Point of Contact

Jack pulled up and out of the garage and onto Changi North Crescent, then over to Upper Changi Road North, where he picked up the Pan Island Expressway (PIE), a three-lane freeway running the length of the island, closer to the center of it and away from the busy congestion of the southern downtown core abutting the Singapore Strait.

Jack’s affection for the city was growing day by day. Even Singapore’s freeways were beautiful. The well-maintained asphalt cut through the middle of a rainforest, with palm trees and colorful tropical flowers flourishing in the median strip. The light traffic on the PIE flowed smoothly.

In fact, traffic was so light and smooth that morning, it was easy for Jack to keep an eye on the black Land Rover following him several vehicles back. There were two occupants, a male passenger and a female driver, but he didn’t recognize either. He’d picked up the tail just as he got onto the PIE, and he hadn’t done anything to let them know he was aware of their presence. He did tap the brakes a few times to slow down to see if they would keep their distance — which they did — and when he accelerated they matched his speed, keeping the same traffic interval at all times.

The good news was that they were driving strictly by the book. The better news was that as far as Jack could tell, there was only one vehicle tailing him.

Jack wouldn’t allow himself to get angry again; the people back there were just doing their jobs, too. But now it was time for Jack to do his.

Jack took the Clementi Avenue 6 exit heading south, then took the Commonwealth Avenue West heading east, until he passed the Darussalam Mosque, and then turned a sharp left again onto one of the smaller streets, then left again onto a red-bricked road that ran between rows of tall apartment buildings. He watched them match him turn for turn, but they were falling farther and farther behind.

Jack kept making left turns, then right, driving around as if he were a tourist just taking in the sights, finding narrower roads with heavier traffic, until he came back out on a series of numbered Clementi streets—2, then 5, then 4, then 3, and back around again. Jack wondered why this Clementi fellow was so important that he had several tree-lined streets named after him, even if they all ended in numbers.

In the many twists and turns and congested traffic, there was no way for a single vehicle to follow him successfully without being noticed, and clearly they’d been given the orders to do both. Not willing to expose themselves, they apparently opted to drop out. Now Jack could proceed to his destination.

* * *

Paul checked his watch. He’d been working for exactly one hour. Gavin should be free right about now.

“I need to go stretch my legs,” Paul told Bai, standing up.

“It just started raining outside,” Bai said.

Paul reached for his raincoat. “I like the rain.”

“I wouldn’t mind a walk myself.” Bai also rose.

“By all means, do so. But wherever you go, I’ll meet you back here in thirty minutes.”

Bai took the not-so-subtle hint. “Okay, Mr. Brown.”

Paul stood and waited for Bai to gather his things and leave before he headed for the exit, hoping like heck that Gavin could save his bacon.

35

Paul saw the torrential downpour through the front-door entrance. He couldn’t stay in the building if he wanted to use his cell phone, and he was sure the landlines would all be monitored. He borrowed an umbrella from the security guard at the front desk, who remotely unlocked the door for him as he headed out into the heavy rain.

Paul surely must have looked like a fool to the security guard as he stepped outside for a walk, but he didn’t have an alternative. He figured he didn’t need to get more than a block away from the Dalfan building. He doubted the local authorities would allow Lian’s security system to rob the entire industrial park of cell-phone service.

The pounding rain beat his umbrella like a drum skin and the tires of the cars whizzing past him hissed through the standing water in the street. The slanting wind drove the rain beneath his umbrella, soaking his suit coat. At least it isn’t cold, he told himself. We’re too close to the equator.

Paul needed to find a quieter place to make his call. He spied a canvas awning on a building across from the Dalfan block and on a quiet side street. Paul waddled toward it as fast as his gimpy leg would allow.

Finally under cover, away from the traffic noise, Paul dialed Gavin’s cell phone. After a few rings, Gavin picked up.

“Paul Brown from way downtown. How’s it hanging?”

“Fine. How’s the foot?”

“In a boot for six weeks. Messes up my tango lessons, but other than that, not too bad. So what’s this about an emergency regarding Jack?”

“No one can hear this conversation, right?”

“I’m working from home. Nobody but me and the goldfish. So what the hell is going on?”