by Allan Cole
Mark was appalled at what his sharp tongue had done. He said, “Why don’t you finish telling us what’s up, Doc. And I promise that this time I won’t interrupt.”
Ann gave him a look so full of gratitude that Mark blushed, feeling sorrier than ever.
She took a deep breath, then said, “The Phoenix House will be offering services to the people who need them the most. Otherwise I wouldn’t have agreed to this situation. I want you two to know that. But, you’re right, Mark. It is a cover of sorts.”
She took another deep breath and added, “We’re basically setting up a very special CIA safehouse right smack in the middle of the Pacific where it is needed most – just check out CNN and you’ll know how screwed things are this side of the ocean.”
Mark couldn’t help himself. He was totally bewildered by this turn of events. He asked, “A CIA safehouse? What in the hell is that?”
Ann glanced over at Ruth, who was just as rattled. She said, “We will provide medical care and secure quarters for sick and injured people who are, shall we say, friends of the CIA. Or, undercover CIA agents who need medical care and a brief period of sanctuary.”
By now, Zach had recovered. He gave Ann another hug, then climbed back on his chair, picking up his Nintendo and battling on. Ann watched him closely, then turned to her friends.
Mark said, “I get it. It’s sort of a B&B for sick spooks and refugees from injustice – is that the idea? And the reason we’re getting such hot salaries is that – shoot, instead of the golden hammer, we get the platinum stethoscope. Right, Doc?”
“Exactly,” Ann said. “And let me make this really plain… Just like I made it plain to the higher authorities… No patient of ours will be questioned or pressured on these premises. We are simply offering certain ‘special’ clients a safe place to stay and superb medical treatment. In return, we get to offer the best medical care possible to indigent people free of charge. The bill – including our salaries – will be paid in full by good old Uncle Sam.”
She took a sip of tea to freshen her throat, then looked nervously at Ruth and Mark. “So what do you guys think?”
Ruth and Mark exchanged long looks. An almost telepathic message of agreement passed between them. But Ann was getting edgy. What the hell was their answer?
“Well?”
Her two friends broke into wide smiles. “You’re on, Dr. D,” Ruth said.
And the moment collapsed into hugs and tears all around. Zach watched them all quite calmly, his thumbs racing on the Nintendo.
He reached the end of a game segment and the Nintendo shrilled a little tune of victory.
CHAPTER TWELVE
In Singapore, the karaoke joint was jumpin’ at the Kit Kat Klub. A raucous crowd of tourists, local business people and hookers shouted drunken cheers as a fat little guy, wearing a ten-gallon cowboy hat and the uniform of a Changi Airport security inspector, brayed an American cowboy song in badly accented English.
The audience wasn’t cheering for the pudgy security guy, so much as for the two gorgeous bargirls who bracketed him. They wore super miniskirts, cowgirl hats and thigh-high white cowboy boots.
Many, many greenback dollars dangled from their tiny, white halter tops, with long leather fringes.
In accented English, the Karaoke guy sang: “Oh, I’ve got spurs that jingle, jangle, jingle…”
The Bargirls chorused agreement, “He’s got spurs that jingle, jangle, jingle…”
The Karaoke guy sang: “… As I go riding merrily along…”
And the bargirls chorused: “… As he goes riding merrily along…”
*****
In the back room of the club, Ah Beng and two of his knuckle-draggers watched the performance on a large TV security monitor. Ah Beng was much amused at the onscreen clown, thumping his hand in time to the music as karaokeboy cried:
“… And I shout, Oh, ain’t I glad that I am single…”
And the bargirls replied, “… And he shouts, Oh, ain’t he glad that he is single…”
Ah Beng was so intrigued by the girls that he caught the eye of his main man, and nodded. He got a thumbs up in return: the women would be delivered to him later.
Immediately, the gangster grew bored at the onscreen antics. He palmed a button, cutting the sound – but not the picture - and called out, “Captain Pierce?”
His bodyguards remained glued to the screen, laughing at the posturing of the fat Karaoke guy and the bargirls. But even as they admired the girls’ fabulous miniskirts and tiny halter tops, they kept a close watch on the far door as it came open.
A tall, deadly-looking English gent entered the room. Ah Beng’s men relaxed. This was an ally.
“I was wondering where you had gotten to, Pierce,” Ah Beng said with a scowl as the well-dressed Englishman joined him.
Pierce was formerly of the Hong Kong police and was the current owner of the Kit Kat Klub. A thin white knife scar ran from his right temple to his chin. In short, he was an experienced crook of the first order.
Pierce looked up at the onstage antics and grinned. “That chap not only looks like a toad, he sounds like one,” he said.
He turned to Ah Beng. “I should probably give Hotsko and Kiko a bonus,” he said. “I’m not paying them nearly enough to deal with that sort.”
“Never mind the girls, Captain Pierce,” Ah Beng said. “It’s you I’m concerned about right now. Have you earned the ample sum I paid you?” He nodded at the Karaoke singer. “And what about this fellow? Has he earned his keep as well?”
“Never fear, Ah Beng,” Captain Pierce said. “I’ve not only got you the goods, but I have them all on video discs. Airport security discs, to be exact…” He indicated the Karaoke cowboy warbling silently on the screen. “…Thanks to our toadish friend.”
He went to the long bar where Ah Beng and his men were seated, picked up the remote device and pressed buttons. The fat “cowboy” vanished, to be replaced by grainy color images from a security camera, showing travelers carrying or wheeling luggage up to airport security barriers.
Pierce said, “As you can imagine, we were facing hundreds of hours of this stuff – twenty four hours a day, seven days a week… people filing through multiple lines, setting off bells, getting frisked, etc, etc. The main problem was not letting one’s eyes glaze over while waiting for our quarry to appear.”
Ah Beng was not impressed. “I paid for eyes that were alert, not glazed,” he said.
Captain Pierce snorted. “Bloody hell,” he said. “We’re all human, aren’t we? Human beings' eyes glaze over when faced with so many non-entities. Unless they possess not a whit of intelligence.”
He looked pointedly at Ah Beng’s bodyguards, who knew they were being insulted, but couldn’t figure out how. Pierce laughed, then punched a button and the scene sped up, people moving at a pace so crazy that it made Ah Beng’s boys laugh. Then the whole thing became a blur, but at the bottom of the screen numbers scrolled, marking the passage of tape and time.
Ah Beng was growing weary of the whole exercise – his own eyes were starting to glaze over. It was also apparent that he was reining in his temper. He didn’t like the fact that Pierce didn’t fear him. And he was frustrated because, at least for the foreseeable future, he’d have to put up with the man.
He said, “Just tell me, Captain. Do you have what I want, or not?”
Pierce chuckled. “I not only have what you want, old boy,” he said. “But I have it in spades, as the saying goes.”
At that moment he saw a certain series of frame numbers speeding by and he paused the tape. “Watch this,” he said.
Pierce clicked the video forward frame by frame, until slightly blurry images of Ann and Zach could be seen going through the security line. Ah Beng’s eyes widened and his irritation vanished.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “Freeze that.”
Pierce obliged.
“Now go close on the boy.”
Pierce zoomed in on Zach.
/> “Hold it, hold it,” Ah Beng ordered. “Now zoom in on that thing he’s got in his hands.”
Pierce did so, revealing a beautiful close-up of Zach’s brand new Nintendo.
Ah Beng smiled. “Well, well, Jack Donovan, you cunning old devil, you.” Chuckling, he added, “That’s where Jack Donovan hid the real chip. He showed me the bloody game machine when the exchange for the boy was being made. He said it was new a toy he bought the child to calm him down.
"I remember now, that before the deal transpired he pushed past us, knelt by his son and gave him the machine. Frightened as he was, the boy was still delighted. Then they embraced. I thought nothing of the touching little scene.
"Then he foisted off a fraudulent chip on us. But before we discovered his deception, he pulled one of his famous vanishing acts. Except this time, his luck came up a bit short and met a bullet with his name on it. Even so, he managed to elude us for quite some time.”
He sighed and shook his head in admiration. “I must admit that I’ll miss Donovan. Such a clever fellow. I have inside information that to this day, not even Mr. Donovan’s CIA masters know where the chip is.”
Ah Beng considered a moment, then added. “Even better for our purposes, it’s apparent that the boy still has it.”
He looked at Pierce and said, “The question is – where might that boy be?”
Pierce shrugged, moved behind the bar and made himself a whiskey and soda, no ice. He said, “The word is that the sister’s being quite loyal and protective in the extreme of her new-found sibling.”
He put a hand across his heart in mock appreciation. “There was even, I was informed, an eloquent promise to that effect made at her father’s memorial services.” He wiped a non-existent tear. “I was terribly moved.” He drained his whisky and made another.
Ah Beng was visibly unmoved. He was getting increasingly irritated at Pierce’s ways. “Captain Pierce,” he said. “If you are trying to impress me with your efforts in order to raise the price we have already agreed upon – let’s just say I’ll take it under consideration… Meanwhile, sir, have you found them, or not?”
“I have found them,” Pierce said.
Ah Beng smiled broadly. “How and where?” he asked.
Pierce said, “Not to over-inflate my efforts. After all, you did provide the particulars of her friends and colleagues at Doctors Without Borders.” He raised his glass in a mock toast. “Such a worthy organization. Makes one bemoan one’s own shallow purpose in life.”
He drank more of his drink, then topped it off with a splash of whiskey. “Charitable feelings aside,” he continued, “my people did a thorough check on two particular friends of the good Dr. Donovan. A Mr. Mark Corey and a Ms. Ruth Guerra. Ms. Guerra is a single woman, never married, and currently without a lover, or even a casual boyfriend. Mr. Corey is similarly bereft of an affectionate male companion.”
Ah Beng frowned. “What are you saying?”
Pierce shrugged – how could it be plainer? “Both Mr. Corey and Ms. Guerra prefer male companionship, but lack it.”
He realized what Ah Beng was thinking and leaned forward. “Don’t underestimate these two,” he said. “They have both been hardened by life and certainly tempered by the travails of Doctors Without Borders.
“They have been threatened – and have overcome – people and circumstances equally as murderous as even this present company. Teenage soldiers encouraged to kill and rape and maim at a hormone’s notice. Minefields, bombings, plagues… that sort of thing.
“As for Mr. Corey, specifically - his nature may be sensitive and caring, but his muscles and size and temper – when aroused – are legendary in his world of tough guys and terrorists.”
Ah Beng waved a dismissive hand. “Stop trying to impress me with the difficulties of your work,” he said. “Just tell me, where are they now?”
“Mr. Corey and Ms. Guerra recently took long holidays,” he said. “Their contracts with Doctors Without Borders were almost up, by the way. And when the holiday period ended, they chose not to extend said contracts.”
“Where did they go?” Ah Beng demanded.
“To join their good friend Dr. Donovan, of course,” he said.
Ah Beng was becoming resigned to Pierce’s game. “And that place is?” he wanted to know.
Pierce raised a finger, then drank more whiskey. He fished a pen from his pocket then wrote a figure on a bar napkin. He reversed the napkin and slid it forward for Ah Beng to examine.
Expressionless, the gangster studied the number. Finally, he nodded agreement, folded the napkin and stuck it behind the handkerchief in his suit’s breast pocket.
Then he raised his head to demand, “Tell me.”
Pierce, quite properly took this as acceptance, so he quickly replied, “They’ve joined their good friend Ann Donovan, of course.”
“And that place is,” Ah Beng demanded?”
For an answer, Capt. Pierce scooped up the TV remote and raced through images. When a certain series of scrolling numbers appeared, he slowed things down, jumping from place to place. Finally, he froze a single image: It was of Ann greeting Ruth and Mark at Honolulu Airport. Both friends wore flowery leis and silly grins on their faces. Pierce pushed the images forward a couple of frames, showing the friends embracing Ann.
Pierce said, “Aloha-land, old boy. That’s where they are. Pineapples and grass skirts.” He raised his glass of whiskey, saying, “Joining, I might add, one seriously pissed off spymaster’s daughter.”
Pierce winked at Ah Beng. “Sure you want to fuck with her, old boy?”
Ah Beng glared at him. “Do you think that I fear this woman and her foolish friends?” he demanded.
Pierce made a face. “Well, my dear fellow, you are putting it quite the wrong way,” he said.
“Fear is a valuable emotion, but if you choose to ignore it, that’s your never mind. My point is, personally, I quite fear this lady and if you want my continued participation in this project I will require certain sums to quell my fears.
“In addition, I will tell you right now – I won’t get too close to her. I’ll lead you up the garden path, for a price, but I will desert you before we reach the garden gate.”
Ah Beng made a noise in his throat. “I always knew you were a coward,” he said.
Pierce dismissed the insult. Which, both knew was a foolish one. The British captain might have been corrupt, but in his lifetime he had participated – and excelled in - some of the most brutal military encounters in the late 20th Century.
The Captain wrote down a figure on another napkin, shoving it in front of Ah Beng.
“Agreed?”
Ah Beng took one look. His eyebrows went up as the size of the figure sunk in.
He looked at Pierce, his eyes hard and boring. But Pierce just stared back.
Finally, Ah Beng, sighed, folded the napkin and put it behind the other.
“I want no more delays,” he said.
“I’ve already started, old boy,” Capt. Pierce said.
He reached for the remote, clicked it and stared up as Karaoke boy sang: “Blood on the saddle and blood on the ground…”
And the bargirls waggled their pretty hips and chorused: “Great big gobs of blood all around….”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ann sat on the bed next to Zach, a sick feeling welling up at the despondent look on his face. He was slumped against his pillow, his whole body language crying out for someone to help him. The Nintendo was clutched in his hands, fingers flying over it.
She had a book spread across her lap – one of the Harry Potter adventures. It had become her habit to read to Zach before he went to bed. It seemed to work – up to a point. He still didn’t speak. But he did seem to be peeking out of his shell ever so slightly. But not this night. She knew the boy was wrapped up in his own small world of darkness and pain.
Ann shut the book. “What’s the matter, Zach?” she asked. “I thought you loved Harry Potter.”
Her brother only looked down miserably at his Nintendo.
Ann sighed, “Oh, Zach, what am I going to do with you? I wish you could tell me what you’re thinking.”
She paused a moment, then made yet one more attempt to break through the barrier. “Will you let me try to help you talk?”
Zach shook his head, his rejection quite firm. Ann picked up a pad of paper and a pen from Zach’s nightstand.
She offered it to her brother, saying, “I’d like to know why you don’t want me to help you. Will you at least try to tell me that?”
Zach hesitated, then accepted the paper and pen. He thought a moment, then wrote: I miss my Mom and Dad.
“I know you do, buddy,” Ann said. “But that doesn’t explain why you won’t let me help you. I don’t understand.”
Zach wrote: Where’s my Mom? Is she hurt?
“I don’t think she’s hurt,” Ann said. “And I’m positive that she’s somewhere safe right now. Our father made sure of that. And I know in my heart that your Mom’s very upset that she can’t be with you. But if she tried to find you, it would put both of you in danger. Do you know what I mean?”
Zach wrote: I want to hide with her.
“I know,” Ann said. “I’d feel exactly the same way if I were you. But look, let’s make a deal. Buddy to buddy. Let me help you with your voice. That way, when you do get to see your Mom again, you’ll be able to talk to her and tell her how much you love her and have missed her. What do you think?”
Zach wrote: When can I see my mother?
Ann sighed. “I don’t know, Zach,” she admitted. “But, look – we both have the same father, right?”
Zach nodded.
“I don’t know about you,” Ann said, “but I think we had the best Dad in the world… He did a lot of good things to help save people’s lives, you know what I mean?”
Zach nodded again.
“And the only way he could save your Mom’s life was to hide her really well,” Ann continued. “And the only way to keep you safe was to leave you with me. So, I don’t know how long your Mom has to hide out. But I’m pretty sure you want her to be safe, right?”
