Cryptozoica (22 page)

“You’re lying.”

Flitcroft shook his head. “I have no reason to.” He nodded toward the cell phone in Cao’s hand. “A few minutes ago, I got a call from my assistant, Bertram Pendlebury. He received a shortwave distress call from Mouzi, that little Maori mechanic.”

“So?” demanded Cao impatiently.

“She reported that Kavanaugh’s helicopter had crashed and they needed a pick up.”

Bai Suzhen stiffened, inhaling a nervous breath. “Was anyone hurt?”

Flitcroft shook his head. “Not seriously.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Jimmy Cao sneered.

“Call Pendlebury and ask him.”

“He’d lie, too. Everybody here is full of shit.”

Flitcroft shrugged. “You saw the chopper flying away from here, didn’t you?”

Cao nodded reflectively. “Yeah.”

“You haven’t seen it come back, have you?”

“Get to the point, Flitcroft.”

“I’m sure you know Belleau and that valet of his were aboard the chopper. Now they’re marooned on Big Tamtung with no way to get back here…and with about a dozen different kinds of animals that would swallow a pint-sized paleontologist in one bite.”

Bai Suzhen laughed, despite the drill-bit of pain boring into her facial muscles. “In that case, it really doesn’t matter if you have my signature or not, if the other principal is in some monster’s belly. Financiers and Cryptozoica Enterprises always seem to cancel one another out.”

Jimmy Cao’s face became swollen with another surge of rage. His eyes slitted. His breath hissed out between his teeth and he set himself to kick her again.

Flitcroft interposed hastily, “There’s another option.”

Cao paused but he did not take his eyes off Bai. “I’m listening.”

“You can buy my shares. I’m the majority stockholder.”

Cao cut his gaze toward him. Contemptuously, he said, “I don’t want your shares, Ritchie Rich. We’ll get them anyway, by and by.”

Bai Suzhen angled an eyebrow at the smaller man. “What does Belleau offer you, Jimmy? He knows there’s something valuable on Big Tamtung besides some prehistoric wildlife…that’s the only reason you started the major push for me to repay United Bamboo by selling my shares to him.”

Cao snickered and tapped his temple with the bore of the pistol. “You finally figured it out? Took you long enough.”

“What does Belleau know?” Flitcroft demanded, forgetting for an instant the guns directed at him.

“I might be inclined to give you a hint,” Cao replied, “if you can give me a hint of how I can get Belleau safely off Big Tamtung. It would also be a good way for you to keep yourself alive.”

“So you’d just go and pick him?”

Cao nodded. “More or less.”

“What about the people who are with him?”

“I’d rescue them, too, of course.”

“Of course,” Bai intoned.

“What happened here was business. I’d have no reason to leave anyone stranded over there on that shithole. Where would they most likely be?”

“Don’t tell him anything,” said Bai Suzhen, her tone edged with sharp warning.

“I know what I’m doing,” Flitcroft countered. “This is just a negotiation. Belleau and the others are probably at the Petting Zoo site by now. It’s about sixteen miles inland from the westside shore.”

“Petting Zoo?” echoed Cao skeptically. “How do I get to it?”

“Without a chopper, there’s only one way,” answered Flitcroft, a smug smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “By boat, up the Thunder Lizard River. You can reach the river on the east side of the island and you follow it right to the site, about twenty miles.”

Jimmy Cao matched the man’s smile. “That seems easy enough, thanks.”

Flitcroft’s smile widened. “It’s not really. You’ll need a guide, someone who’s been there.”

“Hey, guess what,” Cao said in a silky soft croon. “I have one.” He tossed the cell phone back to Flitcroft and from a holster at the small of his back, he produced an AceS satphone, a mate to the one Flitcroft had seen in Belleau’s possession. “I’ll just have the midget talk me through it.”

Flitcroft swallowed hard, clutching his phone. “You’re making a mistake, kid. You can’t trust Belleau.”

“What a coincidence,” Cao said smoothly. “You can’t trust me, either.”

Cao raised the revolver and squeezed the trigger. The pistol banged like door slamming shut. Howard Flitcroft grunted, slapping a hand against his chest. He stood silently for a second, then carefully looked at the palm of his hand. It glistened with wet crimson. Without uttering a word, he toppled heavily to the deck.

Adjusting his aim slightly, Jimmy Cao fired another shot, the heavy caliber round slamming through the center of Pai Chu’s forehead. A mist of blood surrounded the rear of his skull and he fell backwards, half on top of Flitcroft.

Cao focused his gaze on Bai Suzhen. “Both of them were complications. Are you going to be an asset or a complication?”

“What do you mean?” she demanded, pitching her voice low to disguise a tremor of fury.

“My boat can’t navigate shallow waters. She has a fixed fin keel and she’d run aground in less than six feet of water. What about this obsolete hulk of yours? It’s flat-bottomed, right? Can it make it up the river Flitcroft talked about?”

Bai Suzhen presented the image of pondering the question for a moment. She nodded. “I believe so…if you hadn’t killed all of my crew.”

“We didn’t kill all of them, babe, just the ones who tried to kill us. Have you been up this river?”

“Yes,” she lied.

“Good,” Cao said. “That makes you an asset and not a complication. See how easy it is?”

In rapid-fire Taiwanese, Jimmy Cao shouted orders to his men, gesturing with his pistol for emphasis. They spread out over the
Keying
to assume various stations. The man standing behind Bai Suzhen released her.

Rubbing her wrists to restore circulation, she asked, “What about the dead?”

Cao shrugged as if the matter was of little importance. “Once we get underway, they go over the side…like all my complications.”

*   *   *

Thunder boomed overhead and raindrops pattered against Flitcroft’s face. He lay doubled up around the bullet wound, his eyes clouded with tears of pain. He breathed through his open mouth, tasting blood and bile. He ruefully eyed the raw, pulsing hole in the center of his chest. It bled profusely, and he thought he saw bits of lung tissue mixed in with the flow. Still, he didn’t hurt as much as he thought he would after being shot through the clavicle, but then he had no other exemplar by which to measure.

He lay as he thought corpses would lie, boneless and frozen in a posture of pain. The body of Pai Chu draped awkwardly over his hips helped the illusion. He listened to men shouting back and forth and then the rattling clangor of the anchor being winched up.

Moving slowly, Flitcroft brought his cell phone up to his ear, flipped open the cover with a blood-coated thumb and punched the direct redial key.

Pendlebury’s voice responded quickly. “What the hell is going on over there, Howard? Fireworks? Some sort of Chinese holiday?”

In a strained, guttural whisper, Flitcroft said, “I already told you about Jimmy Cao and the Ghost Shadows, Bert. Now you need to tell Jack and Gus. Cao is on his way to Cryptozoica in Bai Suzhen’s boat. She’s his prisoner. He’ll kill her once she signs over her shares to Belleau.”

“What?” Pendlebury demanded, incredulously.

“I don’t care how you do it…just reach Jack and Gus––tell them not to trust Belleau. He’s working with the Ghost Shadows. They’ll kill everybody.”

“Are you all right?” asked Pendlebury worriedly. “You sound sick or something.”

“Or something,” Flitcroft managed to husk out. “Just do what I said. And tell Merriam…” His trailed off when he realized he could not think of any message he wanted conveyed to his wife.

“Tell Merriam what?” pressed Pendlebury. “Howard, tell her what?”

With grim satisfaction, he decided that having no parting message whatsoever was a fitting epitaph for a man who had lived his kind of life.

“Goodbye, Bert,” he said softly and folded the cover over the phone.

The wind died down to no more than an intermittent breeze. The rain slacked off to a steady drizzle, then only a spritzing. Lightning still arced across the sky, but the heart of the storm had moved away. The humidity rising in its wake was oppressive. Streamers of mist curled up from the surface of the Thunder Lizard River. The sun peeked out from behind the thick fleece of cloud cover, casting a sullen scarlet glow against the distant thunderheads.

Crowe eased off on the throttle of the
Alley Oop
, the engine roar becoming a muted, idling rumble, the props churning the water to foam.

“I think I’ve worked out the bugs,” he said loudly. “We can cast off once everybody is aboard.”

Kavanaugh climbed out onto the dock to disengage the hoist cables from the eyebolts affixed to the prow and stern of the Nautique 226. He gestured to Honoré. She left the shelter of the lean-to. “Celebrity lady scientists first and casualties second.”

Honoré gave him a nervous smile and stepped down into the boat, sitting in one of the eight swivel chairs. McQuay followed, handing down his camcorder to Mouzi first. Belleau and Oakshott moved to the edge of the dock.

The big man began to step down into the boat, stretching out a leg. Kavanaugh planted a foot square on the seat of Oakshott’s pants and gave him a shove. With a wild waving of arms and a surprisingly deep-throated bellow, Oakshott plunged headfirst into the river between the hull of the boat and the dock.

Face contorting with shock and anger, Belleau whirled on Kavanaugh—and stared directly into the bore of the Bren Ten automatic. Confused and frightened, Honoré began to rise from her chair, but Mouzi kept her seated with a firm hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t move,” Mouzi ordered.

The pistol that appeared in Crowe’s hand was another inducement to do as the girl said. Sputtering and coughing, Oakshott grasped the rail running the length of the boat and heaved his head and shoulders out of the water.

“Stay right there, tiny,” commanded Crowe, leveling the M15 autopistol at his head.

Lips working as if he didn’t know whether to yell, speak or laugh, Belleau’s gaze jumped from Crowe to Kavanaugh to Honoré and then back to the gun in Kavanaugh’s hand.

“What the bloody hell are you doing?” he finally managed to shrill. “Are you mad?”

“I’m royally pissed, if that’s what you mean by mad,” Kavanaugh said grimly. “We all are.”

“What is happening?” Honoré demanded, bewildered. “Why are you doing this?”

“Ask the past president of the Lollipop Guild here,” Kavanaugh said. “He’s in on it.”

“In on what?” Belleau asked, his eyes narrowed.

“Your pal Jimmy Cao just took Bai Suzhen prisoner,” Crowe declared. “He and his Ghost Shadows are on their way to rescue you and probably kill us. For all we know, he killed Howard Flitcroft.”

Honoré’s face drained of color. Her “What?” was a ragged, aspirated half-gasp. “How can you know this?”

“Flitcroft told Bertram Pendlebury and Bertram told us,” Mouzi said. “When we radioed him a few minutes ago.”

Honoré started to rise again and when Mouzi held her down, she slapped the girl’s hand away. “I didn’t have anything to do with this.”

“Me, either,” McQuay said querulously. “I work for Mr. Flitcroft.”

Oakshott grunted, fingers flexing on the rail. He peered uneasily down at the surface of the river. “There’s something swimming down here, mates…something large.”

“Then it’s probably best not to draw attention to yourself,” Crowe said curtly.

Kavanaugh reached for Belleau’s satchel but the little man hugged it close to his chest, turning away. “Don’t touch me, Kavanaugh!”

“I want to see what you have in there, Aubrey.”

“Nothing that concerns you.”

“Except a satphone with a direct-dial option to Jimmy Cao. That concerns me very much.”

“I’m warning you…don’t trifle with me.”

“I can guarantee you I won’t be doing that.” Kavanaugh put his hand on the handle. “Give it over, badass.”

Belleau’s face molded itself into a mask of mad rage. He bared his teeth and bounded forward, head-butting Kavanaugh in the groin. Pain flared through his testicles and bile leaped up his throat.

Staggering back, Kavanaugh forced himself to remain erect, fighting the impulse to double over. He struck Belleau on the back of his head with the frame of the Bren Ten. Metal cracked loudly against bone and the little man fell to his knees, clasping his skull with both hands. He dropped the satchel and his walking stick rolled toward the edge of the dock and dropped into the water.

Honoré said angrily, “You don’t have to abuse him!”

“Tell him that,” Kavanaugh wheezed.

Repressing both groans and the urge to massage his crotch, Kavanaugh picked up the case and tossed it underhanded to Mouzi. “See what’s in there.”

She popped open the clasp, fished around inside and pulled out a satphone. She examined it quickly, then handed it to Crowe. “It’s not powered up.”

“Good. Cao can’t get a fix on our position.”

After feeling around inside again, she brought out a dark green metal box two feet long by two wide. The lid was secured by a small padlock. She shook it, listening to the contents bump against the interior walls of the container.

Kavanaugh prodded Belleau with the toe of a boot. “Get up. I didn’t hit you that hard.”

Belleau pushed himself to his feet and stood swaying for a moment, gingerly kneading the back of his head. He looked at his fingertips. They showed no blood. He glared at Kavanaugh with pure, unadulterated hatred.

“You are a dead man, Kavanaugh,” he said in monotone. “That’s not a threat, either. It is a simple statement of fact.”

Kavanaugh ignored him. Addressing Mouzi, he said, “Open that box.”

“It’s locked, Jack.”

Kavanaugh stared down at Belleau. “What it’s in it?”

Belleau only glowered.

Honoré said, “It’s a journal, or a photocopy of one.”

“Whose journal?” Crowe asked.

“He claims it’s a secret journal of Charles Darwin, the lost log of the
Beagle.”

Crowe’s eyebrows rose. “Do tell.”

“There’s also a vial of sludge in there.”

Lines of puzzlement appeared on Mouzi’s forehead. “Sludge?”

“He called it Prima Materia.”

In a tone full of horror and betrayal, Belleau shouted,
“Honoré!”

She spun to face him. “Honoré what?,” she snapped. “You haven’t played straight with me since you contacted me in Patagonia. I don’t know what you really have planned but I won’t be a party to it.”

“I’m just here to shoot a movie,” McQuay said faintly. “I work for Mr. Flitcroft. I don’t want to get hurt any worse than I am now.”

“Good,” said Mouzi. “Behave yourself and you won’t.”

Kavanaugh gestured with his pistol. “Climb aboard, Aubrey.”

Lips compressed, face stark and white, the little man did as he was told, sitting down in a chair astern.

“What about me?” Oakshott asked plaintively. “I tell you, there’s something down here. It brushed my legs a couple of times.”

Crowe tossed Mouzi a coil of yellow nylon rope. “Tie Pixie and Dixie up with some of those killer Maori knots you like so much.”

Mouzi flashed him a devilish grin. “My pleasure.”

Under the guns of Kavanaugh and Crowe, Oakshott laboriously pulled himself aboard the boat. It listed to port, but once the huge man stood dripping on the deck, he obediently put his hands behind his back. Mouzi swiftly began binding his wrists.

Honoré asked, “What are you gentlemen planning?”

“We’re going downriver to lay in wait for the
Keying,
” Kavanaugh said, jumping from the dock into the
Alley Oop
. He winced when a needle of pain stabbed through his groin.

“And then what?”

“That’s all we’ve had time to come up with,” said Crowe apologetically, turning his attention to the instrument panel.

“There will be more,” Kavanaugh stated reassuringly. “Lots more.”

“Of that,” Honoré Roxton said dryly, “I have no doubt.”

*   *   *

Sunlight shone down upon the hull of the Nautique in an intricately dappled pattern, filtered through the leafy boughs intertwined over the river.

Kavanaugh stood astern, studying the terrain on either bank as well as keeping his eye on Oakshott and Belleau. Thick foliage grew right down to the water’s edge. The prow of the cruiser cleaved through the rippling water smoothly, the big engine making a sound not unlike a protracted purr. The moisture-saturated air was tainted with the muddy, tropical fecundity of the jungle that brooded on either side of the Thunder Lizard River. Mist floated above the surface in flat planes.

Mouzi sat with the metal box in her lap, trying to pick the lock with the tip of one of her butterfly knives. Belleau, his hands bound behind him, watched her, his lips curved in a smirk.

“You won’t be able to do it that way, young Miss Mongrel,” he said.

Without looking up at him, she said blandly, “If I can’t, then I’ll shoot the lock off.”

His smirk faded and Honoré said wearily, “Aubrey, if you have a key, why don’t you just give it to her?”

“Why should I make anything easy for her?” he snapped. “Or you?”

Honoré swiveled her chair away from him. “You’re such a child.”

Kavanaugh would have laughed, except he was too worried about Bai Suzhen. He felt the physical weight, not only of the heat and humidity, but also of the vast rainforest itself.

Crowe maintained the
Alley Oop’s
position in the middle of the river, trying to avoid passing beneath overhanging tree branches. Venomous snakes, face-hugging spiders, leeches and even nasty-tempered, diseased monkeys had been known to drop down on unwary boaters.

Within a couple of minutes of leaving the pier, the river flowed in such twists and turns that the banks behind them seemed to merge together to form an impenetrable thicket of greenery, shutting off any sight of the Petting Zoo site.

With Crowe at the wheel, and Honoré and McQuay seated amidships, the
Alley Oop
cruised past overgrown islets and narrow-mouthed tributaries. Kavanaugh’s spirits lifted somewhat when the boat pushed through a profusion of huge butterflies wheeling over the water. Their orange and yellow wings fluttered with an almost strobing effect as they darted and skittered through the alternating bands of shadow and shafts of greenish sunlight.

After navigating another bend, the river broadened to a span of fifty yards. Kavanaugh kept watching both banks, thinking he glimpsed swift, darting movement in the underbrush. The faint whistling chirps he heard were voiced only by songbirds, he told himself fiercely. Despite the heat, the back of his neck flushed cold.

“What is the depth here?” Honoré asked suddenly.

Crowe tapped a gauge showing green glowing digits. “Hard to get a true sounding because of all the debris on the bottom—fallen trees and boulders and the like. But I’d say the average depth on this stretch of the river is about twelve to eighteen feet...at least in the middle.”

“Is that a sufficient depth for a junk the size of the
Keying
?” she inquired. “Without running aground, that is?”

Crowe shrugged. “The
Keying
is flat-bottomed, but it’ll depend on how much weight she’s carrying and how low her draft is.”

“I can’t understand why Jimmy Cao didn’t come in his own boat.”

“Ship. Cao’s style of yacht has a fixed keel fin that could catch on anything under the surface and tear out her keel. She also has a higher mast profile than the
Keying
.”

Metal clinked loudly against metal. Mouzi uttered a wordless snarl of frustration and held up her knife. “Broke the point.”

“I told you so,” Belleau said mildly. He glanced toward Kavanaugh. “Might I inveigh upon you for a drink of something wet?”

Kavanaugh smiled thinly. “You’re asking favors of a dead man?”

“Thirst knows no classification, sir.”

Reaching down into a small cardboard box at his feet, Kavanaugh plucked out a bottle of water and unscrewed the cap. He stepped over to Belleau and tipped the plastic rim, putting it to his lips. “Say when.”

As the man swallowed, sunlight glinted painfully from the golden stickpin piercing the collar of Belleau’s shirt. Kavanaugh squinted away, then narrowed his eyes, giving it a closer look. It resembled a caduceus, a pair of serpents coiled around a staff topped by an eye within a pyramid.

Belleau leaned back. “Enough, thank you.”

Kavanaugh screwed the cap back on and then snatched the stickpin from Belleau’s collar.

“Oi!”
the man cried. “What are you doing? That’s my property!”

Revolving it between finger and thumb before his eyes, Kavanaugh replied, “I am aware, Aubrey. I’ll give it back. What’s this symbol?”