Luana (7 page)

“I suppose it’ll have to do. I don’t know what I’m going to tell Cantos, though.”

“Tell him to work on the aide at the American consulate in San Marino. I think we can make a breakthrough there.”

“I’ll do that.” She stood and reached forward, patting him gently on the cheek. “You take care of yourself now, lad, and stay away from those witch-men. Scare the hell out of you, they do!”

Kobenene dutifully kissed the harridan’s hand and departed, feeling more insecure about the trip than before. Anything that could frighten Wembe like that
couldn’t
be human, Albright’s slurs aside.

As for Albright, the chemist had damn well better be right about his chances of joining the explorers, or else caution would give way to action. Mama Wembe’s messy tactics would have to be employed.

Isabel was saddle-soaping her field boots, making the leather strong and supple. If Barrett’s descriptions of the country to be crossed were to be half believed, they’d crumble from her feet anyway. But no one was going to say she wasn’t prepared!

There was a chiming.

“Who is it?”

“Norman Albright. Isabel, do let me in.”

Albright? Norm—then the name made connections.

“Mr. Albright—” Isabel swung the door wide. The chemist gave a little Prussian bow and entered. “I’m surprised, I admit it! I didn’t know you were in Nairobi.”

Albright glanced appreciatively around the luxurious suite. Clearly little Isabel hadn’t been left destitute by her father’s passing.

“Yes, I’ve lived here since,” he looked determinedly downcast, “the accident. I’ve managed to make a modest living.” He looked up at her and smiled. “You’ve certainly grown, Isabel. I used to bounce you on my knee.”

A situation, he reflected as he studied her while she bent to extract a package of cigarettes from her purse, which could be attractively altered today.

“I understand,” he continued, “that you are forming an expedition to search for your father’s plane?”

“How did you know?”

He smiled again. “Word gets around. To be direct, I should like to go along.”

“Why Norman,” she exclaimed, surprised. “You’re more than welcome, naturally—but why?”

He took a deep breath. “Possibly you don’t know, Isabel, but after your father died I tried to carry on his work as best I could.” He shook his head. “It was impossible. I’m not half the chemist your father was and we both knew it. I tried desperately to persuade him before he took off on that last trip to leave his notes and workbooks with me.

“You know how old men can be sometimes, adamant in the face of all logic. He absolutely refused to let them out of his sight. He was paranoid about his work, Isabel—no disrespect intended. In many ways it was admirable. But if those workbooks could be recovered—”

“Yes, certainly,” she agreed excitedly. “Those were my thoughts exactly. You may even look at them yourself, Norman before I turn them over to the National Institute in Washington.”

That’s just what I was afraid you’d say, my dear,
he mused darkly. Now there was no hope for it.

“Excellent, my dear Isabel, excellent! I understand you have already engaged an expedition guide, a gentleman by the name of—”

“Barrett,” she informed him. “George Barrett. He wrote a book that mentions the Wanderi and also father. He impressed me as being competent in the extreme, if rather crude sometimes personally.” She looked away.

“And he’s a bit mercenary, but I suppose that’s only understandable.”

“Of course, now that I am here, you could dispense with this uncouth person,” Albright began. “I have my own outfitter and—”

“No. No, I’ve given my word and a down payment to Mr. Barrett. And after all he did try to talk me out of it, I’m not going to make an ass of myself by backing out on him now.”

Well, it had been worth a try, he reflected.

“Very well. I will supply my own basics, of course. Oh, and my valet, too. His name is Kobenene. Fine fellow, very handy.”

“Kobenene,” she echoed.

“Yes.” Albright smiled. “It means fat tortoise. When do we depart?”

“I’m not sure,” she replied. “Mr. Barrett gave me the impression that he could be ready quite soon. Next week some time, I believe he said.”

“All right.” Albright rose. “If you should need me for anything, dear Isabel, my name is in the directory. Rest assured I’ll stay in touch.”

Though not, he thought as he eyed her with interest, as in touch as I’d like to be. They walked towards the door. Well, if things developed properly that little detail might also be handled, so to speak. He’d already come to the conclusion that sweet little Isabel need not disappear right away. Once Mr. Barrett was disposed of, there would be ample time for forced dalliance. The jungle was very discreet.

Chapter IV

They would travel by land rover to Mwanzi, on the shore of Lake Victoria. From there the railroad could carry them all the way to Mpanda. Barrett’s easy camaraderie and solid reputation made him one of the privileged few who could travel with ease between Kenya and Tanzania. From Mpanda they would have to proceed on foot, and on their own.

Barrett’s first comment on seeing Albright and Kobenene at the outfitter’s station was predictable.

“Beggin’ your pardon, Izzy, but who the hell are those two bums?”

Albright was on his way towards them and saved Isabel the need of a reply.

“Permit me to introduce myself,” began Albright, in his finest professorial manner.

“Why not?” countered Barrett. “You’re going to do it anyway.”

“Uh, yes.” Albright was only briefly caught off stride. “And my associate. My valet, Kobenene.”

“He looks it,” admitted Barrett drily. Kobenene forced himself to smile.

“And I am Doctor Norman Albright.” He extended a hand. Barrett took it warily.

“Doctor of what?”

“Chemistry, dear boy, chemistry. I was for many years the great John Hardi’s closest friend and co-worker.”

“More’s the pity for him,” muttered Barrett, so low that no one could hear. He looked at Isabel, jerked his head at the two. “What do they want?”

“Norman tried to carry on my father’s work, Mr. Barrett. But he’s been stymied by the loss of all father’s old papers and records. He hopes to have a look at them when we find the plane.”

“You’re nothing if not positive, Izzy.” Barrett studied Albright, who looked blank. “You must want a look-see at those papers awful bad, Albright. You got any idea where we’re going?”

“Naturally, dear boy. It’s all in the interests of science,” he said unctuously, “which is best served by men with inquiring, far-ranging minds.”

“Yeah,” said Barrett. “How come your inquiring mind never led you to mount your own search for these desperately valuable notes? Oh, screw it! You can come, if Miss Hardi insists. But on two conditions.”

“Which are?”

“One,” said Barrett tightly, straining to help hoist a heavy case atop the roof of a land rover, “I’m the only captain on the ship. What I say goes. If I decide halfway to Zaire it’s time for you to go home, you turn around and go home. If I say bury your head in the mud, you get dirty. Understand?”

“Perfectly, dear boy, perfectly! Whatever you say,” Albright added brightly. “And the second condition?”

Barrett paused, one hand wrapped ’round the handle of another case.

“That you stop calling me ‘dear boy.’ Otherwise I’m gonna lose my lunch.”

“Surely, surely, de . . . Mr. Barrett. All easily done. We are in accord, then. Come, Kobenene, let us see to our own equipment.” They moved down along the motorized caravan.

“Hold it, Izzy,” said Barrett, putting out an arm to stop her as she turned to go. “How well do you know this guy?”

“Really, Mr. Barrett, your insinuations and suspicions strike me as being awfully misdirected. Norman Albright is a brilliant chemist and really did work with my father for many years.” She hesitated. “Frankly, we’ve been out of touch for some time. But he knew me as a little girl. I’m delighted to find him here in Nairobi and even more delighted that he’s coming with us.” She turned and stalked away.

And that ought to be that, Barrett told himself. Only it wasn’t. The supposed scientist kept nagging at him. He leaned out to yell at the third land rover in the line.

“Hey, Breeded!”

The swarthy East Indian appeared a moment later, scratching at his swirling beard. Sometimes he would serve as second in command on Barrett’s expeditions. On other occasions, depending on the discriminatory preferences of the client, Barrett would act as his. They had a healthy respect for each other’s abilities. This time it was Barrett’s show. Even so, Murin wouldn’t have considered going were it not for the same argument that had convinced Barrett—money.

Murin’s skin was burned dark brown, the product of a fiery Hindu mother and thirty-three years of living out under the naked East African sun. A short curly beard ran from ear to ear, blended there into close cropped steel wool hair. There was a gold ring in his right ear. He was on the short side, and slim. He was not picked on, however, since it was a rumored fact that his body contained neither bone nor muscle, but was composed instead of odd lengths of steel cable.

“George, my friend, we are just about ready, yes?”

“Yes,” Barrett concurred. He nodded towards the back of the caravan, where Albright and Kobenene were working at their luggage. “What do you know about those two?”

Murin looked in the indicated direction. “The Englishman, Albright, lives in a fine big house. He has good taste in women, bad taste in wine, and seems to know a good many people in the right places plus an equally large number in the wrong ones. Despite the money he is rumored to have, he lives modestly.”

“He really a chemist?”

“It appears so,” nodded Murin, “though what he chemists at, nobody knows. Whatever it is, it’s profitable.”

“And the big one—he’s no damn valet, for sure.”

“Ah, the fat tortoise! He carries himself like a chief and speaks like a man of education—when he wants to. No one knows what he does, either, except that he and the Englishman are often seen together. In public, he is a gentleman to the hilt. Some say he
is
a disbarred chief, but there is no proof of this.”

“And in private?”

Murin shrugged. “He likes to beat up young girls and, purely for variety, young boys. He is also rumored to have other, even less benign hobbies; but again, this cannot be confirmed. Not by me, anyhow.”

“Couple of real boy scouts,” mused Barrett. “Okay, I’ll keep an eye on them, and you keep an eye on them.”

They needed only a couple of days to cross the hundreds of kilometers between Nairobi and Mwapi. They left the land rovers there. They could have driven them further across the last stretch of veldt, but Barrett preferred to leave them with a friend in the town. He wanted to find them in one piece when he returned.

It would take ten days hard marching, fighting insects, snakes, and the occasional dyspeptic carnivore, to reach the fringes of Wanderi country.

After that, of course, things would begin to get difficult.

They reached the last village, Mwendo, without incident. The trouble a-brewing, however, was not easily seen. Albright and Kobenene had been busy among the bearers. It was but three days march from here to the first lands of the Wanderi, and their leader must be of the strongest, a man who would not falter in a crucial moment. After all, their very lives might be at stake. Not all of them bought these indirect slurs on Barrett’s competence—but enough did.

The village was an unimpressive collage of mud and straw huts, and the communal corral held few cattle. The local chief was a sickly old bird, and suspicious. Going to the west? No one goes west from here . . . unless he wants to die.

They’d barely had time to sample the man’s comforting optimism when Murin joined Barrett and Isabel. The Breeded knocked dust from his pants with the side of his wide-brimmed hat. He squinted at the sun, then knelt.

“Trouble, friend Barrett.”

Barrett took a swig from his canteen. “Go ’way and come back with some good news. I’ve got enough trouble getting anything useful out of this old coot.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt, George, but this is serious real. The men say they’re not going to go another step further.”

Barrett considered. “Do tell. What prompted this pollyanna decision?”

“Too much thinking, probably,” suggested Murin. “They’ve had a lot of time to think, these last days, about where they’re going. They all know, George, that on your last expedition only you came back alive, and that was considered a miracle.”

“Damnit, I’ve been to this country eleven times in the last five years with expeditions, and that was the first one that ever had any serious trouble. Don’t they know that, too?”

“They know it, George,” said Murin placatingly. “However, it’s the last one that didn’t come back, and that’s the one they chose to consider. There seems to be a crisis of confidence in your capabilities.”

Barrett grunted. “What are they gonna do, walk back to Nairobi? They’re sure as hell not going in my land rovers, and they won’t get paid.”

“Apparently,” continued Murin softly, “their worry outweighs the personal loss they will take. But they don’t want to desert, only to have some proof of your courage and strength. Something to restore their damaged confidence.”