Singapore Sling Shot - Andrew Grant [57]
“Shit!” I muttered.
“No, Daniel, dollars, probably greenbacks. We have to presume that is the money the Colombians have given him to invest on their behalf. My man doesn’t know where the shipment is being stored, but you can bet that Lu has been to check on it. He couldn’t not go there and gloat over his new-found fortune. We find out where he’s been. Once we’ve got the location of the money, then we really hurt him.”
“We go take it off him, huh? How much are we actually talking about here?”
“There has to be a billion for the Colombians’ stake in Intella, plus enough to make up Lu’s shortfall, say another half billion and the fifty million that was to be Stanley’s fee. Say one and a half to two billion.”
Nice if you can swing it, I thought. I’d managed to take a little over ten million off the late Sir Bernard Sinclair. That was absolute chicken feed compared to the league these guys were playing in.
“Getting the money off Lu has another purpose, Daniel. We take it and make it appear Lu has pulled a swindle. This will turn his new Colombian friends into his most bitter enemies.”
The thought produced some very vivid, very bloody pictures in my overactive brain. I’d heard about the Mendez cartel’s methods of showing their displeasure with anyone who crossed them. They didn’t do pretty.
“I thought you wanted to kill him yourself?”
“I’m quite happy for them to do it, Daniel. They are renowned for their inventiveness. Anyway, that may be some time away. I’ll call you when we have the location of Lu’s cash stash.”
I chuckled at Sami’s rhyming phrase and hung up.
“Cash stash,” I repeated aloud. It had a nice ring to it.
It was still early and I’d had a great weekend, but I wasn’t yet ready to stay and sulk in my room. I left the hotel and crossed Bras Basah.
Chijmes became one of my favourite Singapore haunts for food and drink on a visit years ago. My first time there was in the mid-1980s, not long after the former convent had been converted into a venue for dozens of restaurants and bars. Everything you want in the way of food, drink and entertainment is there scattered around the courtyards in that one small city block.
I cruised the bars and eventually, when hunger started gnawing, I settled on a prime medium-rare ribeye at China Jump Bar and Grill, another old favourite. As I ate, and later as I sat over a couple of Jacks, I pondered the big question: What the fuck was I doing with Simone? Was I falling in love or had my brain just thrown a shoe?
Thomas Lu’s plan depended on two things. One of those was convincing the remaining Mendez brothers that Sami Somsak had killed Raymond and made off with the two billion dollars from the warehouse. The other part of the plan had a split option. He could either succeed in having Somsak killed as a gesture of solidarity with the South Americans, something he would have to ensure happened before either of the remaining brothers and their cohorts flew in to Singapore. Or he could capture Somsak and present him to the Mendez brothers.
Lu pondered his options as he sat in the large spa bath in the spa house on the terrace of his penthouse. He had armed guards, albeit carrying hidden weapons, at every entrance to the building. As well, he had others covering the fire escape, service elevator and the sole passenger elevator that gave access to his lair.
Lu had yet to make the call to Bogota. That would come later, once the warehouse in Jurong was little more than ashes and twisted metal. The body of Raymond Mendez had been removed to a cool room in a meat packing facility Lu owned.