Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 44, No. 4, April 1980

“Uncle Sam isn’t going to take to this kindly,” Shayne went on. “At this juncture in their international relationships, trying to cozy up to the decadent capitalists of U.S.A., I doubt your mainland friends will pat you on the back and strike a medal either.”

“Running dog imperialists!” Chung Lee spat at the pair.

Shayne grinned. “Flattery is going to get you nowhere, friend.”

They were finally coming to the end of the narrow mountain road. Shayne estimated from his shortness of breath that they must be at least 9000 feet. They could see through misty clouds to the western ocean cliffs, and the eastern lowlands checkerboarded with small fields and what looked like toy houses.

The air was clean and crisp.

Beyond the end of the road, on a mountain-side plateau, was a rustic lodge built of bamboo. The mountain retreat, Shayne speculated, of some minor government official anxious to escape the humid lowland part of the island during the monsoon season.

On the porch were another pair of shaven-head Chinese, or perhaps Mongols, Shayne thought. Like the two stolid chauffeurs they were armed with machine pistols. They stood more or less at attention as Shayne and Mary Su Lin followed Chung Lee out of the backseat of the black mercedes.

The two chauffeurs got out of the car, too, and Chung Lee slid under the wheel. “You will be guarded by these men until the Golden Buddha is on its way to Canton,” Chung Lee told Shayne and Mary Su Lin. “I would not advise any attempt to escape from them. Their orders are to shoot to kill under such a circumstance.”

Shayne stretched and yawned. “Wouldn’t think of such a stupid move, Chung,” he said. “We rather like it here with your thugs. Do any of you cretins speak English?”

Chung Lee’s was a mocking smile. “Of course not. They know better than to accept any sort of bribe anyway, so save your breath. Red Brigade discipline is very strict.”

“I’m sure it must be,” Shayne said. “By the way, how are you going to negotiate for the Golden Buddha?”

Chung Lee couldn’t resist a smug smile. “It is with me the Red Brigade will barter,” he boasted. “This sort of thing comes within the jurisdiction of my department. Just say your prayers that my immediate superiors will strike a swift bargain.”

Shayne shook his head sadly. “A traitor in high places.”

“A patriot!” Chung Lee insisted with some heat.

Shayne had found out what he needed to know. The Red Brigade had no plans to set either himself or Mary Su Lin free. Chung Lee would never risk being exposed as an agent of Red China.

This information the Chinese had given so carelessly narrowed Shayne’s options.

He would have to figure some way to escape their captors, and quickly, then manage to get down the rugged mountain and back to Tapei. The blind girl would be a burden when they got free — and Shayne didn’t consider if they managed to elude the four guards — but she was game. If he had to, Shayne would carry her down the rugged slopes piggyback!

Shayne set a forty-eight-hour deadline for them to make their escape. He had a strong hunch Chung Lee wouldn’t dare keep them alive any longer than that. It would be too risky.

“I suppose this is your place,” Shayne said, gesturing at the mountain lodge.

Chung Lee nodded. “My duties are rigorous. I need somewhere I can relax.”

Shifting gears, Chung Lee drove away and one of the guards gestured Shayne and Mary Su Lin to enter the bamboo lodge.

Shayne smiled at the man. “You’re a yellowskinned son of a bitch,” he told the guard in a pleasant voice. “Which doesn’t reflect much credit on the maternal side of your family tree.”

The man blinked but the expression on his sullen face didn’t change.

The other three guards showed no indication that they understood English either.

“Would you say they don’t understand what I just said?” Shayne asked Mary Su Lin.

“I’d have to see their faces to be sure,” she told him, “but insulting that man’s ancestral mother should have earned you a cracked head.”

The four men were talking among themselves so Shayne asked, “Do you understand them?”

“They speak a Mongol dialect,” she told him. “I can only catch a familiar word here and there. I’d say they come from the Gobi Desert of Outer or Inner Mongolia.”

“That’s great!” Shayne said. “Cousins of Ghengis Kahn.”

Shayne and Mary Su Lin were on the porch of the lodge. One of the guards opened the door for them. Inside, they found themselves in a room that ran across the front of the small bamboo building. It was sparsely but tastefully furnished. At one end were sleeping mats for the guards, and stacked against the wall were AK47s with clips of ammunition.

There was a brazier set up on the floor where the guards cooked their meals.

The stolid guards herded Shayne and Mary Su Lin down a narrow hall to a room at the back of the lodge. As soon as they’d stepped inside the room the door behind them was bolted.

“Hello.” The calm, husky voice belonged to the woman sitting in a dark corner, hugging her knees. “Nice to finally have some company. I was getting lonely.”