Free Singapore Sling Shot by Andrew Grant

“and there’s more.” There was another click and the sound of electrics at work and the level I was looking at was whisked away skywards after the other. Now I was looking at cars, little models of cars, hundreds perhaps thousands of them. This new level was a giant car park. The support columns and foundations of the buildings above separated dozens of car-parking areas. It was like looking down on the compartments of a giant beehive. Access roads, like veins, led to arteries which in turn led into a huge concourse that fed up and onto the entrance and exits to the bridge.
    â€œCar parking for ten thousand vehicles on two levels,” Sami said. “No vehicles on the streets above but for electric trams and, of course, the Grand Prix racers and other events.”
    â€œYou what?”
    â€œUsing the bridge, the roads around Marina Bay and the island, we envisage the world’s most unique Grand Prix circuit. We can dock eight of the world’s largest luxury liners at one time and provide a racing circuit that can be as long as twelve kilometres with possibly the best spectator viewing of any.” He paused. “Those are just some of the many little innovations that have been designed into the project. Under the car parks we have a desalination plant and a fresh water storage reservoir the size of the island that goes right to the sea floor. Fresh water, of course, floats on salt water, so the sea itself will provide the actual base for the water storage area.
    â€œBloody hell!
    â€œYes, Daniel. The plan is that the consortium will build the island structure and the bridge itself sans buildings. The government will build the MRT and other investors will build everything else. We will be the landlords and, of course, our rents and profit-share arrangements will be worth many billions a year. This is my retirement fund.”
    â€œWhat the hell are you going to build it out of?”
    â€œSteel and concrete, Daniel, in huge quantities. A massive collection of steel casements driven into the sea floor and drained. This will gradually create what amounts to a dry hole in the sea. When the lower level is sealed and filled with water it will add to the structural strength of the whole and everything else will be built around and over it, layer upon layer like a wedding cake. You could consider, in construction terms that it is rather like a giant oil rig.” Sami was like a kid now. His enthusiasm was almost contagious. I don’t think for many years, if ever, I have seen him so animated.
    â€œYes, Daniel. Five years, six billion dollars and that’s just the groundwork. And that brings us to the present and the man who killed Stanley.” The smile vanished. Now it was to the business in hand. The transition was instantaneous. Another layer of Sami Somsak had been revealed and just as quickly hidden again. I wondered if I would ever have a glimpse of that Sami again.
    â€œThe man who wanted Stanley’s share of the pie, which in effect was my share, is Thomas Lu.”
    â€œWho is he?”
    â€œA nasty character. Singapore born. Mixed ancestry. Made a great deal of money through some particularly dubious means.” Sami looked at me with a half smile. This was potentially the pot calling the kettle black. He moved towards his desk, leaving much of the model of Intella Island suspended in the air behind him. The island was obviously on hold in more ways than one until other business had been dealt with.
    Sami sat behind the desk while I took a chair to one side. Sami flicked a button on his laptop and turned it so I could see the screen. There was a street shot that had been taken of a man coming down a flight of broad steps. There were other people in the shot but the man in the centre of the screen was so distinctive he would have stood out in a crowded wide-angle shot. Lu was a tall, thin Chinese man with a mass of straight black hair worn thick at the back,