Singapore Sling Shot

by Andrew Grant

  Whether it was the sedatives still at work in his system, combined with his distraction at trying to recall his gate combination, or not, Stanley Loh did not register the alien vehicle. He did not recognise it as the same van that had been parked in the Silver Sands Hotel car park.

  On legs that were still a little unsteady, and with the grinding pain in his right hip, dulled only slightly by the painkillers he had been given, Stanley Loh walked through the double gate. The heavy metal leaves automatically clanged shut behind him as he started down the driveway.

  The wide asphalt vehicle access curved away down the gentle slope to the four-car garage set between the house and the servant’s quarters beyond. Rather than follow the driveway, Loh chose the more direct route. He started down the path that ran through the beautifully tended shrubs and flowers of the formal garden.

  He was part way down the concrete path when he saw the boot lying in a bed of flowers. Loh frowned. The boot was made of green rubber. It was the sort of boot that his gardener Cheah Kah Hin usually wore. Moving further down the pathway, he then saw Cheah. The old man, with one foot bare and one wearing a green rubber boot, was lying on his back behind a small hedge.

  Loh’s first thought was that perhaps his gardener had succumbed to a heart attack. But as he stooped stiffly over the body, he saw a trickle of blood that had escaped from the black hole between the old man’s eyes. He knew this had been no heart attack.

  “Of course it’s not a heart attack,” Loh snarled to himself as he desperately tried to shake off the drug-induced fog he had been wallowing in. “My family!” He said aloud as he started towards the house at a run. His tired and painful limbs were uncoordinated from the strong sedatives and further unbalanced by the pure terror that had begun to well up inside him.

  Loh was almost at the steps leading to the patio when he heard a noise. It was not something he could identify. There were four distinct sounds, spaced a fraction of a second apart. They were loud but at the same time they were muffled and indistinct. Loh shook his head in denial. No matter what caused the unfamiliar noise, he knew he must see to his family.

  Stanley Loh crossed the patio and pressed his face against the glass of the French doors. He shaded the window with his hand so he could see into the room beyond. Helen, his wife, was sitting on one of the couches. Beside her was Arthur, their son, and next to Arthur sat Amy, their daughter. All three of them had their mouths covered by shiny silver tape. Their hands and feet were also taped.

  There was a noise to Loh’s left. A man was coming onto the terrace walking from the direction of the staff bungalow. This was one of the pair from the surrender room. This was the man who had searched him. The man with the cold eyes!

  The gunman was carrying an automatic pistol and attached to the barrel was a long fat tube. Stanley Loh had seen similar guns in dozens of movies. Drugged state or not, he knew its purpose and he knew now what had caused the muffled sounds he had just heard. Along with Cheah, the gardener, there were four other staff living on the estate. They were, in all probability, dead, Loh knew this without a doubt. To kill one or five, it made no difference to men like this.

  The gunman saw Loh standing at the French doors. He smiled and raised his gun as the door opened. Stanley Loh had been expected.

  The man in the doorway was Thomas Lu.

  Tall for a Singaporean, Lu was also skeletally thin. As always, including when he and Loh had met just hours before, he was dressed in his uniform, comprising a sober black suit with a crisp white shirt and a dark tie. With his artificially darkened hair worn overlong at the back, and with his high cheekbones, Lu, who at all times kept his eyes hidden behind dark-tinted glasses, was known in Singapore business circles as The Undertaker. He had a reputation for sheer ruthlessness, but until today that ruthlessness had been more by reputation than reality to Stanley Loh. Now he was about to live or die by that reality.

  “So pleased you could drop in, Stanley,” Lu said as he stepped aside to allow his gunman to usher Loh into his own home. The eyes of the three people most dear to Stanley Loh were wide and totally terrified. The eyes silently implored him to save them. But Loh knew he would die here with them. He had no doubt that would be the way it was going to happen.

  “Now, Stanley, you know what I need. Tell me where to find it and you and your family can live happily ever after.” Lu smiled as he spoke. However, the smile carried no warmth whatsoever. Loh knew that the eyes behind the dark glasses were as cold as the ice that was sliding down his spine.

  What Thomas Lu didn’t know was that Loh, having discovered the corpse of his gardener and heard the sounds of the other members of his staff being killed, knew that no matter what, he and his family would be killed. There was simply no way that Lu could let them live. Not now. The stakes were simply too big and blood had already been spilt.

  Loh knew he had one chance and one chance only to save his family. The gunman who had escorted him into the room was standing to his right, his weapon pointed at his captive’s belly. Lu was also holding an automatic loosely in his right hand. Its muzzle was directed at the richly polished parquet floor. There was a second gunman standing at the far end of the couch on which the Loh family were sitting. This man’s automatic was pointed at Helen.

  “I …” Loh stuttered. He swayed unsteadily on his feet, acting now. “I’ll tell you, please, just don’t hurt them.” Lu smiled in response as he watched the seemingly dazed and stricken man cave in. The Undertaker knew he had won and began to gloat.

  The gunman nearest Loh relaxed slightly; the old man swaying in front of him was finished. The muzzle of his gun drifted away from its target.

  The drugs in Stanley Loh’s system had been washed away by the surge of adrenaline that now coursed through him. Seeing his family sitting there awaiting their inevitable execution had given him a strength far beyond his physical limits.

  In his youth Loh had trained in kung fu. Now, as he staggered again, seemingly holding out a hand for support, he was the very picture of a man in great distress. The nearest gunman put out a hand to steady the stricken man. As he did so, Loh suddenly stepped into him. The hard heel of his left shoe ground into the gunman’s instep as the sword edge of his left hand connected with the man’s nose. Simultaneously, Loh’s right hand tore the gun from the man’s loosened grip.

  Unfortunately, Stanley Loh was unfamiliar with firearms. He fumbled with the weapon, almost dropping it. The gunman standing at the end of the couch, however, was very familiar with the weapon he held. He switched his aim from Helen Loh to her husband’s head.

  The last thing Stanley Loh heard before eternal blackness claimed him was the sound of Thomas Lu screaming “No!”

  3

  “Daniel, I need you.”

  “Where and when?”

  “Singapore, as soon as you can get there.”

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  “Use another identity. What’s good?”

  I had to think for a moment. I have a near photographic memory, which is a blessing at times and a curse at others, especially in the dark of a sleepless night when certain images come to haunt me.

  “Edward Davidson, Australian. Old Ed hasn’t seen the light of day for a year or two.”

  “I’m in Bangkok. It’ll take me two days to get there. Be a tourist. There’ll be a reservation at the Carlton under Davidson. Smoking or non-smoking?”

  “Smoking.”

  “Still killing yourself by degrees, my old friend?”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Do the innocent tourist thing. Get a pair of those stupid shorts, a flowery shirt, a camera and a hat.”

  “Fucking thanks.”

  “Just don’t draw any attention to yourself.”

  “Dressed like that people will think I’m Jo Jo the fucking clown,” I grumbled. Sami almost chuckled.

  “I’ll see you in a day or so. By the way, get tomorrow’s Straits Times and everything will become clear. Stanley Loh was my half-br
other. Ciao!”

  “Ciao!” I responded as the phone went dead.

  You’re probably wondering why I didn’t ask Sami what it was all about. That’s the thing in our relationship. Like the musketeers, Sami Somsak and I are there for each other. We always have been and always will be. He needed me and that was all I needed to know. I put my bourbon glass down on the bedside cabinet and lay back against my pillows.

  “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 o
n 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.