Golden Serpent

US

Navy had a policy of not informing host countries of arrival times for their ships. It made it easy for the pro-China lobby to typify the Americans as arrogant and interested in their own geopolitical game rather than the wellbeing of Singapore’s economy.

Another Singaporean man came on, from a commerce asso ciation, talking about a realistic defence policy.

To Mac’s ear it sounded rigged. The words ‘friends’ and ‘realistic’

– when they were used in the Singapore context – were terms straight from the MSS propaganda manual. The Chinese had spent thirty years infi ltrating all layers of Singapore’s political, bureaucratic, military and commercial elites. Which was why the Americans found it impossible to get Singapore to become a full client-state.

Edi had been right, thought Mac. Golden Serpent was starting to look like an inciting incident.

Catching sight of Jen’s phone charger, Mac grabbed his Nokia from the bedroom, brought it through and plugged it in. Booting up, the envelope graphic appeared. He sat on the sofa, hit ‘messages’.

The fi rst one was a text: Call me urgent. Paul. It had been sent at 10.30 the previous evening.

The next message was an invitation to call his service provider’s voicemail service. Mac dialled in. It was from Don, the DIA guy, wanting to talk quick-smart about ‘our friends’. He left a number, said the secret handshake was ‘fi refl y’.

Mac started with Don. The number was a global-connect free call that took him to what sounded like the Pentagon.

‘It’s Richard Davis here, Southern Scholastic Books. Could I speak with Don in Defense Intelligence Agency, please?’

‘What’s the time there, Mr Davis?’ said the woman.

‘Firefl y.’

‘Thank you, sir. Connecting you now.’

The connection buzzed and clicked.

‘Don? It’s Mac.’

‘Shit! Thanks for getting back to me, McQueen.’

He sounded like crap, like a man who hadn’t slept.

‘How can I help you?’ asked Mac.

‘We clear?’ asked Don, meaning were they on a secure line.

‘Personal cell phone,’ said Mac.

Don hesitated.

‘I bought it three days ago from a convenience store. It’s clear,’ said Mac.

‘Listen. Okay. So…’ started Don, clearly jangled.

‘Everything okay?’ asked Mac. ‘CNN’s not saying it’s over. It is over, right?’

‘Umm, our friends.’

‘Yep.’

‘They got into the container.’

Mac assumed they had, to wire their IED. ‘Yep?’

‘And we’ve disabled the device.’

‘Yep?’

‘And we’ve secured the agent.’

‘Yep?’

‘Umm – you sure this is clear?’

‘It’s clear.’

Don cleared his throat. ‘McQueen, we shipped one hundred and eighty bombs.’

‘Yep?’

‘There’s only a hundred and seventy-nine bombs in that container.’

There was a big pause.

‘Shit. You know where it is?’ asked Mac.

There was a sudden commotion, Hatfi eld bellowing in the background. Mac could envisage the Chinook’s situation room: incoming calls from the Oval Offi ce, the Singapore President and the Pentagon. Soldiers, spooks and scientists wincing at having the paint stripped off them.

Mac thought fast. ‘Have you searched the seabed? They may have tossed it, trying to extend this as long as possible.’

‘We’re got divers down there. But once you start on that, you have to retrace its route. We’ve got the SONAR birds doing that as well. It’s not there. We’re assuming our friends are travelling with it.’

Mac exhaled. ‘What about the ship? It’s a big tub, lots of areas to conceal something like that.’

‘All over it with explosive detectors. Been going all night with revolving shifts. We’ve got our Europe team here too. Nothing. It’s with them.’

Mac thought about the ro-ro ship, the one he and Paul assumed had been hijacked by Sabaya.

‘Look, here’s a left-fi eld one, okay?’ said Mac. ‘On our way into Singers yesterday we came through Brani Island and there was this large unmarked ro-ro ship on the south side of the island.’

‘We searched that area, I think,’ said Don.

‘I don’t think they dropped the VX bomb there. But my hunch is they stole the ship. They were last seen motoring for Brani Island on a tender boat fi rst thing in the morning. The Golden Serpent offi cers told us that,’ said Mac.

‘Could have been getting a helo from Brani or Sentosa,’ said Don.

‘In that case you’ll have to check fl ight logs. They were going to controlled airspace that morning because of Xiong coming in so air traffi c control would have been noticing everything.’

‘You said the ro-ro ship was unmarked?’

‘Yeah. No name, no shipping line, couldn’t see any fl ags. If it’s unmarked then there’s something fi shy about it. Like your transporter for the VX, right?’

‘Okay.’

‘The thing to do is get the Singaporeans to tell us exactly what the ship is for, who owns it and why it was docked there. We have to get access to that warehouse, too.’

‘Warehouse?’ asked Don.

‘Yeah, the tailgate of the ship was down and I heard sounds in this security building. It’s built like a bunker. You’ll know what I mean when you see it.’

‘Okay.’

‘If we can identify the ship then we have something to chase.

And if we know what’s in that warehouse, we have some kind of clue about where they’re headed.’

‘Think I can swing that,’ said Don.

‘The thing to remember,’ said Mac, ‘is that these guys had the chance to do what Garrison did and just fl y away to another country.

But if I’m right, they’ve taken the most conspicuous escape they could have taken.’

‘See what you mean.’

Mac felt he’d done his bit, helped out a fellow professional. But Don wasn’t fi nished with him.

‘Look, I thought we could use a Sabaya expert. Most of your calls have been correct so far,’ said Don, almost sheepish. A big change of attitude.

‘What, you want me by the phone for the next couple of days?’

‘Umm, no. I was hoping we could get you on the bird with Sawtell’s unit?’

Mac hissed air, neither body nor mind up for this. ‘I would, but I’ve got things to sort out with the embassy, and -‘

‘All done,’ said Don.

‘All done?’

‘Yeah – sorry, McQueen. I took the liberty. Forgive me, willya? I’ll buy you a beer sometime.’

Don was in a tough place, to be throwing a beer into the deal.

‘You took the liberty?’ asked Mac.

‘Umm, yeah. You’re seconded. Call it a specialist rotation.’

Mac laughed. ‘Where?’

‘Halim. Noon. Firefl y.’