‘Drop me here,’ said Sammy, as they drove past the Epiphany Church and made to hit the Tampines Expressway.
‘You sure?’ said Mac.
‘Check-in time,’ said Sammy, getting out of the SUV. ‘You know how it is.’
‘Is he cool?’ said Scotty, lighting a smoke and dropping his window as they accelerated away.
‘I have no idea,’ said Mac.
Turning right off Central into Holland Road twenty minutes later, Mac readied his SIG between his legs, stripping it and cleaning out the Mekong dirt before rebuilding it and checking for load and safety. The worst water damage to an automatic handgun was usually the loads and Mac had used a new clip and cartridges.
Mac could hear Tranh and Scotty in the back seat readying their weapons as they swung into Ray’s street, sweet frangipani drifting on the evening breeze.
‘Just here, thanks, Jon,’ said Mac, selecting a park that had a sight line to Ray Hu’s driveway while also sitting in the darkness of a large banyan.
Breathing out and in, Mac turned to Scotty. ‘Ready for this?’
‘Let’s make it fast,’ said Scotty.
Digging a radio set out of the gear bag, Mac gave the base handset to Tranh and plugged the other one into his ear, where it dangled, creating a mouthpiece.
Mac pushed the gun into his waistband. ‘If we’re not out in thirty minutes, come in — number sixty.’
Walking to the gate, Mac felt grimy. He hadn’t showered since his dip in the river and he had stubble growing on his jaw. Moving carefully down the drive he kept an eye out for traps and unwanted interlopers.
‘She’s gone,’ came a voice from through the trees, and Scotty cowered to a crouch.
‘Sorry,’ said the voice. ‘It’s just me — over here.’
Taking his hand away from the small of his back, Mac followed the voice and saw the outline of a man through the hedge that divided the Hus’ house from the retired vice-admiral’s.
Mac peered into the darkness. ‘Who’s gone?’
‘Liesl. I’m feeding her dog.’
‘I’m just here to pick up some things.’
‘They’ve already been, twenty minutes ago,’ said the neighbour. ‘Said they came for Liesl’s things.’
Mac tensed. ‘Did they take anything?’
‘No.’
‘Well, that’s why we’re here,’ said Mac, his face hurting as he smiled. ‘You know how women are.’
Waving Mac away, the neighbour returned to his house.
‘Shit,’ said Mac, as they got to the front door. ‘Is he still looking?’
‘He’s in the kitchen, having a stickybeak,’ said Scotty as Mac jiggled at the lock with a bump key.
The lock popped on the second go and Mac let it swing inwards.
‘Well, Christ,’ said Scotty. ‘Someone was here.’
Chapter 65
The house was a wreck. Chairs dismantled, sofas slashed, ceilings pulled down and drawers scattered on the ground. They walked amid the rubble, checking on the dismantled electrical goods, the plasterboard pulled back from around light switches and the skirting boards torn off walls.
The computer in the study had been stripped down, the hard drives were missing and the phone had been smashed: a sign that the vandals had listened to the voicemails and not wanted anyone else to.
Scotty sighed. ‘Looks professional. Let’s call the cops.’
Scotty phoned the AFP’s Singapore office as Mac wandered back to the living room. Among the cushion stuffing and smashed vases lay a large slab of marble and wood that Mac and Ray had sat at many times. Ray had called it his ‘Dominican’ chess board because he claimed it had been used in a Spanish Dominican monastery some time in the fourteenth century. Mac had said he wasn’t sure Dominican monks were allowed to play any games, and Ray had argued that the Dominicans — the founders of universities and the champions of deductive reasoning — didn’t see chess as a game, but as an intellectual exercise.
Ray thought it hardly mattered because he’d been offered more than a million US dollars for the set and he was happy to let it sit on display because thieves would always take the DVD player and stereo, and leave the Dominican chess set. It was his insurance, he said: his hidden insurance.
Staring at it, Mac wondered.
‘Scotty, gimme a hand?’ he said, kneeling beside the monstrous thing which had been knocked off its heavy wooden base, crushing everything under it.
Straining under its weight, it took them three goes and some backyard engineering to get the square board section onto its base.
Panting, Mac knelt again and looked around its edges as Scotty collapsed against the sofa, exhausted.
‘What’s that?’ he gasped. ‘Hundred kilos? Hundred and ten?’
‘This is how Ray used to make a fool of me,’ said Mac, looking along the sides of the leviathan chess board. ‘He called it his hidden insurance because he was sure no thief would know its worth.’
Running his fingers along the wooden casement, Mac couldn’t find anything. He tried the other side; still nothing. Putting his hand on the corner, he pushed to stand up and something moved. Looking back, Mac knelt again and wrapped his fingers under the wooden frame — there was a small trigger. As he pulled it, the casement clicked and something released. Doing the same on the other side Mac played with the two corners until the entire underside of the board was detached from the marble. Pulling it as if sliding out a drawer, Mac looked down at the contents. Papers, a Beretta 9mm pistol and a USB key.
Picking up the key, Mac examined it: the word HARPAC was written along the white insert on the black plastic handle.
‘What is it?’ said Scotty, sucking on his smoke.
‘Insurance,’ said Mac. ‘Hidden insurance.’
Walking back to the car, Scotty shuffled the papers as Mac thought aloud.
‘I think we should get into Loh Han’s plane and get to Canberra; what do you say, boss?’
‘I think you should look at these,’ said Scotty as they approached the Escalade.
‘What are they?’ said Mac.
‘Details of Ray’s safe house,’ said Scotty. ‘It’s all there.’
Mac looked at the documents as he took his seat. The safe house was owned and serviced by company fronts. Ray had given himself a place to hide out, but would he have told Liesl and would she be hiding there?
Scotty gave Jon the address and they moved away, the USB key burning in Mac’s pocket. He wanted to be in Australia, have this thing wrapped up.
It was past nine o’clock when they drove up to the intersection with the Asian Golf Academy and stopped for traffic.
‘Left,’ said Scotty, winding down his window for a smoke.
Something flew through the air. Tranh noticed it first and then Jon shouted before flopping against his window, hands over his face. A yellowish smoke gushed from the floor in thick clouds, and Mac coughed. A gas mask was looking in the window as he passed out on Scotty’s back.
The sound of car horns woke Mac.
Lifting his head from a big wet patch on Scotty’s shirt, he was stunned by the severity of his headache and the amount of fluid dripping out of him. Gingerly, he straightened to an upright position. In the front seat, Jon pushed his door open and vomited.
The car horn sounded again, buzzing around Mac’s head like a wasp. Opening the door he lost his balance, falling to the tarmac.
‘Get off the goddamned road, you drunk,’ came the American voice from the car behind. More horns sounded behind the Amer- ican’s car and a cop siren wailed.
Staggering around the Escalade, Mac just made it to the grass verge, where he fell to his knees and surrendered to vomit- ing of a type he hadn’t experienced since he first tried gin as a teenager. Jon lay on his back with his forearm across his eyes and then Scotty burst into the open, collapsing to the grass as he retched.