Singapore 52 Read online

  “The one with the red circle and paw print?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the numbers: four, ten, two, ten.”

  Rahman had translated the same thing, but I was hoping for more. “Do they mean anything to you?”

  “No.”

  “What about the lion’s paw?”

  “Is that what it is?” She looked apologetic. “Again, I don’t know. But I think Mr Yipp intends to cover that.”

  We sat in silence for the rest of the way. A couple of times she caught me admiring her. I looked away but not before I noticed a coquettish gleam in her eye.

  The car stopped outside the Cathay Building. I walked around to look at the beautiful vehicle from the front and then looked up at the tower.

  When I’d finished my circuit, Su Ling led me towards the steps. “It’s Art Deco—very modern,” she said.

  I knew it was the tallest building on the island and could be seen across the city. “How many floors are there?” I asked squinting up through the lights.

  “Sixteen. There’s a radio mast at the top. Oh and of course there’s a thirteen-hundred seat, air-conditioned cinema.” She hesitated by the glass revolving doors and studied my face. “You are easy to read, Ash Carter. You don’t like it do you?”

  “Yes and no,” I said trying to be diplomatic.

  “Very English of you.” She flashed a provocative smile at me. “You can see the good and the bad. Or does that mean you are indecisive?”

  She was teasing me so I laughed. “That’s not something I’ve ever been accused of.”

  I signalled that I wanted Hegarty to stay in the car and turned back to Su Ling. As I did, she linked her arm through mine.

  “Come,” she said, pushing the doors. “Let’s get inside into the cool.”

  I’d never experienced air-conditioning before and the cold blast of air hit me like stepping from the Tropics into the Arctic.

  “Your first time?” she asked with an impish look and then two heart beats of pause. “I mean your first air-conditioned building?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not yes and no?” She laughed.

  She continued to hold my arm, her body brushing against mine, and I found it hard to think.

  She said, “Well then, let me tell you that this is the future. One day all buildings will be this cool. Heat saps energy and the right temperature stimulates the mind. This is why Andrew Yipp has both his office and residence in this building.”

  She led me forwards towards a rank of elevators. A bell boy stood to attention, pressed a button and then held the door open with a gloved hand. Inside another uniformed man nodded a polite acknowledgement of Su Ling and pressed a button.

  I noticed that neither man had made eye contact, both studiously looking down as if concentrating on their work.

  When we reached the twelfth floor, Su Ling let go of my arm and moved a respectful distance away. The door opened and we walked through a reception area.

  We passed numerous people—all of whom appeared to be Chinese. Again no one looked directly at us. All except one man who stood by a door. The man from the warehouse. The man who caused the livid bruise on my thigh. Wang.

  He focused on me without any facial expression. Then, at the last moment, he smirked and stepped to one side. I kept my eyes on him as the beautiful translator led me into the room. It was large—about ten yards long—and minimalist. There was no furniture, just a giant rug that covered most of the floor. We kept walking until we stood in front of broad windows.

  “The view is spectacular in daylight,” Su Ling said.

  There were plenty of lights and I could see the dark snake of the Singapore River running past the quays and warehouses.

  I said, “Are we meeting your boss here?”

  “Mr Yipp is in the room there.” She indicated a side door. “He knows we are here. It’ll just be a matter of minutes.”

  I continued to look at the lights of the city and her reflection next to mine.

  She said, “You haven’t asked me why Mr Yipp wants to meet you. I also expected you to ask me about him.”

  “I’m sure I’m about to find out.”

  She nodded at me in the glass. “He admires patience.”

  “I’m not sure—”

  “He also respects integrity.”

  I wondered if she was hinting at how I should handle the man but, before I could ask her, the side door opened. A young lady stepped through, bowed slightly and exited.

  It was time to meet the mysterious Andrew Yipp.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Pointing to the second room, Su Ling indicated that I should enter. She followed one step behind.

  The wall lights were dim and there was a faint smell of incense from a long thin candle burning in a pot. The pot was on a low table covered by a red velvet-looking sheet. The only other thing on the table was a bucket covered with a white cloth.

  This room had cushions on the wooden floor and no rug this time. By the window stood a man. He was Chinese, lithe and of indeterminable age. I guessed maybe fifty but he could have been twenty years older.

  He was dressed in what looked like red and yellow silk pyjamas. He had a wide stance and moved his arms fluidly through the air, changed his stance and repeated the arm movement. I was transfixed because it was the first time I’d seen anyone do Tai Chi.

  Without looking at me, Andrew Yipp said, “You are a boxer, I believe, Mr Carter.”

  “I used to box as an amateur.”

  “Do you stay fit?”

  “I like to think so,” I said. “I have trained every day since I was sixteen, when I started boxing.”

  Yipp completed another series of moves before he spoke again.

  “Are you brave, Mr Carter?”

  “I think so,” I said again.

  “On the table is a bucket. I want you to punch into it—through the cloth.”

  “I might be brave but I’m not foolish.”

  “And what if I tell you, you will not be harmed? Please punch into the bucket about halfway.”

  I stepped over to the table. The cloth was silk and impossible to see through. There could be anything inside but this was clearly a test. I stood side on, raised my weaker, right hand above the bucket and punched through the silk.

  I connected with something that felt like sponge. Left my fist there for a second and withdrew it.

  Yipp stopped his exercise routine and bowed slightly. I returned the gesture.

  “Now sit, Mr Carter,” he said and pointed to a cushion.

  He sat opposite, about two arms’ lengths away. Su Ling took a cushion and sat behind and to the right of him.

  He said, “I am concerned about the piece of paper you showed my assistant.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “I do not know but I can tell you what it isn’t. It appears to be like the symbol of a secret society but, Mr Carter, the Singapore Government banned such things more than fifty years ago.”

  “Secret society?”

  “They are more crudely known as Triads in some countries.”

  I waited.

  “There is no Triad in Singapore, Mr Carter. I have wondered perhaps whether a gang has tried to form but this is not possible without my knowledge.”

  “I see. So what do you think the symbol means?”

  He looked at me with thoughtful eyes. “I wonder whether you are supposed to think that there is a gang problem, Mr Carter. The paper came from someone in the government, yes?”

  I nodded.

  “Do you understand politics, Mr Carter?”

  All too well, I’m afraid, and it seemed I was about to get another lesson.

  “As you know, this is a British Colony. Four years ago they held elections for a Legislative Council although only British subjects could vote and only a handful of seats were electable. You are new to the country so you may not know that shortly afterwards, the war broke out in Malaya.” He gave an ironic smile. “Although you cal
l it the Malaya Emergency rather than a war.”

  I nodded and said, “Communist insurgents.”

  “Bandits is the term you should use, Mr Carter. It sounds so much quainter. However this led to the Governor introducing the Internal Security Act. Anyone suspected of terrorism may be held indefinitely without trial.” He shook his head and I detected sadness as he said, “Can you imagine it: a suspect imprisoned without question? How is that fair? How can that be justice?”

  I could see his point but said nothing.

  He continued: “There is a struggle going on, Mr Carter. Forget the communists, forget the bandits. The struggle is between the ten per cent of people who run the country and the rest of us. We are the commercial heart of this country. We are the future, Mr Carter.”

  I understood what he was saying. He thought the piece of paper and probably my whole assignment was fake. He was telling me that he was not an insurgent but perhaps the government would like to arrest him as one.

  “Please don’t misunderstand me,” he said, “I am very loyal to the British. I am fourth generation. My great grandfather was one of the first Chinese labourers who arrived in the late nineteenth century. This is a multicultural community, mostly of Chinese descent, but we are happy with our heritage. We are Chinese Singaporeans rather than Chinese. We are not leftists.”

  He stood then and bowed. I was being dismissed.

  “So nice of you to visit me, Mr Carter. I wish you success.”

  He turned to the window and smoothly began his Tai Chi once more.

  Su Ling led me back into the first room. She smiled at me.

  “You did well. He likes you.”

  I had the sense of calm but great power in the man. I certainly wouldn’t like to get on the wrong side of him. But if I had to, I would.

  I said, “I liked him too.”

  She shook my hand and flashed her enchanting eyes at me. “Would you see yourself out?”

  “Can I see you again?”

  “Of course.” She smiled and pointed towards the exit.

  As I left, I noticed her go back into Yipp’s room.

  Wang was still by the door.

  “I wish I had my stick,” he said and his smirk seemed to transform into a leer.

  Brave or foolish, I don’t know. I put my left hand in my pocket and felt the MP’s brassard I’d worn at the start of the day. I pulled it out and he glanced at it. Perhaps he thought I’d say something about being an MP. I didn’t.

  He lunged as though to strike my leg. It was like a schoolboy prank: make the other person flinch. He started to laugh as he saw my movement but I wasn’t flinching.

  With a counter-puncher’s instinct, I had stepped away and then forward to deliver my blow just as he retreated. The uppercut lifted him off his feet and the way he landed let me know he was out for the count.

  There had been a slight buzz of noise before. Suddenly the hallway was silent. Five members of staff stared in disbelief. I unwrapped the brassard from my knuckles and walked down the stairs.

  Sleep eluded me and for a long time I watched a lizard on my ceiling. I wasn’t getting very far investigating the death of my friend. I didn’t understand the connection with Nee Soon, if there was one. I appeared to have an impossible job, preventing an imaginary attack. And I appeared to be in the middle of a political game between the army, the government and now Andrew Yipp. He might not be part of a Triad but I had the distinct sense of power. He was in charge and control of something and maybe the government were afraid of him or what he represented.

  By the time the lizard finally disappeared through the slats in my window, I had decided to focus on Tom Silverman. I’d find out whether Mei Fen was genuinely his fiancée and I’d question his co-workers. I’d also work with Inspector Rahman to find out if there was a connection with the girl from Nee Soon.

  The rest of it could go to hell.

  That was my plan but, as I’d learned in the army, when the action starts, all bets are off. However it would be another day before I learned two things that would change everything.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Training in the pre-dawn darkness I felt strangely dissatisfied. Instead of stopping, I decided to run as well. I pounded the streets going south a short distance and then along the coast road towards the city and the quays. I passed Keppel Harbour and then Empire Docks, both of which were lit up, and I could see docked ships and people working. This was the night crew and I knew it would get much busier later. I knew see this partly because I was now running against a tide of workers, heading for the start of their shift.

  I ran around Fullerton Square and then looped back. I was probably at the sixth mile by the time the exercise-endorphins started to wear off. The combination of little sleep and pushing myself hard for ninety minutes made the final mile a bit of a slog.

  I showered and dressed for the day and headed for the mess. Robshaw was just finishing his breakfast but hung around to keep me company. He didn’t comment on my red face and did a lot of talking until he could see I had my wind back. He told me about the incident reports and that there had been little trouble overnight, just the usual drunken and disorderly behaviour. He then told me about some news of Malaya, that a train had been attacked by bandits. They had been lying in wait at a cutting through the hills and shot down into the carriages. Seven soldiers had been killed and dozens wounded.

  Fighting had seemingly reached a peak in the summer of fifty-one and had been relatively quiet since.

  “There’s a concern it’s picking up again. In fact last night there were even shots reported across the Straits near the crossing.” He paused and looked at me then said, “So what do you think?”

  “About what?”

  “About the imminent threat on the island?”

  “I don’t know.” I told him about meeting with Yipp and his view that the symbol was fake, that there were no secret societies any more.

  “So what next then?”

  “First on my agenda is Inspector Rahman. I want to know if he found out where the flyer came from.”

  “You think it’s the police—that they’re pretending there’s a security threat?”

  “I don’t know,” I said again. “But I’d like to know. I also want them looking into the Madam Butterfly case.”

  Robshaw looked shocked and ran a hand through his blond hair. “Major Vernon won’t like it.”

  “I don’t care what he likes.”

  He thought for a moment then said, “Do you think they’ll help catch her then?”

  “How else are we going to catch her, Robbo?”

  He said nothing.

  “If all we do is wait for an attack to be reported then it’s already too late. Every single case has been reported in the morning. Long after the woman has gone.”

  “So how can the police help?”

  I studied him for a moment. I hadn’t realized how young he was; maybe only twenty-two and with limited experience. No wonder they had a liaison issue. Robshaw had no real experience of the police and the police it seemed were ineffective. I explained that we were supposed to be working together. I’d been reminded in Nee Soon that the army and police still weren’t acting in harmony. It hadn’t mattered to me last night, when I thought my role was political. However, I realized I should be going with what I knew and not what people told me.

  I smiled and said, “Let’s just see. I’ll let you know how the meeting goes.”

  Hegarty also wanted to know why I would tell Rahman about Madam Butterfly. It looked like an early rain so we’d selected a Land Rover hardtop and were heading out of Gillman.

  I didn’t bother with a full explanation and just repeated the “let’s see” line.

  “You still haven’t told me about your meeting with Mr Yipp,” he said.

  “And?”

  “Did you learn anything?”

  “Lots and nothing.”

  Hegarty waited for more. When it wasn’t forthcoming, he said, “What’s he
like?”

  “Imagine Major Vernon only without the shouting. Imagine someone who knows they have power but doesn’t need to prove it.”

  “Did you hit him?”

  I looked down at my left hand which ached. I wasn’t very used to punching anything without gloves on. And if I did, I hit soft tissue. I knew a man could break his hand hitting a hard target.

  He said, “I noticed you nursing it, just didn’t like to ask—before.”

  “No. I hit someone else. One of his goons.”

  “Did he go down?”

  “Like a sack of potatoes.”

  The sergeant grinned. “So you won hands down?”

  I shook my head in dismay. “You’re just using that expression so you can tell me its origin. Right?”

  “It comes from horse racing. If a jockey is well ahead, he doesn’t need to whip his horse. He can hold his reins so his hands are down.”

  “Just drive,” I said.

  When we arrived at Hill Street Station I asked him to wait for me. Large raindrops began to fall and I sprinted the short distance into the reception area. A twinge in my right calf reminded me of my early morning run.

  The area was already half full and the desk sergeant looked hassled. I marched up, stood beside the desk and said, “Is Inspector Rahman in his office?”

  Only half looking at me, I got the response that he’d just returned. Without waiting for more, I moved beyond the desk and into the hall. I found the inspector’s office. The door was open but he wasn’t at his desk.

  I let myself in and waited.

  There was a framed photograph on his desk. I turned it around and looked at it. It was of a squad of Indian men in Second World War British Army uniforms.

  “Oh hello, Captain,” the inspector said, coming into the room.

  I shook his hand and wondered if he seemed a little anxious. “I hope you don’t mind me being nosey.”

  “Of course not.”

  I pointed to the photograph. “Who are they?”

  “My father and uncle in the 4th Indian Regiment,” he said. “Both died in the war—on the first day. The anniversary is just in…” He paused and looked at the photograph. Maybe something caught in his throat. Then within a second he had composed himself and said, “…three days’ time.”