by Andrew Grant
I made my way up the ramp to street level. The man in the cubbyhole at the top nodded to me and wished me a good day without blinking an eye. I returned the greeting and stepped out into the Singapore evening. Incidentally, I had left the Browning behind, but the borrowed Fairbain Sykes look-alike was in the sheath stitched into the lining of my left boot. Being totally unarmed was something I rarely did. A blade in my boot was more a talisman than anything else, although it had saved my life in Phuket just a few months before.
“He must have gone back to Bangkok as he said he was doing. We have not seen him in days, but his friend is here.”
“Friend?”
“The man called Crewe, he was injured in the bomb blast. The man they were looking for on Pulau Ubin. He is staying in the apartment.”
Thomas Lu grunted. He didn’t know anything about this man Crewe other than what he had seen in the media. Had he been one of those who had captured him on Sentosa? Had he perhaps been the man who had raided the fort and made off with the recorder? Was it in his interests to capture or kill Crewe? He decided it wasn’t, not yet anyway. If Somsak stayed in the north and kept out of Singapore, he would let the status quo reign, at least until he could devise a means of getting rid of the Thai gang boss once and for all.
“Keep me informed.”
“I will. And Mr Lu?”
“Yes?”
“I will be calling on my friends tonight. Is everything arranged?”
“It is arranged.”
“Thank you!”
“Goodbye.” Lu hung up. He had a substantial libido of his own and he exercised it frequently, but the appetite of his spy in the Somsak camp amazed him. “If only we had made contact earlier,” he mused, not for the first time. A chance comment from one of his male escorts had opened the lines of communication. It appeared that his spy and he shared the same exclusive escort agent. “If only,” Lu repeated as he again reached for the telephone. His appetite had been whetted by the thought of what the previous caller had planned for the evening. He would now see to his own growing needs.
43
The building on Nassim Hill Road was tall and the penthouse atop it was no doubt one of the most expensive pieces of real estate in the city, if not the whole island. Thomas Lu lived the high life in more ways than one.
Everyone wants to live in a penthouse, I thought. I did live in one myself, but it was a comparatively modest one, despite the hefty price tag of eight million dollars. I knew that like Sami’s place, Thomas Lu’s lair would be worth millions and millions.
My cellphone rang.
“A rich address, Daniel.”
“Absolutely, old man. I feel your eyes, but I can’t see you.” Sami chuckled at that and then I saw a movement in the shadows further up the street opposite a construction site.
“Have you any thoughts on the Judas in our midst, Daniel?”
“Not yet, but I am working on it.”
“I hope it is not K.”
“So do I, old friend, so do I,” I replied and I meant it. With Jo gone, apart from me, K was now the last of the original inner circle.
“Any advance on your plan to get to Lu?”
“Oh yes,” Sami replied. “Things are almost in place. Let us meet tomorrow lunchtime, the hawker centre on Smith Street, twelve-thirty. You can buy an old man fish head curry. Okay?”
“Okay!”
With that, the shadows reclaimed my old friend. I flipped my phone shut and turned to retrace my steps back towards Orchard Road. I was just another tourist out for a stroll. I wasn’t far from Cuppage Terrace and the pub I’d enjoyed so much on my first visit. Dare I go back there? In the end, I decided it was too much of a risk. Ed Davidson and David Crewe should never be in the same place at the same time. Of course I didn’t look much like either at the moment, but I didn’t want to risk it.
I found another pub close by. It was on a steep little street set in an old shophouse. It was crowded, noisy and the beer was cold. I allowed myself a couple of pints and stayed out of trouble. Drinking alone is not a problem. In fact, when planning a strategy to uncover a traitor, it can be beneficial as the alcohol and the atmosphere assist the brain. It didn’t work this night. I left the pub without a plan.
Sitting on the edge of a concrete planter in the shadows, Sami Somsak was almost invisible to any passers-by. To anyone who saw him, he was just a harmless old man taking his ease and watching the activities on the construction site. This was a huge project as yet another small apartment building had been torn down to make way for a larger one. Already, the new structure had clawed its way fifteen storeys into the Singapore sky.
Sami was dressed in the traditional pyjama-like smock and trousers favoured by the old. He wore a brimless cap on his head and sandals on his feet. The small battered suitcase sat at his feet.
As he sat watching, waiting, a large tractor and trailer unit came slowly up the street. Under the harsh white lights of the building site, the lone watchman opened the gates to allow the truck entry. A second vehicle came grinding up after the first. When Sami saw what was on the heavily laden trailer, he smiled to himself. In a day or two, he would be ready to say farewell to Thomas Lu once and for all. With a grunt of satisfaction, he stood.
It was almost midnight, time for an old man to be home in his bed. Shuffling his feet, the small, hunched figure began to walk away down the street. The bowed legs and rounded back gave any watcher the impression that the old man caught in the lights of the passing traffic was an ancient creature.
A passing police car slowed and stopped by the kerb. Sami stopped walking and turned towards the car as the officer in the passenger seat called to him. He wanted to know if “Uncle” was okay. Did he need a ride home? Sami gruffly thanked the policeman and told him he was fine. The policeman waved as the unit pulled away and Sami Somsak breathed a big sigh of relief. If the policemen had had any idea of what he was carrying in his suitcase, he would have been on a fast train to Changi Prison.
At some stage during the night, my nightmare about Simone and the bomb was dashed into the razor fragments of a painful memory. I woke with a start. I had no idea what had awoken me, but here I was, wide awake. At least when my mind had been lost in the fog, sleep had come often and deeply.
I lit a cigarette and flicked on the television to see what CNN’s version of world events was this day. It was 02:30. I was in time to see the latest fiery airliner crash. Suspected terrorist missile. Iran and Israel were once again trading verbal barrages. Some rising movie star had driven into a semi-trailer and was being likened to James Dean.
Then, as the tale of world woe continued, I made the decision as to how I was going to smoke out our spook. It was going to be face-to-face and direct. I stubbed out the first butt and lit another. Yeah, I know! My ration of five a day was in for a hammering.
As a last resort, I decided I would commandeer every mobile phone in the apartment and see who had called whom in that vital two-hour period between Sami’s call and Kaylin’s call to the funeral home. But first, I was going to conduct my own inquisition.
It would be gentle, but my antennae would be on full BS scan. The only bullshit that got past me was generally my own, but I was good at catching out liars. At times, back in the other world, that had been another skill that had made the difference between life and death. Would my skills at detecting who was and was not lying be as sharp now as they had been prior to my angel’s kiss? I guess I was about to find out.
Perhaps it was the simple fact that I had decided how I was going to proceed that did it, but I managed to drift back to sleep and this time it was dreamless.
It was a few minutes to 09:00. I’d showered and shaved and was dressed in my gear designed to scare the shit out of everyone. Wearing all black is one thing, but for this occasion, I added the shoulder holster under the lightweight leather jacket. The butt of the Browning showed clearly. I left my suite ready to go hunting bear.
Quong was in the apartment foyer. H
e was sitting at the desk. As always, an MP5 rested on the desk. Sami, it appeared, bought these by the tonne as well as the Brownings. We exchanged greetings in Thai and I entered Sami’s office.
That damn Samurai warrior statue, as with its twin back in Bangkok, made my heart lurch. It really was so fucking realistic. I skirted around the other end of the desk, keeping as far away from it as I could. Logic told me to treat it as some sort of oversized transformer or game piece.
That really didn’t work. Something about that ancient blade with its razor edge negated that theory. Any kid’s toy with that damn thing attached was a weapon of war in any language. Seated behind the desk, I ran through my options. Who should I summon first? My initial thought was that I had to start at the beginning. Kaylin had taken Sami’s call and delayed for two hours before acting on it. Or at least appearing to act upon it.
There was an intercom consul in the drawer to the right of the desk. Various locations were named, as were individuals. I pressed the button bearing the label “Kaylin”, presuming it was connected to her room. There was a long delay before a sleepy voice answered. I glanced at my watch. It was 09:05. I told her I needed to see her in Sami’s office and hung up.
Five minutes after the call, the housekeeper appeared. She was dishevelled. Her hair was a hairdresser’s nightmare. She was wearing a bathrobe and slippers. Her face was puffy. It looked as if she had slept in her makeup. She didn’t look so great this morning.
“Sorry to wake you,” I said cheerfully as she came up to the desk. “Please sit down.” She sat with a flash of shapely legs. Was she working me before she even knew what I wanted?
“It’s okay. Today is my day off.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.”
“You weren’t to know. What did you want to see me about?”
I smiled my meat-eating smile and gave her the stare. It generally worked on people, but on her, I don’t think so. She matched me stare for stare.
“When Mr Somsak phoned you from Thailand when Simone died, you waited almost two hours before phoning the funeral home. Why so long?” Now the housekeeper blinked and I saw a flash of fear or panic cross her features.
“I was shocked. I went and was sick,” she said. “I was upset, very upset. I knew Simone well. She was a friend.”
“Okay,” I conceded. “How did you choose the funeral home? Mr Somsak didn’t tell you to use Sacred Dream.”
“I didn’t choose the funeral home. I was so upset, I asked Paul to do as Mr Somsak asked. He phoned the funeral people, not me.” Kaylin started crying. There was a box of tissues on a side table. I reached over and retrieved it, placing it on the desk in front of her. The cynic in me well recognised that tears are a woman’s number-two defence after attack. Kaylin had gone straight there, side-stepping the former. Maybe she was telling the truth.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly. “I have to ask the questions because there are too many unanswered ones out there. Go and enjoy the rest of your day off.” I know it sounded absurd, but what else could I say?
Kaylin stood, her face buried in tissues. Again there was a flash of legs and then she was gone. She used her legs well. The movement had been far from accidental. Despite seeming to be so upset, she was in control.
“That went fucking well,” I muttered sarcastically to myself as I selected the button on the intercom for Paul. If Kaylin was telling the truth, Paul was very much in the hot seat. He was at the office door within a matter of seconds. Dressed in a pair of dark trousers, white shirt and tie, he looked every inch the accountant he was, and nothing like the traitor he might indeed be. Again, I didn’t beat about the proverbial bush.
“Were you at Simone’s funeral?” I asked. Above all else, I wanted to know the answer to that question.
“I was at the cathedral service,” he replied, “but Mr Somsak asked me to stay here rather than go to the cemetery. There was an important call he was expecting and he asked that I be here for that.”
That sounded perfectly logical and, of course, it would be easy to verify, so I moved on. I could see Paul’s eyes moving between my face and the butt of the automatic under my arm. He was used to taking people down with a balance sheet and not a gun, I guess.
“The night Sami phoned with the news of Simone’s death, Kaylin took the call. What happened then?”
“She went off to her room in tears. I asked if there was anything I could do, if there were any instructions from Mr Somsak, but she just rushed into her room. She didn’t come out for maybe an hour and a half. I knocked several times but she didn’t open the door.”
“When she did come out, what happened?”
“She gave me a piece of paper with the phone number for the funeral parlour on it and asked me to contact them. She said that Mr Somsak had asked that we use these people. She said she would make arrangements for Simone’s sister to fly in if I would make the funeral arrangements.”
“So you phoned Sacred Dream Funeral Home?”
“Yes; and they did the rest.”
“Thank you, Paul,” I said standing. Now I knew exactly who the traitor was. I quickly left the office with the bewildered accountant trailing in my wake.
“Don’t let Kaylin leave,” I snapped at Quong as I hit the foyer.
“She’s just gone!”
“Shit!” I fished out my key and stabbed the elevator button. I pulled the Browning out of the shoulder holster and lobbed it to Quong.
“How long ago?”
“Two minutes.”
“Has she got a car?” I directed the question at Paul, who was standing there like a spare prick at a wedding.
“No,” he replied, “she can’t drive.”
“Small mercies,” I snarled, launching myself into the lift, fitting the key and sending the car down to the ground foyer.
Kaylin was running for her life and she knew it. She had double-crossed Sami Somsak and now his killer friend was on her tail. She crossed the apartment foyer at a run. All she carried was one small bag. A tracksuit had replaced her dressing gown and her slippers had been traded for sneakers, but her hair was still a wild mess.
“My mother is ill,” she called, sobbing to Quong who was watching her from his desk. “She may die.” Kaylin entered the elevator with her key and feverishly fumbled to insert it. Eventually her trembling fingers guided it home. She stabbed the button for the foyer and breathed a long sigh of relief as the car started towards the ground.
The doorman barely had time to open the large double doors before the housekeeper was through and out onto the street. She started running down the footpath, frantically looking for a cab. Rush hour was over, but the traffic was still heavy.
Nothing was supposed to have gone this way. Sami Somsak and his immediate people were supposed to be dead. She, they, had never anticipated that the plot on his life would fail or that someone would come looking for answers. Thomas Lu had insisted she remain at Somsak’s apartment and she had agreed because the rewards were great. That had been a huge mistake.
There was a cab. She waved, but it pulled up short and another woman got in. Kaylin screamed in anguish. She looked back up the street and then she saw the figure in black arrive on the footpath. He turned first the other way and now towards her, and he started running.
Another taxi pulled up. The housekeeper threw herself into it. “Changi Village,” she gasped. It was the first thing that came to mind, probably because it was as far away from here as she could get. The taxi pulled away from the kerb and swept past the running man, who partially stepped onto the road to block it. The driver swerved and cursed, but carried on.
Kaylin turned in her seat. The last thing she saw was the man in black holding out one hand, the index finger extended pointing directly at her face, his thumb raised for a moment and then it snapped down.
“Oh my God,” she whimpered. She knew that if she and the man in black ever met again, she was dead.
44
I arrived back in the
penthouse like a tornado. I was fuming. I should have instructed Quong not to let anyone leave. Of course, the traitor could have been him in the first place, and that would have alerted him—a semi-automatic pistol is no match for an MP5.
I retrieved my Browning and holstered it as I carried on into the apartment. The staff rooms were to the left of the main corridor. I stormed down the side passage. It wasn’t hard to spot Kaylin’s room. The door was wide open. One of her slippers was on the floor in the doorway.
Inside, her room looked as if a hurricane had blown it apart. I was in a force ten mood. So close, yet so damned far!
There were clothes scattered all around the room, but worse still were the pictures on the wall—they would have made a madam blush. Hard-core, total hard-core, large photographs of men on men, women on women and everything in between. There was a big flat screen television with DVD player and sound system. There was an image on the screen, but the sound had been turned off.
As I watched, I saw Kaylin’s image fill the screen, all of her, every inch, in full living colour. She and her three playmates. Two males and another female were indulging themselves in a good old-fashioned orgy.
I ignored the moving pictures and started looking for any paperwork, a cellphone, anything that could help track her down when she landed, wherever she landed. It appeared Kaylin had a fetish, or maybe several. Drawers revealed a range of sexual appliances that could have stocked a full-fledged sex supermarket. I had absolutely no idea what the hell some of them were used for.
There was no diary, no address book, no cellphone, nothing but hundreds of DVDs and sexual playthings. The big walk-in wardrobe was full of clothes, shoes, boots and costumes. From Heidi to Catwoman with crotchless latex trousers, they were all there along with whips and restraints and every other bell and whistle you could think of.