The doctor and I crouched to take a better look.
“What do you think?”
Thobhani shrugged. He licked his finger and touched a section, rubbing it back and forth. He looked at the tip and placed it in his mouth.
“Blood, I would say.”
I looked again at the marks and tried to make sense of them. The sky crackled and flashed and a second later the raindrops started.
“Numbers,” Cole shouted against the dying rumble. “It looks like the numbers two, two and one, to me.”
THREE
The rain lasted less than an hour and fresher air now blew off the sea. I stood outside the Georgian property in the government sector and knocked on the shiny black door.
The Malay butler always answered but never spoke to me. He just turned and I followed.
Secretary Coates was in his library-styled room. Although still early, the air was heavy with blue smoke from his cigar. Coates was sitting in his big leather armchair wearing his usual black suit and white, wing-collared shirt.
He was ex-army—Second World War—and it was rumoured he’d been in a special unit called Force 136, who had operated behind Japanese lines. He liked to talk but he’d never shared personal information with me; never talked of his past. I had come to think of him as a disapproving headmaster.
He had his false leg crossed over the other and made no move to stand or shake my hand. When he spoke, his fingers kept hold of his chunky cigar and I figured he was in a foul mood.
“The incident at Singorah.”
I had half expected him to ask how my wound was. After all, I’d been signed off work for another week, but Coates had a single-track mind. Allegedly it was the security of the island, but I knew there was a personal angle at play.
I said nothing and watched the smoke swirl between us.
“It was a bloody disaster,” he said.
“Yes, it was.”
“That’s not what I pay you for!” He had raised his voice and gripped the chair’s arms. “Tell me what happened.”
Of course, he would have received reports, but I humoured him anyway and recounted my version. I said that the police had been monitoring a group of Chinese for a week following a tip-off. One night, they were observed loading a truck and were followed to the airstrip. By the time I got there, the road out had been blocked and twenty police were stationed around the field. I joined the officer in charge.
As he updated me, the doors of the hangar rolled open and we could see a small aeroplane that someone identified as a Cessna. The Chinese were pushing it out manually and clearly intended it to get onto the runway before firing up the engine.
The smart move would have been to get them as they came out of the hangar. But they were out in the open before the OIC announced by megaphone that they were surrounded.
For a minute the gang froze and looked around. But it was too dark. Maybe they thought he was bluffing, but they started firing and heading back for cover. The police returned fire and it was chaos. Four cops were injured and may have been shot by their own men. I’m also sure that I wasn’t shot by a Chinese bullet. Eventually the shooting stopped and we found that all but one of the gang members were dead. Although he was mortally wounded.
They also forgot about the plane because, in the confusion, it took off and got away with the real evidence. The intelligence said that they had drugs in army crates. The police found no drugs, although they did find empty crates marked with “British Army” and “Medical Supplies”.
Coates said, “And the survivor denied he worked for Andrew Yipp.”
“That’s right, although the man died on the way to hospital.”
“It was our first big chance to catch Yipp red-handed and it was a balls-up.”
“But you just said—”
“That they weren’t working for Yipp?” Coates flung his cigar at the wall. “Of course they were working for him! You have one simple job and that’s to show Yipp for what he is. Eight months and bugger all to show for it.”
I shook my head. “With respect, sir. There has been no evidence.”
“You’ve found no evidence. That’s not the same thing, son.”
The truth was, the police hadn’t found any evidence either. Coates said Yipp was guilty of major criminal activity but what he really wanted was evidence of sedition.
I decided there was no point in arguing any further. After a minute’s silence, he sat back and seemed to calm down. The fan in the ceiling turned slowly.
“Tell me about the body on the causeway.”
“Naked man with no head or hands. Probably dumped there before the crossing closed last night, though the MO at the scene thought it could be up to two days old.”
“Signs of torture?”
“Hard to say. If you ignore the obvious, then no.”
“In the war, the Chinese Reds decapitated traitors. Did I tell you they fought on the same side as us back then? We always knew there’d be a problem after we beat the Japs, but during the occupation they harboured us and we trained them.” He laughed bitterly at the irony. “They were always on edge, always wary of betrayal. So they cut off heads and occasionally removed the heart and liver.”
“The body was intact. Although there was something painted on the back. Probably in blood.”
He considered this and frowned. “Like a message?”
“Maybe.”
“Chinese?”
“I don’t think so. Lieutenant Cole wondered if they were numbers—two, two, one.”
Coates thought for a moment and shook his head. “Any ideas?”
“None.”
“Why on the causeway?”
I had an idea but I waited for Coates to voice it himself. For the first time, I noticed that he had a glass of something—a stengah, watered-down whiskey most likely—on the table beside him. He took a sip before speaking.
“No man’s land,” he said. “Singapore control ends on the Woodlands side and Malaya control begins at the other end.”
“Army jurisdiction,” I said. This wasn’t a police matter. Not unless it could be linked to either Singapore or the mainland. In the meantime, 200 Provost Company were in charge.
“Quite,” Coates said, his voice dropping. “And I want you to stay close.”
Thinking about the case, I walked down to the river. Why was the body on the causeway? Was that relevant? Could he have been a traitor of some kind?
I crossed halfway on Cavenagh Bridge and watched the stream of bumboats and the larger tongkangs carrying wares out to waiting ships. There was often the pungent smell of fresh rubber but today I could also smell cinnamon.
Suddenly I felt hungry and realized that I’d missed breakfast. The thunderstorm had passed and I judged from the clouds that it wouldn’t rain for a while, so I continued across the pedestrian bridge to find somewhere for an early lunch.
That’s when I saw her.
Su Ling, Andrew Yipp’s translator cum personal assistant, was sitting in the passenger seat of a Bentley, watching me.
I must have hesitated, because she smiled and nodded.
Su Ling was Eurasian and easily the most attractive woman I had ever met. Her almond-shaped eyes were green and her skin almost golden. Her black hair was swirled atop her head and held with a silver needle that matched the trim on her red cheongsam.
“How are you?” she said, opening the door and stepping out.
“Still here, but I prefer the dry season.”
She flashed a smile and then glanced at my leg. “I heard you were injured. Is it better now?”
“Just a flesh wound.”
“Good.” She nodded towards the Bentley. “Have you got a few minutes?”
For a second I thought this was about me and her but then she clarified: “Mr Yipp would like to see you.”
FOUR
In 1952, the Cathay Building, with its sixteen floors and radio mast, was by far the tallest on the island. It was the only building to have air
-conditioning, and Andrew Yipp had his head office on the twelfth floor. Unlike other Chinese businessmen, Yipp enjoyed his high profile.
Su Ling and I travelled up in an elevator, the bellboy keeping his eyes averted the whole time.
As the doors opened and we stepped out onto the floor, the buzz of human activity stopped. The staff looked at me and then away again. All, that is, except for one. A man called Wang was standing in an office and glared at me through the glass. I knew he was Yipp’s henchman, his bad boy, a man known for his violence and aggression.
I gave a friendly wave and hoped it annoyed him.
Su Ling showed me into another room and said that she would let her boss know I was here.
I stepped over to the broad windows that faced south and took in the breathtaking view. A stone’s throw away was Fort Canning, the HQ for the British Army in the Far East. Beyond that I could see the jungled islands of Pulau Brani and Blakang Mati, the South China Sea gleaming in the sunlight that broke through the clouds.
The room itself was minimalist. I’d been in a similar room months before: a wooden tiled floor with a large silk rug. Along the edge of the rug were cushions. Yipp preferred others to be seated in his presence, and I wanted to show respect, so I selected a cushion facing the windows and waited.
Ten minutes later, he stepped silently into the room. The last time I’d seen him, Yipp had worn a silk suit and performed tai chi. Now he was the consummate, immaculately dressed oriental businessman in a suit. Although small and impossible to age, he had charisma, and fire in his dark eyes.
He nodded to me and sat opposite.
“I think you are hungry, Captain Carter.” He paused with a slight smile and I wondered how he knew. I suspected he’d had me followed. Probably knew where I’d been that morning and arranged for Su Ling to pick me up on the far side of the bridge.
He said, “Please join me for a meal.”
Without waiting for a response, he clapped his hands and a woman in a white silk gown floated in and placed a square black plate and chopsticks in front of us. She returned with an array of small dishes and I recognized prawn dim sum and a chicken dish.
A fine china cup and a teapot were also placed on the floor and the lady poured me green tea.
I waited. After a respectful pause, Yipp used the chopsticks to transfer a morsel to the square plate and then to his mouth. I copied the move and then we both took a sip of the tea.
“I am impressed, Captain,” Yipp finally said. “Not only have you mastered the chopsticks, but you show me great respect.”
I inclined my head. “Is not all warfare based on deception?”
Yipp clapped his hands with delight. “Sun Tzu’s The Art of War. Very good.”
I’d guessed the book had been a gift from Andrew Yipp and now I was certain of it. “Thank you for the book,” I said. “It’s helped while away the hours.”
“And how is your leg? I heard you were shot.”
“It’s an inconvenience.”
“Because you cannot run?”
“Hopefully I’ll be able to run again very soon.”
We ate in silence for a while. When he set down his chopsticks, I did likewise. He fixed me with his bright eyes and, as though our conversation had been uninterrupted, said, “I think you now understand why I have used you. It is through the information brought by the converted spy that we are able to seize the enemy.”
I shook his head. “With respect, I believe Sun Tzu was referring to enemy spies, rather than the enemy itself.”
“It is owing to his information, again, that we can cause the doomed spy to carry false tidings to the enemy,” Yipp quoted.
He was assessing me so I said nothing.
“You are of course correct, Captain. You were my doomed spy in Sun Tzu’s terms. The enemy, however, was not whom I feared it to be. And you are not my enemy now.”
I said, “I’m not?”
“No, but I fear that you think I am your enemy. You have been watching me. The police—your spies—have followed me. You have been watching my operations. For many months you have found nothing, could act on nothing, until a few nights ago. In fact, I am partially grateful for your intervention.”
I didn’t bother arguing that the police didn’t work for me, that they had a reporting line into Secretary Coates, my boss. I waited for him to explain.
He said, “The men who were killed at Singorah airfield were not acting under my orders, Captain. They were stealing from me. They were acting on their own, taking my drugs to Malaya.”
“So you don’t deny that they were your drugs?”
“No, I don’t deny that, Captain. I also don’t deny that they were in British Army medical crates. Fakes. Just like we use US-marked crates, we need to mask the contents for fear of theft. Deception again, you see, Captain.”
That triggered a question that I’d wondered about: “Were the drugs bound for a British Army base?”
Yipp held my gaze; dark brown eyes locked with my grey ones. The corners of his mouth curled up slightly. “How would I know where the drugs were headed, Captain? The men you shot were stealing from me. Where the drugs were headed, I cannot say.”
I nodded.
He said, “Who told you about the operation?”
“The police had an anonymous tip.” I was surprised that he hadn’t been aware of the activities of these men. After all, he admitted they worked for him.
As though reading my thoughts, he said, “I had a man at the airfield. I suspected what was happening.”
I said, “One of the policemen.”
He said nothing. It must have been a policeman since there was no one else there. If it were true, he was telling me he had someone on the inside of the police force.
There was no point in asking Yipp about him. Instead, I said, “And yet, you let the men continue. By one estimation they got away with hundreds of pounds’ worth of drugs.”
“You are right. But there was no need to act because you and your men had things under control. The skilful leader subdues the enemy’s troops without any fighting. In this case I relied on you to act for me.”
Unless it was all deliberate.
The businessman picked up his chopsticks and we ate again. The chicken was in a delicious black bean sauce.
“This is good food,” I said.
“This room…,” Yipp waved his empty hand at the walls. “This room was once the office for your Admiral Lord Mountbatten. After the war he made the building his headquarters of South East Asia. His role was to oversee the transition from military to civilian rule. He believed that the West could be the friends of Asian nationalists.”
He paused and I waited for him to finish.
“And yet the British continue to rule Singapore, the very place from which he worked. That is irony, as you British like to say.”
I didn’t comment. I knew that the governor had arranged elections and that a legislature had been appointed. However, I also knew that there was disquiet about who had a right to vote and the role of elected members. I suspected there was self-interest at play. Officials like Secretary Coates would do as much as necessary to prevent revolution, but no more. Internal security didn’t just mean protection against the communists in Malaya.
“Possibly you have no opinion or you keep your views to yourself. Either way, you are very wise, Captain Carter.” He paused for effect before adding: “This should not be personal.”
I took a sip of tea and waited a respectful time before changing the subject.
“Do the numbers two, two, one mean anything?”
“Why do you ask?”
“The body at Woodlands Crossing had what looked like numbers on its back.”
His eyes didn’t stray from mine, and if he was thinking, he masked it well. After a few beats he replied, “They do not mean anything to me.”
“The body was decapitated. Is that something that Chinese communists would do to traitors?”
“During th
e occupation there were communist groups called ‘mobile squads’. They murdered thousands of people suspected of collaborating with the Japanese, however I never heard of them removing heads. That was more likely to be the Kempeitai.”
“I’ve heard of them.”
He smiled. “As an ex-military policeman, I expect you have. They were the Japanese equivalent, although they had more sweeping powers.” He paused for a moment and I wondered if he was remembering an incident. “They decapitated. They would also stick the head on a pole to deter others.”
“And leaving decapitated remains?”
“As a consequence, of course. But it sounds like you need to find the head.”
The silent woman came in and whispered into his ear.
“I’m afraid my next meeting has arrived. Thank you for visiting me.” He stood and surprised me by bowing low to show respect. “I hope you do find the head. And please continue to study Sun Tzu. Choose your battles carefully, Captain. Only fight the battles that you can win.”
I returned his bow.
As he was about to leave the room, he hesitated and turned back to me. “Please remember that we need not be enemies.”
FIVE
Su Ling accompanied me to the ground floor. We didn’t speak and stood side by side. A couple of times her hand brushed against me. I wondered if it had been deliberate, and in the elevator she stood closer than before. Her ylang-ylang perfume reminded me of the night we’d spent in each other’s arms, and the thought of her quickened my heart.
On the ground floor was the biggest cinema on the island. I knew nothing about the latest film but it starred Gregory Peck and Ann Blyth. A romance, I guessed from the poster. Not my kind of film.
My mouth was a little dry as I pointed to the advertisement. “Fancy an evening…”
The look on her face stopped me. At first she just regarded me. The room was silent except for the rush of blood in my ears.
I said, “Just the cinema. That’s all…”
Singapore Girl: An edge of your seat thriller that will have you hooked (An Ash Carter Thriller Book 2) Page 2