Luana (6 page)

“Listen,” began Barrett sympathetically, “didn’t people hunt for your father when he crashed? Surely someone must have conducted a decent air search. The man was important.”

“Some tried,” she answered. “Several times. Nothing was ever found.”

Barrett looked down at his empty glass. “Well, that’s not surprising, I suppose.” He grunted. “Jungle would swallow up anything fast enough. Broken trees and bushes could cover it up. Or he might have gone down in a dirty lake, in the reeds.”

She all but threw herself across the table. “Then you’ll help me search for the plane?”

“No, I won’t help you search for the plane!” he shouted back. Now calm yourself, Georgie-Porgie, and be patient with this curvaceous cargo of ignorance.

“First of all, this hunk of jungle is the abode of a big primitive tribe called the Wanderi. But you know that from the book. The Wanderi have a charming little witch cult. This cult believes in many unusual things, one of which is that its members should have absolutely nothing to do with visitors and outsiders of any kind. The British found that out thirty years ago, the hard way.

“This belief is expressed in the form of the most antisocial behavior, Izzy. To back it up, they have ritual, prayer, and a really super dart poison that works on the nerves. It’s a fine persuader and it never fails.” He hesitated. “Well, almost never.

“Next, even assuming you could somehow make your way through their territory without encountering any of the delightful local folks, there are no superhighways, no roads, not even a goat path through that mess.” His hand swept across the map. “Not only is it jungle, much of it is mountain and swamp, swamp and mountain, alternating across the lines of longitude.

“There are big cats running around in there, Izzy, that haven’t been taught zoo politeness. They’ve been known to come to the edge of the forest and gnaw on an occasional farmer now and then. In the low lands—here—you’ll find pythons big enough to swallow you whole. The land’s full of these big fellows’ toxic little cousins . . . cobras, vipers and mambas in every color and potency imaginable.

“Frankly, I’m not sure I don’t prefer the snakes and big cats to the mosquitoes, tse-tse, and bloodsucking flies. Oh, and we mustn’t forget African warrior bees and Black Death spiders and all the other tiny treats that thrive in there.

“In short, Miss Hardi, it’s no place for
you.”

“Oh, come now, Mr. Barrett, surely in this day and age you’re not—”

“I didn’t say it was ‘no place for a woman,’ ” he interrupted painstakingly. “Christ, sometimes I think the twentieth century—” He sighed.

“It’s no place for you, you the human being. Poisoners and bloodsuckers and constrictors and disease make no distinctions as to sex. You might die a few seconds sooner, because you’re smaller, not because you’re female. It might surprise you to know that I’d much rather have you for company than another guy. I’d have plenty of guys with me. It’s just no place for an intelligent person.”

“But you’ve been there, or at least close to there.”

“Yeah,” he admitted, sitting back again, “but I said an
intelligent
person. We’ve already agreed that I’m operating with a loose bolt. Your obvious sanity is not open to debate. I’m not going.”

“Mr. Barrett,” she continued quietly, “if it is even remotely possible, my father’s work must be saved.”

“Sorry, I’m not going. How about another drink?”

“It’s for the good of all mankind.”

Barrett laughed at that one. She started to cry, then. He let her do that, speaking only to order another Zombie, and a second decapitated one for her. Eventually she tired and tried another approach.

“I’ll . . . I’ll be your friend,” she whispered, emphasizing the last word. Her hand moved under the table. He let it move for awhile, enjoying it, then said slowly, punctuating every word:

“I wouldn’t risk my neck in that green hell again for the best lay in the world.”

She sat back then and looked grim.

“If you’ll take me in there I’ll pay you $50,000 plus all expenses, and $50,000 more if we find the plane.”

Barrett spoke slowly, punctuating every word. “For $50,000, I’ll risk my neck in that green hell.” He paused. “Say, do you think you could keep on doing what you were doing a moment ago? You’re a bit unsure of yourself, but for a novice your touch is—”

The diluted Zombie arrived just in time for her to toss it in his face. He wiped it away with both hands and a sleeve, and blinked back at her. She rose calmly, tucking her blouse into the band of her skirt.

“I’m staying at the Royal East African, room 402. I’d like to leave as soon as possible. When you’ve completed arrangements with your outfitter, let me know. I’ll want to inspect the bill first. Good day.”

Jumapili appeared at the curtain just as she stalked out.

“Meester Barrett, sir!” he exclaimed, noticing the drenched condition of Barrett’s shirt, not to mention his damp face. “What happened?”

For once, Barrett was honestly contrite.

“I said an impolite thing, Sam, and the young lady gave me her drink.”

Inwardly, though, he was pleased. At least she’d shown some spirit. Some day she might find herself with a cobra a scant few meters away from her foot. That would be the time for spirit, not panic. Nor had she been afraid that her action might jeopardize Barrett’s decision. Clearly she now regarded him as a bought man.

Well, hell, she was right. He dabbed at the sticky liquid running down his front. Pity he couldn’t drink his shirt. If a man could wear his liquor, now—

The dark hulk in the booth next to his shifted his chair silently and leaned over his own drink. He was also pleased. How fortunate he’d kept a close track on the rich American lady! He let Barrett finish his drinking and leave first. Then he paid his own bill and departed quietly.

“The master’s on the porch,” the servant informed Kobenene. He followed the handsome maid around the veranda of the fine house. Albright was there, all right, seated at a desk on the back porch. He didn’t look up when the big hulk arrived. He knew his partner by his walk.

“Ah, Kobenene, sit down, sit down. I’ll be with you in just a moment. Some last work on this equation here—”

Kobenene lowered his great body into a wicker chair that bulged under him, and he smiled slightly. Equations. He knew exactly how much of a scientist Albright was. How little, rather. Perhaps the man had gone into the field because he looked the part.

Tall, thoroughly distinguished, full beard and Russian Cossack moustache. He had a deep, warm voice, eminently suitable for lecturing profoundly, and thick hairy brows that could draw together to convey a feeling of concern over matters of deepest cogitation.

Only one thing was missing. Albright had never had an original thought in his life. Oh, he was a competent enough technician, a professional in the lab. But the chances that he would ever contribute anything appreciable to the store of scientific knowledge were as improbable as African unification.

Kobenene waited a decent interval before deciding an interruption was in order. Certainly the circumstances warranted one.

“The girl has engaged a guide,” he said politely.

That halted any attempt at abstruse mathematical calculation. Albright put down the pencil and slipstick and turned.

“You’re joking, man. No one is idiot enough to try and enter that country.”

Kobenene shifted his bulk, and the chair creaked valiantly. “The man she had engaged has a reputation for being something of an idiot. In fact, it seems he’s been poking around the edges of Wanderi territory for years. There are many bets down as to exactly when he won’t come back. The fellow has more action riding on him than a day’s races at the track. Some of the bettors nearly collected a couple of weeks ago.”

“What? Oh.” Albright looked thoughtful. “You don’t mean that Barrow—no, Barrett—fellow they say survived the witch-man poison?”

Kobenene nodded. The servant girl arrived with a tray of refreshments. He gave her a friendly whack as she departed.

“What do you think?” Kobenene asked. Ordinarily he would not have bothered the chemist with such problems, but Barrett was fairly well known. He had many friends who would ask awkward questions if he were suddenly to drop out of sight in Nairobi. Worse still, those with shillings riding on him would get curious, indeed. They’d be harder to keep off than his friends. So the problem clearly called for more than a simple blow to the head.

Albright didn’t look especially worried. The detachment of the scientific mind, the big man thought. Albright had that, if not the mind of a scientist. Clearly his partner was attuned now to lines of higher thought, was considering the difficulty carefully and with precision.

“Could we buy him off?”

Kobenene considered. “I would say yes, absolutely. Except for two things. One, he’s already accepted the job. If we’d gotten to him first—” He shrugged indifferently. “A fruitless line of thought. As said, he has already agreed to the expedition.”

“You don’t mean such scum have a sense of honor?” laughed Albright.

“Honor has been rumored to rear its head now and then,” Kobenene replied, not wishing to be drawn into an argument with his partner.
Mungu,
how he hated the man! And despite their surface friendliness, he was quite sure Albright harbored no deep affection for him, either. Their relationship was founded on something more lasting, more binding than the frail hold of friendship—greed. They needed each other.

“The other reason?” Albright prompted.

“The other is the fact that this Barrett seems determined to break into Wanderi country. Nobody’s exactly sure why. He’s very closed mouth about it. The only one he’s ever confided in is another guide, Murin the Breeded, and no,” he said, forestalling Albright’s next question, “he wouldn’t talk either. Some say it’s for material for a book. He wrote one, you know. The best line is that he’s after some kind of buried treasure, which is even more ridiculous.

“The point to all this being that Miss Hardi is, in effect, paying him to search the very area that he’s been spending his own money to explore. From Barrett’s point of view, it’s rather an ideal situation.”

“That leaves us no choice, then,” Albright concluded. “Somehow we must manage to join this little expedition, so that when the time comes we will be in a position to abort it. I’d give a great deal for a look at Dr. Hardi’s papers, myself. But I’ve no desire to die in Wanderi country.”

“Nor I,” Kobenene agreed. The big man shuddered. “It is said by some that the Wanderi are not human.”

Albright shook his head wonderingly. “Superstitions and myths seem to hang on in primitive cultures despite superficial evidences of advancing civilization. I don’t believe in your Wanderi devils, but I have a healthy respect for their dart poisons. Rest assured that things will be resolved long before we enter their domain. Now then, who is doing the hiring of personnel for this journey?”

“This chap Murin, Barrett’s friend, seems to be going along with him on this one. I expect he’ll be the one.” Kobenene grinned. “Barrett will spend most of his preparation time spending Miss Hardi’s money in every bar in the city.”

“Um. I know this Murin by reputation, I think. Yes,” said Albright, “I’ll have no difficulty joining on. But you, my obese friend, will be a problem. Any inquiries at all into your background, and this Murin wouldn’t hire you for free. Ah, I have it! You can come along as my valet.” He grinned wolfishly.

Kobenene sipped his drink. The idea of him waiting on Albright hand and foot was so amusingly far-fetched it didn’t even upset him.

“How droll,” he muttered. “You are so sure of your own ability to be accepted?”

“Oh, I’ve no doubt of it,” said Albright, “no doubt of it. I have an ‘in,’ you know.”

Kobenene left him soon after. Neither was particularly fond of the other’s company. When business was finished, small talk vanished. Besides, there were affairs of commerce to be settled before they left.

The office near the airport was small but neatly furnished. Kobenene gave his name to the harried receptionist and was promptly admitted to the inner sanctum. The middle-aged woman behind the desk wore her hair in corn-rows, the latest fashion from America. Otherwise she was quite plain, looking exactly like what she was—a busy, small-time executive with too many problems and not enough time to cope with them.

All of this was true except the small-time. Also, people would see her in rather a different light if they knew her early history, which included at least half a dozen murders and police warrants in as many countries. Her personal wealth was considerable, though she chose not to flaunt it. That was one reason why she hadn’t been caught yet. Inordinate displays of unsubstantiated funds are like waving a red flag in front of any gendarme.

“Hello, Mama Wembe.”

“Kobe!” She looked up from her work. “How are you, lad?”

“Well, thanks,” he said, taking a chair. “How’s business?”

“Better than ever, better than ever! But our people in Naples and Antwerp are impatient. They can’t get enough of the stuff. Here they’re waving millions of francs and lire and other fine paper under my eyes and I can sell them only promises.”

“Albright does his best, Mama. We could branch out, but the risks—”

“I know, lad. Quite right. Our exclusive control is worth more than any momentary profits. In time, everything will come.”

“It will have to, Mama. Albright’s leaving on an expedition into Wanderi country this next week. I’ve got to go with him.”

Mama Wembe nodded. “I know about the situation with the Hardi woman. Why not just—” She made a slashing motion across her throat.

“Too messy. She’s not just another tourist. It would provoke embarrassing questions. Albright and I are agreed. The jungle is the place for that sort of thing.”

The woman sighed and rubbed at her skinny legs under the table. “You’re both right, of course. Things were much simpler when I was a girl. I suppose that means no more supplies until you return?”

Kobenene nodded. “You’ll have a new batch delivered tonight, though.”