‘Vinod, what a surprise! Delighted but why not in my office?’
‘Better in your house, please.’
‘Okay. Know where I live, do you? Behind the police station. How long will it take to come here?’
‘I’ll be round in a jiffy as I’m at the Rest House.’
Slightly mystified, Moby sat down and thought back: Vinod Vellu, a strong, dexterous, intelligent man, full of face, with a ready smile. Born and brought up on Lavender Estate where his father was the comprador of the labour force. Married and moved to another part of the state, became a successful businessman when his wife and daughter had been raped then killed by a group of terrorists when he was away on business.
A car drew up. Vinod stepped out and briskly made for the front door which Moby opened as he reached it. They embraced warmly. ‘Come in and have a cup of tea,’ Moby invited him as he took off his shoes.
‘Yes, I’d like that,’ and Moby called out for his wife to
arrange it.
‘I’ll come to the point right away, Moby, as you’re a busy man. You know my background, I’m sure. I must get my own back. None of the Communists know my name and the gang who raped and killed my wife and daughter never knew theirs. Can you, with your various secret contacts, get me accepted by the MCP as an ardent politico whose one aim in life is to act against the colonial government?’
Moby thought for a long time before answering. ‘Tell me how you want to take your revenge.’
‘It is a long-term project I have in mind, one that might take me a couple of years or more. In outline, once I am accepted and believed in, I will try and manoeuvre a group of guerrillas to go for food collection on Lavender estate. As it is near the jungle edge I’ll lead them into a Security Force ambush and, while so doing, make my own escape.’
‘Now that really is something.’
‘It is. I will try and keep tabs with you, quite how I can’t say now or, when the time is ripe, how get the details to you. Once you know the time and place you can arrange the military ambush and I will spring my plan.’
‘I commend you. Something like this needs bags of guts and even a slight mistake can put your life in jeopardy.’
‘I know, Moby, but I’ve made my mind up. Have you any advice on survival?’
Moby leant back in his chair, a distant look in his eyes. Vinod saw he was concentrating so kept quiet.
‘Vinod, I know someone here in Seremban who intimately knows another someone doing what you want to do. Let me get his advice …’
Vinod shook his head and was on the point of disagreeing but Moby continued, ‘… theoretically only mind you, on how his friend has managed to keep safe for many years.’
The Tamil hesitated then, rather reluctantly Moby thought, agreed. ‘Yes, I’ll go along with that.’
Moby looked at his watch. ‘Vinod, how long can you spare? I have to go to the cemetery for a funeral at half past nine. I can’t not. There I will meet the man who can give you your answer. I won’t be back till lunchtime as I have a deadline to meet in my office. Can you have lunch with me? By then I promise you’ll have a full answer.’
‘If that’s my only option, of course, thank you,’ Vinod answered with a smile.
After the funeral Moby beckoned to Jason and took him to one side. ‘I need your advice. I have a man who wants to be a mole in the MCP coming to lunch today. He has asked me for advice on survival. I thought of Ah Fat and you knowing how he has managed to carry on successfully.’
Jason looked serious and nodded. ‘Give me time to give you an answer.’
‘Can you join us at lunch today as ever is?’
‘No but I’ll drop in at a quarter to two, if that is convenient?’
Convenient it was and Jason, after being introduced to Vinod, said, ‘basically he is still alive because he has a firm base, an alternative and a reserve. By that I mean living the part he’s acting, having a cover plan to answer any suspicions and a get-away-cum-hidey-hole plan for emergencies – and tying a cloth under his chin and over his head at nights to stop him from sleep talking. Survival is an infinite capacity for suspicion and never taking anything for granted.’
Vinod took all that in. ‘Anything else for me?’
‘Yes, three points of jungle lore: if you find yourself adrift and lost if you have no compass, follow streams as they will lead to habitations; if you are hungry and want to eat a fruit, beware if it red, as red often means it’s poisonous. To make sure, take off a bit of peel and rub the fruit on the inside of you lip and if it burns that means it is poisonous; and if you’re chased by an elephant, try and run downhill. If you’ve got all that I must leave you and get my company ready for an operation.’
He stood up and shook Vinod’s hand. ‘I wish you the best of luck’ and went back to his company
By themselves, Moby said ‘All good advice indeed. And as for you I will back you up to the hilt and until fruition, apart from Captain Rance, only you and I will know about it at this level but of course ambush planners will have to know in good time and then only in outline, on the “need to know” principle. You will have to have a code name which my boss in Kuala Lumpur must give so it doesn’t clash with any other.’
‘Who is your boss?’
‘An erudite Chinese who has a dedicated Tamil as one of his closest advisers. I’ll let you know how to insert yourself and the code name … wait. I have a secure line.’
With veiled speech and ‘only when we meet’, the code name given was ‘Dover’.
1 September 1954, south Thailand: The Central Committee members were discussing how to handle their worsening situation. One ever-present problem was the slowness of communicating with guerrilla units in Malaya. It often took months for a directive to reach its destination and twice as long for any answer to find its way back. Some never arrived when couriers were killed or captured and that seldom came to light.
‘Comrade Ah Fat,’ the Secretary General called out. ‘I have not had a proper session with you since,’ and he looked at his notes, ‘the 13th of September 1952, two years ago, after you returned from trying to bring back that renegade British officer. You did wonderfully well to get as far as you did although you did not succeed.’
‘Comrade Secretary General, thank you for your kind words. We very nearly did succeed. It’s history now so let’s leave it at that. Since then as you know I have not been idle,’ and he went on to describe how he had been helping the printing section with their cyclostyling copies of Voice of the People, Red Flag and Truth. ‘As you know, Comrade, ever since our Klyne Street publishing house in Kuala Lumpur was shut down, production of our newspapers has been a fulltime job here.’
‘I know, Comrade, and I am grateful for what you and the others have done. However, now is the time for fresh thinking. There is a need to produce another newspaper, unknown to our enemies, with which we can keep our comrades in Malaya informed with what I am trying to plan, an amnesty, which means a ceasefire, and becoming a recognised political party,’ said Chin Peng, nodding as he elucidated his points.
Ah Fat, knowing better than to disturb his train of thought, sat still, cogitating how best to react to whatever came his way. What did was unexpected: Chin Peng took a piece of paper out of his pocket and showed it to him. ‘Commit this name and address to memory. Mention it to no one else. This is one of my sleepers in the Police HQ in KL who will know if anything hush-hush is being planned. I want you to go there as my secret emissary to find out about any amnesty talks or peace plans.’
Ah Fat took the piece of paper and saw the name was Chan Man Yee. A woman’s name. His mind raced with a far-fetched idea as he gave it back. ‘Comrade, if that is your order of course I will obey it,’ he answered, unconsciously rubbing the palms of his hands together.
‘Yes. After your return you must start publishing this new newspaper. Try and persuade this contact to give you some paper with a government watermark which we can claim as government propaganda. Our cadres must be ready with any good news we can offer them after all their efforts over so many years. I can remember being put off going to a Catholic school when young, with all their “good tidings” and I don’t know what, but that word “tidings” for news sticks in my brain,’ and he broke off beaming. ‘So let that be the name of our new secret newspaper, Red Tidings.’
‘That’s a wonderful name,’ said Ah Fat, in as a toadying tone of voice as he could get himself to make, for once keeping his hands still. ‘That is a clever move, Comrade Secretary General,’ he added, smarmily as he inwardly exulted. That is a game two can play at. I’ll make trying to sow confusion in the ranks my Operation Red Tidings. Once in Kuala Lumpur I’ll meet mole Chen and C C Too. My secret code words will be something to do with Jason’s and my childhood nicknames.
‘Comrade Secretary General, do you really think that our comrades will look for a watermark? Also, the typing paper we have been using doesn’t have a watermark.’
Chin Peng, never wanting to be shown wrong, looked peeved. ‘You may be right but in our first issue we can tell them to look for one. Also, we can make our own “government” stories on such paper. Now, to hide our real plans we will adopt the mainland system for encoded communications. Do you know it?’
Ah Fat shook his head. ‘I have only vaguely heard of it but not in detail. As only an observer, not a full member of the Politburo, I have not been indoctrinated into the system.’
‘Then I will tell you about it. We write out our messages so that when they are read their true meaning is lost to non-indoctrinated readers who waste their time in trying to understand them. They may think that the writer has been lax and made mistakes with what characters have been printed; they may think that it is in what the British know as “veiled speech”. In a way it is “veiled” as the real message in the article is only every fourth character. No one expects such an article,’ and he chuckled gleefully. ‘Our code-books are based on and adapted from the openly available standard Chinese Commercial Telegraphic Code book where each character is represented by a group of four numbers. For example, the commercial code numbers for my name, Chin Peng, are 7115 and 1627. In our codebooks 7115 is not Chin nor is 1627 Peng. The codebook users have an understanding between them as to which codebook to use.’
‘That is wonderful,’ Ah Fat gushed. ‘Won’t that be too sophisticated to use for Red Tidings?’
Chin Peng did not immediately answer the question but took another piece of paper from his pocket and gave it to Ah Fat. ‘Show the mole this permit signed by me for permission to tell you everything. To start with, your Red Tidings can tell our comrades what they only need to know merely using the fourth character method. I am sure our – what shall I call them? – normal publications are all sedulously monitored but that way yours won’t be so we can hoodwink our enemies.’
‘That is a clever move, Comrade Secretary General,’ said Ah Fat, unctuously with his secret thought in mind. I’ll work on that later, best done with Mr C C Too down in Kuala Lumpur …
The Secretary General noticed a far-away look in Ah Fat’s eyes. ‘You do understand, don’t you?’ he said slightly sharply, ‘because there is one other point I wish you to make clear to the person whose name is on that piece of paper. From now on whenever the mole sends me anything, for security reasons she must only sign her letters “Ng Heng, Representative of the Malayan Races Liberation Army”. This is especially important in any document that refers to peace talks and amnesty.’
‘I fully understand, Comrade,’ Ah Fat answered, poker-faced. ‘I was just digesting all the implications. I congratulate you on your resourcefulness.’ Chin Peng looked smug. ‘I expect you would like me to go sooner than later.’
