Don Brown: The Malacca Conspiracy

The woman checked her computer screen. A moment passed.

“No sign of Commander Colcernian.”

“May I go ahead and check in?”

“Let’s see…” More typing on the screen. “We’re very tight, but we have some spaces already open for diplomatic personnel who are staying with us, if you don’t need a king-size bed and if you’re willing to forego a sea vista view.”

Zack smirked. “I don’t care if it’s a king-size bed or a sleeping bag. It’s just me in the room.” He glanced around the lobby. “I’ll take it.”

“Very well, sir. Room number 4035. Take the lift to the fourth floor, turn left, fourth room on the right.” She handed him a magnetic key card.

“Thank you, Miss Claire,” Zack said, reading the woman’s name tag.

Suddenly, something felt odd to Zack. Call it his sixth sense.

He turned away and surveyed the lobby once more.

The dark-skinned, Middle Eastern man in the white suit stood about thirty feet away, just in front of the revolving exit doors. The man was staring. Zack locked eyes with him. Something cold and hard seemed to pass between them.

A blazing hatred seemed to burn in the man’s eyes and face. Zack forgot about Diane for the moment and stepped toward the stranger.

The man turned, swiftly exiting through the revolving doors.

Zack quickened his pace, rushing through the doors. The man jumped into the very cab that Zack had ridden in from the airport.

The cab sped off.

The man turned, locking eyes with Zack once more, as the cab disappeared around the bend in the palm-tree-lined Silosa Road.

Victor Yang Loon’s taxi

Sentosa Island, Singapore

12:47 p.m.

Victor glanced in the rearview mirror at the white-suited passenger.

“What’s your rush, my friend?”

“I have a flight to catch.”

“What time is your flight?”

The man checked his watch. “Ninety minutes.”

“Which airline?”

“Saudi Air.”

“Don’t you have any luggage?”

“No luggage,” the man said.

Odd.

“You are my third passenger today from the Rasa Sentosa to the airport with no baggage.”

No response.

“What is it with the Royal Saudi Airlines?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You are my third Saudi passenger today going to the airport with no bags. Not many day commuters on Royal Saudi Airlines.” Victor swung the cab around the last traffic circle on Sentosa Island. They approached the causeway bridge leading to the Singaporean mainland.

“What makes you think I am Saudi?”

“You are flying Royal Saudi Airlines. I assumed-”

“-lots of people fly Royal Saudi Airlines. I am Kuwaiti.”

“Ah…my apologies…”

“Does Singapore make it a crime to have no luggage, my friend?”

The cab crossed the causeway. Victor veered onto the East Coast Parkway.

“No crime, my friend. Just wondering.”

They headed east. Victor thought something was strange about this fellow.

“You know, my friend”-the man donned dark shades-“I was thinking of bringing my wife and children back to Singapore for a holiday. We have plenty of time before my flight. Please stop at East Coast Park so that I might get out for a moment and shoot a few pictures for my family. I will reward you handsomely.”

Why did this seem odd? But if the man was going to pay him… “Of course.”

They sped around the East Coast Parkway, crossed Marina Bay, then sped past Marina City Park on the right. Crossing another bridge, they entered the area of East Coast Park.

“Turn here,” the passenger ordered.

Victor took exit 12, the Fort Road-East Coast Park exit. They passed Marine Cove, Kite Runners, and Raintree Cove on the right.

“Turn here,” the passenger ordered, as they came upon the C-4 parking lot, just a few hundred yards from the water. Victor swung the car to the right. A few cars were parked in the lot, but not a soul was in sight.

“Park here.”

Victor found an empty space and threw the cab in neutral.

A powerful hand clamped his nose and mouth from behind. Another gripped his Adam’s apple, yanking his head against the headrest. Victor squirmed, but the man’s overpowering grip clinched harder against his throat.

“Mmmmmmm.”

“You talk too much, my friend.”

Victor flailed, reaching for the man’s hair. Nothing. Heaving, pushing, Victor twisted. Turned. Squirmed.

The man’s powerful fingers dug into his esophagus.

Coughing.

Gagging.

“Perhaps life would have served you better had you learned to keep your mouth shut.”

Wheezing.

Choking.

Water streamed from Victor’s eyes, trickling down his cheeks.

The windshield.

The dashboard.

The cabbie’s vision blurred. Thoughts flashed by of his wife and two teenage daughters. His arms fell limp.

Then a gasp…yes, a sharp intake of air…the hand was gone! Victor widened his eyes.

A sharp blade slashed his throat. His world spun. Warm blood gushed from his mouth and throat.

“Shhhhhhhhhhhh…” The faint sound of his attacker shushed Victor to sleep.

Then…

Blackness.

Rasa Sentosa Resort

Sentosa Island, Singapore

1:15 p.m.

Wearing a pair of dark blue swim trunks and a light blue-and-white North Carolina Tar Heels T-shirt, Zack stepped from the lobby into the warm afternoon. Two aqua-colored pools with outdoor verandas and thatched huts sparkled between the palm trees just outside the Rasa Sentosa.

Zack slipped on his Oakleys. The polarized lenses gave everything an extra glow under the bright sunshine. He took in the sight and walked toward the pool closest to the white sands of Silosa Beach.

He sat in a white lounge chair facing the water. Dozens of beachgoers were sunbathing and splashing in the gentle surf. Beyond that, two oil tankers were moored low in the water perhaps a quarter of a mile offshore. Beyond the tankers, boats and ships of all sizes and types crisscrossed in both directions.

Two Royal Navy frigates flying the British naval ensign and Union Jack steamed to the east. The frigates made Zack long for his days as staff judge advocate aboard the supercarrier USS Ronald Reagan, where he served before they sent him to Australia.

His cell phone vibrated. He felt around the pocket of his swim trunks, fished out the phone, and flipped it open.

“Commander Brewer.”

“Zack?” The voice set his chest pounding like a battering ram. “Where are you?”

“At the hotel, out by the pool. Are you at the airport?”

“I’m in the lobby of the hotel.”

“You’re in the lobby? Why didn’t you call me from the airport?”

“You know I like surprises,” Diane said.

“I’ll be right there.”

“No, just stay there,” she said. “I’ll come out. I can’t check in yet and they’re holding my bags. Maybe you could order us a drink?”

“Sangria?”

“You remembered.”

“How can I forget?”

“Be right there. Can’t wait to see you.”

“You too.”

Can’t wait to see you. He pulled himself up and headed over to one of the Kon Tiki huts. “I need one lemonade and a sangria for my lady friend.”

BOOM!

Screams erupted from the beach.

Zack whipped around to see panicking swimmers scrambling out of the water. Sunbathers pointed out to sea. An orange fireball billowed from the front of the ship. It was the tanker!

BOOM!

Another explosion. Fire engulfed the second tanker.

Zack watched in horror. It was like the World Trade Center on water.

BOOM!

Screams now came from the hotel as shattering glass smashed against concrete.

Zack turned. Flames and smoke billowed through gaping, jagged holes in the glass of the hotel lobby.