It was only a hundred metres to the jetty: unlit, silent and deserted. There were a number of small sampans, decks cluttered, but devoid of people; and the one solitary dog cringing at a closed hatch, his tail curled up to his belly.
There was a Chinese junk at the end of the jetty: high poop-deck and overhanging stern, much larger than those which normally plied the rivers and waters around Singapore; but in poor repair: dirty grey sails covered in different patches, some of them torn, patches re-patched; the paint-work long since stripped by the wind; rubbish, broken timbers and frayed knotted ropes strewn about the deck. She had once been a grand lady but there had been no attention given to her for many a long year. A hulk.
We moved along the jetty, Tek’s people spreading out as we went, covering us from the dense foliage on one side. We passed the sampans and headed for the end of the jetty, towards the junk. I looked at Tek as he pointed towards the hulk, indicating her as our destination, the place of peace and quiet he had mentioned. He could see the puzzlement on my face, but said nothing. Surely the junk could not be his? It wasn’t typical of him. Everything about him had been manicured, perfect: his house, immaculate; his choice of women, exquisite; his table, mouth-watering. Surely not this pile of rubbish!
We boarded and picked our way between the debris, the vessel reeking of dead fish and other unimaginables.
Sung unlocked the doors; fastened by a large and impressive stainless-steel lock, somewhat out of place against the impoverished surrounds. We stooped through the grimy hatchway, descending the short flight of steps and entered the main saloon.
I was brought up with a jolt, astounded at the impeccable sight that met me: polished brass and shining chrome; thick pile carpet on the floor; white upholstered furniture; heavy brocade curtains across the portholes; subdued lighting. The air was warm and thick with the smell of polished leather; and then a generator started up, and I could feel the cool breeze begin to stir my face as the air-conditioning unit extracted the stale air, wafting in the new.
Tek spread his arms, index fingers pointing as he slowly turned through a full circle, proudly displaying the richness below that patently rotten deck; and enjoyed my amazement.
“My secret indulgence,” he laughed. “For when I wish to go cruising without drawing attention. I hope you like her.” I nodded my head, still trying to believe it was real. “You may care to have a look at the engine room later on. She is not as slow as she would appear. Do not let the exterior of the hull confuse you. She is watertight and solid. We are not able to out-run the patrol boats, but we can leave most of the others far behind.”
“Tek,” I said. “She is amazing!”
He bowed his head, pleased at the compliment.
There was a sound behind me and I turned to see the two prisoners, now almost convinced of their fate, being dragged down the steps and dumped in a corner. They lay silent and unmoving, faces expressionless, arms drawn tight behind their backs like chickens on the way to market.
“Where are we headed?” I asked, but really wanting to hear what he intended for the two on the floor.
Tek sat down on one of the couches, indicating that I was to take one of the others. “I thought we might enjoy some fishing. We could trawl for shark. We seem to have the right bait.”
I wasn’t certain whether I believed him; but whether he was joking or not it sounded as though matters were likely to become messy. I didn’t think that my stomach could take much more blood and gore. The coffee and whisky weren’t helping matters.
We motored for nearly fifteen minutes at a steady speed of maybe twenty knots. Sung offered coffee. I nearly gagged at the mention of it, and finally settled for a large cool glass of orange juice. What I really needed was a thick juicy steak, smothered in onions, with four fried eggs and a pile of hot buttered toast.
We were now almost seven or eight kilometres off shore. Tek signalled for the junk to reduce speed and we dropped down to four or five knots, just enough to keep us on an even keel. He beckoned to the two on the floor and they raised their heads, glaring at us, eyes full of hate; but somewhere at the back of those rigid faces, a fleeting shadow of fear. He started to speak to them in Chinese, very quietly, the menace in his voice obvious even to me, but they said nothing, staring straight through him.
Calling to one of his men, he made a flicking motion with his hand. The two young men who had marched the prisoners away after the fight in the gardens came forward and picked up the older of the two. They carried him out on to the deck and tied a heavy chain around his legs. He struggled, but it did him no good; and then he started to yell, his head turned towards us. Tek never moved a muscle.
They dragged him along to the back of the junk, out of sight. There was a heart-rending scream and then a splash. After that, nothing.
The two men came back into the cabin and bowed to Tek. He flicked his fingers towards the remaining hoodlum: the front of his trousers now wet and stained; his whole body shaking as he saw death staring him in the face; petrified. They bent down to pick him up and he started to babble rapidly in Chinese, tears falling down his cheeks, sobbing. They dragged him towards the door.
It was as though I was watching a movie on late-night television. Somehow it didn’t seem real, and my mind kept telling me that these things don’t happen in real life; that it was all a figment of my imagination; but I knew what they were going to do, and I sat there, watching the terror in his eyes.
Again Tek moved, crooking his little finger. The youngster was hauled back to the corner, the handcuffs removed, and they lifted him on to a chair. He was given a glass of water and allowed to sit in silence for five minutes, with the two bodyguards standing on either side, watching for any sudden move.
Tek breathed one short sharp word in Chinese and the poor bastard opened up like a floodgate, pouring forth information, going on and on. I didn’t know whether he was begging for mercy or telling us what we wanted to know, but Tek seemed satisfied, listening intently, his face growing tighter and tighter. He asked several questions when the quivering mass had finished his ramblings. I could see by the set of his eyes that he was far from pleased. Tek’s cool had finally been broken.
He called out to somebody on deck. The hatch doors were pulled wide and the older of the two gangsters was dragged into the open hatchway, dripping wet, white-faced, but alive. The poor wretch on the chair took one look at him and fainted, his face a mask of terror.
Tek started putting questions to the sodden heap on the top step. They didn’t bring him in. He still refused to answer, believing that Tek didn’t intend to kill, but I wasn’t so sure. The look in Tek’s eye foretold death for someone.
There was a murmur from within the saloon. The youngster had come to and was babbling quietly to himself.
Tek smiled at him, lips straight: the grin of death; and then yelled, a strident, bitter cry. It was the first time I had heard him raise his voice in anger, and I cringed back into the soft leather cushions, not wanting to risk his wrath.
They hoisted the poor young fool out of the chair and manhandled him up through the low hatch, knocking the other hoodlum out of the way as they crashed out on to the deck. Tek sprang up the steps after them and I followed.
The youngster was draped over the gunwale, facing the sea, a length of chain tied around his legs as the two bodyguards each grabbed an arm and a leg, holding him hard against the side of the boat. The old gentleman, the one who had been feeding the ducks in the gardens, the one who had politely helped me to my feet after he had lain over me and protected my body from stray shots, stepped forward and took the lad’s thick black hair in his left hand, then yanked hard, jerking the head back.
The knife blade silvered through the air, the spurting blood turning the sea to crimson.
With hardly an effort, the now lifeless body was flung over the side as if it were a sack of garbage.
I made it to the opposite side of the deck with a fraction of a second to spare. My stomach was
cleansed of the whisky, the coffee, the orange juice. I dry-retched again and again, the orange juice burning my throat.
When the convulsions had finally stopped, I turned to find they had all gone below deck again. I could hear the questions and answers flying back and forth inside the junk: Tek double-checking the details given by the now dead youngster. I stepped back down into the saloon, my mind empty, my brain stunned. I had done some callous things in my life, but never so cold-bloodedly, so without purpose.
I slunk back to my seat and sat silently as the talking went on, not looking at Tek, not looking at any of them, the words a mere blur in the distance. A silence brought me back to reality and I raised my head, seeing them carry the poor wretch up to the deck, his hands now down at his sides, the handcuffs removed, his feet dragging, but the chain gone. There was a splash. I stared at Tek, his face calm once again.
The anger had abated with the blood.
“Do not look so shocked,” he replied in that quiet voice. “If he can swim to shore then he deserves to live. We are eight kilometres from the nearest land, so I do not think he will be successful. But he was stronger and more loyal to his master that the other. He deserves some indulgence. If he ever reaches the shore, he will not bother us again. He will be too busy hiding from his former friends. They will kill him if they find him.”
He had spoken quietly, as if discussing an ordinary everyday business matter and not the death of two people – one of them violently.
“Who’s behind all this?” I asked, my voice croaking. “What does it mean?”
I wanted the matter to end: this senseless killing, the sultry brutality of the East.
“Sang,” he whispered in a soft voice.
“What?”
“Sang. It has all been my fault. I should have suspected him from the start. But he has been with me for so long that it never occurred to me that it could be him. There was no telephone tap, no listening device. He must have heard bits and pieces of our conversations, and thought he had put them all together. It has been a good lesson for me.”
All it was to him was a lesson. It had nearly been the death of me; and Pete wouldn’t have thought much of it – I knew his folks didn’t. At least four people had been killed and a multi-million-dollar deal nearly ruined. No, I didn’t think much of it at all.
“Yes,” he continued. “Sang thinks he can be an important man. He wants power. He is not content with his station in life. He has formed an association with a small-time smuggler and thought I would stand by while he stole our shipment from under our noses. He is greedy.” He paused. “Never be greedy, my young friend.”
How right he was. You can only eat one steak at a time. The profit I was making on this deal would be more than sufficient to last me for the rest of my days; but the longer I stayed in this business, the shorter those days would become.
“You look worried,” he continued. “There is no need to be. Once we reach the shore, I shall give orders for Sang to be hunted down and killed like the dog he is. I would use the radio, but he might intercept the message. Don’t worry. He will not last the week once the Tong gets after him.”
It was the first and only time I ever heard him make reference to that secret society, supposedly dead for a hundred years and never mentioned aloud where more than two people were present. The ring of its name chilled me to the bone. Tek would be a faithful friend, but as an enemy – deadly. I drew a deep breath, calming my nerves.
“I’m glad that’s over,” I replied, letting the air out slowly. “Just as long as none of Sang’s men inform on us to customs.”
“That should not be a problem.” He smiled confidently. “We have already taken delivery of the wool. It would be impossible for them to find it, even if they did receive certain information. The whole consignment has been hidden. Your scheme worked extremely well.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled, the flood of relief flowing through my chest. “I told you it was foolproof. But I wonder how Nick’s taking all of this. We’d better get on to him as soon as we get back.”
“Yes, I will see to it.” He paused for a moment. “There is one further matter, and one which it pains me to raise.”
“What’s that?”
“I think it would be wiser if we were not seen together again.”
I looked at him, surprised. “Why not?”
“The police are still continuing with their investigation into the death of your Australian friend on the Syrius. I feel they are not entirely satisfied. It does not really matter, as we have removed the cargo; but I think it would be prudent if we were not linked together.”
He was right, of course. I had to keep playing the innocent inquisitive writer who took long boat trips. Meetings with important businessmen with questionable connections might arouse suspicions that we could well do without.
“That makes sense,” I replied. “But what about the cash? Half on delivery, remember?”
I wasn’t going to let the social niceties interfere with business.
“One of my men will deliver the bonds to you for the agreed sum in the morning, if that is in order. It is too late to bank it today. You will soon be a rich young man. What do you intend to do with all that money?”
I smiled at him. That was my business.
There was a soft knock at the door of my hotel room early the next morning, waking me from a deep sleep. I walked across the carpet, feeling refreshed and ready to bank some money – a lot of money.
“Who is it?” I asked quietly.
“Sung.”
I opened the door and welcomed Tek’s nephew, telling him to make himself comfortable while I made us both a cup of coffee. We sat on either side of the low table and checked through the documents. Everything seemed to be in order; but I still couldn’t get used to the number of noughts behind the dollar sign. Nick and I were rich beyond our dreams; and there was still more to come.
I thanked Sung and he left as discretely as he had arrived.
After breakfast in my room, I showered and dressed in freshly laundered slacks and shirt; the smell of the ship now merely a memory; and lost no time in ordering a cab and making straight for the bank. This time there were no cries, no gunshots, and no people running to and fro. They took the sealed legal-looking envelope from me, checked the instructions that Nick had sent those many weeks ago for the package of supposed confidential business contracts to be sent through the bank’s secure courier system, and confirmed politely that such instructions would be instantly complied with. In twenty-four hours the envelope would be in Switzerland, the bearer bonds converted into cash and deposited into our account. The rest was a mere formality.
I strolled back to the hotel, richer than I had ever believed possible, and put a call through to Nick. He was delighted with the news, having heard from Tek the night before, but still believing that there would be a last-minute hitch with the money. He would call Switzerland in the morning and confirm payment into the account.
“Well done, Jeff!” he gushed. “I knew we could do it. I never had a doubt!”
Lying bastard. I told him so. I wanted to blast him for not calling Tek after I had phoned from the Hilton, but knew it would be a waste of time. That was Nick. He had to think everything through, and then think it through again. So I just added: “Give my regards to Angeline and to those beautiful daughters of yours.”
Tek had estimated that it would take another two or three days to unpack the bales and check the quality and quantity of the grass.
I called him from the public phone in the downstairs lobby. He said that everything was moving on schedule, but that Sang hadn’t been found. His smuggling partner had though. The peacock would never get to raise his finger again. The gang was in complete disarray, running for their lives. There weren’t many of them left. Tek had accounted for two out on the junk – there had been no sign of the swimmer. The bank guards had killed the peacock’s bodyguard. The driver was in hospital in a serious condition under police cust
ody; and I had accounted for one on board the Syrius.
I bounced back up to my room to grab a pair of sunglasses, knowing that it was finally safe to go out into the open, to walk the streets; and to go to Mee Ling.
There was a knock at the door; and before it was even part way open the delicate perfume wafting through the air told me who was waiting outside.
I wasn’t going anywhere.
It was the following day before we returned to the real world, floating on a cloud. We hadn’t moved from the room, and hardly even from the bed. Food had been ordered and brought by room-service; but we had hardly touched a morsel, each too hungry for the other.
A glorious day: the sun shining; moisture dripping from the buildings after an early morning shower; the air crisp and clean. We walked through the streets, hand in hand like a pair of adolescent kids; laughing at the smallest thing; not a care in the world. This was happiness: the most exquisite girl in the world in love with me; and more money than we could ever hope to spend. It would last. It must last.
We parted in the afternoon, and it was misery to see her go. She looked so sad; but she was due to start a modeling assignment in Brunei in the morning, an assignment she couldn’t cancel.
She wouldn’t let me take her to the airport. That would have been too brutal, the farewell too drawn out. The last I saw of her was as the taxi turned the corner, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Nick called that evening to tell me that the funds had cleared into our account. I was glad he called. I was despondent and totally lost.
“Jeff, my son,” he said, the fatherly tone back once more. “This one worked like a dream. What’ve you worked out for the next one?”
Not for me. I’d had enough. I had found what I wanted and had the money to give her the best of this world for the rest of our lives. She would be in my arms in a week and we would never again be apart. A grazing property far out in the country was for us, a large farmhouse, some horses, and a few kids. I could picture it all.
THURSDAY'S ORCHID Page 29
