Prologue
The Singapore police handcuffed me and paraded me through the power plant, past the guard shack, and to a patrol boat waiting at the dock. Even though there was a cabin, they sat me in the open air at the back of the boat. I kept my head down against the blinding daylight. Michael’s words kept repeating in my mind, “Don’t talk to anyone until someone from the US Embassy is with you.” My physical state went from unsteady to nauseous.
Once we cleared the pier, a policeman sat beside me. “You’re in big trouble, my friend,” he said. The captain aimed the bow at the mainland and pushed down the throttle. The boat leapt into action. My body bounced up and down as we zoomed across the open water.
Sure, now we’re in a hurry.
It only took a few moments of bouncing for my stomach to declare its contents had to be expelled. I stood up to try to throw up over the side, but the officer forced me back to the bench seat. I puked to my left, which went on my shirt, jeans, and the bench next to me. Another officer grabbed some towels and tried to clean up the mess as he bounded around the back seat. When he finished, he put a bucket between my legs. I was thankful for the fresh air blasting my face, which kept the smell away. With the first policeman gripping my shoulder, my head bobbed and swiveled with the motion of the boat. It was misery.
Once we were in sight of Jurong Pier, a new horror came to mind. I had never restored the new programs to the Simulator. The disc was still in my backpack, which sat on the deck by one of the policemen.
Which carries a higher penalty – assault causing grievous injury or software piracy?
No one wants to cause an international incident, but I did it on my first try.
Day 0
“Bloody Mary. You with me?” the gray-haired man asked, leaning toward me. It was a quarter past nine in the morning, and we had made it to southern Connecticut on our New York–Tokyo flight.
“I’m there,” I said. One must be social.
“Good,” The old man said. “I never talk to the person next to me unless he drinks with me.”
“I hear ya.”
“Two Bloody Marys, hold the stalks!” he called the flight attendant several rows away. “If you don’t say that, you end up with a tree sticking out of your drink.”
“Thanks for the tip. I don’t appreciate plants in my beverages.”
“Hi, I’m Bud Parker, by the way.”
“Kurt Barnes.” A quick, firm handshake. “Where are you from, Bud?”
“Originally, Chicago. Now my wife and I live in Singapore,” Bud said.
“Hey, that’s where I’m headed.”
“You’ll enjoy it. Beautiful place, friendly people.”
“Actually, I’ve never been to Asia before.”
“Then be glad your trip doesn’t end in Tokyo,” Bud said. “I’ve found Tokyo to be the opposite of Singapore. The service is good, but people aren’t friendly, especially to white guys. Japanese are more reticent.”
“Hmm.”
“It’s ironic. We share our technology with all of the Asian countries, their economies boom, and some of them won’t talk to you when you sit next to them in a bar.”
The flight attendant set down our Bloody Marys. Bud was right; trees were sticking out of them.
“Next time, when I say ‘hold the stalks,’ I mean I don’t want half a salad in my drink.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” the flight attendant apologized. “Would you like me to bring you another one?”
“No thanks. I’ve already uprooted the problem.”
After she left, Bud leaned in. “One thing you’ll notice in Singapore, everyone is so polite, and the service is exceptional. People go out of their way to make sure you’re taken care of. Just wait until we are on the Tokyo-to-Singapore flight. The Asian stewardesses will be exquisite and eager to please. In fact, you need to try an Asian girl in Singapore.”
He winked at me, which made his statement go from offensive to creepy.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“What are you doing in Singapore?” Bud asked.
“My company has a simulator there, mimics a power plant control room for operator training. I’m installing some software there.”
“An engineer, huh? You must be good,” Bud said. “Hope you don’t mind me saying, but you look a little young to be traveling for the company.”
I do mind, and I could point out that you look a little old and a little married to be sizing up women.
“I’ve been with the company about three years,” I said. This was a stretch, even if you counted co-op periods and the six months as a regular employee. “I’m kind of a software whiz kid.”
“I’m in manufacturing myself,” Bud said. “My company invented the bottle cap and still makes the best in the world.” He drained half his drink. “Speaking of bottles, this airline carries a ton of Asian beers. They take pride in their selection. I think I’ll have a Tsingtao. The joys of business class. You with me on this one, Kurt?”
“Sure, Bud.”
And so it went. The next three hours were:
“Kirin — you with me?”
“Sapporo — you with me?”
“Suntory — you with me?”
“Tiger — you with me?”
All of it interspersed with a bland meal and the world according to Bud Parker, international philosopher and bottle cap maker.
I felt a wave of relief when the flight attendant finally listed every Asian beer on board, and I realized we had tried them all. The relief was short-lived.
“Hmm,” Bud said. “We could switch to other imports. I know they’ve got Canadian and German…”
What are we on a flying bar? I tried to keep my expression thoughtful instead of pained.
Before I could answer, Bud told the flight attendant, “On second thought…”
His pause gave me hope. Are we done?
“Let me have a Singapore Sling,” Bud said. “You with me?”
Yes, we are done with the beer tour, but we are starting a new one.
And then it hit me. This wasn’t politeness. This was a challenge. This weathered, 130-pound senior wanted to drink me under the table. Some trophy he could brag about to his post-middle-aged buddies. Screw him.
“Sure, I’m with you,” I said. “And maybe some beer nuts or something?” It was time to hunker down for the long haul.
We made it through margaritas, mojitos, and daiquiris during the first movie, There’s Something About Mary. Bud howled at the slapstick. At the start of the second movie, he picked pina coladas. The sugary combination of the last two selections was a concern for my stomach. Contrary to Bud’s description of American flight attendants, ours seemed to know what was happening. She kept me supplied with bags of pretzels and mini-muffins. Fortunately, the second movie was subtitled, which put Bud to sleep within minutes. I took advantage of the undeclared respite with a magazine before succumbing to sleep as well.
I woke up still drunk, but optimistic that we would be landing soon. A glance at my watch revealed we had two more hours aboard this airborne distillery. Bud noticed.
“Oh, Kurt, you’re awake. I’m about to have a White Russian. You with me?”
It was the bell for the start of the next round.