Passage of Arms Page 11

  “Well, most Americans aren’t rich,” said Greg; “and they certainly don’t feel particularly philanthropic when they’re paying their taxes.”

  “That’s just childish,” snapped Arlene. “Monsieur Seguin was talking about us as a nation.”

  Dorothy’s face went pink. “I don’t think Greg’s the one who’s being childish,” she said.

  “What I meant to say,” Monsieur Seguin went on evenly, “was simply that American foreign policy has always, from the first, been made by men who saw the world through the eyes of money, of riches.”

  “If you don’t mind my saying so, Monsieur Seguin,” said Greg; “that is one of the stupidest remarks I’ve ever heard.”

  Monsieur Seguin smiled. “You know, Mr. Nilsen, there was an American who owned fifteen thousand acres of some of the best land in America. He owned land in New York and Pennsylvania and Virginia and Maryland and the City of Washington. When he died he was one of the richest men in your country.”

  “Who was that, Rockefeller?”

  “His name was George Washington,” said Monsieur Seguin quietly; “but, of course, you knew that.”

  Arlene laughed so much that she had the whole dining-room looking at their table.

  Dorothy sat with a face like stone.

  After dinner, she and Greg went straight to their cabin.

  “I think Arlene behaved disgustingly,” Dorothy said, “and as for that ghastly little Frenchman … Was it right what he said, about Washington, I mean?”

  Greg shrugged. “Probably. He’s the sort of man who collects facts of that kind. Of course, they weren’t relevant to the point he was trying to make, but that wouldn’t interest him. He’s a debater.”

  “It’s Arlene I don’t understand. Encouraging him to go on talking all that anti-American nonsense. And on an American ship, too. I mean it’s such bad taste. And how dared she ask the steward to put him at our table, without even consulting us?”

  “I tell you one thing, dear,” said Greg; “and you’d better be ready for it. The next time that guy starts any anti-American stuff, I’m going to take a poke at him.”

  “You mean we have to go on eating with him?” Dorothy demanded.

  Greg stared at her, a wild hope surging through him. “Darling, the ship’s full. You know that. They can’t rearrange the seating now.”

  “You mean we’re stuck with them, all the way to Calcutta?”

  “Unless we complain to the purser and make a personal issue of it, I’m afraid we are.”

  “Oh, Greg!” She sat down miserably on her bed. “Our lovely trip!”

  He sat down beside her and put his arm round her waist. “You said it yourself, darling. We’re not in a position to choose our travelling companions.”

  Dorothy stuck out her chin. “Maybe not. But we are in a position to choose the way we travel.”

  “Darling, we’re booked through on this ship to Calcutta.”

  “Maybe we are, but we can change our minds. We could stop over at Singapore, take a side trip or two and then go on by air to Calcutta. You said you were going to do something for Mr. Tan in Singapore. All right! It’s business. If you explained that, I know we could get a refund on the passage.”

  Greg had never loved her more. “That’s right. Pan-Am and B.O.A.C. go via Bangkok. Maybe we could stop over there instead of Rangoon before we go on to Calcutta.”

  “Bangkok! That would be wonderful!”

  “As a matter of fact it wouldn’t cost us any extra, even allowing for side trips. I didn’t tell you, but this business that Mr. Tan asked me to do ‘11 net me a thousand dollars.”

  “Hong Kong?”

  “No, real American dollars. And I could make a thousand more if we spent a day or two extra in Singapore.”

  “How?”

  “Signing papers. Anyway I’ll tell you about that later. The main thing is that we enjoy ourselves. We don’t have to worry about the extra expense. If we decide we want to get off at Singapore, then that’s all there is to it.”

  Dorothy was silent for a moment. Then she said: “I know you don’t like Arlene. I suppose she’s not really a very likeable person. I think that’s why I felt sorry for her.”

  Later that evening, Greg had a talk with the purser, and then sent a radiogram to Mr. Tan Tack Chee in Manila.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  At the upper social levels of the British community in Singapore, Colonel Soames was known as ‘The Policeman’.

  There was nothing derogatory about the name. It had been applied originally to distinguish him from another Colonel Soames, who had been a retired Gurkha officer and a prominent member of the Turf Club. The fact that its use had continued after ‘Gurkha’ Soames’ s death, however, had been only partly the result of habit. Although Colonel Soames’s status as a senior police official was well known, the nature of his duties was not. He never discussed them, and any attempt to draw him out on the subject was met by him with a frosty silence. It was generally assumed that he was not, strictly speaking, a policeman at all, but something to do with Intelligence. To go on calling him ‘The Policeman’ was a mildly sardonic way of underlining that assumption.

  It was, in a sense, correct. Singapore was a naval, military and air base of crucial importance to the British Commonwealth; but it was also a free port and a trading post, largely dependent for its economic existence on international commerce. In the latter capacity it was obliged to receive many strange guests. Colonel Soames’s job was to detect the undesirables among them, and to see that their interests and those of Singapore as a whole did not seriously conflict. He worked in collaboration with the immigration department, the service intelligence organisations, the port and airport authorities, and the customs.

  He never ordered arrests. If any major criminal activity came to his attention, he either turned the facts over to an appropriate colleague for action, or, if, in his judgment, inaction would be more productive, he merely watched and waited. Occasionally, he might suggest a deportation, or the refusal of an entry permit; but most of his results were obtained simply by contriving to let the objects of his attentions know that they were observed and understood. Officially, he was in charge of a branch of the internal security forces. His own definition of his function was “discouraging the bad boys”.

  His second-in-command was a plain-clothes inspector named Chow Soo Kee. Every morning at ten they met to discuss the reports of the previous day. It was at one of these meetings that the name ‘Nilsen’ first came to Colonel Soames’s attention.

  They had reviewed the current activities of a Belgian who was attempting to set up a central distribution agency for ‘blue’ films from Bangkok, an Austrian who was buying girls for a new brothel in Brunei, and an Australian couple who seemed to be doing too well at the badger game. They had discussed the steps to be taken in the case of the consul of a Central American republic, who, comfortably shielded by his diplomatic immunity, was making money in the opium market. It had been decided to advise a man posing as a theatrical booking agent that his record had been forwarded by Scotland Yard. Inspector Chow was getting up to leave, when he remembered something.

  “By the way, Colonel,” he said, “we have another arms dealer.”

  “Not that Italian again?”

  “No, sir, a new one. Customs told me about him. There was a parcel of arms consigned in bond to a G. Nilsen from Manila.”

  “How big?”

  Inspector Chow told him. “Probably Korean war surplus,” he added. “They could be samples.”

  “Rather a lot of samples, don’t you think? Sounds more like a small man trying to get his toe in.”

  “Well, that’s the funny thing, sir. He isn’t the usual type. Full name is Gregory Hull Nilsen. American citizen. Engineer. Comes from Wilmington, Delaware, where he has his own light engineering business. Travelling with his wife. They arrived on the Silver Isle two days ago. Staying at the Raffles Hotel. They have an air-conditioned suite. Highly respectabl
e sort of people, apparently.”

  “Well, that’s a comfort.”

  “Yes, sir.” Inspector Chow paused. “Except for two things. He made a false statement to the immigration people. Said he and his wife were here just as tourists. Made no mention of the arms business.”

  “How long did he ask for?”

  “Two weeks. Immigration visa’d them for thirty days. The other thing was that he was brought to the hotel by Tan Yam Heng.”

  “You mean that union thug who’s always losing his shirt on the pickle market?”

  “Yes, sir. Apparently on friendly terms with him. That’s what I didn’t like. Tan’s a member of the Democratic Action Party.”

  “Who else has this man seen?”

  “Nobody, as far as I can gather. Yesterday he and his wife hired a car and drove round the island; to see the sights, they said. The driver says that’s all they did do.”

  “Could be establishing their cover. I wonder why he lied, though. Stupid thing to do, if he’s just a dealer. Who’d be in the market now for what he’s got to sell?”

  Inspector Chow thought for a moment. He knew that what he had to say would not please Colonel Soames, and he wanted to phrase it as delicately as possible.

  Indonesia, the young republic which claimed sovereignty over the three thousand islands of the former Dutch East Indies, was an uneasy neighbour. The Central Government in Java was weak, unstable and hag-ridden by Communism. In the big outer islands, especially Sumatra and Celebes, there were powerful revolutionary movements demanding secession and independence. The political thinking of these movements was religious in tone and strongly anti-Communist; and they had made fighting alliances. For three years or more, parts of Sumatra and Celebes had been virtually in a state of civil war, with insurgent forces in control of large areas and Central Government troops having in some places to defend even the big towns. With the long coastlines of Sumatra only thirty miles away across the Straits of Malacca, Singapore was, whether it liked it or not, the natural supply base for the Sumatran insurgents. Their ‘liaison officers’ and purchasing agents were the bane of Colonel Soames’s existence.

  “As you pointed out, sir,” Inspector Chow said finally, “it is a small consignment. I don’t think the Darul Islam people would be interested at present. You know they had a shipment of eighty machine-guns and fifty three-inch mortars three weeks ago.”

  “Not through here, I hope.”

  “No, sir. Direct from Macao.”

  “That Dutchman handle it?”

  “Yes. But he shipped the ammunition separately, over three tons apparently, and an Indonesian Government destroyer intercepted it. They’ll be wanting to replace that ammunition first. I don’t think they’ll bother about a few more rifles. I would say that, at the moment, the most interested buyer would be Captain Lukey.”

  He was careful to say the last two words very casually. Captain Lukey was the liaison officer and representative in Singapore of a small insurgent force that had recently begun to operate in Northern Sumatra. Colonel Soames’s dislike of him was personal and intense.

  Herbert Henry Lukey had been a regular soldier in a British county regiment, and commissioned as a lieutenant-quartermaster during World War II. He had served, without distinction, until nineteen-fifty, when the final period for which he had signed-on had expired. His regiment had been stationed in Egypt at the time, and much of his last six months of service had been spent answering questions at Courts of Inquiry appointed to investigate the virtual disappearance of a number of emergency petrol storage dumps of which he had been in charge. His answers had revealed qualities of imagination and ingenuity not hitherto apparent in his military career; and a secret, though unauthorised, investigation of his bank balance had shown him to be in the possession of funds far exceeding his total army pay for the previous five years. However, the smokescreen of confusion which he had succeeded in creating had, in the end, led to the inquiries being abandoned for lack of evidence. The petrol losses had been written off, in the way he had originally advocated, as “due to evaporation”. He could, and frequently did, claim that his army record was as clean as a whistle.

  His subsequent record, as a civilian in North Borneo, Malaya and Singapore, was not. He had worked in minor executive posts for several big trading concerns, most of which had, like the army, suffered some evaporation of assets before dispensing with his services. Eventually, one of them had thought forthrightedly and unconfusedly enough about its losses to go to the police. There had been talk, too, of forged references. He had left Singapore hurriedly, and, after a while, the charges against him had been dropped. Occasional inquiries over the next three years from police authorities in Colombo, Cape Town, Mombasa and Bombay, had made it possible to chart his subsequent progress. The report of his return to Singapore had been referred immediately to Colonel Soames.

  ‘The Policeman’ was not an intolerant man. He disapproved of the crooked and the louche, but he did not generally dislike them. Admittedly, his attitude was not as objective as he thought it was, and had a paternalistic, schoolmasterish quality about it; but that was largely a result of his training. He had come late to police work, and was inclined to treat most of the adult transgressors who came his way as if they were delinquent members of a regiment of which he was in command, and to which both he and they owed a common loyalty.

  However, with Captain Lukey it was different; and the difference resided in the word ‘Captain’.

  The day after Lukey had returned, Colonel Soames had him to his office for an interview.

  “According to your statement to the immigration authorities,” Colonel Soames had begun, “you are here as a liaison officer and purchasing agent for the armed forces of the Independent Party of the Faithful of North Sumatra. Is that correct?”

  “Perfectly correct.”

  “You say you are a liaison officer. What is the liaison between, may I ask?”

  “The army of the Party of the Faithful and other forces in Sumatra hostile to those Commies in Djakarta, sir.”

  “I see. And in your role as purchasing agent, what are you intending to purchase?”

  “Supplies, Colonel.”

  “Arms?”

  “Supplies of various kinds, Colonel.”

  “Do you have funds for these purchases?”

  “Naturally, Colonel.”

  “And where do these funds come from?”

  “They are subscribed by loyal Sumatrans and certain friendly parties.”

  “Have you a banking account?”

  “Yes, Colonel. Hong Kong and Shanghai, Orchard Road. All perfectly respectable.”

  “Are you empowered to sign cheques?”

  “With a counter-signature, yes.”

  “Whose counter-signature?”

  “A member of the Executive Committee of the Party of the Faithful.”

  “Is the Committee aware of your previous record?”

  “My British Army record, Colonel? Certainly.”

  “I was thinking more of your record here, and in Borneo.”

  “I wasn’t aware that I had one, sir.”

  “Weren’t you?”

  “I don’t think I understand you, Colonel. Are you suggesting I have a criminal record in Singapore?”

  That had been just what Colonel Soames had been suggesting; but he knew better than to say so. There had been no convictions recorded against the man in that area.

  “All I am suggesting is that while you are in Singapore you are careful to respect the law. Do you understand, Mr. Lukey?”

  “Captain Lukey if you don’t mind, Colonel.”

  Colonel Soames had smiled unpleasantly. “And that brings me to another point. I don’t think that there is much sense in my pointing out that the use of a military title to which one is not entitled is bad form and caddish. Perhaps I should simply remind you that it is an offence in law.”

  Captain Lukey had smiled back, equally unpleasantly. “And perhaps I should simply
tell you, Colonel, that the British Army isn’t the only army in the world. Here, take a look at this.”

  He had handed over a paper. It had been a commission from the Commander in Chief of the army of the Independent Party of the Faithful of North Sumatra, appointing his loyal servant Herbert Henry Lukey a staff captain.

  It had touched Colonel Soames in a very sensitive place. He had lost his temper.

  “This is meaningless. You cannot accept such a commission.”

  “Why not, Colonel?”

  “In the first place you are a British subject. In the second place you are, unhappily, an officer in the armed forces of Her Majesty the Queen.”

  “Not any more, Colonel.”

  “You may not be a serving officer, but you are on the reserve. You could be recalled to active duty if necessary.”

  Captain Lukey had grinned. “Do you take me for a fool, Colonel ? I came off the reserve two years ago. I’m over age.”

  “Well, that’s something to be thankful for, but don’t expect me to recognise this rubbish.” Colonel Soames had tossed the paper contemptuously back across the desk.

  Captain Lukey had picked it up, folded it carefully and put it back in his pocket before speaking. Then he had said: “Is that your considered opinion, Colonel?”

  “It is.”

  “Then you won’t have any objection, I take it, if I report it back to my commanding officer in Sumatra, as the official British view.”

  Colonel Soanes had hesitated. The Independent Party of the Faithful was probably little more than a gang of dissident Sumatran officers greedy for the spoils of local political power. But in Sumatra anything might happen. Within a few months, those same officers could be members of a lawfully constituted government. A senior Singapore police official who had gratuitously insulted its leaders would find himself most unpopular with the British Foreign Office, to say nothing of Government House.

  The fact that H. H. Lukey was, in his opinion, a cad, would not excuse the indiscretion.

  He had swallowed his annoyance. “No, it’s not an official British view. It merely represents my personal opinion of you.”