The small man bowed ever so slightly from the waist in lieu of shaking hands. Ordinarily Remo followed more-casual American manners, but some past drilling by Chiun prompted him to follow suit. So he took care to show the proper courtesy, his bow a bit more solemn and pronounced, accentuated by averting his gaze. The second deputy of who-knows-what seemed pleased.
"I hope you will accept the greetings and best wishes of my government," said Sibu Sandakan. "It is my privilege to accompany such fine, distinguished guests on their excursion to the bush."
"The privilege is ours," said Remo, wrapping up the niceties.
He glanced around the room at each face in turn, alert for any sign that one or more of them were disappointed or surprised to find him still alive. Pike Chalmers, glaring back at Remo like a wounded bear, would require watching, but there was nothing in his manner to suggest that he had hired the gang of thugs to waylay Remo in the marketplace. If anything, he seemed more like the sort of man who would enjoy attending to the dirty work himself. As for the others, Sandakan and Stockwell seemed innocuous enough, while Audrey Moreland favored Remo with a smile that stopped just short of flirting.
So much for deduction.
Simple logic told him that some person in the room—and possibly some two- or three-way combination—had conspired to rub him out before the expedition left K.L. Whoever was responsible was more adept at covering than Remo had expected. There would be no giveaway disclosures, nothing to betray the ringer here and now, before they hit the grueling jungle trail.
But Dr. Smith's suspicions were confirmed, at least, if nothing else. There obviously was a ringer on the team, or more than one, who meant to safeguard what was perceived as a potential fortune by eliminating any wild cards from the deck.
How had the ringer penetrated Remo's cover? Was the bungled hit a simple effort to ensure that no untested strangers joined the team? Were all of them involved, including the unfortunately sidelined Dr. Otto?
"Shall we get to business, then?" asked Stockwell, bringing Remo's thoughts back to the here and now.
"Suits me."
Five chairs had been positioned to surround a glass-topped coffee table, where a two-by-three-foot topographic map lay open, anchored on the left and right by ashtrays. Remo took a seat with Audrey Moreland on his right, Pike Chalmers facing him across the table. Dr. Stockwell took a folding pointer from his pocket, snapped it open and craned forward in his chair to start the briefing.
"We are here," he said, the pointer tapping a spot on the map that was named for Kuala Lumpur. "And our final destination… is… here."
The pointer slid a foot or so to Stockwell's left and settled on a patch of blue that had to be a lake, its several fingers splayed as if to mimic the impression of a malformed hand.
"The Tasek Bera," Stockwell said, his voice pitched low to emphasize the drama. "It's 64.7 miles due east, in Pahang Province. It appears to be an easy trip on paper."
"Easy, nothing," Chalmers said. "That jungle's broken more good men than I can name."
"As I was saying—" Stockwell caught himself just short of glaring at the hulk "—it seems an easy trip on paper, but we have our work cut out for us. We'll have to make the trip in stages, starting with a flight tomorrow morning, up to Temerloh. From there, we take a riverboat due south, another forty miles, to Dampar. That will be our jumping-off point, as it were. No airstrip at Dampar, you see."
"No bloody road worth mentioning," Chalmers added.
Dr. Stockwell cleared his throat before continuing. "We'll meet our guide in Dampar. Deputy Sandakan has taken care of the arrangements there."
"Indeed," the little Malay said to no one in particular. "We have engaged one of the best guides in the province for your expedition."
"From the time we leave Dampar," Stockwell went on, "it should take perhaps three days to reach the Tasek Bera proper. We will travel by canoe as far as possible, but I'm afraid there'll be some hiking at the end."
"A bloody lot of hiking," Chalmers said, still glaring hard at Remo.
"I'll keep up the best I can," offered Remo, smiling at the hulk.
"You haven't spent much time in Asia, have you?" Audrey Moreland touched his forearm lightly as she spoke, then casually withdrew her hand.
"Not much," said Remo, sticking to the script.
"I've read your work on New World vipers," Stockwell said. "It was a fascinating piece of research."
"This will be a change from South America," said Remo, putting on a small, self-deprecating smile.
"No end of bloody snakes, though, if that's what you care for," Chalmers said.
"Some of them must be dangerous," said Audrey, sounding more like a B-movie damsel in distress than a professor on the verge of making history.
"There is some risk, of course," said Remo. "Kraits and cobras are the greatest hazard where we're going, though I doubt we'll be fortunate enough to glimpse a king cobra."
"Lord, I hope not." Audrey shuddered at the very notion, her round breasts wobbling slightly underneath the clinging fabric of her blouse.
"Most of the Malaysian vipers, by contrast, tend to be smaller and less aggressive. The genus Trimeresurus is widely represented, with both terrestrial and arboreal species, but they seldom trouble man unless directly threatened."
"What about the big ones?" This time, Audrey let her fingers come to rest on Remo's knee.
"Reticulated pythons are the ones to watch," he told her, turning up the wattage on his smile. "Officially, the record is just over thirty-two feet."
"They must be dangerous, as well," said Audrey.
"Not unless you go out of your way to tackle one," he answered. "Of course, there is one documented case in which a fourteen-year-old Malay boy was eaten by a seventeen-foot python. As it happens, that's the only case on record of a human being swallowed whole."
"Can you imagine?" Audrey shivered. "Being eaten up alive."
"I wouldn't worry," Remo said. "You're much more likely to be eaten by mosquitoes."
"Or the bloody crocs," said Chalmers, scowling as he lit up an unfiltered cigarette.
"We can't rule out a few stray crocodiles, of course," acknowledged Remo, "but the fact is, none are native to the area we'll be exploring."
"Is that right?" The big ex-soldier's tone was challenging.
"Afraid so, Mr. Chambers."
"Chalmers."
"Sorry, my mistake." He turned back toward Audrey, all smiles. "Crocodylus siamensis is the most common species in Southeast Asia, but its normal range cuts off about two hundred miles due north of here. Now, Crocodylus porosus is larger, a certified man-eater, but its typical habitat runs toward coastal waters—hence the popular nickname of 'saltwater crocodile.' It's possible that one might swim upstream along the Rompin, here—" he pointed to the map, his elbow nudging Audrey's thigh in the process "—but it's not too likely."
"Well, it's good to have an expert on the team," sneered Chalmers.
"We can all learn something, I imagine," Remo told him.
"If we're lucky," Stockwell interjected, "we'll have bigger specimens to deal with than a crocodile, in any case."
"Now, Safford…" Audrey's tone was almost chiding.
"Yes, I know," said Stockwell. "Mustn't get my hopes up. Even so, you won't mind if I keep my fingers crossed."
"You think it's really possible," Sibu Sandakan spoke up, "to find a prehistoric creature in the Tasek Bera?"
"Prehistoric specimens are not uncommon, if truth be told," said Stockwell. "Why, the lowly cockroach is a prime example, and the crocodiles described by Dr. Ward have survived, more or less unchanged, from Protosuchus in the late Triassic period, more than two hundred million years ago."
"Incredible!" The little Malay's eyes were sparkling with enthusiasm. "There is hope, then."
"For a startling find?" The expedition's leader glanced at Audrey Moreland, smiled, restraining his enthusiasm with an effort. "I believe that in a region like the Tasek Bera, anythi
ng is possible."
"We must be dazzling Dr. Ward," said Audrey.
"I can use a little dazzling from time to time," Remo replied.
"You've brought the necessary gear, I trust?" asked Dr. Stockwell.
"Hiking clothes, insect repellent, all that sort of thing," said Remo. "Back at my hotel, that is. I'll need a chance to pack."
"We all have work to do in that regard," said Stockwell. "I propose that we adjourn and meet again for breakfast, in the restaurant downstairs. Is 6:00 a.m. too early?"
"Not for me," said Remo, while the others shook their heads in unison.
"Till six o'clock, then."
Stockwell rose, a gesture of dismissal from the dean, and Remo made his way in the direction of the exit. He was only halfway there when Audrey Moreland overtook him and stopped him with a warm hand on his arm.
"I'm glad you've joined our little party, Dr. Ward."
"Please, call me Renton."
"Very well. I'm glad you're coming with us, Renton."
"So am I."
"I'll see you in the morning?"
"Bright and early," Remo said.
Her smile spoke volumes on the benefits of adolescent orthodontia.
"I'll be looking forward to it, Renton."
Remo rode the elevator down to give himself a change of pace, still wondering which one of them had tried to kill him in the marketplace and when the next attempt would come.
Chapter Five
"What did you think of him?"
"Of whom?" asked Audrey Moreland.
Safford Stockwell smiled indulgently. "Our Dr. Ward. He caught your fancy, didn't he?"
"Oh, Safford, don't be silly. Just professional interest."
They were still in Stockwell's suite—alone at last, but Stockwell didn't feel relaxed somehow. A part of that was natural anticipation and anxiety, he realized. They were embarking, almost at the crack of dawn, on what would either be the crowning highlight or the most embarrassing fiasco of his long career.
But there was something else on Stockwell's mind besides the hunt. A twinge of something the professor was reluctant to identify.
"It's not a problem if you like him, Audrey," Stockwell said.
"I've barely met the man, for heaven's sake." There was a hint of irritation in her tone now, recognizable at once to anyone who knew her moods.
"I'm simply saying—"
"What? What are you saying, Safford?"
And the question stopped him cold.
It was an article of faith at Georgetown, where they taught and frequently took meals together, that there must be something "going on" between himself and Audrey Moreland. Stockwell didn't circulate the rumors, but he didn't bust his hump to contradict them, either. If the rest of Georgetown's staff—composed primarily of men and women Stockwell's age or older—chose to think that he had won the heart of Audrey Moreland, who was he to run around the campus bursting their balloons?
In truth, he had been startled when the first such rumor came to his attention, overheard in passing. Surprise had quickly given way to irritation, but before he got around to setting anybody straight, Professor Stockwell—then a sprightly lad of fifty-six—had felt a new emotion horning in.
He had been flattered.
It was something at his age for men who knew him well—several of them younger men, at that—to think he had the looks, charm and stamina to woo and hold a thirty-something female with traffic stopping looks and a vivacious personality. The ego strokes were even more rewarding when he learned that many women staffers also took the story at face value.
They believed in him somehow.
He had been driven to a confrontation with his bathroom mirror, normally a prospect he avoided like the plague. The past few years, his mirror had become the enemy, a living Picture of Dorian Gray that emphasized the ravages of time up close and personal. The spreading rumors of his prowess as a Casanova forced him to look deeper, though, to see what others saw.
In fact, he never found it, but it didn't matter in the end. The lovely, ego-stroking rumors kept on circulating, pumping up his self-esteem, and while he never made a move on Audrey Moreland—pride was one thing, but courage another—Stockwell had begun to think of them as… well, a couple. There was nothing to it, and he took himself to task on more than one occasion, but it felt good just pretending and it did no harm.
Except when he felt pangs of jealousy.
That was the height of foolishness, he realized, and Stockwell had the common sense to keep those feelings secret, hidden from the world at large.
Until tonight.
"I'm sorry, Audrey." It wasn't an answer to her question, but he had no answer that would get him off the hook. "I didn't mean to come off sounding like your father."
"I'm a big girl, Safford." Telling him the obvious, as if he hadn't noticed, each and every day since they were introduced. "And I can take care of myself."
"Of course."
"It's sweet of you to worry, but I didn't fly halfway around the world to fall in love."
"That wasn't what I meant," he said, casting about to try to salvage something from the conversation. "I was curious to find out what you thought of Dr. Ward as an addition to our little family."
"Some family," she answered, and surprised him with her tone. "At least he's not like Chalmers. God, that man disgusts me with his swaggering and all that talk about the animals he's killed for fun."
"We need a man like Chalmers, Audrey. Just in case, you understand?"
"He's still a bully, Safford. And I hate the way he looks at me, like he was ordering a piece of meat."
"Has he done anything?"
The question slipped through Stockwell's teeth before he had a chance to catch it. What did he propose to do if Chalmers had made some improper overtures to Audrey? Challenge him to fight? The very notion was ridiculous.
"Not yet," she said, and let him off the hook. "I just don't like him. I don't trust him."
"He comes highly recommended, Audrey."
"By the old-boy network, I've no doubt. They stick together, just like any other clique."
"What is it that you think he's up to?" Stockwell asked her.
"How should I know? If we find this creature—if there is a creature to be found—what would prevent his killing it on sight to make another trophy?"
Stockwell longed to assume the role of noble hero, but knew how it would sound. Pathetic boasting. "We will, Audrey. All of us. Remember Sandakan. He represents the state. Our Mr. Chalmers may be callous, but I don't believe he's up to challenging the whole Malaysian government, do you?"
"This animal we're looking for would be worth millions, Safford, money in the bank. Of course… "
She didn't have to finish the remark. He recognized her skepticism and tried to mirror it, in fact, to keep himself from looking like a fool. A search for living dinosaurs was probably quixotic, possibly insane, but he had still leaped at the chance to head the expedition. Whether it was simple boredom with his teaching post and part-time work at the Smithsonian, or longing for a greater glory that would soon be hopelessly beyond his reach, Professor Stockwell had signed on despite the giggle factor, offering his solid reputation as a sacrifice. If they returned to Georgetown empty-handed… well, his job would still be waiting for him, thanks to tenure, and in the meantime there was no need to think about the personal humiliation he would have to face. A couple of the wags on campus were already calling him Professor Challenger, and they would have a roaring field day if he failed.
"I'm confident that the authorities can deal with any problems of that nature," he told Audrey. "All we have to do is find the creature, yes?"
"You're right, of course," she said. "But I don't have to like him."
"No, my dear, you certainly do not." Emboldened by the moment, Stockwell took a shot. "How would you like a glass of wine?"
"I'd better not," she told him, softening rejection with a smile. "We've got an early start tomorrow, and I
still have things to do."
"I understand." Too well, he understood. "I'll see you in the morning, then. Sleep well."
"You, too."
She left him, headed back to her adjoining room, and Stockwell double-locked the door behind her. You could never be too careful.
"Do you believe their story?"
Sibu Sandakan faced his superior across a massive teakwood desk, his bearing ramrod straight. He had to stop and think about the question, even now, though it had been a frequent topic of discussion at the office for the past few weeks.
"I think their leader is sincere," he said at last.
"I'm not sure even he believes, but there is hope. He yearns for immortality."
"And what about the others?" asked Germuk Sayur, first deputy to Jantan Separuh, the minister of the interior.
"The Englishman loves money. He will go wherever he is paid to go. As for the new American, I think his curiosity is piqued, but he is skeptical."
He offered no opinion on the woman, nor was it requested. Sibu Sandakan and his immediate superior were of a single mind where females were concerned. This blond American might be a full professor back in Washington, but it was still impossible for them to take her seriously as a guiding force behind the expedition. Women followed men. So it had always been; so it would always be.
"And you, Sibu? What do you think about their chances?"
"Of returning with a dinosaur?" He frowned, considering the problem, desperate not to come off sounding like a superstitious peasant. "You have heard the Tasek Bera stories, sir. You know of the reports from our own soldiers and police."
"Indeed. I'm asking what you think."
"I don't believe in fairy stories," Sibu Sandakan replied, "but who can say about such things?"
"The minister has some concern about this dead man, Hopper."
"Oh?"
"He was prospecting for uranium, as you're aware. You also know the circumstances of his death."
"Yes, sir."
"There is suspicion at the ministry," Germuk Sayur continued. "Some believe this party may be more concerned with mining than with monsters."
"Customs has examined their equipment, I assume."
"Within their limits, Sibu. It would not require much effort to conceal a simple Geiger counter—or to purchase one from sources in the country, if it came to that."
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