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He had been planted years before to work the shipping lanes for Soviet Intelligence. He had sailed on one tramp steamer after another, sometimes signing on with a major line and once he'd even worked a cruise ship. When the Soviet Union collapsed he was recruited almost immediately by his former boss to work for a new organization based in Cuba. Nothing had changed.

Now he'd been ordered to kill another human being. His target was a Korean who had signed on a tramp steamer as an able bodied seaman. Nicholas was to kill him and find a roll of microfilm. It didn't matter what happened to the Korean's body but the microfilm must be turned over to his superiors at the docks in Hong Kong. He'd been promised promotion and a large house in Havana for succeeding and success was just what Nicholas had in mind.

Although Skipper wanted to get to Hong Kong as soon as possible he was concerned about the effect another abrupt departure would have on Patti. He would rather tell her about their planned departure ahead of time, spend another day in Korea sightseeing, then leave for Hong Kong according to a set schedule. Having things come off the way they'd been planned would be important to her right now.

The day following their departure from Chun Chon, Skipper and Patti, with the two ROK Black Beret Sergeants in tow, drove into Kyongju to visit the beautiful Pulguska Temple and Sokkuram, the cave temple. Skipper was wonderfully entertaining as well as informative as he escorted Patti and the two Koreans on a grand tour which he conducted in both English and Korean because the two soldiers spoke no English and had never been there.

"Pulguska Buddhist Temple," he explained in his best professional tour guide voice, "was first built during the Silla Dynasty in 751 A.D. This temple is considered to be the number one Korean national treasure.

"Sokkuram is a cave temple, and the striking carved stone Buddha inside is considered to be one of the finest surviving examples of Korean stone carving. The images of the warrior Keumgang which guard either side of the entrance are depicted in a martial arts pose. The Korean martial arts, such as Taekwondo and Hapkido, are able to document their origins back more than two thousand years using these and similar images from tombs located in what is now North Korea. This makes the documented history of Korean martial arts roughly a thousand years older than either Chinese kung-fu or Japanese karate."

The two soldiers and other Koreans around who had stopped to listen, were already familiar with most of the history. But hearing it in almost flawless Korean coming from the lips of a "Meegook" caused them to look at each other in almost slack-jawed surprise. They were amazed that a "Meegook" could, or would care to, know so much about their national history let alone speak the language virtually as well as they did. When Skipper finished his oration they all broke out in spontaneous applause. Skipper broke out laughing.

Patti was so caught up in the quiet, calming beauty of the huge temples she'd nearly forgotten her fatigue and fear.

Upon their return to Seoul Patti sat wide-eyed in front of the television watching a Korean news broadcast. She thought it was charming the way the male and female newscasters greeted their audience and bowed. Then, on the screen, another beautiful temple was being pictured -- before and after. The "after" was a smoking rubble with most of the mountain behind it missing. "Skipper, what's happened? What are they saying?"

"Um? Oh, that. That temple was destroyed the other day. Unfortunately the mountain caved in on it."

"Oh, how tragic. I wish I could have visited it before it was ruined."

"You did. That's where Pak was holding you." Skipper went over and sat down next to Patti. Her eyes were big in a mixture of fear and hatred. As he put his arm around her shoulders she shivered. "When I went back I pitched a fit about the room service. Guess we got a little carried away but it's one place you'll never have to worry about again." Patti looked at Skipper wide-eyed but said nothing.

The following day right on schedule Skipper and Patti flew to Hong Kong.

Patti sipped from a glass of surprisingly good Bordeaux as she and Skipper enjoyed a quiet dinner aboard the airliner. Patti was feeling just a little "glow" from the deep red wine. "I don't usually drink red wine when I fly," she told Skipper. "An attorney I know flew up to Sacramento to argue a brief before the Supreme Court. He was late for the appearance because the plane hit an air pocket and he dumped his wine down his front and into his lap.

"Since he hadn't planned to stay over he didn't have a change of clothes. He had to walk into a dry cleaners, strip down and wait while they cleaned his suit and his underclothes. They gave him a sheet to wrap in so I imagine he looked like a Roman Senator. He would never have said anything except that the opposing team was on the same flight and quite happily spread the story around when they all got back.

"Wish I'd been there to see it, he must have looked ridiculous. He's such a pompous ass," she added giggling at the mental picture. Skipper was pleased to notice Patti beginning to show some signs of recovery. The dark circles under her eyes were fading as was the tightly drawn, "stressed" look which had haunted her face recently. Although still anxious when she was alone she'd been much less jumpy when he was nearby. It would take time but she was a survivor and Skipper thought she would be okay. He would see to it she got professional counseling when they returned home.

Well into the third day of his voyage Pak was still maintaining the ruse of being seasick. He had remained in his cramped cabin for the entire journey while another crewman, who seemed concerned for him, brought him his meals. Pak noticed the man seemed to spend a lot of time looking around his cabin...with more than casual interest.

Nicholas had been taking meals to Pak's quarters. He had seen nothing of interest except that Pak hadn't unpacked anything which would make searching the room much easier when the time came. He would have to be fast because he planned to kill the man and search the room just as they reached their berth in Hong Kong tomorrow. Then he would jump ship and report in. There wouldn't be room for delays.

After they exited customs Skipper and Patti walked leisurely down the main concourse of Kai Tak International Airport on the Kowloon side of Hong Kong.

Outside Skipper hailed a cab. "Cross Harbor Tunnel, driver. Mandarin Hotel, please." Patti had seen references to the Mandarin in travel brochures, it was one of the most exclusive hotels in Hong Kong.

"The Mandarin? We are going first class, aren't we?" she said, smiling at Skipper. She thought the trip through the tunnel was exciting (having never been in a long tunnel before) and everything was so different from Korea. She had thought they would be the same but she had been very wrong. Emerging on the Hong Kong side they entered the main part of the city and Patti was instantly enchanted, looking wide eyed from side to side at the sights and the people.

"Stop the cab." Skipper startled Patti and the driver, who stomped on the brakes with both feet and almost got rear ended by a truck loaded with vegetables. "I'll double your fare if you'll drive around the block until I come back out," he said. "I have to take care of something in that bank."

Patti started to protest but Skipper quickly reassured her with a story about having to get some more cash, then he was gone before she could say anything else. She settled back to look around nervously as the driver circled the block. This part of Hong Kong looked unlike any other city in the world, not to mention the fact that most of the signs were in Chinese. Easily recognizable, though, were the signs for the big international companies like Coca Cola, Sony, Rolex and Mercedes. Hong Kong has it's own mystical, magical, ultra-modern persona.

Skipper hadn't thought about stopping at the bank on the way in but when he saw it looming right there in front of them he decided to go right in and get whatever might be there. Hopefully he had beaten Pak to it. If not he'd keep his eyes open for whatever might happen.

He was mildly surprised when he presented the card and the key. The teller at the safe-deposit desk of the Hong Kong Bank didn't pay much attention to the card at first but took the number of the key and went to the card file. From there she hurried to a supervisor's desk. Then both came back to Skipper. The supervisor asked to see the card and then personally ushered Skipper into the vault. The card was right. No questions were asked, no further identification required, no signature card to sign. Opening the locked cover and pulling out the large drawer the supervisor assisted Skipper in pulling the drawer out onto a cart -- the drawer weighed just over 150 pounds.

Skipper, sitting alone in a private booth carefully opened the big safe deposit drawer. Inside were seven and one half bundles of used, pressed $100 bills. 100 bills to a strap, ten straps to a bundle, for a total of $750,000.

Skipper whistled softly and asked the supervisor to assist him in transferring the funds. At first he thought he'd transfer most of this to his personal account in California. Changing his mind he transferred $740,000.00 to his Swiss account and exchanged the rest for Hong Kong bills which he stuffed into his pockets. "After all," he chuckled, "Man cannot live by credit card alone." He'd call his business manager in Los Angeles later that day and have a trust fund established in Patti's name into which he would place the full $740,000.

Skipper left the bank just as the cab pulled up to the curb in front. He had been inside the bank just over half an hour.

When he opened the cab door Patti jumped and let out a startled cry. Recognizing this as a common symptom of post traumatic stress disorder from which he also suffered Skipper was inside and holding her before she could utter another word, gently reassuring her.

"Sorry I was gone so long. From now on I'll always have someone with you when I can't be. Here, I think you should take this and buy yourself a new a new life," he said, handing her ten crisp, new HK 100 dollar notes and kissing her loudly in a playful way. The taxi driver had been watching them in the mirror and hadn't re-started the cab yet. Skipper motioned for him to proceed without looking up; he was suddenly too busy to talk.

Bert was pretending to work on his new loss-prevention program for Intertech. He'd been promoted to a vice presidency and, though the "powers that be" were still worried, they'd been happy with Bert's performance and the way things had turned out so far -- Matsue notwithstanding.

He told only the CEO about the strong possibility that another set of plans existed outside Intertech's walls and about Skipper's ongoing attempts to track Pak down. The CEO had decided to withhold this information from all but another two top people in the company. News like this leaking out could have a negative impact on the stockholders.

At the twice weekly business meeting a junior VP who was not privy to this information started to complain when Bert mentioned authorizing Skipper's trip to Hong Kong. The CEO shut down the complaint before it was even fully voiced.

"This man saved us from the worst of all possible disasters," he said. "If he wants to go to the God damned moon, Intertech'll foot the bill and grin about it! While you're at it Bert, tell the 'bean counters' to increase his payment by fifty -- uh, make that twenty percent when you get his bill!"

Bert almost choked. He knew Skipper's bill wouldn't be small but this wasn't the time to squash the Old Man's good mood.

Back in his office, Bert was startled when the phone rang. "Johnson here."

"Bert, Patti and I are in Hong Kong. Do you know anybody here I can trust to handle security for Patti when I can't be with her?"

Bert and Skipper often jumped into telephone conversations as though they'd been in the same closet together for the past three hours. "That one's easy, Skip. British guy named Colonel Collin Ashbury. Spent nearly all his twenty years' military service with the Special Air Service. A straight shooter type. He's honest, and had the balls to walk out on his government when they secretly backed a terrorist who'd "done" a couple of his SAS guys. He's now Chief of Security for the Mandarin Hotel in Hong Kong. I spent some time with him at the last International Security Conference."

"Convenient! I'm in the lobby of the Mandarin now and am on my way to check in -- I reserved the Ambassador's Suite. I'll look up Ashbury. Hey, if you need to talk privately call me with a ruse and I'll get back to you on a safe phone."

They hung up, each with their minds now on new problems. Bert immediately placed a call to Col. Ashbury.

Skipper was impressed with Colin Ashbury's credentials. The Special Air Service is the British outfit roughly equivalent to the U.S. Delta Force and specialized in working primarily anti-terrorist assignments. They are some of the toughest, most highly trained soldiers in the world. Provided he hadn't spent all his time pushing paper he'd be a formidable opponent to anyone hassling Patti. Skipper would know more when he met him and could personally "take his measure."

Nicholas Surai was ready. Pak hadn't emerged from his cabin during the entire voyage. In fact he actually seemed even more sick the last two times Nicholas had been to check on him. It wouldn't be hard, he thought. During the three-and-a-half day voyage Nicholas had slipped a table knife from the galley, then put a very sharp point and an even sharper edge on it. He had been taught never to use his own weapons if he could avoid it. After wrapping the handle in a thick layer of adhesive tape he slipped the knife into a sheath made from a folded toilet paper tube and then carefully into the waistband of his denim trousers, letting his loose shirt-tail cover the handle. Outside his cabin he stole quietly and unobserved toward Pak's small quarters.

Nicholas knocked then pushed the door open without waiting for an answer and saw Pak standing near his bunk going through one of his bags. Nicholas lunged across the few feet of the room, the knife flashing up from his waist -- but Pak wasn't there any more.

Pak had sidestepped and turned, his open hand deflecting the blade, then trapping Nicholas' wrist.

Nicholas gasped in pain as the wrist twisted and the ligaments tore. He was thrown through the air and crashed head first into the iron bulkhead.

As if by magic Pak now had the knife and it flashed as it sliced through Nicholas' thigh near the groin completely severing the femoral artery. Before Nicholas could make a sound the knife flashed again, this time cutting Nicholas' throat to the neck bones, silencing him forever.

Pak rushed for the sink. His hand was bleeding from a gash in his palm. He washed the wound and was pleased to see it wasn't deep. He would see a doctor ashore to stitch it up. For now he wadded a piece of an undershirt into his partially closed fist, gripped it tightly and wrapped the rest of the shirt around it, tying it at the wrist. It would hold for now.

Grabbing his small bag he headed for the gang-plank and was soon hidden in Hong Kong's crowds where he'd find a few followers who were expecting him.

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