It had been a long day.
Anna had had to find her passport and someone to take care of the bar, and I had to find Amos Gazit to tell him I was moving on with vague plan of sorts. I had lunch with Walt and called Colin in the office.
It was late evening when we arrived at Changi Airport in Singapore.
After going through my normal routine of buying a new phone and SIM card, we took a taxi to a hotel off Orchard Road.
In the morning, after realising I was not on holiday and had better start work, I made a few phone calls with Anna listening in. Shah Medicals was on top of my list. I asked to speak to John Chua but was told he was out and should call back later. I was asked for my name, etcetera, so I decided I’d stay with Dr Mike Stevens for a while. Anna grinned.
I then called the British High Commission and asked to speak to Caroline who had been there a while and used to work in the Trade and Investment Department. “Tell her it’s Rupert,” I said.
I waited less than a minute before a plummy female English voice said, “Is that really you, Rupert dear?” I put the phone on speaker so Anna could hear.
“Hello, Caroline. Still keeping the wheels of British diplomacy spinning from your tropical hideaway?”
“How nice to hear from you, Rupert dear. It’s been so long. Thought you might have caught your death when you fell out of the boat last time we met. Too much champers, you know. Not good for a man with your weak will. Bit warmer here, though, isn’t it? Where are you, darling? In town? Coming to see me? Hope so. What’s it this time? Catching big time foreign fraudsters again, or is it something more refined? Got time for little me?” Anna looked bemused.
I told Caroline I was holed up in Singapore for a day or so but wondered if she could fill me in on a couple of local companies.
“Medical industry, Caroline. Not my usual speciality, but then what is, you might ask. Please don’t ask too many questions. I’m running out of excuses. Can I pop in for a cosy chat?”
“Better still, Rupert dear. Take me to lunch. Just had a cancellation.
Seems they don’t want me at their official lunch today after all. These days, I put rejections down to budget constraints, so I don’t feel insulted.”
“Love to. Shall I pick you up, or meet you somewhere?”
“Meet me at the Mandarin about one.”
“I’ll be there. See you later.”
I turned to Anna. “I shall be out for lunch today,” I said. “I’m taking a lady out.” She pouted but didn’t argue.
I then tried Shah Medicals again, spoke to John Chua, and spun another piece of bullshit. “Michael Stevens from Asher & Asher.
We’re a UK-based export agency representing companies making OTC medicines. I’d like to discuss a few opportunities with you.”
I quickly recognised a stressed Singaporean. “Not so easy, lah. Big competition, lah. What have you got? It needs to be better or cheaper than the competition, lah.”
I bullshitted a bit more, telling him I represented a big group into industrial chemicals and toiletries already big in Europe and the Middle East and now looking towards Southeast Asia. After some more of this nonsense, I fixed a meeting for late afternoon at the Hyatt Hotel.
I told Anna, and then, as she had only packed one small bag of clothes and I had no idea how long we’d be away, I suggested she do some shopping while I was out. If I told Colin he would have laughed but, so far, he didn’t know I had a travelling companion.
So, next it was the Mandarin Hotel where I found a seat where I could see but not be seen. My efforts at concealment, though, failed badly. I heard her coming before I even saw her. The tall gangly form of Caroline Mason waved as she strode towards me. Caroline, by the way, walks as if she is on a long-distance hike. I can barely keep up with her.
On this occasion, the long strides made her flowery skirt billow in the passing air. Today, she had topped the skirt with a white blouse tied
with a black bow at the neck. In her hand was a brown handbag cum briefcase, which she dropped on the table by my side. I rose to my feet and held out my hand, but it was quickly apparent that Caroline planned a public display of affection in the form of a kiss. She planted a slobbering one firmly on my left cheek, followed by another on my right. She also took my hand. “Rupert my dear, how lovely to see you.
Long time. How are you?”
“Hello, Caroline,” I said. “It’s good to see you too. Come and sit down. Do you prefer to go straight through for a gin and tonic?”
“I think a G and T sounds splendid. Mustn’t have too many, though.
Got a few things to do when I get back.” She laughed and, taking my hand again, pulled me towards the reception desk of the restaurant.
The young pretty Chinese girl asked if we had a reservation.
“Yes, dear,” said Caroline. “For two. I phoned earlier. Caroline Mason. Table by the window. Thanks.”
We were escorted to Caroline’s table, ordered gin and tonics to be delivered at once, and took the proffered menus. Caroline had, as expected, plenty to say. “So, what have you been up to. I know I shouldn’t call you Rupert, but it suits you too much. You do remember what a fabulous day that was, don’t you? Pity about the bloody British weather - spoils everything and can’t plan a thing - but that didn’t stop us, did it?”
I cringed inwardly but let her continue.
“I heard you were involved behind the scenes in the Stewart Insurance fraud. Didn’t he got a bad bit of publicity in the end - Stewart, I mean
- but I never really understood what you actually did. Was it listening devices or plain old-fashioned hiding under the bed in the Frankfurt Sheraton?”
She laughed again so I felt obliged to join in.
The gin and tonics arrived, and Caroline’s enthusiasm in toasting our renewed acquaintance was almost enough to smash the crystal glasses. but by now, I felt it was my turn to say something. “I only flew in last night but made you my first meeting.”
“Flatterer!”
“I was at a conference on infectious diseases in Bangkok. Have you read any news in the last couple of days?”
“Sounds like another SARS or MERS outbreak. I hope it doesn’t get out of hand. I do hate wearing silly masks, don’t you? Didn’t catch anything transmissible with a kiss or two, I hope. So, who or what sent you there, darling?”
“A client,” I said. “The trade show was useful for meeting a few people. Things cropped up. It’s why I called you. All in the name of ensuring diplomatic and industrial harmony around the globe. British fair play and all that.”
The waiter arrived for our order, and Caroline took a pair of thick rimmed glasses from her bag. “Sign of old age I’m afraid, dear.
Catches up even with the sprightly. Can barely read anything unless its inches from my eyes.”
She put them on, scanned the menu, and then said, “I must admit that I’m a bit of an old bore really – after all these years I still hanker after the same thing. What about you?” She put the menu down, removed her glasses and looked at me. I then felt the toe of her stilettos connect ever so gently with my shin.
“What are you having?” I asked.
“Fillet steak,” she said. “With a nice big pile of chips.”
“Very oriental, I must say,” I said. “Order two.”
We ordered. Then: “So what can His Majesty’s services do to help?”
“I need Some information on a local company named Shah Medicals.
It was set up a few years ago by an Arab gentleman, so I understand.”
Caroline nodded, but before she had a chance to reply, I asked another. “Is Clive Tasker still in Jordan? I haven’t been to Amman for about two years, but he was due to retire the last time we spoke.”
“Oh, good old Clive,” said Caroline. “Retired at Christmas. Got a card. He’s in Cyprus. He knew it from when he was in Beirut and Jordan. He put his address on the card. I’ll dig it out for you.”
And so, the conversation continued until, “So where are you staying, Rupert dear? I could drop the stuff around if you like.”
Under my current circumstances this was potentially dangerous.
“Secret,” I said. “Running incognito as usual. But I bet, with your connections, you could soon track me down. Please don’t try.
Innocent British citizen trying to earn an honest crust by tracking down dishonest foreigners and all that. You know me well enough to know that I sometimes need a bit of cover. Better I call you tomorrow morning if I may. And I’d be very grateful for anything about this Shah Medicals company. I may well move out in the afternoon.”
Later, after lunch and after Caroline had drunk the best part of a bottle of red wine, we made our way out onto Orchard Road again. Caroline found it necessary to give me another big kiss and said, “Until tomorrow.” She beckoned a taxi and I watched her fall in, catch her bag in the door, open it again to retrieve it, shut it once more, and with a wave through the rear window, disappear into the traffic. I admit to still having a soft spot for Caroline.
***
At 5:00 p.m., I was in the Singapore Hyatt Hotel.I easily recognised John Chua. The small middle-aged Chinese man wore a whitish shirt with a loose greasy-looking grey tie. He was shuffling around like a nervous mouse, so I crept up behind and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Ah yes, yes, sorry, sorry. So late, lah. Too many problems today.
Everything going wrong. Mr Stevens, is it? My card.”
As usual, I apologised that my cards had run out. “So sorry. I used them all up in Manila.”
Over tea served in delicate white cups, we talked, although I was as deliberately vague as I had been on the phone earlier.
“My client thinks hand cleansers and antiseptic soaps are likely to be of most interest here,” I said. “Might they fit into your marketing plans?”
Chua seemed to relax. He removed the tie. “Maybe,” he said. “We have grown a lot in the last few years. We have a new branch in Malaysia and are a market leader in some products. It’s taken a lot of work, lah.” He drained his cup of green tea. “But I need more information. Cannot work without information.”
Like any genuine business consultant, I was ready for this. “No problem. If you can give me more information on your organisation, I’ll report back and we can take matters further. We are keen to move ahead quickly with the right partner.”
Chua was definitely the local man in charge, but I sensed signs of a bigger boss somewhere who might think well of him if he could pull off a good deal. I pushed him gently starting with his own background.
“OK, lah. I worked for Suzuki Pharmaceuticals. Good business, lah, but the company decided to open their own office here. At same time, lah, I met Mr Kader. He owns Shah Medicals. He was in Singapore looking for agencies to buy up. Very wealthy man, lah . . .”
John Chua’s tongue was loosening nicely so I ordered more tea.
It seemed that Kader had asked him if he wanted to set up on his own.
He’d said yes. Kader had then put up some money. They’d found an office and Kader had then shipped in some stock. Chua now ran three salesmen, two based at an office in Malaysia.
I nodded and smiled throughout and told him his business looked very compatible with what I was looking for—right size, right set up, etcetera. We could grow things together, but how was he placed for raising money for investment in a big venture? He scratched at his lanky strands of greasy hair. Decision was he needed to talk to Mr Kader.
“Tell me about Mr Kader,” I said. Chua described a rich man with offices in the Gulf, a business in Hong Kong, and interests in Africa.
“Rich man, lah. Very rich.”
“Is Al Zafar part of his organisation?” I asked innocently.
“Oh yes. Forgot to say, lah. Mr Kader owns Al Zafar. It’s a holding company. Very ambitious man is Mr Kader. Wants us to take on many new products. I keep telling him to slow down, lah. We are not ready for all this yet. But he is very keen, very keen. Push, push.”
It was a chance to use another trick of my profession. I call this one a negative prompt.
“So perhaps our proposal may not be so interesting for him if he has so many ambitions in other directions.”
Clever, isn’t it? Deflate a guy but offer a way out. It always works well with Chinese.
John Chua clearly saw this might be true and didn’t want to lose face.
But I can be very mean and hard at times. I showed no pity and added to his worry.
“If Mr Kader had plans for marketing new, expensive, and highly specialised drugs in Singapore, would he have told you?”
Chua looked shocked. “Ah, maybe no. He keeps many things to himself. I know he has big plans in Africa. He is setting up some sort of laboratory connected to his business in Egypt. Maybe in Kenya. He is a very busy man, a lot going on, very dynamic.”
I paused to allow Chua to self-digest what he’d just said. The positive pause. Then I pushed for action. “So how do we proceed with this?”
He glanced up from his pondering of the tabletop and empty cups.
“I’ll speak to Mr Kader,” he said. “He likes to be involved with important decisions like that.”
It sounded to me like he was desperate to earn a medal from Kader for seizing big opportunities. I encouraged him. The positive encouragement.
“Which way would you take the company if you owned it outright?” I asked.
Chua looked at me as if he thought I might have something else up my sleeve that might be to his enormous personal advantage. He didn’t answer but looked around, biting his lip, sniffing, thinking, and
uncertain so I left him hanging there for a while. Then I changed the mood. I can be very kind at times.
“So, life in Singapore is as hectic as ever?” I said, looking around the hectic hotel concourse and he seemed relieved at a less-searching question. He even sat back in his chair.
“Everything still big pressure, lah. But we got to maintain kiasu, or we wouldn’t be Singaporean, would we?”
That was it. I knew I’d netted him. Kiasu - the Chinese Singaporean’s fear of losing - is a lovely weapon in the art of international criminal investigations. Chua even chuckled slightly and lifted his cup to his lips only to find it bone dry. Then he said something that I was to remember over and over again during the coming weeks. “Just too crowded here,” he said, looking around. “Too many people. No time to relax.”
He fidgeted again and glanced at a bare wrist, as though it normally bore a watch. “Excuse me, Mr Stevens. Got to go now. The American I was supposed to meet here was delayed. All my schedule fucked up.”
“Americans are all the same,” I said. “Is he on his way in or on his way out?”
“Coming from a conference in Bangkok.”
“Another supplier of yours?” I asked.
He nodded. “Another rich guy – Mr O’Brian. I promised to pick him up from Changi. You know the company?”
“The name is familiar,” I said. “Livingstone Pharmaceuticals?”
“Yes,” he said. “Livingstone and Al Zafar work together. Somehow.”
To me, he seemed unsure and unsettled by whatever the links were between Kader and O’Brian, though perhaps I wouldn’t have noticed it if I’d not felt the same suspicions. The strain on Chua’s sweating face was evidence enough for me, but I thought better of asking outright if he had a problem. He looked at his bare wrist again, as if it
told him he was late, but he didn’t move. Surprisingly, he had some more words to say.
“Mr O’Brian and Mr Kader have a project in Africa,” he said. “But I’m really only interested in products such as yours, Mr Stevens. If there’s something we could do together. . .”
He didn’t finish his sentence, and I didn’t push him, but I could sense he was falling over backwards to find reasons not to follow Kader or O’Brian into whatever they were up to. Why?
When he finally departed, I felt very sorry for all the bullshit I’d given him.