The 'hot' invitation was to a special screening of what appeared to be a prominent politician having sex with a young Chinese woman.
"It is huge and explosive!" said the female voice on the phone, her sudden call the prelude to an unlikely adventure for this Parliament reporter, still struggling to cope with Monday blues.
"I am in Parliament, can I check with my boss first?" I asked casually, wondering how big the news really was.
I leaned back to rest my back against the leather sofa, sitting amidst fellow reporters in the lobby of the Dewan Rakyat, head still woozy from having to say goodbye to Sunday.
"This is bigger than Parliament, if you want the story be at the main lobby of Carcosa Seri Negara at 11.45am sharp," she said, delivering the clincher.
I drove out of the Parliament compound at 10.10am, the guard on duty at the main gate looked at me with a quizzical expression on his face. Wondering why a reporter is leaving early, perhaps? Just as the question session is about to start.
Suddenly realising that I had left Parliament rather early to go to the Carcosa Seri Negara, which is just a stone's throw away, I drove around the area several times until 10.50am. After which I drove towards the guarded gate of the luxury hotel.
I waved at the guard, who smiled and pointed me to where the main lobby was.
Parking my car, I briskly walked to the lobby, joining several other reporters from the mainstream and alternative media, who also seemed to have been informed of whatever it is that was brewing.
One of them, whom I know quite well, waved at me and I joined the group, trudging up the path. Exchanging notes while walking, none of us seem to know what was going on.
The lobby of the posh hotel was eerily quiet as I entered, with the two grey-uniformed staff on duty speaking in whispers as my soft-soled shoes stamped upon aged carpets.
Muffled voices drifted from the dining area off the left of the main entrance.
Heading towards the dining area, I was greeted by three mainstream reporters, senior journalists from Utusan Malaysia, New Straits Times and Berita Harian.
All three were sitting down, their faces unreadable masks, smiling that half-smile of insiders sharing an inside secret.
Unopened bottles of wine stood on a side table, wine goblets arrayed on nearby tables, part of the decor or perhaps in anticipation of a private dinner.
Muzak was piped into the room via concealed speakers, music that somehow seem off-tune, helter-skelter-like, one that grates upon the nerves.
“The music is so eerie!” said one young female reporter, shivering as if trying to ward of some non-existent cold wind.
“I feel like I am in the Godfather,” she added mentioning the Martin Scorsese cult classic based around the fictional organised crime figure, Michael Corleone.
“All of you so serious and like you are in the know, while I am here like an outsider,” she added, referring to the mainstream reporters' all-knowing look.
The reporters smiled collectively, and further prodding only returned a vague, “just enjoy the show”, remark, and that they did not want to spoil it for us.
More reporters began to stream in, with more and more handshakes, quizzical looks, head shakes and blank looks exchanged.
As 11.45am approached, the mainstream reporters left, finally revealing that they had already seen a video clip of an opposition leader caught in very “compromising positions”.
The remaining reporters stewed in the minutes after they left, and every minute seemed to drag for an eternity.
Rumours poured in from SMS, BBM and emails, as phones and Blackberries jarred to life delivering one minutiae after another. Wild tales ranging from another clip from a prominent MCA leader to one of an opposition figure, killing us not so softly with heart-wrenching anticipation.
At 12.10pm, relief appeared in the form of a small framed and careful looking man wearing dark sunglasses, and dressed in dark suit sans tie.
Walking softly down the grand staircase, he was attended to by an large heavyset man who acted like his bodyguard, and who was dressed in a dark brown suit.
“Where are you from?” asked the soft-spoken careful looking man, gathering business cards and identifying each and every reporter with careful and measured gestures. I could feel his eyes boring into every face from behind his dark-glassed eye-fortress.
“Okay, there are too many of you guys, so we shall break into groups. You, you, you and you first,” he said, pointing to a senior Bernama editor and reporters from FreeMalaysiaToday, The Malaysian Insider and Harakah.
“You guys wait here first. We have to do it this way as security precaution,” he said, adding that once upstairs, all of us would have to leave our electronic equipment and gadgets behind. Even pens and notebooks are not allowed.
Without identifying himself to anyone, Mr Sunglasses led the small subdued group up the grand staircase, as we waited below. He said that it would take about 20 minutes for the viewing, as his 'bodyguard' watched us closely.
The lobby turned silent again, not even the pitter-patter of feet disturbing the tension, as those left behind waited in tortured silence.
Sometime before 1pm, just before the batch that went up finished their viewing, Mr Sunglasses waited ominously at the foot of the stairs to announce that the viewing session had to be relocated for security reasons.
“You don't worry, I shall call you after 2 O'clock and tell you where the next viewing is,” he assured the waiting reporters, collecting more business cards from those who newly arrived.
Disappointed, the reporters milled about, some left and others waited around, hoping to get lucky.
I was feeling rather disappointed as well, thinking that I had gotten all worked up for nothing, but midway up the stairs, Mr Sunglasses called out, “Malaysiakini!”.
“Yes sir!” I answered immediately.
“FreeMalaysiakini, come up, I want to speak to you,” he said. - Malaysiakini
"It is huge and explosive!" said the female voice on the phone, her sudden call the prelude to an unlikely adventure for this Parliament reporter, still struggling to cope with Monday blues.
"I am in Parliament, can I check with my boss first?" I asked casually, wondering how big the news really was.
I leaned back to rest my back against the leather sofa, sitting amidst fellow reporters in the lobby of the Dewan Rakyat, head still woozy from having to say goodbye to Sunday.
"This is bigger than Parliament, if you want the story be at the main lobby of Carcosa Seri Negara at 11.45am sharp," she said, delivering the clincher.
I drove out of the Parliament compound at 10.10am, the guard on duty at the main gate looked at me with a quizzical expression on his face. Wondering why a reporter is leaving early, perhaps? Just as the question session is about to start.
Suddenly realising that I had left Parliament rather early to go to the Carcosa Seri Negara, which is just a stone's throw away, I drove around the area several times until 10.50am. After which I drove towards the guarded gate of the luxury hotel.
I waved at the guard, who smiled and pointed me to where the main lobby was.
Parking my car, I briskly walked to the lobby, joining several other reporters from the mainstream and alternative media, who also seemed to have been informed of whatever it is that was brewing.
One of them, whom I know quite well, waved at me and I joined the group, trudging up the path. Exchanging notes while walking, none of us seem to know what was going on.
The lobby of the posh hotel was eerily quiet as I entered, with the two grey-uniformed staff on duty speaking in whispers as my soft-soled shoes stamped upon aged carpets.
Muffled voices drifted from the dining area off the left of the main entrance.
Heading towards the dining area, I was greeted by three mainstream reporters, senior journalists from Utusan Malaysia, New Straits Times and Berita Harian.
All three were sitting down, their faces unreadable masks, smiling that half-smile of insiders sharing an inside secret.
Unopened bottles of wine stood on a side table, wine goblets arrayed on nearby tables, part of the decor or perhaps in anticipation of a private dinner.
Muzak was piped into the room via concealed speakers, music that somehow seem off-tune, helter-skelter-like, one that grates upon the nerves.
“The music is so eerie!” said one young female reporter, shivering as if trying to ward of some non-existent cold wind.
“I feel like I am in the Godfather,” she added mentioning the Martin Scorsese cult classic based around the fictional organised crime figure, Michael Corleone.
“All of you so serious and like you are in the know, while I am here like an outsider,” she added, referring to the mainstream reporters' all-knowing look.
The reporters smiled collectively, and further prodding only returned a vague, “just enjoy the show”, remark, and that they did not want to spoil it for us.
More reporters began to stream in, with more and more handshakes, quizzical looks, head shakes and blank looks exchanged.
As 11.45am approached, the mainstream reporters left, finally revealing that they had already seen a video clip of an opposition leader caught in very “compromising positions”.
The remaining reporters stewed in the minutes after they left, and every minute seemed to drag for an eternity.
Rumours poured in from SMS, BBM and emails, as phones and Blackberries jarred to life delivering one minutiae after another. Wild tales ranging from another clip from a prominent MCA leader to one of an opposition figure, killing us not so softly with heart-wrenching anticipation.
At 12.10pm, relief appeared in the form of a small framed and careful looking man wearing dark sunglasses, and dressed in dark suit sans tie.
Walking softly down the grand staircase, he was attended to by an large heavyset man who acted like his bodyguard, and who was dressed in a dark brown suit.
“Where are you from?” asked the soft-spoken careful looking man, gathering business cards and identifying each and every reporter with careful and measured gestures. I could feel his eyes boring into every face from behind his dark-glassed eye-fortress.
“Okay, there are too many of you guys, so we shall break into groups. You, you, you and you first,” he said, pointing to a senior Bernama editor and reporters from FreeMalaysiaToday, The Malaysian Insider and Harakah.
“You guys wait here first. We have to do it this way as security precaution,” he said, adding that once upstairs, all of us would have to leave our electronic equipment and gadgets behind. Even pens and notebooks are not allowed.
Without identifying himself to anyone, Mr Sunglasses led the small subdued group up the grand staircase, as we waited below. He said that it would take about 20 minutes for the viewing, as his 'bodyguard' watched us closely.
The lobby turned silent again, not even the pitter-patter of feet disturbing the tension, as those left behind waited in tortured silence.
Sometime before 1pm, just before the batch that went up finished their viewing, Mr Sunglasses waited ominously at the foot of the stairs to announce that the viewing session had to be relocated for security reasons.
“You don't worry, I shall call you after 2 O'clock and tell you where the next viewing is,” he assured the waiting reporters, collecting more business cards from those who newly arrived.
Disappointed, the reporters milled about, some left and others waited around, hoping to get lucky.
I was feeling rather disappointed as well, thinking that I had gotten all worked up for nothing, but midway up the stairs, Mr Sunglasses called out, “Malaysiakini!”.
“Yes sir!” I answered immediately.
“FreeMalaysiakini, come up, I want to speak to you,” he said. - Malaysiakini
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