The young man seemed relieved. He trusted his OC in every respect. They all did.
***
After Padamsing had replaced the phone he sat back, an idea forming in his head. I’ve got my answer for Comrade Ah Ho but instead of a company in Kota Bharu I’ll make it a battalion. Nobody concerned need know that it’s a leave party that’s going off to India by boat. I’ll tell him it’s my success that’s getting them demobilised. He chuckled malevolently. I’ll ring him up now. As he reached for the phone another thought struck him, and I’ll tell him to make sure someone responsible in Kathmandu is informed otherwise it may not work.
***
Comrade Xi Zhan Yang’s address had been given to Ah Fat who, with the Bear, had gone to Kuala Lumpur, not only to contact him and the ‘sleeper’ in Police HQ but also to visit their families, a cherished but seldom achieved event. It was also a superb chance to contact his friend, Too Chee Chew, affectionately known as C C Too, a brilliant propagandist who headed the Special Branch of the Malayan Police. The two of them had known each other long enough for voices to be recognised on the phone.
On his third day there, after taking his children to school, which was a treat for them, Ah Fat tried to contact Comrade Xi but was unlucky. On contacting the woman ‘mole’ he learnt that Xi had already gone to Singapore but before he and the Bear moved there, he rang C C Too, without announcing himself, in English, by saying an old schoolboy joke, ‘It’s a good day for the race,’ to which the answer, ‘The human race’ meant that each caller had recognise the other.
‘Can I pop round this evening for a drink and, if you’re feeling kind, a bite of some of our favourite dish?’
‘Of course,’ and C C Too put the phone down. The less said always, especially on the phone, the better.
At C C Too’s house Ah Fat told him just what was happening ‘up north’.
‘Now that is interesting. “Operation Tipping Point” shows how serious they are. This is entirely new to me,’ which Ah Fat thought was, for him, probably a first.
‘Somehow this seems incomplete, not enough to act against and counter but most useful background knowledge. What else have you for me?’
Ah Fat went on to describe plans to go to Calcutta, that he was to collect tickets for the next voyage of the SS Eastern Queen whenever that happened to be.
‘Who is your contact in Singapore and where is he?’
Ah Fat told him.
‘Now, shall I alert my opposite number there now or wait till you come back? He’s Reggie Hutton whom you know from war days. You don’t know the Gurkha’s name but you do his unit. I’ll get Reggie to find out any details of interest and’ he looked in a note book he took out a drawer in his table, ‘take down his phone number.’
‘Yes, you’re quite right. I remember him as a thin, austere, bespectacled man, slightly balding. Clever, a good linguist,’ Ah Fat said, making a note of the phone number. ‘Makes sense and it could be of help.’ He thought for a moment and said, ‘Tell you what. Would it be possible to let him know now? He may be at home and we could have a word together.’
C C Too nodded assent and, as there was no direct dialling, asked the telephone exchange operator to connect him through to Singapore and gave the number.
After quite a while the phone rang and was straightway picked up. ‘Hutton here.’
‘Reggie, tighten your seat belt! I have an old friend who needs no introducing so I’ll hand him over to you.’
Ah Fat took the phone and said, ‘Mr Hutton have you your hat on?’
That old wartime code! ‘Flat Ears! I can’t believe it. How are you and how can I help you?’
‘Reggie, I’d like to call in on you in a day or two. At home is best. I have your number and I’ll give you a bell when I get to your part of the world.’
‘That’ll be great. Anything else?’
‘That’s all,’ and he rang off, not really liking to use the phone at all.
It was time for Ah Fat to leave and, thanking his host, was driven home in Mr Too’s car. On the morrow Ah Fat and his Bear moved on down to Singapore by rail.
***
Monday 6 October, Singapore, on board SS Kimanis: Xi Zhan Yang, the Communist courier, his passport marking him as Ah Ho, with a chosen comrade from the Singapore Communist Party, had boarded the vessel earlier that morning. It had all been a bit of a hurry and there had been no time for any detailed briefing. The SS Kimanis was bound for Labuan as was usual but, unusually, it would sail on as far as Kuching before turning back to Labuan and Singapore. It had taken the MCP, working under the guise of the shipping company that owned the boat, no time to order its voyage to be extended. The ship’s captain had no idea why but he had received the urgent order on the phone, using a code word for recognition. ‘I don’t know if you have had any message from your sick brother in Kuching but in case you have not he told me he had difficulty in tracing you and I said I’d pass the message on.’
‘No. I have heard nothing from him yet.’ It was policy never to ask who was speaking when he received any call like this one, concerning ‘a sick brother’.
***
The two men shared a cabin but, so suspicious were they, they could not be sure it was not bugged so, having put away what little luggage they had, they went to the bar and took two squashes outside onto the deck where there was no chance of their being overheard, always a risk. They sat down in deck chairs, keeping quiet when anyone passed by, and Ah Ho said, ‘Sorry about the rush but it happens sometimes. You and I have to get to Kuching and meet Sim Ting Ong, Secretary General of the Sarawak United People’s Party. Do you know him?’
No, his companion had never heard either the man’s name or of the party.
‘It’s like this. There is a most secret plot that has been put into action, but there is no need to say by whom but let’s just say the highest.’
His companion was thrilled at being involved in something this big and leant forward, eyes button-bright. ‘Tell me about it.’
‘We have to get the Sarawak United People’s Party, the SUPP, to start causing trouble around the country in such a way that the colonial government there becomes so scared it’ll ask for Gurkha troops to come and quell the disquiet.’
‘My! That really is something. But why Gurkhas?’
‘It seems that they are doing too well in Malaya and the party wants a chance to re-organise without being constantly nibbled at by losses caused by Gurkhas. And, yes, it really is something. Sarawak is a big place with high mountains, thick jungle, wide rivers and many native tribes, each with their own language. Even the Malay they speak is different from mainland Malay, so I have heard. I gather “we” in Borneo Malay is the same as “they” on the mainland and also round the other way. But there will be no need to speak anything but our Cantonese to Sim Ting Ong so we won’t get muddled up. I doubt the Malays here know that there is any difference,’ and he gave a mirthless chuckle.
The hooter sounded, tugs already roped to the boat started pulling it out into midstream. The boat gave a slight lurch. ‘Our journey has begun,’ Xi Zhan Yang said, with a sigh. ‘We can relax till we get to Kuching.’
‘How long will it take, do you think?’
‘I don’t know. Less than ten days I expect. We’ll ask the captain when we meet him.’
***
