Singapore Sling Shot - Andrew Grant [34]
Simple plan, my brain repeated as I turned back to the task in hand. I hate that phrase. I opened the waterproofed bag and firstly got into my shoulder harness. I’d checked the gun on the boat, but I checked it again. There were thirteen rounds in the magazine and one in the breech. If I need any more, I’d be out of luck. Singapore is not the place to start a gun battle and if my meagre supply of ammunition didn’t do the job then so be it.
I pulled off my dive shoes and stowed them in the bag before getting into my sneakers and slipping on my gloves. The lightweight gloves were made from leather and a fire-resistant fabric. When I played soldier, spy or whatever, we called them “flash gloves”. They are designed to withstand heat and protect your hands from minor blasts and the like. They were crucial now in order to keep my fingerprints and any DNA out of the picture.
The last pieces of my attire were my communicator and my headlamp. I would only use the light once I was in the building. I closed the sack and shrugged my way back into its straps. Now it was time to check in with Sami. The transmitter I had was a live mike model. Once it was turned on I could simply talk and it would transmit. No need for switches or buttons.
“I’m ashore and about to go climbing.”
“Careful.”
“Always.” I moved past the blockhouse and started along the pathway that linked it to the fort. Trees cut out the stars and the smell of salt water mingled with the rich, earthy smell of rotting humus. Welcome to the jungle!
The ladder was badly rusted, as I had noted from above, but it appeared strong enough to hold me. I slowly started climbing, keeping my weight distributed to the sides rather than on the centre of the rungs. It wasn’t high, as ladders go, but it was high enough. If it gave way, I was going to crash-land on the concrete below or, if I missed that, it was down onto the rocks beside the concrete slab.
A couple of times the rungs creaked alarmingly. One of the safety hoops was hanging drunkenly in space because one end had detached itself from the ladder. I managed to negotiate my way carefully around it. The sound of the offending piece of pipe falling would be heard clearly over and above the hiss and slap of the water by any watcher sitting above me in the dark.
Hazard number one overcome, I found myself at the plate that sealed off the ladder. I had figured from day one that getting past it would be easy enough, provided there was no one above sitting waiting for me. I hung there on the ladder and strained my ears, trying to separate the sounds of the water and constant hum of the city from the silence of the island. Of course there is no such thing as complete silence outside of a vacuum. What we call silence has many voices. There is the noisy silence of nature and then there is the unnatural silence of the hunter waiting for his prey. After many years in the bush, hunting and being hunted, I have developed the ability to recognise this silence. That ability has been the difference between life and death many times. Their death, my life!
Hanging there on the ladder with my senses on full alert, I gave silent thanks for my decision to go and play in the bush on Ubin. Those few hours reawakened instincts in me that had been seriously dulled by alcohol and bad living. They had almost been lost to me. Now they were back and I knew I was not alone.
12
The watcher was sitting on the edge of the gun platform. He was bored. This was the third night he had been there. He and the