THURSDAY'S ORCHID

by Mitchell, Robert

  I stood balanced on the balls of my feet and waited for my eyes to become accustomed to the gloom. I had never seen him before: Chinese, no higher than my shoulder, about fifty-five to sixty, grey hair, immaculately dressed – even to his grey gloves; the typical gentleman – except that this particular gentleman wanted to kill me. He stepped back from the middle of the room and moved towards another door, looking back over his shoulder as he spoke again.

  “Won’t you come through to the sitting-room, please, Mr. Rider. We can be more comfortable there. You can tell me all about the voyage. I am particularly anxious to hear about Usman Ali.”

  All hopes of being able to bluff myself out of the situation suddenly seemed non-existent.

  There was only one chair in the adjoining room: one of those large rattan-cane peacock thrones. It fitted his personality, for that’s what he was: a strutting peacock. Apart from the one winged chair, there was nothing else in the room, no furniture, no rugs. He made himself comfortable, leaving me standing. The door closed behind me. I turned and saw the bodyguard leaning against it.

  It was obvious that they had simply picked on a deserted house, a place which had no connection with them. So far that was the only good point. It meant they didn’t intend to kill me straight away. Maybe they did want to do a deal.

  “Now, Mr. Rider. We seemed to have mislaid Ali. What can you tell us about him?”

  “Who’s Ali? I don’t know anybody of that name.”

  The peacock sat and smiled.

  “Mr. Rider. I will only ask one more time.” I heard the bodyguard shift his feet. “Usman Ali went on board the Syrius in Adelaide as our representative. He did not return to Singapore. He disappeared whilst the ship was on the reef. What can you tell us?”

  At some stage or other I was going to have to tell some lies, but it would be smart to give them part of the truth to start off with. That way they would be more likely to believe any fabrication later on.

  “We had a fight and I won. I threw his body over the side. What else do you want to know about him?”

  “What about the other man who died?”

  I told him the truth about Pete. He could tell from the tone of my voice why the Malay had gone over the side.

  “Most regrettable. But Usman was always impetuous.”

  “That doesn’t help Pete Cameron, or his family,” I snapped. “That murdering little black bastard got what he deserved.”

  He nodded his head in agreement; which surprised me.

  “Now, Mr. Rider. We should like to help you. We would like to make you a proposition. You tell us which bales contain the heroin, what the markings are, and we will let you in for a reasonable share. Not a major share, but better than nothing.” He sat with one leg crossed over the other, picking imaginary lint from his trouser leg.

  Here it was again: heroin. Why is it that when people think of drugs they automatically think of heroin or cocaine? The Malay hadn’t been trying to bluff me in the hold that night. They really did believe it was heroin. It was time to strengthen that belief. If they learnt about the marijuana it would end right here. There was no way they could take control of it now that Tek was starting to unload; and they would have no further use for me.

  “What’s all this talk about bales of heroin?” I asked. “I’ve come to Singapore to discuss a business proposition with Mr. Cheh. Your Malay friend tried to kill me several times, and nearly wrecked the ship into the bargain. Now I’m kidnapped at gunpoint and told a lot of crap about something I know nothing about, by somebody I have never seen before. What the hell is going on?”

  The lift of his finger was slight, but the crashing blow the bodyguard smashed into my kidneys threw me to the floor. I lay groaning until the boot hit my ribs, and then slowly stumbled to my feet.

  “Mr. Rider, do not treat us as fools. We are aware that several months ago you made a deal to supply Cheh with a shipment of drugs. Those drugs were to be concealed in bales of wool and shipped here to Singapore. Cheh is to take delivery. Usman was instructed to find out which bales contained the drugs, and to make you an offer.”

  “Did those instructions include killing me?” I asked.

  “Only if it became necessary. But that is past. You are here and we can negotiate like businessmen.” He paused. “Or, we can try other methods.”

  I could hear the bodyguard shifting about, ready to smash his fist into my kidneys again. There was no sense in continuing to deny we were smuggling drugs; and no use in trying to stall for time. They needed to know now, before the supposedly-marked bales were cleared from the wharf.

  But I needed time; time to figure it all out; time to allow Tek to discover who was behind these people, and time for him to come to the rescue. He would know by now that something was wrong, but would he realise that our conversation had been overheard? And if he did, would it be possible for him to trace the listener? I didn’t think so; not quickly enough at any rate. He couldn’t even check at the hotel, because I hadn’t told him where I was staying; and if I had, this mob might have come for me last night and it would have all been over by now.

  For all Tek knew I might have been picked up by the police or customs. I couldn’t rely on him to get me out of this one. I was on my own.

  “We are waiting, Mr. Rider. What are the markings on the bales?”

  I was watching his index finger. The knuckle started to tighten.

  “Now wait Mr…. I’m sorry; I don’t know your name.”

  He smiled, and made a brushing motion with his other hand. “Just go on with what you are telling us, Mr. Rider.”

  The hand relaxed, the index finger lowered.

  “The simple fact of the matter is that even though I came across with the consignment, I don’t know the markings which identify the bales holding the stuff.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know!” Gone was any suggestion of compromise. “You must know! The whole project was set up by you and your partner in Adelaide, that Greek. It was you who came to Singapore and worked out the details with Cheh! It was all done in one afternoon. There were no loose ends. We know this!”

  He was fuming. They must have had an informer in Tek’s house. Either that; or it was bugged. But that didn’t seem likely, not with Tek’s love of electronic gadgetry. A bug would have been detected as soon as it had been placed. So that only left an informer. Who? Could it have been Mee Ling? I was sure I hadn’t told her a thing. Nothing had been discussed at the dinner table, and I don’t talk in my sleep. At least I’ve never been told that I do.

  That Malay bastard had made reference to my little orchid. It could be her. No! It was academic now. I could worry about who it was when I got away from them. If I got away! And if I told him the true story I wouldn’t get past the door, unless it was feet first.

  “All of that’s correct,” I spluttered. “But, like I said, I simply don’t know the location of the drugs.”

  “Mr. Rider, I have already told you not to treat us as fools. If you don’t know the location of the heroin, then why did you come to Singapore?”

  I had to come up with some believable answers, and quickly. His yellow face was getting darker by the minute. Then the mist cleared.

  “I came to Singapore to get the money. It was my idea to conceal the stuff amongst a huge consignment of bales for this very reason – to prevent a hijack. My Greek partner handled the packing of the bales. He recorded the marks.”

  “Ah, Mr. Rider, so you do know what they are!”

  “No. He kept them to himself. He reckoned that if I didn’t know which bales they were in, I couldn’t tell anyone.” I paused, and then threw in the clincher. “I think he just didn’t trust me not to do a deal with someone else. It’s as simple as that.”

  “Go on, Mr. Rider.”

  “Well, with only a few bales in a consignment of several thousand it’s impossible for anybody to find the right ones. Your hired killer discovered that. If he had bothered to ask me, instead of playing the heav
y hand, we might have saved everybody a lot of grief.”

  At least he heard me out, and I hadn’t seen any sign of the lifting finger.

  “Mr. Rider, you are being extremely tiresome. How are you to be advised as to which bales contain the heroin? At some stage you must be made aware of the marks so that you can effect delivery and obtain payment. Please come to the point.”

  He was holding himself back. I was taxing his patience.

  “That’s right,” I replied, my brain working overtime. “I will be told, but at the right time. I’ll be told as soon as my partner knows that it’s Tek who’s getting the stuff; and he knows that there’s been no double-dealing on my part. He doesn’t know for certain whether he can trust Tek either, so we built some safeguards into the consignment.”

  It sounded plausible so far, plausible enough to calm him down for the moment. I was getting through to him and, with a large slice of the Rider luck, I might even get away with the plan that was coming together in my confused mind.

  “Go on, Mr. Rider.”

  “Once the bales have been cleared through customs and delivered into Tek’s warehouse, I’m to telephone my partner. I’m to give him a pre-arranged code-word, confirming that Tek has the money and is ready to hand it over.”

  He listened intently. It made sense. I was even beginning to believe it myself.

  “He will then tell me which bank in Singapore is authorized to hand over a letter containing details of the markings. He will fax an authority to the bank after our telephone call. The bank will release the document to me on presentation of my passport and signature.”

  That should ensure my continued existence for a few more hours.

  “The Greek could give you a description of the markings over the telephone, isn’t that so?”

  He was sitting up straight, no longer lounging back.

  “No. He only made two copies of the list. One was sent to Singapore and the other one went to our bank in Switzerland. It would take a couple of weeks to get the second copy back.”

  “So, what is to stop Cheh from tearing all the bales to pieces?”

  He had that smile back again, and he somehow reminded me of a terrier worrying an old shirt. It was a good question, but I had the answer even before he had finished speaking.

  “That’s the card we were keeping up our sleeves. I must admit it’s had me worried for weeks. If you managed to get any message from your garlic-smelling killer, he may have told you that even though I helped to ditch and shift cargo during the salvage, I kept well away from the wool. It was never intended to be tossed about.”

  “We received no messages.” I didn’t think they had. “Why was it to be treated carefully?”

  “Plastique!”

  “What?”

  “Explosives. Twenty of the bales contain explosive charges. The letter also lists details of the markings on the bales which contain bombs, and the method to be used to defuse them. If Mr. Cheh was to start ripping into the bales he would be likely to lose quite a few men in the process. This was made quite clear to him in a later conversation of which you evidently know nothing about.”

  It was the best I could do at short notice. I hoped it didn’t sound too far-fetched. The peacock nodded to the bodyguard and I was taken outside. I heard him go further into the back of the house, and presently the sound of voices drifted faintly through the dry old wooden walls – one voice pitched higher than the other.

  Five minutes later he came outside, just as I was trying to get up courage to jump the bodyguard, grab his gun and make off in the car. I don’t think I would have got very far.

  “Well, Mr. Rider. It certainly is a complex way of doing things.”

  The smile on his face told me that his friend at the rear of the house had bought the story.

  “Let us find a suitable telephone, Mr. Rider. You can call your partner and set matters in train.”

  Now came the hard part.

  “I can’t do that.”

  His face froze over. “Why not?”

  “It has to come from the Hilton. I call him from there, give him the code-word, and he calls me back with details of the bank. A further safeguard.”

  God, but it was getting complicated! If I could get word to Nick that I was back at the hotel he might be able to contact Tek and have a rescue operation set up.

  “Very well, Mr. Rider. We shall go to your hotel suite and place the call, but don’t think that you can escape from us. At the first sign of anything towards such purpose my men will shoot to kill – without hesitation.”

  As if to reinforce his threat, both the driver and the bodyguard took silencers from their pockets and screwed the black tubes on to their pistols.

  The ride back to the hotel was a nightmare. Would Nick think to call Tek? Would Tek get to me in time if he did? Would Tek have checked all the hotels on the off-chance of finding the one I was staying at? He might even have somebody posted in the lobby by now and they would see me as we passed through.

  The landscape rushed past in a blur. I had no doubt what these people would do when they found out that my story was a fabrication. As soon as they discovered that it was marijuana and not heroin, my chances of getting out alive were less than zero.

  My hopes of being spotted by one of Tek’s men as we entered the hotel were dashed. They were far too careful, taking me to the rear of the hotel and up the fire-stairs; and all the time the driver and the bodyguard kept one hand inside their jackets.

  The peacock stood back as the driver knocked cautiously at the door.

  “Go in, Mr. Rider. We will be right behind you.”

  Empty. Not a soul; but just to make certain, they checked the wardrobe and under the bed.

  The peacock pointed to the phone and gave one single nod of his head. “Make the call, and remember, do not do anything foolish.”

  He sat down in one of the easy chairs, first dusting it with his handkerchief. The other two arranged themselves between me and the door, pistols out in the open.

  If only Nick would take the ball and run with it. I had to stop him from asking stupid questions; without getting my head shot off in the process. I rang reception and arranged the call, making a point of booking it person-to-person, repeating both my name and Nick’s several times, and even going so far as to spell Nick’s. If Tek had been making enquiries and had somebody hovering about the front desk they would be certain to pick it up.

  The perspiration ran down the insides of both arms, my palms covered in sweat.

  There was hardly any delay on the call. A bad sign. If Tek had somebody posted in the hotel they might have delayed the call long enough to give Tek a chance to get something organised. I was still on my own. Nick came on the line and I jumped right in, not giving him a chance to say more than his name and ask if it was me.

  “Nick!” I burst out. “This is Jeff. I’m at the Hilton, as planned. Room 605. Call me back. The Hilton. Room 605! If you don’t get back to me in the next couple of minutes, I’ll be joining George.”

  With that, I hung up, cutting him off, hoping he picked up my reference to George going over the stair rail, and would get on to Tek before he called me back. My knees were shaking. I could feel the perspiration starting to slide down the insides of my thighs. The next few minutes would either see me killed, or allowed to continue with the charade.

  “Who is George?” the peacock asked.

  “It’s an Australian expression,” I replied. “Joining George means that I’ll be angry.”

  He laughed.

  The phone rang within minutes. The peacock was by my side in an instant, his head tilted to the earpiece, the reek of aftershave overpowering.

  “Is that you, Jeff?” It was all Nick said, the tone of his voice a clear indication that he knew something was wrong.

  “Yes, Nick. Which bank are we using?”

  The only bank we had any connection with was the one that was going to handle the transfer of the bearer bonds to Switzerland. I c
ould sense the hesitation at the other end of the line.

  “Huh? Ah…., the Hong Kong & Shanghai Bank.”

  “Thanks, Nick. I’ll go there right away. Okay? I’ll leave the Hilton and go there now.”

  I hung the phone up, nearly knocking the peacock’s ear off in the process. Nick would be sitting in his office wondering what the hell was going on. I hoped he’d have the sense to ring Tek; but he might have thought that it was Tek causing the trouble. Please, Nick, I prayed, for once in your life, throw caution to the wind. Don’t mull it over for a couple of hours. Get on the goddamned telephone and call Tek now!

  If praying would get him to do it; it was done. But I wasn’t counting on it.

  We left the same way we had entered: down through the fire-escape stairs, hurrying out to the car like a pack of bank robbers. A bell rang in the back of my brain as we shuffled out: the bodyguard holding the back of my jacket, making it impossible for me to break away and run; the driver striding out in front; the peacock several paces behind.

  The bank was my last hope. I thought they might risk shooting me if I made a break for it as we went down the back steps of the hotel, or from the car or even out on the street, but not in a crowded bank with armed guards standing about. The bell tinkled again. I crossed my fingers. It might just work.

  There was no way this thing could go any further than the bank. The bank was the end of the line. If I went up to the counter and asked for an envelope that didn’t exist, I would be dead. There would be blank stares all round and it wouldn’t take the peacock more than a second to realise he had been fooled. I had seen the knife the driver kept folded in his pocket, and the thought of it sliding between my ribs didn’t please me at all.

  The Hong Kong & Shanghai Bank: a massive affair; the strong stone edifice inspiring security; the interior, a mass of old-fashioned timber panelling. Most other cities are pulling down these fine buildings, giving preference to glass, plastic, chrome, and open-plan.