They took him by car to Ulu Pandan, to an eating place named Balmoral. The only thing that did surprise Jason was when the man who had sat behind the desk said, ‘Our lot had this place built.’
***
Jason met the MA, a cavalry officer who wore his handkerchief up his sleeve and his watch on the inside of his wrist. ‘Home and dry?’ he asked with a wink.
‘Not home yet but, surprisingly, dry – or at least I think so.’
‘Strange that you should use that phrase, “not home yet”. There is going to be a large seminar on jungle fighting in a week’s time and you’re needed to get the subjects straight before we start. We have your CO’s permission for this. You will live in Tanglin Mess. You will get back to your battalion in time to enjoy Christmas. Here are the details …’
***
Friday 12 – Monday 22 December 1952, Singapore and Malaya: Ah Fat’s journey back to MCP’s HQ was not straightforward. He was now nearly back in his own stamping ground and, although admittedly Singapore was not where he normally worked, he felt he had a duty to Reggie Hutton to visit him once more, as promised. On leaving the dock area he walked to the nearest café. Inside he saw that there were booths, curtained off so that there was privacy if needed. He ordered a snack and a coffee, took his plate and cup to a table next to the window and, looking outside, slowly nibbled and sipped. He ‘felt it in his bones’ that, somehow or other, he would be checked up. Tradecraft was essential. Movement caught his eye: he saw a Chinese man nonchalantly moving up the pavement on the other side of the road, as though he was looking for something – or somebody. Could be anyone, couldn’t it? he asked himself.
He was just about to ask if he could use the phone in the café, when he saw the man return, talking to … yes! none other than Chen Geng. They crossed the road, making for the café. Quick as a flash he picked up plate and cup and went to the end cubicle, drawing the curtain but leaving a gap for him to look out of.
The two men came in, ordered something at the counter and came to sit in the next cubicle. Their snacks were brought in. ‘Don’t disturb us,’ Chen Geng said. As soon as the waiter had gone out of earshot the two started talking. Ah Fat listened carefully.
‘Did you see the comrade come off the boat?’ Chen Geng asked.
‘No, not off the boat. I went to the place where visas are shown and the man there said, “Yes, an Ah Fat has already left us. I have no idea where he went. That is not my job as his passport was in order.”’
‘I have had an order to contact him. There’s nothing serious but the Politburo in Malaya want to make sure he was on the boat, that he came back.’
‘You mean that they fear he might have decided to defect?’
‘That’s putting it bluntly but yes, I presume that is what they meant.’
‘But he has returned. There can’t be any chance of him defecting, can there?’
‘No, even though he was operating openly, not revealing his true identity.’
‘So, do you want me to continue looking for him? From your description I could recognise him.’
‘I can’t think it necessary. Those people hiding in the jungle get inflated ideas. And fears, too. What I’ll do, no need to tell you the details, is to get a message through to them saying that all is well.’
‘Is that enough? Do you need to tell them when he’ll get back?’
‘Not at all. He operates in his own fashion. There are certain places it’s safe for him to go and certain other places where he has to take great care. A man like him can find his own way back. If the Politburo can trust him to go to Calcutta and back, it has to trust him to go from Singapore up country back to base.’
‘Yes, that makes sense. And, if he has to join the Politburo in the jungle, he’ll need to wait for an escort. It could be sometime next year before he gets back.’
Ah Fat could hear cups being put back on their saucers. ‘Another cup?’ Chen Geng asked.
‘No thanks. I’d better go. I have other matters to look into.’
‘Yes, so have I. Let’s say good bye and leave. I’ll pay.’
Ah Fat heard them get up and leave their cubicle. Peering through the gap in the curtain he saw them move out into the road. I’ll wait a while. Let them get right away.
Finding a phone would not be easy so he risked asking at the bar if he could use theirs. ‘Only for local calls. I’ll time you and you can pay me at the end.’ He still had some local currency, so he agreed. He knew Reggie Hutton’s number and rang it.
It rang for quite a while and Ah Fat was on the verge of putting the phone back on its cradle when, to his relief, Reggie Hutton answered it. ‘9928 speaking.’
Ah Fat turned his face away from the bar man and, speaking softly, said, ‘Mr Hutton, have you your hat on. Is it inconvenient if I come and see you?’
‘No, certainly not. Do you want to be picked up?’
‘It would be expedient. I am now in a café near the dock area. I’d like to be picked up where you picked us up before. Give me half an hour.’
‘Is that necessary?’
‘I think so. Tell you why when I see you’ and rang off. ‘How much is that?’
The barman told him, and Ah Fat paid. ‘Does a bus from anywhere near here go to the railway station?”
‘No,’ and the barman told him where to go to find one that did.
Ah Fat thanked him and left. He flagged down the first empty taxi he saw and told the driver to go to the railway station and once there, waited for Reggie Hutton’s car to pick him up.
At Reggie’s place it was talk, talk, a meal, talk and, finally, bed time. Reggie was overwhelmed with what he was told. This is much larger, broader, bigger and more frightening that I had ever thought,’ he said. ‘What do you think will happen to Sobolev and Tsarkov?’
‘Oh Reggie. That’s beyond me. I have no idea.’
‘Well, from what I know of their system I expect that certainly the Rezident will disappear and the other punished. And that unfortunately named Indian, Vikas Bugga?’
All Ah Fat could say was ‘your guess is as good, or as bad, as mine.’
‘And your friend Jason Rance. His future? Will he be chased by Soviet representatives over here, do you think?’
