Singapore Sling

Singapore, Saturday, 15 April 1995

Robbie strode briskly past the bored customs officers and out through the green channel of Singapore’s Changi Airport. It had taken him eight minutes to reach the customs since leaving his first-class seat on the Singapore Airlines flight that had departed Heathrow the previous evening. The crowd of gossiping, uniformed hotel staff carrying meeting boards were unprepared for the early arrival of the blond, curly-haired, athletic-looking businessman. They snapped to attention and then looked disappointed as Robbie walked past them without stopping. In fact, Robbie had fought hard to resist the temptation to identify himself as Mr Uguchi, thereby causing a ripple of confusion and disbelief among the bearers of name boards. Instead, Robbie carried on walking slowly towards the exit, scanning the eager faces of those waiting to greet arriving friends, relations or business contacts. Finally, Robbie found who he was looking for. His eyes met those of Abdullah, the old, unsmiling Malay driver. Abdullah nodded his head slightly, acknowledging Robbie’s presence, and then set off towards the car park without further ado.

Cautious devil, thought Robbie, wondering whether Fang’s legendary distrust of everyone was really necessary.

Running the gauntlet of excited relations, Robbie followed the driver, keeping a discreet distance behind the fast-moving old man.

*

The previous evening, Robbie had caught the plane with a few minutes to spare, having endured a difficult time with Julia, who had not appreciated his sudden departure.

‘But, Robert,’ – it was always ‘Robert’ when the going got difficult – ‘you know we’re having a dinner party tonight. I can’t possibly cancel it now, it’s far too late. Do you really have to go? And the boys have an exeat tomorrow. Why can’t you leave to see that horrid little Chinaman tomorrow night? What’s of such bloody importance that you have to disappear right now? You’re a shit.’

After five minutes of trying to explain, Robbie gave up and prepared himself for a frosty reception when he arrived home – and the need to purchase an expensive gift in Singapore to make up.

He was not wrong about the temperature of the reception, which was cold bordering on arctic. Nor was he wrong about the need for an expensive gift. The required value increased, however, as Julia caught sight of Robbie’s squash racquet poking out from the side pocket of his suit bag as he left for the airport without giving her a goodbye kiss.

*

The old driver was scarcely more talkative during the drive into the centre of Singapore than he had been at the airport, and Robbie passed his time looking out of the car window at the bougainvillea lining the expressway. By the time his car crunched over the gravel driveway to Raffles Hotel, Robbie’s mind was moving into overdrive regarding how to play the meeting with Fang.

Robbie was still evaluating different approaches when the doorbell to his suite rang and he opened to door to find the object of his scheming standing outside, looking relaxed and cool in a double-breasted blazer, khaki slacks and brown-tasselled shoes.

‘I d-don’t believe it,’ said Robbie, shaking James by the hand and grinning. ‘You have c-come yourself rather than exercising your normal caution and sending a cardboard c-cut-out in disguise!’

James smiled back and stepped quickly into the room.

‘The trouble with you, Ang Mo, is that, in addition to smelling peculiar, you are far too trustworthy,’ said James in his best Oxbridge accent, using the derogatory term for Europeans. ‘You really should learn from the wily Oriental gentlemen!’

The two men laughed together and walked into the sumptuous sitting room. Although they had different cultural backgrounds, both felt a common bond of friendship and enjoyed working together.

‘So what the hell is going on in Indonesia,’ said Robbie, deciding to start with an open, direct approach.

‘You may well ask. I wonder if anyone really knows what goes on in that bloody crazy country. Least of all the people who run it,’ said James, adding the last bit to remind Robbie gently that the Fangs had connections in the highest places. It was only through the Fangs’ intervention with those people that Robbie was sitting in Singapore discussing Indonesian business.

‘They have a major problem – in fact, a series of problems which add up to one monster-sized shortfall.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Robbie, intent on making James Fang talk but also feeling genuinely confused as to how the situation had deteriorated so rapidly. ‘I thought they were looking reasonably good this year, despite the wet weather.’

‘How can they suddenly run up against an 800,000 tonne shortfall?’ Robbie added, gently increasing the number that James had mentioned over the phone to see if he reacted.

‘I said 500,000 tonnes,’ grinned James, ‘and you know it. Never trust a sneaky Ang Mo! Anyway, ignoring your little tricks since we are old friends, you are right. Up until a few weeks ago, it looked as though the domestic production was going to be about two million tonnes. That level of production, together with the imports that you and I have already planned…’

‘You m-mean total imports – direct and er… indirect?’

‘If you must be so specific, then yes,’ said James, laughing but not meaning it.

‘The total imports should have been enough to keep all our sweet-toothed Indonesian friends in fillings for the next year.’ James paused briefly, then continued.

‘But this is where the tricky bit comes in. Firstly, the basic statistics seem to have been off. For sure, the yield on the land that is planted to sugar cane looked okay. The problem is that there isn’t as much land as before actually growing the damn stuff. Our Indonesian farmer friends, as well as having sweet teeth, also have sticky fingers. They have seen that they could get more money from either growing cocoa instead of sugar or selling their land altogether for property development. Can’t say I blame them. The guys in the Ministry of Agriculture were busy analysing the satellite data to see how the crop was coming on. No one bothered, however, to calculate the actual acreage being used to grow our favourite commodity.’

Robbie stroked his chin, raised his eyes heavenwards, and then looked at Fang with a sardonic smile. ‘Hmmmm, go on…’

‘Like the story so far? Well, the best is yet to come.’

‘I thought it seemed too simple for an Indonesian story,’ said Robbie, keen to keep James talking. ‘What other little wrinkle has crept in?’

‘Not a little wrinkle. A bloody great furrow! As you know, they have been having unusually wet weather. Had this continued for much longer, it could have had some sort of effect on the crop…’

‘But I thought sugar liked plenty of water,’ queried Robbie.

‘You’re right. But not so much that it rots the roots. Anyway, sugar cane is pretty hardy stuff and although the yield might have been slightly reduced because of the wet weather, it wouldn’t have been the disaster it is.’

‘Stop enjoying yourself,’ groaned Robbie. ‘Get to the good bit. You’re going round in circles and we’re all getting older!’

‘Patience, my dear, is an Asian virtue which I know I cannot expect my barbarian friends to possess in abundance. However, you really seem to have been given a short supply. Anyway, as you say, we’re all getting older. So how do we get an 800,000 tonnes shortfall…’

Robbie shot a glance at James and raised his eyebrows.

‘Oh, come on,’ said James smirking, ‘you can’t expect me to give you the truth and nothing but the truth so early on. You are a trader after all.’

It must be a million tonnes, thought Robbie.

‘Anyway,’ continued Fang, ‘none of the aforementioned would have led to the current projected, additional shortfall of more or less 800,000 tonnes. The next bit is truly Indonesian…’ James paused for dramatic effect and looked at Robbie who was beginning to lose his patience.

‘F-f-for Christ’s sake, g-g-et on with it, James!’

‘Oh, all right, if you must be so direct… Someone has knocked off Indonesia’s entire strategic stockpile.’

‘W-W-WHAAAT?’ Robbie almost jumped out of his seat. You’ve got to be b-b-bbloody k-k-kkidding!’

‘Never been more truthful in my life. Brownies honour. Gonzo.’

‘But… but… b-but, it’s 500,000 tonnes. You can’t just lose half m-m-million tonnes of sugar even if you’re Indonesian.’

‘I’m not Indonesian, and I haven’t just lost it. Its been knocked off… borrowed – with, one suspects, little intention of returning it to its rightful owner. Certainly not for the moment.’

‘Shit. You’re serious,’ said Robbie as he sank back into his chair.

‘Deadly.’

‘But how can someone just steal half a million tonnes of sugar? We’re talking about… at least twenty-five ships. That sugar has to be worth about $175 million.’

‘Exactly,’ said James with the expression of someone who is delighted that their message has finally been understood. ‘Now you have the motive. It would be interesting to know the identity of the culprit, although for your continued good health I suggest you don’t try too hard to find out. As to how it was done… well, I guess it happened over a period of time…’

Robbie looked hard at Fang. He tried to gauge how much of the truth he was telling. And to what extent the noble house of Fang was involved in smuggling sugar out of Indonesia as well as in. For a moment, Robbie’s mind worked around the possibility that he had been buying back from Fang or some other intermediary sugar he had previously sold them. God, life got complicated. Robbie decided to be straight and ask a direct question.

‘Does this mean that some of the sugar that I have been buying from you came from the stockpile?’

For a moment, James looked genuinely taken aback. ‘Robbie, I know you think that the Fangs are crooks, but really…’

‘Does that mean the answer is “no”?’ persisted Robbie.

‘Of course it means “no”,’ said James a little too quickly. And then, ‘Well, not exactly.’

James Fang was used to dealing with Robbie. Although their minds worked around problems in different ways they inevitably ended up with the same conclusion. This was probably why the two men got on so well together. It also meant that James had come to respect Robbie for his intelligence and deviousness. Fang knew that right now Robbie’s fertile mind was probably analysing the role of the House of Fang, and therefore indirectly Clyde and Clyde, in the disappearance of the strategic stockpile of the Republic of Indonesia. He was almost certainly drawing some conclusions that James would prefer were left undrawn.

‘The way I see it,’ continued Fang, ‘I don’t think someone came along, shovelled up 500,000 tonnes of sugar and wheelbarrowed it away.’

I bet they didn’t, thought Robbie.

‘I think it was more a question of… er… substitution, or lack thereof,’ continued Fang. ‘I would imagine, purely conjecture you understand, that a group of powerful people might well have noticed that the value of the stockpile based on the current market price was rather high. And wouldn’t it be a terrible shame to keep all that high-priced sugar languishing in warehouses throughout the length and breadth of Indonesia? Much better to sell the sugar and have the money safely tucked up in some Swiss bank accounts. The sugar itself could always be replaced when the price fell.’

Robbie nodded. ‘All of which would leave the difference between the money received from the sale of sugar, and the money paid for the replacement sitting in the Swiss bank account.’

‘Bingo,’ said James, happy now that Robbie had grasped the full scope of the scheme. ‘Not stealing, you understand… just borrowing.’

‘I can see the logic,’ said Robbie, ‘but how about the logistics? Half a million tonnes of sugar is still a hell of a lot to move around even if it isn’t carted about in wheelbarrows.’

‘Easy,’ continued James, ‘er… I would imagine. As I said earlier on, the stockpile is, or was, kept in warehouses spread throughout Indonesia. There must have been 1,000 warehouses involved. Although it is called a stockpile, the sugar itself is actually constantly being replaced to keep it fresh. The stockpile administrator has ongoing sales of sugar from the stockpile to local wholesalers, while at the same time replenishing the stock with purchases on the world market. So all our friends did was to sell the local stock and pocket the money rather than using it straightaway to buy replacement supplies. They hoped that the world-market price would drop and that they could replace the sugar at a lower price and keep the difference. In the normal course of events the “borrowing” of the stockpile would not have caused a problem since the only “drawing” of the sugar was the “revolving” to keep it fresh. As we know, there should now be more than enough sugar being produced domestically to supply day-to-day requirements.’

‘Topped up by the imports that we have already contracted.’

‘Yes.’

‘So, continued Robbie, the idea was that the “borrowing” could have remained outstanding without arousing suspicion for ages. The stockpile would have been replaced when the world price of sugar dropped. The group of friends would then have sat on their bloated Swiss bank accounts and waited for the sugar price to go up and for the whole roundabout to start once again. Only this time, the scheme came rather unstuck…?’

‘Yeees,’ continued James, choosing his words carefully, ‘because the greedy farmers…’

‘As opposed to the generous stock-pile marauders?’

‘Everyone has their own interest at heart, Robbie. Because the bloody greedy farmers wanted to make a quick buck and sold their sugar-growing land for real estate development…’

‘To Chinese property speculators?’ laughed Robbie.

‘I wouldn’t know the ethnic background of the property developers… but I expect you’re right. Anyway, these greedy farmers sold so much of their land that domestic production fell. In fact, it fell to the extent that there might possibly have to be a drawdown on the strategic stock.’

‘Hmmmm. Inconvenient,’ said James.

‘You bet. Some damn smart accountant was dispatched to go and sniff around 1,000 warehouses to check the amount of sugar there. Imagine his surprise when the little rat stuck his pole into the mound of sugar in the first warehouse. And rather than a mountain of sugar, he discovers instead a sprinkling of sugar over a mountain of concrete blocks. And a lot of red faces. A scenario that was repeated many times.’

Fang gave a little snigger when he arrived at the end of his story. He sat quietly waiting for Robbie to make the next move.

‘Imagine also,’ mused Robbie, ‘the level and extent of the corruption involved in executing this little “borrowing” scheme. And how unlikely it is that anyone would want this to blow out of proportion. Or even to become public knowledge.’

‘Exactly,’ said Fang quietly. ‘You always were an Ang Mo who appreciated the subtleties of situations like this.’

‘And also the possibility of using them to make money,’ snapped Robbie, his razor-sharp mind having evaluated the situation and decided a course of action.

‘My dear boy, what do you mean,’ said James, with mock concern.

‘I mean that if these people in high places want to keep their little scheme quiet and to replace the sugar without pushing up the market to the extent that it kills them, they will need to use the best people around who will handle the situation with the utmost discretion. And that becomes expensive. Very expensive.’

‘Good heavens, Robbie, are you finally coming over to the side of the enlightened and asking for a kickback?’ said Fang, genuinely surprised.

‘No, of course not,’ replied Robbie quickly. ‘I leave that sort of thing to others.’

James smiled.

‘What I mean is that Clyde and Clyde is the only company with the international contacts to put a deal like this together. And that they will want to make a bucket load of money doing it. For my part, I would hope that I would be amply rewarded by the company – but legitimately, not through some kind of backhander.’

‘That’s my good Englishman,’ said James. ‘As long as what was the Empire still has people like you in it, people like me can make a living!’

‘That as maybe,’ said Robbie, ‘but you still need to know how to put the deal together. Why don’t you ask me?’

‘Oh Lord,’ said James, ‘I thought we Asians were the only ones who liked to be given face. Very well, how would the Honourable English Gentleman propose to the Wily Oriental Gentleman to resolve this little problem?’

‘Not very simple,’ said Robbie. ‘A scheme that would make your… sorry, the sugar-borrowing scheme of the people in high places look like something from a kids’ story book. But it will cost you. First, you can order a bottle of Roederer Crystale on room service since I have just decided you are going to pick up the tab for the hotel. Then I’ll begin.’

Robbie continued as James groaned with mock grief and picked up the phone.

‘The small problem we face is how to purchase a hell of a large chunk of the sugar freely traded on the world market without causing a ripple. Or to put it more correctly, a tidal wave. A tidal wave of nasty rapacious people trying to get in there first and make a buck as we are forced to pay more and more for less and less. You know, it’s not just Indonesian farmers, property speculators and well-connected people who want to make a fast buck.’

As he spoke, Robbie looked quizzically at James and wondered to what extent the Wily Oriental Gentleman would himself be part of that tidal wave taking a safe bet on a one-way ticket up. For his part, Robbie had already decided to involve a discreetly located shelf company owned extremely indirectly by the house of Clyde and Clyde. It would purchase significant quantities of what would turn out to be white gold on the futures market. They would then sit quietly by, waiting to cash up as the price rose, as it inevitably would.

‘Robbie, I think we know the problem. It is the solution we are after,’ said James, not altogether kindly, as he tried to work out what was going through the mind of this devious Ang Mo who was staring at him so intently.

‘Relax, the kingdom of heaven belongs to those who have the grace to be quiet while world-class sugar traders explain what they are about,’ said Robbie, sensing the uncharacteristic tenseness beneath James’s normally suave exterior. He must really be in this up to the top of his oriental eyeballs.

‘My dear chap, I don’t think that the kingdom of heaven was ever high on my list of priorities despite the efforts you lot made to convert the heathen. Anyway, get on with it, for Christ’s sake.’

‘Okay, okay, calm down, I have given this rather a lot of thought over the past fifteen hours and I reckon if we play our cards right we could pull it off,’ continued Robbie.

‘The only hope in hell we have of disguising the enormous quantity involved is to lay false trails all along the way. We can’t hope that they will remain undiscovered forever. However, they have to remain secret until we have managed to buy enough sugar so that it doesn’t matter what people do.’

James nodded, waiting for Robbie to get to the nitty-gritty. One thing he had learnt during his years at Cranborough was that Englishmen take time.

‘I have already started building up cover on the futures market on your behalf, through a network of companies newly created in various tax havens around the world.’ And also a little bit for Clyde and Clyde, thought Robbie. ‘If we can make enough quiet purchases on the futures market then we won’t have to worry so much about buying the physical sugar. The futures contracts will act as a price insurance. Once we have the futures contracts in place then we can start buying the physical sugar.’

‘You mean a classic hedge – if the price of physical sugar goes up then it doesn’t matter since I already have a futures supply contract. The futures market will go up in sympathy with the physical market and I will be able to offset any big increase in the price of physical sugar by selling my futures contract?’

‘Exactly,’ said Robbie. ‘You have actually been paying attention during the trading that we have been doing over the years!’

‘Oh, you know what we Chinese are like. It doesn’t matter whether we are property speculators on Indonesia or Chinamen sugar traders!’

Robbie laughed and continued. ‘The plan seems to be working. Although the futures markets started to get a bit firmer yesterday in both London and New York, I don’t think anyone has really twigged what is going on. We will carry on buying futures as and when the market dips so as not to get things overheated. I reckon that as long as we keep our mouths shut and use as many smoke-screens as we have at our disposal we shan’t cause too many problems to begin with.’

‘Go on,’ mumbled James.

‘The next bit of the jigsaw will be to actually make the physical purchases. This is where you come in.’

‘Me?’ said James with mock surprise. ‘What, pray, am I supposed to be able to contribute to such a well thought out master plan?’

‘Easy,’ continued Robbie. ‘Origin contacts.’

‘Oh? How?’

‘Well, I am sure it hasn’t escaped you that the less distance you transport commodities, the less it costs.’

‘Robbie, you never cease to amaze me.’

‘Well, in the case of our little challenge, we need to find a country that has surplus sugar to export and is located near to China.’

‘Er, China?’ said James, beginning to feel that he was about to lose track of this devious Englishman.

‘Sure, where else do you send sugar when you don’t want it to be seen going to Indonesia?’

‘Don’t stop, I’m beginning to enjoy myself’

‘Well, it’s like this. The answer is Thailand. Which brings us to the next question.’

‘The answer to which is me?’ asked James.

‘Exactly,’ grinned Robbie. ‘Who else in this room is related to some of the biggest crooks in the Royal Kingdom, who to a man own sugar mills.’

‘I have to admit guilt, but where does China come in? The little problem exists in Indonesia.’

‘Sure, so the last thing you want is to advertise hundreds of thousands of tonnes of sugar destined to go there. Much better to lose the sugar in China, which is already a major buyer, and then quietly reroute it south.’

‘You are a crafty chap,’ said James, not altogether joking.

‘Oh, it gets better,’ continued Robbie. ‘What I want to do is a bit of magic to confuse matters even further. We buy a mixture of raw and refined sugar. All of it gets shipped to China. The refined sugar is delivered to the Chinese and then swapped for an equal quantity of white sugar available from a range of Chinese ports. The raw sugar gets delivered to a number of Chinese refineries, which process it into white sugar, which is then also swapped for export cargoes. Hey presto, the whole world gets totally confused and your friends slowly get out of a hole. All you have to do is to arrange with a few of your crooked relatives in Thailand to supply the mix of raw and refined sugar in the first place. I will arrange the rest.’

‘Consider it done,’ said James, relaxing in his leather armchair.

All conversation stopped as the two men sipped the ice-cold champagne. James felt a warm feeling of admiration sweeping over his body. He looked towards Robbie and smiled slowly. Perhaps his Swiss bank account would not be too badly damaged after all by the unfortunate events in Indonesia. If he was quick enough to start building up a personal sugar position of his own, he might even turn them to his advantage.

*

A little later in the evening, after James had departed, Robbie stood on his balcony under the stars, clutching his mobile phone. He drew a deep breath and rang Julia. To his relief, last night’s storm had blown over. The boys were at home on exeat and Julia was not only enjoying being a mother but also beginning to feel guilty about dispatching her husband half way round the world without saying goodbye. Robbie lowered his voice and spoke softly to Julia.

‘Look, something has come up…’

‘Robbie, I can’t hear you…’

‘Wait a minute.’

Robbie walked back into his room, shut the balcony door and looked nervously around the room. ‘Can you hear me n-n-ow?’

Julia reacted quickly to the telltale stutter. ‘Robbie… are you all right?’

‘Yes, yes… I guess I’m just t-t-tired,’ he lied. ‘Sweetie, I need you to do something for me… us.’

Julia sensed Robbie’s unease. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I think the market is going to go up like hell. I want us to buy sugar futures contracts before the market moves.’

‘But Robbie, you know you can’t do that… it’s… it’s against company policy.’

Robbie sighed heavily. He knew Julia was right, but this was their big chance. The chance he had been waiting for to get his drop-dead money.

‘I know I can’t do it. But you could.’

‘Oh no, I couldn’t,’ said Julia quickly, her scientist’s mind snapping into action. ‘It’d be just as illegal and you know it.’

‘Shhh, I know, I know. But if we do it right, no one will find out and we will make enough to r-r-retire on. I’m not pretending it’s legal.’

Julia said nothing as she digested what her husband was saying. He was asking her to be an accomplice in a blatant case of insider trading. She began to feel sick. ‘Robbie, do you know what you are saying?’

‘Yes. And I reckon we can do it in a foolproof way and make at least £5 million. People are doing it all the time. Why the hell shouldn’t I? I know exactly how the market works and how to take advantage of it. I’ve thought it through. I w-w-ant to go for it.’

Julia remained silent for a few seconds and then said quietly, ‘All right, Robbie. I trust you. What should I do…?’

*

By the time Robbie had finished giving Julia detailed instructions he was exhausted and almost fell into bed. As he drifted into sleep, Robbie dreamed of making enough money out of James’s little problem to retire forever from this madness. No more travelling at the drop of a hat to see little Chinamen. He would be permanently at home for the boys’ exeats and Julia’s dinner parties…