Singapore Sling Shot by Andrew Grant

the body heat in when in water and under extreme conditions. Under the suit I just had on a pair of briefs. There was no need for fins. I had rubberised dive socks on to protect my feet when I came ashore. There was a pair of trainers in the waterproof bag I’d be wearing when I hit the water. The sack also contained my communications headset, a flashlight and a nine-millimetre Browning Hi Power along with a shoulder holster. The Fairbairn Sykes clone I already had in a sheath on my belt.
    I’d left my stiletto behind in Hong Kong, but the Fairbairn Sykes is as good a fighting knife as was ever made. As a final commando touch, I blacked out my face using greasy makeup. If I was caught on camera I didn’t want the real me revealed. Plus, for creeping around in the dark, a black face is definitely de rigueur.
    In the carry sack I also had a waterproof vinyl camera bag for the digital recorder. To drown the thing would not be desirable, especially given the cost in lives to date and the effort we were putting into recovering it.
    We’d boarded the fishing boat at Tuas, on the far side of Jurong Island, the huge fuel refinery. Sentosa is only a few kilometres to the east. The night was a blaze of lights from the refinery and the tankers docked there or moored, waiting their turn to load or unload their precious cargo. The hulking sea monsters were everywhere. Each one was lit like a Christmas tree.
    â€œAll that energy being burned,” Sami said as he came to stand beside me. “We are wasteful creatures.”
    â€œYou’re philosophical tonight,” I replied, wondering what had brought this particular train of thought into play. Sami nodded.
    â€œWasted lives, Daniel. I can’t help thinking of Stanley and how it all could have been avoided.” He paused. “Now I’m asking you to risk your life in an attempt to right it. I’m not sure I should have done that.”
    â€œStop the bull, Sami. I’m here and I’m doing it. I’m a friend and as you so convincingly put it to me, I’m the best man for the job.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œRight, now I need to crap!” I looked around for anything resembling a toilet. Maybe I was going to have to hang my arse out over the stern? Instead, Sami pointed to a tiny, cupboard-sized door behind the trawler’s bridge area. I crossed the deck and pulled the protesting hatch open.
    The toilet was smaller than a damn wardrobe and the bowl had no seat. There was, however, a roll of paper hanging from a wire. The light didn’t work, so in the end I left the door open—modesty has never been my strong point. My gut was water!
    Ten minutes later we were approaching the narrow neck between Sentosa and the mainland. It was a few minutes to midnight.
    â€œLabrador Park.” Sami pointed to the mainland spur that was running into the sea opposite Fort Siloso. “There are the remains of another fort there.” Sami leaned into the cockpit and said something to the man at the wheel. “Fort Pasir Panjang,” he added when he turned back to me.
    â€œThanks for the history lesson,” I muttered. My gut was still churning although there was now nothing in it. I was tense and Sami knew it.
    â€œJust trying to distract you.”
    â€œI know. I just want to get moving.”
    â€œAny minute now.” Sami ducked back into the cabin for more words with the skipper while I sucked in big gulps of air and settled the hood of my skin suit in place. I pulled on a pair of swim goggles and I was as ready as I was ever going to be. Let’s get the game under way, I thought.
    Apart from the reflected light of the city and ships on the water, Sentosa, from the angle we were approaching, gave nothing back. I could see a few dim lights down towards the neck and the construction lights where the new casino and other parts of the new complex were being built beside the bridge. From this angle, the island was