"The Roacherian Effect"  A novel by John C. Delavan

Chapter Twenty Six

Skipper and Patti check into the Mandarin and Skipper asked that Col. Ashbury meet with him at his earliest convenience. The colonel arrived at the Ambassador's Suite only a few minutes after the bellman ushered them through the impressive double hung doors.

"Mr. Mason? Col. Colin Ashbury, Chief of Security here at the Mandarin. It's very good to have you staying with us, sir. I've heard from Bert Johnson. I understand we're brothers in arms, so to speak. How can I be of service?" Col. Ashbury was tall, slim, well groomed and carried himself with the bearing typical of a career British military officer.

"I'm glad to meet you, too, Colonel. Bert's told me something of your background. That's why I wanted a word with you."

Skipper led the colonel away from Patti into the suite's neatly appointed bar area. "I need to arrange for protection for Patti while we're here in Hong Kong. She was recently kidnapped and ill-used by a group of religious fanatics. They may well try again. She's pretty fragile right now."

Skipper's genuine concern and direct manner coupled with the reputation which preceded him through Bert won Col. Ashbury's respect.

"Bert told me a little about the situation. All my men are former SAS troops of the highest caliber and they're armed. I hand selected them from my old unit and I'd match them against any on earth. We needn't discuss money as I've already been informed on that count. We're at your disposal. With your permission, I've taken the liberty of making some preliminary arrangements?" The Colonel raised an eyebrow and received a go ahead nod from Skipper.

"Beginning immediately I'll have two men assigned to Miss White and two more sitting outside your door twenty-four hours a day. Miss White will not be out of our protection unless she is within this suite and with you. When outside this suite she will be under our protection even when she is with you.

"I've also taken the liberty of placing one of our special security vehicles and a specially trained driver at Miss White's disposal. Will that be satisfactory?"

"More than satisfactory. But Colonel, you should know that people have already died in this. Please don't be insulted but I'd understand if you or your men were to decide not to accept the assignment."

"Nonsense! Wouldn't have it any other way. My boys are always moaning about being bored. 'Not enough action,' they say. Do us all good to be on our marks again. Right. That's settled, then?"

"Thank you very much, Colonel." They clasped hands, the common bond of honorable men who've been tempered by combat running strongly between them. True to his word, on his way out the Colonel posted two men. Skipper looked carefully into their eyes and smiled to himself. Their eyes had the steely glint of tested men.

* *

Skipper guided Patti into one of the hotel shops where they bought bathing suits, then into the hotel's health club. Skipper wanted to soak in the relaxing heat of the sauna to ease away some of the aches and pains he'd accumulated. It would do Patti a world of good, too.

He also decided to get a massage. Patti, who used to love massage, couldn't quite adjust to the idea of a stranger's hands on her. At least not yet.

She was, however, adjusting to the idea of having the two young Brit's always just behind her, always within arms reach. She was reassured by their quiet professionalism.

Relaxing in the soothing heat of the sauna her mind floated away to Africa. "Skipper," she said lazily, "do you think we could visit Africa? I've always wanted to see Africa -- the people and the herds of animals."

"We can spend the rest of our lives in Africa if you want. We've nothing else we have to do and I think between us we have enough money to do it with." Skipper was laying flat on his back soaking up the heat and letting the tension drain away with the sweat. He looked at Patti who seemed to get lovelier with each passing hour. The small lines of stress were beginning to melt away and her color was returning.

"Sure. You have plenty of money, Skipper, but I'm just a working stiff attorney who won't even have a job if I don't get back to LA soon."

"Oh. Did I forget to tell you? You inherited $750,000 today, give or take ten grand, compliments of the Reverend Kil Choong Pak."

Patti stared at the ceiling for a moment, then rolled over and looked at Skipper. He nodded his head and winked at her and her magnificent silver flecked blue eyes got a little bigger. "Are you serious, Skipper?"

"Uh huh," he nodded affirmatively.

Patti fell back and stared at the ceiling again, dumbstruck. "Thank you," she managed to squeak in a very small voice.

"No problem," Skipper said quietly while grinning happily.

Then Patti screamed, jumped to her feet and then onto Skipper, hugging him.

Skipper stood up laughing, lifting Patti in his arms.

"Yes", he thought, "a time in Africa might be just what the doctor ordered for her. Maybe a photo safari...hmmmm." He smiled and held her close. Later, in the massage room, Skipper winced in pain many times as the knots were worked out of his overtaxed muscles or a little too much pressure was accidentally put on one of his many bruises. The masseur wondered what cement mixer this guy had fallen into but he discretely refrained from asking.

After supper they went shopping for new wardrobes. Skipper, clear headed and feeling more at ease, had little trouble concealing his concern from Patti. But long before they finished shopping he spotted a new team following them. He quietly pointed them out to Pete and Tony, Patti's bodyguard team.

"Aye, we've been watchin' 'em, Sir. 'Aven't seen enough to get a make on 'em, yet."

By the time they returned to the Mandarin, Skipper had been able to observe them watching and following him for about an hour. "Soviets", he thought. "Crud! Now it's the Soviets!" Then he did a quick mental retake. " No, that's not right, the Soviets are out of business. But these guys are definitely trained KGB style." Pete and Tony concurred with his assessment.

Skipper continued to hide his concern and confusion from Patti while wondering how these new traveling companions fit into the picture. He felt the weight getting heavier, dragging him down and he fought to keep his spirits up for Patti's sake.

* *

Pak's followers quickly made him as comfortable as they could. The local members of The Way he found waiting for him were fanatic in their devotion. There weren't many of them in Hong Kong and they held little in the way of influential positions within the community. In fact for the most part they were quite poor. They did, however, possess the common denominator found among fanatics everywhere: unquestioning, blind devotion to their leader. They had been watching the bank since Pak made the request the hour of his arrival. Mason had either beaten him to Hong Kong, had been detained or just wasn't coming. Pak hoped for the "detained" option.

Later that afternoon Skipper won his fight with fatigue and depression by napping with Patti in their suite. Tomorrow he would have the "the boys" take Patti off to the most exclusive beauty salon in Hong Kong for an all-day, head-to-toe make-over. That would give him time to zero in on Pak if he was around. Skipper turned over and held Patti's sleeping form closer, shuddered briefly, then drifted off to sleep.

* *

"See you this afternoon, sweetheart." Skipper pecked Patti's cheek and, as she turned to enter the beauty salon, pretended to give her a playful slap on the backside.

"Skipper!" Patti laughed, trying to look angry but knowing he'd never actually do such a thing. At least not in public. "What will Tony and Pete think?" Patti glanced at the two security men.

"Only wot e's a bloody lucky sod!" muttered Tony.

They all laughed, then she waved and disappeared into the woman's world of hedonistic excess. Skipper received a reassuring nod from the two ex-SAS operatives as they followed her in.

It was good to see Patti laugh again. "Hong Kong Bank, please." The driver nodded and pulled the cab into traffic.

Skipper left the cab a block away from the bank and started walking. He wanted to get a good look at anyone who might be following him or who might be watching for him at the bank. He felt sure he would find Pak there, or at least someone connected with him.

Within a few yards he caught sight of two men quickly getting out of a private car at the corner behind him. The car barely stopped and was rolling again before the doors were closed. One of the pair immediately crossed the street and paralleled him while the other followed about twenty yards behind Skipper. These were the same two who'd followed him yesterday. " Their friends are probably searching my rooms at this very moment", he thought. Then he thought about Col. Ashbury's men who were on duty there even while Skipper and Patti were gone and a wry grin creased his face.

As Skipper entered the bank he spied Pak whom he recognized from General Kim's file photos. Over the top of his newspaper Pak was watching everyone who entered the bank.

Skipper stopped short causing him to be bumped from the rear. He stepped aside with a muttered apology. Quickly checking out his two shadows Skipper planned to ascertain if Pak had a copy of the microfilm. If Pak didn't have a copy he'd probably follow Skipper to get one.

He decided to run for Kowloon but only fast enough for Pak and his new traveling companions to follow. He didn't want to lose them. In the slums of the waterfront he would have a better chance of dealing with Pak and getting away without official hindrance than he would here in Hong Kong's business district. Turning, he walked briskly away from the bank toward Queensway. Sure enough, Pak was following. Skipper jumped into a passing cab. "Harbor Tunnel to Kowloon."

As the cab sped away Skipper watched Pak scrambling for another cab to follow and the two Soviet trained agents running for their car nearby. Two other men he didn't recognize also picked up the chase. The second pair looked enough like Skipper's duo they could have been stamped out by a cookie cutter. "Aha! Scuzzier and scuzzier", he thought. "But, the good side is: The Keystone Kops ride again! This should be very interesting..."

Once in Kowloon, Skipper directed the cabby into a sleazier section of town on the waterfront. The taxi driver noticed Skipper's attention on the cars behind.

"You got some trouble, sir?"

Skipper reached over the seat and shoved a HK 100 dollar bill into the driver's hand. "I'm having fun with my friends back there. Don't lose 'em, but keep moving and stay ahead of 'em. Get me right down on the docks without them getting any closer and I'll give you another one."

The taxi driver's smile almost split his face. "You betchee!"

Skipper had ridden in taxi cabs in nearly every city in the world where their wild driving was reputed to be a harrowing experience. He'd later allude to this ride as taking first prize as a maniacal art form. Skipper was at once terrified and laughing so hard his sides hurt and sometimes the tears in his eyes made it hard to see the cars behind them struggling to maintain contact. When his mad driver encountered too many pedestrians in the street he forced his way up sidewalks -- when there were sidewalks. His hand seemed permanently stuck to the horn and he physically nudged people out of the way with his bumpers. Twice they drove right over the displays of street vendors, sending food and goods flying, their owners shaking their fists in the air after them, then leaping for safety as Pak and the rest of the Keystone Kops barreled through.

"You ought to work at Disneyland." Skipper yelled.

"You betchee! Dizzyrand. Iiyeee!" was the driver's crazily laughing reply as he lead-footed the gas pedal like he was taking the lead at the Indy 500.

At last, in the worst section of the harbor, the cab could no longer make forward progress faster than a walk. Skipper pushed two more hundred dollar notes into the driver's hand. "Get lost fast. Those guys aren't friends and they might start shooting."

Handing Skipper a card the fat little man said, "Okay. You needee taxi you call. Okay, boss?"

Skipper took the card. "Okay. Be at the Mandarin Hotel at nine o'clock tonight. Wait for me."

"You betchee!" Doing his best Mario Andretti impersonation on the gas pedal he began nudging people out of the way, weaving through the crowds like he was driving a bumper car at the county fair. Skipper looked up to see Pak's cab forcing its way through the crowds about twenty yards away. Pak, seeing Skipper so close and on foot, jumped out of his cab and began running toward him. The cab driver stopped, left his cab blocking the road behind him and began running after Pak while screaming epithets in Chinese.

"Must have forgotten to pay the fare," Skipper thought. As he turned and ran up the gangplank of the nearest sampan Skipper entered another world: an age-old floating world of poverty and human suffering. There were drugs, prostitution, honest toil, sickness and lost pride here. The junks, sampans and floating hovels were moored one to another; the water they floated in festered with filth and a pervasive, rotten, stench. He moved as quickly as he could, jumping from one floating warren to another; ducking under hanging laundry, leaping over nearly naked children and all sorts of animals. Every few feet he elicited angry cries from outraged grandmothers and the shrieks of frightened children, many of whom had never been on dry land nor seen a giant with straw colored hair. It was dangerous here but Skipper was playing the odds and the odds of accomplishing what he'd set out to do were better here than on the other side of the harbor.

Glancing back as he ran Skipper could see Pak -- sometimes closer, sometimes further behind. Behind Pak he could see, or hear, the rest of the "Keystone Kops," the KGB-trained agents, shouting and trying to keep up. Pak's taxi driver had disappeared somewhere in the melee.

Skipper suddenly ran out of decks to run on. With nothing but fetid, oil slicked water ahead he ducked into the cabin of the last sampan, pressing his back against the wall and grabbing a meat cleaver from a chopping block just inside the door. Skipper now felt confident that Pak didn't have another set of plans and knew he must end it with him now or there would never be an end. They would hunt each other year after year until one was dead. And how many others would be wounded or die in the wake of their little war?

Pak stumbled on a haphazard pile of half-rotten rope and fell. Jumping to his feet he realized he was on the last sampan. Looking back he saw no one. Ahead was the harbor. A few half submerged dinghies were tied to the boat he stood on, but no Skipper Mason. He turned again, this time to see Mason standing right in front of him.

In an instant Pak slashed out with the dagger he kept hidden in the sleeve of his coat. "Die, Mason!"

Skipper dodged a half-step back, the blade slicing harmlessly through the material of his jacket. In the same instant he countered with the meat cleaver, cutting deeply into the flesh of Pak's knife arm.

Recoiling from the slicing pain of the cut Pak redirected his attack, spinning and kicking savagely at Skipper's head. Skipper deftly deflected the kick, knocking Pak momentarily off balance and narrowly dodging Pak's knife that came slashing in behind the kick. The blade left a gouge as it was deflected by the cast on Skipper's left arm.

Pak's spinning kick to Skipper's head was a mistake and Skipper capitalized on it. His own spinning heel kick caught Pak solidly at the base of the skull driving him face first against the side of the deck house. Dazed, Pak turned to face him just as the cleaver buried itself straight down in the top of his skull, driving in almost to his neck. Pak fell sideways like a tree landing face up with his head and the cleaver hanging over the side of the sampan, his body twitching. Skipper quickly searched Pak's pockets finding only three hundred HK dollars in cash and no ID. " Well, at least he was nice enough to pay my taxi fare."

He lifted the feet and Pak's body slid over the side into the filth below. The whole fight lasted less than five seconds.

Looking back, Skipper couldn't see the rest of the Keystone Kops -- yet. But he could hear them cursing and crashing closer. Gritting his teeth he dove as far out into the filthy water past Pak's body as he could.

* *

The Cuban agents arrived at the last sampan cautiously. It took them longer to reach the end of the row because they feared a trap and briefly searched each floating hovel as they passed it. Now they searched this one. In only a few seconds one of them called out. The others gathered as he pointed to Pak's corpse looking up at them with the handle of the cleaver protruding just above his nose. There is a bit of slime on his chin and a wad of wet paper on his chest. The body slowly sank beneath the dark oily surface.

Posting one of their number to watch this end and sending another back to the road, the last two began searching the boats again looking for Skipper.

* *

Skipper swam as far out into the bay as he could without surfacing, feeling somewhat hampered by the cast on his arm. His lungs labored trying to force him to breathe. Feeling the surge and hearing the drumming throb of an engine above him he swam deeper to avoid the propeller. The sudden severe turbulence created by the spinning blades told him they'd only narrowly missed his head. Kicking hard he neared the surface in time to get hit by the bow of a dinghy being towed behind the passing Junk. Driven further underwater again with a sharp pain in his head Skipper coughed, his lungs searing for want of air. He kicked hard and pulled with his arms, broke the surface and grabbed the aft gunwale of the dinghy on the far side away from the searching eyes of the Cubans. He coughed again quietly for several seconds until regaining his breath. Looking back he could clearly see the Cuban agents searching the boat he had been on. As they found Pak, Skipper turned and began looking for a way to get to shore.

Skipper emerged from the harbor still on the Kowloon side. Still dripping wet he bought some dry clothes in a small garment shop along the waterfront. After changing on the spot and simply walking away from his own wet, filthy clothes he flagged down a passing cab.

"Mandarin Hotel, please."

The driver turned in his seat and looked at Skipper's greasy appearance, ill fitting clothes, and sniffed the air.

Skipper unfolded a damp hundred dollar HK bill and popped it out straight between his hands. The driver quickly turned back around and pulled away from the curb.

"It's good to know some things never change."

* *

After showering and sharing a late lunch with Col. Ashbury Skipper went by a local Doctor's office and had his cast replaced, then returned to the Ambassador's Suite to wait for Patti. He was dozing when she returned with Tony and Pete, who were followed by a bellman pushing a cart heavily laden with purchases from several of Hong Kong's fashionable stores. She looked a little more "made up" than Skipper cared for or that she would ever have done on her own, but she appeared to feel better and Skipper liked that a lot.

"Skipper! Shopping here is wonderful. Did you have a nice day? I've got to wash off some of the gunk but the beauty parlor was fabulous." Patti rambled on, not letting Skipper get a word in. He didn't mind and just stood there smiling at her. When she stopped to catch her breath she looked at him and burst out laughing. They kissed and soon found themselves sinking down into the deep pile carpet...

Grinning broadly Tony and Pete grabbed the gawking bellman and returned to their post outside the doors.

Later that evening, at precisely nine o'clock, Skipper and Patti left the hotel for Kai Tak International Airport. On the way Crazy Lim, Skipper's looney taxi driver, took them to an exceptional Chinese restaurant. Skipper had a hunch Crazy Lim would prove useful again some day in the future.

He made a half-hearted attempt to be aware of his surroundings but his attention centered itself squarely on Patti. They were returning home briefly before resuming their round the world adventure. Skipper didn't think the Cuban agents would press the issue since he felt sure they would assume he had already disposed of the film, if he ever had it at all.

Skipper let his guard down somewhat more as soon as he noted the original agents were nowhere to be seen. He never noticed the loose contact which was maintained as they returned to the States.

"Follow him comrade, but keep it loose," said Gregori Carpov over the phone to his Hong Kong counterpart. "We'll bide our time and get what we want from this end."