Orchid Fantasy Monorail Station
Sentosa Island, Singapore
0829 Hours, Zone Time: August 4, 2008
Sentosa Island was the Disney World of the Orient.
Lying just off the mouth of Keppel Harbor, it could be reached from mainland by cable car, causeway, and ferry. Gardens, museums, theme parks, and the finest beaches in Singapore were spaced around the perimeter of the three-kilometer island like the beads of a necklace. An ultramodern monorail system served as the string linking them, shuttling Sentosa’s visitors, international and Singaporean alike, from amusement to amusement with swift and silent efficiency.
Sentosa was a place of beauty, education, and pleasure. However, Inspector Nguyen Tran of the Singapore National Police had come here for none of those things.
Stepping back into a deeply shaded nook near the monorail entrance, Tran checked his wristwatch and then the Glock Model 19 that rode in the shoulder holster beneath the coat of his tan linen suit.
Singapore was by far the safest city in Southeast Asia when it came to overt street crime. Tran knew this to be true because his job was to help keep it so. He also knew full well that taking chances was a fool’s game. Especially when one was responding to an anonymously E-mailed request for a covert rendezvous. A request that specified he come alone.
From his shadowed point of concealment, he scanned his back trail, seeking a suspicious face, a suspicious act, a look or an expression out of place. He found none in the scant early-morning flow of tourists and pleasure seekers.
With computer-controlled precision, the eight-thirty run of the sleek monorail sighed into Orchid Fantasy Station. Tran let the departing passengers disembark before crossing to the boarding platform. Stepping through the doors of the near-empty car at the back of the train, he retired to the rearmost bench, a position that would give him a full commanding view of anyone who came aboard during the upcoming circuit of the island.
The doors thumped shut. With a smooth surge of acceleration, the train flowed on its way, riding its single, pylon-mounted rail above the lush greenery of the forested parkland.
His instructions were simple and succinct: Cross to Sentosa from the mainland on the Causeway Bridge. Board the monorail at Orchid Fantasy station at eight-thirty. Wait for contact. Tran had obeyed and now he waited, his hawkish, darkly handsome features impassive.
Nothing occurred at the “Night Market” or “Lost Civilization” stops. However, at the “Underwater World” seaquarium, a young Caucasian woman boarded the car. A tourist, no doubt, given the sheaf of travel fliers stuffed into the side pocket of her shoulder bag and the theme-park balloon bouncing saucily on the string looped around her wrist.
On his own time, Tran might have shot an appreciative glance at the sleek, golden-tanned legs below the brief skirt of the blonde’s summer shift. As it was, he was here on business. He added a little more stone to his expression, seeking to scare her off a few seat rows. He was somewhat nonplussed when, instead, the girl dropped into the seat beside him.
“Inspector Tran, I presume,” she murmured as the train gained way.
Trans’ brows shot up in surprise and he had to catch himself before replying. “Yes, I am Nguyen Tran,” he replied in English, keeping his voice low. “And you are…?”
“The person you’re supposed to meet,” the girl — woman — replied. Close up, Tran could catch the carefully camouflaged maturity of the newcomer. “The person who contacted you.”
“You can prove this?” Tran inquired warily.
The blonde smiled. “In the message you received, there was an odd word included as an authenticator: Winnowill. Am I correct?”
Tran gave a nod. “Correct. There was. I accept that you are the person who sent me a most mysterious message. But I still do not know who you are or why you contacted me. I trust I will be enlightened before this goes much further?”
“My name is Christine Rendino, Lieutenant Commander Christine Rendino, United States Naval Special Forces.”
“United States Naval Special Forces?”
“That’s right,” she replied, presenting an identification card she’d been palming, “and I’m here to talk with you about matters of mutual concern.”
“What matters of mutual concern would I have with the United States Navy, Commander Rendino?”
“Pirates, Inspector Tran,” the young woman replied, crossing her legs. “We’re all just crazy-mad about pirates.”
Shaded by rustling palms and backdropped by the velvet greenness of its world-class golf courses, the lanai café of the Hotel Beaufort seemed an unusual locale to discuss piracy with a naval officer. But then this Christine Rendino seemed a most unusual naval officer.
“Might I ask why you’ve sought me out in this manner, Commander?”
“Of course.” She kicked off her sandals and leaned back comfortably in her rattan chair. “It’s in relation to a series of articles you wrote last year for the International Journal of Maritime Affairs, the ones on the changing face of modern-day piracy in Asia. I and a number of other people found them very impressive. I hope your superiors gave you the recognition you deserve for your investigation.”
“Those articles were purely a private project on my part,” Tran replied stiffly. “They had no relationship with my duties as a member of the Singapore National Police.”
The American woman chuckled and took a sip of her French-vanilla latte. “I know. I also know that your superiors and your government attempted to distance themselves from both you and your articles in the face of the furor they kicked up. What was some of the phraseology used in the rebuttal issued by the Indonesian Foreign Ministry? ‘Speculative, unproven, the promotion of needless hysteria’ and other such buzzwords as are used by a nervous bureaucracy confronted with a dangerous reality leakage.”
In spite of himself, Tran smiled. Mysterious or not, this young lady was easy to like. “It was suggested to me that truth is sometimes too dangerous a commodity to simply leave lying about. But which truth in particular are we talking about?”
She continued. “In your articles, you suggested that the piracy operations within the Indonesian archipelago are coming under a single centralized command. Instead of a hundred individual raider groups, we’re seeing the organization of a united pirate fleet, something that has not happened in these waters since the sixteenth century. You indicated that this fleet is developing a sophisticated support and logistics network as well as a money and cargo operation. You also broadly hinted that it had corrupted officials within both the international business world and the regional governments.”
Tran scowled. “As was stated in the Indonesian Foreign Ministry’s rebuttal. Commander Rendino, this was all speculation on my part.”
“Really.” She leaned forward, her gray-blue eyes intent. “And what if I say that I know your ‘speculations’ are all dead-on? There is a piracy cartel. It is real. It is growing, and if somebody doesn’t do something about it soon, it’s going to control a block of ocean the size of the North Atlantic as well as the destiny of every living soul between Port Moresby and the Malay Peninsula.”
Tran sensed the opening of a door, whether to a trap or to an opportunity he was not yet sure. “And who is proposing to do something about it, Commander Rendino?”
“Have you heard of the INDASAT Starcatcher?”
Tran nodded. “I have been tracking the case for my files, yes.”
“That’s the one that got our attention. We’ve been ordered to clean out the cartel.”