I put the phone on "speaker" for Anna to hear.
"How nice to hear from you, dear. It's been so long. Thought you might have caught your death when you fell out of the boat last time we met. Too much champers you know. Not good for a man with your weak will. Bit warmer here, though, isn't it? Where are you, darling? In town, are you? Coming to see me? Hope so. What's it this time? Catching big time foreign fraudsters again are you. Or is it something more refined?"
"I'm holed up here for a day or so but wondered if you could fill me in on a couple of local companies," I replied. "Medical industry to be precise. Not normally my speciality, but then, what is, you might ask. Please don't ask me why I'm into this particular business at the moment - I don't want to have to spin you too many yarns. Can I pop in and see you? Only keep you a few minutes."
"Better still, Rupert, dear, you can take me to lunch. Just had a cancellation. Seems they don't want me at their official lunch today after all. I'm beginning to put that sort of thing down to budget constraints so that I don't feel too personally insulted."
"Love to. Shall I pick you up or meet you somewhere."
"Meet me at the Mandarin Hotel, OK? Say about one."
"I'll be there. See you later."
I turned to Anna and smiled again. "I shall be out for lunch today. I'm taking a lady out."
"Who did you talk to?" Anna asked, with just a hint of hurt. "And why does she call you Rupert?"
"She's someone I know, Anna. Don't worry. This lady is fun for ten minutes and then she's hard work. But she might help." She calls me Rupert because it is her nick name for me."
"Nick name?"
"She gets confused about what my real name is."
"Yes," said Anna. "I understand."
An hour later I tried Shah Medicals again. This time, David Chua was there.
"My name is Michael Stevens - I'm from UK - an export agency - Asher & Asher. We work for a group of companies manufacturing over-the-counter medicines for marketing in South East Asia. I'm here to meet some local distributors for possible co-operation."
"We may be - very competitive lah - not so easy, lah. What have you got? It needs to be better or cheaper than the competition, lah."
"I can't say much at this stage," I said, "but the group is quite big - industrial chemicals, toiletries, that sort of thing - big European market share, also in the Middle East - now looking towards South East Asia."
I paused, waiting for a sign of interest from the other end of the line. "We might be," David Chua said, "We are just getting organised with a better sales team in Singapore and Malaysia."
I finally fixed my meeting for late afternoon at the Hyatt Hotel and, business side of things organised, asked Anna if she'd like to go shopping. "You might need more than one bag of clothes," I said, realising that I, myself, could, when necessary, live out of a single bag for weeks on end. And, frankly, I have never gone shopping in my life.
CHAPTER 22
Kevin Parker and Tunje Fayinka were still sitting in the One Tun public house in Tottenham Court Road in London. It was nearly 4pm and they had been analysing the motives of Mohamed El Badry for nearly three hours and had still got nowhere.
Kevin looked at his watch but could barely see it. He was on his sixth or seventh pint already although he had lost count. But he already knew that Tunje had apparently left most of his loose change in his Barnet flat and his, Kevin's, bar tab was mounting up.
Kevin had also not wanted to pay for another hotel for the night. He either wanted to go back to Bristol on the train or get Tunje to at least offer to put him on the floor of his flat for the night.
"I need a piss, Tunj. Then I must make a move. Liverpool are playing tonight."
"Liverpool? Liverpool? That is some genuine crap team, Kev. Come up and watch Arsenal some time."
"Why, Tunj? Are you offering me a seat in the main stand, paid for out of the salary Barnet College pay you?"
"Nah, mate, I meant watch them on my wide screen, like you do Liverpool."
"For your information, I do not possess a wide screen, Tunj - it wouldn't fit in my bloody flat. Anyway, I need a piss. I won't be a minute." Kevin wobbled his way towards where he thought the toilet was.
He was gone for perhaps slightly more than a minute but when he returned, Tunje was reading a crumpled newspaper someone had left on the next table.
"Seen this, Kev?" Tunje's arms were outstretched reading something on one of the inside pages.
"What is it, Tunj?" Kevin asked, impatiently.
"Shh," said Tunje, "I'm reading."
While Kevin sat with his arms folded, Tunje's black eyes raced left to right, left to right. Then they moved up as if he was now reading the next column. Kevin had had enough.
"Right, I'm off," said Kevin and stood up, knocking the table as he did so. Tunje's empty beer mug rattled. Kevin's was still half full and stayed upright and rock steady.
"Here," Tunje said. "Before you go, check it out, man. This proves what I've been saying. I reckon Big Shot El Badry has already started his clinical trials."
"What?" Kevin said. "Give it here."
"Just a minute, man. Nearly finished."
Kevin sat down again and then snatched the paper.
"Don't you know it's rude to read at table? Didn't mummy Fayinke teach you any table manners?"
Tunje shrugged. Kevin read on.
"What do you think, Kev?"
"I haven't finished yet. Quiet. "
"Now what do you think, Kev?"
"Bloody hell," said Kevin. "But who's to say El Badry has got anything to do with it?"
"Nigeria, Kev. A hundred cases in Nigeria says the WHO. Aren't you able to read or do you want me to read it to you? Didn't mummy Parker ever read to you in bed?"
"Shut up about my mother, Tunje. She had ten others to deal with."
"Sorry, Kev, but a hundred cases of an unknown respiratory disease in northern Nigeria? Doesn't that sound like too much of a co-incidence?"
"Mmm," said Kevin, "I know what you mean."
Both of them were quiet for a few moments. Tunje looked into his empty beer glass. Kevin stared at the ceiling thinking about what he'd read but also hoping Tunje would not want another drink.
"I think we need to keep this to ourselves a while, Tunj," Kevin finally said. "We haven't got any proof of a link. It might be just you and your vivid imagination. I'll dig around a bit - see if any of my networks have had similar approaches. But I still don't understand what the bloody hell a rich Arab like El Badry would want with the Malthus Society. It still bothers me, Tunj."
"To put the blame onto us?" said Tunje thoughtfully.
"Christ," said Kevin, "I hope not. If so both you are I already implicated, Tunj. Perhaps he videoed us at his apartment. You always said we needed to go careful."
"Yeh, that's still my gut feeling. Anyway, I got to go. I'm meeting some mates in Watford."
"Watford branch of the Malthus Society is it Tunj?" said Kevin already resigning himself to getting the train back to Bristol as well as settling the bar bill. "Perhaps El Badry will turn up."
CHAPTER 23
Twelve thirty, shopping done and with Anna sorting bags, I left the hotel. I walked down Emerald Hill in hot, midday sun, past the renovated and picturesque old Chinese houses, back onto Orchard Road where we had just shopped, then the short distance to the Mandarin Hotel. Inside the darker, air-conditioned lobby I found a seat where I could see but not be seen. Before long, I saw the tall, gangly form of Caroline Mason coming my way. But despite my efforts, she had clearly seen me first.
Caroline always walks as if she is on a long-distance hike. I can barely keep up with her. On this occasion, the long strides made her flowery skirt billow in the passing air. Today she had topped the skirt with a white blouse tied with a black bow at the neck. In her hand was a brown handbag cum briefcase, which she dropped noisily onto the table by my side.
I rose to my feet and held out my hand but it was quickly apparent that Caroline planned a public display of affection in the form of a kiss. She planted it firmly on my left cheek, followed by a similar one on my right one. She also took my hand.
"Rupert, my dear, how lovely to see you. Long time. How are you?"
"Hello, Caroline. It's good to see you too. Come and sit down or would you prefer to go straight through for a gin and tonic."
"I think a G and T sounds splendid. Mustn't have too many though. Got a few things to do when I get back." She laughed and, taking my hand again, pulled me towards the reception desk of the restaurant. The pretty, young Chinese girl asked if we had a reservation.
"Yes, dear," said Caroline, "For two. I phoned earlier. Caroline Mason. Table by the window. Thanks."
We were escorted to Caroline's preferred window table, ordered gin and tonics to be delivered at once and took the proffered menus. Caroline had, as I expected, plenty to say.
"So, what have you been up to. I know I shouldn't call you Rupert but it suits you so much. You do remember don't you what a fabulous day that was. Pity about the bloody British weather - spoils everything - can't plan a thing - but that didn't stop us did it?"
I cringed inwardly but let Caroline continue.
"Heard you were involved behind the scenes in the Stewart Insurance fraud. Got a bad bit of publicity in the end didn't he - Stewart I mean - but I never really understood what you actually did. Was it listening devices or plain old-fashioned hiding under the bed in the Frankfurt Sheraton?" She laughed again and, as usual. I felt it necessary to join in.
The gin and tonics arrived and Caroline's enthusiasm in toasting our renewed acquaintance was almost enough to smash the crystal glasses. By now I felt it was my turn to say something. "It's nice to see you also Caroline. I only flew in last night and I made you my first meeting."
"Flatterer!"
"I was at a conference on Infectious Diseases in Bangkok. Have you seen the papers in the last couple of days? Quite a stir."
"Scary - at least you could have some fun before catching AIDS. So what or who sent you there?"
"A client - the trade show was useful to meet a few people - I'm now following up some things that cropped up while I was there. That's why I wondered if you could help, Caroline - in the name of trying to ensure industrial harmony around the globe - British fair play and all that."
"You are a naughty boy, but I'll try."
The waiter arrived for our order and Caroline took a pair of thick rimmed glasses from her bag. "Sign of old age I'm afraid, dear. Catches up even with the sprightly - can barely read anything unless its inches from my eyes."
She put them on, scanned the menu and then said, "I must admit I'm a bit of an old bore really - always want the same thing - what about you?" she put the menu down, removed her glasses and looked at me.
"So, what are you having?". I thought I'd check before committing myself. I'm none too fussy about food. I'll eat anything I've seen others eating.
"Fillet steak, they do a good one, chips, the works really."
"Very oriental, I must say - I'll join you."
Order taken, Caroline said, "So, what can Her Majesty's services do to help?"
"Easy really," I said. "Some information on a local company - name of Shah Medicals. It was set up a few years ago by an Arab gentleman so I understand. So, information on the company background - anything really."
Caroline nodded but before she had a chance to say anything I asked another. "There's something else, Caroline. Is Clive Tasker still in Jordan? You remember someone mentioning him back in the UK? I haven't been to Amman for about two years but he was due to retire last time we spoke."
"Good old Clive," said Caroline. "Yes, retired at Christmas - got a card - retired to Cyprus. He knew it well when he was in Beirut and Jordan. He even put his address on the card. Do you want it?"
"Please," I said.
And so, the conversation continued until: "So where are you staying, Rupert, dear? I could drop the stuff around if you like."
"Secret, Caroline. Running incognito as usual. But I bet with your connections you could soon track me down. Please don't try. Innocent British citizen trying to earn an honest crust by tracking down dishonest foreigners and all that. You know me well enough to know that I sometimes need a bit of cover. Better I call you tomorrow morning if I may. Meantime, I'd be very grateful for anything about this Shah Medicals company. Can I call round at the High Commission tomorrow morning? I may well move on from Singapore tomorrow afternoon."
Later, after lunch and after Caroline had drunk the best part of a bottle of red wine, we made our way out onto Orchard Road again. Caroline found it necessary to give me another big kiss, said "Until tomorrow", and beckoned a taxi. I watched her fall in, catch her bag in the door, open it again to retrieve it, shut it once more and, with a wave, through the rear window disappear into the traffic. I admit to still having a soft spot for Caroline.
It was now seven thirty and I was in the Singapore Hyatt Hotel. I had no difficulty in recognising David Chua. The small, middle-aged, Chinese man wore a whitish shirt with a greasy-looking, loose grey tie around the open neck. He shuffled in looking worried and stressed. He was clearly looking for someone. I tapped him on the shoulder. "David Chua?"
"Ah yes, yes - sorry, sorry - so late, lah - too many problems today - everything go wrong. Mr Stevens is it? My card."
"Pleased to meet you. Thank you for seeing me. Would you like a drink - tea or something?"
I apologised that I couldn't reciprocate with my own business card to offer. "So sorry - I ran out of business cards in Manila."
Over Chinese tea, served in delicate white cups sitting around a low, glass- topped table, we talked although I was as deliberately vague as I had been on the phone earlier until: "My client thinks the hand cleansers and antiseptic soaps are likely to be of most interest here. Would this fit into your marketing plans?" I was very pleased with the way that came out. It made me sound like a genuine business consultant.
"Ah, yes, ah," Chua replied encouragingly. He then seemed to relax. "We have grown a lot in the last few years. We now have a new branch in Malaysia and are a market leader in some products. It's taken a lot of work, lah. Singapore, Malaysia very stressful you know." He drained his small cup of green tea with his still sweaty hands. Then he went on: "But I need more information, lah - cannot do anything without information."
Just like any genuine business consultant I was ready for this. "No problem," I said, "If you can give me more information on your organisation, I'll report back and we can take matters further. We are keen to move ahead quickly with the right partner."
It was quite clear that David Chua had not come with anything in written format but he was definitely the man in charge locally. I saw through it all. But there was still a bigger boss somewhere who might think well of him if he could pull off a good deal. I was now pushing him for the missing background.
"OK, lah. I started as a salesman for medical companies - then worked for Suzuki Pharmaceuticals - good business, lah, but the company decided to open their own office here - at same time, lah, I met Mr Kader - he owns Shah Medicals - he was in Singapore looking for agencies to buy up - very wealthy man, lah.............."
David Chua's tongue was loosening. I ordered more tea.
".... well, lah, Mr Kader asked me if I wanted to set up on my own - I said of course, lah, who doesn’t, lah? Well, to make a long story shorter, he put up some money - we found an office - he sent me some stock and we started - all very good business, but you have to work hard here, lah - I've now got three salesmen here, two in Malaysia and several sub distributors. I opened our office in KL late last year. Very fast, lah. "
Chua looked genuinely out of breath with the speed of things. He looked up from his sixth cup of tea apparently wondering if that was sufficient. It was. But unfortunately for the poor guy I now had some additional questions.
"Your business looks very compatible with what we are looking for - right size, right set up - we could grow things together. How are you placed for raising money for investment in a venture like this? Bear in mind my client is a well-established brand in UK and Europe. "
David Chua looked impressed but fidgeted in his chair. The second lot of tea was finished. "Ah yes, of course, lah - I would need to sort things out - talk to Mr Kader, lah."
"Tell me a bit about Mr Kader," I said noticing that David Chua was showing no signs of being under any instructions to keep quiet.
"He's from the Middle East. Offices all over. He recently set up in Hong Kong and he has a lot of business interests in Africa and other places. Rich man, lah, very rich."
"Is Al Zafar part of his organisation?" I asked innocently.
"Oh yes - forgot to say, lah. Mr Kader owns Al Zafar. It's a holding company. Very ambitious man is Mr Kader. Wants us to take on many new products. I keep telling him - slow down, lah - we are not ready for all this yet. But he is very keen, very keen. Push, push."
I now saw another opportunity. It was what I call, for my own purposes, the negative prompt. I use it often.
"So, perhaps our proposal may not be so interesting for him if he has ambitions in another direction."
David Chua clearly saw this might be the case. I pushed him further. "If Mr Kader has plans for marketing highly specialised drugs in Singapore would he have told you?"
Chua’s look changed to one of even greater disappointment.
"Ah, maybe no. He keeps many things to himself. But I know he has some big plans in Africa. He is setting up some sort of research facility there, which is somehow connected to his business in Egypt. Very complicated but he is a very busy man - a lot going on - very dynamic."
There was a moment’s pause as I allowed David Chua to self-digest what he'd just said. The positive pause. Then I pushed for action. "So, how do we proceed with this?"
David Chua glanced up from his pondering of the table top and empty cups. "I'll try to speak to Mr Kader or email him. He likes to be involved with things like this." He said it proudly as if wanting to dispel any thoughts that he was desperate to earn a medal from Kader for his efforts. I encouraged him - the positive support.
"Which way would you take the company if you owned it outright?" I asked.
David Chua looked directly at me as if suspecting I might have something else up my sleeve that might be to his financial advantage.
"I think we should stay in the business we know," he said. "Expand and grow slowly, lah. We've not done badly since I started. What you propose may be very interesting. but I need more information."
It was enough. I moved as if to stand up and that seemed to loosen David Chua up. His face visibly relaxed. Always try to finish on a lighter note - it is often the only part remembered.
""So, life here still as hectic as ever?" I said, looking around the hectic hotel concourse. David Chua seemed relieved at a less searching question. He even sat back in his chair.
"Sure, lah - everything still big pressure. But we got to maintain kiasu or we wouldn't be Singaporean, would we?" At last he chuckled slightly and lifted his cup to his lips only to find it bone dry. But then he said something which I was to remember over and over again during the coming weeks.
"Just too many people here," he said looking around. "Singapore is very prosperous but too many people, too crowded, too much stress, not enough time to relax." Then, he fidgeted again and glanced at a bare wrist as though it normally bore a watch. "You must excuse me, Mr Stevens, got to go now. The American I was supposed to meet here was delayed. All my schedule now big problem, lah."
"Americans, all the same, eh?" I grinned and then added, "Is he on his way in or on his way out?"
"Arriving late from a conference in Bangkok. Infection Control. You read about it? On TV news this morning, lah. In newspaper also."
"Oh, yes," I said. "I read about it. The American - another supplier of yours?"
"Livingstone. You know them? Another rich man - Greg O'Brian. He’s booked to stay here. I promised to pick him up from Changi. You know the company?" he asked again.
"The name is familiar," I said, although my tone in no way revealed an urgent need to glean as much information as quickly as possible. "Livingstone Pharmaceuticals?"
"Yes. It's linked to Al Zafar somehow. I usually meet their salesman, Mr Marshall, but this time the CEO himself is coming."
"So, what do they want, any idea?"
"Mr O'Brian and Mr Kader have a project in Africa but I'm really only interested in products such as yours, Mr Stevens."
I had, over the course of our conversation, noticed a change in his tone. David Chua now seemed to be falling over backwards to find reasons not to follow Kader into new ventures. I got up from the table, retrieved the bill lying under the tray and beckoned the waitress. "Thank you very much for your time. I'll take care of this and I'll be in touch as soon as possible."
CHAPTER 24
Kevin Parker arrived home at his Clifton, Bristol flat with a headache from the afternoon in the One Tun with Tunje Fayinke. He was also feeling hungry. No food had passed his lips since the half-eaten burger at lunchtime. But, knowing he wouldn't be able to sleep if he turned in, he walked to a late night local Indian take-away, bought himself a chicken biriani and rice and, as he sat on the kitchen floor eating it, logged onto the internet on his laptop.
He checked a few emails, deleted them all and then logged onto the WHO, Geneva website. And, yes, there it was - a so-called Disease Outbreak Notification - a DON. And, just as he and Tunje had read earlier in the discarded and crumpled copy of the Daily Mail, there was the confirmation.
"............WHO is currently investigating reports of an outbreak of respiratory infections with similar symptoms to the Thai cases in Kano State, Northern Nigeria and one case in Kenya. The number of associated deaths in Nigeria is unknown. The Kenyan patient is known to have died.................."
The only difference was that the Daily Mail seemed to know the deaths in Nigeria amounted to over a hundred. The WHO, on the other hand, seemed unwilling to put a figure on it.
Kevin, spooned in the last mouthful of chicken biriani, wiped his mouth and then logged onto his Malthus Society website.
Nothing much had happened since the day before. There was only one message from the Boston USA group announcing their next meeting and giving details of a lecture on drought in Sub Saharan Africa to be given at Boston University. Someone calling themselves "day-owl" - Kevin had no idea who it was - had left a message. "Don't go - let there be drought" Kevin smiled.
Using his own sign of "Thalmus" he typed: "Check out WHO DON. Anyone know anything?"
Then he logged off.
The American Embassy in Nigeria was based in Abuja, but Lagos was still the centre of US Commercial Services. Larry Brown, a fresher in consular circles, was still struggling to understand how, as a black, American doctor, he could best serve the commercial services team.
It was only mid-morning and he was already staring out of the window looking for inspiration. Yes, he had the job description which provided for a good deal of freedom to do what he liked and he also had the salary. What Larry was missing was focus. Not only that but his energy had started to return and Larry wanted some action.
Behind him, staring at computer screens, sat three commercial specialists - Nigerian nationals who were divided up into industry sectors and did their best to answer queries from US companies, guide them through Nigerian bureaucracy and organise meetings and trade shows.
On Larry's healthcare sector was Joseph Eke. But Joseph also had franchising, printing and consumer electronics to deal with and Joseph had come straight out of University with a degree in IT. Larry already knew that Joseph only liked the consumer electronics part of his job. He was also probably angling for a future job with an American IT company.
"Joseph," Larry called out, still looking out of the window and with his back to the room, "Can't we run a healthcare trade exhibition some time? The Ambassador says he wouldn't even send his dog to see a doctor in Nigeria. Can't we bring in a few good US companies, focus on the private sector, show them some decent equipment, proper medicines. Perhaps even bring in an American vet or two?"
Larry turned. As it seemed Joseph had not heard him, he coughed deliberately and pretended to be choking. At last, Joseph and the two other commercial specialists looked up.
"Got any medicine for a bad cough, Joseph? Do I need a chest X ray? Was that a first sign of TB? What hospital should I go to in Lagos and know I was being taken good care of?"
Joseph grinned over the top of his computer screen.
"Did you hear me just then, Joseph? Jo?"