Singapore Sling Shot

by Andrew Grant

  It was only 18:30 when I left my room. I couldn’t take it any more. I went for a quiet stroll just to try and keep the butterflies at bay. That’s the thing. In my former job, anyone on the outside looking in saw a cool, calm and collected Daniel Swann about to go nonchalantly into battle. It might have seemed that way on the outside, but underneath it was always the same sheer hell. The stomach churning and the nerves wound as tight as guitar strings. The calm was and still is all an act. I sweat bullets at times like these.

  Eventually, having strolled along the river, I found myself at Raffles Place at the appointed hour. I went down to the MRT and made the one-stop journey to Marina Bay. It was 19:35 when I came topside.

  The Marina Bay MRT is set in parklands and there were few people around at this time of evening. A hundred metres away I could see a light-coloured Mercedes parked on Station Road. I made my way towards it. I didn’t recognise the man in the driver’s seat, but Sami was in the back. No sooner was I in my seat than we are moving.

  The boat was an ordinary-looking fishing trawler about fifty feet long. It was a far cry from the super-fast speedboats Sami uses out in the Gulf of Thailand. The plan here was simply to blend in with everything else afloat around Sentosa island and the inner basin. There were only four of us onboard: me, Sami, the skipper and a deckhand. I wasn’t introduced and they didn’t exhibit the slightest curiosity in what we were doing or my role in it. No doubt these were more of Sami’s people. People used to doing exactly as they were told.

  The outfit I changed into was a black skin suit. It wasn’t a true wetsuit and it wasn’t made of neoprene. This was a light, breathable space-age fabric that supposedly doesn’t retain water but keeps the body heat in when in water and under extreme conditions. Under the suit I just had on a pair of briefs. There was no need for fins. I had rubberised dive socks on to protect my feet when I came ashore. There was a pair of trainers in the waterproof bag I’d be wearing when I hit the water. The sack also contained my communications headset, a flashlight and a nine-millimetre Browning Hi Power along with a shoulder holster. The Fairbairn Sykes clone I already had in a sheath on my belt.

  I’d left my stiletto behind in Hong Kong, but the Fairbairn Sykes is as good a fighting knife as was ever made. As a final commando touch, I blacked out my face using greasy makeup. If I was caught on camera I didn’t want the real me revealed. Plus, for creeping around in the dark, a black face is definitely de rigueur.

  In the carry sack I also had a waterproof vinyl camera bag for the digital recorder. To drown the thing would not be desirable, especially given the cost in lives to date and the effort we were putting into recovering it.

  We’d boarded the fishing boat at Tuas, on the far side of Jurong Island, the huge fuel refinery. Sentosa is only a few kilometres to the east. The night was a blaze of lights from the refinery and the tankers docked there or moored, waiting their turn to load or unload their precious cargo. The hulking sea monsters were everywhere. Each one was lit like a Christmas tree.

  “All that energy being burned,” Sami said as he came to stand beside me. “We are wasteful creatures.”

  “You’re philosophical tonight,” I replied, wondering what had brought this particular train of thought into play. Sami nodded.

  “Wasted lives, Daniel. I can’t help thinking of Stanley and how it all could have been avoided.” He paused. “Now I’m asking you to risk your life in an attempt to right it. I’m not sure I should have done that.”

  “Stop the bull, Sami. I’m here and I’m doing it. I’m a friend and as you so convincingly put it to me, I’m the best man for the job.”

  “I know.”

  “Right, now I need to crap!” I looked around for anything resembling a toilet. Maybe I was going to have to hang my arse out over the stern? Instead, Sami pointed to a tiny, cupboard-sized door behind the trawler’s bridge area. I crossed the deck and pulled the protesting hatch open.

  The toilet was smaller than a damn wardrobe and the bowl had no seat. There was, however, a roll of paper hanging from a wire. The light didn’t work, so in the end I left the door open—modesty has never been my strong point. My gut was water!

  Ten minutes later we were approaching the narrow neck between Sentosa and the mainland. It was a few minutes to midnight.

  “Labrador Park.” Sami pointed to the mainland spur that was running into the sea opposite Fort Siloso. “There are the remains of another fort there.” Sami leaned into the cockpit and said something to the man at the wheel. “Fort Pasir Panjang,” he added when he turned back to me.

  “Thanks for the history lesson,” I muttered. My gut was still churning although there was now nothing in it. I was tense and Sami knew it.

  “Just trying to distract you.”

  “I know. I just want to get moving.”

  “Any minute now.” Sami ducked back into the cabin for more words with the skipper while I sucked in big gulps of air and settled the hood of my skin suit in place. I pulled on a pair of swim goggles and I was as ready as I was ever going to be. Let’s get the game under way, I thought.

  Apart from the reflected light of the city and ships on the water, Sentosa, from the angle we were approaching, gave nothing back. I could see a few dim lights down towards the neck and the construction lights where the new casino and other parts of the new complex were being built beside the bridge. From this angle, the island was just a dark mass.

  The boat slowed. Sami came back out on deck.

  “He’ll nose us in a bit further. The tide is running out, so we’ll go past the target and you can let it carry you back.” As he spoke, he put on a pair of night-vision glasses. Sami hunched behind the cabin bulkhead to cut out as much light as he could from the cabin and the city behind us. I stood waiting as he scanned the island shoreline for a few seconds. Then he pointed.

  “There!”

  I squatted beside my friend and followed the line of his arm. I couldn’t see anything but for the black silhouette of Sentosa framed against the glow of the hundreds of ships anchored beyond it. The boat was creeping closer to the island and finally I could see a faint line of phosphorescence where the water foamed on the rocks of the shore, but that was it.

  “We’re forty metres off the rocks,” Sami said. He was still pointing, but now the direction he was indicating was several degrees back towards the boat’s stern. I momentarily glimpsed a structure against the rocks and jungle. That was it. I had my point to aim for.

  “Okay. I’m away.”

  “Good luck, Daniel. Watch your neck!”

  “Always.”

  I took four big paces and levered myself off the low railing, throwing myself as far from the boat as possible to get clear of the propellers. I held my swim goggles in place with both hands as I landed feet first and sank.

  The water was surprisingly cool. My momentum carried me under a metre or two and then I was drifting back towards the surface. I could feel the pull of the outgoing tide grabbing at me. It wasn’t fierce, but things can be deceiving. When my head broke the surface of the water, I managed to quickly orientate myself and started swimming for the island, keeping the city lights behind me.

  I began swimming breaststroke, but when I realised that I was drifting relentlessly towards the harbour entrance, I switched to the basic Australian crawl. I’m a strong swimmer, but because I’m out of condition I made hard work of what was a very short swim. I was still crabbing across the current when eventually my hands touched rock. I dropped my goggles, leaving them hanging around my neck as I started picking my way through the slick rocks and tangles of weed towards the shore.

  My night vision was growing better. The lights from the oil refinery in the distance showed me a hard edge in silhouette away to my right. I made my way towards it and the darkness slowly gave up one secret at least. There was a ramp and landing stage with a small pillbox behind it. Beyond that again was a concrete pathway that pushed back into the dark under the cliff face.

  I cl
imbed up onto the landing. The concrete was covered with weed and the outgoing tide had left it as slick as ice, so I stayed on my hands and knees and crawled up the ramp until I got onto the dry surface. I looked back towards Sami’s boat. Big mistake, of course, because in an instant the night vision I had been cultivating was blown away by the glare of a million city lights. I cursed, but I did make out Sami’s boat as it continued on up towards the Sentosa bridge. The plan was that they would stooge around up that way until I could collect the recorder, then they would come back at a run. My head-mounted flashlight would guide them to me in the water. Simple plan.

  Simple plan, my brain repeated as I turned back to the task in hand. I hate that phrase. I opened the waterproofed bag and firstly got into my shoulder harness. I’d checked the gun on the boat, but I checked it again. There were thirteen rounds in the magazine and one in the breech. If I need any more, I’d be out of luck. Singapore is not the place to start a gun battle and if my meagre supply of ammunition didn’t do the job then so be it.

  I pulled off my dive shoes and stowed them in the bag before getting into my sneakers and slipping on my gloves. The lightweight gloves were made from leather and a fire-resistant fabric. When I played soldier, spy or whatever, we called them “flash gloves”. They are designed to withstand heat and protect your hands from minor blasts and the like. They were crucial now in order to keep my fingerprints and any DNA out of the picture.

  The last pieces of my attire were my communicator and my headlamp. I would only use the light once I was in the building. I closed the sack and shrugged my way back into its straps. Now it was time to check in with Sami. The transmitter I had was a live mike model. Once it was turned on I could simply talk and it would transmit. No need for switches or buttons.

  “I’m ashore and about to go climbing.”

  “Careful.”

  “Always.” I moved past the blockhouse and started along the pathway that linked it to the fort. Trees cut out the stars and the smell of salt water mingled with the rich, earthy smell of rotting humus. Welcome to the jungle!

  The ladder was badly rusted, as I had noted from above, but it appeared strong enough to hold me. I slowly started climbing, keeping my weight distributed to the sides rather than on the centre of the rungs. It wasn’t high, as ladders go, but it was high enough. If it gave way, I was going to crash-land on the concrete below or, if I missed that, it was down onto the rocks beside the concrete slab.

  A couple of times the rungs creaked alarmingly. One of the safety hoops was hanging drunkenly in space because one end had detached itself from the ladder. I managed to negotiate my way carefully around it. The sound of the offending piece of pipe falling would be heard clearly over and above the hiss and slap of the water by any watcher sitting above me in the dark.

  Hazard number one overcome, I found myself at the plate that sealed off the ladder. I had figured from day one that getting past it would be easy enough, provided there was no one above sitting waiting for me. I hung there on the ladder and strained my ears, trying to separate the sounds of the water and constant hum of the city from the silence of the island. Of course there is no such thing as complete silence outside of a vacuum. What we call silence has many voices. There is the noisy silence of nature and then there is the unnatural silence of the hunter waiting for his prey. After many years in the bush, hunting and being hunted, I have developed the ability to recognise this silence. That ability has been the difference between life and death many times. Their death, my life!

  Hanging there on the ladder with my senses on full alert, I gave silent thanks for my decision to go and play in the bush on Ubin. Those few hours reawakened instincts in me that had been seriously dulled by alcohol and bad living. They had almost been lost to me. Now they were back and I knew I was not alone.

  12

  The watcher was sitting on the edge of the gun platform. He was bored. This was the third night he had been there. He and the others had waited until the fort shut for the night and then they had quietly drifted into the complex to their assigned positions. Once there, they had to stay alert, not only for the expected attempt to recover the recording device they had been told was hidden somewhere in the surrender rooms, but also for the occasional ranger patrols. But they weren’t there to stop anyone getting into the fort; they were in position to stop anyone leaving.

  Wang Yoo’s instructions had been to hide himself in cover, but after two fruitless nights sitting in the deep shadows, he moved out into the open. He was scared of snakes and out in the open he believed he would see a snake before it saw him.

  Yoo wanted a cigarette, badly. Lu had ordered them not to smoke, not to do anything that would alert others to their presence. So far, Yoo had obeyed the directive. Now, tired, bored and hours from his bed, he decided that he would enjoy at least this one small pleasure. He knew that the boss would not be coming to the fort this or any other night, and he also knew that the others were all in their designated positions. They would not come roaming, so there was no one to tell on him off for his minor indiscretion.

  Yoo shielded the flare of his cigarette lighter with his cupped hands and lit up, gratefully sucking the nicotine hit into his lungs. He doesn’t see the shadow that moved away to his right. He didn’t hear the sickening thud as his skull and a metal stanchion collided.

  I had no qualms about laying the watching man out. There was a gun in a belt holster and a cellphone in his pocket. I think I probably hit him too hard. He was still alive, but no doubt his skull was fractured. Would anyone come to relieve him or was he there for the night? I had no way of knowing. I could have left him sitting there and slipped away, but what I didn’t want was to have him come after me, or be there to intercept me if things went wrong and I had to return the way I’d come.

  I tossed the gun, a Chinese copy of a Russian Markarov, seawards and followed it with the cellphone. There was no way this mid-thirties Chinese guy was going to be a threat to me, so I left him where he lay. Callous? Maybe, but this game was to the death and the death wasn’t going to be mine.

  I skirted the fire direction tower and paused where the tunnel leading back into the fort begins. Tunnel is a euphemism in this case. This is more like a very deep concrete trench with a steel mesh roof across the top. Various magazines and rooms open off it as it pushes up and back towards the heart of the fort.

  Was there someone stationed in the tunnel or perhaps up above, where they could see down through the mesh roof? Anyone with night vision glasses would have a field day. I figured that there were none of those in operation over here. Otherwise why did the guy I’d just brained not have a pair? Rightly or wrongly I had to go with my gut instinct. I could have used a night scope myself right then, but they’re cumbersome at best and they have some big disadvantages. Anyone flashing a high-intensity light beam or a laser into the system can fry your eyes—permanently.

  I started up the tunnel, moving slowly, hugging the walls, senses tasting the night. Overhead a military jet blasted the night apart, destroying my hearing for the moment. As the aircraft’s rumbling roar faded, something stirred in the night. A rat in one of the side rooms? A lizard maybe or even a snake? Whatever, my senses told me it wasn’t human, so it was of no concern. I carried on climbing up towards the core of the fort.

  The tower with the two cameras was above and to my right. I couldn’t see it from down in the concrete trench, but I knew that once I emerged from the tunnel I would be in view and the alarm would sound. The thing was that until I had the recorder, Lu’s thugs wouldn’t try and stop me. That was my theory anyway. The alternative was that they would try and grab me and apply some very excruciatingly painful techniques to my body to try to get me to spill the device’s location. I had to figure that they wouldn’t have time to go that route, so they’d wait for me to get the MP3 or whatever Stanley’s recorder actually was, then they’d jump me.

  I was near the tunnel entrance. The trench was ramping up to ground level. The me
sh was gone from above me. I stopped moving with my head just below the edge of the concrete wall. When I emerged it would be at a jog. I checked that the key to the door and the alarm code were in the zip pocket of my top.

  I bellied forward a half metre. Now I was at the very edge of the tunnel but still below the level of the cameras. To my right were two buildings and ahead was the road leading on up towards Fort Siloso Square. There were several low-voltage lamps dotted about but no serious security lights. The glow from the city had lightened the gloom to a grey-on-grey tone. It was like looking out through a window on a dull day through a layer of thick gauze.

  To my left the road curved down to The QuarterMaster Store. A long line of trench mortars was set above the road. Behind the squat, wide-mouthed guns a footpath ran across the face of the hill. Off this was the bridge that led to the top level of The QuarterMaster Store where the surrender rooms are situated.

  In total I had about a hundred yards to travel. I estimated ten seconds to open the door. Twenty more to disable the alarm. A minute to get orientated and find Lieutenant-General T Numata’s waxen image. Another thirty seconds and I would be on my way back to the water, hopefully well ahead of Lu’s guys.

  What is it about smokers? Okay, I’m a smoker, but there are times when you need to fight the urge, and this was definitely one of those times for me. However this was obviously not the right time for the man in the trees up ahead of me, just as it hadn’t been for the one I’d taken out down at the fire control tower. I could see the ruby glow of the cigarette back in the trees. The goon wasn’t bothering to shield it. This was just another idiot on Thomas Lu’s payroll. The guy was possibly only seventy metres from the ramp into the surrender rooms. He could be at the door in a matter of a minute or less once I went in.

  I lay motionless, trying to get a handle on this. I hadn’t figured that Lu’s men would be so close. Seventy metres is far too close for comfort. This guy would probably let me go in and then follow me, if not into the building, onto the bridge at least. There he would probably try to nail me coming back out. If Lu had one man hidden this close, how many more did he have staking the place out?