chen (sample)

7/28/2019 CHEN (sample)

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Chen

Known only as Chen, he had been a thorn in the side of Singapore's well-ordered

administration for several months. But when his name was linked to a devastating raid on a

SAF armoury, and then the brutal kidnapping of a British diplomat and a UNESCO expert, he

was swiftly labelled Public Enemy Number 1. His extreme demands for the hostages' release

would have invited an outright rejection; that is until he also seized a school bus carrying

nineteen children. Chief Inspector Harry Chew knew there was no room for any half-hearted

response. The outcome of this truly absorbing confrontation involving British SAS personnel

left everyone utterly stunned.

Copyright Norman Price 2012

All rights reserved.

The characters in this novel are entirely

fictitious and do not relate to any person

living or dead. The oriental locations

are real.

Published by

Manuscript Appraisals

www.manuscriptuk.com
http://www.manuscriptuk.com/http://www.manuscriptuk.com/http://www.manuscriptuk.com/


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CHAPTER 1

Singapore

Saturday 28 February, 1968

It was the broad-shouldered Chinaman who saw it first. There! he snapped in Cantonese.

Coming into view now, just beyond the headland.

The boatman nodded and pulled at the tiller with his one good arm, bringing the

sampan round until its bow was aimed at the beach. The sea was like glass and the palm-

fringed shore loomed up quickly, the moonlit sands all but deserted except for scattered

driftwood from an earlier tide. From twenty yards out he killed the engine, allowing the

sampan to ghost in silently till its keel nudged the beach, bringing them to rest within the

shadow of the palms.

Easing his bulk over the low gunwale the big Chinaman dropped onto the damp sand

and paused, listening. High overhead the soft drone of a passing aircraft faded into the

distance to leave only the noise of the cicadas, their incessant chirping as inseparable from

the tropic night as the darkness itself. He glanced at his watch: 0255 hrs; strictly to schedule

and everything was looking fine. With a satisfied nod he tightened his grip on the Uzi sub-

machine gun and moved off soundlessly over the carpet of sand.

Two more shadows detached themselves from the sampan and melted into the

blackness of the shoreside undergrowth. A fourth man took off along the beach, moving in

the direction of a frail wooden jetty beyond which could be seen the dark silhouette of an

army patrol boat. Nothing else stirred.

The training camp of the Singapore Armed Forces 7thInfantry Battalion was situated

some ninety metres inland, nestling sleepily in a man-made clearing. Housed within its wire-

fenced perimeter, tidy clusters of unlit buildings overshadowed a rectangular parade ground,

now deserted except for a tall, white-painted flagpole, bare and prominent in the foreground.On the far side of the compound, away from the sea, the guardroom with its orderly row of

red-painted fire buckets was bathed in a yellow glow from the sodium lights of the camps

approach road. The perimeter fence itself was entirely without lights. Other than the

guardrooms interior illumination, the only lamp was above the main entrance where a bored

sentry was pacing aimlessly to and fro in front of a striped barrier. But as the Chinaman

scrutinized the lazy facade he knew that there were other sentries, that the compound was

regularly patrolled. He knew also that the guard would be changed at 0430 hrs, by which time

he intended to be long gone.


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As he slowly scanned the overall layout there was little more to see. It was as if the

entire camp had been evacuated except for the listless sentry at the main gate. But as he

remained watchful his patient vigilance was soon rewarded.

The movement was barely perceptible at first: the merest flicker of a shadow to his

extreme right, close to the edge of the compound. But something had moved, he was sure of

it there it was again! As he squinted into the darkness, willing his eyes to penetrate the

gloom, the offending shadow grew into a man, the slim outline of a rifle barrel protruding

from his right shoulder. The patrolling sentry was moving toward them, sauntering casually

along the inside of the wire.

The Chinaman grinned, well satisfied. Once the sentry had passed, it would be several

minutes at least before this section of the fence was patrolled again more than enough time

in which to penetrate the wire. He remained prone and motionless in the long grass, barely

ten metres from the fence as he monitored the sentrys leisurely approach.

The man drew closer, his footfalls now audible, his boots sending minute tremors

through the sun-baked earth. His features grew visible a sallow faced youth of maybe

nineteen. He was almost level when suddenly he stopped. He unslung his rifle and advanced

towards the wire.

Aware now of the sound of his own breathing, the Chinaman eased the butt of the Uzi

into the hollow of his shoulder, delicately coiled his finger around the curve of the trigger and

squeezed gently against its initial pressure. The unwavering barrel was aimed at the sentrys

head but the Chinaman hesitated, aware that a single shot would wake the entire camp.

Five full seconds elapsed. Then the sentry raised his arm and the Chinamans finger

tensed. With the trigger poised on the brink of detonation the guard was a millisecond from

death when his match flared in the darkness, then the reprieve was made absolute by the red

glow from his cigarette.

As he lowered the Uzi to the ground the Chinaman sensed rather than heard the

arrival of his comrades. The faint rustle of foliage evoked no reaction from the sentry.

Unmindful of his health he lingered and smoked, blissfully unaware of their presence in the

tall ferns. The terrorists remained silent and still, and waited.

The Chinaman was in his mid-forties, a short, barrel-chested bear of a man. His

weathered features and gold-capped smile typified the face of the tough oriental fisherfolk; it

was his eyes that were different. Cold and intense, they were the eyes of a fanatic for that

was what he was. Born in Shanghai, he had been thoroughly schooled in the tactics of

guerrilla warfare before entering Hong Kong as a so-called refugee. After participating in the


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riots of the fifties he had been deployed against the British again, as a jungle commander

during the tail-end of the emergency in Malaya. More recently, however, his masters in

Peking had recognized a crying need for his talents in Singapore; in their mind a tiny but

important neighbour with the wrong political ideas. And so he was intent now on furthering

the cause of LASP the Liberation Army of the Singapore People which was supposedly

striving for what they termed a rightful democracy. Within that organization he was known

simply as Chen, a name high on the Singapore governments list of most wanted terrorists.

Though younger and less experienced, his two Asian comrades were no strangers to

the finer aspects of urban terrorism. Wing Tak was a born fighter, a man with a quiet

confidence in his own ability, equally dedicated and cool under stress. At twenty-five, Tek

Soo was the youngster of the trio. Tall, slim, innocuously good-looking, his appearance was

dangerously deceptive. He had learned his deadly trade as a hit-man for the triad. He was a

savage.

All three of them wore the traditional garb of the Chinese peasant, but their weaponry

and equipment was anything but relevant to the mundane work of the coolie. Their

appearance was formidable, yet clearly no deterrent to the mosquitoes now dive-bombing

them with a vengeance; swooping, striking and feeding on their exposed bands of flesh with

voracious regularity. They suffered in silence, their discomfort aggravated by a rising

dampness that was penetrating the cotton clothing and enveloping each of their sweat-soaked

bodies like a clammy shroud. Yet none of them flinched as the minutes crawled by. They

waited until the sentry had discarded the glowing butt of his illicit cigarette, then watched

him as he strolled away to resume his less than vigilant tour of the compound. Several more

seconds elapsed before Chen glanced at the others and nodded.

Crouched low, they moved off together, down a slope and across a narrow clearing,

hitting the ground as they reached the fence. Wing Tak cut through the wire, folded back a

section of mesh to allow them through, then levered it back into place once they were

through. Again they paused, listening, half-expecting a shouted challenge, but there was still

only the soft night chorus of a million busy insects. They advanced into the compound.

Their progress through the camp was rapid. Exploiting the cover of the huts, they

skirted the edge of the parade ground, cut between two of the barrack blocks, passed along

the side of a transport shed and arrived, still unchallenged, at their objective.

Chens experienced eye swiftly confirmed the reliability of his intelligence

information. The armoury was constructed of reinforced concrete, its solitary window

protected by a substantial internal grille. The robust door was secured by a heavy padlock but


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there was no visible evidence of an alarm system of any kind. He smiled as he waved Wing

Tak forward. A padlockwhen would they ever learn? It was too easy.

***

Inside the guardroom the atmosphere was oppressively heavy. The Duty Sergeant was

battling against drowsiness; the night seemed painfully long. Draining the last of the cold

lemon tea from his chipped glass, he tilted back his chair and eyed the men in his charge.

There were four of them left in the guardroom and he was about to spoil their game of poker.

It was time for one of them to get some exercise but which one? The choice was

unimportant; they each had another stag to do. His gaze settled on the new boy. Leong Soh!

he called, sounding as tired and bored as he looked. Relieve Lo Seng.

The youngster rose to his feet. There was no resentment in his face as he straightened

the creases in his Temasek-green slacks by stamping his boots two or three times on the

concrete floor. In fact he was grinning. With a handful of unmatched cards the sergeants

interruption had proved most timely. Which section, sarge? he enquired naively.

Just grab your rifle and patrol the compound you should know the drill by now,

lad! Kids! God knows how theyd cope if they ever came across a real enemy. He blinked

tiredly, not really caring. Roll on dawn.

***

The padlock, meanwhile, was proving somewhat more troublesome than Chen had

anticipated. His fingertips were beating a restless tattoo on the barrel of the Uzi machine gun

as he viewed Wing Taks antics with the cumbersome bolt-cutters. The lock was new; the

jaws of the cutter were skidding on the smooth surface of its toughened shackle. Chen was

clearly agitated, and as Wing Tak paused for breath, sweat glistening on his face and neck,

Tek Soo was mouthing silent obscenities. They could hardly afford to carry on like this for

much longer. It was ludicrous, bordering on the farcical. Five times Wing Tak had tried, and

five times he had failed. They held their breath as he tried again.

Steady!the cutters had to be held steady! The tendons in Wing Taks arms bulged

alarmingly as he applied his strength to the long handles of the cutter. A desperate grunt

escaped his pursed lips. Then it suddenly gave; the blades sheared through the steel shackle

like a knife through butter. The relief was overwhelming but there was no time to gloat. He

unhooked the broken band and swung back the hasp. Now the moment of truth. Dreading the

sudden shriek of a warning alarm, he gave the door a tentative push.

An ominous squeak plucked at his raw nerve ends. But there was no screeching siren

to alert the entire camp to their covert operationmerely a tired groan from unoiled hinges as


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the door swung open. With marked relief he straightened up and stepped inside. Chen was

right behind him as the door creaked shut of its own accord, enveloping them both in an inky

blackness.

Torch! prompted Wing Tak. Shine some light.

The air was heavy with the tang of oil, oppressive and claustrophobic. When the beam

from Chens flashlight stabbed suddenly at the darkness, they saw that the room was small.

But it was all there; everything they needed. The weapons were resting in tailored racks along

two of the walls, whilst a third wall was largely obscured by stacked ammunition boxes. A

stout cupboard was marked Flares and Grenades. Swinging the beam back to the gun -lined

walls, Chen steadied the circle of light on a gleaming Armalite rifle. Thatll do for a start,

he said, noting the telescopic sight. Then, with a hint of urgency in his tone: Leave the guns

to me. Concentrate on the ammunition.

Wing Tak nodded and they set to work.

Three minutes later their hoard was complete; as much as they could carry stashed

into canvas holdalls. Chen extinguished the torch, allowed a moment or two for their eyes to

adjust to the darkness, then patted his partners shoulder. Out! he whispered curtly.

Grabbing the holdalls, they began their retreat.

***

On leaving the guardroom Leong Soh could have turned right or left. He chose to go left, and

as he strolled unconcernedly along the camps deserted roadway he wasnt thinking of

terrorists. His mind was fully occupied with thoughts of a more pleasant kind. He was

thinking of his latest sweetheart, and of the outing hed planned for the following day; a

Sunday afternoon visit to the Botanical Gardens. The main hurdle had been cleared the

weekend before, when much to his surprise and delight she had readily agreed to the idea. It

was to be their first date together, and he was anxious to ensure that it wouldnt be the last. It

was a matter now of planning the detailsthose finer points that can make all the difference

and he was pondering over the various possibilities. They would take in the ornamental

lake, of course, where he would point out the fish, and a slow stroll through the woods was

high on his list. If his luck held they might even chance upon some of the roaming monkeys

whose antics were always amusing and, if they sensed food in the offing, frequently

alarming. Bags or even pockets were likely to be invaded with surprising boldness. If that

were to happen tomorrow she would almost certainly be frightened and cling to him for

protection, and he would hold her tightly, inhaling the fragrance of her hair whilst revelling in

her warm femininity. The thought prompted an instant smile. Heaven. And afterwards he


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would introduce her to that romantic little teahouse in the main street, the one with the taped

music and softly-lit alcoves what was it called? He considered for a pace or two, still

strolling with the rifle held loosely in his hand. Then it came to him: The Golden Moon! Yes,

that was it. Fantastic! His smile broadened as he neared the armoury, then he froze. Two men

had appeared in the roadway.

Immobilized by shock, he very nearly squandered his advantage. But Chen halted so

abruptly that Wing Tak cannoned into him, and in that moment of clumsiness Leong Soh

forced his limbs to function. He moved surprisingly fast. The rifle sprang to his hip like a

hungry jack-in-the-box, blurred by movement as his finger sought the trigger. He could have

gunned them down with ease. Inexplicably, he didnt. Instead he glanced over his right

shoulder as if checking for other intruders. It was a costly mistake. In that lost instant his

plans for the morrow were irretrievably cancelled.

Blood spurted from his mouth as the knife thudded into his back. His eyes bulged and

he staggered forward, left hand clawing at his spine. There was no cry of pain; his throat was

full of blood. But the clatter of his rifle when he slumped to the concrete seemed loud enough

to alert the entire camp. The raiders held their breath, expecting a shouted challenge, waiting

for the rapid clump of a dozen studded boots.

Seconds passed but nobody came. The road stayed silent and deserted, unresponsive

to death like the street of a ghost town. Tek Soo emerged from the shadows and retrieved his

knife. After wiping the blade clean on the boys shirt, he took a cursory look at the inert

body. He placed an exploratory finger on the lads neck before straightening-up and

confirming the obvious. Dead, he said with finality.

Chen parked his holdall and reached for the body. Take the other leg! Quickly, man!

He was addressing Tek Soo. Drag him inside.

They wasted no time in refilling the armoury: first the corpse, then his rifle. Nothing

could be done about the bloodstain beneath the veranda, but it would take a close inspection

to reveal the break-in. Wing Tak closed the door and replaced the lock. Thats it, he said.

Now move!

There were no dissenters.

Their return to the beach was uneventful. The sampan was close inshore, bobbing

gently up and down amid a moonlit veneer of prancing wavelets. After wading out to her and

loading the holdalls they clambered aboard and weighed anchor, allowing the tide to carry

them out before resorting to the motor. The camp remained quiet.


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They were a mile clear of the bay when the sky to the west was suddenly illuminated

by a searing flash and the early morning serenity was shattered by the thunderclap of a distant

explosion. Seconds later a cone of black smoke was rising from an ominous red glow in the

vicinity of the camp. Chen glanced across the cockpit and grinned knowingly at a small, wiry

man with a scarred face the fourth member of the invasion party who had visited the camp

jetty. Difficult for them to give chase now, he remarked sardonically. Looks like some sort

of mishap back there.

The scarred face remained impassive as the small man shrugged his shoulders. They

wont be using that boat for a while, not until they mend the leak!

Chen laughed, gratified by the chaos theyd left behind. Turning to the Cantonese

helmsman, he asked, How deeps the water here?

Six or seven fathoms, came the knowledgeable reply.

Chen glanced at Tek Soo and nodded towards the cabin. Fetch the holdalls.

Now?

Yes, now.

Climbing sullenly to his feet, Tek Soo disappeared into the tiny cabin, returning

almost at once with the fruit of their nights toil.

Ignoring the bewildered stares, Chen relieved him of the bags and hoisted them on to

the gunwale. His face registered no expression as he dumped them into the sea.

There followed a spellbound silence, a prolonged moment of universal disbelief.

Why? stammered Wing Tak, finally voicing their shared anger. Are you crazy? We

risked our necks for those guns.

Unmoved by the livid outburst, Chen scanned them with his penetrative gaze. He said,

You have done well tonight. Your confusion is understandable but the strategy you must

leave to others. The matter is now closed. He failed to mention that the Armalite rifle was

still safely stowed away in the cabin.


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CHAPTER 2

With perfect timing the sampan arrived off Collyer Quay as dawn was breaking over

the harbour, its presence made inconspicuous by the many similar craft scurrying to and fro

in the grey light of early morning. After passing unhurriedly through the crowded Inner

Roads anchorage it swung shoreward and was soon swallowed up by the ragged flotilla of

junks and sampans berthed along the waterfront. There was no pressure now, no cause to

hurry. They disembarked separately, Chen last, each slipping away unnoticed amid the

normal bustle of the waterside traders. By nine oclock all four had disappeared into the busy

metropolis, intent now on remaining low until the heat was finally off. All of them, that is,

except for Chen. He wasnt quite finished yet. There were several arrangements that couldnt

afford to wait.

END OF SAMPLE

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