by Andy Briggs
Robbie and Jane could only watch helplessly while treading water. The hold’s chains held firm—but still Tarzan pushed. The corner of the metal door began to creak out of shape. Pushing from the inside with all his strength, Tarzan managed to peel the steel apart just wide enough for him to clamber through.
Robbie could only hope he wouldn’t forget about the two of them trapped in the hold.
•••
Having squeezed through the hatchway, Tarzan braced himself on the sharply sloping deck and assessed the situation. The strong current had flung the ship onto jagged rocks near the bank. The sheer weight of water had forced the ship to keel to port, white water frothing around it.
The lights on the deck flashed as the generator room was filled with water. As Tarzan watched, crewmen slid off the boat and into the dark river. The lucky ones struck the rocks below and were killed instantly. The unlucky ones splashed into the deeper water, which became a writhing mass of limbs as dozens of crocodiles, their dull eyes glinting in the ship’s lights, closed in for the feast. Those who landed in shallower water faced a different threat. Huge silver bodies glided under the water’s surface, homing in on men swimming to shore—carnivorous Goliath tiger fish, their teeth-filled jaws severing entire limbs with a single bite.
Most people would have been repulsed by the violence in front of them, but not Tarzan. For him it was a simple matter of hunter and prey, the circle of life. The ship lurched again, the deck flattening out. He spotted Rokoff near the prow. A huddle of men surrounded him carrying an unconscious form: Karnath.
With a bellow, Tarzan charged forward, hampered by the inclined deck. Rokoff glanced around in alarm and hurried his men toward the end of the boat. Tarzan would not let them leave with the young ape.
In ten quick bounds, Tarzan crossed the ship. Two huge crewmen, double the size of silverbacks, blocked his path. Tarzan charged into one—slamming him against the steel wall. The man slumped in agony as the second thug grabbed Tarzan around the shoulders, locking his hands behind his neck. But Tarzan just flexed his powerful shoulder muscles and the thug cried out in pain as both his arms were dislocated under the immense pressure.
Tarzan spun around, fury burning in his eyes as he grabbed the man around the throat.
“Please . . . don’t kill me!” croaked the brute fearfully, his arms hanging limp at his sides.
“Tarzan not kill,” he said, and the crewman breathed a sigh of relief. “But Pisah must eat.”
With that Tarzan hurled the man over the ship’s rail into a shoal of circling tiger fish. For a second their green-silver scales flashed in the ship’s lights, then the water turned blood red.
Before Tarzan could turn to Rokoff, the boat’s lights died as the generator gave a final rattle, plunging the boat into chaotic shadows. Tarzan could sense where his prey was. He could hear his every move . . . but he could also hear Jane and Robbie’s yells of panic from inside the hold. He hesitated, for once unsure what to do.
Just then thunder rumbled. It sounded unusual, a constant stream of noise that didn’t die out. Before Tarzan could react, a spear of light stabbed down from the sky, blinding him. He sank to his knees, shielding his eyes.
The thunder boomed louder and the wind became a hurricane that pushed him off balance. Tarzan slid across the deck—the railing preventing him from falling amongst the predators feasting below.
The intense light burned his eyes. Squinting, he could just make out a large black shape descending from the sky. Tarzan was not afraid of anything, but this experience confused him. He could just hear Rokoff’s voice above the continuous thunder, ordering people toward the monster.
Still shielding his eyes, Tarzan saw Karnath being loaded into the machine, Rokoff following him—shouting at another figure who quickly approached Tarzan.
“Alexis! No!”
Tarzan could see nothing more than Paulvitch’s silhouette, but he could smell the man’s distinctive vile odor.
“So you’re Rokoff’s legendary White Ape?” sneered Paulvitch. “Not so mighty now.”
He prodded Tarzan’s arm with a Taser stun gun. A violent electrical charge surged through Tarzan and it felt as if every nerve in his body was on fire. With a spasm he collapsed onto the deck.
“Alexis! We are leaving!” Rokoff shouted.
Paulvitch ignored Rokoff. He was a little man, never passing up an opportunity to pick on a weak target. His tone was triumphant. “That’s what your little ape friend felt. Enough voltage to stop a charging lion. Hurts, doesn’t it?”
Paulvitch lunged again. To his amazement, Tarzan grabbed his hand, crushing the man’s fingers around the Taser so hard that both his bone and the plastic casing cracked. He kicked Paulvitch in the stomach and sent the tiny man sailing through the air, slamming into the bulkhead.
Tarzan clambered to his feet, weakened from the electric shock and beaten back by the downdraught from the machine. He saw the whimpering Paulvitch climb next to Rokoff. Tarzan strode forward—but was stopped as gunfire raked the deck, kicking up sparks and forcing him to retreat.
As the machine lifted into the air, the powerful spotlight swung away, no longer blinding Tarzan. Rokoff sat in the doorway aiming a hunting rifle at him. Tarzan was an open target, an easy shot.
But no bullet came.
Rokoff lowered the weapon as the aircraft banked over the jungle beyond Tarzan’s reach. The ape-man yelled in frustration, his voice booming over the fading thunder.
The boat suddenly lurched underfoot as it rolled off the rocks toward deeper water.
Jane’s voice cut through the darkness. “Tarzan! Help!”
Tarzan raced back toward the hold to save his friends. His mind was reeling. Why hadn’t Rokoff killed him? He couldn’t be sure, but he swore he caught the trace of a smile on the Russian’s face before he disappeared into the darkness. But the hunt was over. Tarzan knew there was no way he could track an airborne opponent.
Karnath was lost.
15
Clark had never visited Sango so frequently. The loggers usually stocked up with supplies just once a month, only making the long trek into town if it was absolutely necessary. That had been his own rule to maintain absolute secrecy over their operation. He didn’t want the locals getting used to seeing them in town and he had no intention of getting arrested. He had spent time in jails around the world before, all because he hadn’t been careful enough. However, Tarzan was making him break his own rules.
At the same time he could sense Archie becoming ever more anxious since their encounters with Rokoff. Clark admitted that it had been a mistake to take the Russian’s claims of being a conservationist at face value. But although Rokoff had turned out to be a liar, Clark felt pleased his plan to prove Tarzan’s identity remained on track, with Robbie still traveling with the ape-man, recording evidence on his camcorder.
When the pain in his leg grew unbearable, Mister David agreed to drive Clark to revisit the medical team in Sango. When the doctor took a look at his leg she worryingly declared that the leopard wound was worse than they first thought. The antibiotics were keeping infection at bay and it would heal, but Clark would probably have a limp for the rest of his life.
He knew it could have been worse. He could have lost the leg; he could have been killed. And, for the first time in his life, Clark realized that he was a middle-aged man running around a jungle looking to get rich. He had been doing that all his life, but wondered if his time would soon be up.
Two cold Tusker beers helped him silence his doubts and he gave a fistful of francs to the Internet café owner to help him log into his email. Clark was not computer literate and, without Robbie around, his technical skills were limited. He made sure the café owner couldn’t see the messages that were waiting for him in his inbox. Amongst them was one from “William.” The name was unfamiliar but the subject line “Tarzan” immediately got his attention.
Clark read through the message twice to make sure he fully understood it
. His hopes were lifted.
Dear Clark,
Allow me to introduce myself: I am William Cecil Clayton, or, as my more formal title now reads, Lord Greystoke. I recently inherited this title when my father sadly passed away two weeks ago. I must say your email intrigued me. My father was forever receiving messages from people claiming that Lord and Lady Greystoke had survived the plane crash with their unborn child, but of course they were nothing more than confidence tricksters and scam artists. This business all started when a French UN officer, called Paul D’Arnot, claimed he had found a boy living in the jungle who was my father’s nephew. Needless to say, his story proved false, but it didn’t stop others from trying.
My father grew wary and demanded hard evidence that his nephew, my cousin, could possibly still be alive and he took your messages as nothing more than another extortionist trying to squeeze money from us.
I should warn you that I have now taken my seat in the House of Lords and have powerful influence, even in the Congo. However, should your claims prove to have merit, then there is a substantial reward for whoever finds my cousin alive. After all, that would mean he is the current holder of the title and owner of the Greystoke estate.
Should you uncover any compelling evidence of my cousin’s existence then contact me directly. Do not contact the media: That will void any reward. And, should you think of trying to fake any claims, then rest assured I will find you.
Yours sincerely,
Lord Greystoke
That was all Clark needed to convince himself that he wasn’t wasting his life in the jungle. He logged off the computer and limped out of the café on his crutch. The owner, a young Congolese man in his twenties, was sitting in the open window frame watching him carefully. Clark knew he went by the name of Kwasi.
“You always here with the younger man, non?” Kwasi asked in French-accented English.
Clark stopped in the doorway, annoyed that he had been recognized. If he was going to be handing out wads of francs then he was going to start getting noticed and now his crutch made him all the more memorable.
“Why d’you ask?”
Kwasi smiled, flashing his perfect white teeth. He was used to never receiving straight answers. He wagged a finger at Clark. “Yes, you are. You cannot fool me.”
“Well, I tried,” said Clark forcing a smile and turning to leave. He didn’t have time to chat with a grinning fool. He stepped onto the porch when Kwasi spoke up again.
“I just thought you would be interested . . . never mind.”
Clark turned and cocked his head. “Interested in what?”
Kwasi’s eyes darted to the pocket Clark had stuffed his cash in. The boy was observant, he’d give him that. It was also clearly the end of the conversation unless more money was offered. Clark reluctantly rolled out a note. Kwasi took it and stared at it critically.
“That’s all you’re gettin’, mate,” said Clark. “I don’t pay when I don’t know what I’m gettin’. Let me decide if it’s worth more.”
Clark reached to take the note away but Kwasi’s hand moved fast, stashing the money in his ripped jeans. He flashed another toothy smile.
“I like you,” said Kwasi. “You give me good custom. Which is why, when I hear there is a man in the town downriver, asking questions about an American teenager . . . then I should maybe worry about keeping my business flowing, non?”
Although the nearest town was almost fifty miles away, news and gossip traveled fast between fishermen and black-market traders. New faces were always top of the list, just in case they posed a threat to the town’s illegal lifeblood.
“Is he comin’ this way?” Clark asked. Kwasi nodded. “You know what he’s been askin’ about?”
“Just about him. Not you. The man is an American also.”
Clark had asked Robbie nothing about his past, but this development was making him wonder about Jane’s comment concerning Robbie’s stepfather. Would the anonymity policy he set among the camp workers come back to bite him? He pushed a bundle of notes into Kwasi’s hand. It was probably more than the café owner made in a month.
“Keep your ears open. If he comes here, tell him nothin’ and see no one else does, OK?” Kwasi nodded enthusiastically. “Try an’ find out more about him. Let me know.”
Clark headed to the jeep to wait for Mister David. This was worrying news. He only hoped that whatever Robbie had done, it wasn’t going to have repercussions on the camp. Clark sat in the jeep and pulled out his sat phone. He stared at it wondering if he should let Robbie know, or wait until they had proof of Tarzan’s link to Greystoke.
•••
Being rescued from the freighter’s hold was a relatively simple, if frightening, affair. The water inside had continued to rise, forcing Robbie and Jane up toward the hatch. Jane was able to use her backpack as a flotation device and they both clung to it. While it was terrifying to be sloshed around in utter darkness, they were unharmed. Tarzan only had to lean down into the hatch and pull them out. They ran to the stern as the big ship wallowed into deeper water and Tarzan pushed them to jump into the branches of an overhanging tree before they were pulled further away from the shoreline.
Jane secured her backpack and made the jump with ease. Robbie hesitated—unlike Jane, he had never experienced a giddying free-running ride through the jungle canopy with Tarzan. In the half-moonlight, Robbie saw the gap between the boat and tree increasing. With a deep breath he took a running jump, closing his eyes as he did so. He struck a thick branch, which swayed wildly and almost threw him off. Jane pulled him up to safety and Tarzan joined them moments later.
Exhausted, they watched the stricken vessel slowly vanish beneath the river’s surface. The crocodiles and tiger fish, bloated from their feast, disappeared into the night. Tarzan declared they would sleep in the tree, for safety, then said nothing further. Looking morose, he just gazed in the direction Rokoff had fled.
“Maybe we should go back and check the rest of your family are OK?” said Jane after a weighty silence. “They need you too.”
Tarzan nodded slowly. In the pale light, Robbie saw the pain on Tarzan’s face. He felt wretched, knowing he was to blame for bringing Rokoff into their lives.
“We’re not going back,” Robbie stated firmly.
“There’s no way we can chase Rokoff in a helicopter,” Jane stated flatly.
“You’re wrong,” he said. “We can find him.” He could hardly believe he was suggesting this when Jane had just given him an opportunity to see Tarzan’s home.
Fatigue had worn Jane’s patience down. “How?”
“With this.” Robbie held up the GPS that he dug out of Jane’s backpack. A blip flashed on the screen. “Now we know exactly where he is.”
Jane’s face lit up in a smile. “How is that possible?”
“When Rokoff pushed the gun against my head I slipped a GPS tracker in his jacket. After being treated like that, I really didn’t want to see him get away scot-free.”
He was surprised when Jane promptly hugged him, laughing gleefully. She snatched the GPS from Robbie and showed it to Tarzan.
“This is where Karnath is! We can still find him! By the look of things they’ve already stopped.”
Tarzan looked at the flashing GPS in confusion. He clearly didn’t understand. Robbie smiled and leaned back, closing his eyes; it would be amusing to hear Jane explain the tracking device to the wild man. He fell asleep moments later.
•••
Jane woke from a deep slumber, instantly aware that a small gecko was scampering across her jeans. The little lizard was no threat, so she gently shook her leg to frighten it enough to run away. Not so long ago she would have freaked out over such an encounter and it made her realize just how much she was feeling at home in the wild.
She heard Robbie speaking in a low voice down on the ground. There was no sign of Tarzan, but Robbie was eating fruit as he talked into his sat phone.
Jane clambered down the broad tree tr
unk. The tree grew at a slight angle, and its trunk was pitted with knots and handholds that made it ideal for climbing. Robbie hung up the phone before she jumped the last couple of feet to the ground.
“Was that my dad?”
“Clark,” said Robbie.
“Worrying about us again? Where’s Tarzan?”
“He said he’d scout the path ahead.” He pointed to several unusual fruits stacked on a stone. “He left breakfast.”
Jane sniffed them. She couldn’t identify the smell so pulled one open, revealing green pulp inside. She took a small bite and it tasted good. She ate three before noticing that Robbie was looking thoughtfully across the river.
“What’s on your mind?”
Robbie didn’t respond. It was as if he hadn’t even heard her. When she gently touched his shoulder he flinched.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, now more concerned.
Robbie didn’t answer at first. He handed her the water canteen he was holding and Jane took a long gulp to wash down the fruit.
“My sister . . .” Robbie was finding it difficult to get the words out. He took a deep breath and tried again. “I did a little more digging into Sophie’s death.”
“Yeah, you said. You didn’t kill your stepfather, so don’t worry about it, and what happened to your sister—”
Robbie cut her off. “That’s the point! I didn’t kill him and I wish I had!”
“No, you don’t.”
“You don’t know what I think,” said Robbie in a whisper. He stared at the ground to collect his thoughts, then looked at her as if gauging her reaction. “I wish he was dead. And you know why? Because he’s a murderer and a liar! He told the cops that not only did I try to kill him . . . but I killed Sophie too!”
Jane was horrified. “Are you sure?”
Robbie was choking with emotion, glad to finally get it all off his chest. “Positive. I’m now wanted for killing my own sister and the man who really did it is testifying against me and offering a cash reward! There’s a worldwide manhunt out to find me!”