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Update 27 September 2004 

Keeping the Lights Burning
by Richard B. (Rick) Messer
Chapter 5:
The Truth Will Out!

KEEPING THE LIGHTS BURNING
By Richard B. (Rick) Messer

Chapter 5: The Truth Will Out!



The sun was half way up the eastern sky, promising another bright day with little or no clouds to block the warm light. Cruising through the southern strait between Main and South Islands, the Ida Lewis was making for home at the naval base on Moon Island.

    Leaning against the railing of the starboard flying bridge, Silas Stanbridge quietly puffed his pipe while taking in the world through new eyes. The passage of the ship left a broad wake astern, rocking the dugout canoes and catamarans of the natives fishing close to the shipping channel. Most recognized the vessel and gave shouts and waves to her passing. Silas waved back.
 
Yes, the world looks differently this morning, was the pleasant thought that rolled around inside the man’s mind.

Presently, Orin Clements stepped out of the bridge to take his place beside his captain. Soon he had his pipe going, and man and chimpanzee watched the familiar scenery glide by as streamers of smoke trailed away.

"Beautiful morning, eh, Orin?"

The lantern-jawed head nodded agreement. "Yes, it is, Captain. A most beautiful morning, especially when you’re in love."

The human chuckled. "It’s that obvious?"

The First Officer stood up, stretching long arms overhead before taking the briar from his thick lips.
"As obvious at that monstrosity we bear on our back." He pointed with his pipe.

Silas turned his attention to the Seagull lashed to its cradle, the wings folded back and engine swathed in canvas.

"Yes, I’m going to speak with the Director about that later today," he sighed. "It appears our experiment has not been a complete success."

It was the simian’s turn to chuckle. "I shouldn’t write the whole project off, Silas. After all, without the Seagull’s run-in with the shipwreakers yesterday, you wouldn’t have had the opportunity to meet Miss Plumb."

Those words sent Silas Stanbridge’s mind to turn back to yesterday evening. After the meeting in the wardroom the captain called the chief cook to his cabin.

"We’re going to be having a guest for dinner this evening, Eustis," began Silas as he addressed the bloodhound in sweat stained whites. "I want some of your fine Southern cooking you’ve kept bragging about these past four years that I’ve yet to taste. Nothing fancy, mind you, but I want this to be a memorable meal."

The hound’s bloodshot eyes sparkled at this as a grin lifted his saggy jowls. "Now, Capt’n, this here gatherin’ wouldn’t be for that purty lady I’ve been hearin’ about most of the day, wouldn’t it?"

"You heard right."

That made the canine stand a little straighter. "Well, shucks, sur, I guess I’ll be pullin’ out the stops and whip up a fine meal that be right at home at the Carlton back in Birmingham, Alabama. I’ll even bake up a pecan pie with whipped cream to go with. How’s that sound, Capt’n?"

The man got to his feet, smiling. "Sounds like a damn good meal to me, Eustis. And see that the fine silverware is polished and set, as well." When that was done Silas called his First Officer in and order the ship to be cleaned up and squared away.

"I want this grand lady looking her finest when Miss Plumb steps aboard her this evening. Everything in its place, the brass fittings polished till it shines. Everything is to be Bristol-fashion. Is that clear, Mr. Clements?"

The simian smiled. "Transparently, Captain."

When he was alone again, Silas pulled out his dress white uniform and checked it over. Still clean and pressed and in its protective paper cover with the ribbons and rank boards undamaged. He then called for the steward to clean and polish his dress shoes.

For most of the day the ship’s crew pulled to with a purpose. The scuttlebutt about having a human female as a guest aboard their ship had gotten everyone worked up into a curious frenzy. As the appointed hour approached Silas Stanbridge waited on the bridge, looking smashing in his formal whites, Orin Clements likewise dressed. Presently they stepped out onto the flying bridge as they watched one of the ship’s boats rounded the bow and drew up on the starboard side. The crew worked the oars with expert hands, each member in a clean uniform, and looking proud for their skipper. The boatswain called for "Ship Oars"; the oars were brought straight up out of the water then laid down inside the gunwales as one of the rowers at the bow moved forward to catch the tackle hanging down within reach. At the same time the boatswain grabbed the other one close to him. Together they fitted the hooks to lifting eyes set at bow and stern while the First Mate overhead gave the call to hoist away. Beverly Plumb, seated between the boatswain and the first bench of rowers, gave a start as the boat was swiftly hauled up out of the water even before their forward momentum was abated.

At the railing Captain and First Officer waited until the hoisting was completed and the lines secured before the davits were turned in to allow the passenger to descend onto the deck to the tune of the boatswain’s pipe.
 
"Welcome aboard the Ida Lewis, Miss Plumb," said Silas as he tipped his hat to her. He gave a quick appraising look. She was dressed in a simple white dress, white gloves, and a narrow brimmed hat perched on her blond curls. She carried a narrow black case under her arm.

"Thank you, Captain," she smiled, "but I must warn you that I’ve come armed with a deadly weapon."

The simian officer furrowed his thick brows. "That wouldn’t be the aforementioned flute, would it?"

"Why, yes."

Orin Clements gave his commanding officer a sorrowful frown. "I believe, sir, that you are about to meet your match later this evening."

As the trio entered the wardroom, Ben Fraiser, Karl Mueller, and Jennifer Monroe were already gathered there. Being civilians under contract the canids wore suits while the lepine had on a beige dress and her hair spruced up for the occasion. Stewards in clean white tunics with towels draped over forearms waited around the room, ready for action. Silas helped Beverly to be seated while Ben took care of Jenny. Thus the meal began.
 
Conversation flowed like the serving trays as everyone had a story or anecdote about an incident in their life to entertain the guest of honor along with the latest news of local and world events. And as the last of the desert dishes were carried away and coffee served the men pulled out their pipes (after asking permission, of course). Beverly glanced over at Jenny and was surprised to watch the young rabbit fem fit a small cigar to a black holder. She looked away before being caught staring, but felt amused that the fem would engage in such a vice.

It fits her daring-do lifestyle, came the thought to Beverly’s mind. But it was set aside when she answered a question posed by one of the canine males.

Then Silas asked their guest if she was ready to add to the evening’s entertainment. Retrieving her instrument from a sideboard, the woman fitted the pieces together and gave a quick run through the scales before announcing that she was ready. In the meantime the captain had taken his place at the small upright piano. A few requests, followed by the players determining whether they knew the piece or not, were settled on as fingers began to stroke the respective valves or keys.

The mood of the evening flowed from the jovial to the sedate and back again as the music carried all within the room on individual journeys of emotions and remembrances. Soon the last note died away and the party drew to a close. As Beverly packed away her flute and Silas gently dropped the cover over the keys the others made their goodnights and quietly departed to their quarters.

A white moon, passed full, was rising over the dark tops of the palms as man and woman stepped out into the soft evening air. On the beach could be seen a couple of torches set into the sand while figures lounged close by. Captain and nurse stood close by the railing, an arm about each other’s waist. Beverly laid her head on his shoulders.

"Oh, Silas, this has been a wonderful evening. The food was excellent, and that was after having endured nearly three months of fish, fowl, and vegetables. I was so glad to get my teeth into red meat again. And pecan pie, with whipped cream! I felt like I died and gone to heaven!"

A low laugh rumbled in Silas’ chest. "I’ll pass that onto our cook as a compliment. And I must say that your flute playing had been a welcome addition to my otherwise mediocre performance at pretending to play the piano."

Beverly looked up. "Oh, don’t say that, Silas! You played marvelously!"

For a long moment they simply stared at each other before passion welled up in each soul and they embraced for a momentous kiss. They held the embrace just as long afterwards.

"Ei nei," the captain whispered into the nurse’s ear.
 
She looked up again. "What?" she asked softly.

White teeth flashed through the salt-and-pepper beard. "Its Hawaiian for ‘darling’. Ei nei."
 
They worked at the pronunciation for a minute until Beverly got it right.

"Ei nei," she said at last, showing triumph in her smile.

Nodding his approval the captain of the buoy tender then guided his guest down the gangway and to the waiting gig.
 
"We’ll be heading back to port in the morning. Once back I’ll be making my report to the base commander before heading over to Meeting Island to see the Director of Aids to Navigation." He paused; his attention fixed on her face, noting how radiant it looked in the moonlight. "I wish you could make a quick visit over to Spontoon Island. We could make a day of it then have evening dinner at the Marleybone Grand Hotel. What do you say?"

Looking a little pensive Beverly Plumb chewed on her lower lip before answering. "I don’t know, Silas. We’re rather busy over at the hospital, and I don’t know if Doctor Singh could give me the time off away from the work."

"But you could ask him?"

It was a brief nod, though she wanted so bad to bob her head like a damn fool. But a smile mollified Silas’ apprehension.

"Well, goodnight, ei nei," he murmured while kissing her hand.

"Goodnight, ei nei," was her soft reply before a crewman helped her into the boat. And as it was lowered away the woman looked up to see the captain’s face beaming beneath his cap. Beverly gave a short wave before the sweeps bit into the dark waters and propelled the boat away.

"And a good time was had by all."

Silas snapped out of his revelry. "Huh? What?"

The chimpanzee First Officer was grinning. "I said, ‘And a good time was had by all.’ That right, Captain?"

Embarrassment colored the human’s shaven cheeks. "Dammit, Orin, you interrupted my wool gathering."
 
They shared a laugh but the moment was disrupted when the man stiffened slightly. Though his attention was on his friend, Silas had taken a glance to the stern of his vessel when something far beyond the wake caught his eye. Without losing visual contact with whatever was behind his ship, the captain reached down for the binoculars hanging around his neck. He made a slow sweep of the waters behind but found nothing. He checked again. Nothing but roiling waters could be seen.

"What is it, Silas?" The simian First Officer was looking astern as well.

A frown knotted the human’s brow. "Thought I saw a periscope trailing us, about a hundred yards or so."

The statement sounded credulous, even in his own ears. But Silas Stanbridge knew what periscopes looked like. It was what gave him his first command, as well as several crewmen dead and wounded.

Clements shook his head. "If there was one it’s gone now." He gave his captain a sidelong glance. "Are you sure, sir?"

Another sweep showed only an empty ocean. Letting the instrument dangle against his chest, Stanbridge straightened up. "No, Orin, I’m not sure. But I’ll be damned if it didn’t look like one." He slapped his hand a couple of times against the railing before heading for the bridge."Steady as she goes, Mr. Clements. I’m going in to finish my report to Mr. Dharsono so you have the con."

"Aye, aye, sir," answered the chimpanzee.

*    *    *    *    *    *

The buoy tender made its slow way between South Island and the European settlement known as Casino Island. Water taxis dashed around the ship, ferrying people to and from the crowded point of land filled with casinos, shops, and hotels. When the southern tip of Eastern Island came into view First Officer Clements directed the helm to a new course that would bring them northwards to Moon Island and home.

Moon Island was given that name due to its crescent shape, and the Rain Island Naval Syndicate, which administers the base for the citizens of Spontoon Island, had found the sheltered bay an ideal location to ‘set up shop’.

As the crew made ready to cast lines to those waiting on the pier, the simian First Officer gave last minute instructions to the helmsman. The Ida Lewis eased her way to the bumpers hanging from the pilings; there was a soft thumping as she settled into place. Hawsers were tied to the lines thrown down and drawn back up, to be belayed to cleats on the deck.

A few minutes passed before Silas Stanbridge stepped out of his cabin and onto the main deck. He stood at the rail watching his crew going about their business when a short whistle drew his attention to the bridge deck.
 
"Watch and liberty listings have been posted, sir," called down the First Officer.

"Very good, Mr. Clements. Notify the Repair Depot to send some trucks down for those light buoys we brought back." As he turned away Silas remembered something else. "And, Mr. Clements."

"Yes, sir?"

"Please let your missus know that I might not be over for dinner this evening."

The chimpanzee pulled a face. "She’s not going to like that. You know how much she likes you to visit after we return from sea. And the children will be disappointed, too."

The human smiled sadly. "I know, but I’ll make it up to them later this week."

Stepping back in for his briefcase, the captain made for the gangway, pausing to salute the flag astern as well as the watch furry before descending to the pier. He had just reached the bottom of the gangway when a motorcycle with sidecar wheeled sharply up beside him. The monkey rating snapped a salute and announced, "Admiral Sebastian’s compliments, sir. I am to take you to his office five minutes ago."

Keeping a straight face Silas folded his tall frame into the car and held unto hat and briefcase as the rating twisted the throttle grip and they sped away. From the bridge railing Orin Clements shook his head as he watched the motorcycle depart.

"Never get me on one of those damn things."

Taking a short cut between the Harbor Masters office and the Naval Stores depot, the motorcycle drew up before the Administration building. Mumbling his thanks Silas climbed out in time before the vehicle roared away. Slowly he mounted the steps to the veranda, returning the salutes of the R.I.N.S. marine guards before passing through the door into the building. Turning right he took the stairway to the second floor then down the corridor pass offices filled with the bustle and noise of a military bureaucracy at work. At the end of the corridor stood the door to the office of the base commander, another marine guard posted there. This fellow saluted then opened the door to the human officer.

Inside, a pretty mouse fem in the uniform of the Women’s Naval Reserve paused in her typing, recognizing Captain Stanbridge. She pressed a switch on her desk intercom and announced his presence. A gruff voice answered.

"Well, send him in, send him in. And bring in some more coffee, too."

The human smiled his thanks and entered the office of Rear Admiral Hawthorne Sebastian, formerly of His Britannic Majesty’s Royal Navy.

A ceiling fan whirled overhead as a pedestal fan drew air through an open window and aimed the resultant flow towards the Old English sheepdog seated behind the oak desk. For a first time visitor it would be hard to prove that the elder canine in khaki uniform bearing the shoulder boards of a Rear Admiral was such a breed. That was due to the admiral having his fur clipped short twice a week so he could bear the tropical heat and humidity. His one concession to vanity was cultivating a short beard and handlebar moustache.

The human officer stepped up to the desk and saluted. The sheepdog stood and returned it before leaning forward to shake hands.

"It sounded like your people had an interesting time yesterday, Captain," said the admiral, indicating for Silas to take a seat.

Stanbridge did so, handing over a handful of reports. Sebastian settled back, scanning the paperwork as the petty officer mouse entered bearing a tray with a coffeepot and two cups. She filled the cups, left the pot, and stepped back out, all the while the admiral continued reading. Finally he set the reports aside while picking up his cup.

"Damn good show on your people’s part in finding those wretched shipwreckers. Too bad they got over-enthusiastic in stopping them, though I doubt we could have gotten much out of those blighters under interrogation had they been taken prisoner." The admiral shook his head after taking a sip. "Too bad about those poor souls on that pleasure yacht. Wrong place at the wrong time, you know."

The human nodded, taking a sip from his own cup. "I had seen the wrecked boat and the bodies of those unfortunate people. But I’m still at a loss as to why the Kuo Han intelligence service would have its people over here. From what Lieutenant Clements said yesterday these people only deal with the internal security of their country."

The admiral nodded, still perusing the reports. "Very astute young fellow, this Clements. Relative of your First Officer, is he?"

"His oldest son, sir."

Black eyes regarded the captain. "He’s going to go far in the service. Wouldn’t be surprised if someday he winds up sitting in this very chair, mark my words."

Stanbridge nodded again in agreement. If Andrew was anything like Orin - and there were strong indications of such - that young simian could very well be sporting gold stars on his boards.

Thick fingers shuffled the reports back together and handed them back. "I take it you’ll be seeing Mr. Dharsono soon?"

"As soon as I stop off at the BOQ then pick up my motorcycle."

The sheepdog drained his cup then stood up; Stanbridge did likewise.

"See to it that Petty Officer Lovett gets that copy to Communications for transmission to Rain Island H.Q. And remind her that it’s to go by cable. Security and all that, eh wot?"
 
Silas saluted and stepped out the door, passing on the paperwork and the admiral’s message to the mouse fem. Outside, he crossed Admiralty Street going northwards, passing the fire station to Curtis Avenue before turning left and into the Bachelor Officers Quarters. A rating at the CQ desk signed the human in then handed over a stack of messages. Stanbridge was idly riffing through them when he asked if the rating would contact Petty Officer 1st Class Snodgrass at the Motor Pool to bring over the captain’s Henderson.

The young lupine picked up the telephone as Silas headed down the hallway to his room. Inside the man took most of the messages and shredded them into the wastebasket. They were mainly reminders to pay up his mess and bar bills. As soon as he got his bike he would deal with them before catching the ferry to Meeting Island and Mr. Nurdin Dharsono.
 
The room was spartan by military standards but he didn’t have to share it with anyone else. Comes with the rank and privileges of being Captain. When he took the job of commanding a buoy tender for the Spontoon Island Navigational Aid Service ten years ago, Silas Stanbridge was offered a small bungalow as befitting his position. But he turned it down, citing that someone else with a family should be given the place. Otherwise, he was happy to have a large room with simple furnishings and no noisy roommate to disturb his solitude.

One of the leftover messages was from Dharsono, reminding the man about their meeting after the lunch hour. A quick glance at his wristwatch showed that he needed to be going. After a quick refill of his tobacco pouch and changing out the pipe in his jacket pocket, Silas picked up his briefcase and was heading back out when the familiar throbbing of a small four cylinder engine indicated that P.O.1st C. Horace Snodgrass had arrived!

Outside, an opossum in greasy coveralls was hoisting the rear wheel up onto its stand when Stanbridge stepped down to the curb. Snodgrass saluted but was wearing a satisfied grin on his sharp muzzle.

"Gassed and oiled and ready to go, Capt’n," the marsupial announced, stepping back to let the human give the deep green machine a quick inspection.
 
There was a long silence as Silas made a slow walk-around, eyeing every nut and bolt holding his one proud possession together. Then he straightened, blessing the rating with a smile.

"She looks good, Horace. I trust you haven’t been taking her to race around South Island?"
Looking wounded the opossum said, "You’ve cut me to the quick, sir. I would never take your pride and joy anywhere except by your orders. She is as you left her on this last run of the light towers, sir. I’ve kept her in the storage shed with a tarp thrown over."

With a nod Silas passed his case to the marsupial before kicking the machine to life once more. Kicking the stand back up into its stowed position he climbed on, indicating to the rating to hop onto the passenger’s small pad mounted on the rear fender rack. Together they headed up the street, made a right hand turn, then proceeded down three blocks before reaching the vehicle maintenance depot. Snodgrass hopped off and stuffed the case into one of the leather saddlebags hanging on either side of the fender. Snapping a salute the rating returned to his duty while Stanbridge headed off down the street.
 
The first stop was the officer’s mess hall where Silas ate a light lunch and paid up his bills. Afterwards, he roared down to the ferry dock to catch the next boat to Meeting Island and his appointment with the Director of Aids to Navigation. There were a few cars and trucks on the ferry but the pedestrians greatly outnumbered the vehicles. As always there were a few Spontoonies Silas recognized and fell into conversation with on the trip over. And always a couple of the tourists would drift in and out of the conversations in regard to who he was, what he did, and anything about his motorcycle. What amused the man most where the furry children for they had never actually seen a real human, only heard the stories about them from family and friends.

As the ferry tied up at the end of a long pier Silas held a last minute chat with the ship’s skipper while waiting for the rest of the crowd to roll off. With a farewell hand shake the man fired up his bike and eased on down the pier. About halfway along Silas came to a stop, his attention arrested by the sight of a.small steamer flying the flag of Kuo Han from its stern. The vessel was tied up at another pier not far from where he was. For a long time he stared at the vessel, his motorcycle idling between his legs, as he mulled over what he was going to say to Nurdin Dharsono pertaining to what was discovered yesterday and what he carried in his briefcase. After a minute’s rumination Stanbridge started once more down the rough planking.

For the most part, the village that comprised the administrative center of Spontoon Island was situated on the western slope of Meeting Island to take advantage of the westerly trade winds during the summer months. Starting from the docks and wharves at the shoreline, the village spread up and around the gentle slope to end at the large white structure simply known as Government House. Left over from the British colonial period Government House held the assembly hall wherein the Althing met to wrangle and iron out the problems of administering the daily operations of the Spontoon archipelago.

The sound of the motorcycle’s four-cylinder engine rattled off the whitewashed walls as Silas slowed then stopped by the curbing. He looked around, perplexed, for there was no one else on the street.

"Damn odd," he muttered to himself. "There should be somebody around, even during the lunch hour." Without another word he eased the clutch out and advanced slowly up the cobblestone street.

At the next intersection he turned right and into a small parking lot. Switching off the ignition and setting the kickstand down, Silas Stanbridge took in the silence with an odd foreboding. It wasn’t like the village to suddenly take a siesta all at once. Turning his hat back around and pulling the briefcase from the saddlebag, the man crossed the street and headed up a walkway that would take him close to Government House.

He hadn’t gone a block when he noticed a wooden barricade lying up against the white wall of a residence. Giving it a casual glance Silas was about to step out onto the next street when he heard something being shouted in Chinese. As he stepped out into the open he became aware of a murmuring to his left. Looking that way he saw a crowd of people standing behind a barrier consisting of wooden barricades like the one he had passed . . . as well as a film production crew! Just then there came the sound of running feet to his right. The man turned in time to see the dark, startled face of a young feline woman before she slammed into him.
 
Man and cat woman went down in a tangled pile as the fem’s momentum went unchecked. Then came the bedlam of shouting and cursing from the film crew, followed by several hands separating the pair from the street. Stanbridge said that he was all right and that they should look to the young lady. Quickly he became aware that those who had assisted now stood back in silent awe as well as a thunder of applause and laughter from the townspeople. There came another voice, raised in anger and giving vent to English as well as Chinese.

A porcine figure in the classic director’s costume of jodhpurs, riding boots, khaki shirt with ascot, and beret, came storming up to the small gathering.

"What is this delay? Why is this man here? Why is . . ."

The pig fellow slowed to a stop, taking in the tall figure in the naval uniform that turned to face him.
"Who are you," the director asked, his bluster deflated like a balloon, then added, "sir."

    A quick dusting down and check of his uniform gave Silas time to curb his anger.

    "Captain Silas Stanbridge of the Spontoon Island Navigational Aid Service, and you?"

    The Chinese director looked stunned at this announcement, then straightened himself to full height and bowed.

    "Forgive this unworthy one, Captain Stanbridge, for not having recognized you. I am Jing Feng fu of the Golden Harvest Film Company. The young lady who has met you so forcefully is An Sat Simi, one of our most prized actresses."

    For the first time the man took in the full form of the young feline. Of medium height and lithe of build, she could have passed as any oriental on the streets of Spontoon Island. It was just that the peasant’s garb had masked the identity of one of Asia’s most well known figures of the silver screen.

    An Sat Simi bore the dark brown seal points of a Siamese but her body fur was the sable brown of the Burmese. Deep amber eyes shone with the light of curiosity as she studied this tall figure which she had bowled over unexpectedly. Her waist length mane of the deepest brown had been tied back into a simple ponytail like a peasant woman would wear in the field.

    Stanbridge swept his hat off and bowed to the actress.

    <Greetings, O lovely one, and welcome to our humble islands> His Chinese was not the best but it got him by where it counted. Then he surprised the young Burmese by switching to French. "And it is truly an honor to meet such a distinguished person as yourself, Mademoiselle Monvel."

    This revelation brought a slight gasp to the Burmese fem as she involuntary brought a dark hand up to her throat. Very few people knew of her background where her father had been a member of the French embassy staff in Rangoon. But Celine Monvel recovered herself with expert ease and offered the hand to the human who stood tall before her. Silas took the hand and kissed it.

    "A gentleman as well as an officer," she purred in kind while gazing at Stanbridge through lowered lashes. "I did not think that many here on the islands would know of my other life."

    The human smiled. "Au contraire, Mademoiselle, there are a few who know you as an Eurasian actress of uncommon beauty and thespian skill. Its just that you are more commonly known as An Sat Simi."

    Jing Feng fu coughed into his hand, drawing the pair’s attention to him.

    "Forgive us, Captain, but we have a filming schedule that is very difficult to stick to. Please let us continue with our work as you must have a very important appointment to make."

    That made Stanbridge glance at his wristwatch. Damn, I’m five minutes late, he thought bitterly. He glanced up at the white building that had been his goal and noticed the large figure in white suit and hat watching from a window. Now I’m really in for it, came the dark thought on the heels of the first. He turned back to the director and actress.

    "As you have so wisely stated, Master Jing, I am late for my meeting. And Mademoiselle Monvel, I hope you will enjoy your stay here on Spontoon Island and that this picture is a great success."

    Silas started to turn when he felt a hand on his sleeve. Celine Monvel was smiling very brightly when she asked if the good captain would be available this evening. His reply was that he was very much free and what did she want.

    "Let me make up for the fact that you are late due to our unplanned meeting. Shall we have dinner, say, around seven, at the Marleybone Grand Hotel? It will be at my expense."

    The offer sounded good, almost too good, but he was not one to turn down a dinner invitation, especially with such a beautiful creature as the world renowned Celine Monvel. He nodded his acceptance.
 
    "Unfortunately, I have no automobile to pick you up in, and I don’t think you would want to be seen perched on the back of my motorcycle."

    The Burmese’s laugh was as musical as a temple fountain.

    "You needn’t worry about such matters. I’m sure Master Jing or one of the film crew will accommodate me in keeping this dinner date."

    "Then seven o’clock it is. Good day, Mademoiselle, Master Jing." Silas Stanbridge turned on his heel and made his way up the street to another applause from the crowd.

    After a minute of watching the khaki figure disappear around the corner Jing Feng fu began shouting orders in Chinese. The crew and extras began to break up as the call for lunch was given. Celine Monvel was escorted by one of Jing’s staff to the boxy caravan that was her home on Meeting Island for the filming. She thanked him and stepped inside.

    Once in the trailer home, however, her attitude made a quick change. No longer was she the bubbly film star that was revered throughout the Oriental world. In her place stood a feline with a dark brooding countenance and demeanor. From the kitchen area there approached another figure, smaller and older than Monvel but with similar Burmese markings. This personage presented the actress a cigarette fitted to a bamboo holder. Celine accepted it as well as the light from the match. She took a deep drag and blew the smoke towards the ceiling. There was a hint of cloves in the odor.

    "You have met the illustrious Captain Silas Stanbridge, my daughter?" spoke the ‘servant’ in a soft tone as she shook the match out and dropped it into an ornate bronze ashtray.

    "Yes, finally," came the answer in another cloud of fragrant smoke. "He is, indeed, a most impressive figure. And easily impressed by a beautiful face." The Burmese made a wry face when she spoke this last line. "All males are fools, and this human is the biggest one of all. Still, he is a comely creature and a very desirable one at that."

    Celine’s mother frowned. "Have a care, little one, into what jar you place your desires. Jars can be broken, the contents lost to your sorrow."

    There came a soft knock at the door; the actress jerked her head towards it. On quiet feet her mother approached the door and opened it. It was Jing Feng fu. The director pig entered with beret in hand.

    "All goes well, Simi," he said once the door was closed. "Leaving that barrier down was a good idea and it did entice him into entering the street."

    ‘That’s because he travels to Government House by no other way," snapped the Burmese. She towered over the pig, her left fist resting on her hip while she held the holder upright with her right hand. "Have you not read the report from that German naval officer about the American’s habits? Whenever he comes to visit his director in Government House, he always parks on a side street and walks up that particular way, especially after returning from sea."

    Jing ducked his head, cowed by the wraith of this beauty that was the foremost field agent for the Five Dragons. Granted, he had worked for the Kuo Han intelligence service for over twenty years, but that service had been on the mainland from Manchuria down to Myanmar as well as the islands along the coast. It was operating here in the Nimitz Sea that left him nervous; in particular, about this mission of determining the response time to repairing those light towers scattered among the myriad islands and atolls that comprised the Spontoon Island archipelago.
 
    Monvel continued. "But those incompetent fools you chose to perform this last mission had to get involved with a boat load of pleasure seekers and shoot them up. And if that wasn’t bad enough, then they had to get into a running gunfight with that flying boat from Stanbridge’s own ship. And you know how Master Ruihong feels about incompetence."

    That name made the porcine director’s eyes widen in fear. Master Ruihong Yisheng was the director in charge of the Five Dragons, and he didn’t attain such a lofty position by being incompetent. Nor did he tolerate it the least bit in those who worked for him. People have been known to disappear at the first sign of failing his exacting standards. And Jing should know; that was how he lost his own father and brother. Screwing up his courage the pig spoke.

    "Rest assured this last mission will be most successful. When that tower is destroyed we will be well on our way home, and with the information in hand to give to that German."

    "Well, it better be, Jing, cause I have orders from Master Ruihong that in the event of another failure you will forfeit your life for it." The young feline was now pacing the small room, her left arm now wrapped across her waist while she puffed agitatedly on her cigarette. She pulled up once more in front of the director and faced him fully, her amber eyes blazing at the turn of events. And when Celine Monvel spoke again in was in a low, steel-edged voice. "Now you get back out there and see to it that this final scene on Meeting Island is ready for completion after everyone has eaten. We must have everything finished in four days, five at the most before we can sail back to Hongpin. Is that understood?"

    Jing Feng fu bobbed his head frantically. "Yes, Simi, yes, it is understood."

    "Good," she growled deep in her throat. "Now, get out!"

    After the director had made his hasty departure Celine’s mother shook her head.
 
    "You should have had him shot after the incident on Little Orpington Island. His continued existence is becoming a liability."

    Taking the cigarette end from the holder and stubbing it out, the Burmese actress agreed.

     "True, mother, but we still need him to keep up the front of making this movie. Once filming is done at Nintendo Island I will see to it that our illustrious director has an unfortunate ‘accident’ at sea while we are returning home."

    That brought a grim smile to the older feline’s face. "Very good, my daughter. You truly are an asset to the Five Dragons. Now, come and eat, then rest before taking your place once more in front of the camera."


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