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"The Roacherian Effect" A novel by John C. Delavan
Chapter Twenty Nine
Skipper guided the BMW around the freeway off-ramp at a speed that seemed to Bert to be just above the legal limit for Concorde jets and aimed the car into the mountains toward Big Bear. The cabin was now only about thirty minutes away. Bert had been silent most of the trip and sat staring straight ahead. He looked relaxed, or maybe just resigned to his fate. Skipper knew he'd be okay when the chips were down and left him alone. Driving in companionable silence the two old friends were lost in their own thoughts, not needing the pretense of idle chatter. Skipper had been to the cabin before so no conversation was necessary even to ask directions.
Rain was falling and the windshield wipers beat a mesmerizing rhythm punctuated by the headlights of cars coming down the mountain. It was still daylight but visibility dropped as they climbed through low clouds. Skipper had noticed a car following them earlier but lost it a few miles back.
Phillip Weston arrived at Bert's cabin sometime after dawn. For the first twenty minutes he sat in the living room staring out the front window and nearly fainted in fright when a squirrel suddenly ran through the leaves in the front yard and up a tree. The squirrel stopped on the tree trunk, looked curiously at Phillip through the front window, flicked its tail, then continued on its busy way. Phillip stared at the spot the squirrel just left, his heart pumping wildly, then chastised himself.
"Get hold of yourself, Phillip. You're safe here and Mr. Johnson will call later to let you know what's going on. Let's get some heat going in here." Looking around the cabin he couldn't find a thermostat so he stuffed logs into the wood stove. Not knowing anything about lighting fires it took more than an hour, one entire Sunday edition of the Los Angeles Times (including the comics) and a full box of kitchen matches before the wood started burning on its own.
"What the hell?!" Phillip coughed and stumbled backward as smoke billowed into the room. "Smoke is supposed to go UP the chimney!"
Grabbing a magazine he tried to fan the smoke back into the stove but only made the situation worse and set off the smoke detector in the kitchen. Frightened by the sudden, nerve jarring screech Phillip screamed and dove under the coffee table knocking magazines and a ceramic bowl of hard candies all over the floor.
Finally realizing that the ear-splitting noise was the smoke detector and not Armageddon, Phillip regained control of himself. Feeling a little foolish he began to look at the wood stove with the scientific reasoning he possessed in abundance. Soon the solution became obvious -- the flue wasn't open -- and he got the smoke going in the right direction. He opened windows and doors for a few minutes to get the smoke out and cleaned up the living room. Within the hour Phillip was warm and life looked a little more cheery.
Patti stopped for gas again when they reached their turn-off at the June Lake Loop north of Mammoth Lakes. After leaving Highway 395 she skirted June and Gull lakes, made her way through the small community of Silver Lake and turned off on the little dirt road leading to Skipper's "cabin" on the eastern shore.
The "cabin" was actually a sprawling hillside log home on three levels with two master suites, four additional bedrooms, three bathrooms and a three-car attached garage. Sitting on a hundred and fifty acres of virgin forest which bordered thousands of acres of the Inyo National Forest, the cabin also had a huge wooden hot tub in a "bath house/atrium" off the den and a complete shop for any project from woodworking to black smithing to automobile repair.
Although it had been featured in Log Home magazine the actual location of the home and the real owner's name had been carefully omitted from the article. The property, like all Skipper's properties, was owned by a corporation which was owned by yet another corporation which was registered in Gibraltar... Skipper carefully paid his taxes, but liked his privacy.
Patti turned off one dirt road onto another and pressed a remote control on the Jeep's visor. A gate up ahead slid open, then shut when she pressed the button again after they'd driven through. Surrounded by evergreen trees the cabin wasn't visible from the road. In fact Patti and Mary couldn't see it at all until they were more than halfway down the winding drive and almost a quarter mile in from the gate.
The entire scene was tranquil and relaxing -- part of the reason Patti enjoyed coming up here. She looked over at Mary who'd never been here before. She was staring straight ahead with a slight smile on her face. The headlights couldn't light up the entire house but enough was visible through the dark and the lightly falling snow to charm anyone. Patti punched the garage door opener and a number of lights came on around the house as the door began to rise.
"Come on Mary. Let's get this stuff inside and get a fire going."
"Wow! This is a lot bigger than our place at Big Bear. How much did it cost?" Mary always thought in dollars and cents. To her way of thinking if you didn't pay more than anyone else did, it must not be any good. She'd rather pay twice as much for the same pair of designer jeans just to say she got them from a more expensive store.
"I've really no idea. Skipper had it built two years ago from his own plans. There's a lot more to it than meets the eye."
"I'll bet! I can't wait for the grand tour! Bert has his work cut out for him."
Patti just raised an eyebrow.
Phillip jumped as headlights illuminated the entire room.
"Oh God, they've found me! They're here to kill me!"
His first thought was to run for the back door; but he was frozen in place, completely unable to move. Terror stricken, he watched two men get out of a car and run through the rain to the front door. As the door opened he screamed and bolted toward the rear of the cabin.
"Phillip!"
Weston screamed again, tripped over an ottoman, fell and struck his head against the breakfast bar separating the kitchen from the living room.
As his vision cleared Phillip began to struggle.
"Leave me alone! Please don't kill me! Oh, God! Please ... "
"Take it easy son, it's me, Bert Johnson. Nobody's gonna hurt you."
Phillip didn't recognize the person leaning over him but he could see Bert peering over the stranger's shoulder.
"Phillip, this is Skipper Mason. He's a friend of mine you can trust with your life -- and that's just what you'll have to do from now on. Let him look at your head, Phillip. He knows what he's doing."
Phillip relaxed slightly and a wave of nausea passed over him. As the dark spots in front of his eyes faded they were replaced by a splitting pain in his left temple.
"Ow! That hurts!" Phillip yelled.
"You'll have a headache for awhile but you'll live," Skipper pronounced as he gently probed the area, then took a flashlight off the counter and checked Phillip's pupil reaction. Satisfied, he stood up and looked around the room. The scent in the air told him the fire in the stove had been started without opening the flue. Obviously Weston had figured out his own mistake. The fire was sputtering a little, but burning. He poked the logs into a better arrangement and the fire began to burn better right away.
"I never was any good at outdoor stuff."
Skipper turned toward Weston who was standing a few feet away looking sheepish.
"Sorry about my behavior. I'm Phillip Weston. Thanks for your help." Phillip stepped forward timidly and held out his hand.
"No problem. Skipper Mason. Glad to meet you, Phillip." Skipper took Phillip's slim hand in a firm grip that made Weston feel strangely safer than he did before.
"Are you a doctor?" Phillip asked.
"No, but before he became an officer he was a Green Beret Medical Aidman which is the next best thing on this planet," Bert answered for Skipper. "We were sorry to see him take a commission. Skipper was the best medic in Group," he added, referring to the 5th Special Forces Group, Airborne -- one of the Green Beret units in which he and Skipper served together.
"Of course we changed our collective minds when we had to put up with him as our commander," he continued, grinning, knowing his comments made Skipper uncomfortable.
Skipper looked at Bert as though he were about to discount what his friend was saying. He didn't like hearing glowing remarks about himself. It made him feel a little self-conscious. He also didn't like people knowing too much about him. Skipper preferred anonymity.
Phillip looked at Skipper. Bert's words hadn't meant very much to him. He knew nothing about the military...and he'd never heard of the Green Berets.