The Jungle Warrior (11 page)

“Robbie come,” said Tarzan nodding his head. Robbie was shocked when Tarzan clapped a strong hand on his shoulder and was equally surprised by the next comment. “Robbie help kill Rokoff.”

“K-kill?” stammered Robbie. “Let's just figure out how to get Karnath back, OK?”

“Do we leave now?” Jane asked.

Tarzan shook his head. “Dark not good to hunt. We leave when sun rise.”

•••

With some difficulty, Robbie and Jane finally managed to get Tarzan to check for the GPS tracker the poachers had planted on him. Since his only item of clothing was a torn and grubby pair of cargo shorts it wasn't long before he found it lodged in a pocket. Robbie destroyed the tracker by smashing it between a pair of rocks.

Tarzan wouldn't accept anything from the camp. He didn't shelter in any of the shacks and he pawed at the hot food Esmée brought him and refused to eat it. He lifted a chunk of meat from the stew and eyed it with disgust.

“Why burn meat?”

“That's how you're supposed to eat it,” said Esmée. But no amount of explanation of the merits of cooked food could convince Tarzan.

Instead, Tarzan disappeared into the jungle to rest. Jane slept fitfully, running events over in her mind. She had expected her father to reprimand her for volunteering to leave with Tarzan, but he had said nothing.

Robbie couldn't sleep at all. Before they'd turned in he'd managed to snatch a quick conversation with Clark. Clark had purchased a palm-sized camcorder during their last big supply run. He was planning to acquire video evidence of Tarzan and the aircraft, and this trip would be the perfect opportunity for Robbie to get it. The device was waterproof and discreet enough to be stashed in the deep pocket of his combat trousers. It would be best, he thought, to keep Jane unaware of his intentions.

A further search of Rokoff's Land Cruiser revealed several more GPS trackers, heavy-duty wind-up flashlights, climbing ropes, field provisions, and medical supplies—everything needed for a long-haul expedition. Archie charged Robbie's satellite phone and made him swear he would keep in touch about their progress. Robbie was surprised that Archie hadn't demanded reassurances over his daughter's safety, but it was clear that he trusted Tarzan's jungle survival skills.

Dawn chased the storm clouds away, revealing a pale blue sky. Weighed down with full backpacks, Robbie and Jane waited beside Rokoff's vehicle. Robbie idly flicked the blade of his machete through the mud, carving out random patterns. He asked for a gun, but Clark refused to give him one.

“You don't want blood on your hands, boy,” Clark had warned. “Leave that to Tarzan.”

Again, Robbie wondered just how much Clark had dug into his past. He had wanted the gun for self-defense against deadly jungle creatures, not to use against the Russian.

Robbie and Jane waited in silence. He couldn't see anybody else, but suspected Archie was watching them from one of the cabins. Eventually, Tarzan emerged from the jungle, looking solemn.

“Now we hunt.”

The cold statement suddenly made Robbie realize what he was about to get himself into.

This wasn't a rescue mission. This was revenge.

They hurried to keep up with Tarzan as they traveled through the jungle. Robbie had seen how Tarzan carried Jane through the trees, but as the two of them were weighed down with equipment, that was impossible now. Instead, Tarzan would take to the trees to scout ahead then return to encourage them on. The journey was uneventful. Robbie didn't know if Tarzan was clearing dangers from their path or if animals just instinctively avoided the wild man.

After hours of exhausting trekking the sun was high in the sky and the humidity had risen, sucking Robbie's strength with every step until his legs began to shake. He was impressed at how Jane kept ahead of him, never once complaining. She'd changed so much from the bratty girl he had first met.

“I need to stop,” said Robbie sitting on a fallen log. He expected Tarzan to complain, but he just nodded and then vanished up a tree. “Man of few words,” Robbie muttered before taking a long swig from his water canteen. Suddenly, a deep howling from above almost made him choke. It was answered immediately by a trumpeting sound Robbie recognized.

With a loud crack the trees suddenly parted and a fully-grown jungle elephant stepped onto the trail. It was Tantor, Tarzan's companion, who had led his herd to help save Robbie when the jungle rebel Tafari had kidnapped him. Of all the animals, Robbie was most enchanted with being so close to the elephant. Tantor trumpeted loudly, curling his trunk over his head in greeting. Tarzan patted the animal's rough, hairy flank then gestured to Robbie and Jane.

“Ride.”

Far from a sedate stroll through the jungle on Tantor's back, Robbie and Jane were rewarded with a terrifying race through the undergrowth. Tantor followed snaking trails at a brisk trot that almost shook Robbie from his seat on the back of the elephant's neck. Jane clung on to him from behind and Tarzan leaped from the branches high overhead, free running from limb to limb, crisscrossing the trail ahead.

Many times Robbie was forced to duck as the branches whipped too close for comfort and he was convinced it was only a matter of time before he was thrown off.

Tantor was driven forward by Tarzan's urgency and the elephant's pace never ceased, even when the trail started climbing up the gentle mountain slopes. After another few hours they reached a plateau which offered a spectacular view over a stretch of jungle that split into two valleys. They could clearly see several rivers down below, brown stains meandering through the green hillsides.

“Is this where you live?” asked Robbie, trying to keep the excitement from his voice as he and Jane climbed down from Tantor.

“No,” said Tarzan. Robbie was disappointed, but tried to hide it. “Karnath somewhere there in danger.”

A troubled look passed Tarzan's face at the thought of the little gorilla.

“Rokoff come this way,” said Tarzan, indicating to the valleys below.

“He could be anywhere.” Robbie remembered how hopeless he had felt following Jane when she had been lost out here. “How are we supposed to find him?”

“Maybe he tried to go back to the camp to drive out?” suggested Jane.

Tarzan shook his head. “Hunter will leave with prey. Rokoff will not return.”

“If it was me taking Karnath,” said Robbie, ignoring the sharp look Tarzan gave him, “and I wanted to leave unseen, then I would head straight for the nearest river. Problem is, we have two to choose from.”

Tarzan regarded Robbie thoughtfully, then nodded his approval. The idea obviously hadn't occurred to him. Tarzan crouched on the ledge of the cliff top, his eyes squinting against the sun. For several minutes he didn't move.

“We can't just wait,” said Jane in frustration. “Every minute we waste, Rokoff's getting further away.” Tarzan didn't seem to hear. “Tarzan? Are you listening to me?”

Tantor suddenly brayed, shifting nervously as he sensed something in the jungle—then Sheeta landed gracefully next to Robbie. He froze; being so close to the big cat still unnerved him. Jane displayed no such qualms and ran over to Sheeta, ruffling a hand over his smooth fur.

“Sheeta! Good boy!!”

She could have been talking to a pet dog. To Robbie's amazement, the panther issued a grumbling purr and rubbed the side of his head against her leg, circling playfully around her. Tarzan quickly brought the reunion back to earth.

“Sheeta!”

The cat crossed to Tarzan's side and dropped something he had been carrying. It was a fragment of cloth from a backpack, the same color as the ones the Russians carried.

“Go!” Tarzan commanded. Sheeta bounded along the cliff top, and gave a quick glance behind to check Tarzan was following, before disappearing into the undergrowth. Robbie hoped they could accompany them on Tantor, but when he looked around the elephant had silently vanished back into the jungle.

Robbie and Jane quickly went after Tarzan but were immediately slowed down by the dense foliage, which Robbie hacked aside with his machete. Sheeta speeded ahead and Tarzan took to the trees. They eventually made up ground on the steep mountain slope, though they lost sight of Tarzan several times. Once he was gone for almost an hour, but Jane insisted they push ahead, convinced that Tarzan would come back if they were lost. Robbie didn't share her level of trust, but each time he started to doubt, Tarzan would appear just ahead, hunched on a branch waiting for them.

Jane never once complained but Robbie was starting to feel weak.

“How much further? I'm exhausted!”

Tarzan answered by throwing something at Robbie. Then he leaped down, and shoved a green papaya-like fruit in his hands. “Eat!”

Robbie hesitated and only took a bite when he saw Jane eagerly crunch into one. The orange flesh inside was sweet and textured like a melon's. The taste was unlike anything he'd eaten before. No sooner had he devoured it than he felt a surge of energy course through him, shaking all fatigue away.

Whatever it was it was a perfect natural remedy. He ate another, stashing several more in his backpack.

“Any sign of Rokoff?”

Tarzan led them down a steep trail where the trees suddenly cleared and they found themselves on the sandy bank of a wide river. Sheeta was already there, lapping water as he kept an alert eye out for danger. Tarzan pointed to a circle of charcoal, the remains of a campfire.

“Are you sure this was Rokoff?” asked Jane. “There are poachers, loggers . . . all kinds of people hiding out here.”

Robbie knelt by the ashes and poked them with a stick, revealing several plastic ration packs, which had only been partially burned. He lifted a can up. The label was barely legible but he could see a date penned on the side, in the same place Esmée always wrote when stocking the inventory.

“I'm pretty sure it's Rokoff's mess. This is from our camp.”

Tarzan clapped Robbie on the back, so hard that it knocked the breath out of him.

“Robbie make good hunter.”

Robbie was surprised by the compliment. Tarzan moved to the water's edge and traced a finger over a stretch of flattened sand.

“Rokoff take boat from here.” The sand was flattened diagonally into the river, indicating they had launched downstream.

“That's just great,” sighed Jane. “How're we going to catch up now? We can't swim after them.”

“But we can make a raft,” Robbie suggested. “We float the logs downstream all the time so why should it be any different?” He walked to the water's edge and tossed a stone in.

“Robbie . . .” said Tarzan.

“Looks very deep—”

The calm river in front of him suddenly exploded in a mass of white water. Robbie felt time slow down as an enormous pair of jagged jaws punctured through the rising curtain of water—ready to snap him in half.

P
aulvitch coughed as he inhaled the sickly cigarette fumes puffing around Rokoff's head.

“Do you have to smoke that rubbish in here?” Paulvitch protested.

Rokoff gave him an icy stare then deliberately blew streams of smoke directly at him, sending him into another coughing fit.

“I'm going to be sick,” snapped Paulvitch, using the cuff of his sleeve to wipe the beads of sweat running down his temples. He had been complaining constantly since they boarded the boat. The stifling atmosphere in the cabin did nothing to relieve his condition.

Rokoff closed his eyes and tried to blank the man out. It wasn't easy. If Paulvitch wasn't moaning he was making hacking noises in the back of his throat. A small CD player whirled through a Tchaikovsky compilation. The music always buoyed Rokoff's spirits after a particularly arduous adventure, but it was difficult to concentrate with Paulvitch's whining and the dull thrum of the boat's engines. Not that this had been a difficult job. All the pieces of his plan had fallen into place without incident, except for the violent demise of the local poachers he had hired, which had not only saved him money (if they were dead, he didn't have to pay them), but also given him a first-hand glimpse of one of the most lethal creatures on earth.

Taking a rare mountain gorilla would have been a big achievement for most poachers, but for the Russian it barely registered. As a child, Rokoff became a skilled hunter in the Siberian plains, but back then he hunted out of necessity for food and skins rather than pleasure. He had pushed himself in the wilderness. Living on the edge sharpened his survival skills and developed his desire to explore the world. His school education brought with it increasing disappointment that the world had already been thoroughly explored. There were no dark places on the map, no civilizations still waiting to be discovered. But he clung on to the hope that the tales of unknown creatures and hidden subterranean worlds he'd read about really existed.

His craving for the impossible hunt was something that gnawed at him with every waking moment. As a young man he learned to pilot various aircraft just so he could search for the Yeti high in the Himalayas and the flying Ropen in Papua New Guinea. But these proved to be futile adventures that eroded his belief in the unknown. They had turned him into a bitter man, angry that the stories that had captured his childhood imagination were nothing more than fiction.

Now he had found something really incredible; something he had only heard about in legend. The White Ape. A wild man—a hunter with a survival acumen greater than his own. The ultimate prey—the ultimate challenge. Rokoff smiled to himself. The hunt was just beginning.

The scratched Tchaikovsky CD jumped and glitched, bringing Rokoff back to Paulvitch's complaining.

“We should make Okeke pay double for dragging us to this sweatbox,” he grumbled.

Rokoff stubbed out his cigarette and stood up, mopping his brow with a carefully folded handkerchief plucked from the breast pocket of his cream linen suit.