Singapore Sling Shot

by Andrew Grant

  The ice that had threatened to sever my neck had settled in my gut. It sat there like a freezing brick. My breakfast omelette had soured and threatened to find it’s way to the back of my throat.

  I don’t think I’ve ever felt so helpless in my life, just standing there watching, waiting and perhaps praying. I’ve gotten used to losing people from my life. I care for someone and they’re gone. It’s a shit equation. I’ve come so close to losing myself as well. Now it appeared to be happening all over again. Maybe Simone and Sami had got out of the building in time.

  What exactly had happened? It had to be Lu, of course. I don’t believe in accidents or coincidences in my game, or what used to be my game. Lu was trying to finish the job he had botched with the truck out on the highway. An incendiary of some sort must have been used in the offices. The urgency seemed to have gone, at least as far as the firemen were concerned. Two of the snorkels were already coming back down. Had the fire not taken? What had caused it? Gasoline? A gas cylinder? Napalm?

  Ambulance attendants with their gurneys were now going inside, accompanied by more cops as the firemen exited. There hadn’t been any walking wounded coming out. What exactly had gone on up there?

  I was now going into professional detachment mode. It’s a survival technique. If Sami and Simone had been trapped up there, were they dead? If they had managed to escape, that was, of course, wonderful, but where the hell were they? No matter what their status, I could not change what had happened. All I could do was stay alive and stay invisible and get Thomas Lu. When I did, it would be slow and very painful. Revenge deserves time to be savoured.

  “Dan!”

  I turned. Jo was standing behind me, his face grim.

  “Where are Sami and Simone?”

  “I left Sami in the warehouse this morning. I don’t know who was in the offices. Perhaps Simone and the other girls who work there and the numbers guy. There were three of Sami’s Singapore guys as well.”

  The other girls were the three additional office staff that Stanley had employed.

  “If they were in there, they’re dead, they’ve escaped or Lu’s got them,” I replied. “Have you told Sami?”

  “No. His cellphone appears to be switched off.”

  “Damn!” I knew Sami switched off his phone when he was out on the dredge barge in the Gulf of Thailand, but why here and now? That’s the whole fucking point with cellphones: availability anywhere, anytime—yeah, right!

  “No point in standing here, Dan.”

  “Yeah. Let’s go see Sami.”

  Jo led as we edged our way through the crowd and back towards Orchard. The Mercedes was double-parked down on a side road. We got in. Jo told the driver to head back to Pasir Ris. Jo and I sat in silence as the driver took us on what seemed to be an around-the-island tour. Yes, I knew why, but for once I wanted the direct route and to hell with the CCTV cameras. I needed to find out what had happened to Simone.

  I tried her cellphone again and got the damn computer secretary once more.

  I pondered exactly what I was going to do to Mr Thomas Lu when I got my hands on him. I imagine Jo was also following that line of thought. Maybe when the time came, we would have to toss a coin to see who got the right to make the man pay.

  Thomas Lu smiled at the four women who sat on the chairs in front of him. Two were Chinese, one was Indian and the other, the attractive blonde, was very much of European extraction. The women were gagged with duct tape and their hands were in front of them, also bound with the tape.

  They were in the virtually bare penthouse suite at the Silver Sands Hotel, although the women didn’t know this. Painters’ drop cloths had been used to cover the windows. They had had pillowcases pulled over their heads before they were bundled into the elevator and taken from the office down into the basement car park and the van that was used to transport them to Sentosa. They had no idea where they were.

  “We will now see if Mr Somsak values his employees at two billion dollars,” Lu purred. The women were staring back at him with wide eyes. They blinked at the amount of money, but they had no idea what this man was talking about. None of them even knew who the man was.

  Lu’s trio of thugs had disarmed the single guard in the basement car park. The fighting women had distracted the man. The pantomime had been very effective. The man in the garage had not paid any attention to the delivery van. He had been knocked unconscious, bound and gagged and left in a utility cupboard. Lu’s men had then disabled the alarm and made their way up the fire escape to the door to the fifteenth floor. On their cue, the fighting women had taken the elevator to the fifteenth floor and distracted the guards. It had worked to perfection.

  The women had been easily subdued. A can of gasoline was liberally spread throughout the offices. Lu’s men left the unconscious guards where they lay and set the fire. They used the keyed elevator to get back to the basement. High above, the fire erupted as the van left the car park.

  Lu was pleased. The whole operation had gone like clockwork. He had Somsak’s people. The Thai would return the money and the women would go free. He was sure that Sami Somsak would do it. Already, an emissary was on his way to Somsak’s apartment to deliver the ultimatum along with the number of the cheap, prepaid cellphone that sat on Thomas Lu’s desk.

  The message, computer printed onto a single sheet of paper, was simplicity itself:

  Give me my money or I will send your women back to you in pieces. You have until seven this evening to contact me.

  A cellphone number was printed in place of a signature.

  The only thing that spoilt this moment was the fact that the members of the Intella syndicate had each received a copy of the recording Stanley Loh had made. One of Lu’s friends had contacted him to inform him of the fact. He was now on the outside. However, Thomas Lu had a plan to get himself back into the closed circle. First, though, he wanted his money back and Sami Somsak dead.

  25

  Sami’s cellphone had expired. It was as simple an explanation as that. The damn thing had simply run flat. Isn’t that always the way with electronics? When you need the fucking things, they die on you.

  We returned to the scene. The police were there, of course. I’d stayed well out of things while Sami fronted. No, he didn’t know what was going on. No, he had no idea who had attacked his people or why. He, of course, suggested it was linked to the death of his stepbrother. He had come to Singapore to bury his dead and attempt to sort out his brother’s affairs. No, he had no idea where his office staff had gone. The accountant had been at a meeting when the intruders arrived. He had arrived back after the fire crews had left.

  The guard in the basement had been found seriously dehydrated and suffering severe concussion. Of the other two guards, one was not expected to live. The other, who had received serious head injuries and burns to much of his body, was expected to live. The only favour Lu’s men had done Sami was take the weapons that Sami’s men had been carrying. At least there were no arms charges on the slate.

  The police eventually left. Because there had been no ransom demand for the missing staff members, their hands were tied. Missing person’s bulletins would go out and they would mount a full investigation. There was nothing else they could do.

  Jo and I answered Sami’s call and went into the building and up to the fifteenth floor. The stench of burned plastic, gasoline fumes and water-sodden carpet filled the atmosphere. The air conditioning was on full. There were several broken windows and the others that could be opened gaped wide. The carpet and walls were blackened in places, soot covered everything, but the sprinklers and fire hoses had done the major damage. Everything was soaked. Everything, that is, apart from Stanley’s office.

  Stanley, it appeared, had been security conscious in one way at least. The office had a heavy fire- and impact-proof door and a serious mortise lock. It had still been locked when the fire crew had smashed their way through the wall beside it. The sprinklers had soaked the room, but apart from
that, it was intact.

  With kidnap presumably highest on their agenda, Lu’s men had hit and run. I assumed that the fire had been more for nuisance value than anything else. Whatever, the office was where K and we three were now congregated. K had arrived from the Cairnhill apartment with the ransom note just moments after the police had left.

  It was 15:22. In a little over three hours, Sami had to contact Lu.

  “Where is he holding them?” Sami was staring unseeing at the huge satellite photomap of Singapore that was attached to the wall. The map was under a Perspex covering, so it hadn’t been damaged by water. Intella Island and the connecting bridge had been added using Photoshop.

  “It’s a big island when you look at it like that,” I said, lighting a Marlboro. I went to stand at Sami’s side. I was referring to Singapore as a whole, minus Sami’s bolt-on island. Jo was looking out the window behind us. K was sitting on the edge of what had been Stanley’s huge desk, seemingly meditating.

  “No more warehouses,” I replied. “He has to figure you’ve got him tabbed on that. Given that you cleaned the money out of the last one and he torched another. Just how much real estate can he own?”

  “A lot,” Sami replied distractedly, “and much of that unofficially so we can’t check a register or anything like that.”

  “Can we try the CCTV cameras again and see what vehicles left the car park just prior to the fire? It had to be a people mover or a van of some sort to shift two or three of Lu’s guys and the four women.”

  “My people are working on it.”

  “Can we pre-empt him?” It was Jo.

  “How?” Sami and I queried simultaneously.

  “Figure this,” he said. “I would bet that whatever exchange he is going to make, it will be at dawn tomorrow. It needs to take place in a semi-public area, but not right out in the open or in rush hour. Not too obvious, but there will have to be people around. The women will arrive in a van or small bus and there will be an exchange for a truck with the money. Simple swap and enough people around to prevent it all ending in a firefight.”

  “That sounds about right,” I agreed.

  “I know where he has the women.” It was K. He stood and walked to the map and stabbed a finger at it. “The hotel on Sentosa.”

  “What makes you think he’ll hold them there?” Sami wanted to know.

  “He thinks he is very clever. But he has to keep them in an isolated place and that is perfect,” K replied. “You said it was deserted but for workmen. Perfect place to house an army or hostages.”

  “He’s just arrogant enough to do that,” Sami mused. “It would be just like him to use it again as a private joke against me. He’s so sure that because it is so obvious, I’ll consider the hotel and discount it.”

  “Reverse reversed psychology, or whatever,” I agreed, “but more than that. On a practical level, K is right. It’s logical. It’s the ideal place to maintain his people out of sight until needed.”

  “Then let’s look at turning the tables yet again on Mr Lu.” Jo had a smile on his face. That was unusual in itself. It was the sort of smile that meant someone was going to get hurt. “I have a plan!”

  To work, Jo’s plan relied on three things: that the hostages were being held at the Silver Sands Hotel; that Lu would press for a dawn exchange; and that a reconnaissance run be made to check out the hotel. K left to organise that.

  Sami used the phone. This call was to the man in charge of the computers. The reply he was seeking came back a few minutes later. They had isolated a van entering Scotts Road from the building’s car park at the time of the fire. It was then Sami asked that they cut to the chase. Instead of letting the computers wade through millions of images, he had them concentrate on the Sentosa Bridge footage. Twenty minutes after it left Scotts Road, the van crossed the bridge onto the island.

  K reported back half an hour later from the island. There was a transit van parked in the car park at the Silver Sands Hotel. The registration number matched that on the CCTV cameras. He also reported that the relatively isolated car park, with its fringe of tended jungle, was the perfect scenario for what we had in mind. That was, of course, if we were right about the hostages being inside the hotel. If we were wrong, people were going to die.

  “I can’t seem to stay away from Sentosa,” I muttered to no one in particular. Sami heard me.

  “At least you won’t have to swim this time.”

  “I hope,” I replied, looking round the office, wondering if Stanley’s bar was still intact. It was!

  It was a few minutes to 19:00 when Sami made the call to Thomas Lu.

  Thomas Lu was almost laughing as he set his cellphone down on the shelf protruding from the side of the spa. He had set his trap and now he had received a wonderful piece of news. Bad weather over the Pacific had led to Carlos Mendez postponing the long flight to Sydney to refuel and then carry on to Singapore. Lu not only had another twenty-four or forty-eight hours before the Colombian arrived, but Sami Somsak had agreed to return the money in exchange for the women.

  “A soft man at heart,” Lu said as he gloated at his good luck. “A soft man to give away two billion dollars for a handful of women.”

  Lu relaxed in his spa. Michael was in the shower prior to joining him.

  The transfer would take place at a location of Lu’s selection at dawn. He hadn’t told Somsak where this would be. That meant there would be no chance of an ambush. He would direct the whole operation by cellphone.

  The truck with the money would be directed on a route he chose, and at the point he chose, the truck would be ordered to stop. He would then verify the money was indeed aboard and then, and only then, he would order the van with the women aboard to the transfer site. The transfer would be made and that would very much be that. Part of him, of course, wanted Sami Somsak dead as part of the exchange. However, there would be witnesses, so Somsak’s demise would have to wait a little longer.

  In any other situation he would have expected a double-cross, but there simply was no way that the Thai could organise one, short of filling the truck with gunmen, and that would guarantee the death of the women, so it was not going to happen. Thomas Lu took a sip of whisky. There would be no chance of a double-cross. The plan was as near perfect as he could make it.

  “I should have done this to get that cursed recorder back,” Lu murmured thoughtfully. It would have been so simple. Why had he not thought of it sooner? Now, of course, it was too late. Its damage had been done, but that damage wasn’t irreversible. Lu’s musings were interrupted as Michael slipped into the spa. The youngster really was beautiful. Lu put down his glass and reached for his lover.

  26

  Sentosa at pre-dawn. Apart from the cold white of the lights in the various entrances and buildings, there was just a heavy greyness, not pitch black. The moon and the stars, at this transition between night and day, were gone. The air was cool for the moment. There was little noise, just the muted sound of the sparse early-morning traffic coupled with the continual sound of the container port.

  Once more it was back to the jungle for K, four others from Jo’s old squad and me. Jo was with Sami and the truck bearing the container. And yes, the money was aboard. All of it! If we were wrong in our attempt to pre-empt Lu, then Sami would pay the money over to free the women. Of course, each of the bales in the container had a GPS tracer buried deep in it, but that was little consolation if it all turned to crap and there was blood on the floor.

  We were in the jungle fringe surrounding the Silver Sands car park. Each of us was wearing the standard overall plus gloves and a balaclava. Dressing the same meant we knew who was who. It meant observers couldn’t identify individuals. The tough, all-encompassing overalls kept everything in, as did the flash gloves. No fibres or DNA could get out. We each carried a silenced weapon. My choice for this exercise was an H&K MP5. The others had a selection of weapons of their choice. The only criteria was that they had to be as quiet as possible and they ha
d to hit their designated targets.

  Despite the way they are depicted in movies, silencers, or more correctly suppressers, don’t totally muffle the sound of a gunshot. In most cases they reduce it and they change it from a sharp boom-crack to a duller thump. The report then becomes harder to identify. Was it someone dropping something? Was it a backfire? Hell, was it someone farting? Whatever, one problem remained: with a semi-automatic weapon, if the breech isn’t locked for single fire, the rattle of the mechanism as the weapon re-cocks is a giveaway to anyone in the know. Nevertheless, to the uninitiated ear of those asleep in the neighbouring hotels, hopefully any gunfire from us would be just an unidentified sound in the gloom.

  There were dim lights on in the back of the eight-storey hotel. The only vehicle in the car park was a dark transit. We could see occasional silhouettes against the faint glow of interior lights. There were men on watch at several of the windows. K, possibly the best jungle scout I have ever worked with, did one of his phantom runs to the front of the hotel. Yes, there were men on watch there as well, three of them. Lu was taking no chances that his fortress would be stormed.

  We were wired for sound, of course, but the instructions were clear: we shoot to kill and we keep the women alive at all costs. Two of our team, Quong and Sindip, were positioned on the far side of the car park, which appeared to be about the size of two tennis courts. Their task was to take out anyone appearing at the windows overlooking the car park and then lay down suppression fire on the rear face of the building. They both had silenced MP5s and a lot of magazines.