I sat for a while, trying to appear as though considering whether or not to accept his proposal. Nick would have been better at this than me.
It was up to us to get the grass to Singapore. That was our part of the deal, and the cost was our problem. We were to be paid for the consignment alongside the wharf at Singapore. Recouping the whole of the landed cost of the wool, with a small profit, was an unexpected bonus. But I wasn’t going to let Tek know that.
“You drive a hard bargain, Tek. But we’re prepared to accept your offer. And anyway, the profit on the wool is only a minor part of the transaction. I don’t really think that a counter-proposal would be warranted in the circumstances.”
“Quite correct, Mr. Rider, on both counts.” The smile left his face for an instant. “The offer is fair. A counter-proposal would have been rejected and the matter reconsidered.” The smile was back. “Payment to be made in the same manner? Half on receipt and the balance on final checking?”
I nodded my head in acceptance.
“Good. I am glad that we understand each other so well.”
A shiver ran down my spine. He might look like a frail old man, like a shopkeeper eager to please, but he hadn’t got where he was by selling souvenirs to tourists.
“Would you like some Chinese tea?” he asked. “The orange juice is somewhat acidic for this time of day.” He raised himself from the sofa and walked over to the bell-rope hanging by the fireplace. “Perhaps you might care to wash your hands whilst it is being prepared?”
For the last ten minutes I had been trying to think of some polite excuse for making a dash to the bathroom. He must have noticed my continual shifting of legs. I smiled, rose from my seat and stretched.
“Sang, would you please show Mr. Rider to the bathroom.”
He must have entered the room seconds after Tek had rung the bell. I hadn’t heard him open the double doors and it was with some surprise that I realised he was standing so close behind me.
I was back several minutes later, feeling more relaxed and ready for another hour or so if Tek was up to it, but he was nowhere to be seen. Sang poured out a cup of tea for me and put the cup down on the ornately carved table. I picked the cup up: fine bone china, delicately painted in a simple pattern – exquisite.
“Mr. Cheh has been called away to the telephone for a few minutes, sir,” Tang intoned. “He asked me to apologise on his behalf.”
I nodded, not wanting to get into conversation with him.
“Tell me, Mr. Rider?” he asked. “What do you think of our country so far?”
Before I could even give him a non-committal answer, he was off into a discussion of Singapore and its attributes. He was good. The time passed without my noticing it and it must have been five or ten minutes later that I noticed Tek standing in the doorway.
“Ah, please forgive me,” he said in a quiet voice. “I trust that Sang has been keeping you amused during my absence? Good.”
Sang bowed and withdrew, once again closing the doors behind him. Tek turned to me.
“You will be pleased to learn that I have taken the necessary steps to set the matter in motion.” He sat down and reached for a cup. “My assistants are making enquiries for warehouse space and I have instructed my accountant to commence drawing the documents necessary to set up the paper corporation. Now tell me. How long will it take you to get the shipment ready? When can we expect delivery?”
He leaned back into the cushions and waited for my reply, the delicate porcelain tea cup balanced on one arm of the couch.
“We don’t know the exact timing as yet,” I replied. “We’ll have to wait for the next wool sales, in about three and a half weeks’ time. Nick has already made enquires about a warehouse in Adelaide. He’s got two picked out, both of which would be more than sufficient for our purposes; although the proximity of one to the docks makes it more suitable. He’s fairly confident of having one or the other under lease by the time I return.”
I got up and strolled around the room. I was tired of sitting in the one spot all the time. Tek didn’t interrupt, sitting quietly as I continued.
“The next step will be to get hold of a wool-press; which won’t be as easy as it sounds. We can’t purchase a new one without leaving ourselves open to enquiry. We would have half the stock and station agents in South Australia trying to sell us all sorts of equipment. And that could lead to problems. It might be possible to steal one; but some smart policeman might put two and two together.”
He placed his cup on the table and looked up at me. “How are you going to obtain one?”
“We’ll buy a used one. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find a good second-hand press, and payment in cash won’t be in the least bit suspicious. There won’t be a thing to connect us with the purchase.”
“That sounds acceptable,” he said. “And how are you going to handle the repacking of the bales?”
“Once the wool has been stored in the warehouse, we’ll use a gang of men to handle the unpacking and re-pressing. They don’t need to be skilled operators. Nick has a number of guys on his payroll who’ll be suitable. I’ve operated a press before and they’re pretty simple to work. It’ll take a bit of time though. We’ll need about four thousand bales to make up the shipment. But, provided we can keep the press going twenty-four hours a day, we should be able to complete the job within a reasonable period of time. We’ll meet your deadline. Have no fear of that.”
“I trust that your estimates are correct,” he said in that quiet voice. “I do sincerely hope so.”
It wasn’t a threat; at least I didn’t think it was.
“Don’t worry,” I replied. “As far as the rest of the operation is concerned, it’s a simple matter. We’ll be shipping an innocent consignment of wool to Singapore. An everyday matter. Perfectly normal piece of commerce.”
Except for the multi-million dollar shipment of marijuana buried deep in the wool.
“And what about the collection of such a large quantity of the commodity itself?” he asked. “How has that been explained to the local growers?”
He was thorough. But then, in his position, he had to be. I leant forward.
“Nick has already set it in motion. You probably appreciate that this is perhaps the most time-consuming part of the whole exercise; and probably the most dangerous. He’ll gather most of the Australian supply from South Australia and New South Wales, with some from Victoria if there’s a shortfall. It’s got to be done slowly and with the utmost secrecy. If even one local grower gets wind of the size of this shipment, or its location, there could be trouble.”
He nodded. “Yes, I do appreciate that. Please go on.”
“Nick’s the expert on this. He’s using a number of cut-outs; each one seeming to be an independent buyer, but in fact acting for Nick alone. There’ll be several stories allowed to circulate: an American syndicate dealing on the east coast; a supply going to Europe; and a crop failure in South America. The rumours should help to satisfy any curiosity as to the large amount suddenly being purchased.”
Actually, the way Nick had explained it was too complicated for even me to follow. I went on.
“Ultimately it’ll be trucked to somewhere on the remote southern coast of South Australia and stored with the shipments from New Guinea. It will then be packed in airtight plastic bags, thoroughly washed to remove all traces of an aroma, and brought to the warehouse in Adelaide as we need it. Nick’s been in the business for years. He knows it backwards. He’s a very careful man, as you may have noticed. You don’t have to worry about his side of the operation.”
He sat pensive for a minute or two, digesting what I had told him. I waited for his next question.
“And how long will all this take? How long before it will be ready to be shipped?”
“About nine weeks,” I replied. It was only an estimate and I hoped he would give us extra time if we needed it. He would have to give us time. In nine weeks he would be committed to his own buyers. “As I
said, the collection from the growers, and the shipments from New Guinea will take the most time, although shipments will be coming in every week. We should have the press set up by the time the wool arrives. It’ll be a continuous process once we have the wool in store. But you must realise that the local marijuana has to be dried after being harvested. We can’t pack it green.”
“Mr. Rider. I also am not green. I do know about marijuana!”
The lines on his face hadn’t changed, but the fire in his eyes blazed.
“I apologise, Mr. Cheh. I didn’t mean to give offence.”
“No. It is I who should apologise.” He looked suitably contrite. “You are a guest in my house. Will you please excuse me?”
He had stepped over the mark, and he knew it. I wasn’t one of his lackeys. I was a business partner. It was easy to see that he left most of the minor matters to assistants. Face-to-face transactions would no longer be a regular occurrence in his lifestyle, and he probably wasn’t used to dealing with anybody as young as me.
“No problem,” I replied, keeping my voice pleasant. “We’re both a little anxious. It’s a big transaction. Nine weeks and we’ll be ready to load, that’s all. Maybe a few days more. It depends on shipping availability.”
“Good.” Back to the inscrutable half smile. “I am not expecting things to happen immediately, nor would I wish you to act in haste. I merely have to make my own arrangements; for finance and other matters of which you are no doubt aware. I wouldn’t want the consignment to arrive without my being ready for it.”
There was no way I could imagine that would happen. He would always be ready.
“If it looks like taking any longer than you have anticipated,” he added. “I would be pleased if you would advise me at the earliest possible opportunity.”
I told him we wouldn’t hesitate.
I knew what he was on about, of course. There was no way he could handle that amount of grass by himself. He was by no means the end of the chain. I figured that he would split the consignment into a number of smaller units, and then arrange for shipment to other dealers in Malaysia, to South-East Asia, and maybe even further – the United States. He had to make sure that they dovetailed in with him; that they had their money available, and paid on time.
By now I was certain that, after random sampling, he would accept our word on quantities and reship the consignment in the original bales. That was why he wanted to buy the wool. He probably had no other use for it, if the truth were known. Perhaps I had been a little too hasty in accepting his offer for the wool; and then again perhaps not.
“Tek, you can count on us to keep you posted at all times. Our company will immediately comply with all instructions received concerning the purchase of whatever quantity of wool your corporation requires. All steps will be taken to ensure prompt shipment to you here in Singapore. We will keep your corporation fully apprised of all details on shipment as they come to hand, and any changes to the timing of such shipment.”
I laughed, and so did he. The scheme was neat and tidy, business like.
“No, Tek,” I went on. “All joking aside. As soon as we’ve got a fair proportion of the merchandise collected together, and the wool press in action, we’ll give you a report on the anticipated date of departure from Adelaide.”
He thought for a moment. “Will shipping be any problem?” he asked.
“No, I don’t think so. There appears to be four ships which fit in with our schedule. We’ve made tentative arrangements for space on each one of them. As a matter of fact one of them is on the Singapore Register of Shipping. It’s owned by some company here. I forget the name offhand. It’s in my notebook upstairs. I’ll get it if you like.”
He made a negative gesture with his hand.
“Don’t bother about it at the moment. I will get the details later. I might know the owners. It could be of some use if any small problems arise.” He paused, and then looked at his watch: a thin strip of gold. “Well, I think we have gone about as far as we can for the time being. Would you do me the honour of having dinner with me? Unless you have other plans for the evening, that is.” I assured him that I had no other plans. “Splendid. Shall we say, in one hour?”
I didn’t have any plans other than those that concerned him. Once we had finished our discussions, there would be nothing to keep me in Singapore. I was booked back to Sydney with Qantas on the following afternoon.
This time the luxury of the bath didn’t elude me. I soaked for nearly an hour and dressed in a hurry. It wouldn’t do to be late for the old gentleman’s table.
The dining room was in keeping with the rest of the house: rich and massive; a table that would have taken forty diners with ease.
There were four of us to dinner. The other two guests were introduced by Tek as his nieces, but I thought I caught an inflection in his voice.
They were two of the prettiest young Chinese girls I had ever seen; and not really girls, but young ladies. Each was wearing a cheongsam – high straight collar encircling a delicate smooth neck, the material split on either side from ankle to mid-thigh; the silk of one a delicate shade of pale blue, the other green.
There was no jewellery except for a small pair of gold earrings on the one in green and on the other, nothing, her jet black hair hanging far down her back. Both were taller than Tek, but shorter than me – slim, delicate. I soon learned from Tek that they both lived in the city and worked as models of high fashion in several of the more exclusive houses. I could well believe it, their manner and poise were superb; and they were beautiful, exquisite. A person would have been hard put to resist anything they were modeling, whether it was a Cardin creation – or something off the rack.
The meal was at least fifteen courses: Peking duck, walnut chicken, pepper-skin duckling, lobster, and prawns prepared several different ways, shredded pork, whole steamed fishes, squid, abalone and sea cucumber, plates of vegetables, and steaming bowls of rice. There was more food than we could have finished in a week. It was just as well I had learned the art of eating with chopsticks, for somehow the delicate flavours would have been lost using a fork or spoon.
At first the girls said nothing, apart from the pleasantries during our introduction. They sat quietly eating, listening to the stories told by Tek: amusing tales; some true, some impossible – but entertaining all the same. They smiled and laughed behind their hands at all the right places, looking interested, listening to the small talk that passed between Tek and me.
It wasn’t until the meal had finished and the Chinese tea was served, that they joined in the conversation. I had thought at first that perhaps their English had been limited, but this was not so, they were perfect speakers; each with an enchanting lilt to her voice. Nor was their range of conversation limited: world affairs or the local economy – it made no matter – they discoursed with knowledge on each subject upon which we touched.
And if I had been given the task of choosing which one was more beautiful than the other, I would have been lost. But there was a difference. It was in the eyes, or perhaps behind the eyes. Or was it her smile?
The meal lasted well on through the evening – almost to midnight. But that’s not to say time dragged. Far from it. The fine wine, the magnificent food and the company made time fly, and it had reached midnight before I realised it. But what with the flight from Adelaide, our discussions, and the banquet, it was all I could do to keep from yawning.
“Tek, ladies,” I murmured during the next lull in the conversation. “I’m afraid I must beg forgiveness and ask that you excuse me. I don’t really wish to, but I must drag myself away from your pleasant company. It’s been an extraordinarily long day.” I stood up and turned to the head of the table. “Tek, I’m sure you won’t be offended if I leave you alone with this charming pair of young ladies.”
And I was reluctant to go. As the meal had progressed I had chosen the one that was the more beautiful. Her smile had become a magnet, drawing my gaze back time and time aga
in. The garden outside had seemed to be beckoning and I wanted to be alone with her, if only for a few brief moments, alone to speak only with her, with no-one else listening, no-one to interrupt – without Tek. But the spell was now broken, and the opportunity lost, but not before her eyes linked with mine in one brief moment of sadness.
“Goodnight,” Tek said. “I trust that you have pleasant dreams and that the comforts of my modest home treat you well. I shall see you in the morning.”
I was drifting off – into that twilight between consciousness and sleep, when reality merges into lethargy and lethargy into dream. In the distance I heard the curtains rustle and felt the draught go past me and out towards the sitting-room. The long lengths of satin billowed in towards the bed, drawn by the air passing through the outer room. But the windows in the outer room had been closed, and there should have been nowhere for the breeze to enter. The window in the bedroom was the only one I had opened. I preferred fresh air to the air-conditioning. The others had all been locked. There shouldn’t have been a draught.
Somebody had opened the door to the suite. But the door had been locked.
Sleep was cast aside. Whoever was now inside must have used a key, must be part of the household. I lay still, my breathing steady, feigning sleep. There was a soft padding across the carpet of the next room and then a thud as whoever it was had knocked against one of the small low tables.
I could hear a faint rustling, of silk folds moving together, and all I could think of was assassins: of a tightly rolled strip of silk that would be drawn suddenly around my throat and snatched tight, choking off my life. Tek knew it all now. He knew the foolproof plan, and he didn’t need me. Neither of them did. Nick and he could see it through together.
I lay still, petrified, knowing that no matter what I did, I was dead. This house wasn’t a fortress. It was a prison.
THURSDAY'S ORCHID Page 8
