Code Shield (4 page)

Zain checked his notes and shook his head indicating that was all he had on Tara Banks.

Lee noticed the gesture and quickly took over. “It's a pity that all of you missed Benjamin Logan, quite an affable man.” He continued,

“He was in Singapore not too long ago attending to some personal matters, death in the family, quite tragic, a suicide.”

Uncle Smiley puckered his lips and made a note on his writing pad.

“I don't understand,” said Lowe, his comment directed at Lee. “Officially this Tara woman works for the Ministry of Culture, actually she is with Foreign Affairs and yet she does work for Home Affairs.”

Zain interrupted, “Colin, as I've mentioned to you several times, her security clearance is a triple-A-platinum.”

“But surely, if she is working for us –” protested Lowe.

“Triple-A-platinum should say it all,” shot Uncle Smiley. He spoke with such dismissive confidence in his own authority that even Lee, the ranking person in the room, nodded and did not protest.

Lowe persisted but at a safer target, his own boss Zain, “Is this Tara woman any good?”

“Begging your pardon Lee,” interrupted Uncle Smiley and then, looking directly at Lowe, he continued in his cold deliberate manner, “Ms Banks can take out any man in this room. She speaks fluent Russian, even looks Russian. She has built up her network among the Russian police and the Mafiya.”

“Russian Mafiya?” exclaimed the female deputy, unwittingly defusing the situation to Zain's relief.

“To be candid, people, in certain precincts in Moscow one can't tell the difference between their police and the Mafiya,” interjected Zain, carrying the momentum of the distraction.

“Are you sending any help to our Moscow office?” asked Lee.

Before Zain could reply, Lowe, who had fallen silent and had sat glaring at Uncle Smiley, snapped out and interrupted triumphantly, “I'll be going to Moscow to direct the operations there.” Lowe then turned to Uncle Smiley with a smirk.

To which, Uncle Smiley, his eyes piercing right through Lowe, replied, “Ms Banks works with you but does
not
report to you.”

Lowe again locked eyes with the man and tried to stare him down but to no avail.

After the meeting, as Lee escorted Zain to the elevator, the CNB Director hinted, “Ms Banks is interesting. I'm intrigued.”

But the man from PMO kept silent, refused to divulge anything.

Zain backed off, “Actually, I wish I knew more but looks like Uncle Smiley knows her well. All I have, a name, a photo and a fifty-word bio.”

The elevator door opened with a ping and Zain stepped inside.

“From what I know,” consoled Lee, “even Minister Teo does not know more about her.”

Lee did not reveal that only four people knew the identity of Tara Banks; whom she worked for – her handler, Uncle Smiley; the prime minister; the coordinating minister for security and himself, in his day job as the Protocol Director.

As the elevator door closed, Lee hurried back to the conference room to meet the waiting Uncle Smiley. He did not relish private meetings with the man as his eyes, lifeless like a skewed fish, made Lee squeamish.

“You mentioned this Benjamin had a death in the family,” asked Uncle Smiley. The words made it a statement but the man's tone left no doubt it was a question.

“Not exactly family,” declared Lee as he walked around the table and sat opposite the scowling man. “His girlfriend, a Jessica See. Since they were not married, government would not pay her costs to accompany him to Moscow. In any event, the nature of his job didn't allow it. Apparently, she was on some sort of medication, anti-depressants, took a dive from a building.”

“What triggered it?” The room had turned cold and Uncle Smiley's demeanour did not help.

“Oh, this and that, separated from her boyfriend, her mother had a most unfortunate medical accident a few weeks earlier…” Seeing the man's interest perk up, Lee hurried to add, injecting a measure of casualness with a wave of his hand,

“There's nothing there, thorough investigations and the coroner returned a verdict of misadventure.”

“Two deaths, a few weeks apart and in the same family. You said misadventure, mother or daughter?” the man's voice monotonous but measured.

Lee was tiring of the conversation, especially since the Prime Minister was waiting for his weekly briefing. “Misadventure for the mother, suicide for the daughter.”

Immediately the words escaped his mouth, Lee realised why Uncle Smiley had zeroed in on the women.

Chapter 5

“What do you mean she's gone missing?” cried Diana. “No, she's not here. I send her to you for the weekend and you let her go gallivanting, so why bother sending her to you, useless as always.”

Michael Liam held the earpiece away and sensing a pause in his ex-wife's diatribe, continued,

“I got the impression the police will not do much. Can you check her room, maybe there's something that might –”

“I've already told you that I'm leaving on a trip tomorrow and am busy packing.”

“Can you not cancel your holiday, help find our daughter?”

“What do you want me to do, huh? The police will look into it. Maybe you scolded her and she's spending time with her friends. I cannot cancel or will lose more than two thousand dollars. Anyway, I'd planned this holiday for more than a year now. My friends will be disappointed.”

“Your friends are more important than Annette?”

“Hey don't you dare say anything about my friends. Anyway, who're you to question me? It's so easy to lose two thousand dollars is it?” Diana felt guilty, decided to use her old ploy,

“What about the alimony and child maintenance, you haven't paid for three months. I've to settle Annette's school fees next week. I already received a second reminder from the polytechnic.”

“I'm a bit tight on cash…”

“
Yah
, a bit tight on cash my foot! But you've money to screw around with that Yvonne bitch.”

“Diana please, this has nothing to do with Yvonne. Can you cancel the trip and help –”

“No! Look, I'm busy now. I'm sure she'll turn up in a day or two. Isn't that what the police said? They have lots of experience and they know better than some aircon mechanic.”

Diana slapped her cell phone shut and exhaled deeply. The bed linen had slipped off and her breasts drooped heavy. A hand slid up her side and felt her wobbling breasts.

“Your ex?” asked the man.

“Yes, who else?” spat Diana.

“What about Annette?”

“He thinks she has gone missing. Anyway why is he so concerned when he does not even pay for her maintenance on time?” Diana's face flushed red as she did little to hide her anger and guilt.

“What if it's true, that she's really gone missing? Shouldn't we stay and help?”

“Hey, don't you start the same nonsense okay,” she snapped. “Where were you after you made me pregnant with her? Why are you suddenly bursting with fatherly concern now?”

The man went silent. He was forty-five like Michael, but unlike Michael who was skinny and had a paunch, he had the toned body of a swimmer. The same firm body that had attracted her when she had first enrolled in his swimming class.

Diana could not shake away her annoyance. Michael always had that effect on her, a mirror who revealed she was the cheat but he had taken the fall. The courts were ever ready to believe a weeping wife when another woman appeared.

“See, one call from him and we're already quarrelling. She'll be alright, you'll see.” Diana consoled herself. After a few minutes, she quieted and leaned over the man.

“Let's enjoy the holiday. Winter in Korea can be romantic. I've been looking forward to this trip and I'm not about to let anyone or anything spoil it, okay.”

Diana noticed the man's sulk and her tone changed, became softer and she cooed,

“Okay?” she repeated as she stroked him, a smile crawling over her face. “Let's start the holiday right now. I'll go first, you lie back and relax. Where do you want me to start –?”

The next morning, Yvonne Lim was behind the wheel. Michael, seated next to her, whipped out the blue card listing the report number and contact details of the Investigating Officer or IO. He called the given number several times; the phone rang but no one picked up the call.

Traffic along the Pan Island Expressway was heavy and it was almost half an hour before they turned off the highway into Jurong West Avenue. They parked in the public parking lot opposite the Jurong Police Station, a blue glass fronted building.

An hour later, Sergeant Pang, the IO, escorted them to a small report room. A table with a desktop computer and three chairs dominated the tiny room, which was enclosed by wood panelled half glass walls.

The IO, who was in jeans and short sleeves, squeezed himself past the chairs and glass wall to get to his seat. The backrest of a chair picked on his loose hanging shirt and revealed a black holster and gun belt. He pulled the shirt down quickly and invited them to take the seats opposite him.

Punching the case number on the keyboard, he spent a few moments reading Michael's report of the previous day, the report that the duty sergeant in the neighbourhood police post had recorded.

“I was told by the officer that you'll only start on the case after 48 hours.”

“Well Mr Liam –,” started Sergeant Pang, who was in his thirties, slim and athletic.

“Please call me Michael.”

“Thank you. Mr Liam, you see most times missing persons are not really ‘missing' and our records show that in more than 98 per cent of such cases the person turns up after a few days. Usually it's due to family misunderstandings, quarrels, visiting friends and even pranks.”

“Sergeant Pang,” Michael pulled his chair close to the table until the vanity board under the table stopped his knees,

“I'll save you the questions, there have been no family quarrels and my daughter does not have the habit of disappearing. She is a conscientious student and never missed classes.” Michael raised his hand to stop the policeman's interruption.

“Her passport is missing. Can you check with Immigration and the airlines?”

Yvonne touched Michael's knee under the table and looked at him questioningly. Michael patted her hand.

“Missing passport indicates she could have left the country and is therefore not a ‘missing person' as such. Perhaps a boyfriend…these things happen and the parents are usually the last to know.”

“Can you check with Immigration please? She is only 18 years old and I share joint custody with her mother.”

“Okay I'll get back to you.” Sergeant Pang rested his elbows on the table, indicating that the interview was over.

“Wait, isn't your computer hooked up with Immigration, can you not check right away?”

“Mr Liam I'll get back to you, please.” The IO got up, but the room was so tiny he could not squeeze past the couple unless they stepped out first.

Michael, who had pushed his chair out and remained seated on the edge, asked, “When?”

“I beg your pardon?” The police officer's voice had a hint of annoyance.

“When will you get back to me?” Michael was soft and his voice barely hid a tremor.

“As soon as I receive information from ICA,” was the IO's terse reply. “Move aside please.”

“ICA?” asked Yvonne.

“Who're you?” The sergeant rounded on the woman.

“Yvonne Lim, family friend.”

“ICA, Immigration and Customs Authority,” replied the IO, now pressed against the backrest of Michael's chair.

“Why can't you call and check with Immigration now?”

“Mr Liam, I said I shall get back to you,” Sergeant Pang spoke through clenched teeth. “Now, for the last time, move aside please!”

Chapter 6

It was almost 10 P.M. and sharp eyes peered at screens, fed by closed circuit TV cameras, watching the two Filipinas chatter excitedly as they cleared Immigration. They were a little too loud and dragged a heavy bag each. The women had wrapped themselves in winter clothes, though Moscow was still more than twenty hours away. After sauntering for a while, they realised that even the chilly air-conditioning in Changi Airport's Terminal 2 could not keep them comfortable. They peeled the layers of clothes away, first their heavy overcoats and after some time, their woollen pullovers.

Ten minutes behind them, a young dark haired Caucasian man and his local girlfriend presented their passports and tickets at the Aeroflot check-in counter. Annette Liam and Ruslan Kashin clung to one another and kissed regularly, as though on honeymoon. She had draped a bright yellow quilted jacket over her cabin bag.

Further down the queue leading to the check-in counter, Donovich and Ying inched forward, their faces wearing the bored expressions of a couple who had known each other for just too many years, their honeymoon now a distant memory.

The check-in clerk tagged their bags, returned their passports and boarding passes with a smile, “Boarding in thirty minutes, sir. After Immigration, please proceed straight to Gate 36.”

The heavy set Russian grunted an acknowledgement, checked the boarding passes and passport, all the while holding the expressionless Chinese woman close to him.

The eyes studying the monitor screens noticed the counter clerk loop red bar coded tags on the luggage before pressing a button to dispatch their bags in the carousel.

In a control room, away from the eyes of the travelling public, a uniformed customs man highlighted the tag numbers on his computer screen. Further, in the bowels of the terminal building, where the baggage carousel meandered through, a harsh buzz sounded and two more customs officers pricked their ears and scanned the moving line of bags. They pointed to the bags with the red tags. Baggage handlers pulled the bags off, placed them on a pushcart and rolled it into an inspection room.