Singapore Sling Shot - Andrew Grant [102]
“Oh, Daniel,” Sami sighed. His friend had saved his life and as fate would have it, he had been smashed on the head by a falling angel scythed from its pedestal by the hail of steel released by the bomb.
The death toll had been horrendous. Jo Ankar, who had been at Sami’s side for almost three decades as a brother, minder and friend, had died. Justine, her children, and twenty-five others were dead and many more were in critical condition.
Sami left the room. There were two police officers waiting to interview the injured man. The doctor spoke to them briefly, giving them notice of the patient’s condition. The pair departed, following Sami to the elevator.
Sami rode to the ground floor deep in thought. The policemen were talking, discussing the bombing. Sami filtered their conversation out. He had another problem apart from his dead. There was a traitor in his camp and he had no idea who it was. Until he could identify and eliminate that threat, he had to fly solo. With Jo gone, there was only K left who he could trust, but the problem was that K could be that traitor, despite the fact that he had been with Sami as long as Jo had been.
Outside the hospital, Sami got into a taxi. The address he gave the driver was not for the Cairnhill apartment. Until he knew who the traitor was he was not returning there, simply because that person had to be a member of his household and that group included K. Until Daniel was back at his side, he would remain at a secret location, another apartment, a much more modest one than the penthouse, and it was a property that no one knew about. He had maintained it for times such as this. In the meantime, he would continue to do business via cellphone. A rumour that he had returned to Thailand was being circulated. In reality, he would remain in Singapore and plan his revenge on Thomas Lu.
The taxi dropped Sami Somsak close to the apartment block on York Hill. He walked to the building and caught the elevator to the eighteenth floor.
An hour after Sami Somsak had entered the apartment, the door opened and a little old man appeared. He took the elevator back down to the ground floor.
The old man was dressed in the traditional pyjama uniform still favoured by many of the old people. There was a brimless cap on his head. He was wearing a pair of open sandals and held a small cardboard suitcase in one hand.
Out into the muggy afternoon the old man went. He shuffled down to the street and there he waved down a cab. The driver expressed surprise at the address he was given. He would have been even more surprised if he had seen what the old man was carrying in his suitcase. Nestled in the foam rubber cut-out inside the case was an H&K MP5 submachine gun. With it were three magazines and two fragmentation grenades.
Sami Somsak was back on the street in a guise that Daniel Swann would have recognised. This was the same little old man who had saved Swann’s life in a Bangkok back street less than a year before.
Being part Thai with Chinese and Japanese in the mix, Sami Somsak could pass as any or all of these nationalities as required. He spoke five languages fluently including Japanese, Mandarin and Cantonese. In his role as the old man, he spoke only Mandarin and Singlish.
“Any improvement?”
“A little, I think. He is opening his eyes, but I’m not sure anyone is home yet.”
I could hear the voices. They were coming from a long way off. I tried to speak, to tell them I was home, but nothing came. I could see their faces, a man and a woman. Both were dressed in white. I knew they weren’t angels. The angels had gone away forever. This was a doctor and a nurse. I was in a hospital, I knew that much. I tried again to speak, but my eyes closed and I drifted away.
The fact that Sami Somsak survived the bomb blast had driven Thomas Lu