Singapore Sling Shot - Andrew Grant [54]
19
I had Friday and the whole weekend in front of me, and I had an idea. I rang Simone and explained what I’d planned, asking if she could join me. She agreed. She also eventually agreed, when I pressed her, to let me pay for her children’s sitter to spend the entire weekend with the children. I would add enough to the fee to ensure that the sitter could take the kids wherever they wanted to go on the island and do whatever they wanted.
Simone left the office early and cabbed home to organise her kids, clothes and the sitter. One thing about being a tourist is that you can get away with acting like a total jerk. You’re in a strange country, no one knows you, you can be totally obnoxious, and as long as no one gets pissed off enough to shoot you, you’ll live to travel on.
As a result of my ten minutes on the telephone, at precisely 17:35 the Bell Jet Ranger hauled us off the ground heading towards Bintan. Simone was as excited as a kid. She had never flown in a helicopter before and in fact had only ever flown a couple of times in her life. To me, helicopters are like motorbikes: great for getting you places and that’s about it. I’ve just done too many hours in them, generally in marginal conditions and often with people shooting at me. Whatever, it was the perfect way to get from Singapore to Bintan in a hurry.
We landed on the golf course at the Banyan Tree Resort. There was a golf cart and a driver waiting. The formalities consisted of registering and filling out an Indonesian visa form. They were over in a matter of minutes and we were shown to our villa.
“This is absolutely perfect!” Simone said as she stood gazing down to the ocean below, and it was perfect. There was a spa set in the deck outside the bedroom and as the sun went down we climbed in. Simone put aside her wowser persona and joined me in demolishing a bottle of Tattinger. It was beautiful, sitting there in the flickering candlelight sipping champagne with a stunning woman beside me.
The wait for the container was agonising from Thomas Lu’s viewpoint. His attempts to placate or even converse with Raymond Mendez were futile. The psychopath’s brain was operating in a way that Lu could not comprehend. Mendez was going to find the whore and kill her for complaining. He was going to sue The Fullerton. He was going to do this! He was going to do that! Mendez was raving. He stalked the floor of the deserted warehouse like a caged cat while Lu sat on a packing case and watched.
Thomas Lu had ordered his chauffeur to return to the city. The driver was on a mission. Lu lit a cigarette and waited. Mendez had his cellphone out and was shouting into it. It appeared he was speaking to his elder brother, Carlos. Lu smiled through the cigarette smoke. The solution to all his problems was almost to hand.
An air horn sounded outside. Mendez, who was nearest the pedestrian door, hurried to open it and step outside. Thomas Lu followed. The Isuzu side loader idling in front of the vehicle entrance held a single shipping container on its flatbed trailer.
Five minutes later the container had been deposited in the centre of the warehouse. As the truck left, Lu’s Bentley slid silently into the warehouse followed by a plain black Lexus. Thomas Lu pressed a button on the door-control console to start the huge roller door closing. He turned back to the interior of the warehouse. Raymond Mendez was opening the container.
The Bentley parked and the chauffeur stayed inside. However the front doors of the Lexus opened and two men got out. These men were Chinese. They were dressed in casual clothes, but there was nothing casual about the silenced automatic one of them carried in his right hand.
Without a word, the pair advanced on the shipping container.
Raymond Mendez sensed their approach. He turned. The look of anticipation on his face turned to one of shock as he realised what was about to happen.
“No!” he yelled. He looked beyond the gunman to where Thomas Lu was standing. “Thomas,