Point of Contact

40

Lian took Jack and Paul on a tour of her city, starting with historic Emerald Hill and its restored colonial splendor, then over to the colorful Arab Street in the Muslim quarter, featuring the gold-domed Masjid Sultan Mosque, hipster boutiques, and street art. When she noticed Paul’s limp getting worse, she waved off on a walking tour in the Cloud Forest and instead drove them around Orchard Road — Singapore’s version of Rodeo Drive.

They ended their brief tour at a hawker food center — a kind of mini mall for Singapore street food.

“Our national pastime is eating,” Lian explained, standing in front of one of dozens of stalls. “Food is one of our many national treasures, and hawker food is the most famous of all.”

Lian indulged in a bowl of spicy fish-head curry. Paul’s appetite wasn’t whetted by the black eyes and sharp teeth of the fish head swimming in red sauce, so he opted for a plate of chicken and rice at a different vendor, and Jack went a few stalls down to find a skewer of glistening chicken satay — spicier and sweeter than he’d had in his favorite Thai restaurant back in Alexandria.

They slurped and chewed as they sat together on a plastic picnic table, surrounded by the high-pitched babble of animated Singlish and a dozen Asian and European dialects in the food center crowded with tourists. Jack failed to notice a Bulgarian and a German standing far back in the milling crowd, their attention focused on Paul Brown.

“So you got everything put back in order at your place?” Lian had avoided the subject until now.

“Yes, but we’re still waiting to hear from that lieutenant about the identity of the anonymous caller,” Jack said. “I’m sure he knows how to trace a call.”

“I hope you’re not waiting for an apology. Our police force takes drug offenses quite seriously. They felt they were doing their duty.”

“Even though they were wrong?”

“Being wrong sometimes comes with the job, doesn’t it?” She took another bite of curry. “Now that you’ve had time to think about it, who do you suppose made the call?”

Jack shook his head. “It’s either someone’s idea of a joke or it was somebody who wanted to get rid of us.”

“I promise you it wasn’t someone from Dalfan.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Lian blinked, processing. “I suppose I can’t be absolutely sure, can I?”

“I don’t want to risk offending you, but I have to ask: There’s no chance it was your brother who did this?”

Lian nearly spat out her curry. “Yong? No way! Not his style.”

Jack’s phone vibrated in his pocket. “Excuse me.” He pulled it out and answered as he began to step away from the table. “Gavin — thanks for calling. What did you find out?”

Paul pretended he didn’t hear Jack say Gavin’s name as he moved away, but Paul’s round face flushed with concern. Why is Jack talking to Gavin?

Those photos you sent of the security guards — or whatever they are — came up a big fat zero,” Gavin said.

“Nothing?”

“Nada. I broke into a few official databases where you are and I didn’t get any hits. OSINT didn’t yield anything, either. I’d say their identities were scrubbed.”

“Clandestine service?”

“That’s as good a guess as any.”

“But who? Why?”

“I’ve given you all I’ve got. Sorry.”

“Keep digging, will you? And while you’re at it, I need another favor.”

“Sure.”

“Can you hack the Singapore Police Force cloud server?”

Gavin sniffed. “Okay, now you’re just being insulting. What do you need me to find?”

“I’ll let you know.”