Emerald Death (11 page)

“Sorcerer?  The Mad Monk?  Rasputin was no wizard, Gregor.  He was just a very lucky con man.”

“Don’t be too sure, Mr. Hannigan.”  McKenzie’s voice was subdued, as if he was more than intimately familiar with the particulars of the case. “To quote the Bard,

‘There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy,’”

“But Gregor, do you honestly believe that a gemstone, a rock, can grant eternal life?”

Gregor shrugged. “I have seen a great many things during my life, Michael; some I could explain, others I could not,”

            “Just because you haven’t seen it, Mr. Hannigan, doesn’t mean that it isn’t real,” McKenzie added.  “However, there is a great deal more to Prester John than merely the Emerald.  He is a very dangerous and powerful entity.  He will kill anyone that tries to enter his realm; you are foolish to tempt his wrath, and foolish to attempt to take my daughter along with you.”

            “What about the Nazis?”

            Every head turned to look at Bridget.

            “They aren’t just a band of treasure hunters traipsing through the jungle.  They have resources at their disposal like nothing any of us have ever seen.  They want that emerald and they’re willing to do anything to get it.  Can Prester John defend himself, or the stone, from those fighter planes?  Or from that zeppelin?  And if the Nazis get the emerald, then what?  I have a feeling we’ll all be in a world of hurt.”

The passionate argument left the three men speechless for several seconds.  Finally, McKenzie broke the silence.  “As much as I hate to say it, Bridget, I agree. Prester John may be powerful, but his grasp of technology is mired in the Dark Ages.  We cannot stand by and let the Nazis capture the stone.”

“We?  Then you’re going with us, Dad?”

“I don’ see that you’ve left me any choice,” McKenzie sighed with resignation. 

“But we must move quickly.”

Gregor punched Hannigan playfully.  “Ready to save the world, Hardluck?”

“Hardluck?” McKenzie raised an eyebrow.

“It’s Miss Bridget’s pet name for him.  Hardluck Hannigan.”

“’Hardluck Hannigan,’” McKenzie repeated with a half-smile. “It suits you.”

Hannigan shook his head ruefully.  “Padre, you don’t know me well enough to know just how true that is.”

“Bridget, your Dad almost smiled!” Shotsky cried.

“Oh my God!  I’ll mark it on the calendar,” Bridget answered, laughing.

“Friends, I have a host of friends,” McKenzie sighed.

                                    *****

Hiram Secord looked over his remaining crew.  He had lost half of his men in the abortive assault on the riverboat.  He had not expected so much resistance from the other craft; no one ever fought back.  It had caught him off guard.

The surviving crewmembers were grumbling among themselves, and it was making him nervous.  He glanced over his shoulder at where they were huddled at the back of the boat.  More than one of them had been giving him pretty evil looks.  It was making his stomach churn. 

So far, it hadn’t gone as far as open mutiny.  There was one mate he trusted not to stab him in the back - a face to face cutthroat maybe, but not a backstabber was Black Angus McGuire.  McGuire would back him up, at least for a little while longer, and the rest of the men would do what Black Angus told them to do. His only chance at redemption was to lead them on a successful raid against the boat that had defeated them, or else they would feed him to the crocodiles.

                        *****

“So what do we do about the pirates?” Hannigan asked, wiping away a film of sweat from his forehead.  Despite the fall of night, the humidity in the jungle was horrible.

“They’ll be back, though I think we hurt them pretty badly.”  McKenzie stroked his chin thoughtfully.  “We need to be ready for the worst.”

“You seem to have some experience at this sort of thing, Padre.  How do you want to handle it?”

“Your original plan was a sound one; you and your friend Gregor join Morgan on the riverboat.  Bridget and I will keep an eye on Degiorno.”

“Make it both eyes.  He’s a slippery one.”

“I want to have a little talk with Francisco.  I’m interested in seeing the map as well.  Everything hinges upon it; I want to see how accurate it is, and perhaps figure out where the Nazis obtained it.”

“Okay Gregor, let’s head for the boat,” Hannigan turned and headed towards where they had tied up the rowboat, and Shotsky fell into step beside him.

“Do you trust the priest?” Gregor asked as soon as they were out of earshot.

“About like I trust Degiorno.  McKenzie has an agenda of his own, I just haven’t figured out what it is yet.”

“That is my feeling as well.  Is it safe to leave Degiorno with him?”

“Yeah, because I do trust Bridget.  I don’t believe she will let him steal away with Degiorno.  Bridget wants to keep the emerald out of the Nazis hands as bad as we do.”

Bridget intercepted them at the rowboat.  She stood there, her arms crossed and her foot tapping as she stared at Hannigan.  “Where are you headed?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Out to the riverboat,” Hannigan replied easily.  “Your Dad wants us to help Captain Morgan keep watch in case the river pirates come back.”

“You mean he wants you out there and me safely on shore,” Bridget replied, exasperation evident in her voice.

“Something like that.”  Hannigan chuckled.  “I don’t think he’s quite ready to accept that you are a young woman now, and not a little girl.”

“Well, Hardluck, I’d say we need to change that notion.” Bridget suddenly pressed her body hard against his.  His reaction was automatic and left little room for misinterpretation.

Somehow, Hannigan resisted, gently pushing her back. “Down girl.  There is a time and a place for everything, this is neither.”

“What, I’m not good enough anymore?” Bridget asked petulantly.

“Yes you are.  I just don’t need to make an enemy of your dad right now.  Between the pirates and the Nazis, I’ve got all the enemies I can handle.”  He leaned forward and gently kissed her on the lips.  “Later,” he added in a soft whisper.

“Promise?” she grinned, brushing a stray curl back from her face.

“Promise,” Hannigan told her with a smile.

Chapter Twelve

Thin beams of moonlight glittered off the black water of the river.  Secord had spotted the dim glow of a small fire on shore and was able to spot the riverboat that had gotten away earlier at a terrible cost to his crew.  He reached over and tapped Black Angus McGuire on the shoulder, rousing the man from his fitful slumber.  McGuire opened his eyes and sat up, giving Secord an evil look.

            “What?” McGuire asked, his voice dripping with irritation.

            “We found ‘em,” Secord grinned.

            “I’ll wake the men.  They’ll be wantin’ a piece of this action,” McGuire said softly.

            “Sure enough they will,” Secord agreed.

            As McGuire moved back to rouse the men, Secord checked his revolver, making sure it was fully loaded.  He wanted the people on the other riverboat worse than he had ever wanted anything in his life!  They had made a total and complete fool of him in front of his men.

            Keeping the boat’s engine barely above idling speed, he nosed it towards the other boat.  They would take care of anyone on shore afterward….

                                    *****

            Mike Hannigan opened his eyes as an unfamiliar noise intruded on his sleep.  He sat up, taking a moment to realize where he was.  Then he placed the noise.  It was the motor of a boat.  Hannigan stood up quickly, clutching his pistol.

            “I see them, Michael,” Gregor whispered softly from the bow.

            “Is Morgan aware that we’re about to have guests?” Hannigan asked.

            “Don’t know, haven’t had time to wake him up.  Instead, I’ve been preparing for our guests.  Here, take one of these,” Gregor handed him a whiskey bottle that felt nearly full.  Hannigan noticed a cloth rag stuffed into the top of the bottle.  He didn’t have to take a whiff to know that the contents were not for human consumption.

            “You got one of the rifles?” Hannigan asked.

            “Something even better.”  Gregor grinned.  “The Captain had a Thompson submachine gun stowed away along with several drums of ammo.  I just happened to find it when I was looking around,”

            “Why do I have no doubt you can use it well?”  Hannigan asked with a grin.

            “My trusting face perhaps?” Gregor grinned back.

            “I’ll head for the stern and get in position for when they attack.”

            “I think they are coming now.” Gregor jerked back the charging handle on the Thompson as Hannigan snatched up one of the bolt action Enfield rifles and headed for the back of the boat.

            The approaching engine roared to full throttle and in the moonlight they could see the pirate boat charging across the water towards them.

            Hannigan lifted his rifle and took careful aim at the wheelhouse.  The Enfield jumped in his hands and the window at the front of the wheelhouse shattered.  The pirate boat swerved, veering slightly until a new hand took the wheel and the advance resumed.

            Hannigan could see the pirate crew bunched up along the side of the boat as it rapidly closed the distance.  He flicked open the cowling on his lighter and touched the fire to the petrol soaked rag.  Staying below the gunwale, Hannigan lofted the Molotov cocktail in a high arc that dropped it right in front of the wheelhouse.  The bottle shattered and flames exploded across the deck.  Two of the pirates ignited, and ran screaming to dive off the boat, trailing flames behind them as they hit the water.  Gregor’s bottle hit the deck an instant later, igniting a second conflagration that raced to meet the first.

            Hannigan worked the bolt on the Enfield, firing it out before Shotsky got the Thompson into action.  He dropped the rifle drawing his Colt, thumbing back the hammer and squeezing the trigger as fast as he could find a target.  The screams from the pirate ship were abruptly drowned out as Gregor opened up with the Thompson.  The big .240-grain slugs ripped through soft flesh to send gouts of blood hissing into the flames.

            The sound brought Morgan running from the wheelhouse, with one of the Enfield Rifles gripped in his fists.  He skidded to a stop and fired the Enfield at the pirate boat almost without aiming, yet pirates were falling as he fired.  Suddenly the gas tanks on the other ship erupted in a huge mushroom cloud of flame that climbed into the night sky like a premature sunrise.  A smell like roasting pork was heavy in the air as burning body parts rained down into the river.

            The pirate boat began to list as water washed across the broken deck, then the doomed vessel slid beneath the Congo.  Screams of the dead and dying filled the air along with the snuffling grunts of feeding crocodiles.  The water looked like a window into Hell itself, reflecting the glow of the fire amid a mosaic of blood and torn limbs.  Great clouds of steam erupted into the air as the burning boat vanished under the water.  There were a few pirates still thrashing in the water, but they didn’t last long; the crocodiles saw to that.

                                    *****

            Bridget Ellen O’Malley awoke to the sound of gunfire.  Jumping to her feet, she started towards the river.  A hand landed on her shoulder, spinning her around.  “They need my help, Dad!” Bridget snapped.

            “No, Bridget, they don’t,” Niles McKenzie said.  “They have the situation well in hand.”

            “What the devil is going on?” Francisco Degiorno demanded from the far side of the fire.  McKenzie had been keeping a close eye on the wily Italian to make sure he didn’t slip off into the jungle on his own.

            “River pirates, but I’m sure you know all about them,” McKenzie replied dryly.

            “The Ninety-Nine?” Degiorno asked his voice quaking with fear.  It was a rhetorical question, and both men knew it.

            “We really can’t see all that much from here, just a burning pirate boat sinking into the main channel of the river.  Would you like to swim out and see if you recognize any of them?” McKenzie asked.  “You heard the shooting and explosions the same as we did.”

            “Krieger stays off the Lower Congo.”

            McKenzie raised an eyebrow, as if the comment had confirmed what he already knew to be true.  “Maybe these aren’t his fellows after all.”

            “Shouldn’t we go help them?” Degiorno asked, trying to muster some small amount of courage to cover the fearful quiver in his voice.

            “They have it pretty well taken care of now.  The crocs will finish anyone they miss.”

            “Mother of God!” Degiorno gasped in horror at McKenzie’s apparent callousness.

            “Hannigan, are you okay?” Bridget’s voice rang out.

McKenzie spun around his eyes narrowing as he sought out his daughter’s slim form in the darkness beyond the fire.

            “Can you fly the plane, Padre?” Degiorno’s voice asked quietly from behind him.   McKenzie turned to face him.  It was then he caught sight of the small revolver in the Italian’s hand.

            “I can,” McKenzie replied softly, forcing his body to relax so he wouldn’t telegraph his plans to the Italian.

            “Then how about the two of us take a ride to get to the emerald ahead of everybody else?” Degiorno moved around the fire, keeping the revolver close to his body.

            “How about we don’t?” McKenzie asked his voice barely above a whisper.

            “I could kill you now, where you stand,” Degiorno hissed.

            “Maybe,” McKenzie said softly.  “Maybe not.”