by Andy Briggs
16
The tracker beacon always lay just ahead; always out of reach. Robbie had checked the GPS screen almost every half hour when they first started their hike through the jungle, but as the day wore on, he monitored their progress less and less.
Tarzan pushed them on, desperate to take to the trees and speed ahead but forced to slow down and wait for his guides. Robbie could see the frustration in his face and guessed that Tarzan disliked having to rely on others to lead the way. It went against every instinct the ape-man had.
Robbie welcomed the fast pace even if it was exhausting. He had taken the backpack from Jane, his clothes were drenched with sweat and he could barely feel his legs, but it kept his mind focused on the task at hand. He felt relieved that he had finally told Jane his problem. Somebody was looking for him, but he still didn’t know who. Was it his stepfather? The cops? A private investigator?
Jane walked beside him saying very little. Robbie caught her occasionally glancing thoughtfully at him. He was starting to get paranoid—did she doubt his story about Sophie’s death? Did she think he really was responsible?
As his mind whirred with doubt and guilt, the day was measured only in unfaltering footsteps. Minutes blurred into hours and muscles began to throb until Robbie was thankful for nightfall.
Dark clouds rolled in and fat raindrops stung as they fell. Tarzan found shelter under a fallen tree, snapping off branches to fashion a nest as the apes had taught him during his childhood. Robbie thought it was a waste of time until he lay down and discovered the branches had been woven together to form a comfortable bed that supported his aching limbs. He quickly fell asleep, lulled by the sound of the rain, but was haunted by bad dreams during the night.
The next morning Tarzan woke them in pre-dawn light, eager to move on.
Jane noticed that the GPS tracker had remained stationary overnight too. Robbie worried that Rokoff had found the tracker and thrown it away, but he didn’t dare share his fears with the other two. Jane continued to be silent and withdrawn and it looked as if the pace of their hunt was beginning to wear her down as well.
Tarzan, too, spoke little, pushing them on with grim determination, pausing to read the signs in the earth and pick out the most direct animal trails. Robbie suspected that every time he vanished ahead, it was to clear their path from potential dangers that would slow them down. Once he returned covered in flecks of blood. Whether it was from a battle or a meal that hadn’t escaped him, Robbie didn’t know. They pressed on through the rain and didn’t stop as lightning flickered through low clouds and thunder boomed with such fury that the jungle came alive with the shrieks of birds and monkeys.
Without the sun as a guide it was impossible to judge how much time had passed. Only by glancing at the clock on his sat phone did Robbie realize that hours were racing by. He almost didn’t notice the jungle becoming less dense and the sickly humidity decrease. He nearly bumped into Jane before he looked up and realized they were standing on a lush green hill with knots of trees thinning out as the ground sloped away. In the distance, through the veil of rain, the grass gave way to rows of cultivated fields. Robbie felt a renewed hope at the signs of civilization. He checked the GPS and noticed the marker was moving again.
Tarzan wanted to follow the moving blip directly. However, Robbie convinced him they would be better heading to the location where Rokoff had spent a day. For all they knew the Russian had left Karnath where he’d stopped and was moving on.
So they pressed toward the fields. The storm passed and the moonlight guided their progress. Robbie guessed it must be close to midnight and that they had been walking in the darkness without a break. Just as he was thinking of insisting they stop, he saw white lights ahead, the beginnings of a sprawling town much larger than Sango.
“Where are we?” asked Jane.
Robbie glanced at the GPS. It was a straightforward interface that revealed no detail other than the distance and direction of Rokoff’s blip to the east, heading toward the border.
“Can’t be sure but at least we’re still in the Democratic Republic of Congo. We’ve been heading steadily southeast. Rokoff’s in that direction, still a day ahead but according to the waypoint marker, he spent almost twenty-four hours here.”
Tarzan studied the lights suspiciously. “If Rokoff not here then we go.”
Jane shook her head. “No, we decided, we need to find out why he spent so much time here. Maybe he left Karnath? We need to look around. Ask questions.”
For the first time, Robbie could see apprehension on Tarzan’s face. Being so close to civilization made him nervous.
“I don’t know about you guys, but the idea of walking around a possibly dangerous town at night isn’t that appealing. I vote we sleep here. Check it out in the daytime,” he said.
To Robbie’s surprise, Tarzan nodded. “Yes. Town not safe.”
They found a nearby tree and settled in the low branches. The air was far less humid than in the jungle, and Robbie enjoyed the cool breeze. The sounds around him were different here; insects and frogs chirped in the darkness but there were no cries of monkeys or birds.
They entered the town early next morning. Circled by plowed fields, it was a simple place with ramshackle buildings made from mud bricks and sheets of corrugated iron that had been daubed with bright colors. No structure stood higher than a single story, except an old weather-beaten church. Electricity came only from noisy gasoline generators at the back of bigger properties.
Robbie led the way, Tarzan keeping uncharacteristically behind. He was clearly ill at ease, his eyes darting from the single-story huts to the rubbish-strewn alleys between them. Market vendors were already beginning to set up their wares before the sun grew too hot. Carts were filled with peanuts still on their root branches, long brown cassavas, and a variety of spices. Tarzan tensed when they passed a stall with several dead crocodiles hanging from hooks, a buck of some kind, and several monkeys that had been dried in the sun and shriveled beyond recognition.
“A place of murder,” he muttered.
“It’s food,” said Jane in a low voice, gently pushing Tarzan onward as he glared at the old man behind the cart. “We don’t eat it raw, remember. We cook it.”
“You burn good flesh.”
Robbie was relieved that Jane didn’t pursue the argument. He had been afraid that Tarzan would stand out with his bare barrel chest and ragged cargo shorts, but he almost fitted in with the admittedly less muscular townsfolk. It was Jane who drew the most attention as a blonde in a place where dark hair was the norm.
Ignoring Tarzan’s grumbling, Robbie led them into the heart of the town. A pair of stray dogs started barking at Tarzan, baring their teeth as they challenged the newcomers. Tarzan dropped to all fours, bringing himself almost nose to nose with the dogs, and flashed his own teeth, issuing a long deep growl. The strays yelped, tails folded between their legs.
Robbie looked from the bizarre scene to an old man who sat on his porch with a toothless smile creasing his face. He took Tarzan’s arm, his muscles feeling like iron, and tried to pull him upright. Tarzan didn’t budge.
“That’s enough of that,” said Robbie from the corner of his mouth, his eyes fixed on the old man. “You’re making us look weird.”
Tarzan stood, wondering why Jane was hiding her smile. Robbie approached the old man.
“Bonjour, parlez-vous anglais?” Robbie only knew a few French phrases and he hoped his accent wasn’t too hard to understand.
The man nodded, still smiling. “Yes, yes. Your friend thinks he’s a dog!” That sent the man off into a fit of laughter.
Robbie humored the old man. “No, he thinks he’s a monkey.” That appeared to please him. “We’re looking for some friends of ours who passed through here. They look like us. They flew here.”
“Ah! They think they are birds!” The man howled with laughter.
Robbie looked at Jane for help but she shrugged. “They flew in a helicopter.” He indicate
d with his hands but was afraid the man was too simple to understand.
The man wiped tears from his eyes and pointed across town. “Of course they did! They came, I saw it. The airfield is over there.” He pointed across town, still chuckling to himself.
Robbie’s pulse quickened. They were on the right track. “Did they fly away from here?”
The man shook his head. “No. They are not birds.” He stared at Robbie deadpan. Robbie expected the man to break into foolish laughter again, but evidently the comedy was over and the man’s smile faded as he regarded Robbie as if he was the idiot. “They had engine trouble,” the man clarified. “I could hear it from my bed.”
“Are they still here?” asked Robbie excitedly.
The man shrugged and gazed down the street without speaking. Obviously his entertainment was over. Robbie thanked him and they threaded their way through the town in the direction indicated. The streets were getting busier and several battered cars and pick-up trucks passed by playing loud African music and stinking of gasoline fumes. Tarzan was alarmed, and Robbie became aware of the many hostile looks they were receiving. Even though Sango was a rogue trading post on the banks of the river, it felt friendlier than this shanty town. He was thankful they had Tarzan with them as their own personal security.
On the edge of town they found the airfield, although that was a glamorous name for a strip of dirt in the grass. A small shelter with a bench and corrugated iron roof resembled a bus stop rather than an airport departure lounge. Behind it was a large metal shed that acted as a hangar. The rusting iron panels on the roof and walls were coming free. Several ancient vehicles were parked up around a large helicopter. The aircraft looked as old as the cars, rust covering the fuselage, but Tarzan recognized the machine that Rokoff had escaped in. An engine access hood was open just beneath the long drooping rotors. Two men perching on ladders worked on the complex engine within. Another two stood below, passing up tools. The hangar smelled of oil and aviation fuel, coming from the barrels stacked against one of the walls.
“Tarzan will fight!”
“Let me deal with this,” hissed Robbie. “We’re in civilization now. We have rules to follow.” He approached the men, smiling and raising his hand in greeting. “Hey, guys!”
The men stopped working and turned with hostile glances. The two at the foot of the ladders slowly walked toward Robbie. One, with a goatee beard, methodically wiped his hands on an oily rag, while the other folded his brawny arms.
“Nice helicopter,” said Robbie amiably. “Got a little engine trouble?” The men glanced past Robbie as if he was insignificant, then lingered on Jane before finally staring at Tarzan, judging him to be the real threat. Robbie drew their attention back to himself, keeping his tone as friendly as possible. “Some friends of ours rented it out. We wondered which way they went.”
“Friends?” growled the nearest thug.
Robbie glanced at Tarzan, sensing he was ready to attack. Robbie gave a small shake of his head. He had everything under control.
“The two Russians,” he said with a grin.
On hearing this, the two mechanics slid down the ladder and circled around Robbie, regarding him with undisguised hostility. One had an ugly scar splitting his nose and Robbie tried not to look at him too hard.
“Rokoff and Paulvitch,” said Robbie, determined not to be intimidated. “We were supposed to meet them here but they went ahead.”
The split-nosed man started to laugh. It sounded more like a humorless dry cough. “Rokoff is a friend of yours? But he didn’t tell you where he was going?”
They obviously didn’t believe him, but it was too late for Robbie to save face and change his story. “Yep,” he said with a shrug. “You know how he is.”
“Oh, we know,” said Split-nose. The smile dropped from his face and Robbie was surprised to see a wheel wrench had appeared in his hand. It had been hidden out of sight, hooked to the back of his belt. “And you are no friends of his.”
He swung the wrench with lightning speed and a blinding pain struck Robbie’s ribs. The air expelled from his lungs and he dropped to the floor. Split-nose’s boot swung toward Robbie’s face—but it never made contact.
Tarzan leaped over Robbie with a murderous howl. He cannoned into the mechanic with such ferocity that both men hit the floor and slid toward the chopper. The wrench arced toward Tarzan’s head but Tarzan caught it. Bone crunched as Tarzan squeezed the man’s wrist, then gave a sharp twist to the right. Split-nose screamed and his forearm bent at an unnatural angle. He dropped the wrench as two other mechanics jumped onto Tarzan’s back.
Robbie fought for breath, unable to help. The hangar spun from the pain in his side. He heard Jane cry out, and turned to see the goateed man grab her hair, pulling it back.
“Get off her!” Robbie had tried to shout, but it came as nothing more than a wheeze. He ran to help, stumbling like a drunk. Robbie’s fists targeted the man’s kidneys. Goatee-man grunted in pain—before spinning around and punching Robbie squarely in the face. For a second, lights flashed behind Robbie’s eyes and he crashed to the ground. He tasted blood and his nose felt swollen. Groggily he saw Jane run toward a workbench. Her injured assailant went after her.
Tarzan’s attackers, meanwhile, slammed him into the chopper’s fuselage and both men used their weight to pin him there. Tarzan had trouble maintaining a grip on their oily skin and they slipped from his grasp to deliver rapid blows to his stomach. The savage assault forced Tarzan to his knees.
Tarzan dropped—not in defeat, but in a calculated attack move. He grabbed the mechanic’s foot and pulled sharply so that the man fell on his back, knocking himself out as he cracked his head on the floor. Tarzan then rolled onto his back and kicked his second attacker so hard that he was sent flying into the cockpit window, cracking the plastic canopy.
Robbie tried to stand but the room was still spinning. He saw the goateed thug reach Jane and shove her against the bench, one hand around her neck. Robbie didn’t have time to be concerned for Jane’s safety as her flailing hand found a small blowtorch. She cracked the pint-sized gas canister over Goatee’s head. The man staggered back but recovered quickly and lunged for her once again.
She squeezed the torch’s trigger and a jet of blue flame erupted across the man’s chest. He howled in agony as his oily clothes caught fire. Jane backed away, stunned at what she’d done. The man tore at his burning overalls, but couldn’t remove the one-piece suit. Murder was etched across his face as he swung for Jane, knocking the blowtorch aside. Jane cried out as the man’s strong hands closed around her windpipe, choking her.
With a ferocious howl that echoed through the hangar, Tarzan ran to Jane’s aid.
He grabbed the burning man from behind and held him high over his head. Then, Tarzan hurled the mechanic into the barrels.
“No!” yelled Robbie, but his swollen nose dampened his warning.
Tarzan had no knowledge of chemicals. He had no concept of what would happen when the man’s burning clothes ignited the aviation fuel in the barrels. Luckily Jane did; she grabbed Tarzan’s hand and pulled him toward the exit.
“Run!”
Fighting his muzziness, Robbie sprinted after them. The burning goateed man bounced from the barrels, tipping two over. He hit the floor hard and had no time to scream when he saw the yellow liquid spill from the barrels and wash toward him.
Robbie ran for the exit. He reached the hangar door just as the first explosion hit. With a mighty boom an orange fireball shot straight up, blowing a section of roof away.
The shockwave sent Robbie reeling into the split-nosed mechanic who was also scrambling to escape outside. They both fell as a second explosion tore through the building. Multiple fuel barrels exploded, streaking across the hangar like missiles. Two smashed into the helicopter, which then detonated with such fury that the aging aircraft was ripped in two. Robbie coughed as smoke began to drift over him and through streaming eyes, he watched as the entire
building groaned and then collapsed on itself, black smoke and vivid orange flames mushrooming out.
Tarzan and Jane were sprawled on the ground a little farther away.
“This civilization?” he growled.
“No,” gasped Jane. “We’re just having a bad day!”
Tarzan strode over to Split-nose, who was crawling away from Robbie. He picked the thug up by his collar and roughly shook him.
“Where Rokoff?”
Split-nose coughed and tried to pull himself free but he was too weak.
“He’s gone. Took a truck and went yesterday.”
“Where Karnath?” Tarzan growled.
“What? I don’t know who that is.”
Tarzan shook the man fiercely. “Karnath!”
“I don’t know!”
Easily holding the man in one hand, Tarzan walked over to the burning hangar. The heat was severe, even from several feet away, so Tarzan held the man as close as he could to the flames. Split-nose shrieked as the heat singed his skin.
“Karnath!” yelled Tarzan.
Jane ran as close as she could bear. “Tarzan! Wait!” She peered at the thug without a trace of remorse. “He won’t hesitate in throwing you into the fire. Now tell us about the gorilla Rokoff had with him. Why does he want it? Who is he?”
Split-nose was suddenly in a talkative mood as the flames crept nearer. “He’s a hunter. I’ve worked with him before. He’s the best in the world. You want anything, he can get it. The ape is for a collector in Uganda. Ataro Okeke.”
Robbie crossed over to them and was alarmed by the rage on Tarzan’s face.
“Where is he now?” said Robbie.
“He wanted to drive to Tanganyika. He couldn’t wait for the chopper to be repaired and we couldn’t have flown over the border anyway.”
“Where’s he going to sell the ape?” Jane demanded.