A Stacked Deck

by S. H. Linden

conclusion

Faust’s Hotel Room

It was dusk outside. Faust was in his bathroom sewing up a jagged flesh wound with surgical thread and no painkiller other than a glass of Scotch on the side of the sink. He made a neat patch, taped it, then gingerly got out of his blood stained polo pants. He wiped the sink clean, wrapped his bloody clothes and jodhpur bqots into a sheet, weighted it down with a bedside lamp, and then knotted the sheet and dropped the package over the balcony into the sea. It floated for a few moments than sank, leaving no trace that it had ever existed.

Faust put on a bathrobe and went to the phone. “This is room six-twelve. I would like a cold roast beef sandwich on sourdough bread and a pot of hot tea, please. And while you’re at it, the latest evening newspaper.”

* * *

A Yacht in Hong Kong Bay, Early Evening

Sir Brian and George Chang were sitting in deck chairs on the stem deck of the Jamaica Run.

They were having drinks, but the mood wasn’t festive. The Hong Kong skyline, with its full moon above the tall buildings, was impressive, but no one was looking at it.

“George, I’m leaving tomorrow. You’ll be in charge to deal with BOFAD matters and the Hong Kong police.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Sir Brian, I’m resigning from BOFAD.”

“Resigning?”

“I’ve been offered the job to head up Red Star Bank. I told them I’d take it.”

“So, George... We wind up being competitors, is that it? After all we did for your career?”

“I’m afraid so, Sir Brian.”

“You’re not planning to have any conversations with the Chinese about our little meeting in London, are you, George?”

“I’ll have to think about that. My decision will probably depend on how well BOFAD treats the Red Star Bank in its business endeavors.”

The two men were now looking hard at each other. Sir Brian was beginning to see George Chang in a new light. He was no longer a yes-man. Maybe he never had been?

The two men on board the yacht turned to look at a racing boat that was operating in the now dark waters. Its powerful engine seemed awfully loud to them, and they also saw that the racer was heading toward Sir Brian’s yacht. The boat looked out of control. It was zigzagging at a very high rate of speed, then came straight towards a collision course with the Jamaica Run.

“What’s going on with that chap? Is he drunk?” Sir Brian asked.

“I can’t see anyone at the wheel!” George Chang said.

Sir Brian got up and shouted to his captain, who was on the bridge and also looking at the racing boat. “Conner! What’s going on out there?”

The captain came to the railing. “I don’t know, Sir. It looks like his steering mechanism is broken! I’ll try and get him on the radio.”

“Be quick about it! That bloody bastard’s getting awfully close!”

Faust was in a wet suit, his face blackened, and in obvious pain. He was fiddling with a makeshift auto-pilot that he had locked in place. He had the racer aimed dead ahead at Sir Brian’s yacht. Faust took one final look at the setup, then jumped overboard.

The racing boat hit the yacht broadside. A tremendous explosion occurred, and the sky lit up with flaming metal debris. Emergency whistles sounded from other yachts in the area. The whole bay was suddenly lit up, as if it was some kind of holiday.

Faust raised from the water like an ominous serpent of the sea. He observed the yacht’s destruction, then swam slowly toward a dark shoreline, leaving behind the utter chaos of his own creation.

* * *

The Kai Tak Airport

At the Hong Kong newspaper stands, the headlines were all different. Some read:

PRIME MINISTER SURVIVES ASSASSINATION ATTACK

MISSING BRITISH OFFICER FOUND ALIVE IN HIS HOTEL ROOM

POLICE LOOKING FOR THE INFAMOUS FAUST

BOFAD CEO KILLED IN HONG KONG WATERS

* * *

Inside the Airport

Faust and Mai Ling walked slowly toward the airport bar. Faust had white hair and was wearing eye glasses and using a cane. Mai Ling looked sensational in a light and sexy summer dress. She was carrying a small suitcase. They passed a television monitor that

was showing the news. On the screen were pictures of Sir Brian, Elton Green and George Chang. The TV anchor was speaking.

“The body of Sir Brian Rawson, the former beleaguered head of the collapsing BOFAD bank, was found yesterday evening, floating under some debris that came from his yacht, the Jamaica Run. He had been preparing for a cruise to New Zealand when the yacht exploded and sank in Hong Kong waters. Witnesses who saw the explosion...”

The TV sound disappeared when they got inside the bar. Sitting at a table were Nino and Janeway, dressed in suits and drinking gin and tonic. They smiled when Faust approached.

“I believe we know each other,” Faust said with a wry grin. “Darling, why don’t you sit at another table while these gentlemen and I conduct a business transaction.”

Mai Ling went to another table and pulled out a pocket book and began reading.

“Did you get hit?” Janeway asked.

“Just a nick. I can handle it.” Faust reached into his breast pocket and pulled out two checks which he handed to Janeway and Nino. The checks were for a million dollars each and were drawn from a Swiss bank.

Janeway looked at his check, smiled, then folded it and put it in his breast pocket. “We’ll head for Zurich and hang around for a couple of weeks until the checks clear.” Then looking at Nino, he said, “I think it’ll be some south sea island for a year or two until the heat’s off. The agency won’t come after us, since they hired us to protect the Ambassador; and we did that, with your help,” Janeway said, smiling again.

Faust’s smile ended as he spotted two Hong Kong policemen come into the bar and started asking people for their passports. Finally the policemen came to the group’s table.

“Passports, please,” the older policeman said. He was looking hard at all three of them.

The younger policeman had his eye on Mai Ling who gave him a friendly smile. “These gentlemen are from Idaho, and they were telling me about the great trout fishing up there,” Faust said, smiling at the policemen. The policeman really didn’t understand about trout fishing in Idaho. His attention had gone to Mai Ling, who was now standing.

Faust gave his passport to the older police officer who checked it out and handed it back.

“Have a good flight back, Mr. Wheeler.”

“Thank you. Oh, darling,” Faust said, “Show these gentlemen your passport, please.”

Mai Ling walked over and said something in Chinese and handed them her passport. The younger policeman looked embarrassed by what she had said to him. Mai Ling’s passport said, “Mai Ling Wheeler.” The older officer handed back her passport and turned his attention to Janeway and Nino.

“Passport, please, “ he said. Janeway handed the policeman his and Nino’s passports.

“Officer, my name is Anthony Janeway, and this gentleman is Nino La Marca. He cannot speak so I’ll do the speaking for him. You will notice that we have VIP passports. We are on assigmnent from the American Government, and we have been called home to escort the body of Mister Alfred Snyder, who also worked for the United States government.”

The officer looked at the passports and handed them back to Janeway. He gave a salute, nodded good-bye to each of them and left the bar to check on some passengers who were just arriving.

Now the four of them were alone again. Janeway looked at Faust and spoke. “Back in Nam, did you know that place was loaded?”

“No,” Faust answered. “I did exactly what I said I was going to do. I drew them away from you. I never trusted Ticky. When I found out that he was double-crossing us and doing drug deals with General Than, I told him I was quitting the outfit and going back to the States to tell the New York Times what we were doing in Cambodia. Ticky panicked and sent us on that phony mission to get killed. But we fooled him. I just feel bad about what happened to Nino.”

Nino came over to Faust and gave him a bear hug. It looked like he was about to cry. Then Janeway reached out and shook Faust’s hand. It was a warm shake between friends again. “How come you didn’t kill the prime minister?” Janeway asked.

“Ahh, he was too good of a polo player. There’s not many of us around any more, so I let him live.” Everyone laughed.

Another wry grin appeared on Faust’s face. “And besides, Ticky told me that the Chinese government would pay me forty million if I didn’t make the closure. So I agreed.”

Janeway just shook his head and smiled.

Mai Ling picked up her suitcase. “Richard, darling, it’s time to get on the plane.” Faust looked at his watch and agreed. He took Mai Ling’s arm and they both headed for the entrance gate for a plane leaving for San Francisco.

As they walked away, Janeway raised his gin and tonic and saluted Faust. He said to Nino, “Once a bastard, always a bastard.” Then he and Nino laughed.

* * *

On the Plane

Faust and Mai Ling walked slowly to their first class seats. Faust was aware that he was bleeding again. When the plane was in the air he would have to change the patch and his shirt. Until then, he hoped that no one would notice the spreading stain that was appearing on his shirt.

After putting his bag under his seat, Faust sat down and coolly stared out the window. He was feeling faint. Mai Ling looked worried as she held on to his hand.

A pretty stewardess came by handing out newspapers and Faust took one. The plane moved to the runway for takeoff. Faust opened the paper and glanced at the headlines, his face expressionless as he began to read the BOFAD story. When he was done, he closed the paper and handed it to Mai Ling.

He reached carefully into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out an opened envelope. It was addressed to, Richard Wheeler, Peninsula Hotel, Hong Kong. Faust pulled the letter out and read it one more time:

Confirmation from China government. A deposit of forty million dollars was made to your Swiss Bank account for not making the closure. Send 5% finder’s fee to, Charles Reed, Box 1060, Grand Cayman Island. Your benefactor, Ticky

Faust tore the note into little pieces and stuffed it into an ashtray. He put his head back on the seat and closed his eyes. He was feeling faint again and sweating profusely. No one noticed, as the plane was climbing, that Faust’s head had slumped to the side and was resting on the window pane. A small trickle of blood was still leaking from the wound, and a large stain was forming around his shirt near his waist line. Mai Ling squeezed Faust’s hand hard until he opened his eyes again and smiled at her.

* * *

BOFAD Bank Building, Hong Kong

A Rolls Royce pulled to the curb and Lord Rivington stepped out into a crowd of news reporters and television crews. “Lord Rivington! Lord Rivington! Do you have a statement for the press?”

Lord Rivington pushed his way through the crowd without saying a word. He looked pale and angry. A hostile female reporter reached out and grabbed Lord Rivington’s arm. “Sir, BOFAD is being investigated in England and America for banking fraud. I think you owe a statement to the press!”

But Lord Rivington continued into the building. He walked to the elevator and inserted his key and the doors opened. People in the building watched interestedly as Lord Rivington entered the elevator, then moved on about their business.

In the elevator Lord Rivington looked angry and nervous. His bodyguards seemed uncomfortable but remained silent during the elevator run. The elevator door opened and Lord Rivington stepped out into BOFAD’s main office, his bodyguards followed and took seats in the waiting lounge.

“Get me England, please. I want to speak to my wife.” Rivington said, to a secretary..

Lord Rivington went into Sir Brian’s office. He threw his coat on the couch and headed for the bar to fix a drink. He was a man who had lost everything and all nerve. After a while, an intercom buzzed on Sir Brian’s desk. Lord Rivington went to the intercom and clicked it on.

“Yes?”

“I have your wife, Sir.”

“Thank you.”

Lord Rivington picked up the telephone. “Hello, Sarah... “ But Lord Rivington quickly pulled the phone away from his ear. He rubbed his ear and saw blood on his finger tips. He looked closely at the phone and saw several tiny needles sticking out from the hearing end. He was stunned by what he saw. Now he was starting to feel funny, like he was going into shock. He began to stagger backwards from behind the desk, then sat heavily in the big leather chair. He tried to reach for the intercom button again but didn’t quite make it.

The telephone dropped from his hand, and Lord Rivington fell face down on the desk, dead, his eyes bulging with a vacant stare.

The receiver dropped from his hand and dangled over the edge of the desk. Lady Rivington’s voice could be heard. “How are you, Charles? Are you coming home soon...?”

Open Challenge 312...