When he woke again they had already arrived. The pigs had gone and he was no longer being crushed. He could make out the back of a van, scratched and well-used. He was lying face down and someone was beside him. Alistair. Before he could whisper the doors of the van opened. Chinese voices. He could feel one of the baskets being dragged out, presumably Papi. There was more talking and a wait before the sounds of splashing water. Papi groaned and spluttered. He heard heavy sounds that he could not identify and more orders, and he too was being dragged out.
They were in a small courtyard with a concrete floor. He looked around as far as his basket allowed. Papi sat on the floor, naked in a pool of water, his hands secure behind him and his head down. Tim was stood up, a helpless piece of luggage in his basket. Several men stood around him, one of them holding him vertical and laughing while another pointed a hose at him. A powerful jet of water hit him. “Smelly!” said the man holding him up with another laugh.
The men crowded around him and started to draw the basket off. It was difficult. He supposed they must have put him in head first and allowed his own weight to jam him in. Now the rattan was pulling at his clothes and he felt his shirt tearing. His bound hands were forced out through the basket and they had to pull it back down to free them. Finally they got the basket off and started tearing and cutting his clothes from his body. They forced him to the concrete and the hose man washed him down while the others went back for Alistair. Tim pissed while he had the chance.
They were led into an animal shed, now disused with bare concrete floors and pens of galvanized steel pipe. They sat down in one of the pens and their handcuffs were fastened to the bottom rail with another cable tie. The door closed on them and they were alone.
“Well, Papi,” said Alistair. “That malt whisky had better be worth all this trouble.”
“It is good, my friend, but not that good,” said Papi sadly. Tim could only imagine the dark shape that was Papi looked sad. “Why are we here, Alistair?”
“I was going to ask you the same, Papi. I don’t think it’s me they want. What have you been doing?”
“Nothing, I promise, nothing, and anyway, they are Chinese. What would they want with me? Perhaps it is Tim that they want.”
“I don’t think it’s me,” said Tim. “I’m just an engineer. I pump stuff into oil wells, or fix boats at the moment. There’s nothing interesting about me. I wonder where we are.”
“I don’t think we’re in Singapore. They must have hidden us with the pigs to get us over the causeway. What do you think, Papi?”
“I think,” he said thoughtfully, “that we are tied up in a stable. That is enough. I shall try to think about that only.”
Tim suddenly felt very tired. His head ached from the ether and all he wanted to do was lie down and sleep. He started to wriggle himself around until he could lie on his side. The concrete felt cold and hard, and it was difficult to stay on his side. He tried lying on his stomach with his shoulder under the bottom rail of the pen. He put his cheek on the concrete and closed his eyes. Sleep came quickly.
The shed door clanked open and woke them. Daylight flooded in. Tim struggled to sit up but before he could get upright the door had closed again.
“Just checking on us, I suppose,” said Alistair. “Did you see who it was? I wonder if they serve breakfast?”
Tim looked around at the dim walls. They were bare. No useful tools for escaping. Perhaps the owner of the shed did not watch the correct television series. The three of them sat facing into the pen, each to his own side. Movement was limited to sliding sideways along the bottom rail. Papi sat with his legs crossed and eyes closed, meditating. Alistair looked bored. There was a background noise of traffic passing.
“If I get out of here,” said Tim. “I’ll never touch another slice of bacon. Those pigs!”
“When I get out, I’ll have bacon every morning in revenge,” said Alistair. “Those bloody pigs pissed all over me. I wish they’d give us something to sit on. This concrete’s hard.”
“Do you think they’re looking for us?”
“I’m sure they are. The trouble is, where are they looking? Even we don’t know where we are, so how are they going to start? I’m sure the Singapore police are doing their best right now, but if we’ve been brought to Malaysia… We could be anywhere around Johor Baru. I should imagine they would have to start asking questions around Papi’s place, find out if anyone saw something. Then they will try to trace the vehicle that took us away. I suppose they must have taken us to one of the small farms in the north of the island and transferred us to the pig truck. I wish I knew what those people want. Or even who they want.”
The hours passed slowly. All of them wrestled with the pain of their uncomfortable position. Tim and Alistair had both tried to twist their bodies and bring their hands around to their fronts, but it was hopeless. Hopeless, too, to try and uproot the frame of the pen. It had been built to contain pigs, and that meant building strongly. They were wasting their time. Papi moved little. He fought on a higher plane.
The door opened again in the afternoon. A figure wearing a brown paper bag over his head entered. The crude eye-holes cut in it were dark and empty. He was leading a thin brown man who looked Malay, or possibly Indonesian. They came to the pen and looked over the rail at Tim. The Malay grunted and they both turned to leave.
“Hey, you, we’re hungry,” called Alistair, “and we need some water.” But he was talking to the closing door.
“Oh well, that’s answered one question at least,” said Alistair. “They’re interested in you, Tim, and that looked like an Indonesian to me. Have you been upsetting the Indonesians again?”
Tim felt his heart sinking. He had just been inspected. By an Indonesian. It was very worrying.
“Think about the fact that the man was wearing a paper bag,” said Alistair cheerfully. “If they’re hiding their faces it’s meant to be a good sign. It means they’re professionals and intend to let you go.” He did not mention that the Indonesian had not covered his face.
Again time crept on. The day was drawing to an end and it was becoming difficult to see when they again had visitors. Tim counted five men, all with paper bags on their heads. They flicked a light on and three of them came into the pen and laid hold of Alistair while the other two worked behind him. They were putting proper handcuffs around one wrist only. Quickly and silently they did the same for the other prisoners. Tim flexed his fingers in relief. This felt much better than the cable ties.
Two of the men returned. One threw three pillows into the pen. The other pushed a bowl of noodles and a plastic bottle of water to each of them. They smelled delicious. The three of them crouched with their faces close to their chained hands to hold the bowl and use their chopsticks.
Tim sat back on his pillow and sipped his water. He was still savouring his noodles and wished they could have lasted longer.
Some time later two men came back for their bowls and chopsticks, and the light was flicked off. In the dark he heard Alistair relieving himself. He pushed his naked backside through the railings and did the same before settling down with his pillow for the night. His spirits were sinking and he thought of Sherry.
They had rice and water for breakfast and settled down to another day of doing nothing.
Chapter 34
Hangchi called her as soon as he got to his office. He had little news. The neighbours had seen a white van, a Japanese shape, like tens of thousands of others in Singapore. They had not thought to look at the licence plate and could not remember anything unusual about it. There had been a lot of men, probably eight or ten, and they had driven to the back of the ashram to load something. Then most of the men had walked off in two groups, in different directions. They had been Chinese and spoke Hakka.
“I know it doesn’t sound like much, Sherry, but believe me, that’s the way these investigations normally start. We’re crawling all over the ashram floor looking for prints, to see if there are any we recognise. We’re looking for other clues, but if we haven’t found any by now, I doubt there’ll be anything useful.”
“Can’t you do something? Arrest the Irishman?”
“I’m sorry, but we don’t have a reason. There’s no connection at all, apart from what Darti says and I’m not even mentioning that to my bosses, but everyone’s working hard. The Malaysians are very excited about Alistair being kidnapped. I hope they can keep it out of the papers.”
“I want to do something…” she started to cry. “I want…” But she did not know what she wanted.
Ranji came around. She had heard no more but was certain the Irishman was involved. She had a phone number for Alistair’s house in Johor Baru and they called it. Faith and Hope answered. They too were waiting and crying.
Sherry was in agony. There must be something she could do. She thought wildly of going to the Irishman and offering herself as a substitute. She even proposed it to Ranji but she would not listen.
“Why the Irishman should take you, huh? You’re a woman, no value. He wants one of the men. If he takes you as a substitute, he’ll be afraid that Hangchi will be at the door to arrest him. He won’t admit he’s involved.”
“Perhaps we could both go again…” He could do what he liked with her if it would help get Tim free. Then the solution came. She tried it on Ranji and she reluctantly agreed that it might work. They got to work on the phone, and Ranji hurried home.
Ranji and Sherry rode in the front of a large and anonymous black van. Their friends sat silently in the back. Hangchi was driving, dressed in police uniform. The size of the van made him uncomfortable. It was far bigger than his car. He picked his way across town towards the Telok Blangah industrial estate. Sherry felt nervous. None of them wanted to talk.
Telok Blangah was busy with work and traffic but the Irishman’s block was quiet and had only parked cars outside. Presumably everyone was upstairs working. Hangchi pulled the van up close to the entrance. “Good luck,” he whispered. “Break a leg!” The girls climbed out and rushed for the door. They wanted to get out of sight as quickly as possible. Behind the door marked ‘Fire Escape’ they stopped to straighten their clothes. Sherry had done her best, wearing a light strapless dress, jewellery and too much make-up, but her heart was not in it. Ranji was the same; her transparent choli was dramatic but to Sherry she looked more nervous than sexy. She took a deep breath and led Ranji up the stairs.
The long office was exactly as she remembered it, with its ranks of girls hunched over papers. This time she did not wait to be escorted. She nodded to the nearest girl and marched down the corridor to the Irishman’s secretary. Disapproval washed over her as she walked out of sight.
Sherry tapped on the door and walked straight into the secretary’s office. The same woman sat there, typing. She stopped in mid-stroke and looked up with her mouth open. Sherry did not stop but opened the door and marched into the Irishman’s office before the secretary could get out from behind her desk.
Yhee was taken by surprise and started to react in anger. A moment later he was standing and smiling to welcome his guests. The secretary disappeared, closing the door behind her. “Miss Ranji and Miss Sherry. What a surprise. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Thank you, Mr. Yhee,” Sherry always thought there was no harm in being polite. “That would be lovely. Please excuse us coming without an invitation, but we have something very important to discuss with you.”
Yhee said nothing as he prepared their drinks. Sherry guessed he was thinking very rapidly. He handed them their drinks with a smile. “So; why am I so lucky this afternoon?”
“Mr. Yhee, you’re a businessman,” stated Sherry with a confidence she did not feel, “I’m sure you’ve heard about the kidnapping, three men from Serangoon Road? Well, one of them is my husband. I would like to do business with you to get my husband back, and Ranji would like to get Papi Bombar back.”
Yhee raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “But ladies, I know nothing about these things,” he protested.
Sherry tried again. “Mr. Yhee, I know you’re a gentleman, and that you have so much influence with important people. We know you can help us if you want to. I want my husband back. Of course there’s Alistair too. We felt sure that if we were to—aah—make you happy, you could help us.”
Something in Yhee’s poker face made Sherry believe he had been surprised. “Alistair?”
“Yes, I think he’s called Prince Alistair.”
“Alistair Tajuddin,” added Ranji.
“I see,” said Yhee, “and just suppose I was able to help you, what sort of exchange were you proposing?”
Got you, thought Sherry. She smiled at him “Well, that would depend on what you would like us to do for you.”
Yhee could not help showing his excitement. “Dance for me, and then we’ll see.”
“And then you’ll help us?”
“And then I’ll try.”
Sherry nodded. She could imagine just how hard he would try once he had been satisfied and his tongue was not hanging out like a hungry dog. “Very well, we’ll have to trust you,” she said. “Can I just wave to our driver?” She crossed the room to the conference table and walked to the window with Yhee in her wake. They looked down at Hangchi’s black van parked on the other side of the road. Sherry lifted the lace curtain and waved. Hangchi’s small white hand waved back. Yhee stayed for a moment, no doubt wondering why they had arrived in a large van instead of a taxi.
“So, let’s dance,” said Sherry. “Do you have some easy music for us?” She stripped her dress off and threw it onto the table. She slipped her hand under Yhee’s elbow and let him walk her back to Ranji. She towered over him.
Ranji unwound her sari and wriggled out of her choli. They stood together, holding hands, waiting for Yhee to start the music. He put on a Cat Stevens tape, an improvement on the Chinese music they had struggled with last time. They started to dance and Yhee came to sit in one of the soft chairs in front of his desk. He sipped his drink and stared at the swaying female bodies an arm’s length away.