Code Shield (30 page)

The report was meticulous in noting the address, the time, the weapon discovered, and even the clothes worn by Ms Banks at the time of her arrest.

…black leather tights, boots…tailored to accord maximum camouflage in the dark…

But Tara focussed on the attachment that described the weapon. It was written in a style that looked familiar, the cadence of someone close to her.

Lowe nodded and shared the ambassador's gloom and the enormity of the situation before them.

“We know you people are carrying weapons, but to get caught!” The ambassador mopped his brows. “Jesus!”

“If you wish ambassador, we can treat this as a Home Team matter,” the CNB man leaned forward. “I can speak to Steven.”

“Could you,” the ambassador saw a glimmer of hope to palm off this sorry business. The young man before him wanted to make his mark and seemed to know the minister well enough to refer to him by first name. “I mean you're right, this is a CNB…Home Team matter.”

“Can I use the secure phone in the –”

“Use mine, here,” the ambassador jumped up. “That's all for now Ms Banks. Stay in your office for now please.”

Back in her office, Tara shot off an email to Uncle Smiley requesting a copy of the protest note from the Russian Foreign Ministry. She made clear that no one in the embassy is to know that she had made that request.

She then read some emails regarding a cultural troupe arriving from Singapore. Bored, she went to the pantry and found Benjamin nursing a cup of coffee. Helping herself to a hot chocolate, she joined him.

“I'll be going home.”

“I know,” said Benjamin. “It'll be lonely here. I mean, we made a good team didn't we?”

“Yes. That we did.” Tara sipped the piping hot drink.

An admin assistant popped her head through the doorway, “Ms Banks, the ambassador wants to see you now.”

Tara strutted into the familiar office at the far end of the carpeted corridor. The ambassador rose from his seat and Lowe turned towards Tara, barely hiding the smirk on his face.

“Director Zain on the line,” the older man pointed to the telephone and headed to the door, stopped and said, “I'm sorry Ms Banks. The assistant director and I did our best.”

Lowe nodded with exaggerated gravity, the burden weighing heavily on him.

Ten minutes later, Tara re-joined Benjamin in the pantry. She took a sip of the chocolate, now turned lukewarm and placed the mug on the table.

“Well?” asked Benjamin, his palms open.

“I've been ordered to return home within seventy two hours. Lowe will fill in until they fly out a new station manager.”

“Lowe? I thought that mummy's boy can't wait to get home to receive his medal,” said Benjamin.

“Apparently, he needs to make representations to the Russian government, issue a private regret and patch up matters, that sort of thing.” Tara sipped her drink and studied Benjamin.

“Well, he has played it very well hasn't he? What's next for you, going home straight?”

“No, Zain has agreed for me to take a couple of weeks off.” Tara's voice relaxed.

“I'm also returning to Singapore. They approved my application for a vacation. I didn't think they would, with all these changes, you leaving and all.” Benjamin continued, sounding hopeful. “What have you planned for the next two weeks?”

“Oh, here and there.” Tara never revealed her travel plans to anyone, booked her own tickets and hotels. She got up, patted Benjamin on his shoulder, “See you around.”

Benjamin sighed, “Well, at least let me buy you a drink before you leave.”

“You can drive me to the airport,” she smiled.

Benjamin touched his chest, “My pleasure, sure.”

Colin Lowe was on a conference call to Singapore. Minister Steven Teo, Lee and Zain were huddled around the microphone.

The Minister was speaking, “Now, I can understand if you want to be here to lead the raid on the Tuas factory.”

“No Steven, Zain is fully capable of handling that. I'm not on an ego trip. I too want to shut down this drug ring as quickly as possible.”

“This will be the biggest drug bust in the history of Singapore. There'll be plenty of limelight to go around,” declared Minister Teo, eyeing Zain and Lee one by one.

“I need to spend time here to organise the special request that came through regarding the Chinese national, Ying,” reminded Lowe.

“That's kind of you Colin but shipping the body back is something the people in the embassy –” before Zain could finish, Lowe interrupted him.

“I need to placate the Russians and need to spend a few more days here,” Lowe pointedly bypassed Zain. “If it's okay with you, Lee?”

“Of course Colin,” answered Lee. “Take as much time as you need. It's also very gracious and generous of you to let Zain handle the raid.”

“Much obliged Lee,” then deciding to drive in the nails, “I'm sure Father and Uncle will also be pleased with how this whole operation is panning out.”

“I'll keep them apprised,” assured Minister Teo. “I'll also make sure that PM hears of this.”

“Thank you Steven,” said Lowe. “One more thing, we need Tara to hand over her local contact details.”

Zain interrupted, “On a strictly need-to-know basis.”

“Of course,” snapped Lowe. “I wasn't expecting her to turn it over to me.”

“Who do you have in mind?” asked Lee.

“Benjamin Logan,” replied Lowe. “Triple-A security clearance.”

“Yes, I recall your field report on him, very positive,” said Lee.

“He's good in what he is doing but I don't reckon he'll be good for anything more. After all, he is not even a graduate. Let him hold the fort until we get a permanent manager in place, then he can go back to his guard detail and driving around,” Lowe's tone dismissive.

“Hmmm…We'll take your comments under advice, Colin,” replied Lee. “Meanwhile, I'll send word to Banks to hand over her contacts to Benjamin.”

After the conference call, Lee invited Zain into his office and closed the door behind them.

“He is not taking the bait, a lot shrewder than we gave him credit for,” remarked Lee. “We go to Plan B. That'll lull him and his friends.”

“So, I get to be the fall guy?” said Zain as he crossed his legs. “Why don't I simply retire?”

“It's not that simple Zain,” said Lee, keeping his voice low. “As CNB Director, and pardon me for saying this, as a Malay-Muslim, you've a high profile in Singapore and especially within your community. People see you as solid establishment. That makes it difficult and we need to layer your cover. This Tuas raid will ensure that.”

“But to be publicly humiliated…” Zain let his voice trail away. “Whose idea was this?”

“We'll tone down the media but the people who need to know will know.” Lee studied his fingernails and then looked up as he said, “The PM…he asked after you, wondered if you still plan on Mecca and the mini-Haj.”

Chapter 45

They took a table in a recessed alcove of the restaurant. Tara slipped behind the table, shook her hair loose and smiled. Plustarch leaned over and planted a quick kiss on her lips.

“That's not just for whoever is watching us,” he reached out and squeezed her hand, “though I'm obliged to play the part of the lover sending you to the grave.”

Plustarch spoke in earnest but wore that incongruent smile, “I didn't have a choice and didn't have any authority over the goons in Lubyanka –”

“Shooters?” asked Tara with a coy smile, deflecting his earnestness. “Do they have shooters here?”

Plustarch studied her beautiful smile but also noted her steady eyes, “Yes, they make great B-52s here.”

“Only if it's the flaming variety,” smiled Tara.

He studied her face intently, then a wide grin covered his face, “That's the only variety they have here.”

The waiter brought their drinks, clicked his lighter, setting the top layer of liqueur alive in a clean blue flame.

Dipping their straws in, the couple drained their short glasses in one breath.

Plustarch stammered as he spoke in English, “I acted as fast as I could, couldn't contact your embassy direct and it took a few hours to mobilise intermediaries.”

Tara ignored his explanation, dabbed her lips with a tissue and said, “You heard.”

He watched her eyes, and then said, “Okay, I understand. It's as the General says, water under the bridge? Yes, I heard. When do you leave?”

He turned towards the attentive waiter, who had parked himself a discreet distance away, and raised two fingers saying, “B-52,
dva
.”

“Day after tomorrow,” she pulled her hand back, rested her elbows on the narrow table and her chin on her clasped hands. “You said you have a going-away present for me.”

“Yes, but not here,” he pushed his face close to hers, his lips stretching in that perpetual smile. “It's all in an envelope. I've left it in the usual place.”

“Christmas has come early this year,” she quipped. “What is it, you discovered who shot Kennedy.”

Plustarch guffawed, quieted awkwardly and continued, “Something about the girl, Annette and her father, Mikhail. Their DNA profiles, SOP when someone uses government hospitals here. I leave it to you how you wish to use it.”

“That sniper in Polyanka…where is the body?”

“Still in the morgue and if no one claims it within two weeks, we cremate,” Plustarch whispered and they leaned forward, as two lovers would. “SOP. Obviously we do not expect anyone to step forward.”

“I want a DNA profile and an autopsy to confirm whether he was suffering from syphilis and if not, his medical file to verify whether he ever had syphilis,” Tara leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on Plustarch's lips. “Also, full details on whether he had ever visited Singapore under whatever name or passport.”

“What am I looking for?”

“The name
Ivan
. We have reason to believe that he murdered his Singaporean lover and her daughter.”

“Okay, done!”

“One more matter,” said Tara as she continued to speak under her breath. “The sniper had a partner. You would probably find strands of hair in the apartment. I'm sure I ripped off a handful from the bitch. I need confirmation.”

“A woman…You say,
confirmation
?” stammered Plustarch in that almost helpless way that melts women's hearts. “You already suspect someone?”

Tara smiled.

“I'll leave all the info at the usual place –”

“No, I want it right away, you have my secure email,” Tara reached out and squeezed his hand, lifting her shoulders in delight.

The waiter in black brought their order of two more B-52s. They waited for the man to depart, drained the glasses and turned their attention to each other.

“Hungry?” asked Plustarch.

“Not particularly,” Tara whispered knowingly.

“I am,” that broad strong smile again. “How about some pre dinner…but only if you're up to it.”

“Your place,” suggested Tara with a smile.

“Okay but first I have to make a few calls to get the autopsy and other stuff going.”

“Why don't you call from your place?”

Plustarch smiled, “Give me a few moments.”

By the time Plustarch appeared, Tara was already in the pool. She saw him but said nothing and continued with her backstrokes.

Plustarch knelt at the edge of the heated pool and she allowed him to marvel at her lithe naked body just centimetres below the water's surface. She revelled in his gaze, keeping her eyes intent on his.

He stood up and let his towel slip. She continued with her graceful backstrokes, taking in his lean strong body. If she loved the sight of him, she did not reveal it.

Plustarch waited for her to reach him and said, “Swim with me, breast strokes.”

They dipped into the water and raised their heads out; their movements coordinated like a mixed pair in a synchronised aquatic dance.

Tara had detected the slight tension in his voice and his straightened shoulders. Ordinarily, one would not have noticed it but nothing escaped her. She waited for him to open up.

“There's a
razborka
(Mafiya slang for
hit)
on you,” Plustarch continued to swim.

“Yes, I know. Who is it, FSB?” she asked softly, without missing a stroke.

“Luckily no, or I would be the one pulling the trigger,” he felt compelled to explain, wearing his habitual smile. “I would've been the ideal choice.”

Tara smiled, “Who then?”

“Sobyanin,” Plutarch's head disappeared below the water's surface and broke out smoothly. “But you know who pulls his strings.”

“He has graduated from foreign businessmen to diplomats now.” Tara continued to dip and pull up. “Who's the torpedo?” She deliberately used the singular.

“After Polyanka, there're two more left,” he turned to her and they stopped in the centre of the pool, treading water. “You know how it works. The instructions are left at drop points but I don't know who they are.”

Then he dug into the water, free styling to the edge of the pool, indicating that she follows him. Hauling himself out of the water, he gave his hand and pulled her out with one smooth motion. He wrapped a large warm towel around Tara and stood behind, his arms around her. “Shall we go in?”

It was about half an hour before Tara walked out of the shower, her head bundled in a towel, a heavy bathrobe around her.

Plustarch was also in a bathrobe and he handed her a mug of hot black coffee. Cupping the mug in her hands, Tara sat cross-legged on the settee.

Plustarch joined her. He had the music loud, sat close to Tara and spoke in whispers,

“The General has a perfect record when it comes to solving murders, especially murders of foreigners.”