Read The Orpheus Deception Online
Authors: David Stone
The Orpheus Deception (22 page)
“I will take you to Minister Dak,” he said, scuttling across to the marble staircase that led up to a set of leaded-glass doors. They entered into a broad marbled foyer done in a chess-set pattern and padded up a curving flight of carved wooden stairs, smelling of lemon and linseed oil, Ong Bo’s ample butt remaining at eye level as they climbed. Then down a long, darkened hallway lined with closed office doors, treading on ancient wooden boards that creaked and groaned as they passed, and then delivered by Ong Bo, with a bow, to a stained-glass wall surrounding two massive wooden doors.
“When you are through with Minister Dak, if you are free to go, I will be happy to return you to your hotel or to take you anywhere in Singapore you would wish to go. And may I offer the English lady a small token of my extreme regret for the manner of your reception this morning?”
Mandy looked at him over the tops of her Prada glasses, fixing him in her vast database of unsavory minions encountered in the line of duty.
“Possibly,” she said. Ong Bo reached into the breast pocket of his suit and withdrew a small black lacquer box, intricately inlaid in threads of pure jade, tied with a scarlet ribbon. It looked ancient and outrageously valuable. Ong offered it to her, holding it in the open palms of his joined hands in the formal Eastern manner.
Mandy hesitated, and then, with as much grace as she could summon, accepted it. Her acceptance seemed to send a sensual ripple through his large, loose frame. Mandy did not open it, since gushing over whatever tawdry trinket it might contain was going to require more forced charm than she felt able to gather for the cause. She smiled thinly, dropped it into her little Kate Spade bag, snapped the catch shut.
Ong watched the ritual with a closed, passive regard, his eyes narrowed, then he bowed again, his face a little more stony, turned away and knocked twice on the frame. A voice from within, brusque and shrill, barked out a command in Mandarin. Ong opened the door and oiled himself to the side, bowing. The office was very large, very old, and almost empty, with white-painted walls over twelve feet high, ending in fine crown moldings. A large ceiling fan, made of false palm fronds, churned in the still, warm air. On one wall, an antique wooden station clock emitted a dry, clanking
tick
with metronomic regularity. A bank of leaded-glass windows, barred with wrought iron, coated with grime and dust, let a filtered, nineteenth-century light into the room and illuminated a large, threadbare Oriental carpet in tones of plum, gold, and faded blue. The carpet held a large, ornately carved colonial desk, behind which sat a middle-aged Chinese woman, wonderfully turned out in a crisp navy blue suit over blazing-white blouse. Her arms were resting on the top of her desk, seamed and bony hands neatly folded in the middle of the space, a desk which was completely empty except for a Lenovo laptop, an unopened copy of the
Straits Times
newspaper, and a cordless phone. Her expression was familiar to Dalton, although it took a moment to place her. The Chinese woman, asleep on the flight from Milan. He recalled his assessment of her at the time:
tick
with metronomic regularity. A bank of leaded-glass windows, barred with wrought iron, coated with grime and dust, let a filtered, nineteenth-century light into the room and illuminated a large, threadbare Oriental carpet in tones of plum, gold, and faded blue. The carpet held a large, ornately carved colonial desk, behind which sat a middle-aged Chinese woman, wonderfully turned out in a crisp navy blue suit over blazing-white blouse. Her arms were resting on the top of her desk, seamed and bony hands neatly folded in the middle of the space, a desk which was completely empty except for a Lenovo laptop, an unopened copy of the
Straits Times
newspaper, and a cordless phone. Her expression was familiar to Dalton, although it took a moment to place her. The Chinese woman, asleep on the flight from Milan. He recalled his assessment of her at the time:
An attenuated Chinese woman of indeterminate age, with dead-white skin and an expression of general ill will, who tossed and twitched and muttered in her sleep.
She rose, without smiling, and dismissed Sergeant Ong with a nod.
“Good afternoon. I am Minister Dak Chansong. Please, Mr. Dalton, Miss Pownall, come in.”
She indicated a pair of padded leather chairs that had been placed, just so, in front of her desk. Behind her, on the peeling plaster wall, was a large official portrait of Lee Kwan Yew, garishly framed in gilt, and another portrait, much more recent, of his son and heir, Lee Hsien Loong, framed in simple silver. She watched as they took their places, studying them both with that same air of general ill will that had marked her while she was sleeping, an expression that Dalton began to fear might be a mirror of her soul. She sat, offered neither water nor tea—a calculated insult—smoothed her stiff blue suit briefly, and reclined into her chair, still not smiling. Mandy and Dalton, fully aware of the Asian uses for silence, smiled back blandly and said . . . nothing at all. The station clock ticked leadenly, and the scent of Minister Dak’s perfume, something floral and bittersweet and expensive, drifted in the still, mote-filled glowing room.
“You recognize me, perhaps?”
“I do,” said Mandy, in the same cool tone. “You came in on our Thai Airways flight from Milan this morning. You sat alone in 5A, reading a copy of
The Kite Runner.
You appeared to be sleeping for the last few hours of the trip. When we landed, you got off before anyone else, although, on a second look, perhaps it was only made to appear random. We did not see you at Customs and Immigration, and you were nowhere around when we got out to the Arrivals concourse.”
The Kite Runner.
You appeared to be sleeping for the last few hours of the trip. When we landed, you got off before anyone else, although, on a second look, perhaps it was only made to appear random. We did not see you at Customs and Immigration, and you were nowhere around when we got out to the Arrivals concourse.”
Minister Dak unfolded and refolded her long hands. Her fingers, which looked like bone needles, were tipped in scarlet, and she had a large emerald-and-gold ring on the third finger of her right hand.
“Yes. I must apologize for the Malay. He has been corrected.”
“The Malay being the short man?” said Dalton.
“Yes. That is the man. Corporal Ahmed. I am sorry to take up your time, but the matter was urgent, and I needed to see you personally. I know how exhausted you must be. The flight from Milan is long.”
“You were in Italy?” said Dalton.
She shook her head. “No. I was transferring. From London.”
She paused then, putting an emphasis on the name, but neither Dalton nor Mandy rose to it.
“Yes. From London. Although you are both residents of London, I see you came on board at Milan?”
“Yes,” said Mandy, offering nothing in addition.
“You had business in Italy?”
“No,” said Mandy. “Just seeing a friend. I don’t mean to seem abrupt, Minister, but may I ask you to tell us what matter was so urgent that you needed to see us here this afternoon?”
“Yes. When I travel as an official of the government of Singapore, naturally there is a security element. My work at the Home Ministry is complex. A great deal of travel is required.”
“May I ask you,” said Dalton, “exactly what your position is here at the Ministry?”
“Oh yes. I am in charge of domestic security.”
Sister branch to the SID.
“I see. Rather like the FBI in America.”
She lowered her eyes.
“Nothing so grand. Singapore is a small nation. I attend to a number of issues and operate a small staff of no more than five hundred people. Nothing like America’s FBI or Miss Pownall’s MI5. Quite modest. However, as you can imagine, when I travel, some precautions are taken. We look at possible dangers posed by over-flights, communications safety. Passenger manifests. That kind of thing. Quite routine.”
Passenger manifests.
“So, you were aware that we were on board?” said Mandy.
“Oh yes. Of course, there was no concern. Your credentials are posted on your firm’s website. They were vetted as a matter of course. Everything checked out. But an irregularity emerged subsequently that did cause us some concern. You’re aware of our Intourist system?”
“Yes,” said Dalton. “Everyone who enters Singapore, on business or as a tourist, is registered with Intourist. Many countries do the same.”
Minister Dak inclined her head, obviously not pleased to have her narrative interrupted. Something glittered in her shining black eyes.
“Yes. We maintain a record of incoming passport numbers, visa requests, travel plans and destinations. Hotel registries, naturally. At approximately four in the morning, our time, our Intourist database was unlawfully entered—I believe the word is
hacked—
and certain data were queried directly. We—our technicians—were able to determine that the breach was short and posed no threat to myself or any of our officials, although my presence on our Thai flight from Milan was part of the data obtained by this breach. We determined that I was not a target, and the plane was not diverted. No, the target of this entry seems to be the two of you.”
hacked—
and certain data were queried directly. We—our technicians—were able to determine that the breach was short and posed no threat to myself or any of our officials, although my presence on our Thai flight from Milan was part of the data obtained by this breach. We determined that I was not a target, and the plane was not diverted. No, the target of this entry seems to be the two of you.”
Mandy stiffened in her chair. Dalton leaned forward.
“We were? Miss Pownall and I?”
“Yes. Quite. The information obtained included your passport numbers and your visa details. It also included your registration at the Intercontinental and the time of your arrival. You were the only two people from this flight who had reservations at the Intercontinental. By a process of elimination, extrapolating from the search string, we were able to establish to our satisfaction that the reason for this illegal entry was to obtain information about you and no one else.”
“Who would wish to know such a thing?” asked Mandy, her voice a little tighter than it should have been but well within the range of an outraged civilian. Minister Dak nodded in agreement.
“That was our view as well.”
“Were you able to identify the intruder?” asked Dalton.
“Not completely. The attack was quite skillful, I am told, and originated in the United States.”
“The U.S.?” asked Dalton, now a little rattled.
“Yes. The northeastern portion, we believe. Now, what we are interested in very much is your reaction to this event. Can you tell us why any persons would go to such trouble to discover the itinerary of two business travelers? I must confess, the event has caused something of a stir inside the Ministry, and we are quite concerned to understand the significance. Which now brings us to our most unusual request to have you visit us here. Have you any idea why you have been queried in this manner?”
Mandy said nothing. This was Dalton’s game.
“Not off the top of my head, Minister. But it’s happened to the bank before. Proprietary information is always of use to competing houses. Burke and Single goes to quite a bit of trouble to protect its interests. Occasionally, determined adversaries get through our systems. To tell you the truth, it’s sort of routine in the business. Large amounts of money are in play. Mergers are being considered. Inferences can be drawn even from the movement of our people around the world. And Singapore is a major financial hub, so our arrival here would be of interest to many other investment houses.”
“You find this explanation sufficient?”
“I find it plausible.”
“You are not concerned for your safety?”
Dalton and Mandy exchanged glances.
“Not really. But if you do find out precisely who pierced your databank, we’d be very happy to have you share the information with us.”
“May I ask what is your business in Singapore?”
“We’re here to meet with some officials of the Hongkong and Shanghai Banking Corporation.”
“Who? Precisely?”
“Mr. Lam, their London operational liaison, and Mr. Hap Ki, their chief Compliance Officer.”
She nodded, tapping the names into her Lenovo and striking a key. She waited a moment, her sharp, ageless face lit up by the flickering screen. She narrowed her eyes as something appeared on her screen and then looked back at them.
“We’re intrigued, Mr. Dalton, by your background. Specifically, by how little of it there is to be known. We have spent some time this morning trying to get a clearer picture of you and so far we have not been very . . . lucky. Can you explain the lack of ordinary biographical information?”
Dalton hardened up and cooled out fast.
“With respect, Minister Dak, as a citizen of the U.K. and a representative of a respected financial institution, I must admit to you that sitting still for a question like that is not in my nature. If you have some specific reason for—”
She closed the lid of the laptop with a
snap
and turned her gaze upon Mandy Pownall, who returned it with every appearance of cold reserve.
snap
and turned her gaze upon Mandy Pownall, who returned it with every appearance of cold reserve.
“I wonder, Miss Pownall, if you would mind showing me some identification?”
“You have our passports at the hotel desk.”
“Yes. Just a formality. Anything you can show me?”
Mandy sighed, opened her bag, and ruffled around in the interior.
“Excuse me,” said the Minister. “What is that?”
Mandy looked confused.
“What is what?”
“The box. May I see it?”
Mandy looked down at the black lacquer box with the jade inlay.
“Of course,” she said, handing it across to the woman. “It’s from Sergeant Ong. A gift . . .”
Dalton’s belly began to tighten as he watched the Minister open the box and extract a long, thin tube, made of green jade, inlaid with delicate golden flames. It was about nine inches long; a cigarette holder. Dak lifted it into the light from the window beside her, turning it carefully. Dalton had all his suspicions confirmed when she raised it to her nose and inhaled. Her face changed. She kept her gaze downward, carefully returning the cigarette holder to the case and then snapping it shut. Hard. The closing
crack
was very loud in the silent room.
crack
was very loud in the silent room.
“You’re aware,” she said, locking Mandy in a hard glare, “of our official disapproval of all forms of drug use.”
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