Point of Contact

Voted the world’s best airport year after year by Skytrax, Changi didn’t disappoint in either beauty or efficiency. Jack would have enjoyed checking out the butterfly garden or the rooftop sunflowers, but the two of them had customs to get through and baggage claim before meeting up with the car service that would shuttle them to their hotel.

Having nothing to declare, Paul and Jack proceeded swiftly through the green corridor at customs, then headed for the Terminal 3 baggage area. Jack was stunned by the architecture in the wide and open space. The gray-and-white stone floors were patterned like an IBM punch card, complementing the cantilevered panels that opened in the high ceiling like silver windows. But the cold modernity was offset by soaring walls covered in a green hanging garden and stately palm trees planted in the floor. It felt more like a space station biodome than an airport terminal.

The added bonus was that their luggage was already rumbling along on the wide rubber plates of the conveyor belt.

“How is that even possible? I’m usually waiting for my luggage longer than the flight lasts, back in the States,” Jack said.

Paul stood with his rent-free luggage cart — unheard-of in American airports. “I read online that they used to have a rule at Changi Airport — no longer than twelve minutes for the first bag on the airplane to reach the belt. I guess it’s still in effect.”

“If Singapore runs the rest of their country like their airport, they’ll soon run the world.”

They gathered up their bags and headed for the exit, where they saw a cluster of black-suited limousine drivers holding placards and tablets in a wide variety of languages and scripts. But it was a woman about Jack’s age that caught his eye. She wore an open-collared white shirt, a powder-gray suit jacket and slacks, and a near frown on her beautiful but serious face. No jewelry. Obviously Asian, but taller than most, and also mixed race. Stunning.

Standing to her side and slightly behind her was an Asian man about as wide as Jack but not as tall, in a pair of slacks, a polo shirt, and a tight-fitting sport coat, the seams strained by a muscled torso. Jack guessed the square-jawed security man was Korean. His dark eyes bored into Jack’s.

The woman stepped forward, extending her hand. “You must be Jack Ryan.”

Jack took her firm grip. “And you’re Lian Fairchild, head of Dalfan security.”

She tried to hide her surprise. “You did your homework.”

“It was a long flight and I had good Wi-Fi.”

She extended her hand to Paul. “Mr. Brown, I hope you had a pleasant trip.”

“Very much so, thank you.”

“This is Park, one of my senior security staff.”

Park nodded curtly.

“What branch of service?” Jack asked, curious if the stone-faced hulk would answer.

“Marine Corps,” Park said. “Republic of Korea.”

No one to screw around with, Jack noted.

Lian pointed toward the exit. “We should get going. Traffic is heavy this time of day.”

* * *

A few minutes later they loaded into a black luxury Range Rover and navigated the heavy airport traffic. The windshield wipers slapped away a light rain. Paul was visibly nervous about the fact they were driving on the wrong — English — side of the road but didn’t say anything.

So close to Malaysia and Indonesia, Jack was half expecting a Third World megacity, overcrowded and dysfunctional, until he did his research on the plane. From the highway he could see the ultramodern, Western-style metropolis and its towering skyline. Most of the cars around them in the bumper-to-bumper traffic were late-model vehicles, many of them bearing luxury name plates like Lexus and Mercedes. He could’ve been on a freeway in Los Angeles or New York, except the cars and roads in both of those places were in far worse condition.

“I hope you don’t mind, but we’ve changed your plans,” Lian said from the front seat.

“We’re not heading for the hotel?” Paul asked.

“You won’t be staying at a hotel. I’ve made better arrangements for you.”

“That’s very generous of you, but it’s not necessary,” Jack said. What he really wanted was to fall into a bed after a shower and a shave, or at least a change of clothes, before meeting the CEO of Dalfan Technologies.

“Of course it isn’t necessary, but it’s my father’s wish.”

Jack and Paul exchanged a look, surprised by the hostility in her voice.

“I hope the two of you are not too tired from your journey. My father wishes to meet with both of you this evening.”

“We’re happy to meet him. That’s why we’re here,” Jack said.

“Good. I trust it won’t be too unpleasant.”

* * *

Twenty-five minutes later they found themselves just west of the Singapore Botanic Gardens, in one of the oldest and wealthiest neighborhoods in the island nation-state.