THURSDAY'S ORCHID (30 page)

“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, fi
rst dusting it with his handkerchief. The other two arranged themselves between me and the door, pistols out in the open.

If only Nic
k 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 could 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 w
as 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.

We entered the bank in a tight bunch. The bodyguard had released my jacket and the pistols weren’t so obvious. With armed guards standing around, the pistols had been hidden a little more carefully; back in shoulder holsters I hoped. The peacock and the bodyguard were right behind me, the driver in front. I trod on his heels once or twice to give myself more breathing space, remembering the knife.

“Keep moving, Mr. Rider,” the peacock hissed in my ear.

I looked around for Tek, or for some of his people, but there wasn’t a friendly face to be seen, only normal everyday customers crowding around the counters, and the ever-watchful guards, holstered pistols on their hips. The peacock whispered once more.

“There is no-one here to help you, Mr. Rider. Go and get the envelope, and be quick!”

At that instant I forged ahead, stepping around the driver, catching him unawares. The other two jumped forward to catch up to me, but I stopped just as suddenly as I had moved off. The peacock crashed into me and the bodyguard sped past, trying to slide to a halt on the polished floor, his hand reaching for the pistol.

I turned and screamed at the top of my voice:
“Hold-up! It’s a hold-up! Look out!”

It seemed like the whole bank spun to the sound of my voice; but I was off, running and darting through the melee that ensued. I caught sight of the bodyguard with his gun in the air trying to follow my weaving back, but the scattering crowd restrained his quivering finger. It didn’t seem
to bother the bank guards. He was dropped before I was even out of sight. There were several more shots, but I didn’t see where they went or who got hit. I saw the peacock move sideways into the milling crowd. I kept on yelling and pointing as I ran.

“It’s a hold up! Men with guns! Back there!”

Nobody stopped me. They were all too busy making themselves scarce, with the sound of shots booming and echoing throughout the high-vaulted chamber.

I burst through the doors and raced down the street. I didn’t know what had happened to the peacock and I wasn’t waiting around to find out.

I headed back towards the Hilton, in my panic making for the only refuge I knew; but the further I got from the bank, the more my brain came out of the fog. If any of them managed to get out of that fire-fight the Hilton would be the first place they would think of. All it needed was one phone call and they could cut me off.

Slowing down to a fast walk, I started to think. A telephone was what I needed more than anything, and one where there were plenty of people around, people that I could hide amongst – tou
rists. The Mandarin Singapore: half way down Orchard Road. If I couldn’t lose myself in the Mandarin, then I wasn’t safe anywhere. They couldn’t search every hotel in the city. My nerves were shot, my legs like jelly.

I took my pick of the five cocktail lounges, chose one with subdued lighting, and ordered a double whisky on the rocks. The jolt of the whisky did wonders for my nerves; almost stunning them out of existence.

The air-conditioning blasted down from the ceiling, but I was still sweating like the proverbial pig. My hands trembled, the whisky in the glass slopping from side to side, and I put the tumbler back on the table before it crashed to the floor.

Next time Nick wanted someone to ride shotgun he could look elsewhere. This was my first and last time. It had struck a depth of terror into my soul I hadn’t known existed.

My second scotch went down slower than the first, but not that much slower. At least I got to taste this one, but it still took two hands to hold it to my lips. The trembling hadn’t slowed; although the twitching had eased.

I was still there twenty minutes later; the backs of my trouser-legs saturated in perspiration, but my breathing regular and my heartbeat no faster than it had been that first night on the reef. I was alive, and I was safe – for the moment.
I wanted to run; but where to I didn’t know or care; out to the airport maybe, back to civilisation. I was almost prepared to give up the money. It wasn’t worth it. There were more important things in this world: my life, for instance.

Commonsense prevailed. All I had was my passport and a few dollars; not even a cred
it card; and if I saw this thing through to the end I could retire; set for life; and tell the lot of them to go to hell. Just a few more days and it would all be over.

I thought of ringing Nick, but he was too far away. Tek was the only one. At l
east he thought and then acted, and usually with speed; but there was danger in that direction. They had got on to me once through him, so why not again; and the next time there would be no kid gloves. The next time it would be for keeps.

There were a number of phones i
n the foyer; all of them available, and no suspicious characters hanging about. If I had spotted somebody standing around doing nothing but just waiting I am certain I would have bolted. My brain was spinning with thoughts of directional microphones, telephone bugs and spies. Fantasy was taking over again, and for one dreadful moment I couldn’t even remember Tek’s number. I stood by the telephone, holding the receiver; numb and petrified; grinding my fist; and then it came to me.

I dialed. And as had happened the previous day, Sang answered: “Mr. Cheh’s residence.”

“Mr. Cheh, please.” I forced myself to keep my voice free from the tremor jerking my chin, pitching the tone deliberately low. Whoever was bugging the conversation must not be allowed to know I was panicking.

“Who is calling, please?” Polite and yet nosy. Would he ever learn?

“Just get Mr. Cheh and hurry up!” I snapped.

My control was slipping. There was no way I was going to identify myself.

“Ah, Mr. Rider,” he replied. “Mr. Cheh is busy at the moment, but I can get him to call you back. Where are you calling from, please?”