Singapore Sling Shot - Andrew Grant [66]
“Go back to sleep,” Lu commanded gently as he pressed the receiver to his ear. “What?”
Thomas Lu listened to the man at the other end in almost total silence, but for the moan of anguish that escaped his lips. He hung up the receiver and leaned back against his pillows. His face was so pale it glowed in the almost dark.
“What is wrong, Thomas?” Michael was concerned. He sat up in the huge bed and reached out to stroke Lu’s forehead.
“Somsak is what is wrong,” Lu snarled through clenched teeth. “That fucking Thai gangster is what is wrong. Leave me. Now!”
Fearing he was about to be struck, the younger man recoiled as Lu climbed out of the bed. Michael Yee grabbed up his scattered clothing and rushed from the bedroom as Lu began to pace the room, his ridiculously skinny body a pale shadow as he strode backwards and forwards cursing Sami Somsak and the devils who had brought him to Singapore.
It was later, much later, when Lu made a decision. He used his cellphone again. His orders were terse. Somsak had hurt him. Now he was going to hurt Sami Somsak big time, and he was going to retrieve the money no matter what it took.
“So this is what two billion dollars looks like?” The outer layers of all the bales had been split and the contents of each bale exposed. The bales had been made up of large individual bundles covered in plastic and fixed with fibrous plastic tape. One of these bundles had been opened. Inside were tightly packed stacks of notes, all 1,000-dollar bills, judging by those I could see. Each pack of notes was held closed by a wide, white paper band, just like notes in a bank. Only these bands didn’t bear the insignia of any bank. They bore only the numerals 100000. It appeared then that there were one hundred thousand dollars per stack, one million a bundle and five hundred bundles to a bale. Each bale was worth half a billion dollars. It was almost surreal to me.
“Yes, Daniel,” Sami replied. Despite having his left arm in a half plaster and some fading bruising on the right side of his face, Sami looked well. “Friday night is going to be exceptionally interesting, I think.”
“What will you do with this?” I waved a hand over the money.
“Put it to good use at some stage,” my friend replied. “I may even give it back to the Mendez brothers; after expenses, of course.” He picked up a stack of banknotes and tossed it to me. “That’s just pocket money. There will be plenty more when we nail Lu’s smelly little hide to the wall.”
I balanced the 100,000-dollar bundle of notes in my hand for a stunned moment then slipped it into my vest. I was once again Ed from Perth. The quasi-photographer’s vest was an essential part of Ed’s wardrobe and it had plenty of pockets. Was I tempted to fill them? Of course I was, but that would come later.
We were in yet another warehouse, but this one was more than half an hour’s drive from Jurong. We had driven three quarters of the way around the island, I guessed. The warehouse was old, long, low and in need of repair. It appeared to be an abandoned former military facility. The truck headlights had shown a rusted high fence as we turned in. The ground had been tarmac at some stage but was now covered in grass and small trees. There appeared to be taller trees pressing in from beyond the wire perimeter.
Jo told Sami how I’d picked the correct container from the decoy. Sami clapped me on the shoulder and I experienced one of those childish rushes. I’d done good and teacher was acknowledging it. But I knew what was coming.
“Instincts like yours I want at my side on a full-time basis,” Sami said. Yep, once again he was back on his hobby horse, trying to get me to work with him in some sort of partnership. The time wasn’t right for me now and hadn’t been before, but he would keep trying.
Delivery made, it was now time for Ed Davidson, the tourist from Perth, to