Strange Prey

by Chesbro, George C. ;

  Parve found the site he wanted, then turned on the flashlight and propped it in the roots of a tree a few inches off the ground. The light shining through the two pin pricks in the masque resembled eyes, which was exactly the effect he had intended. He rubbed his body down with dirt, which he hoped would kill, or at least deaden, his own scent, and then moved back ten yards and climbed up into the protective crook formed by the boughs of a large tree. There he crouched and waited, staring intently at the area illuminated by the light.

  The nocturnal visitors began to arrive a few minutes later. Parve crouched and waited. The first three inquisitors were big cats, a leopard and two lionesses. They sniffed around the flashlight for a few moments, growled softly, and then went away in search of more warm-blooded prey. The fourth visitor was the one Parve had been waiting for. The creature emerged from the night, first its triangular head, then slowly, foot by foot, the rest of it. Its forked tongue flicked out, touching the masque over the light. It tensed, waited a few moments, and then began to crawl away along a route that took it directly beneath the tree in which Parve was waiting.

  Parve counted slowly to ten, then leaped to the ground and threw the large square of silk toward the animal’s head. The silk billowed in the air, and then settled down over the python’s body. The animal immediately coiled around itself in a protective reaction. Parve pulled on the drawstring and the sack tightened around the animal’s body. He ran forward, stuffed the remaining length of the snake’s body into the sack, and then pulled the top closed. He waited a few minutes until the animal’s thrashing stopped. Then he heaved the sack over his shoulder and set off for the trail.

  The radar station was fairly modern, a concrete, rectangular building with a geodesic dome on top surrounded by a walkway for guards. Parve calculated from the building’s size that it could probably accommodate a garrison of up to fifty men.

  Hannibal was somewhere inside that building.

  Parve’s mouth was dry and his legs hurt from their cramped position in the crouch he had assumed. The smell of the sea came to him from beyond the building. In the darkness, somewhere to the north, ninety-five men were waiting to be slaughtered.

  Parve glanced once more at his watch; he had a little over a half hour before the raid was scheduled to begin. He had already decided that he must take a considerable risk beforehand. He must find a way to sneak inside the building and then hide. That was the only way he could be sure of knocking out the radar equipment.

  An area of about ten yards had been cleared around the perimeter of the building. Parve stayed just inside the edge of the jungle and slipped around that perimeter until he found the entrance to the building.

  There was a burly guard standing in front of the door. Parve had no way of knowing exactly how many men were inside, or the layout of the interior itself. It would be all over before it began if he should manage to slip inside only to find himself nakedly exposed in the middle of a large open area. But that was a chance he would have to take.

  If it came to that, he would simply open fire on the men and equipment, hoping that he could knock out the radar before they knocked him out. He’d keep shooting at anything that moved, trying to stay alive just long enough for Hannibal to stick his head out from wherever he was hiding.

  He couldn’t kill the first guard himself; that would only run the risk of bringing the entire garrison down on his head prematurely. The snake would have to do his killing for him.

  Parve, taking care to hold the drawstring tight, turned to the sack on the ground beside him and used a sharp stick to poke at the steely coils. The sack began to writhe. Parve poked the animal again, and the writhing increased. There was an angry hiss. Finally, Parve snapped the stick between his hands.

  The guard stiffened, his rifle held at the ready. Parve waited a few more moments, and then snapped another stick. The guard looked over his shoulder and called to someone inside. Two more men came running around the side of the building and came to a stop beside the first guard. They exchanged a few words, and then the first guard started forward.

  Parve carefully opened the top of the sack, gave its occupant another jab, then moved off to the side, walking softly on the balls of his feet. He moved ten yards, and then braced his back against a tree near the perimeter around the building. He waited.

  A moment later the first guard screamed. Parve glanced around the tree in time to see the man stumble out of the jungle, a hundred pounds of python wrapped around his body.

  The other two men began to yell and move back. The snake’s coils tightened around the first man’s legs and he tumbled to the ground. His two companions started forward again, circling warily. The first guard’s face was turning gray and his eyes were glazing. The swollen tongue protruding from his open mouth was black.

  One of the other guards stepped close, put the muzzle of his rifle next to the snake’s head and squeezed off a shot. That wasn’t going to do the first guard much good; even in death, the snake’s coils would remain locked around its prey. But it did bring a number of soldiers from inside running, and that was what Parve had wanted.

  He watched as the soldiers gathered in a knot in the center of the cleared area. They were Hannibal’s men, Parve thought, and he would dearly have loved to step out from behind the tree and open fire with the automatic rifle. But that would only serve to warn Hannibal and the other soldiers inside. Instead, Parve gripped his rifle and, crouching low, raced across the cleared area and into the building.

  He almost collided with Hannibal.

  Hannibal grunted with surprise and staggered back a few steps, his eyes wide, still reddened with sleep. Parve felt frozen in time, inundated by a wave of hate that welled up from the deepest part of him.

  In that instant their eyes met and held. Hannibal seemed smaller, weaker than Parve remembered, or perhaps it was only what Hannibal had done that had made him seem so gargantuan in Parve’s memory. Now, eyes glazed, clad only in shorts and a T shirt, Hannibal seemed more like a beekeeper than a man capable of cold-bloodedly killing a woman and two children.

  Yet that was precisely what the man in front of him had done. And now there was one more thing that added to Parve’s horror. Hannibal didn’t even recognize him; the man who had ordered his family killed didn’t even know who he was. The realization reached into his stomach and pulled like a steel hand at his intestines.

  Hannibal might not know who he was, but he knew what the business end of an automatic rifle could do. He stared with his small, green eyes at the single, black eye that was staring at his midsection. Then Hannibal began to retch.

  Parve’s finger tightened on the trigger. In his mind’s eye he could see the man in front of him cut in half by a hail of bullets from the gun he held, and then he himself cut down from behind. He saw the radar scanner picking up the tiny blips of the transport helicopters, heard the call go out for the jets.

  At the last moment Parve eased the pressure on the trigger and swung the stock hard, smashing it into the side of Hannibal’s head. Hannibal crumpled to the concrete floor of the station. Parve grabbed him by the shirt and dragged him to the closest cover, a pile of wooden boxes stacked off to his right. Parve eased Hannibal behind the boxes, then sat down on his chest. In the few brief moments of the confrontation, Parve had surveyed his surroundings.

  The main bank of radar equipment was across the room and to his left, about twenty yards away. There were a few smaller machines, but the main power source had to be in the main bank. Knock out that machinery and the radar was gone.

  A catwalk with guard posts circled above his head, broken at various intervals by hatchways that looked as though they led to the roof. To his right, across the room, was a corridor that Parve guessed must lead to the station’s living quarters.

  The floor plan clear in his mind, Parve sat and waited.

  Once, Hannibal started to moan. Quickly, expertly, Parve clipped him on the jaw with the butt of his rifle.

  It was 1:20.r />
  The guards and radar operators had taken their positions once again. For the past fifteen minutes a contingent of soldiers had been scurrying around; Parve had heard Hannibal’s name mentioned. He waited until the sweep hand of his watch had gone around one more time, then stood up and told them where Hannibal was.

  “He’s here, you bastards!” Parve screamed. “Come and get him!”

  His first burst of fire raked the bank of machines to his left. The bullets tore into the metal, ripping the guts out of the electronic sensors; the screens went dead, and then disintegrated under the hail of bullets. The three operators flew out of their seats, slammed against the equipment, and then fell to the floor, their bodies shredded.

  A single glance told Parve that the equipment was out. That accomplished, Parve swung the rifle in an arc, mowing down the first group of soldiers, and then continuing on across the back-up equipment to his right.

  Soldiers appeared in the mouth of the corridor; and there were still the guards on the catwalk above. Parve dropped to one knee and had begun to rake the catwalk when the first slug hit him, tearing into his thigh and passing on through.

  The force of the bullet spun him around, bringing him up hard against the rough surface of the wooden crates. He gritted his teeth, waiting for the deadly shower of steel to wash over him.

  There was the sound of a machine gun above him; Parve dug his fingers into the wood and grimaced. But the bullets didn’t come. He glanced up at the catwalk.

  Sir James Roderick stood on the walkway, near an open hatchway. He had one polished black shoe braced against the metal railing and his bowler hat slung down low over his forehead, like some movie cowboy who had wandered into the wrong costume. His suit jacket was buttoned properly, but the silver-tipped cane had been replaced by a British Sten gun. Roderick knew how to use it; his touch was light, and he played the gun like some musical instrument. The tune he played was death.

  Then it was over. The entire garrison of soldiers lay dead or dying on the cold floor, amidst the rubble of the machinery.

  Sir James laid the gun down on the catwalk, rose and carefully straightened his bowler hat.

  “Can you walk, John?”

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I’ve been here for some time, watching from the roof.”

  “Then the station was covered, regardless of what happened to me?”

  “You might say that.”

  Sir James’ words echoed faintly, spoken as they were from his position on the catwalk, competing with the lingering reverberations of gunfire. The room smelled of cordite, blood and death.

  “The prisoners?”

  “They’re safely out.”

  “You were the one who put the acid on the tether strap.”

  “Well, not personally.”

  “But you had it done.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why, you bastard?”

  “In our opinion, it wouldn’t have done for you to blow yourself up.”

  Parve looked down at his leg. It was gushing blood. He was beginning to feel light-headed. He took off his belt and wrapped it around the leg, pulling the leather tight and knotting it. The bleeding stopped.

  Sir James waited silently.

  “I don’t understand,” Parve said when he was finished.

  “The man Hannibal took your life away from you. You had a right to try to get it back, to exorcise your hatred. Since this mission was planned anyway, it seemed a fine way to afford you that opportunity.”

  “How did you know about me?”

  “COVE has many contacts, keeps many files. You see, COVE is not above helping one man. One life, many lives; it’s all the same, isn’t it?” He gestured toward the bodies on the floor. “Unfortunately, our actions may appear contradictory. Indeed, they often are contradictory. But that’s the way the game is played. Incidentally, you handled your assignment with considerable initiative and efficiency. You have a job with COVE, if you want it.”

  “I’ll give it some thought.”

  Sir James nodded in the direction of Hannibal, who was just regaining consciousness. “I see you’ve caught your prize.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Kill him,” Sir James said evenly. “There’s a helicopter waiting for us outside.”

  Parve picked up his rifle and swung it on Hannibal. Hannibal’s eyes were crossed; they slowly uncrossed and came into focus. Then he jackknifed forward and vomited down his front.

  “Meet me outside on the beach,” Parve said quietly.

  “Ten minutes. No longer. There’ll be planes when they discover the radar isn’t working.”

  Sir James disappeared through the hatchway, closing it after him. Parve reached down and yanked Hannibal to his feet, shoving him towards the door. Bracing himself with the gun, Parve walked after him.

  “Who are you?” Hannibal said. The words barely made it out through his broken jaw.

  “Keep walking, you son-of-a-bitch. To the beach. Sneeze, and I blow you in half.”

  Hannibal walked, Parve hobbling along behind him. A crescent moon had broken through the cloud cover enough to reflect its image a thousand times in the gentle swells of the sea beyond the beach. Parve waited until they were a few feet from the water’s edge, then stopped and fired a burst into the sand by Hannibal’s feet.

  Hannibal danced, then stopped and stood rigid. Parve walked around in front of him. He stood close so as to be heard above the sound of the helicopter above them. “My name is John Parve,” he said, watching the other man. “You blew up my wife and children. Or you ordered it done.”

  Hannibal’s eyes filled with terror and rolled, but there was still no recognition. Parve felt dizzy; apparently, Hannibal didn’t even remember the incident But, Parve thought, perhaps it was fitting: one day a brother of one of the soldiers he had killed in the radar station might come after him, and Parve wouldn’t even know why. He hadn’t even seen the faces of the men he’d killed. He hadn’t even looked.

  Parve loosened the belt around his thigh, waited for the blood to ooze, then slowly began to back into the water. Even from that distance Parve could see Hannibal’s eyes begin to glow. Parve raised his gun and continued to back away. The water numbed his leg, but the blood was flowing faster now, a warm, red signal to the sleek black killing machines that infested the waters.

  Hannibal stiffened, saliva dribbling from the corner of his misshapen mouth. His hands were clenched tightly together, like those of a child barely able to contain his excitement at the prospect of an unexpected gift.

  Parve kept backing until the water lapped at his armpits. He held the gun above the water, his finger tight on the trigger; at the first sensation of teeth cutting into him he would blow Hannibal away. Or try to.

  Something hard and rough brushed across his mid-section; Parve’s finger tensed, then relaxed. There were no teeth. The first shark had been on a scouting mission.

  Parve moved forward. In a few moments he was back on the beach. He tightened the belt-tourniquet again, and then pointed the gun at Hannibal’s chest. Hannibal’s eyes were black, like charred holes in paper.

  “Now it’s your turn,” Parve said. “Go on in. The water’s fine.”

  “Sharks!” Hannibal said. The sound was something between a muffled shriek and a hysterical hiccup.

  Parve pointed toward a small island a hundred and fifty yards off shore; it was dark, foreboding, like a mole on the skin of the sea. “You make it out there and you live,” Parve said. “My guess is that that’s more of a chance than you ever gave any of your victims. It’s certainly more than you ever gave my wife and children. If you prefer, I’ll cut you down where you stand.”

  Hannibal had begun to tremble. He dropped to his knees and clasped his hands in front of him in an attitude of prayer. That made Parve nervous. He stepped back and fired off a burst into the sand in front of Hannibal. Hannibal screwed his eyes shut and continued praying. Parve brought the spray of bullets even closer.<
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  Hannibal suddenly leaped to his feet and began running to his right. Parve fired over his head, herding him toward the foam at the edge of the sand. Hannibal ran to the water’s edge and plunged into the sea. His arms spun like pinwheels as he straggled toward the island in the distance.

  Parve dropped the gun at his feet and watched. Hannibal had made it almost to the halfway point before the sharks hit him. There was no time for him to scream; one moment he was flailing the surface, and the next he was gone, leaving nothing behind nothing but a red froth staining the surface of the sea.

  Parve turned and grabbed for the rope ladder dangling from the helicopter above. He locked his fingers around the bottom rung and swung off into the darkness.

  TOURIST TRAP

  Augie Manson wiped the thick lenses of his glasses, and then returned them to his eyes. The thick blur of colors swimming around his head immediately resolved into the vast expanse of Madrid Airport. By now, the surroundings had become quite familiar to him; Augie, along with the other members of The Horizon Travel Club, had been waiting seven hours for the charter flight that would return them to the United States.

  Augie had heard jokes about the Spanish airlines, but this example of inefficiency exceeded even his cynical expectations. There was a rumor someone had called the embassy.

  The rest of the group was strung out around the huge waiting room. Olga Helmut, the physical education instructor, was keeping a sharp eye on her gaggle of young, tittering, female colleagues. Four or five of the older, more experienced travelers were talking quietly out on the observation platform. The rest were at the bar.

  Augie thumbed through an old issue of a magazine and let his mind wander back over his experiences of the past ten days. He supposed it was appropriate that he should now be waiting alone for the return trip, for he had been alone throughout their stay, separated from the others by an insurmountable wall of sensibilities and taste. This sense of isolation was not, in itself, the cause of Augie’s disappointment. He was used to loneliness, and he had never expected that any of the flighty, young single women on the trip would be attracted to a small, slight, hopelessly myopic bank clerk.