Rahim had to admit that was one possibility. But he had known Sal and worked with him for more than five years. He had even told his superiors, “I trust him with my life.”

  As Rahim alighted from his jeep, he hoped he was right. But just to be safe, the ISD and the Indonesians had a drone circling above them and a squad of Army Special Forces soldiers were hiding in the trees and amongst the bushes watching over the two men.

  “Sal!” Rahim called out.

  “Shhh! You want them to hear us?”

  “Who’s ‘them’? Sal?”

  This was a side to Sal that Rahim had never seen before. Since when did he tell someone to talk softly? Today, Sal was nervous, irritable, unfriendly and glancing around as if afraid they were being watched.

  “Listen, I don’t have much time. There’s a new group, from Afghanistan, and I heard their people are already here. They arrived several weeks ago. They’re hiding somewhere in Indonesia. And as you’re aware by now, this country has many hiding places for people who don’t want to be found. I heard they’ve been practising back home. Killing people, and not just any ordinary people. They’ve been targeting ISIS. Can you beat that? It’s the other way around. Who would have thought, right? They’re here, Rahim. And they’re planning something really bad. I don’t know if we can stop them. Because the people I’ve spoken to only know so much. But even they are getting excited. They said they’re really looking forward to this.

  “This group has a target. A new target that’s never been hit before. Not recently anyway.”

  “A target that’s never been hit before?” said Rahim, thinking aloud. “Terrorists have hit the Marriott, the Ritz-Carlton, Bali and Jakarta. Like you said, Indonesia is a big place. How are we supposed to narrow down their next target here?”

  Sal was getting exasperated.

  “Who said they’re planning to attack Indonesia? It’s been done before. It’s been done so many times, it’s so common, what’s the big deal? It’s not news any more.”

  “Malaysia?” asked Rahim. “What would they hope to gain from attacking Malaysia?”

  Sal just looked at Rahim. He was perspiring in the forty-degree heat, was tired and thirsty and in no mood to be patient.

  “Rahim, for an intelligence officer, you’re not that intelligent after all. Don’t be limited by your imagination. Get creative. Which country has not been hit before?”

  Rahim took a deep breath and ran his right hand through his hair.

  His chest tightened.

  Rahim remembered the snipers watching over him like angels of death. He quickly straightened himself. Both men looked at each other.

  “You had better go back home, my friend,” said Sal. “Your country’s about to be attacked.”

  62

  People were supposed to be at church or still sleeping or having lunch at a food centre. But here, they were crammed into a meeting room at the Ministry of Home Affairs on the 27th storey jostling for standing room.

  Officers and note-takers were banging furiously on laptops. Secretaries and corporate communications executives were clutching stacks of documents and tablets at the back of the room. Their backs literally against the wall, complaining about being recalled back to the office on their day of rest. What could be so important?

  High-level officials, including the ISD director, were seated at the long conference table which could accommodate thirty people. They talked in hushed tones, some using their hands to cover their mouths. A podium with a microphone had been brought to the front of the room and placed next to a large projection screen.

  The place hummed with the murmurings of the disgruntled and the curious. Then, at 9.15am, the Prime Minister walked in with the Minister for Home Affairs, and the Minister for Defence. They were followed by about a dozen plainclothes officers and Home Affairs executives. The last one to enter the room was Rahim. Most of the people in the room didn’t know who he was.

  The jaws of lower-ranking officers dropped when they saw the VIPs walk in. They had no idea it was that kind of meeting. All they got was an SMS or a WhatsApp message the night before. It simply read, “Delta meeting room tomorrow. 9am. Do not forward this message. OSA.”

  Now, they knew. It was definitely worth coming back to work for. They stopped complaining and paid attention.

  Rahim looked dishevelled and exhausted. It had been four months since Sal’s revelation in the forest. A lot had happened since then. Rahim took to the podium, which surprised some of his ISD colleagues. They had thought he was still squatting by some roadside in Indonesia meeting his important contact. They were calling Sal the terrorist hunter. They would have called him something else if they had met him.

  Rahim’s colleagues were envious of him for cultivating such a mole. What they would give to have a Deep Throat like that. The amazing things it would do for their careers—promotions, pay raises and the chance to walk into a packed room with the PM and his ministers. There was no mistaking it—Rahim had arrived.

  Everyone stood up when PM John walked in. He nodded at them and they sat when he did.

  “Good morning, everyone, sorry to have to drag you all in on a Sunday,” said the Prime Minister. “If it helps, you’re not the only one with a spouse at home who’s unhappy with you for abandoning the family today.”

  Faint laughter echoed around the room. Only the ministers, the ISD director and Rahim were not smiling. Someone cleared his throat while another received a text message on his smartphone. Heads jerked swiftly in his direction like a pit of snakes suddenly aware of the presence of prey. That device was promptly put on silent mode.

  Scanning the room, PM John said, “What we are about to tell you…well, you’ll understand why we’re having this meeting. I’d like to remind you that whatever is discussed today stays in this room. Just remember the Official Secrets Act.”

  Heads nodded.

  PM John then looked at Rahim. Bodies moved forward and straightened themselves.

  “Good morning, Prime Minister, ministers, ladies and gentlemen. I’m Rahim, senior intelligence officer with the ISD. As some of you may know, I’ve been working the ground in Indonesia for several years and we have managed to forge a good working relationship with our Indonesian counterparts.

  “We’ve been able to cultivate several good sources and what they have revealed to us recently has been rather disturbing. ISD have been working nonstop with our regional and international partners in the war on terror. And what we have found out is that…” Rahim paused. Whether it was for dramatic effect or because he was tired and distracted, his audience didn’t know. But he looked like someone who had loads on his mind. More bodies leaned forward.

  “What we have found out is that that war is now upon us. It’s here. We have received credible and verifiable information that a group of Afghans, belonging to a new organisation called The Cell, have been planning to attack Singapore using suicide bombers.”

  Gasps were heard, people looked at one another and doubters were suddenly converted.

  “Last month, US Special Forces intercepted a convoy of their fighters in Afghanistan and killed them in a drone strike. What they found in the three vehicles has given us cause for concern. There were documents and folders in their vehicles. One folder had the word ‘Singapore’ written on it.”

  Listeners shook their heads and some stopped typing to reflect on what had just been revealed. Others looked like they were praying silently. One distracted official checked his smartphone to see what time Manchester United was playing Liverpool that night.

  Rahim allowed them several seconds to soak it all in.

  “The documents had plans. To smuggle suicide bombers into Singapore and set bombs off at public places. Where these places are, we don’t know yet. We also do not know when they will strike or how they intend to bring these bombers into the country. But we believe it will happen soon.”

  Flashing a photo of a man on the white screen at the front of the room, Rahim continued, “Who are The Cell and why haven’t we heard of them? We believe their leader is this man whose name is simply Tun. His family was killed in a US airstrike several years ago and he has somehow managed to form this group which, we have been informed, has been responsible for the deaths of at least seventy ISIS fighters and leaders.

  “We do not know his motivations for doing this or why he has a grudge against ISIS. But any enemy of ISIS is supposed to be a friend of ours, right? Well, we wish that were so. Our overseas friends have told us Tun wants to raise the profile of The Cell and needs a fresh target.

  “London, Paris, New York are yesterday’s news. So, what better way to make a statement than to hit a new target to give the world’s media something fresh to report on? Strike Singapore.

  “This shouldn’t come as news to any of you. After all, we’ve been warning our people this day would come. We now have direct confirmation this is going to happen.

  “Will it be this year? We think yes. When exactly? Like I said, we don’t know. But National Day would seem like a strong possibility. And it’s only three weeks away. If I were a terrorist, I’d choose a date of significance. And the 9th of August would be as good a date as any. Another date could be Christmas with tourists and shoppers everywhere. But we don’t think it would be that late.

  “The other thing is, last week, eight Afghans were caught trying to smuggle themselves into Thailand on small boats and barges. Upon interrogation, they admitted they were trying to get into Indonesia and Malaysia. Our Thai colleagues were able to get some extra information from them. Unfortunately, they were a little too enthusiastic in their interrogation methods and two of them died in custody. Before dying, one of them said something about making the lion bleed. He also mentioned the number ‘six’. We don’t know what that means. The others clammed up and they haven’t said anything else since.

  “ISD are working doubly hard to stop this impending attack. We have been working overnight ever since we got wind of this info and are exploring all possibilities. We are, and have always been, determined to stop terrorists from striking us. That’s all I have to say. Thank you.”

  The room remained silent as people fiddled with their pens, stroked bottles of mineral water on the table, stared blankly into laptop screens and wondered where they should hide their family on 9 August. Anywhere but here, their selfish thoughts whispered to them.

  PM John looked glum as he sat up in his seat to address the room.

  “Thank you, Rahim. As you can see, it’s a sobering update. We’re talking about a potential attack three weeks from now. And the information is very reliable.

  “So, what do we do? Call off the National Day Parade and all other events? Do we tell the public so people can lock themselves up at home and stay safe? Or do we keep quiet and pretend nothing is happening? If we don’t tell them anything to not cause panic but the terrorists do strike and people die, we’ll get blamed for not warning the country. And rightly so. So, what do we do? That question has been keeping me up late at night.”

  Silence. Many in the room were glad they didn’t have to make that tough call. That’s why we pay you the big bucks to make difficult decisions, they thought.

  PM John continued, “They will strike soon, especially now that their plans are in our hands. But they might also wait for things to blow over. So, what do we do? I believe the people have the right to know.

  “So, we will tell Singaporeans that our threat levels have gone up, are at an all-time high and that we have reason to believe an attack is imminent.

  “But we’ll also reassure them we have taken all the precautions we can possibly take and let people decide what they want to do on the 9th of August. We will still have the parade. Life must go on. We cannot allow ourselves to be crippled by fear. If they want to attend the parade or visit any events in the country that day, it is their choice. If they want to stay home because it’s the safer option, it is also up to them.

  “It would be irresponsible of us to know and to not tell. Why should we tell our loved ones to stay home or to stay away from public places when we’re allowing others to go to these places without any warning? That would be incredibly selfish of us. So, tomorrow, we will call for a media briefing at 10am. We won’t be telling them about The Cell, just what they need to know. But we will tell them we’ve been targeted by a group who plans to smuggle in suicide bombers to hit public places.

  “That’s all they need to know for now. I’ll leave it to your department heads where they want to take this from here. But I stress once again, whatever you’ve heard in this room stays in this room. We cannot afford to have a major panic or to have the Singapore Stock Exchange crash on us either tomorrow or in the near future. We’ve got enough to worry about already. So enjoy the rest of your weekend. If you can.

  “Thank you.”

  63

  In total darkness, Tun sat alone at the table with a pistol, loaded with a round, in his right hand.

  It was two o’clock in the morning. He caressed the weapon.

  He had not slept in three days and dark rings had formed below his eyes. He had lost weight and looked slightly gaunt. No one dared point out to him he looked less human.

  He had been having more conversations with his family. The voices in his head pleaded with him to not carry out his plan.

  Mira said to him, “You know what it’s like to lose a family. Do not do this. It will not bring us back.”

  “Papa, please,” said the twins. “Save the children and their parents, too.”

  Hari’s face appeared. “Papa, a real man won’t do this. You taught me that.”

  Tun tightened his grip over the pistol.

  With his breathing laboured and his mouth gaping, he slouched in his chair staring at the wall in front of him. He made slow and gentle sweeps over the weapon’s metallic body with his thumb. Such power, he thought. The power to take a life with something so small.

  He no longer felt powerless.

  But Tun realised being in control didn’t mean being at peace with oneself.

  He didn’t like hearing what his family was telling him. He knew they were right. And yet…

  “It will not bring us back. It will not bring us back.”

  Tun had heard enough. He went to bed.

  5th of August

  64

  It was 2.30 on a moonless night. The blip on the radar screen of the Police Coast Guard vessel showed a craft heading for Singapore.

  Nothing unusual there, as countless small to medium boats used the waterway to get to Singapore or to sail past to open water.

  Still, the PCG officers kept a close eye on the blip, monitoring its journey on their green screen as it ambled along, parallel to West Coast Park.

  But what looked like one vessel was actually two. They didn’t know that.

  It was travelling slowly at about five knots and appeared to be a sand barge. But it was towing a motorised sampan with six passengers in it.

  Dressed in cargo trousers and long-sleeved shirts, they were sitting quietly and admiring the orangey lights which dotted the mainland. It looked mysterious and majestic. With the wind caressing their faces, they were in awe of the country and the amount of work put in by millions of blistered and unknown hands to achieve this.

  At 3am, as the barge was about three kilometres from shore, the pilot waved to the men in the sampan. They waved back, revved up the motor with a pull of the chord, then untied the rope connecting the vessels.

  The lead passenger tossed the rope into the black water and the sampan disengaged from the mother ship. It roared to life before making a dash for the beach. The men in the sampan scanned the waters for sirens and for ominous shapes breaking out from the curtains of darkness to hunt them down.

  Eight hundred metres. So far, so good.

  Five hundred metres. They were still alone with only water droplets for company.

  Three hundred metres. The smell of barbecued meat rushed out to greet them. It was a comforting aroma even for those who were seasick. The group at the barbecue pit were focused on their sausages and chicken wings and had not noticed the sampan.

  One hundred metres. The men tried to spot any movement in the line of trees. Nothing.

  They cut the engine fifty metres out and allowed the waves to bring them in as they whipped out wooden paddles and rowed to shore.

  A thud and their paddles were dumped at the bottom of the sampan as all six men jumped into the water, three on each side, before dragging it onto the beach. They had planned to pull the sampan farther inland then cover it with branches. But they were too tired and hungry to do so. All they could manage was thirty metres from the water’s edge.

  Still no sirens, no screams and no angry searchlights activated. They were safe. They felt as if they were wearing leaden boots with every step they took in the sand. With heads down, they dashed for the thickest shrubs they could find. They didn’t carry a single bag or haversack nor any travel documents.

  They could hear laughter about three hundred metres away from members of the young and distracted generation enjoying their night under the black sky. Thick grey clouds hung silently above. Thunder rumbled in the distance. When flashes of light cut through the clouds, several beachgoers shuddered in awe. The smell of food made the six men feel more miserable. They would have gladly killed the youths for supper. But Tun’s orders were to land then hide. They would have plenty of time to kill later.

  The Six looked around and found they were in between the beach and an open-air car park. It was about a third full with most of the vehicles parked away from the glow of lampposts, their windscreens and windows covered with shades. The men thought they could see some rocking side to side.

  Peering from the bushes, they saw a man alight from a van about two hundred metres away. He was wearing a red T-shirt, a pair of brown cargo shorts and a white cap. They couldn’t see his eyes as his head was constantly bowed and his cap pointed downward. The stranger walked towards the bushes. Away from the light, his silhouette seemed to float at them.

 

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