‘A Captain Jason Rance from the 12th Gurkha Rifles now in Seremban.’
There was no answer. ‘Are you still there?’
‘Yes. Jason Rance you say?’
‘Yes, that’s the name.’
Akhbar Khan put the phone down after thanking his caller. That little devil who ran away after I had told that Sugiyama Torashira and that other Japanese about the raid on Mr Rance’s office? I’ll get him one way or another however long it takes me he thought gloatingly.
The three Green Dragon men were having another communal meal, their bodyguards in the next room. Military vehicles and soldiers had been seen, armed but not looking for any trouble, it seemed. ‘No actual activity?’ the Killer asked.
It appeared that nothing of obvious importance had occurred. One vehicle had been seen going to a number of estates, sometimes to the office and at other times to the bungalow, while the other vehicle had been travelling around the local area with soldiers in the back.
‘Those men are nothing to be afraid of. I have heard that they went to Tei Po Lo-Si and sat around with the labour force singing songs. The long-nosed devil even sang and danced, yes, in their language and according to their culture. He also made his hands speak, so it was said. He should be in a circus, not the army. What sort of commander lowers himself to that extent, I ask you?’ His smirk dripped irony. ‘He’s no threat to us,’ he sneered, spitting his disgust.
The other two did not answer and the speaker continued. ‘They are so lazy and ineffective it will be quite safe to see if the dumped weapons and ammo are good enough to use without fear of too many misfires. They won’t hear anything.’
But he was wrong on both counts.
These nicknames were told the author by Ismail Mubarak, Head of Special Branch, Seremban. ↵
2
Sepang and environs, August 1948
The detective Ah Wong walked up to the Gurkha base, produced his identity card and showed it to the sentry on duty. ‘Tuan ada?’ he asked and the sentry, knowing that Captain Rance was in, replied, ‘Tuan ada.’ Simple Malay was indeed simple and by now every Gurkha had a working smattering.
‘Take this Cheena to the Saheb,’ the sentry told a bystander, who led him away. They found the British Army Captain sitting on the floor writing some notes.
‘Selamat petang,’ Rance greeted the detective, wishing him ‘good afternoon’.
Ah Wong answered in like coin then, in English and in surprise, ‘No chair, no table?’
‘No, we sleep, sit and eat on the floor but at least the roof does not leak,’ he replied with a smile, eyes a-twinkle. ‘Join me and tell me what you have for me.’
He sat down. ‘Tuan, you have been here about a week during which time you have visited all the European-owned estates.’
Rance nodded.
‘You have, I know, put on plain clothes, taken a Gurkha wearing a Malay sarong and toured the estates up to the squatter area, driving and being driven in a car belonging to one of the managers.’
Rance tried not to show his surprise at Ah Wong’s knowledge of his movements, especially about being in plain clothes. If he knows, how many others do?
‘On your foot patrols into the secondary jungle you saw strips of meat hanging from branches. They were to be collected by men who don’t want other people to see them.’
Yes, Jason had, wondered why the strips of meat were there and had reported it to the Police Station and to the regiment.
‘Have you heard a bugle being blown followed by firing?’
‘Yes, and I have reported it. So far it has been too remote to investigate. I must have more men before I do.’
‘You have toured the villages, even going as far as Tanjong Sepat to look for that ammunition dump.’
‘Yes, that’s right. We did.’
His whole troop had gone there, left Sepang at 4 in the morning, picked up a Malay Police Inspector and reached the seaside village shortly before dawn broke. The houses, made of wood-plank walls, an atap roof and a mud floor, were spaced out just above the shore of golden sand and were backed by casuarina trees that ‘sang’ in the breeze coming off the water, coconut trees, banana plants and tapioca. Every villager had been collected in one place and, using local implements, the floors of ten houses had been dug up where the Inspector had said ammo was hidden. Nothing was found and no suspects were identified.
‘We got back seven hours later.’
It had been hideously frustrating and it went against Rance’s personal grain to dig up a person’s house despite the Police Inspector telling him that is what should happen.
‘You found nothing because there was nothing to find. The weapons and ammunition had never actually been in the houses. They had already been moved to a remote squatter area before you ever came to Sepang. Sadly you have made a lot of enemies in the village, especially in the ten houses where you dug up the mud floors.’
Rance, eyes burning, shook his head, partly in disgust and partly in despair. ‘Is that what you have come to tell me? Just that and nothing else?’
‘That and something else. The Sumatran villagers from Tanjong Sepat were made to move the weapons from the squatter area to near the jungle edge and two of them, Mandeh and Imbi, were kept there as prisoners. They managed to escape and have volunteered to lead you to where some of the weapons have been temporarily placed.’
‘You trust them?’
‘They are risking their life to take you.’
That’s hardly answering my question. ‘Why are they doing that?’
‘Because at the new dump they were tightly bound so could not move and blindfolded. They were left like that for a day and a night while the Chinese guerrilla leaders were away somewhere else. They were to be untied after the Chinese returned but before that they managed to wriggle free and escape. They want revenge. Sumatrans are aggressive people.’
‘Where is this place?’
‘Behind Boonoon Estate. I expect you have been warned that it is a “bad” estate.’
