“Modest?” Jack said. “It’s spectacular.”
The red-tiled roof contrasted brilliantly with the white two-story structure. It was obviously old construction, though renovated, and similar to several elegant bungalows they had passed earlier.
“Thank you. But it’s not quite as large or famous as the house your father lives in, I’m afraid.”
“My dad’s place is bigger, but it’s older and it’s just a loaner,” he said.
Jack couldn’t tell if there was a smile on her face in the passing shadows, and the tone in her voice didn’t provide any clues, either. She might have been paying him a compliment — or mocking him. Maybe both.
“My father’s house is the last privately owned bungalow of its kind on the island. There are only about one hundred left. The rest are owned by the government and leased out, mostly to wealthy British expats longing for an authentic colonial experience.”
The Range Rover rolled to a gentle stop in front of the mansion. Two men in casual uniforms scrambled down from the porch to open the doors, while a third, taller than the other two, called out.
“Mr. Ryan, Mr. Brown, welcome to Singapore!”
Lian, Paul, and Jack approached him. It was still warm outside and slightly humid after the rain, but pleasant.
“Dr. Fairchild, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Jack said. The man was just a few inches shorter than Jack, but he was broad in the shoulders and lean for his age, which Jack guessed to be in his late fifties, judging by the flecks of gray in his hair and the lines on his face. Like his daughter, he was a mixed-race Asian, though his Caucasian features were more pronounced than hers.
“Please, call me Gordon, both of you.” They shook hands. Dr. Fairchild’s smile was wide and infectious. Lian slipped under her father’s arm and he gave her a hug and a kiss on the head. “You’ve met my daughter, obviously. Pardon a father’s pride.”
“How long have you been head of security?” Jack asked.
“Only two years.”
“My daughter’s being modest. She served ably under her predecessor for three years and before that was a sergeant in the Special Tactics and Rescue Unit with the Singapore Police Force.”
“That’s quite an accomplishment.”
A sleek Protonic Red BMW i8 roared through the gates. Every head turned.
Dr. Fairchild was clearly annoyed at the spectacle but tried to hide it behind a forced smile. “Come in, please. I know how tired you both are after that long journey. I’ve made it too many times myself. We have dinner prepared for you.”
“That’s very kind of you, sir,” Paul said.
“It’s a humble meal, but I hope it will satisfy.”
The i8 screeched to a halt behind the Range Rover and the gull-wing doors lifted. The driver leaped out and dashed over to the porch. “Sorry I’m late, Father. A small emergency at the office.”
Dr. Fairchild’s smile disappeared. He began to say something but held his tongue. “Gentlemen, this is my son, Yong Fairchild, the chief financial officer of Dalfan Technologies. Yong, this is Paul Brown and Jack Ryan from Hendley Associates.”
Yong was taller than his father and as handsome as his sister was beautiful. Broad-shouldered and narrow-waisted, the CFO carried himself like a fighter. Like his sister, he owned a firm grip and smiled as he looked Jack straight in the eye.
“We’ve been looking forward to your arrival,” Yong said. “I hope the two of you will forgive my lateness.”
“We just arrived. It’s not a problem at all,” Jack said.
Dr. Fairchild pointed toward the front door. “Now that we’re all finally here, we should eat.”
Dr. Fairchild took the tall leather chair at the end of the expansive table, flanked on either side by his son and daughter. Jack sat next to Yong and Paul next to Lian. Two Indonesians, a husband and wife, began the service by bringing in the dishes as a third servant poured ice water into crystal glassware. The dining room, like the rest of the house, was modern with traditional touches, featuring dark wood timbers and white walls. The architecture and furnishings felt both tropical and colonial but not garishly so. It was an homage to history and the local culture, and impeccably stylish.
Dr. Fairchild raised a glass. “To our honored guests, and to our two countries. Peace and prosperity for us all.”
“Thank you,” Jack said. Paul agreed.
They feasted like kings on melon-and-mango salad, chili crabs, xiao long bao, pork rib soup, curry rice, tandoori chicken, and other exotic delectables, each dish a reflection of the wildly diverse cultures that inhabited Singapore — British, Malaysian, Chinese, Indian, and Indonesian. In a nod to his proud English heritage, Dr. Fairchild served frosty porters and Tanqueray gin.
Dr. Fairchild began the evening’s conversation formally, lightly touching on global economic conditions, the Federal Reserve’s latest meeting, the Bank of Japan, and other financially oriented subjects — something he knew Jack and Paul were familiar with. Lian and Yong offered few questions and even fewer opinions, allowing their father to drive the discussion. Jack felt like it was a warm-up to a sparring match.
As the meal progressed and the liquor began to take hold, Dr. Fairchild opened up the conversation.
“How well do you know the history of Singapore, gentlemen?”
“Only what I read coming over,” Jack said. “It’s an amazing place.”
“If you want to know the history of the island, just look at my family.” He beamed with pride, lifting his hands like a blessing pope.
“Let’s take our dessert and coffee in the library,” Dr. Fairchild suggested. “Or do any of you take tea?”
“Tea would be fine, thank you,” Paul said. “Chamomile, if you have it.”
“Certainly.”
Dr. Fairchild stood and led the group into a two-story library with floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookcases. Jack stopped in front of one unit and scanned it. The shelves in front of him were full of history texts and war biographies. Other shelves featured science, engineering, and technical works. Around the room on display tables or on shelves Jack spotted black-and-white photographs of English soldiers from the two world wars as well as the Korean War.
Jack stepped over to a display case featuring a well-worn Webley revolver — standard issue in the British Army for decades. Prominently featured high on the far wall in a display case was a captured Imperial Japanese Army battle flag, bullet-ridden and burned on the edges. Jack was something of a World War II buff, his grandfather having served in the 101st Airborne at the Battle of the Bulge.
“You have an amazing collection of books,” Paul said.
Dr. Fairchild shook his head with mock embarrassment. “You should see my Kindle! It’s even worse. Father was an avid reader. I’m afraid I picked up the habit myself.”
Jack and the others took their seats on plush leather couches and rattan chairs as the servers brought hot coffee and tea services along with plates and bowls of exotic desserts, setting them on the low tables in front of them.
“These are two popular local desserts, durian mousse with gula melaka and pandan chiffon cake. I hope they’re not too sweet,” Dr. Fairchild said, sipping a cup of strong black coffee.
Jack was already overstuffed but didn’t feel comfortable refusing the colorful offerings. He tried both. The pandan cake was moist and delicious. It tasted like hazelnut, one of his favorites. But he wasn’t as crazy about the durian mousse, with its strange textures and odd flavors — almost like buttermilk and almonds. The coffee was a smooth, dark-roasted Sumatran. He’d never tasted better.
“I mentioned before that if you want to know the history of Singapore you need only know about the history of my own humble family. My father was a lieutenant with the British Army, Malaya Command, stationed at Fort Singapore with the 30th Fortress Company, Royal Engineers, when the Japanese invaded. When the British Army surrendered, my father disappeared into the rainforest, eventually joining up with a Malaysian rebel unit where he met my mother. In between blowing up bridges and shooting Japanese, they fell in love. They married after the war.”