by Bill Craig
He concealed his pleasure at the news. The Nazis had bought Degiorno’s bogus map directions. He eased the crate to the dock and tried to catch more details of the exchange, but instead heard a rough voice from behind.
“Hey Skinny, what tree did they break you off of?”
Calmly, Hannigan turned around to face the man.
“I mean a little branch like you, don’t you think you should leave the work to the real men?” The speaker was an impressive looking man. His dark hair was cut in a bristly flat top that reminded Hannigan of porcupine quills, and he was tall, well over the six-foot mark. His shoulders were more than three feet wide and his upper arms were bulging so much that his arms were pushed away from his body. His fists were big and meaty and looked like they could easily fill a gallon bucket. There was a lot of power in those arms, and Hannigan knew he would have to be careful to stay out of their reach.
“You talking to me?” Hannigan asked letting some of the accent he had learned in Brooklyn creep into his voice, along with the attitude that usually accompanied it.
“I sure am, little boy. What gives you the right to come here and take work away from me?” The big man asked.
“I’d think you got enough work at the zoo, or don’t they pay the gorillas over here?” Hannigan grinned at the man, but the humor was not evident in his blue eyes, which were cold and calculating as he measured the man, waiting for him to make the first move.
The man’s face went red. “You don’t know who you’re talking to, do you little boy?”
“Have we ever met before? No, I don’t think so. So obviously we’ve never met and I don’t know who you are. How long did it take you to figure it out?” Hannigan snorted derisively.
“Nobody talks to Rhino Hayes that way,” the man growled, his voice rumbling out from deep in his chest.
“Rhino? What kind of first name is that? Didn’t your parents like you very much?”
“I’m gonna break you in half for that, little boy,” Hayes growled, starting forward. He threw a looping left at Hannigan. The latter easily ducked under the swing and shot out with fists to strike two nerve plexus’ on Hayes’ exposed flank. The big man let out a yowl of pain.
“Tsk tsk, now, you’re gonna frighten all the wildlife,” Hannigan said, ducking under another lunge and swinging out his leg to trip the bigger man. Hayes crashed to the dock, causing the wooden pier to ripple like an earthquake.
“You’re gonna die for that!” Hayes roared, scrambling toward Hannigan.
But the wiry adventurer was quicker. He bounded over Hayes, planting his hands on the man’s shoulders as he propelled himself into the air to land directly behind the big longshoreman. Hayes sprawled forward and slammed into a thick piling. The impact snapped it in half.
Hannigan was on him in a flash, steel hard fingers searching out different nerve clusters, pressing hard into them to totally disable the larger man. Howling in frustration, Hayes crumpled to the dock in a heap.
Hannigan looked at the other men. “Anybody else?” he asked, not even breathing hard. The other laborers just looked at him then shook their heads and went back to work. Hannigan retrieved a bucket full of water and tossed it onto his vanquished foe.
Hayes reared up sputtering. “What the bloody hell?”
“You lost, Hayes.” Hannigan said softly. “Want a rematch?”
“Not bloody likely, Mate.” Hayes rumbled. “You pack a helluva wallop for a little feller.”
Hannigan grinned. “Dynamite comes in small packages my friend. You need to be more careful about who you bully.”
“I’ll take that advice, I think.” Hayes extended his hand. “Didn’t catch your name.”
“Hardluck Hannigan,” Hannigan said, using the nickname Bridget had hung on him.
“Rhino Meriwether Hayes,” the big man replied, shaking Hannigan’s hand. Much to Hannigan’s surprise, Hayes didn’t try to use a bone-crusher grip on him.
Hannigan thought about his earlier taunt. With a name like Meriwether, no wonder he favored the nickname Rhino. “Who are you working for, Rhino?”
“Nobody at the moment.” Hayes responded honestly. “That’s why I was picking on you.”
“Maybe I can set something up with Captain Morgan. He’s a good man and an honest fellow who only expects an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay.”
“Sounds like a square deal,” Hayes replied with a grin. “You hook me up here and you got a friend for life, Hardluck. You ever need me, you just holler real loud.”
Hannigan was about to elaborate on the planned upriver journey when, from the corner of his eye, he spotted Degiorno making a couple new friends. Hannigan stopped and Hayes stopped with him. When Degiorno looked over his shoulder and saw Hannigan, he blanched with fear. He quickly said something to the two tough looking laborers with whom he had been speaking, and the men started towards Hannigan, while the weasely Italian tried to slip away.
“I got them,” Rhino Hayes growled, stepping forward. A massive fist swung out and the first of the two went flying through the air. Hannigan darted after the slippery Degiorno as Rhino descended on the second bruiser.
The Italian ran for all he was worth, but Hardluck Hannigan was in better shape and a whole lot younger. Hannigan easily caught him, digging his hands deep into the Italian’s shoulders and hauling him backwards.
“That wasn’t very nice, Francisco. Do I need to take steps to make sure you don’t run again, like shooting your kneecaps?”
“No,” Degiorno replied, quavering.
“Good, because I would hate to have to push you through the jungle in a wheelchair. We had a deal to find that damned emerald, right? I expect you to hold up your end of it.”
“Yes,” Degiorno gasped. “This was just a misunderstanding.”
“Let’s not misunderstand each other any more. Otherwise I might have to go ahead and kill you. As it stands, I may yet,” Hannigan told him, dragging him by the collar back towards the boat.
Rhino Hayes was standing and waiting, grinning. The local toughs were sprawled senseless on the dock. “So Hardluck, is life always this interesting around you?”
“You have no idea.”
Chapter Fifteen
The humidity had risen with the sun and actually gotten worse as the day progressed. By the time Bridget had landed the Duck at the Mission her clothing was sticking to her, as was McKenzie and Shotsky’s. She knew Hannigan and especially Degiorno had to be miserable in the heat and humidity.
As the Duck descended over the river, several of the children from the Mission came running out to the dock to watch the floatplane land, clapping and cheering at the waves made as the floats touched down in the water. They gathered at the dock to greet her and Father McKenzie. Bridget knew most of the kids, having acted as their teacher much of the time. She had nursed many of their parents after various wounds had been received from the overseers on the rubber plantations.
So many were maimed over small slights or made examples of. It sickened her. Especially since they were starting to force the young children to work as well. All for profits. She hated that the children could suffer the same mutilations as their parents, all because some corporation wanted to make a profit.
It ignited a fire within her, one that made her want to fight against the injustices she saw. Except her adopted father refused to let her. “Let it rest Bridget, it’s the way things are,” McKenzie had told her on more than one occasion. Bridget refused to believe it. Whatever her adopted father had suffered through in the Great War, it still affected him to the point where at times he seemed almost spineless, yet at other times he was as ferocious as a lioness protecting a cub. She wondered if she would ever figure him out. Somehow, a part deep inside her doubted it.
Bridget threw back the hatch and climbed out of the plane, easily clambering down onto the dock ahead of her adoptive father and Gregor Shotsky. The children surrounded her immediately, calling her name. Bridget smiled and knelt down, hug
ging as many of them as she could. Some of the children called excitedly to her adopted father in their native language and he responded kindly in the same. They asked questions about Gregor Shotsky but she noted that Niles McKenzie shrugged those off without answering. Bridget waved the kids off and settled into the task of refueling the plane so she could go after Hannigan and Degiorno.
*****
Father Niles McKenzie quickly dismissed the children and then gave Gregor Shotsky a tour of the Mission, including the small machine shop that he had built for fashioning parts that they couldn’t buy for the older floatplane and farm machinery that was used on the Mission grounds.
Gregor thanked the Padre and set to work building the devices that he thought might come in handy for the upcoming expedition. One of the items looked like a steel rod except that when you twisted it, four prongs snapped out of one end to create a grappling hook. The other end twisted off to become a club. Overall it measured about twenty inches in length and was nearly an inch thick. It would make a good truncheon.
Shotsky already had a spool of thin, nearly unbreakable line he had created some time before. He attached it to the grapple and then concealed it in the truncheon end of the club. With practiced moves he screwed the ends together, effectively concealing its purpose. He then set to work on building a second one.
Gregor had also been giving some thought to Hannigan’s .45. There might come a time when a need for silence was required, even when a shot needed to be made. He had an idea for creating a small suppressor for the gun, but he would need to wait on Hannigan to fit it properly.
*****
It didn’t take long for Bridget to have the Duck refueled and to get her airborne again. The children waved from the riverbanks as the Duck took to the air once more. Bridget dipped her wings in response. She was on her way back downriver to pick up Mike Hannigan.
Bridget’s thoughts drifted to the time they had spent alone in the jungle, the thrills that had raced through her body as Mike Hannigan had made her feel a woman. She ached for the sensation again, hoping that the opportunity would arise before they went after The Emerald of Eternity. Mike Hannigan had taught her much about the arts of love in a short time, and she was now a very eager student! Bridget knew she had pleased him as well, and looked forward to doing so again. She knew that Hannigan could teach her a lot, given the chance. Of course with her adopted father dogging their steps, they might not ever get that chance! Bridget shook the thoughts out of her head and scanned the air around the Duck, making sure that there were no unwelcome visitors coming after her beloved airplane again.
*****
Father Niles McKenzie walked to his small office at the rear of the Mission. As he walked, he fished a key from his pocket. His office, Bridget’s room, and the storage area were the only doors in the Mission that had locks. McKenzie reached his office, unlocked the door and stepped inside. He took a quick breath and shut the door behind him, shutting out the noise. Without thinking, his fingers turned the lock; he didn’t even notice the protective symbols painted on the walls and door and around the windows. They were as much a part of him as his skin.
He had hoped that they would protect him from the demon that had murdered his parents when he was a child. They had been missionaries in India when it had happened.
He could still remember it vividly. They had gone to stay at a remote village just a few kilometers from Delhi. His mother, how beautiful she had been, her long blonde hair streaming down her back, her blues eyes bright with laughter. His father had been a dour man with dark hair and dark eyes. His sister had been left with the housekeeper back in Delhi. They had settled into the grass-thatched hut where they would be spending the night, the small fire in the center of the hut providing the only illumination. McKenzie had been almost asleep when the shadows had thickened and taken shape, attacking his parents and savaging them. He had curled into a fetal ball, hearing their screams long after their voices had fallen silent. On that night Niles McKenzie had vowed to fight Evil in all of its forms!
He knew that someday, the demons that had killed his parents would come after him. So Niles McKenzie had prepared himself, studying not only Christianity but magic as well, becoming acquainted not only with white, but dark magic as well. He had been better versed in the days when he had fought beside Dane Hawkins and Mad Dog Davis during the Great Wars, but he could still summon it if the need arose.
He had killed too often in his past and his dreams were often haunted by the faces of the men he had killed during the Great War, haunted as well by the faces of friends who had died fighting as part of the Fighting Hawks.
McKenzie wondered again what had ever become of Dane Hawkins himself. The leader of the Fighting Hawks, what had happened to him after the war? The last he had heard, Hawkins was hiring himself out to go on expeditions into dangerous areas of the world; areas that any sane man would avoid like the plague. Still, that was Hawkins’ choice.
Hawkins seemed to be trying to prove something, as if the man’s war record wasn’t enough. He was forcing himself to live up to an ideal that was so far above realistic it wasn’t funny. McKenzie had tried on more than one occasion to counsel his former leader, but Hawkins had no desire to listen. He was a man beset with inner demons, ones that could only be conquered by his own will. Except McKenzie wasn’t sure that Hawkins’ will was strong enough.
Towards the end of the Great War, Dane Hawkins had become more and more reclusive. More standoffish to those who had been his closest companions. Dane Hawkins was a man on the edge of insanity. Niles McKenzie could only hope that his former commander had not finally succumbed to the madness.
McKenzie pushed away the thoughts of the past. He had to concentrate on the present. Protecting Bridget was at the forefront of his thoughts. Saving her from the fury of Prester John was his most immediate concern. Because there would be fury when the Priest King found that they had invaded his domain, no matter what the cause.
He would kill them all without a second thought if it suited his purpose. Prester John had the idea that the Church had abandoned him. He felt threatened by the Church, felt like they were out to assassinate him. The sad part was that he was right-- it did want to assassinate him.
He was a threat to them, especially given his prolonged life. It was a secret that they coveted and condemned at the same time. Putting an end to the Priest King and recovering The Emerald of Eternity would do much to enhance his own reputation in The Church, removing the blight on his record from his war years and his use of dark magic to help vanquish Evil.
McKenzie had long ago decided that sometimes using the methods of evil to defeat evil worked the best. That had certainly proven the case with Doctor Ragnarok and other assorted villains that the Fighting Hawks had faced over the years. He opened the safe in his sanctuary and removed a small amulet. It was made of moonstone and silver and held a great deal of power. He had acquired it many years before from a Druid Priest in Ireland. It had been instrumental in defeating Doctor Ragnarok, and he hoped it would work as well against Prester John.
*****
Mike Hannigan grinned as he spied the Grumman Duck dropping out of the blue sky towards the river. Rhino Hayes walked up beside him to watch the silver floatplane come in for a landing. “Is that your girl?” Hayes asked.
“Yeah, she is,” Hannigan grinned. He looked over his shoulder towards where the Italian sat slumped against the bulkhead of the cabin. “Hey, Degiorno, get your sorry butt moving. Our ride is here,” Hannigan yelled, his tone commanding.
“That one is gonna give you trouble, Hardluck,” Hayes said looking back at the soaking wet and hopelessly rumpled Italian. The former crime boss looked more like a wartime refugee at the moment.
“I’m counting on it, Rhino. I don’t trust him as far as I could toss this boat. He’s a weasel, but at the moment, he holds the clues to something I want,” Hannigan replied.
“Well good luck, Hardluck. Hopefully things go your way. One day w
e will meet again, I think,” Rhino Hayes said, taking Hannigan’s hand in his massive paw and shaking it.
“I hope you’re right, pal,” Hannigan release his hand and then raised it to wave at Bridget as she taxied the Duck up close to Captain Morgan’s riverboat.
Hannigan glanced over his shoulder. Degiorno was still slumped against the bulkhead glaring at him defiantly. Hannigan whirled and crossed the space between them with five long strides his hands reaching down and gathering in the material of the Italian’s jacket. Hannigan yanked the man to his feet and bodily propelled him towards Rhino Hayes.
Hayes caught Degiorno’s staggering form and flung him through the air the distance to crash down atop the fuselage of the Duck. Hannigan ran towards Hayes and the man lifted him, tossing him through the air like he was nothing. Hannigan had been expecting it, however, and was able to get his feet under him and made a catlike landing on the wing.
As nimbly as a tightrope walker in a circus, Hannigan skipped up the wing and grabbed Degiorno’s collar. With seemingly very little effort he lifted the Italian off the fuselage and dangled him over the muddy waters of the Congo.
Hannigan’s blue eyes stared deep into the Italian’s brown fear-filled eyes. “Are you going to cooperate better or do I just drop you into the river for the crocs?” Hannigan asked his tone as cold and bleak as an arctic winter.
“Yes, I’ll cooperate!” Degiorno screamed his voice very high-pitched with fear.
“Good, cause the crocs on this side of the waterfall haven’t eaten as well as their cousins downstream,” Hannigan replied, shoving the man into the cockpit. Hannigan climbed in as well and pulled the hatch closed above him.
“That was quite a display, Hardluck. Sure you aren’t using too much luck up?” Bridget asked teasingly.