"What do you want?" Durell asked.
"So we can bargain?"
"Name your price."
"Are they valuable to you, Cajun?"
"All life has certain value."
"Very well. We'll make a deal, man. Give me the girl."
"Who?"
"Sally. Salduva. My royal sister." Again Prince Tim's yellowish eyes grew hooded with hatred. "I know she's aboard. I know you smuggled her aboard the train somehow. You've hidden her, haven't you? Give her to me, and the others can go free. They are only gnats after all. The royal stool is mine. The country is mine. They cannot harm me, whatever they say."
Durell said, "You can't have Salduva."
There was a darkness in Durell's blue eyes as Atimboku started forward. Durell blocked his way, tall and suddenly dangerous. The Pakuru breathed hard through dilated nostrils. His rifle came up and Durell saw the look in his eyes and did not let the barrel rise parallel to his body. He did not want it like this, but he saw no other way out. Back in Washington he might face charges of violating the terms of his assignment. He couldn't help it. He stepped back half a pace and kicked Atimboku in the knee. Then he chopped down at the barrel of Atimboku's gun and twisted it farther down and to one side. His opponent grunted, turned partly aside, and fought to raise the gun again. He stumbled, grimacing from the pain in his knee. Durell still held the gun, but Atimboku's finger was on the trigger. He began to fire it blindly, his face convulsed, and the thunder of the discharge made wild, echoing clamors in the crowded coach. There were screams and shouts from behind Durell. The slugs kicked up the rich carpeting on the coach floor. Someone yelled in frantic pain behind Durell's back. He applied more pressure and tore the gun free and lifted it to swing the stock at Atimboku's head. Atim-boku ducked, and Durell swung again, connected with a glancing blow deflected by one of the coach seats, and Atimboku staggered backward, blood running down one side of his face.
"Please, M'sieu Durell."
A gun jabbed hard between Durell's shoulder blades.
"S'il vous plait."
Abdundi's gun muzzle jabbed harder.
"His Highness will have his way. It will be best if you take us to her Highness, Princess Salduva."
Durell dropped the rifle. Atimboku came up with a growl of fury and drove his fist at Durell's face. Pain rapped down the back of his neck. Atimboku hit him again. He felt blood in his mouth from a cut inside his cheek. Abdundi's gun in his back made him helpless. No one among the staring, frightened refugees made a move to help him.
Atimboku swung once more, but this time Durell disregarded the gun pressed against his spine and caught the other's wrist, twisted it, forced the man down and aside—and then something struck the back of his head with blinding force. Durell went down on all fours in the coach aisle. Atimboku's knee came up and clipped his jaw. He felt as if his head had been torn off. He heard someone shout at last in protest, and there was a quick scuffling of feet around him. Darkness roared before his eyes.
"Let's get Salduva," Atimboku said heavily.
He was down but not out. A tentative hand tried to lift him up. He pushed it away angrily and stood up by himself. The train rocked. He staggered against a seat, saw a blur of curious, awed faces around him. It was as if he were swimming in a fog.
"Get out of my way," he muttered.
One of the refugees selected for execution stood blocking his path in the aisle, a small man with fluttering hands. "Please sir, you can do nothing, nothing at all. He has the soldiers, the gims. He is a savage, after all."
"Stand aside."
He pushed at the man and took a few steps down the coach aisle toward the forward end. The people drew aside, their eyes shining as if through a warm mist. He felt the back of his head, and his fingers came away warm and wet wtih blood.
"You are hurt, sir. I am a doctor—"
He paid no attention. He drew his gun, the .38, from his waistband and walked swaying toward the coach door ahead. He could see through the glass, which was adorned with curlicued flowers frosted in the pane, and Atimboku and Abdundi were still there on the front platform. He wondered why they hadn't gone on across to the engine tender. His hand was wet and slippery on the door's lever handle. When he opened it, the roar and clatter of the locomotive burst upon his ears. He felt the hot, damp wind of their passage through the jungle like the slap of a wet towel across his face. Wood smoke from the stack came down in a thick gust and blinded him. Atimboku started climbing across the tender, shouting, "Salduva! You bitch, Salduva!"
Atimboku got on top of the stacked cordwood, bracing himself against the pitch and sway of the tender. The wheels made an extra loud clattering racket. Jungle vines and trees that towered overhead made a tunnel out of the right-of-way, cutting off the direct sun overhead.
Durell saw Sally. She had stood up from her niche amidst the firewood and stood facing the royal brother.
Her face was grave; her eyes were bold. She showed no fear of the raging man.
"At your peril, Atimboku!" she called.
"Do you plot against me?"
"I do."
"You would take my country from me?"
"I shall."
"Then you must die!"
At that moment three tall, black shadows emerged incredibly tall behind the girl's defiant, wind-whipped figure. Their long, graceful spears were silhouetted against the flickering green of the jungle as the train roared on.
Atimboku's progress jerked to a sudden halt. He was only three feet from the girl. She was still defiant. Durell saw Khwama, the leader of the warrior trio, lift his spear. Atimboku stared, frozen, arms spread to balance himself against the swaying of the train. His face was spasmed with shock that had a deeper meaning than the immediate threat from the spear. Atimboku knew that these three had been sent by the Queen Elephant, his mother. And the terror that convulsed his face reflected ancient chains of force and tradition.
He lowered his gun.
Then he raised it again.
"Khwama, you will die, too!" He was going to fire.
At that moment the old steam whistle of the locomotive suddenly shrieked an alarm like an animal in mortal pain. The brakes screamed and the great drive wheels locked, sending showers of sparks along the rusted rails. The sudden deceleration threw Atimboku off balance as he stood on the cordwood. Khwama grabbed the girl and threw her down to safety, and then the whistle shrieked again, and Old 79 jolted, hit something on the track, jolted again. Shouts and screams came from the passengers in the coach behind Durell.
The train halted, panting like an exhausted beast.
Seventeen
DURELL jumped down from the coach platform and ran forward along the embankment toward the engine cab. Harvey's round, soot-stained face peered down at him. His gloved hand waved ahead, and Durell looked that way and then motioned Harvey down from the cab.
"Sam?"
It was Sally. He glanced up at her. "Are you all right?"
"Atunboku fell off."
For a moment Durell thought it would be no loss to go on without Prince Atimboku Mari Mak Mujilikak. Colonel Abdundi jumped down from the coach platform and they walked forward past the ore car that served as their armored vehicle ahead of the engine. The soldiers in there looked anxiously around. The jungle was silent. The heat was steamy, oppressive, now that they had stopped moving. Jets of steam came from Old 79's worn pistons. The locomotive looked all right. But the front of the assault car was buried in a tangle of green vines and creepers, and a thick barrier of fallen trees blocked the tracks ahead. DureU swore softly. It did not look as if this was the work of the enemy. A storm had swept through the swamp and jungle here and left this mountain of debris in its path. He could not see how deep or how far it extended.
Old 79 kept panting at a standstill.
Harvey said, "Hell, it's a day's work."
Abdundi shouted to his men to climb down out of the ore car with their axes.
Harvey said, "We need water, too.
I've been watching the gauges. I think the tanks leak."
Durell walked through the steamy morning heat and climbed around the mass of debris in their path. It was hard going. He felt a wave of dizziness, an aftermath from the blow on the back of his head. There was an ache behind his eyes. He put on his sun glasses, but that didn't help much. He heard footsteps behind him and Salduva and the three warriors close at her side came toward him.
"Sam, you're hurt!"
"I'm all right."
"Is this as far as we can go?"
"We'll see."
"Let me help you, Sam."
"I'm all right," he said again. "Where is Oyashi?"
"He was hit by a piece of firewood that slid off the pile in the tender. He'll come around soon, but it knocked him out. The worst is he lost his insulin somewhere."
"Any more problems?"
"Atimboku," she said.
"What about him?"
"I told you, he fell off. But he wasn't hurt."
"Stay close to me then," Durell said.
It was hard work, struggling through the muck and swamp of the jungle floor. The trees that were down had brought with them a vast net of vines as impenetrable as barbed wire. Through it he saw a glimmer of brown water, a portion of a low trestle bridge crossing the Pakuru River. The length of blocked track was at least thirty feet. It would take the rest of the morning to remove the great tree trunks by hand.
He walked back to Colonel Abdundi and his struggling men. Some of the passengers had come down from the coach, but they stood at a respectful distance from the angry soldiers.
"Colonel, we may have to use dynamite."
"Alas, we have none."
"But you have grenades?"
"I cannot permit their use. They may be needed later against the enemy."
"Fire then. Let's bum it up."
Abdundi nodded. "C'est possible. If we shovel out some hot coals from the firebox."
"Get to it."
"I shall." Abdundi looked curiously concerned. "You should have your injuries attended to, M'sieu Durell."
"Was it you who hit me from behind?"
"I had to, m'sieu. My chief, after all, is Prince Atim-boku."
Durell looked at Sally. "You may have to change your allegiance, mon colonel.'*
There came a crackling noise as Abdundi's men threw the coals to the brush and tree trunks blocking the way. Heat waves lifted from the mountainous, tangled pile of vegetation. Brightly colored birds squawked and flew up out of the jungle trees. As the smoke rose into the hot African sky, Durell swore to himself. It couldn't be helped, but the column of smoke made a perfect signal to the enemy as to their position.
He studied the wide river and the trestle bridge for several minutes, then walked slowly back to the halted train. Harvey was gone from the locomotive cab. Sally came with him surrounded by the spear-toting warriors. The refugees from the coach had gathered along the tracks, watching the fire.
"Sally, will you take care of Oyashi?"
"What about yourself?"
"There's a doctor back in the coach."
"What do I do if Atimboku comes after me again?"
Durell looked at Khwama. The tall, thin black man met his eyes blandly. "Do you know what is most important, Khwama?" ' "Salduva's life is my life."
"Okay then."
Gloria had remained in her compartment, scorning the crowd of other passengers along the side of the tracks.
Harvey was there with her. He had been talking earnestly to Gloria, sitting hunched up on the leather bench across from her when Durell came in. Gloria's face was contemptuous; Harvey's reflected an inner pain and an outer exhaustion. When Durell entered, they both looked at him with relief as if glad to drop their conversation.
"You ought to get some sleep, Harvey," Durell said. "Even twenty minutes will help."
"Yes, you're right," Harvey muttered.
"How much farther can we go without more water for the boiler?"
"Nowhere at all."
"Well, the river's straight ahead. I'll get some more men to work on it."
"I'll do it," Harvey said heavily. He stood up. His eyes were bloodshot, and there were tear streaks through the soot on his exhausted face. "Let Gloria take care of those cuts on your head, Cajun."
He lurched out. Durell did not stop him; the train came first. He sat down in Harvey's place, and Gloria gave him a small, tight smile, rummaged in a case she had brought and took out a bottle of Cape Town bourbon.
"Here. You need this, Sam."
"Still think I'm a son of a bitch?"
"What I think doesn't seem to matter."
"How is Harvey holding up? You know him better than anyone."
"He won't make it," she said flatly. "I know him, all right. He can't take it in the clutch."
"Baby him a bit, why don't you?"
"I think you're the one who needs babying." She got up and turned the lock on the compartment door. She moved like a sleepy jungle cat, her haunches rolling. Durell drank some of the bourbon, and the liquor hit his stomach with a warmth he appreciated. His head cleared a little. Gloria leaned over him, her breasts obvious. He tried not to pay any attention. She was perfumed; her hands were quick and deft on his scalp wound. She found some bandages among the stuff she carried in her huge handbag and put them on, pressing her hip against his shoulder. He wished she wouldn't be so obvious. He could feel the animal magnetism in her body.
"I'm going to get that bastard," she whispered.
"Harvey?"
"No. Atimboku."
"Because he turned you down?"
"That's right. Right on."
"Suppose I turned you down, too?"
She smiled slowly, looking down at him, her lips pressed together in contentment. She stood close before him. "You won't," she said.
Far in the distance above the throbbing breath of Old 79, he heard Sally scream.
The fire in the brush piled on the track had reached its peak and was dying out. Ashes and cinders still flew up in the air, and the sky above was stained by the smoke of the flames. Some of the tree trunks still lay across the rails, but they could be pushed aside by the locomotive when they got rolling again.
Durell waded through the ankle-deep mud and water of the jungle floor. He kept his gun in his hand. He squinted up at the sun through the interlaced tree branches and saw it was almost overhead now. They hadn't gotten very far along the six hundred miles of track yet. At this rate they'd never make it.
Sally screamed again from somewhere ahead of him. He heard her now, crashing through the underbrush. Someone was chasing her. He wondered how she had gotten separated from Khwama and his companions. He swore again, raised his gun, and moved through the green heat toward the sound of her voice. Insects bursts from the vines around him in great, noisy clouds of flickering, silvery wings. He heard a shot. And another shot. Then he saw her struggling in the mud of the riverbank. Atimboku was about twenty feet behind her, a rifle in his hand. His face looked enraged. Sally saw Durell and swung toward him, and Durell broke through the last of the vines and came into Prince Tim's sight.
Atimboku halted. His great chest expanded violently with his hard breathing.
"Get away from her, Cajun."
"Put down your gun."
"I warn you—"
Sally said, shuddering, "I couldn't—I'm sorry—I told Khwama to leave me. I wanted to see if I could settle this quietly with my brother. I wanted to appeal to him—"
"Bitch," Atimboku said.
Sally said, "I thought that if Atimboku and I can work together at the UN—if we ever get out of here—^we could try to do something good for our country—"
"You're an idiot," Durell said.
Atimboku stood spread legged in the mud of the river-bank. From the tracks behind them came a sudden blast from Old 79's whistle. The train was ready to go. Dxirell shoved Sally behind him.
"Go back to the train."
"What about you?"
"A
timboku and I will settle everything now," Durell said flatly. "Nothing will matter about the train if you both keep acting like a couple of savages."
Prince Tim sneered, "Man, now the beans really spill out. That's what you really think of us, shamba. At heart you're a pig like the rest of the pigs. A supremacist. You think of us as jungle savages."
"When you behave like one, yes," Durell said.
"I've issued a royal decree. Salduva is to stay in Pakuru, She is disobeying a government order."
"You can cut all that," Durell said. "Half your country is overrun by the Neighbors. In another forty-eight hours you won't be prince of anything."
The whistle screeched again. There came a chuffing sound from the train, invisible through the jungle, as the power was applied to Old 79's drivers. The rumble of its heavy movement seemed to shake the leaves and vines of the jungle. It was plain that Harvey didn't know they were not aboard.
Prince Tim started forward, his eyes surprised, and
Durell leveled his gun and said, "Hold it. We stay here and settle all this now."
"What are you doing, man? They're going on without us! We'll be left here to die!"
"That's right."
"What do you want?"
"Your promise," Durell said. "Your promise to leave Sally alone. To let her arrive safely if we ever get to safety and settle the matter between you amicably."
"You wouldn't believe any promise I made—"
"It would be on the record in my sworn statement to the Department of State—"
Atimboku stared at him with impatient, angry eyes. There came another shriek from the locomotive's whistle. Birds of all colors, red and white and green, burst up like explosions through the treetop foliage, squawking in protest against the alien noise. There came a hiss of steam from the brakes as Harvey halted the train again. They could see it now through the brush, the ore hopper first, crowded with Colonel Abdundi's soldiers, then the pilot and ancient headlamp of Old 79. Someone came crashing through the swamp toward them. It was Khwama and his companions.
"Salduva?" Khwama called.
"Here," she replied calmly.
The three warriors appeared on the riverbank, their long spears ready. Atimboku looked at them and lowered his rifle.
Assignment Golden Girl Page 9