Code Shield (14 page)

Benjamin looked at Tara and mimed,
Kudrin has a Family?

The assistant director continued, garnering conviction as he spoke, “The Russian police will mop them up. But it'll be more difficult to identify Donovich's successor. Boris suggested that if we detected the next courier, to let them through to Moscow. Boris will neutralise the next buyer and the next.”

“He is suggesting a long term operation?” It was Lee in Singapore. “Look Colin, by the time we got onto the Rong Gyui operation, five shipments had slipped through. Donovich was the sixth. According to Ms Banks' report, she reckons Ulrich Sobyanin is the buyer and Boris Simonov his protection.”

“That's a remote possibility. Everyone here has some piece of the action but –”

Zain's voice interrupted, “Did they find any drugs on either Donovich or Kudrin?”

“Well, not really,” stammered Lowe, flustered. “But it was mayhem last night, guns flashing, people screaming, running.” His voice turned plaintive and he spoke brightly as if he was there, “Anyone could have grabbed the drugs. The Police Chief assured me they're working on locating the drugs.”

“What's your take on this, Ms Banks,” Zain's impatient voice cut in.

“I agree with the Americans. Kudrin was a low-level runner, did not even figure in our list of known drug dealers. We fingered Donovich, Simonov made this Kudrin into something he was not and wiped off both men. Convenient and we get to fill in all the blanks in our report. From Simonov's point of view, he has helped us do our job and keep our political bosses happy. Now he is expecting us to reciprocate, let the couriers through. That's the way it works here.”

Some muffled sounds later, Lee's voice came over the speaker, “We were hoping to track Donovich to his buyer and for the buyer to their ultimate distributors, smashing the supply chain from Singapore. Going upstream the plan was for the Americans to move on Rong Gyui's operations in the Golden Triangle. The Russian end is now a big question mark.”

Back in Singapore, Zain said, “I agree Lee.”

Lee met Zain's eyes. The CNB director returned Lee's steady stare and nodded.

“Okay,” Lee made up his mind. “I'll speak to Minister Teo. If he okays it, CNB will pick up the next batch of drug mules and cook the Chinese goose in Tuas. Let the Russians handle their own problems.”

Then, leaning closer to the speakerphone, Lee continued, “Colin, inform Simonov that we're considering his request.”

Lee looked at Zain again. The two men held each other's gaze.

After the conference call, Zain cornered Lee, “What's going on? Why reveal our plans on Tuas?”

“Zain, there're a few other developments that have to fall into place,” Lee placed a hand on Zain's shoulder. “Developments that concern you as well. We'll speak some more at another time.”

Reginald Lee and Uncle Smiley met the deputy prime minister in the grounds of the Istana, the presidential palace. Though a septuagenarian, the DPM put in gruelling twelve-hour work days that started with his six o'clock hike in the 106-acre presidential gardens off Orchard Road.

All three men were in white shorts and Nike walking shoes. Lee seemed comfortable in the attire and even wore a duckbilled cap.

The night before, upon learning that the DPM had invited them for a morning walk, Uncle Smiley had hurriedly picked up a pair of shorts and polo tees from the shopping mall opposite his flat. The white tees had pronounced fold lines and from a buttonhole, a price tag still flapped from the end of a plastic loop.

“You say he has a blemish free record,” said the DPM as they walked briskly up a green slope.

“Except for that letter he wrote to the press,” re-joined Lee.

The DPM stopped and turned to face his guests. His two bodyguards, both in tracksuits, stood a discreet distance away.

“It was a meeting at Vigilante Corps HQ in Bendemeer Road, 1981. Apparently, the CO conducted the entire proceedings in Mandarin, though more than a third of the servicemen were non-Chinese. Our man wrote a letter of complaint to the Singapore Daily. The editor relayed the letter to VC HQ and the CO triggered proceedings and charged our man for communicating with the Press. The charges were subsequently dropped when Home Affairs intervened.”

“Come, let's continue,” the DPM strode away with Lee beside him.

Uncle Smiley sighed silently, dabbed his brows with a face towel and trudged behind the two men.

“The Speak Mandarin Campaign is a sound policy and I was one of the few non-Chinese in the cabinet who advocated it,” said the DPM in-between short sharp intakes of breath. An ethnic Indian, he remembered how the policy was misconstrued by the masses and especially by the non-Chinese.

“Unfortunately, back then it could have been implemented with a lot more sensitivity. The Nantah graduates in the VC and some grassroots bodies like the community centres exacerbated the problem.”

Lee nodded. He recalled how the Chinese educated graduates from the then Nanyang University, filled many of the lower level government jobs.

“But surely you are not proposing that because of the VC incident –” said the DPM as the men reached the top of the slope. They stopped on a narrow jogging track. From beyond the clump of trees, the first traffic sounds of Orchard Road wafted through.

“No sir, but when seen from a certain viewpoint, arguably there is a consistent pattern of the man having fallen through the gaps in our system. Though Home Affairs dropped the charges, after that incident he did not receive any promotions. One can only guess what this does to a man, especially one with well above average competence.” Lee joined the DPM in jogging on the spot.

“What do you say?” the DPM placed the question to Uncle Smiley, who panted from the exertion.

“We already have him under surveillance… Perhaps an independent field report…from one outside the system,” said Uncle Smiley as he caught his breath.

“Okay,” said the DPM. “Meanwhile, if the man had been unfairly penalised by the system, I want this put right and right away.”

“I agree,” said Uncle Smiley. “It would also lull him into a false sense of security.”

The DPM stared into the lifeless eyes of Uncle Smiley.

Chapter 22

When Michael called the PI for an update, Andrei reported excitedly that he had good news.

Michael made his way to Andrei's house and rang the bell, ready for the usual reception – the round man appearing at the doorway to tug Michael brusquely in, a quick peep to the left and right followed by a definite slamming of the door behind them.

Andrei read off the same script. Michael soon faced the wall and allowed the PI to grapple and remove the heavy overcoat.

Michael was relieved to lose the weight off his shoulders. He twisted and massaged his neck as he headed for the washroom. He appeared moments later, greeted by the inviting aroma of fresh bread and hot coffee.

Maria stepped out of the small office and Michael caught Andrei slapping her ample buttocks. She did not protest but walked smoothly to Michael. She welcomed him with a full frontal hug, burying his face into her doughy body.

After the third visit, Michael had overcome his initial embarrassment and repulsion to such body contact. Indeed, he now welcomed the familiar smell of cheese and unwashed hair.

“Have you read the papers, Mikhail?” Andrei took out the newspaper, flicked to straighten the pages and spread it in front of Michael. “No, I think not as it's all in Russian.” He let out a small laugh. Seeing Michael's deadpan face, the PI shook his head and pointed to a news story.

There was a picture of an overturned table and chair. A man lay on a blue velvety settee with his head leaning over the headrest. His neck stretched taut and face bloodied beyond recognition. Recessed into the bigger picture was a police mug shot of a burly man.

“This fish drowned on land, a nightclub called Coral Reef, nasty place.”

Michael stared at the mug shot and as realisation dawned, he shot a look at Andrei.

“Yes, my friend, your Donovich, I mean – Alexis – stopped a bullet to his head. Official news is he was meeting with a drug dealer, they quarrelled,” Andrei shrugged his shoulders and opened his palms. “And both men got shot, the shooter by the police.”

“The unofficial news is the police wanted to close the file on Alexis,” offered Michael.

“Hey, you make good deduction, Mikhail my friend,” Andrei wagged a finger and laughed. “You're picking up fast.” He paused, expecting the next question from Michael.

“What about Annette?”

“Luckily no girls this time,” assured Andrei. “Wherever she may be, she's safe.”

“With Alexis gone, what about Annette, how do we find her?” Michael's voice was agitated.

“Ah,” Andrei raised a finger. “Don't worry, the weasel did show its tail. On the night of the shooting, Kashin left early with two Asian women in his car. Quite convenient I think that he's not around when the shooting started. Here my friend, I have the license number of his car, a red Porsche 911. Stupid fellow, waving a red flag that says
catch me
. My friend in Traffic is working on it and we should have his address soon.”

“Asian women…was Annette one of them?” asked Michael, his heart pounding so loud he wondered whether Andrei could hear it.

“I think so,” said Andrei. “My friend was ready with his cell phone camera. There were four women in the group.”

“All Asians…?”

“Yes,” Andrei took out several photo prints, squared them like a pack of cards and explained as he placed them on the table. “These women, the faces in the shadows, difficult to tell. But see this one…I mean, this girl.”

Michael stared at the yellow quilted jacket worn by one of the women. “This is Annette.” He studied the prints and took for himself what he thought was the best shot.

“I might have more good news for you today. This is Dmitri Karpov,” Andrei pointed to another picture.

Michael tilted his head as he studied the man's face – a heavy hairy thug with a double chin and thick brown hair. It looked like a police mug shot and the PI confirmed it was.

Karpov was a known felon with a string of criminal records from burglary to assault and battery. There were also several pictures, grainy and over exposed, of Karpov with two Asian women taken as they were leaving the Coral Reef.

“Interesting is, the women came down the fire escape. I think they know someone watches the front door perhaps, so it looks like an escape, an escape from the shooting that started shortly after they left. Only, it's not an escape from their captor – this Karpov. His minibus did not follow the same way that Kashin's Porsche goes.”

“So, my Annette is with this Kashin animal and not Krapow…”

“Krapow?” Andrei laughed. “Dmitri Karpov but
Dmitri
is better for you, I think?”

“Yes, Dmitri,” said Michael. “But Annette is with that porn star.”

“Mikhail, my friends tell me that she is safe from Kashin –”

“Safe? How would they know,” Michael raised his voice.

“Apparently they're trying to sell her,” Andrei spoke hurriedly. “They're asking fifty thousand American dollars for her because she is a virgin.”

“Sell? Sell my baby –”

“Mikhail, listen to me. Listen to me Mikhail!” Andrei grabbed Michael's hands and shook. “Don't you see? She is still a virgin which means she is safe from…you know.”

Michael nodded and went silent. Then he said, “But they want to sell her.”

“Yes, but I'm sorry to say this but luckily the price is too high,” Andrei kept his grip on Michael's hands. “Which means, she is safe for now but we need to move fast.”

Michael nodded, twisted his hands free and asked, “Can anyone in the Coral Reef say anything about my Annette, where that animal had taken her? Did you or your police friends manage to check?”

Andrei shook his head. He let on that the more he queried, the more reticent his police contacts became. “Find the red Porsche, locate Kashin and I think we find your Annette.” He blew his breath in a whistle, “That is also bad news.”

“What do you mean?” Michael's bladder was again full with the coffee his PI had plied on him and the avalanche of news aggravated it.

“The bad news is the
official
police probably know by now that someone is poking around, looking for Kashin and the women. This means Kashin and this Karpov –
Dmitri
– also know by now. This can be much danger for us, Mikhail.”

“I don't care. We must find my little girl.” Michael scrutinised the photo of Karpov and the Filipinas. “Perhaps you can also find this Dmitri and he leads us to Annette.”

“The Coral Reef is hot for now,” Andrei winked. “But I know where he goes next, a small bar. My police friends told me. Maybe I get lucky, maybe this Karpov – so sorry, this Dmitri – comes with his women and maybe even Kashin is joining him.”

Michael's breathing became more even and he nodded. He took out a wad of roubles, counted out fourteen thousand and handed the money to the PI.

“What's this?” Andrei asked.

“Today is the last day of the first week. That is advance for next week.”

“You afraid I don't do my work?” Andrei studied Michael. “No, I think you're a good man Mikhail. I do my best, I promise.” He stretched out, patted Michael's hand and called Maria.

She appeared at the door, drying her hands on her apron.

Andrei, who had not counted the money, folded the notes in two and handed the thick stack to her, saying something in Russian. She too did not count the money.

Then, Andrei turned to Michael. “She's my banker, keeps all my money. This way, if another woman is interested in me, she must love me for all my charms and not for all the money that I don't have.”