Singapore Sling Shot - Andrew Grant [1]
Loh gasped his way up the steps and pushed through the crowd. The desperate man guessed the tourists were Taiwanese. Loh spoke both Hokkien and Mandarin and he knew he could ask them for help in a language they would understand. But what help could they offer? They were far from their homeland and would be confused by any such request from a panting, wheezing, limping stranger. This was neither their fight nor their flight. It was solely Stanley Loh’s.
Loh stumbled on across the wide asphalt plaza. There were no taxis waiting and a red-line bus was just pulling away from the bus bay. There were people ahead and to Loh’s right. Many were moving towards the aquarium complex, while several others boarded the tram for the Fort Siloso tour. Two hotel security staff were standing at the entrance to the driveway of the Rasa Sentosa Resort. Could he find shelter in the resort? Could he make it that far? Loh’s breathing was becoming more and more difficult and his panic was building.
The Siloso tram was about to depart. It was only half-full. The driver looked at Loh as he boarded the small vehicle, unsure whether or not he was part of the pre-ticketed tour party already onboard. He turned towards the tour guide, seeking confirmation, but the guide was in conversation with one of her charges. The driver shrugged. They would sort out the ticket, or lack of it, later. He had a schedule to keep.
Loh slumped into a seat and the driver pulled away. The stricken man’s breathing was worsening and several of the passengers were staring anxiously at him. Turning in his seat, Loh saw the three young men burst through the crowd of Taiwanese tourists who were still milling about beside their coach. The trio stopped running. They stood, eyes darting around the concourse as they tried to catch sight of their quarry. Loh hunched down into his seat, but he knew he was too late. He cursed silently, sobbing for breath. One of the gunmen was looking directly at him.
The tram wasn’t moving fast, but it drew away as the three gunmen regrouped for a moment of quick conversation. One turned and raced back towards the beach while the other pair started to jog after the departing vehicle.
The tram paused for a moment at the pick-up point inside the fort gate and several more tourists boarded along with a fort guide. Loh sat trying to breathe, willing the driver to get them moving. Eventually the little tram pulled away again.
Loh watched as the two following gunmen passed the entrance to the resort. They stopped at the ticket kiosk. Because there were several other guides manning the pick-up station inside the main gate, the pair would need to buy tickets from the kiosk or risk a scene.
Stanley Loh’s reasoning proved correct. He saw one of his pursuers reaching into a trouser pocket as the tram purred on up the driveway. He lost sight of the gunmen as the vehicle rounded a corner. The sound of martial music being pumped from the fort’s sound systems filled the air.
Loh had been to Fort Siloso many times in the past; including a sponsorship function only a matter of weeks previously. Over the preceding decade and a half he had also been there with his children. He remembered the place well. Even as his breathing became more and more distressed, his panic, fuelled by the asthma’s relentless attack more than the pursuit itself, was rising. He knew he had to work out a survival strategy. He had to hide the recorder and then contact his brother and tell him what was happening.
Loh reached for his cellphone as the tram passed the guardhouse into the fort proper. He would call his brother.
The Nokia was broken. The casing was split and the screen blank. The stricken man cursed aloud as he pushed the ruined device into his pocket. When he’d jumped, the phone had been in its sheath on his belt at his right hip. It had taken much of the impact when he’d hit the ground. Now it is useless.