THURSDAY'S ORCHID (29 page)

It was the longest shower I could ever remember taking. The bathroom was pure magic compared to the ship’s appointments: spotlessly clean; the shower-stall big enough for two; soft perfumed soap; and snow-white fluffy towels – luxury. Tek could wait.

Even with clean clothes and scrubbed from head to foot there was still the faint aroma of salt and diesel. Would it ever disappear? I caught the elevator down to street level, the humidity stifling after the hotel’s air-conditioning.

There were people in the street, but it was still fairly quiet for Singapore.

I slipped into the next hotel I came to, the Singapore Forum. I couldn’t tell whether there was anyone following me. There was a bank of phones in the lobby and I made the call without wasting any more time.

Sang answered at the other end; at least it sounded like him – polite and efficient.
I asked for Mr. Cheh. He wanted to know who was calling, so I told him it was private and to get a move on. A few minutes later Tek was on the line.

“This is
Cheh Wah Tek. Can I help you?” Polite, but wary.

“Tek,” I said quietly. “I believe you will recognise my voice. There are a few things we must discuss in private, but not at your house. Somewhere safe and secure;
where there is no possibility of our being overheard. We’ve got problems with competition.”

“Where are you staying?”

No request for details. Nick would have asked a thousand questions; all of them relevant, but none that couldn’t wait.

“I don’t think we should meet there either,” I replied.

There was silence for a moment.

“My driver, who is also my brother’s son, will collect you outside the main entrance to the Oversea
s-Chinese Banking Corporation at ten tomorrow morning. He will be driving a light-blue Mercedes. He answers to the name of Sung. He knows you by sight.” Another pause. “Is it all right to go ahead with the rest of the transaction?”

“Quite all right,” I replied. “You may proceed as planned. I’ll meet your nephew at ten in the morning. Goodnight.”

With that, I hung up the phone. I had wanted to ask him about Mee Ling, but it would have to wait. Someone already knew of my interest and I didn’t want to focus any more attention on her.

Nick and I had done what we had set out to do. The ship had reached Singapore with the consignment and there hadn’t been swarms of customs officers milling around the ship when we docked. There had been no tip-off.

I strolled back to the Hilton. There was nothing further to do until morning. I was looking forward to the big double bed with its clean sheets.

I tossed and turned the whole night. It was too quiet. I missed the sound of the generators, the vibration of the hull and the roll of the ship.

That second lingering shower the next morning seemed to bring some relief from the aroma I carried. The scent of perfumed soap was heavy in the air, but after a while those old companions crept back: the odours of grease and diesel; rotten meat; lanolin; and a faint trace of curry and garlic.

There were people and vehicles everywhere; a city of hustle and bustle; nobody loitering; everyone with a destination, a purpose. It was a pleasant feeling to stroll among
the crowds and know that I could escape back to the coolness of my hotel any time I wanted to; but it wasn’t until I reached the Overseas-Chinese Bank that I remembered that there had been three attempts to kill me on the boat. Or had it been four?

There was no reason why they mightn’t try again. I backed in amongst the pillars, trying to make myself as small a target as possible. It was a bit late for such precautions; but better late than dead.

It’s my practice never to be late for an appointment, and I was ten minutes ahead of time. Ten minutes in the open was going to tax my nerves, but I needn’t have worried. Tek’s nephew was also early. He drew the Mercedes to the kerb and sprang out, hand outstretched.

“Ah, Mr. Rider. Good morning, sir. I am Sung. Mr. Cheh is waiting for you. If you would like to get in please.” Politeness and a cheery smile, even if in a hurry.

I got in and settled down into the soft comfort that is Mercedes. We had been travelling for a little under five minutes when he stopped just off Holland Road, near the Botanic Gardens. It didn’t seem the place Tek would pick for a meeting – too open, too public, and far too many people to see us together. I leaned forward and tapped him on the shoulder, startling him.

“Are we meeting you uncle here, Sung?”

“No, Mr. Rider,” he replied, looking over his shoulder. “But we have to pick up one of Mr. Cheh’s bodyguards. There he is. We shall only be a moment.”

A tall Chinese emerged from amongst a group of trees and came hurrying across to the car, his head constantly on the move as he searched the crowd.

“Mr. Cheh thought it would be best if we had somebody with us,” Sung said, interrupting my thoughts for a moment. “Just in case there might be trouble.”

He had never once referred to Tek as his uncle. It was not
my uncle
, but
Mr. Cheh
. If I hadn’t been so tired the bells would have started ringing much sooner. As it was, we were a few kilometres down the road, heading west, when I realised that things weren’t as they should have been.

“Shouldn’t we be heading north-east?” I asked. There was no answer from the two in the front seat. “We seem to be going the wrong way.” Still no answer. I leaned forward and tapped him again. “Hey, Sung! Where are we meeting your uncle?”

The bodyguard turned slowly, the barrel of an automatic pistol pointing between my eyes.

Eighteen

After all my clever plans; after all I had gone through: the fear as the ship twisted and ground itself on the reef; the struggle with the Malay in the hold; Pete’s death – and now this.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Rider,” the driver said quietly, head half turned to me. I knew by now that he wasn’t Sung. “We are not going to kill you. We shall take good care of you, very good care. You are an extremely valuable commodity.”

They both burst out laughing. So much for politeness. My life was just a joke as far as they were concerned.

I had walked in like an innocent child, with both eyes wide open. They must have gambled on my being early, knowing that Tek’s real nephew would have been there at precisely ten o’clock; as I should have known had I been thinking straight, but I hadn’t been thinking at all. The continual reference to
Mr. Cheh
should have been sufficient for my tiny brain. I should have been out of the car at the first set of traffic lights, running down the road like a startled rabbit.

Tek and I should have planned it better. I should have called him back in the morning to arrange the meeting. We had given them time to
organise their forces; but, to be fair to Tek, he didn’t appreciate the problem we were up against. He wasn’t aware of how deeply they had penetrated his organization.

We travelled in silence for the rest of the journey, the scenery flashing by unnoticed. I was deep in thought – and petrified – as we crossed several creeks and then swung towards the south-west. I kept an eye on t
he road signs. They told me we were making for Tuas; about as far as you can get from the main centres.

We must have been three or four kilometres from Tuas when
the driver turned the Mercedes in to an overgrown driveway leading into an abandoned plantation. A little further on we came to an old weather-worn house; several windows hanging out from their frames, broken panes of glass.

The bodyguard jumped out
, jerked the door open and bundled me up on to the verandah and in through the front door before I had a chance to object.

“Welcome, Mr. Rider,” said a voice from the other side of the room. “It is very kind of you
to do us the honour of paying us a visit. We have heard many things about you.”

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 s
tanding. 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 t
one 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 sh
ould 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 th
e 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 b
een 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 watchin
g 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 heavy 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?”