by Rebecca York
He felt her disengaging, slipping away. “Wait. I need to know more.”
But the presence had already vanished into the darkness of the night.
Chapter Seventeen
Gilbert Xavier looked around the well-equipped laboratory and sneered, his lips drawing back into a canine parody of a smile. Talifero had supplied him with everything from a spectrophotometer to an electron microscope that had its own special AC generator. It was a work environment to rival anything found at the top research universities. But instead of being shared by dozens of chemists, it was his alone. Today that didn’t excite him the way it had when he’d first arrived at the Blackstone Clinic. He’d come to realize that the expensive facility was a Venus flytrap, and he was the fly that had become enmeshed in its sticky poison.
He picked up several of the expensive quartz tubes for the spectrophotometer and let them slip through his fingers to the polished granite of the lab table where they splintered into nasty-looking shards. Too bad there wasn’t a spare gun in the supply cabinet along with the extra tubes. In his present frame of mind, he could almost imagine himself confronting Talifero, demanding his freedom, and shooting the man if he didn’t let him go.
It had taken him years to develop the exacting process that turned swamp plants into V-22. When he’d run away before, he’d taken his notes. Lonnie and his men had brought them back to Blackstone. Talifero had made sure that they weren’t going to leave the grounds again. So if he did what Simone wanted tonight, he really would be giving up everything. What’s more, the element of risk was absurdly high. It was hard to picture himself coming out of this alive. But what did it matter? His situation was untenable. Better dead than red, he thought, remembering the details Simone had given him about Franco Garcia—or, more properly, Feliks Gorlov. Xavier began to giggle. Once he started, it was hard to stop.
He found that tears were streaming down his face and wiped them away with the back of his hand. He’d better get a grip on himself. If he was going to carry out Simone’s instructions, he had work to do. Opening the cabinet where the glassware was kept, he removed a large retort and several beakers. Then he took out the key to the reagent storage room.
* * *
MICHAEL SAT UP in the bunk and shook his head. He’d had a crazy dream last night, probably the product of his own desperation. A disembodied phantom had come to him in the night, promising that he could save Jed and Jessica and giving him instructions. It had all been very real at the time. But in the light of day, it seemed preposterous. He could hardly rely on that kind of aid. Go by land instead of sea. It sounded like a line from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
But he wasn’t the only one making the raid on Blackstone that night. Even if he were willing to risk his neck on the advice of a mysterious voice inside his head, he could hardly ask Holcroft and his local men to do the same.
That made him doubly surprised when the CIA man himself broached the subject of the approach to the clinic as they sat with mugs of morning coffee in the lounge of the boat that had been hastily rechristened Star Fish.
“You know,” the agent mused, “I’ve been giving tonight’s mission a lot of thought. Your man Prentiss went in by boat. I would have done the same thing. But he got caught. I assume he knew what he was doing. So either that access is heavily patrolled, or he was damned unlucky.” He took a sip of his coffee. “I’d like to make sure we don’t get pulled in by the same net.”
“What do you think about coming up the main road and circling the grounds?” Michael asked cautiously.
“Risky. But in light of our present intelligence, maybe it makes sense. Talifero is no dummy. He knows Jessica can’t be working alone. In addition to his usual guards, he’s undoubtedly prepared to fight off a rescue attempt. But let’s try to duplicate his thinking. He probably figures the least likely approach anyone would make is along the main road. So that may very well be the weak spot in his defenses.”
“I was wondering about that myself. Unfortunately, I was hoping Jessica could supply a better map of the place.”
Holcroft gave the other agent a considering look. Rome seemed like a pretty stable guy, yet he’d taken the girl’s vision yesterday damned seriously. “Tell me honestly,” he asked, “do you really believe in that psychic stuff?”
Michael took a sip of his own cooling coffee. The question meant Holcroft didn’t give Jessica’s abilities much credence. All the more reason to keep quiet about last night’s private “vision.” If he spilled that, Holcroft would probably turn the boat in the other direction and head for Jamaica. Michael shrugged. “Her hunches seem more on target than most people’s. But I’ll let you know what I think for sure when this is over.”
Holcroft laughed. “Yeah. You and me both. Too bad she can’t pick locks with her mind. Then she could get Prentiss, and the two of them could walk right out of that place so we wouldn’t have to risk our necks going in.”
Don’t I wish, Michael thought.
“It would help if we knew what Talifero was planning for Jessica,” he said aloud, wondering if the specter had been right about that too. “I hate to think we have to hit the ceremonial grounds and two of the buildings.”
“The local guys may well have some information on that. News travels fast around here.”
“Right. Let’s get going.”
The two men had arranged to meet their team of half a dozen local dissidents at a small inlet about ten miles up the coast from their original mooring.
By the time they arrived at midmorning, the little group had already assembled and were waiting out of sight in a clump of trees. Michael and Holcroft anchored the Star Fish a hundred yards out in the bay and rowed in. After stowing the small boat in the underbrush, they joined the local recruits.
“We had to be very careful,” one of them commented. “Barahona has extra men out around the island—like he’s expecting trouble.”
Holcroft nodded and filled the group in on what had happened since their last meeting.
“Not good for the girl,” a young man commented. “I hear they like to jolt up the sisters and have some fun with them.”
“No, I heard from my cousin who delivered vegetables out there this morning that the white woman’s going to be saved for the ritual,” another corrected.
Michael’s jaw clenched and he looked away. God, he hoped the man was right, but what a thing to hope for. Pretending that he was still concerned about the rowboat, he walked over and rearranged the vines that had been thrown over the top. The man’s news was more confirmation that last night’s strange message was right. He straightened and took several deep breaths. When he turned back to the group a few minutes later, his face was impassive.
“All right, what can you tell me about Blackstone and the ceremonies?” he continued the questioning.
A lithe, very dark-skinned man named Jon Bequi seemed to know the most about the clinic. Though he was no voodoo worshiper, he had attended several rituals in order to pick up useful information.
“Do they search for weapons?” Michael asked.
“Sure do, mon. And they only let local people in. No spies.”
“Then the three of you attending the service will have to go in unarmed. We’ll carry extra pistols and ammunition for you.”
“How large a crowd can we expect?” Holcroft wanted to know.
“Maybe forty people. Maybe eighty. This is a big event. But you wait a couple of hours into the service. They be on the ground writhing around. Won’t even know you’re there.”
“We may not be able to wait that long.”
“When does the priest, uh, make the sacrifice?”
“He likes to wait until the people are pretty charged up. It depends.”
They asked more questions and were not necessarily pleased by the answers. But at least they were able to pick up a good deal more information about the setup at Blackstone.
The key to the rescue lay in the regulation military-issue C-4 plastic explosives they’d had brought
along from the Aviary. Michael wasn’t going to wait for some specter’s diversion. He was going to create his own. The men on the team would be needed to help set the charges at various locations around the clearing. Since they had no idea when the murders would take place, the C-4 couldn’t be set off with timing devices. Instead they would have to use antennas and transmitters and be within a quarter of a mile of the blast sites. That made their possible discovery all the more likely. But they had to be close in to pull Jessica and Jed out anyway.
Jon Bequi suggested that they approach the compound during the afternoon. “They don’t expect anyone to come in broad daylight,” he pointed out. “My brother sometimes goes up there to sell them fresh fish. He had a good catch yesterday. We could ride in the back of the van.”
“Does Barahona have a checkpoint on the road to the sanitarium? Will his men want to have a look in the truck?” Michael asked.
Bequi shrugged. “The driver will slip them some money and tell them we’re in a hurry. To make the point, we’ll stow some rotten fish in the back.”
Michael and Holcroft exchanged glances. So they were going to be riding to Blackstone in a truck with rotten fish. Well, if that was the best way to get there, so be it.
But they planned an alternate way to get out. Two of the men would bring the Star Fish to Devil’s Point and wait off the coast for a signal if needed.
* * *
THERE WAS ONLY WEAK TEA for breakfast and no lunch. Jessica huddled in her dark cell, wondering what was going to happen next. In the middle of the afternoon, three muscular female attendants came for her. Two pulled her up by the arms and led her out of the cell. The other stood by in case of trouble.
When she asked where she was being taken, rough hands simply shoved her down the hall. After that she kept her mouth shut and tried to stay calm. The first stop was a shower room where her clothing was summarily stripped off. Then she was thrust under a spray of water where her hair and body were washed. The attendants dried her with a large towel, rubbing her hair so vigorously that her scalp stung. It felt good to be clean. Yet the very impersonal way the women were treating her—almost as if she were an object, not a person—was disconcerting. What were they preparing her for? She didn’t want to examine the possibilities.
One of the women threw a long cotton robe over her shoulders, and she shrugged her arms into the sleeves, glad to cover her nakedness once more. Clutching the front closed, she was hustled barefoot down a flight of stairs to a hall with a vaulted stone ceiling. The guard who wasn’t gripping one of her arms knocked on a wide mahogany door.
“Enter,” a voice instructed.
Jessica was thrust inside to find herself facing Simone. The priestess was dressed in a simple white shift and turban. She pointed toward a wooden table similar to the one where Jed had been strapped down when he had been given the tricarbotane.
“No!” Jessica was powerless to hold the plea back.
“Quiet,” an attendant commanded.
Though Jessica put up a struggle, it wasn’t difficult for the muscular woman to strip off the robe and strap her naked to the table. Simone casually laid a piece of coarse linen across her middle, slipped it under her hips, and tied it at one side to make a sort of short sarong. Then she turned back to the attendants. “You may leave me now.”
“The doctor has asked me to wait outside the door,” the tallest of the three announced.
“That will be satisfactory. But this part of the ritual only I may witness.”
The three women withdrew, leaving Jessica alone with the priestess.
Simone eyed the almost-naked woman strapped to the table. She could see the terror in Jessica’s eyes and the tension in her body as she tested the bonds that held her arms and legs to the corners of the table.
“This is the only place in Blackstone besides Talifero’s bedroom that’s not on his closed-circuit system,” she whispered. “But I can believe the woman out there has her ear pressed to the door.”
Jessica closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again to study the face of the woman she had thought was her friend. “What are you going to do to me?” she asked, unable to keep her voice steady but wanting to know the worst.
“Prepare you—as I did your friend Jed an hour ago—for the voodoo ceremony. The two of you are to be sacrificed to the gods tonight.”
The casual way the words were uttered was numbing. So she was going to die here. What else was in store for her first? “After Lonnie’s had me?” she asked quietly.
“I’ve made sure he won’t touch you.”
“Thank you for that, at least.”
Simone sighed and moved very close to the table, observing her captive’s face. “Jessica, the hungan will be with me at the ceremony. He must read your terror, know that it is real.”
“What—what are you talking about?”
“I’m sorry, old friend. Sorry that you got yourself involved in this. It was your old psychic powers that pulled you in.”
Jessica nodded tightly.
“You had a lot of ability, even as a teenager. But what happened this time may be partly my fault.”
Jessica stared at her wide-eyed. “How?”
“I was focused on you when you came back. The connection between us may have helped awaken your buried powers.”
“Then please,” Jessica appealed. “Please just let me go.”
“You wouldn’t make it across the grounds. Now, stop talking to me or I will be forced to put a gag in your mouth. I’m sorry for what happened, but there’s nothing more I can do.”
The thought of another choking gag made Jessica’s stomach knot. She clamped her lips together. Last night Simone had come to her and pretended that she was trying to help her. Thank God she hadn’t grasped at that straw. At least she had told the priestess nothing. She could comfort herself with that.
It had been a long time since she’d thought of religion in any positive sense. Now she found a remembered psalm from her childhood running through her head. The words helped to soothe her a bit.
Moving to the shelves against the wall, Simone opened a jar of fragrant oil. She rubbed it on Jessica’s wrists and feet and the sides of her breasts, releasing a strong jasmine odor into the room.
Next she took a pot of red pigment and began stirring it with a small stick. Coming back to Jessica, she dipped a brush into the jar and drew a small circle around the pulse point at the base of her neck. A soft chant flowed from her lips as she worked.
Jessica closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. Her arms jerked at the bonds, but her struggle had no effect.
“Lie still,” Moonshadow commanded. “You’ll only hurt yourself.”
Intoning all the while, the priestess painted outward from her original circle, fashioning a chain of similar circles, which she filled in with black and white. Other designs were blue, green, and yellow.
Jessica could feel her heart thumping against her ribs. The sensation of the brush smoothing across her flesh and the priestess’s lulling singsong were not unpleasant, but the implications were. The design became more elaborate as the priestess worked, spreading up the captive’s neck, down her arms, and across her breasts, turning her white flesh into an exotic work of pagan art.
On her hands and fingers the strokes grew more delicate, like a fretwork of painted lace. The ritual itself was mesmerizing, almost blocking out the horror that was to be its culmination. Jessica’s eyes closed, her mind drifting. If only they were Michael’s fingers touching her, not Simone’s. She wanted to reach out to him, tell him what was happening to her. See him one last time. Let him know how much she loved him. The unspoken words burned in the back of her throat now, like unshed tears.
Where was he now? she wondered. Her mind reached outward, wanting, needing him. Abruptly she felt Simone’s hand on her shoulder, shaking her from her reverie.
“No!” the priestess commanded. “You must stay here. You belong to me now.”
Jessica’s ey
es snapped open. “What are you doing to me?” she cried out.
“I’m doing what is necessary. It won’t be long before the ceremony now.”
There was a basket of small white orchids on the shelf. Moonshadow brought it down and began to stud the delicate flowers into the curls of Jessica’s hair.
When she finished, she stepped back to admire her handiwork. “You really do look quite lovely,” she murmured. “But I must go robe myself now. We will meet again very shortly.” Simone turned and left the room.
In the basement chamber, Jessica had lost all track of time. Now she could hear the sound of drums coming from the jungle. With great effort, she raised her head and looked down at her painted body and knew a fear that reached to the very depths of her soul.
* * *
JACKSON TALIFERO rarely attended the voodoo ceremonies, but when he paid the worshipers that honor, he occupied a special seat on a platform at the right of the altar where he had an excellent view of the proceedings. Tonight his guest, Feliks Gorlov, was sitting beside him. With the flickering torchlight, pulsing drums, and colorfully dressed participants, it was really quite a spectacular show, he thought. Not to mention the hungan prancing around in his feather costume waving his arms about like a great bird of prey as he exhorted the faithful. Tourists would probably pay premium prices to see something like this, but the ceremonies held behind the Blackstone Clinic were reserved for the true believers and a few privileged voyeurs. It was a mark of Talifero’s status on the island that the ritual was conducted on his property and that his presence and that of his guest was accepted. Any other white man who tried to sneak in would be treated to the same painful reception that Jed Prentiss had experienced. Too bad the American agent hadn’t broken, Blackstone’s director mused. But with the Dove deal shifting into gear and his own political aspirations, getting rid of the man was probably just as effective.
The crowd was large tonight, Talifero thought, looking around with satisfaction at the islanders who had assembled for the ceremony. True believers, he mused, or those who came because it was prudent to pay their respect to him.