‘Yes, that’s the one. We visited him, all three of us, you, me and that Ah Fat.’
‘You and I with two of my men will go there and ask him. If possible we’ll go to the house of the nearest of the three Cheena I’ve been told about and I’ll talk to him.’
Kamal was initially nonplussed at such a daring and unusual move but, too reserved to counter what was, to him, a wild idea, merely said ‘I’ll stay as your shadow all the time we are together. I’m sure it will be worthwhile.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Have you any money on you?’
Jason felt in his pocket and took out $2 in small change and two $5 notes.
‘I don’t expect we will need any but one never knows. Bring yours along with you.’
Jason called his two men and told them of his newly thought-out plan. ‘We will go by vehicle as though we were on an ordinary motor patrol and Kamal will tell us where to debuss. It will not be in the same place as where we will go as a troop later when we take those two Sumatrans.’
Jason was new to his men and none of them knew how skilled he was. For them the sahebs were clumsy and noisy in the jungle and they presumed Jason was similar. He saw them tense with doubt in their faces. ‘I see you are worried about the standard of my fieldcraft,’ he told them. ‘Don’t worry. I have complete faith in myself. If you are worried I’ll give you a demonstration, day or night, any time you like.’
Yes, this saheb is different. The men relaxed and smiled. ‘Hunchha, Hajur,’ they said.
‘Who let those two men we left on guard get away?’ asked the Killer, quietly furious, his narrow-set eyes flashing. ‘If they turn traitor, Lee Soong’s medicine will be their only cure.’ The Collector was about to say that he thought they had probably worked themselves free and that no breach of security was to be worried about but one look at the Killer’s angry face stopped him short.
The three guerrillas were sitting in a shack, just over a stream, some little way from the very last and remotest squatter hut at the back of Boonoon Estate, about fifty yards from the jungle edge. Patches of thick undergrowth and cultivated tapioca surrounded it. It was hard to see except from nearby even in daylight. That is where the carrying party had stashed the arms and ammunition.
‘We dare not rule out the possibility of the Sumatrans betraying us so we need to shift it all to near where we normally fire our weapons, keeping enough to fire with on the range. I’ll alert the comrades to carry it. I’ll get two comrades to remain in ambush there until Thursday morning, one dressed as a special constable.’ The Killer was adamant. ‘I have just received a highly secret message to say that a senior Politburo comrade, a man named Lee Soong, is bringing us our operational orders. He is expected this coming Saturday. He also wants to know how many of the weapons we have been able to collect are in operational use. Same for the ammunition. We dare not mess this up. Comrade Lee Soong and his escort will only come to the jungle edge below the hillock where we keep our sentry post. Once there I’ll take him to the sentry post, just above the range, and, when ready, get the bugle blown to order our comrades to start the demonstration. Comrade Lee Soong will see the shooting and get an oral report before he returns.’
‘It’s most unlikely anything will happen after that extraordinarily ineffective “raid”,’ the Blood Sucker sneered, ‘on Tanjong Sepat, those Goo K’a bing meddlers will never think of coming here. Who could have told them about going to Tanjong Sepat?’
‘It was made to look as if the Malay Police Inspector was responsible,’ observed the Collector. ‘If it was that Ah Wong devil Hai San was responsible, that’ll be him wiped out.’
‘So will we be if we don’t manage to please Lee Soong,’ snarled the Killer.
The four of them carried water bottles and what was known as ‘skeleton order’, pouches in front and no pack. The two troop men were armed with sub-machine guns, Jason, armed with a pistol, had a green sweat rag round his neck that he would put over his face when he was talking so that, if a torch was shone, he would not be recognised as a non-Asian. Kamal had had his Special Constable’s issue rifle. For footwear, their normal clumping leather studded boots would be too heavy so they decided on the canvas shoes they wore for basketball. In one of their pouches they had three chapattis, folded over on some potatoes. Jason had also put a civilian shirt in his pack.
At noon they moved off in their vehicle as though they were going to Tanjong Sepat but jinked down the first estate road they met with. After half a mile and before reaching the labour lines, Kamal, sitting next to the driver, said ‘we’ll get out here’ and the vehicle halted. The four men got out. Kamal suggested to Jason that the vehicle pick them up where the estate round met the main road at 10 o’clock on the morrow. The driver was told. He turned the vehicle round at the first easy place and went back to base.
Kamal knew the best tracks to use, the ones that, even if they were spotted, no one would imagine they were interested in going to where the three guerrillas lived. They skirted the labour lines without alerting the dogs before Kamal found the track that ran through the squatters’ area. By late afternoon they were near enough to their target, the shop, sat down and ate their rations. Jason put on his civilian shirt.
They waited till dusk and cautiously moved to the shop, approaching it from the back. It was empty. In cover but near enough to be seen, Jason called out, ‘Oh Dow Gai Ngaan Yeh Yeh’ Boss-eyed grandfather. ‘Come and meet a friend you have not seen for a long time. It’s Shandung P’aau who ate your delicious dai bo dumplings with P’ing Yee.’
Nothing.
Louder still, Jason repeated what he had said. The shop owner was a bit deaf. ‘Eh, what is that?’ he asked his son.
‘Someone named Shandung P’aau says he knows you and is calling you from behind. He remembers the dai bao dumplings you used to cook for him,’
‘Go and ask him what he wants.’
As Jason saw a young men come out he, too, emerged and greeted him with the correct etiquette. ‘I last came here about ten years ago and used to come here with my friend. I’d like to talk to you or your father but quietly,’ and giving the boy 50 cents he spoke softly to him in Chinese: ‘a bowl of rice and a piece of stewed bean curd only cost 15 cents. A plate of fried noodles costs 5 cents, a cup of coffee 2 cents. A packet of nasi lemak costs a few cents. A serving of Indian roti canai also costs a few cents. Think what a feast you’ll have when your boss next sends to go Sepang on an errand.’
The boy’s eyes gleamed.
‘I’ll mind the shop while father talks to you,’ and back he went. Soon the father came out and he recognised Jason, who asked him to move into the bushes.
The shop owner smelt intrigue. ‘So you remember my dai bao dumplings, Shandung P’aau? You were always hungry as a boy weren’t you, and now you come back as a man. You must want something. What can I do for you?’
‘Dow Gai Ngaan Yeh Yeh, please tell me about the bugle and the range. Why the bugle and where is the range?’ A flash of provident inspiration. ‘Are they for themselves or for someone else?’
‘Promise not to mention my name or where you heard this from?’
Jason swore an oath of fidelity. ‘Then I’ll tell you. They are expecting a senior visitor on Saturday.’
Jason nodded. Look quizzical but don’t ask questions.
He was rewarded. The shopkeeper’s mouth came close to Jason’s ear. ‘I overheard them when they were drinking, talking about it. They thought I did not hear them, but I did.’
Jason would never know that the shopkeeper was angry because he was never paid and also asked for a ‘contribution’.
He slid the two $5 notes into the elderly man’s hand and, almost in a stage whisper, said ‘I probably owe you more than that from when I was a child all those years ago.’
The shopkeeper’s fighting-cock eyes twinkled. It wasn’t so much the money but the courtesy and finesse he appreciated as he listened to Jason’s question, ‘Grandfather, if a ranking Communist would come, where do you think they’d meet?’
‘They’ll have a sentry, an outpost on the highest piece of land … yes, the range!’ said with satisfaction and he described it. Yes, got it! Where P’ing Yee and I stalked each other without being seen our last holiday together. Can’t be anywhere else. Jason thanked him warmly and asked for a pen and a piece of paper. Jason wrote out a message in Chinese – you are three stupid people who talk too much and do nothing. I will punish you like traitors were punished during the war if you fail me – signed it as from a messenger from Lee Soong, asked the shopkeeper which of the three top men’s house was the nearest was told whose and where it was. ‘I’ve told you more than I should so you tell me what it is you’ve written.’
Jason did and, to his surprise, the shopkeeper went back to the shop and returned with a couple of large bones. ‘The dogs will bark. Throw these at them so they won’t bite you.’
‘Thank you, Grandfather,’ Jason said and he drifted back to where the others were. He told them what he had done. He kept his white shirt on.
‘Just one more job then we’ll go back,’ he said. ‘Kamal, we must go to the shack this side of the next stream. It belongs to the Collector.’
‘Yes, I know where you mean. It is about five hundred yards to our west.’
‘In that case I think it wise to stay here until about 2 o’clock before moving in. By then the household will certainly be asleep. I want to talk to the Collector who won’t know my voice so should not be scared in answering. I wonder if “Red Salaam” will be an appropriate introduction.’
