Singapore Girl_An edge of your seat thriller that will have you hooked

by Murray Bailey

  There was an acrid smell of sewage and oil that rose up from the river. Industrial and dirty, it was an extreme contrast with the Singapore River in the centre.

  I walked over to Yipp and stood by his side, looking in the same direction.

  “It is a beautiful sight,” he said without turning. “I never tire of gazing out to sea.”

  I said, “You honour me with this meeting, sir.”

  Yipp nodded slowly and took a long breath of the less than refreshing air.

  I said, “When we last met, you suggested that we shouldn’t be enemies.” Then I handed him the warning note.

  Yipp looked at it and handed it back. “How did you get it?”

  “It was sent to me.” I paused and then told him about the unit at the camp near Ulu Tiram. I said they were trading with locals who could be bandits.

  “What are they trading?”

  “The army men get alcohol. Samsoo. The men they trade with get aid supplies.”

  Yipp continued to stare out to sea. In places I could see where it was raining. Clouds streaked down into the water.

  I said, “Do you know anything about this operation?”

  I realized I was being abrupt and direct but he answered straight away. “I do not. If there is such an operation, then I fear that they may undermine my legitimate business.”

  “Samsoo?”

  “I’m not interested in any illegal alcohol.”

  I wanted to say “drugs” but knew he wouldn’t confirm or deny any such trade.

  He said, “What can you tell me about this group, the ones who may be bandits?”

  “Nothing yet. My plan is to follow the army unit and learn what’s happening and who’s involved.”

  “That will be very dangerous. Will you take many men?”

  I let the question hang for a moment before saying, “Just a driver.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if I take too many men, I risk warning the people I’m looking for.”

  He nodded. “And the other reason?”

  “Because then I know whom I can trust.”

  He let out a small guttural laugh.

  I said, “I may need some help.”

  Yipp finally turned to look at me and held my gaze for a few beats. “I think you English have a saying about making a pact with the devil. However, I prefer the Chinese proverb, Captain Carter: it is good to strike the serpent’s head with the hand of your enemy.”

  “And you are not my enemy,” I said, replaying Yipp’s own words from our last meeting.

  “Indeed.” Yipp laughed again. “Now, Captain, tell me the detail of your plan.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  The British Army truck left Kota Tinggi base at six in the morning. The Bedford “three-tonner”—snub nosed with a cab that was slightly wider at the bottom and a grill that gave the impression of a mouth—was a common sight on the roads.

  As were army Land Rovers. Hegarty and I were waiting in the village, not far from Sin Sin. There was no sign of life from the shops and bars, and rain thudded on our roof.

  With the hood pulled tight and the windows closed, condensation started to mist the windows. But we still saw the Bedford roll past, the Humanitarian Aid letters bold and white in the grey morning.

  Hedge waited until they were out of sight before pulling away and following. He stayed well back and left the lights off.

  The route took us across the north of Johor Bahru. Rain had been falling for a couple of hours and sat in pools. Every few hundred yards the jeep’s wheels would slip. However, after a couple of miles we reached Route One, heading north towards Kuala Lumpur. Red stone laterite kicked up under the Land Rover’s wheels and the bump and slip stopped.

  Elephant grass beside the road soon gave way to trees and then jungle, black and foreboding in the pouring rain.

  Every mile or so tracks led off the main road into the jungle. We passed small settlements. Mongrel dogs stared at us with no enthusiasm to run or bark. Children played in the rain and we saw adults going about daily chores like feeding chickens, paying no heed to the weather.

  Hegarty had started an annoying whistle that was probably tuneful in his head but less so to my ears. Finally he stopped.

  “So what’s in the truck?” he asked.

  “Salt, grain and medical supplies bound for Malacca. From there, they’ll be distributed throughout the region by the local guys.”

  “And you know that because…?”

  “Because I requested it.”

  “And you’re expecting them to do some kind of drugs deal on the way?”

  “Let’s see,” I replied. However, we could see less and less as the storm intensified. The wipers washed water from side to side, and the rear lights of the Bedford blinked with the changing visibility.

  “I should put the lights on,” Hegarty said.

  I took a long breath. He was right. The heavy clouds, the close-in trees—it was like evening out there.

  “Fine. Don’t lose them but keep well back.”

  The headlights burst into life but only served to light streaks of rain.

  The Bedford’s tail lights disappeared.

  We rounded a corner and the red lights began their on–off rhythm in time with the wipers again. Then we lost them as we approached another bend. It was long and then it switched the other way.

  “Where are they, Hedge?”

  We came out of the second bend.

  “I don’t see them.”

  He put his foot down and we splashed and bumped for a few miles. Finally, a red blinking light gave us hope and the sergeant squeezed out a little more speed.

  He closed the gap quickly and we realized the lights were different. It wasn’t the aid truck.

  I said, “I’ve been thinking. They can’t have got this far ahead. They must have turned off.”

  “Into the jungle?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t see any other possibility.”

  We turned around and took it more slowly, looking for side roads. We passed one and shone the lights along the narrow track. It was muddy and rutted but I couldn’t see recent tyre treads.

  “Keep going,” I said, and Hedge resumed our southbound journey, checking left and right.

  The thudding rain stopped suddenly, the wipers swooshing nothing for a moment before Hegarty switched them off. We saw the trees ahead light up and then sunlight broke through around us. Immediately, the ground steamed like a thousand boiling kettles.

  Now when we found a side road, I got out and looked for tracks. We identified four potential routes the Bedford may have taken but we couldn’t be sure. Then we came to the switchback, the long bend left and the long bend right. We’d reached the point where we’d last seen them.

  Hegarty U-turned, bumping over a soft verge, and then the Land Rover juddered to a halt. Steam rose from the front of the car.

  He got out and looked under the bonnet.

  “Radiator leak,” he said, his Welsh lilt making it sound amusing, like it was good news.

  “We’ll have to get a tow.”

  “I can do better than that, boss,” he said with a grin. “An old trick my father taught me.”

  There was a cluster of attap huts about a hundred yards away, and Hegarty set off walking.

  When I reached him he was already trying to speak to the Malays who lived there. An old man sat outside a hut and watched us. Finally a lady understood and fetched him an egg.

  “Water?” he asked her. “In a can?”

  All of these little hamlets were by streams. It made sense. The woman called out and, a minute later, a child appeared with a mug of water.

  He thanked her but tried to explain again that he needed something larger. But even miming didn’t seem to make sense to her.

  The old man got off his chair and hobbled towards us. His dark, craggy face was inscrutable as he looked at us hard.

  When he spoke, he put out his hand, palm up.

  “You’re looking for th
e girls?”

  “No,” Hedge said. “Water. War-ter.”

  I was intrigued. “What girls?”

  Again, the hard, unreadable eyes.

  I fished in my pocket and put two notes in his palm.

  He flashed a mouth with only a few teeth. “Five days ago. The three girls.” He pointed north. “They went that way.”

  I said, “You think we’re looking for three girls?”

  He shrugged. “You aren’t with the others.” It was a statement rather than a question. “I’ll get you water.”

  Like the woman, he called to someone, and this time we received a large plastic bottle so heavy with water that the child staggered with it on their head.

  Back at the jeep, Hedge took off the radiator cap, cracked the egg and poured it in.

  “The egg will seal it.” He grinned. “Clever, no?”

  “Let’s see if it works first.”

  He emptied half the water into the radiator and turned the engine over. Moments later, we were on the road again.

  When we reached the first of the four possible off-roads, we turned. The early sun created long shadows where it broke through the trees. The puddles were like muddy goldfish ponds and we bounced and splashed along. After a few yards I signalled that we should go back.

  “No tracks,” I said. “They didn’t come this way.”

  The same was true for the second, but the third was promising. Like the others, it was a narrow track running off into the jungle. But this one was well used and had fresh tyre ruts caused by a heavy vehicle.

  Hegarty turned onto the track and bumped the jeep into the wet ruts.

  The jungle quickly degenerated into swampland. The tree cover became thinner, and I was concerned about being seen.

  Hegarty had a different concern. He said, “I don’t know how long my radiator trick will last. If we get stuck out here…”

  I reluctantly agreed and Hegarty reversed the Land Rover back along the track. He bumped and swerved over the ruts and puddles, the jeep much harder to reverse on the difficult terrain. He got us to the road without crashing, although the air was blue with his curses.

  I asked him to return to the second track but I wasn’t planning to go down this one. I wanted somewhere to wait. I wanted somewhere we could hide and watch for the Bedford coming back down the track. He parked behind the trees and we walked back to the road. We found a couple of rocks, sat in the shade and waited. A troop of macaques watched us and we heard insects all around.

  Hegarty seemed to be miles away for a while before he spoke. “It’s odd.”

  “What is?”

  “Not having a monarch. George is dead and Elizabeth hasn’t taken the throne yet. She seems nice. Do you think she’s up to being a queen?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What if she does a runner like her uncle? We could become a bloody republic!”

  An army troop carrier went past and we got strange looks from the tired-looking men inside. I guessed we must have looked curious; two white men just chewing the fat beside the road in the jungle.

  Hegarty said, “It’s one step closer to communism.”

  “What is?”

  “Being a republic.”

  “I think Americans would disagree.”

  “But what would happen to the empire? We can’t have the British Empire without a queen.”

  A local cycled past, his bicycle piled so high with plastic bottles that he could barely see over them.

  I said, “We should ask him. I’m not sure Malaya likes being part of the British Empire.”

  “Rubbish! Er… with respect, sir.”

  “When the Japanese were here in the war, it was an occupation. And yet we’re an occupying army too.”

  He thought for a while. At least, I guess he was thinking, because he didn’t say anything or whistle. I continued to watch the junction where I figured the aid truck had gone.

  Vehicles travelled south to Johor Bahru and vehicles travelled north to Kuala Lumpur beyond. But nothing came down the track.

  The shadows shortened and the insects gradually fell silent. We could hear birds calling and the macaques finally got bored and moved away.

  Hegarty stretched. “Why is it an Emergency? Why not the Malayan War? It’s the Korean War but the Malayan Emergency.”

  The same thing had struck me when I’d first arrived in Singapore. Coates had explained it to me.

  “It’s all about insurance, dear boy,” he’d said. “Lloyds of London wouldn’t provide compensation in a war. But an Emergency… well that’s totally different. A wealthy landowner loses part of his rubber business, then insurance pays out.”

  I explained it to Hegarty.

  “Always serve the rich,” he scoffed.

  I laughed. “Are you sure you don’t want a republic?”

  The macaques came back. Or maybe it was a different troop. A couple had quick sex only yards in front of us. Like a display or a challenge. Hegarty chuckled like a schoolboy.

  He said, “What do you think?”

  “The grin from the male isn’t actually a smile. He was showing us his sharp teeth.”

  Hegarty laughed again. “I meant the aid workers.”

  “They’re not coming. Maybe they’ve already gone. Maybe there was another way out.”

  Hegarty nodded. “So what now?”

  I knew where the aid unit was supposed to go. After all, I’d requested it. Plus I’d had enough of hanging around waiting.

  “Malacca,” I said. “Come on, we’re going to Malacca.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Hegarty took up whistling again once we had passed Kluang and turned west towards a town on the coast called Muar. The closer we got to the coast, the thinner the jungle became.

  We turned north onto the coast road. Trees became sparse and the landscape changed to one of farming and paddy fields. Paired bullocks pulling long carts became as common as trucks. The carts had grass roofs shaped like the winged bonnets worn by Swiss nuns.

  We stopped and Hegarty refilled the radiator. We took the covers off and enjoyed the fresh wind in our faces.

  It was ninety-odd miles from Kluang to Malacca and, at a steady thirty-five miles an hour, the sun was well past its zenith by the time we drove through the centre of the town.

  Chinese banners adorned buildings and I thought it looked like a dilapidated version of Singapore’s Chinatown, but with wider streets.

  To our left, I could see a large working port with long godowns. There was an overpowering smell of rotten fish, and we wound up our windows and hoped it would ward off some of the evil stench.

  Ten miles later we turned off on a side road that led to the large military complex known as Terendak Barracks. On the edge of the barracks was a row of shops and bars, clearly catering only for the army. London Bar, Wellington Bar, Sydney Bar, said the crudely painted names outside, and I figured that soldiers chose their watering hole along partisan lines.

  This was repeated inside the barracks walls, with three distinct sections for the British, Australian and New Zealand regiments who shared the same base.

  It was a sprawling complex, maybe twice the size of Majidi Barracks in Johor Bahru.

  Of the buildings near the entrance, the NAAFI was the most prominent. Another large building dominated the rear. The red cross painted on the tower told me this was where we were heading. Terendak Military Hospital.

  However, before we went there, Hegarty spotted a motor pool and garage and he took the Land Rover in there to get the radiator fixed.

  “It’ll take about an hour,” he said, joining me as I walked towards the hospital. Although the building in the shadow of the ugly white block of a hospital was actually where I wanted to go. It was a small one-storey building with a triangular, orange-tiled roof. A sign above the door said, “Aid Distribution.”

  There were boxes and sacks piled up outside and a couple of men were carrying them through the open doors.

  One of them, a
lanky sergeant, was in charge.

  As we approached, he froze and looked at us wide-eyed.

  “MPs?” he said uncertainly, looking me over.

  I said, “The aid truck from Kota Tinggi’s been then?”

  “Not long missed it. Why?”

  Hegarty said, “Name?”

  “Goodwyn.”

  We let the man sweat for a moment. Not only was he as thin as a rake, but he was pale and his eyes were sunken with dark shadows around them.

  He glanced into the storage area behind him, maybe hoping for support, but the other guy couldn’t be seen.

  I said, “Show us the paperwork for the shipment they delivered.”

  Goodwyn took us into a room and handed me a piece of paper. “All signed and accounted for,” he said, trying too hard to sound relaxed.

  “Show us,” Hegarty said. I handed him the paper and he took out a pen. “Every item, Sergeant Goodwyn. If you’d be so kind.”

  While the aid worker walked around with Hegarty, I poked around in other areas. Goodwyn kept glancing at me, and I liked the signals he was giving. I could see the worry in his eyes the closer I got to whatever he didn’t want me to find.

  “Boss!” Hegarty called. “Medical supplies.”

  I walked over and looked at the crates. They were the same boxes I’d seen at Singorah airfield.

  “Open them,” Hegarty said.

  Inside was a packing list. I picked it up and checked the contents off against it. Nothing extra. Nothing missing.

  “Shall I open some more?” Goodwyn asked helpfully.

  I said, “No need. I can see that everything on here is present and correct.”

  Goodwyn breathed out. A smiled briefly played on his mouth before he hid it.

  I said, “The problem is, I have the original shipping list.”

  Goodwyn blinked.

  “I know what was in the truck because I arranged it.”

  I heard a door close at the back of the building and figured it was the other aid worker. He’d heard enough and wasn’t staying for more.

  Goodwyn cleared his throat. “Well the paperwork…”

  “Has been changed,” Hegarty said. “This is only half of it.”

  I said, “So half has gone. What came in its place?”