Singapore Sling Shot (4 page)

I put the cell back into my jacket, lit a Marlboro and pondered those last words and Sami's momentary slip-up over the camera. It wasn't like him to doubt I'd do exactly as he asked. He knew me better than that. However, obviously there was a lot going on and he was running to keep up. No doubt the “family business” he would have to tend to on landing would include arrangements for the funeral for his brother's family and the others. That was enough to rattle anyone's cage.

Sami Somsak is one of the strongest people I know mentally, and the most enigmatic. I gave him the nickname The Onion Man many years ago. Basically, it was one way for me to acknowledge and explain the incredible complexity and multi-layered personality of my friend. To say Sami was deep was like saying that molten lava was warm. I finished my cigarette and my musing, had another swallow of beer and decided to check out the camera, just as Sami had suggested.

I fished the package containing the Sony out from amongst my shopping and spent the remainder of my pint and another figuring out how to work it. It was really dead easy. The camera was compact, but it had a 5X lens. I'd bought a one-gigabyte card. According to the brochure, I could shoot several thousand shots set on low to medium resolution with it. I set the dial up for five megapixels. That gave me several hundred images that could be pumped up large enough to see relatively fine detail as required.

Sami hadn't told me specifically what to photograph beyond the alarm system and general background. That being the case, I would simply concentrate on whatever was in the room in question, taking in any obvious security features and anything else I could identify. Outside I'd just do tourist stuff. I'd pose with my beautiful ersatz wife all over the place and photograph her with lots of background.

How did I know that Simone, my wife to be, would be beautiful? Well, Sami does beautiful with his women and I guess the same gene would have been at work in his half-brother. I sure hoped so.

The pub was filling up as I left. It would have been pleasant to have stayed and met up with a few of the locals, but I was on a mission and a hangover tomorrow was not factored into my plans. I found a cab a few metres down the street and headed back to the Carlton. Okay, it isn't far to walk, but I was loaded like a pack mule.

5

Simone DeLue was beautiful, just as I had anticipated and hoped she would be. Stanley and Sami definitely shared that same chromosome relating to good-looking women. Or at least they had done so. That's the thing about death. It takes a while for the brain to get to grips with the tenses.

When I came down from my room, she was waiting in the lounge off the main reception area. Like me, she was wearing long shorts. Hers did not look at all stupid on her. I wasn't sure if my shorts looked as stupid as I felt they did. I was, however, thankful that my months of indolence back in Hong Kong had included sitting or lying, albeit generally in a semi-comatose state, on my terrace or by the condo's pool. Therefore I had managed to maintain a decent tan that at least made my damn shorts bearable. There is nothing worse in my book than seeing lily-white, hairy sticks of spaghetti poking out of a pair of voluminous shorts. It's especially pathetic when the hairy spaghetti sticks end in what appear to be enormous oversized sneakers or boots. All an illusion, of course, because of the spaghetti legs combined with normal-sized feet. That always reminds me of Minnie Mouse cartoons or of Spike Milligan's drawings.

Simone's tan was the golden tan of the fair skinned, the colour of honey, while her hair was straw gold. There had to be some Scandinavian in her genetic mix. She was tall and looked very athletic. Her eyes, which tracked me as I came towards her, were clear and blue and very much alive. Sami had obviously described me, but the shorts were probably the giveaway.

In addition to the stupid shorts, both of us had on polo shirts; hers was lime green, mine was light blue. We were the damned Bobbsey Twins!

My outfit was completed by a wide-billed baseball cap bearing a BMW logo. It had been the least offensive of those I had been looking at. My striking companion didn't have a hat on. With her mass of blonde curls tied back by a green ribbon that wasn't an accidental match to her shirt, she didn't need any sun protection. We were both wearing dark glasses. Mine were on my hat, hers pushed into her hair.

I noticed that Simone's Nike trainers were not brand new. They'd seen some use. Judging by how trim her long body looked, she was into the gym or was a runner which, of course, probably accounted for the shoes. My own swooshes were straight out of the box. My usual footwear, my faithful boots, were in my wardrobe. Cowboy boots and shorts do not a match make. Not even for a hokum Aussie tourist.

Simone carried a camera slung over one shoulder and a leather bag over the other. I had the Sony in its case clipped to my belt. I'd added a sleeveless khaki vest over my shirt. My wallet, cigarettes and sundry other bits and pieces were all stowed in its many pockets. The vest was practical and, of course, it is just the sort of thing tourists like me seem to wear, especially in the tropics.

We made a show of greeting, and to a casual observer we were old friends or separated spouses meeting up. There were kisses and hugs. I must admit that I found it all most pleasant. Arm in arm we headed out front to snare a taxi.

Safely ensconced in the back of a blue Comfort cab en route to VivoCity and the Sentosa train, we dropped the charade momentarily.

“I feel like a right idiot,” I said.

“You look like a typical tourist,” came the reply. Simone's English was perfect with just the bare trace of an accent. Dutch or South African, I couldn't quite be sure. “Mr Somsak said you'd hate this bit.” She was smiling. It was a nice smile.

“Yeah,” I muttered. “He knows me too well. So, what's on the agenda?”

“We'll have breakfast at Vivo and get the monorail across to the island. No point in us going over there too early. Things don't open until ten or so.”

“You've been there a lot?”

“Two kids. It's Singapore's playground,” she replied. The faint, flat touch of bitterness in her voice belied her smile. “When it's the weekend or school holidays and the kids are restless and you're trapped in an apartment block and you're not filthy rich, you soon learn to love and hate the place.”

The obvious questions reared their heads. Was she married? How long had she been here, etc, etc? I bit them back. This was a one-day gig. The less I knew the better, in all probability. She had other ideas.

“Sorry,” she replied. “I'm divorced, two kids, girl, eleven, and a boy thirteen. I work for Stanley's company, administration, nothing more. I know the company is actually owned by Mr Somsak.” Simone paused momentarily. “I have been in meetings with Mr Somsak and Stanley, so I know how things are. Were,” she corrected herself and pushed away the obviously less-than-pleasant thought that momentarily clouded her expression. “This is a welcome change,” she said, changing gear and putting on a patently false happy face. “I get the chance to play-act.”

“As payment for your performance I'll be buying the best lunch we can find,” I added, “following an absolutely disgustingly rich and unhealthy breakfast.”

“Sounds good.” This time Simone DeLue smiled as if she meant it. Maybe, work aside, this would be a nice day all round. And hey, my mind was definitely above my belt on this one, and while that's not a first, it's a pleasant change of pace for me. I was here to save Sami's arse, not get laid, pleasant as it would no doubt have been with my companion of the moment.

We had coffee and pastries on the balcony of a café at VivoCity. The view was of the busy harbour basin towards Sentosa. The amount of building work going on across that short stretch of water completely astounded me. Simone told me that a casino and God only knows what else was being built over there.

“How things have changed.”

“How so?” Simone wanted to know.

“Not so long ago gambling was an absolute no-no here. Changing times, I suppose. The powers that be have decided to capitalise on the gambling revenue. Easy money for the coffers.”

“I guess,” she agreed as we stood and prepared to go to the fantasy land across the water.

Now I'd been to Sentosa once a few years before when I'd been based in Bangkok. It hadn't been a fun trip. I'd had to give one of her Majesty's flunkies a severe spanking for an indiscretion involving some missing embassy funds. He had fled Bangkok and holed up in a hotel on Sentosa island. He wasn't particularly bright and we'd tracked him down within days. I'd managed to retrieve the bulk of the funds and, following orders, I engineered a slight accident that put him in hospital for several months. I didn't enjoy what I had been instructed to do, so my one and only visit to Singapore's fun island hadn't been pleasurable in the slightest. The things we do, huh? Or rather the things I did for Queen and country in my other life. That life was now over.

The monorail to Sentosa took about thirty seconds. Well, it seemed that quick. In reality it was probably a three-minute ride from land to land and another three minutes to the first stop as we rumbled over the massive construction work going on below us.

Simone led the way as we left the unit and made our way downstairs at the first station. There had been only a few passengers on the train with us. Most of them were young people who looked as if they had dragged themselves out of their beds and were heading to their jobs on the island.

We swiped our tickets and went sightseeing. Above us was the peculiar Merlion symbol Singapore has adopted as its mascot: lion's head, mermaid or merman's body! I knew from my time here all those years ago that the tower served as the base for the spectacular light and fountain show that used to run nightly on the island. That was before they tore everything up to build the casino and waterworld. I guessed the lightshow or something like it would be reactivated as part of the new-look Sentosa in time. I just hoped they wouldn't go and build another fucking Disneyland on the island.

There was a flower show being held on Sentosa this day. Huge, elaborate displays were set up all around the terraces beside the Merlion. The people looking after the dozens of displays were watering them and tweaking them, no doubt in preparation for being swamped later in the day by hoards of visitors. Simone and I played the tourist card to the hilt. We posed for photographs and found that at every display we stopped at, someone would insist on taking photographs of us as a couple, and on both of our cameras.

It took an age before we finished winding our way up the pathways, through the gardens to the escalator that then carried us to the wide lookout plateau where the cable car from the mainland was anchored. The revolving Sky Tower and various other attractions were scattered about the large terrace. Some Indian guy with a yellow python was busy trying to drape his friend over a group of squealing female Japanese tourists. There were several of those king-size pay-as-you-go binoculars mounted by the edge of the plateau. I decided to commandeer one of those later.

“Refreshments,” I said as we reached the bar near the base of the Sky Tower. I waved to the barman that we were interested and guided Simone down the few steps to the large wooden deck below. This was the perfect place to sit and check out both the earthworks below and the city across the harbour. I went to the railing and leaned on it, taking in the view just as Joe Tourist would do. In fact, I was actually Dan the Survivor checking out the lie of the land. My life could very well depend on that at some time in the very near future.

Sami wanted me to retrieve something from the surrender room at the fort. That much I knew. Prior to doing that I needed to obtain all the information I could about the fort and the island. Information harvesting is an agent's—or should I say former agent's—stock-in-trade. As I stood there, Simone leaned into my shoulder, pointing and chattering. She was right into her role as the blonde, ditzy wife. While she talked, I grunted replies of a sort and analysed what I was seeing.

Beyond the bridge linking Sentosa to the mainland was an island filled with containers. It technically wasn't an island any more because it was firmly attached to the mainland by a multi-lane umbilical cord. In addition to a mass of docked ships and containers there were what I guessed to be banks of offices or maybe condominiums on the island. What a combination! Imagine living right next door to one of the world's busiest container ports. Singapore sure needed more land and I guessed what Sami and his guys were doing via the Intella development was providing that; after a fashion anyway.

A wide channel separated the island from the massive container port on the mainland shore. This fenced compound was dozens of containers deep and it stretched for kilometres from the Sentosa Bridge off into the distance. Huge fixed hoists and enormous blue-grey straddle carriers were working. The portside cranes were playing Pass the Parcel with containers, handing them on to the big straddle carriers that carried the boxes back from the dockside and stacked them into the rows that stretched back towards the city. Smaller yellow carriers scuttled around all over the place like huge, mechanical ants. These guys were repositioning containers and loading truck and tractor trailer units.

The whole operation of the container port seemed to me to be some sort of mechanised dance. Someone, somewhere was choreographing this insane two-step—or was it a foxtrot? Hell, I don't know. Dancing isn't my thing.

“It's quite incredible, isn't it?” Simone had dropped the ditzy act for the moment.

“Absolutely,” I agreed. A waitress was hovering behind us. I ordered a beer, Simone an orange juice.

“Too early for alcohol?”

“Don't drink,” came the reply as we went and sat at a table. “My husband did, and that was part of the problem.”