she hadn't heard me swear. She instead asked me if I wanted a drink. I wanted one, but it was 09:30 and judging from what I'd just read, I was going to need to keep a clear head. I declined and ordered breakfast instead. I'd have gone first class on this flight if I'd had the option, but there was no availability, so here I was slumming it in business. My how times have changed. Once it was steerage. Now here I was complaining because I didn't have the option of first class. At least I had salmon with eggs Benedict. Not a bad breakfast at all! Thank you, Sir Bernard!

At Changi, I cleared the formalities and grabbed a cab for the Carlton. I've been to Singapore many times over the years, so it holds few mysteries for me. What I had to watch out for was that I'd rarely been there as Daniel Swann. Singapore immigration probably had a dozen versions of me on record, so it was important I do nothing to cause the authorities to want to have a closer look at me. The passport, incidentally, was a real one. It was just that Ed Davidson wasn't.

Compliments of The Firm, I had departed with a whole bunch of genuine identities, most of them not recorded on any official file. I can thank my former boss, the crafty Sir Bernard Sinclair, for that. He never let his left hand know what the right was doing and cunning was his middle name. In the end his own deviousness worked to my advantage and very much to his disadvantage and, ultimately, his messy death. Being a turncoat spymaster can be a tricky occupation at times, it seems.

I'd actually stayed at the Carlton in one of my many incarnations on a previous visit. The hotel is handy to everything and not too ostentatious. It's the sort of place that has a lot of tourists going through it rather than business people. From my observations, those on business with a company credit card on tap are inclined to go a little more upmarket. Whatever, the place suited me just fine.

No one greeted me by any name I had used previously. That was a positive start at least. My reservation was in the name of Edward Davidson of Perth. So Ed Davidson, Australian tourist, I was. For the moment at least.

Sami hadn't gone overboard on the accommodations. The room was large and comfortable. There was a sizeable bathroom. A bottle of JD was sitting on a side table awaiting me. There was also a small package wrapped in plain brown paper. The name Mr E Davidson was on the label. I tipped the porter after he did the usual flutter around. When he left I slipped the door security latch across and broke the seal on the bottle of bourbon.

It was 13.30 and the sun was definitely over the yardarm. I opened the package and found a pre-paid phone and a thick wad of big Singapore bills. There was a plain white card with a number on it. The number had a prefix of 66 2. Bangkok. I flicked the phone on and it found SingTel in seconds. I tapped out the number on the card. I only had a few seconds to wait.

“Daniel!”

“Daniel in da' house,” I replied with my best Ali G impression. Sami managed a chuckle. “I read it,” I added. “Some heavy shit going down.”

“That's an understatement,” Sami replied grimly. “In a nutshell, Stanley was taken out because he refused a deal regarding his share of the Intella Island development. My share, Daniel,” Sami added bitterly. “I'll explain in full when I get there. In the meantime play at being a tourist. I have to go. I'll call you later and tell you what I need you to do. And thanks, old friend!”

“No need,” I replied. We cut the connection at the same instant.

Intella Island was the talk of Asia. It was the development of the century, according to the various business publications I had come across.

The Intella Island project frequently appeared on Asian current affairs and news programmes with an elaborate and very realistic large-scale model as the main image. There were 3-D graphic presentations on a dedicated website and artist's impressions of the finished development had been all over the media for the past few months.

I figured that if Stanley Loh had been involved in Intella, that most probably meant Sami was as well. By the way, the name Intella derives from Intelligent Island. The whole thing was to be run by a giant super-computer, it seemed. Anyway, Stanley Loh was no longer in the loop, but maybe Sami was. Time would tell that story. In the meantime I needed tourist clothes and a camera, so I went shopping.

Downtown Singapore is easy walking. I strolled off up Bras Basah and Orchard Road towards Somerset and zeroed in on Centrepoint. I'd been there several times in the past and I knew it was tourist central with everything under one roof. Hey, I was a tourist after all.

First I hit Robinsons, which made most of its weekly wage bill off me. Then I found a camera outlet and bought a compact Sony digital. It had more pixels than I thought possible. I was paying cash for everything, eliminating any paper trail, at least until I wanted one.

The major problem about doing anything in Singapore is the constant CCTV surveillance. There are cameras everywhere and that was something I was going to have to give some thought to when it came time to doing whatever it was Sami had brought me here for.

Carrying several bags, I left Centrepoint and contemplated grabbing a cab. The lure of beer and food was, however, stronger than the desire to go back to the hotel just yet. I knew there was a row of bars and restaurants behind the complex, so I cut back and found Cuppage Terrace. Many of the restaurants were closed but there was a small pub at one end. The Cable Car, the signage said. It suited me fine. It was virtually deserted at this early hour. I sat outside and lit what was one of my first cigarettes of the day. I almost felt proud of myself.

The Tiger beer was cold and the Chinese restaurant next door did bar service. It was 15:50; the day that had started early several hundred kilometres away was still young. With a cold beer in hand and a full stomach, I decided to loiter awhile.

I was on my third glass when my new cellphone rang. It could only be one person.

“Sami?”

“Daniel. I'll be flying in late morning, day after tomorrow. I have to attend family business and then we can meet up. I'll call when I'm done. Okay?”

“Sure! Where are you staying?” I asked, thinking he also might book in to the Carlton.

“I've got an apartment in Cairnhill. Under any other circumstances I'd have you stay there but we need to keep some distance between us. I'll explain it all when we catch up.” Sami sounded tired. I could hear him take a sip of something. He didn't drink alcohol, not even under extreme stress.

“You okay?”

“I'm okay, Daniel, thanks,” he replied. “There will be a woman asking for you at the desk at half nine in the morning. Her name is Simone. She's your cover. She doesn't know the finer points of what we do, so don't tell her too much at this stage.”

“Okay. So what exactly do you want me to do?”

“Go to Sentosa with Simone. Camera and all! Visit the fort and spend some time in the Japanese surrender room. Get to know the room well because you'll be going back. And watch for watchers because they'll be there. I'll call again when I work out my timing.”

“Okay.” I had no idea what the hell was going on, but I trusted Sami with my life, so I went with the flow.

“Enjoy your tour of the fort.” Sami paused. “By the way, Simone used to work for Stanley. She'll play an airhead wife. She isn't an airhead.”

“I'm pleased about that.” I didn't fancy spending too much time with some dumb bimbo. Life's too short.

“Don't mention the significance of the surrender room.”

“I don't know the significance of the fucking thing.”

“You will. Take plenty of photographs, access, alarms, all of it. You did get a camera?”

“Sami!”

“Sorry. Of course you did. Do read the manual,” he added with a strained chuckle, “and look at ways of getting in and out of the fort in the dark. I can tell you that Stanley was chased into the fort and almost died of an asthma attack. He hid something in the Japanese surrender room. It is something of vital importance. Afterwards he made it to hospital. He called me from there and got my cell secretary. The men hunting him went to his home and waited for him to show up. The rest you know. I must go. Take care!”

“Sami, what did he hide?”

I was too slow. Sami had broken the connection and was gone. I snorted. That was his way. I hadn't coined the name The Onion Man for him for nothing. No matter what, he had given me enough information to begin my game. The rest would follow when he was ready.