Singapore Sling Shot - Andrew Grant [32]
Eventually, having strolled along the river, I found myself at Raffles Place at the appointed hour. I went down to the MRT and made the one-stop journey to Marina Bay. It was 19:35 when I came topside.
The Marina Bay MRT is set in parklands and there were few people around at this time of evening. A hundred metres away I could see a light-coloured Mercedes parked on Station Road. I made my way towards it. I didn’t recognise the man in the driver’s seat, but Sami was in the back. No sooner was I in my seat than we are moving.
The boat was an ordinary-looking fishing trawler about fifty feet long. It was a far cry from the super-fast speedboats Sami uses out in the Gulf of Thailand. The plan here was simply to blend in with everything else afloat around Sentosa island and the inner basin. There were only four of us onboard: me, Sami, the skipper and a deckhand. I wasn’t introduced and they didn’t exhibit the slightest curiosity in what we were doing or my role in it. No doubt these were more of Sami’s people. People used to doing exactly as they were told.
The outfit I changed into was a black skin suit. It wasn’t a true wetsuit and it wasn’t made of neoprene. This was a light, breathable space-age fabric that supposedly doesn’t retain water but keeps the body heat in when in water and under extreme conditions. Under the suit I just had on a pair of briefs. There was no need for fins. I had rubberised dive socks on to protect my feet when I came ashore. There was a pair of trainers in the waterproof bag I’d be wearing when I hit the water. The sack also contained my communications headset, a flashlight and a nine-millimetre Browning Hi Power along with a shoulder holster. The Fairbairn Sykes clone I already had in a sheath on my belt.
I’d left my stiletto behind in Hong Kong, but the Fairbairn Sykes is as good a fighting knife as was ever made. As a final commando touch, I blacked out my face using greasy makeup. If I was caught on camera I didn’t want the real me revealed. Plus, for creeping around in the dark, a black face is definitely de rigueur.
In the carry sack I also had a waterproof vinyl camera bag for the digital recorder. To drown the thing would not be desirable, especially given the cost in lives to date and the effort we were putting into recovering it.
We’d boarded the fishing boat at Tuas, on the far side of Jurong Island, the huge fuel refinery. Sentosa is only a few kilometres to the east. The night was a blaze of lights from the refinery and the tankers docked there or moored, waiting their turn to load or unload their precious cargo. The hulking sea monsters were everywhere. Each one was lit like a Christmas tree.
“All that energy being burned,” Sami said as he came to stand beside me. “We are wasteful creatures.”
“You’re philosophical tonight,” I replied, wondering what had brought this particular train of thought into play. Sami nodded.
“Wasted lives, Daniel. I can’t help thinking of Stanley and how it all could have been avoided.” He paused. “Now I’m asking you to risk your life in an attempt to right it. I’m not sure I should have done that.”
“Stop the bull, Sami. I’m here and I’m doing it. I’m a friend and as you so convincingly put it to me, I’m the best man for the job.”
“I know.”
“Right, now I need to crap!” I looked around for anything resembling a toilet. Maybe I was going to have to hang my arse out over the stern? Instead, Sami pointed to a tiny, cupboard-sized door behind the trawler’s bridge area. I crossed the deck and pulled the protesting hatch open.
The toilet was smaller than a damn wardrobe and the bowl had no seat. There was, however, a roll of paper hanging from a wire. The light didn’t