Welcome to

Where YOU can learn to survive!

Back
Home
Up
Next

Pak had been driving his engineers with a fury born of his desire for total global domination - a desire his twisted mind now believed was his birthright.

Nearly a week had passed since he'd left his mountain for Chun Chon and Pak's people had almost completed the Roacherian Effect device. They all expressed the opinion that building the various pieces of the device from the plans they'd been given would be quite simple but they couldn't quite figure out what their individual pieces would do and Pak hadn't told them the machine's purpose. He intentionally prevented any one person from seeing the entire set of drawings and papers until it was time for final assembly. Only his most trusted electrical and mechanical engineers would be involved in the final assembly of the device and would be aware of its function. These few were also fanatically devoted members of The Way.

Pak was in the shop overseeing the final stages of assembly of each of the separate components when a peasant appeared at the outer office requesting to see him.

"Sir, I'm sorry to bother you with such a small matter but I understand you're wondering about the location of a meegook (American) named Mason. I have this information and my family has very little rice."

Pak understood the request that he be paid for the information. He'd offered a large reward for knowledge of Skipper's whereabouts.

"You'll be handsomely rewarded for this information if it's true. Please, tell me and I'll send my people out to find him immediately. If you're right and this is the man I'm seeking, you'll have enough money to keep you and your family fed for the rest of your lives. I am always honored to help someone who's been of service to me."

Nervously scratching his backside the man began telling Pak about his customary habit of eating his morning meal at the Seoul Plaza Hotel before attending to his own "business" located in that area of the city. Pak listened intently to the man whom he rightly guessed had a menial job near the hotel and had never set foot inside. He let him ramble.

"I heard from my business acquaintances that you're searching for an American driving a certain car. I've personally seen him at the hotel."

Pak instantly locked eyes with him. "Seoul Plaza? Is he staying there?"

"He left the car with my friend who works for the hotel and then checked in. He's staying in room 216 right now." The man bowed deeply and looked at Pak with eager expectancy. Pak snatched up the telephone.

"Inform Arnburg that Skipper Mason is staying at the Seoul Plaza Hotel, room 216. He is to leave immediately. Give him a car, a driver and anything else he requires." Pak took a deep breath, and gently replaced the handset in its cradle.

"Please, my friend. Come to our lunchroom and eat anything you like. I'll know very soon if this is indeed the man I'm seeking. If it is you will have your money immediately." Pak smiled his best conspiratorial smile and showed him into the lunchroom. Instead of eating lunch, though, his body was loaded into a crate and carried out the back door to the large trash incinerator.

Pak wondered if there would be a trap waiting for Arnburg when he arrived at the hotel. It seemed a little too obvious for Mason to leave Pak's car with parking attendants and register at the hotel under his own name. Perhaps he'd get his own try at matching wits with Mason yet.

The device was nearly complete and his engineers expected to have it operational within two days. Pak decided they would finish it in one -- or else. If Mason got by Arnburg then Pak wanted the device ready. Furthermore he himself planned to be well out of sight until it was time for him to assume total supreme power.

Skipper was sitting in the hotel restaurant with his back against the wall as usual. From his vantage point he could see everyone who entered. Although he'd seen photographs of Pak and a few of his top people he knew he might have difficulty remembering Arnburg and probably couldn't spot any of Pak's men. He tried hard to visualize Arnburg betting it would be he who showed up sooner or later. All he could come up with was a hazy image that looked like everyone else.

Skipper had been carefully going about his business and looking like a normal tourist. He'd visited the small ancient palace across the street from the hotel and did a little clothes shopping in the small shops clogging the area around the hotel. He'd been looking into so many faces he almost missed Arnburg when he stepped into the restaurant with a Korean girl on his arm. Giving him a "double take," Skipper suddenly connected the face to Arnburg even with the girl thrown in for disguise.

"Well, well, Jack Arnburg. You do fit in slightly better than Freddy, don't you?" Skipper thought. Arnburg had a little more class than Peterson who was infinitely more vulgar; but Arnburg's class was affected.

Arnburg surreptitiously scanned the room. When his eyes landed on Skipper he stopped, then continued to look around. Before he finished taking in the entire room his attention shot back to Skipper. "Mason!" Arnburg suddenly remembered this American who'd been dogging him and who'd killed Freddy. His thoughts raced back through time to his Army days and the Green Beret officer who'd been in charge of a mobile training team or MTT as they called them. This is that officer. A wave of rage passed across Arnburg's face. He abruptly turned and literally dragged the girl out of the room. She yelled loudly about not getting the fancy meal she'd been promised and called Arnburg every dirty name in English she knew. She possessed a vocabulary any Chief Petty Officer in the old time U.S. Navy would have been proud of.

Skipper almost laughed out loud. Arnburg had obviously picked up a prostitute as a cover and her complaining made him stand out all the more. The fact that he'd so obviously recognized Skipper clinched his identification.

Skipper quietly folded his napkin and left his table. As he passed the cashier he handed her a large denomination Won note. It was far too much for his bill and when he told her to keep the change her eyes got big. He followed Arnburg through the immense, curving lobby and out the front doors.

Dumping the hooker as soon as he hit the street Arnburg hoped he'd gotten out of the hotel without Mason spotting him. He was totally unnerved when he turned to go back inside and saw Mason staring at him from less than twenty feet away. Skipper smiled. The hunter had now become the hunted.

Arnburg turned and began walking toward the stairs leading to the mini shopping mall beneath the gigantic intersection in front of the hotel. Many large intersections in Seoul have such underground shopping areas -- built to serve both as access to the new subways, and to route pedestrians under the vehicular traffic above.

Hoping to lose Skipper in the crowds and maze of small shops Arnburg pushed his way down the steps and angled off into a hall of shops; then cut through one of the stores to emerge into a parallel hallway. As he changed directions again he stopped dead in his tracks. Skipper was leaning against a support pillar looking at him, this time only ten feet away. The slight grin on Skippers face shook Arnburg and his face contorted in rage. He turned and walked slowly through the shop trying to collect his thoughts. He knew Skipper wouldn't try anything with so many people around. Arnburg needed a temporary escape to reverse the roles and become the hunter again. He was a deadly assassin and a good fighter but knew instinctively he'd come out a poor second best in a face-to-face fight with Mason.

Emerging from the other side of the shop Arnburg noted that Skipper hadn't appeared here yet. Breaking into a run he dodged through the crowds to the stairs leading up to the old palace side of the intersection.

Skipper saw Arnburg running toward him through the crowd. From his vantage point just inside an overcrowded clothing store he remained unobserved as he watched Arnburg bolt up the stairs. Skipper edged his way out of the shop and strolled at a moderate pace in the same direction.

"That's right, Arnburg. Run", Skipper thought. "The harder you try to go fast, the more slowly you'll move. Those steps are icy, boy!"

Reaching the top step Skipper saw how right he'd been. Arnburg was picking himself up off the icy walkway only to slip again as he tried to continue running. Without looking for Skipper he turned and entered the old palace. As he passed through the front gate he looked back but wasn't able to see Skipper's head above the rest in the short line behind him. He also wasn't aware that the front entrance was the only way in or out without climbing a very high wall topped with razor ribbon.

Arnburg wanted to be sure he was well away from Mason and looking quickly at the small guide leaflet he received with his ticket he decided to hurry straight back to the art gallery at the rear of the palace grounds. He glanced back once again when he was well inside but the crowd around the entrance made identifying anyone difficult and he didn't see Mason's blond hair above the sea of darker Korean heads.

Continuing on at a brisk pace he passed young Korean girls in their Hanbok, colorful traditional costumes, posing for pictures in front of the elaborately carved and detailed old palace buildings and statues and the sightseers strolling at a more leisurely pace with their breath hanging in frozen clouds on the brisk winter air.

Skipper allowed him to take a longer lead then bought his own ticket and entered the grounds. He had no trouble keeping Arnburg in sight once he'd picked him out of the crowd. From the route he took he'd end up at the art gallery. He wouldn't be close to a fence until then so Skipper took a parallel line and stopped at the end of the last building where he watched Arnburg mount the steps and go inside. Skipper sat down to wait. Arnburg had to reappear at this end of the gallery. It was the only way out. If the crowds were still light when he did then something might be done here. He'd know soon enough.

Arnburg was regaining his composure. His pace slowed and his breathing became less labored as he passed through halls of majestic statuary and huge paintings. He felt sure he had given Mason the slip but he remained alert just the same. If he'd lost him, Mason would probably return to his hotel and check out as soon as possible and Arnburg wanted to be in position to tail him. Once Mason had established himself in a new location Arnburg would wait for him to leave then be waiting to ambush him in his room when he returned.

"Then, 'Goodby, Mr. Mason,'" Jack said to himself, laughing at the thought. He stepped out into the daylight and carefully looked around. All clear. He sauntered down the path...right toward the building where Skipper was hiding.

Skipper moved back slightly when he saw Arnburg step out of the gallery which had once been sleeping quarters for the queen's servants. The crowds were gone from this area and Arnburg's path would lead him to within inches of Skipper's hiding place.

Arnburg approached the corner and slowed his pace even more. No sense in being foolish, certainly not with what he'd seen of Mason's abilities so far. As he stepped carefully around the corner he saw movement out of the corner of his eye but was able to move back only a few inches before the knife edge of a hand struck him across the bridge of the nose. He felt the bones crush and blood gushed from the wound. He started to sag and stagger back but a powerful hand gripped the front of his coat and pulled him off his feet into the building.

As he hit the floor Arnburg kicked savagely upward and made good, solid contact.

Skipper anticipated the kick and twisted his pelvis enough to catch the force of the blow at the top of his thigh, but he didn't anticipate the power. Arnburg's kick momentarily paralyzed Skipper's leg. He lot his grip on Arnburg's coat and staggered back trying to get his leg working again.

When Skipper let go of his coat Jack rolled away. He arched his back and kicked out, "kipping" up to a standing position while shaking his head to clear the nausea and peering through tears and blood. He launched his counterattack with a flying side kick.

Because Arnburg couldn't see well his kick was a little off target. Even so, against a lesser opponent the kick could have ended the fight.

Ducking slightly to his left at the last split second Skipper deflected the foot with his right hand then shoved the leg upward, turning Arnburg upside down in the air. Skipper added his own body weight to Arnburg's by grabbing his shirt and belt and drove Jack's head into the floor. There was a loud cracking sound as several of the ancient floorboards splintered. Deftly flipping Arnburg over Skipper wrenched his neck around but in doing so discovered it was already broken. Arnburg's body quivered twice, then lay still.

Skipper quickly frisked Arnburg but found nothing of interest. He hadn't expected to. As soon as he'd seen Arnburg in the restaurant he'd known that Pak had pulled a switch and that Arnburg no longer had the plans. He'd come here to kill Skipper and retrieve what he thought were the real plans.

Quickly getting up and away from Arnburg's body Skipper slowed his stride and left the palace at a leisurely pace so as not to attract attention to himself -- the Korean authorities frowned on people killing each other in their national historical buildings.

Skipper was watchful as he made his way the short distance back to the hotel. Beside the heavy dose of adrenaline that was still pumping through his system he couldn't discount the possibility that Arnburg had brought along some backup. He packed up the few belonging and new purchases he had, and checked out of the hotel. By the time he reached the outskirts of Seoul without encountering further difficulty he began to breath more easily.

"Skipper!" Patti threw herself into his arms, holding him tightly. "I'm so glad you're back. The Lee's have been wonderful but I was so worried while you were gone."

"Not to worry. I just did a little shopping and saw an old palace. I guess for some people it might have been a pain in the neck. Anyway I'm back, just like I promised."

Skipper put out inquiries through Master Lee's relatives and connections asking for information about Pak's whereabouts. Skipper had a feeling Pak might not be in his mountain hideaway right now. He was wrong.

That evening Skipper and Patti were cooking kalbe, a Korean meat dish, on a small brazier when the many air-raid sirens around town began to wail and Master Lee's brother knocked on the frame of the rice paper door to their room. He brought news of a strange and catastrophic event.

"Mr. Mason," Lee said, "a very strange thing has occurred in Japan. In a part of the city of Matsue all the people are dead. All the animals are dead. Nothing lives there anymore but nothing else appears to be damaged. Korea is now on full national alert because our authorities are afraid of a similar thing happening here."

Master Lee's brother was speaking in Korean so Patti couldn't understand what was being said, but she could read faces well enough to know something was very wrong. She shivered as the icy tentacles of fear crept deep within her.

"Has any terrorist group claimed responsibility, Mr. Lee?" Skipper asked.

"I've not heard of any."

Skipper had to find Pak, and quickly. He had the device operational now and the world could be brought to it's knees before him.

"Thank you, Mr. Lee. Please keep me informed of any further news. Oh, yes -- have you any news of Kil Choong Pak?"

"Yes. I'm sorry, I forgot. We have a nephew who works for an electronics company here in town. He said Pak had been here for over a week having some machines built. He returned to his mountain last night. Our nephew said when Pak left he was laughing and laughing like he was a crazy man. He took several of his top engineers with him. I hope this information is of value to you."

Skipper was already lost in thought but managed to speak. "Yes, thank you, Mr. Lee. I'll be leaving again tonight. Will you watch over Miss White for me?" Lee bowed and left the room. Skipper went to the phone and called Bert.

The frightened Japanese policeman was being questioned by concerned officials for the fifth time in as many hours. He was visibly shaken and tired, repeating his story over and over. It didn't get any easier for him. He and his family had lived in the affected area of Matsue; and he had been assigned to a small police "box," controlling a major intersection of highways, just a few miles northwest of the city.

"You must have seen something." the harried investigator repeated. "Did a plane fly overhead at a low altitude, or a missile? Did you see any suspicious looking people pass your position? THINK. You must know something."

The distraught officer knew only that he'd suddenly felt ill, vomited and passed out. When he awoke he found his fellow policemen dead and the passengers and driver of a bus that had stopped at their station also dead or dying. He'd called the main station in Matsue, just a few blocks away, for assistance but there had been no answer. He'd then called the Headquarters of the Super Highway Supervising Division at the Traffic Bureau.

At first the officer of the watch that day thought a lunatic or practical joker had called. He thought again when his office was suddenly flooded with reports of interrupted telephone conversations with official offices in Matsue, and of television transmissions suddenly going haywire only to return to the air with commentators slumped over on their desks before the cameras.

He dispatched an investigating party and placed a call to the military. Initial reports indicated no traffic moving in or leaving the affected area and the officer in question seemed to be in full possession of his faculties although very upset. A flyover of the area by a reconnaissance plane showed an eerie sight. Nothing was moving and there appeared to be many traffic accidents and bodies. The bodies were everywhere. Human and animal.