Point of Contact

The two-lane road was lined with dense foliage and trees on both sides. Steel gates broke up the tree line occasionally, and through them Jack spotted large, modern homes nestled far back from the road. The area reminded him of the one-percent zip codes in Washington, D.C., and elsewhere around the country he’d had the pleasure of visiting.

Two guards stood discreetly in the shadows of a broad entryway. The fortified gate slowly opened for the Range Rover as the guards waved them through. The Range Rover’s tires burbled on the driveway’s cobblestones as it rolled up the slight incline toward the mansion, nestled inside an expansive, well-manicured lawn. Off to the side of the house stood a tall, sprawling tree like an oak with long, sturdy branches and a thick trunk.

“What kind of tree is that?” Paul asked. “Must be seventy feet tall.”

“It’s called a penaga laut. That one is over one hundred years old. My father has been extremely careful to preserve it. He says that tree is as much a part of our family as he is.”

“Beautiful specimen.”

“My father’s modest home,” Lian said. “I hope you don’t mind, but we’ve prepared a small reception for you.”

“Modest?” Jack said. “It’s spectacular.”

The red-tiled roof contrasted brilliantly with the white two-story structure. It was obviously old construction, though renovated, and similar to several elegant bungalows they had passed earlier.

“Thank you. But it’s not quite as large or famous as the house your father lives in, I’m afraid.”

“My dad’s place is bigger, but it’s older and it’s just a loaner,” he said.

Jack couldn’t tell if there was a smile on her face in the passing shadows, and the tone in her voice didn’t provide any clues, either. She might have been paying him a compliment — or mocking him. Maybe both.

“My father’s house is the last privately owned bungalow of its kind on the island. There are only about one hundred left. The rest are owned by the government and leased out, mostly to wealthy British expats longing for an authentic colonial experience.”

The Range Rover rolled to a gentle stop in front of the mansion. Two men in casual uniforms scrambled down from the porch to open the doors, while a third, taller than the other two, called out.

“Mr. Ryan, Mr. Brown, welcome to Singapore!”

Lian, Paul, and Jack approached him. It was still warm outside and slightly humid after the rain, but pleasant.

“Dr. Fairchild, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Jack said. The man was just a few inches shorter than Jack, but he was broad in the shoulders and lean for his age, which Jack guessed to be in his late fifties, judging by the flecks of gray in his hair and the lines on his face. Like his daughter, he was a mixed-race Asian, though his Caucasian features were more pronounced than hers.

“Please, call me Gordon, both of you.” They shook hands. Dr. Fairchild’s smile was wide and infectious. Lian slipped under her father’s arm and he gave her a hug and a kiss on the head. “You’ve met my daughter, obviously. Pardon a father’s pride.”

“How long have you been head of security?” Jack asked.

“Only two years.”

“My daughter’s being modest. She served ably under her predecessor for three years and before that was a sergeant in the Special Tactics and Rescue Unit with the Singapore Police Force.”

“That’s quite an accomplishment.”

A sleek Protonic Red BMW i8 roared through the gates. Every head turned.

Dr. Fairchild was clearly annoyed at the spectacle but tried to hide it behind a forced smile. “Come in, please. I know how tired you both are after that long journey. I’ve made it too many times myself. We have dinner prepared for you.”

“That’s very kind of you, sir,” Paul said.

“It’s a humble meal, but I hope it will satisfy.”

The i8 screeched to a halt behind the Range Rover and the gull-wing doors lifted. The driver leaped out and dashed over to the porch. “Sorry I’m late, Father. A small emergency at the office.”

Dr. Fairchild’s smile disappeared. He began to say something but held his tongue. “Gentlemen, this is my son, Yong Fairchild, the chief financial officer of Dalfan Technologies. Yong, this is Paul Brown and Jack Ryan from Hendley Associates.”

Yong was taller than his father and as handsome as his sister was beautiful. Broad-shouldered and narrow-waisted, the CFO carried himself like a fighter. Like his sister, he owned a firm grip and smiled as he looked Jack straight in the eye.

“We’ve been looking forward to your arrival,” Yong said. “I hope the two of you will forgive my lateness.”

“We just arrived. It’s not a problem at all,” Jack said.

Dr. Fairchild pointed toward the front door. “Now that we’re all finally here, we should eat.”

* * *