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The Brewery and the "Fish Tank".

"The cast, too, didn't recognize me on stage that final night. The truth is, I had many years of using a disguise for my own survival, and one little pause, one stumble, one error, no matter how trivial meant I would have died at the whim of either Malay security police or the Thai military.

"I was the group's spy, and wearing contact lenses to hide my blue 'Christian' eyes I was sent to villages to gather information, to purchase food, or to lead the special visitors back to the camp which was constantly moving.

"My disguise lessons included lessons in the Holy Koran so I could worship with Malays, and lessons in Buddhism so I could pass unnoticed in a throng of believers.

"I was about ten and was wandering down a jungle track when I felt a pair of small grubby hands pulling me into the thickets. An Orang Kanaq, a Malay aborigine, squatted in front of me and his words surprised me.

"'It is time. It is time for The Little One to become a man,' he said.

"That was when the most important education of my life started. I became an assassin. The aborigines taught me to kill. They taught me to shoot until I became an expert sharpshooter and a killer, and I didn't always have to use a gun.

"They intended to use this Matt Selah to rid the jungle of this evil, believing the gang would never suspect this young boy -- their spy - of being capable of inflicting death. The aborigines knew the Chinese culture well.

Peter rose and silently moved to the back of the altar. He produced a cigarette box that he placed on the coffee table. Carefully he picked out a small cigarette-like piece of bamboo, hollowed his lips and puffed.

The family watched silently as this was so unexpected. The story had ceased and Peter had taken center stage.

"Andrew, try to move your right arm."

Andrew looked down to see his shirt pinned to the arm of his chair by a small bamboo dart. He shuddered.

Peter continued. "That dart wasn't poisoned, but had it been, it could just as easily have struck you in the throat and you would've died instantly. Look at the dart and you're looking at death. Yes, Eric and Elizabeth, I can ride horses, ride motor bikes and sing and dance but to my shame and horror -- I'm a trained killer."

Eric and Elizabeth studied each other for some clue as to how they would treat their new son-in-law, yet they both knew there was no choice.

This man had saved their daughter's life and had begged for their permission to marry her. It was obvious their daughter loved him, and his history, although hideous, was in the past after all.

There wasn't a sound as Peter retrieved the dart and replaced it even more carefully in the blowpipe, which he replaced in the cigarette box. He looked at the faces before him in the family circle.

"For about four years I learnt to become a killing machine - experienced in making poisons, accurate with my winged death and with guns. There were intensive training sessions in unarmed combat where the aim was to put the opposition down to stay down.

I had a comprehensive education in everything from death to language lessons, reading lessons, religious lessons, math lessons and lessons in pain." He almost shrieked the word 'pain' as though he could feel the rattan cane lashing into him still.

The family winced. The pictures Peter painted were so vivid they could almost see his turmoil and smell his hatred. They certainly shared his anguish.

"Suddenly, the games became more dangerous. The gang brought four prisoners into the clearing - twin Chinese girls and twin Tamil girls.

Because the girls were twins the gang considered them good luck and had kidnapped them to gain finances from two powerful, wealthy families. One family was in Singapore the other in Malaysia.

"My mother, knowing the horrors that faced them as prisoners of her evil lover went hysterical at the sight, and that day my beating with the rattan cane was most severe.

"Not content with ensuring my back was running in blood and then rub

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