“What made you decide to come see me?” she asked.
“I was in the area,” he replied vaguely.
“Oh. Well, I’m glad anyway. I’m off in half an hour. If you haven’t a car, you can ride back to the city with me. I might even cook for you this evening if you encourage me a little.”
He touched one of her hands, forgetting about Apollo. “You’ve always been a very sweet girl, Wendy.”
She smiled sadly. “That’s what Daddy used to call me, remember? His sweet girl.”
“Yes, I do,” he said.
When her shift was over, Wendy led him to a BMW with a right-hand drive, and they started for the city. On the way, they drove past the mint compound and Alan could not help staring at it. Wendy noticed his preoccupation with curiosity but did not comment.
She lived in a small apartment at the back of a garden complex off Orchard Link. It was bi-level, secluded, and had a tiny private patio and garden. “This is lovely,” Alan told her.
“A lot of things were Mum’s,” she said, gesturing toward the furnishings. “Or Daddy’s. That’s his leather chair there, remember? Why don’t you sit in it while I fix you a gin?”
Wendy had a drink with him while they reminisced a bit, then left him with a second gin while she went off to the kitchen. “Do you still like those outrageous omelets with all sorts of things in them that you and Daddy used to wolf down?” she asked.
“Yes, but they no longer like me,” he called back. “I’ve a bit of a stomach problem — just eggs-and-cheese will do fine.”
“You’re easy,” she said. “I may keep you.”
It was not a cool Singapore evening, but it was tolerable enough for them to eat on the tiny patio and enjoy the little garden, which she had lit with Chinese lanterns. As they ate, she said, “Listen, Alan, forgive me, but I’m still troubled about your contact with Louis van Leuck. A man of your intelligence and capabilities shouldn’t have to go over to the shady side to earn a living. I’ve been thinking. You remember my friend Herman Ubbink you met at the Dutch Club? Well, Heineken is transferring him to London next month. He has a friend he plays squash with, Steven Howard, who’s head of marketing for Time. Steven’s giving Herman a big going-away bash and there’ll be all sorts of Singapore business types there. Why don’t you come with me and I’ll introduce you around. We can say you’ve just moved back here from South America or someplace and are looking for a niche. I’m almost sure someone would ask you to come around and talk. What do you think?”
Alan smiled fondly at her across the table. “I think you’re ’a sweet girl’ to be so concerned about my future. I appreciate it and I’m touched by it. It’s been a long spell since anyone gave more than passing interest to my well-being. But I must tell you, dear Wendy, that I think you’re being naive. Suppose someone at the party was interested? How long do you think that interest would last when I had to provide references for the last five years? Or when they ran a local credit check on me and learned of the two failed businesses and the bankruptcy? Or even worse, applied for a work permit for me and a police check showed I was extradited from here to Bangkok to face jade-smuggling charges for which I was subsequently sent to prison?” Reaching over, he put his hand on hers. “I know you mean well, Wendy, but it simply wouldn’t work. I’ve got only one last chance here in Singapore and that’s with Louis van Leuck.”
Wendy fought back tears and abruptly came around the table and sat on his lap, as she had done as a child. She pressed her face against him and he felt wet eyelashes on his neck. “I’m just so afraid for you,” she said in a strained voice. “It hasn’t been that long since I lost Daddy. Now I’ve found you, Alan, and I don’t want to lose you, too.”
“I know.” Alan patted her head, again as if she were still the little girl he remembered — all the while realizing by the heat and shape of her body against his that she was not.
She felt the heat, too, felt everything, and whispered, “Let’s go in, Alan.”
He slept very soundly for the first hour after they made love. Wendy hadn’t blanched at the sight of his horrible scars, had in fact kissed them in her passion, and his self-consciousness about his age, his physical condition, the fear of impotency had all vanished in the indulgences of their lovemaking.
Then it started to rain, a heavy monsoon deluge that threatened to tear shutters off, and he dreamed briefly about the Thai prison before coming awake and sitting bolt upright in a sheet of sweat. He was not cold but he was trembling. Wendy cradled his head against her.
“You’re afraid, aren’t you?” she asked.
“Yes. God, yes.”
“Tell me what of.”
Alan swallowed as much fear as he could and replied, “The tunnel. I’m afraid of the tunnel.”
Then, in the darkness, his face pressed to the softness of her, he told her about the plan to rob the mint. About the hundred-meter tunnel he and Dao’s grandnephew would have to crawl through. And about a punishment in the Thai prison called ‘the trench.’
“It was like a grave,” he said. “A deep, earthen grave with narrow walls. They tied your arms to your sides, tied your ankles together, and put you in a burlap shroud up to your throat. Then they lowered you into the trench on your back. A wooden plank was lowered above you until it almost touched your face. It was held in place by four ropes tied to stakes at the corners of the trench. With the board in place, dirt was shoveled in by other prisoners. While you lay there helpless, you heard shovelfuls of dirt hitting the plank just over your face. Some of the dirt trickled down each side. Slowly the daylight disappeared and you were buried alive.”
Alan pushed his sweating face harder against her, as if her flesh could erase the memory. “I was put in the trench four times,” he told her. “Each time I thought I would lose my mind. Or suffocate. But the bastards always got me out in time. They had it down to a science. A few died in the trench, but not many.”
“The tunnel under the mint reminds you of the trench,” Wendy said.
“Yes. How did you know?”
“Daddy,” she told him. “He was a prisoner during the war. Years later he was still having associated nightmares and depression and such. You’re afraid you can’t make it through the tunnel, aren’t you?”
“Yes. The thought of crawling through that long, narrow, dark hole—” Alan shook his head desperately. “It terrifies me.”
“Then don’t do it,” Wendy said. “Say you can’t.”
“They wouldn’t let me. I know all the particulars of the plan now. After all, I did ask to be let in. Anyway, even if they did let me back out, if anything went wrong when they pulled the job they’d never believe I wasn’t somehow responsible. No, I’m afraid I’ll have to stay in.”
“Drop out of sight, then,” Wendy pleaded. “Move in here with me. They’d never find you.”
Alan shook his head. “That would be prison all over again. I’d never be able to go out on the streets for fear one of van Leuck’s people would see me.” He took a deep breath. “I’m just going to have to steel myself for it, that’s all. I’m going to have to get through it.” In the darkness, Wendy whispered, “Maybe we can think of something.”
“Sure,” Alan said. His tone told her he didn’t for a moment believe it.
The robbery was scheduled for Tuesday night, just before the Wednesday shipment of banknotes to Malaysia.
Alan still had his room in the Indian quarter even though he had been staying with Wendy most of the time. He returned to the room only to get messages. She had gone with him once and found the place disgusting. “This is awful,” she said. “You’re so fastidious, just like Daddy was — I don’t see how you can stand it.”