Shadow Wave

by Robert Muchamore

  ‘Do you make much money?’ Helena asked.

  ‘I do OK,’ Aizat shrugged. ‘But I had to borrow to buy the new boat, and people who lend to the likes of me charge a steep rate of interest.’

  As Aizat said this, a boy and girl came inside. They were a little older than Aizat and looked so alike that they were obviously brother and sister.

  ‘Me, Abdul and Noor make up the campaign committee,’ Aizat explained, as Helena shook their hands and smiled.

  ‘So what sort of things have you been doing?’ Helena asked.

  ‘It’s hard because we’re stuck out here in the north-west,’ Noor told her. ‘But I spent some time in the south of the island giving out leaflets and trying to speak with as many influential people as possible. I also met with charity workers and non-government organisations.’

  ‘What sort of response have you had?’ Helena asked.

  Noor shrugged. ‘Lots of people are supportive when you speak with them, but there’s a real sense of hopelessness.’

  Helena nodded solemnly in agreement. ‘Tourism is the biggest industry in the world. We’re just tiny groups, fighting against companies with billions of dollars. It can be frustrating, but all you can do is keep chipping away at people’s consciences.

  ‘Right now fewer than one person in a thousand thinks about people like you being kicked off their land to build a hotel, or the damage that gets done to the environment when they go on holiday. But if we keep plugging away, maybe that will go up to one person in a hundred, or even one in ten. And when you get to that stage, companies and governments have to pay attention because it becomes too costly not to.’

  Aizat, Noor and Abdul all nodded in agreement.

  ‘It can be depressing because it takes so long,’ Abdul said sincerely. ‘But my ancestors lived in our village for hundreds of years. Now all that’s left are stumps of wood.’

  ‘So do you have any kind of campaign strategy?’ Helena asked.

  Aizat nodded. ‘We’re concentrating on Tan Abdullah. He’s been governor of this island since before I was born. But rumour has it, he’s up for a government minister’s job in Kuala Lumpur and he wants his oldest son to replace him as governor back here.’

  ‘Anything that makes Tan look bad right now could stop him getting the government job,’ Noor explained. ‘So we’re trying to cause as much of a stink as possible, harassing him at public appearances and that sort of thing.’

  ‘He’s coming here on Saturday for the opening dinner,’ Helena said.

  Noor nodded enthusiastically. ‘There are supposed to be celebrities, so we’re expecting media coverage. We’re working on a plan to cause some kind of disruption at the event.’

  Helena smiled. ‘Sounds good, but don’t be too forceful. As soon as you try anything extreme, your enemies start branding you as terrorists and you lose all your popular support.’

  ‘We know,’ Aizat nodded. ‘But it’s not often that Tan Abdullah makes it out here and brings the press with him, so we’ve got to make the most of it.’

  A lad of about twelve leaned in the doorway and said something to Aizat in Malay. Aizat thanked the boy, gave him some elaborate instructions and then explained in English for Helena’s benefit.

  ‘It looks like the big boss sent someone up from the hotel to follow us.’

  ‘Damn,’ Helena said nervously.

  She’d called in a favour from one of her oldest friends to get the Regency Plaza assignment, and if word got back to the newspaper in London that she was spurning the luxury hotel and offending advertisers by speaking to local activists, her journalism career would be down the pan and her friend would be in trouble too.

  ‘Let’s go mess with the man,’ Aizat said, as he stood up and walked barefoot into the mud. ‘Come on, Helena.’

  Helena sighed as she put on her almost-new Asics running shoes which were now flooded with muddy water. Aizat led her between the lines of huts towards a stocky man in a blue shirt and shorts, skulking around close to a stinking toilet block.

  ‘Are you following us?’ Aizat asked, sticking to English for Helena’s benefit.

  The man smiled dopily and shrugged. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Some people have short memories,’ Aizat said accusingly. ‘You worked for Mrs Leung at the Starfish, didn’t you? You got kicked out of your village same as the rest of us, didn’t you? And now you do their dirty work!’

  The guard tutted and flicked his hand towards Aizat, as if he was swatting a fly.

  ‘You’re a stupid little kid,’ he grunted. ‘What do you know about anything? Mrs Leung told the people at Regency Plaza that I was a good man and they fixed me up with the job when she sold the Starfish. I’ve got five young kids and two old ladies to feed.’

  Helena understood the guard’s position, but Aizat stayed angry. ‘You have no dignity,’ he hissed. ‘You could move to the mainland like everyone else. You don’t have to work for Tan Abdullah.’

  A car horn sounded a hundred metres away, just beyond the first row of huts. The guard spun around as the moonlight silhouetted the boy who’d spoken to Aizat, spattering through the mud at full pelt. This was followed by the sounds of a car freewheeling down the sloped road that led back to the beach. The guard swore violently in Malay, before charging after it.

  Helena looked at Aizat. ‘That sort of thing makes enemies for no good reason,’ she warned.

  ‘Nothing to do with me,’ Aizat grinned. ‘I was standing right here when it happened.’

  The car was a small Suzuki four-wheel drive. The open rear had made it easy for the lad to climb inside, release the handbrake and then push it off down the hill with the help of a mate.

  People emerged from their huts to see what the guard was swearing about as his vehicle picked up speed. At the first bend, the little Suzuki clattered noisily off the road, crunching through tangled undergrowth before thudding against a tree trunk and finally rolling on to its side.

  Dozens of kids and adults scrambled down the road to view the wreckage. The guard led the way, but when he stopped a couple of boys in their early teens grabbed rocks and threw them at him.

  ‘Don’t spy on us,’ they shouted. ‘Stay out of here or you’re dead.’

  But the resettlement camp’s residents were divided. Some bore a grudge, but almost as many had swallowed their pride and now worked inside the Regency Plaza, or as construction workers on other Tan Abdullah projects along the coast.

  Helena shuddered with fright as a ball of orange flame lit up the jungle. She couldn’t tell if the little Suzuki’s petrol tank had ignited accidentally or deliberately, but the crowd was getting nastier and she was scared that the police would arrive and start asking questions.

  The journalist in Helena wanted to stick around and take photos, but a mix of fear and shock sent her storming rapidly downhill towards the beach.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Aizat asked, as he chased after her.

  ‘I’m going back to my hotel,’ she said nervously. ‘I’ll be fine.’

  ‘You don’t want to be out here after dark,’ Aizat said. ‘There’s some dodgy people around since the hotel opened.’

  Helena said no more as her long legs strode briskly, with Aizat behind struggling to keep up. It was pitch dark with the canopy of trees hanging over both sides of the narrow trail and she had to dive for cover when a Toyota swept past at high speed.

  It was different at the bottom of the hill, where the trees ended and artificial light shone from the hotel windows and a floodlit driving range. Instead of going directly towards the hotel, Helena crossed the beach and stood in the surf, washing the mud off her trainers.

  Aizat stopped behind her. ‘Are you mad at me?’ he asked.

  Helena turned, with a stiff expression and her long arms folded. ‘I don’t see what good it does us. Wrecking cars just makes people mad.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Aizat shrugged, as he moved closer to the water and let the incoming wave wash up over his own tra
iners. ‘Then again, if everyone who was angry like I am damaged something, or stole a few thousand dollars’ worth of property, places like the Regency Plaza wouldn’t exist. Why shouldn’t I fill a truck up with petrol drums and drive the bastard straight into the Regency Plaza reception?’

  ‘Because you’d either get burned to death or spend the rest of your life in prison,’ Helena said bitterly. ‘You’d probably take half a dozen low-paid hotel staff with you. The insurance company would pay to rebuild the reception and Tan Abdullah wouldn’t miss a beat.’

  ‘Probably,’ Aizat said, before erupting in a dry laugh. ‘But what good have all your articles and campaigns ever done? Have you ever actually achieved anything, sitting in your office typing words?’

  Helena threw up her hands with frustration as Aizat stepped closer to her.

  ‘What do I know?’ she shouted. ‘Bugger it, go and kill yourself. Not that you need my permission anyway. I just came out here to try and help with your campaign. Maybe get you some publicity, but if you don’t want my help I’ll go back to my hotel. I can use the spa, take my stupid bloody golf lessons while some perv photographer leers at my arse, write my thousand-word puff piece for the travel supplement and forget all about this crazy shit.’

  ‘Has anyone ever told you that you look sexy when you’re angry?’ Aizat grinned.

  This comment threw Helena completely off her train of thought. ‘That is such an awful pick-up line,’ she said, laughing.

  ‘So what do you want to do?’ Aizat asked. ‘Are you going to help us or not? Isn’t that the whole reason you scammed this free trip off the newspaper?’

  Helena shrugged as she began strolling through the surf. ‘To be honest Aizat, I feel out of my depth. I came here to help some seventeen-year-old kid to kick-start his campaign, but you’re more sorted than I’ll ever be, with your little thieving scam, and kids looking out for spies.’

  ‘People have always said I’m mature,’ Aizat noted. ‘Didn’t have a lot of choice really. No parents and a seventy-year-old granny who’s a sweetheart, but also the kind of person who’ll give her last scrap of food to a stray dog and forget that she’s got two hungry kids coming home from school in an hour’s time.’

  ‘Actually,’ Helena said resolutely. ‘You asked me what I want to do. Well right now my head is spinning and the only thing I want to do is go back to my hotel room and get blitzed on all the free booze.’

  20. THREATS

  Helena opened one eye. She was hanging over the side of the king-sized bed with her legs tangled up in the duvet. Her head was pounding and her mouth tasted like sour milk.

  Someone was banging on the door. ‘Miss Bayliss?’

  ‘What?’ she shouted irritably. ‘You’ve got the wrong room. I didn’t order anything.’

  She wondered if it was the photographer, or the golf instructor, but the clock said it was nine and she wouldn’t have to endure that torture until noon.

  ‘It’s Michael Stephens, from Tourism Malaysia,’ the man explained. His accent was English public school. ‘Could I step into your room for a brief chat?’

  ‘I’m just having a … Hold on, let me put a robe on.’

  ‘No rush,’ Michael said calmly.

  Helena sat up in bed. The mirror on the wardrobe caught her long hair, horribly tangled. Her soaked trainers had left a dark stain on the brand-new carpet. The shower was running and Aizat’s clothes were strewn over the floor.

  She kicked his trainers under the bed, picked up his shorts and shirt and ran into the bathroom. It was a large space, with a jetted tub at one end and two sinks. Aizat was blasting himself in the shower cubicle at the far end.

  ‘Morning!’ he said cheerfully as he opened the shower door. ‘Are you coming in?’

  He had the same triumphant morning-after expression as every other man Helena had ever slept with. She dumped his clothes on the slate floor, reached into the shower and shut off the water.

  ‘What the hell?’ Aizat protested, as streams of foam rolled down his chest.

  ‘You need to be quiet,’ she warned. ‘It’s a guy from Tourism Malaysia and he can’t know you’re here.’

  She closed the bathroom door, hurriedly pulled on the hotel robe and rushed across the room to let Michael inside.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, as she faked a yawn. ‘Jetlag and I’m a heavy sleeper. Did I miss something?’

  Michael was a smoothie, dressed in a tailored linen suit and mirror-shined shoes. ‘I wanted a quick word,’ he said, as he glanced disapprovingly at the clothes, beer cans and half-drunk wine bottles strewn across the room. ‘Out on the balcony perhaps?’

  ‘Of course,’ Helena said.

  She felt like a naughty little girl who was about to be told off as Michael settled into a chair on the balcony.

  ‘Is everything OK?’ Michael began.

  ‘It’s good,’ Helena agreed. ‘A really beautiful place.’

  ‘You went up to the resettlement camp with one of the locals,’ Michael said. ‘The security office was concerned for your safety.’

  Helena realised this was going to be one of those conversations where nobody said what they really meant. Michael knew that she’d met with local activists who’d then trashed a car belonging to the hotel spy.

  ‘He seemed like a nice guy,’ Helena said. ‘I went out for a jog. We got chatting. He invited me up to his home. I suppose that’s a risk for a girl on her own in a strange place, but—’

  Michael took some folded papers from the pocket of his suit. They were printouts of articles she’d written for the Guilt Trips website.

  ‘Are you the same Helena Bayliss who wrote these?’ Michael asked. ‘Because to be frank, Tourism Malaysia doesn’t have a good relationship with this organisation.’

  Helena combed her fingers through her hair and tried to laugh it off. ‘I finished university less than a year ago. I’m trying to get a full-time job on a newspaper. A friend of mine recommended that I work for Guilt Trips as a way of adding to my CV. They pay for each article. Not a lot, but I’ve got rent and twenty grand of student debts. The big newspapers aren’t exactly battering down my door, so I take whatever work I can get.’

  ‘I see,’ Michael said suspiciously. ‘And it’s travel journalism that you want to work in?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Helena agreed.

  Michael gave a patronising wag of his finger. ‘It’s a small field,’ he warned. ‘Everyone knows everyone else. Your article must have been commissioned by Jane Baverstock.’

  ‘She’s my editor on this piece,’ Helena nodded.

  ‘Great lady,’ Michael smiled. ‘Jane and I go a long way back. We worked together for the New Zealand tourist board for a number of years. She’s a good contact to have if you want to get on as a travel journalist. You want to keep on the right side of her.’

  Helena understood that Michael was making a veiled threat: if her article mentioned displaced villagers, his old pal Jane Baverstock wouldn’t publish it.

  ‘That’s why I’m really excited about doing this piece on the Regency Plaza,’ Helena said, as she pumped herself with false enthusiasm. ‘Up to now I’ve done all serious stuff. But this article, with the golf lesson angle, gives me a chance to show that I write lighter things as well.’

  To Helena’s relief, Michael seemed to swallow this line and his tone became warmer. ‘So you won’t be writing about Langkawi for Guilt Trips?’ he asked.

  Helena laughed the suggestion off. ‘I’ll be sticking to my brief from the newspaper.’

  ‘Sensible,’ Michael said stiffly. ‘And you know, there are a few whingers up in those jungle settlements, but most now earn good money working in the tourist industry and the Malaysian government has put a lot of money into their welfare. They’ve got clean water and electricity. Education, health programmes. None of that could happen without the money that tourism brings.’

  Helena sighed with relief as Michael left the room. She wasn’t sure if he’d believed everything she said, but
she reckoned the wannabee journalist act had at least bought some breathing space.

  As she settled on the bed, feeling sick and headachy, Aizat emerged naked from the bathroom.

  ‘Did that dickhead say health programmes?’ he spluttered angrily. ‘My grandma nearly died up there. Half the kids in the resettlement camp had diarrhoea and vomiting. We’ve had no doctor and no plumber to look at our drains. In the end a group of relatives on the mainland clubbed together and paid a doctor to come out. I know because I brought him in my boat and picked up our medicines on the mainland when I brought him back.’

  But Helena wasn’t listening. The trip wasn’t going the way she’d planned and she was in a state.

  She’d imagined that she’d arrive, sneak off to meet Aizat and use her experience of campaigning for Guilt Trips to enthuse Aizat’s followers and revitalise their campaign. She’d then take her golf lessons and further her newspaper career by writing her bland travel supplement article and head home having accomplished two major goals.

  Instead, she’d been rumbled by hotel security within minutes of stepping outside and found that the local campaigners had their own radical ideas. To make everything completely perfect, she’d got hopelessly drunk and slept with a seventeen-year-old.

  The only good thing was that she was a long way from home and hopefully nobody who mattered would ever get to hear about it.

  21. SWING

  Over the next two days Helena took three golf lessons, made some useful contacts while dining and drinking with fellow journalists and tried not to feel guilty as she indulged in spa treatments, whirlpool baths and a speedboat tour around the island.

  Her relationship with Aizat was awkward. He was cute, but she wasn’t going to sleep with him again. They exchanged a few texts and discussed meeting up one more time to talk about campaign strategies, but she didn’t speak properly to Aizat until he called her mobile at half-six on Saturday evening.

  She was in her room, hair wrapped in a towel and trying to pick an outfit for the official hotel opening.

  ‘We need your help to get us into the hotel,’ Aizat explained.