The Jungle Warrior (16 page)

Ignoring Tarzan's grumbling, Robbie led them into the heart of the town. A pair of stray dogs started barking at Tarzan, baring their teeth as they challenged the newcomers. Tarzan dropped to all fours, bringing himself almost nose to nose with the dogs, and flashed his own teeth, issuing a long deep growl. The strays yelped, tails folded between their legs.

Robbie looked from the bizarre scene to an old man who sat on his porch with a toothless smile creasing his face. He took Tarzan's arm, his muscles feeling like iron, and tried to pull him upright. Tarzan didn't budge.

“That's enough of that,” said Robbie from the corner of his mouth, his eyes fixed on the old man. “You're making us look weird.”

Tarzan stood, wondering why Jane was hiding her smile. Robbie approached the old man.

“
Bonjour, parlez-vous anglais
?” Robbie only knew a few French phrases and he hoped his accent wasn't too hard to understand.

The man nodded, still smiling. “Yes, yes. Your friend thinks he's a dog!” That sent the man off into a fit of laughter.

Robbie humored the old man. “No, he thinks he's a monkey.” That appeared to please him. “We're looking for some friends of ours who passed through here. They look like us. They flew here.”

“Ah! They think they are birds!” The man howled with laughter.

Robbie looked at Jane for help but she shrugged. “They flew in a helicopter.” He indicated with his hands but was afraid the man was too simple to understand.

The man wiped tears from his eyes and pointed across town. “Of course they did! They came, I saw it. The airfield is over there.” He pointed across town, still chuckling to himself.

Robbie's pulse quickened. They were on the right track. “Did they fly away from here?”

The man shook his head. “No. They are not birds.” He stared at Robbie deadpan. Robbie expected the man to break into foolish laughter again, but evidently the comedy was over and the man's smile faded as he regarded Robbie as if he was the idiot. “They had engine trouble,” the man clarified. “I could hear it from my bed.”

“Are they still here?” asked Robbie excitedly.

The man shrugged and gazed down the street without speaking. Obviously his entertainment was over. Robbie thanked him and they threaded their way through the town in the direction indicated. The streets were getting busier and several battered cars and pick-up trucks passed by playing loud African music and stinking of gasoline fumes. Tarzan was alarmed, and Robbie became aware of the many hostile looks they were receiving. Even though Sango was a rogue trading post on the banks of the river, it felt friendlier than this shanty town. He was thankful they had Tarzan with them as their own personal security.

On the edge of town they found the airfield, although that was a glamorous name for a strip of dirt in the grass. A small shelter with a bench and corrugated iron roof resembled a bus stop rather than an airport departure lounge. Behind it was a large metal shed that acted as a hangar. The rusting iron panels on the roof and walls were coming free. Several ancient vehicles were parked up around a large helicopter. The aircraft looked as old as the cars, rust covering the fuselage, but Tarzan recognized the machine that Rokoff had escaped in. An engine access hood was open just beneath the long drooping rotors. Two men perching­ on ladders worked on the complex engine within. Another two stood below, passing up tools. The hangar smelled of oil and aviation­ fuel, coming from the barrels stacked against one of the walls.

“Tarzan will fight!”

“Let me deal with this,” hissed Robbie. “We're in civilization now. We have rules to follow.” He approached the men, smiling and raising his hand in greeting. “Hey, guys!”

The men stopped working and turned with hostile glances. The two at the foot of the ladders slowly walked toward Robbie. One, with a goatee beard, methodically wiped his hands on an oily rag, while the other folded his brawny arms.

“Nice helicopter,” said Robbie amiably. “Got a little engine trouble?” The men glanced past Robbie as if he was insignificant, then lingered on Jane before finally staring at Tarzan, judging him to be the real threat. Robbie drew their attention back to himself, keeping his tone as friendly as possible. “Some friends of ours rented it out. We wondered which way they went.”

“Friends?” growled the nearest thug.

Robbie glanced at Tarzan, sensing he was ready to attack. Robbie gave a small shake of his head. He had everything under control.

“The two Russians,” he said with a grin.

On hearing this, the two mechanics slid down the ladder and circled around Robbie, regarding him with undisguised hostility. One had an ugly scar splitting his nose and Robbie tried not to look at him too hard.

“Rokoff and Paulvitch,” said Robbie, determined not to be intimidated. “We were supposed to meet them here but they went ahead.”

The split-nosed man started to laugh. It sounded more like a humorless dry cough. “Rokoff is a friend of yours? But he didn't tell you where he was going?”

They obviously didn't believe him, but it was too late for Robbie to save face and change his story. “Yep,” he said with a shrug. “You know how he is.”

“Oh, we know,” said Split-nose. The smile dropped from his face and Robbie was surprised to see a wheel wrench had appeared in his hand. It had been hidden out of sight, hooked to the back of his belt. “And you are no friends of his.”

He swung the wrench with lightning speed and a blinding pain struck Robbie's ribs. The air expelled from his lungs and he dropped to the floor. Split-nose's boot swung toward Robbie's face—but it never made contact.

Tarzan leaped over Robbie with a murderous howl. He cannoned into the mechanic with such ferocity that both men hit the floor and slid toward the chopper. The wrench arced toward Tarzan's head but Tarzan caught it. Bone crunched as Tarzan squeezed the man's wrist, then gave a sharp twist to the right. Split-nose screamed and his forearm bent at an unnatural angle. He dropped the wrench as two other mechanics jumped onto Tarzan's back.

Robbie fought for breath, unable to help. The hangar spun from the pain in his side. He heard Jane cry out, and turned to see the goateed­ man grab her hair, pulling it back.

“Get off her!” Robbie had tried to shout, but it came as nothing more than a wheeze. He ran to help, stumbling like a drunk. Robbie's fists targeted the man's kidneys. Goatee-man grunted in pain—before spinning around and punching Robbie squarely in the face. For a second, lights flashed behind Robbie's eyes and he crashed to the ground. He tasted blood and his nose felt swollen. Groggily he saw Jane run toward a workbench. Her injured assailant went after her.

Tarzan's attackers, meanwhile, slammed him into the chopper's fuselage and both men used their weight to pin him there. Tarzan had trouble maintaining a grip on their oily skin and they slipped from his grasp to deliver rapid blows to his stomach. The savage assault forced Tarzan to his knees.

Tarzan dropped—not in defeat, but in a calculated attack move. He grabbed the mechanic's foot and pulled sharply so that the man fell on his back, knocking himself out as he cracked his head on the floor. Tarzan then rolled onto his back and kicked his second attacker so hard that he was sent flying into the cockpit window, cracking the plastic canopy.

Robbie tried to stand but the room was still spinning. He saw the goateed thug reach Jane and shove her against the bench, one hand around her neck. Robbie didn't have time to be concerned for Jane's safety as her flailing hand found a small blowtorch. She cracked the pint-sized gas canister over Goatee's head. The man staggered back but recovered quickly and lunged for her once again.

She squeezed the torch's trigger and a jet of blue flame erupted across the man's chest. He howled in agony as his oily clothes caught fire. Jane backed away, stunned at what she'd done. The man tore at his burning overalls, but couldn't remove the one-piece suit. Murder was etched across his face as he swung for Jane, knocking the blowtorch aside. Jane cried out as the man's strong hands closed around her windpipe, choking her.

With a ferocious howl that echoed through the hangar, Tarzan ran to Jane's aid.

He grabbed the burning man from behind and held him high over his head. Then, Tarzan hurled the mechanic into the barrels.

“No!” yelled Robbie, but his swollen nose dampened his warning.

Tarzan had no knowledge of chemicals. He had no concept of what would happen when the man's burning clothes ignited the aviation fuel in the barrels. Luckily Jane did; she grabbed Tarzan's hand and pulled him toward the exit.

“Run!”

Fighting his muzziness, Robbie sprinted after them. The burning goateed man bounced from the barrels, tipping two over. He hit the floor hard and had no time to scream when he saw the yellow liquid spill from the barrels and wash toward him.

Robbie ran for the exit. He reached the hangar door just as the first explosion hit. With a mighty boom an orange fireball shot straight up, blowing a section of roof away.

The shockwave sent Robbie reeling into the split-nosed mechanic who was also scrambling to escape outside. They both fell as a second explosion tore through the building. Multiple fuel barrels exploded, streaking across the hangar like missiles. Two smashed into the helicopter, which then detonated with such fury that the aging aircraft was ripped in two. Robbie coughed as smoke began to drift over him and through streaming eyes, he watched as the entire building groaned and then collapsed on itself, black smoke and vivid orange flames mushrooming out.

Tarzan and Jane were sprawled on the ground a little farther away.

“This civilization?” he growled.

“No,” gasped Jane. “We're just having a bad day!”

Tarzan strode over to Split-nose, who was crawling away from Robbie­. He picked the thug up by his collar and roughly shook him.

“Where Rokoff?”

Split-nose coughed and tried to pull himself free but he was too weak.

“He's gone. Took a truck and went yesterday.”

“Where Karnath?” Tarzan growled.

“What? I don't know who that is.”

Tarzan shook the man fiercely. “Karnath!”

“I don't know!”

Easily holding the man in one hand, Tarzan walked over to the burning hangar. The heat was severe, even from several feet away, so Tarzan held the man as close as he could to the flames. Split-nose shrieked as the heat singed his skin.

“Karnath!” yelled Tarzan.

Jane ran as close as she could bear. “Tarzan! Wait!” She peered at the thug without a trace of remorse. “He won't hesitate in throwing you into the fire. Now tell us about the gorilla Rokoff had with him. Why does he want it? Who is he?”

Split-nose was suddenly in a talkative mood as the flames crept nearer. “He's a hunter. I've worked with him before. He's the best in the world. You want anything, he can get it. The ape is for a collector in Uganda. Ataro Okeke.”

Robbie crossed over to them and was alarmed by the rage on Tarzan's face.

“Where is he now?” said Robbie.

“He wanted to drive to Tanganyika. He couldn't wait for the chopper to be repaired and we couldn't have flown over the border anyway.”

“Where's he going to sell the ape?” Jane demanded.

The man was now crying from the pain singeing his back and legs. “I don't know! He only said Uganda . . . I don't know!”

For a second, Robbie thought Jane was going to order Tarzan to hurl the man into the fire, but then he saw compassion cross her face.

“Tarzan won't kill you . . .”

“Thank you! Thank you!”

“I haven't finished. He won't kill you
if
you find us a jeep and all the equipment we need to follow Rokoff. Believe me, if we find out you're lying, Tarzan will be back. And no matter where you hide, he will find you.”

T
hey drove steadily eastward for a full day. The terrified mechanic had assured Jane that the jeep was the best in the town even if it lacked air conditioning and the cab was stifling; at least the suspension leveled out most of the potholes on the primitive road that led toward Tanganyika­.

It had taken a great deal of persuasion to get Tarzan inside the jeep. He had never been in a moving vehicle before and every sound made his head turn in alarm. After a couple of hours he grew accustomed to the noises and began to relax.

Robbie drove. He was very glad they were no longer walking as his ribs hurt so much from the fight that he was sure a few were broken. He kept his eyes on the road, occasionally glancing at the GPS screen he'd hooked onto the dashboard. Rokoff had stopped for a couple of hours ahead, but now appeared to be moving again very slowly. The rocking vehicle sent Jane to sleep, while Tarzan gazed out of the window at the endless lines of cultivated fields. Civilization had left a sour taste in his mouth.

After an hour of silence, and with Jane still fast asleep, Robbie spoke up.

“You don't like towns, do you?”

“Jungle safer.” That made Robbie laugh. Tarzan looked at him curiously. “Why laugh?”

“Because since I've been in the jungle I've been chased by just about every animal, almost eaten alive by ants, trampled by hippos, swallowed by crocodiles . . . and you think it's safe?”

“They eat for food. They attack for food. Men attack for hatred and anger.”

“Not everybody is like that. Look at us. Look at D'Arnot.” Tarzan's brow furrowed at the mention of his old friend. “There are lots of good people out there. What about your family? The Greystokes?”

“Tarzan family live in jungle.”

“Your foster family, maybe. You understand, foster parents? They're the ones who look after you even though they're not your real parents. I understand that family can be . . . complicated. I know my family is looking for me.” He had no intention of explaining his complex family life to Tarzan. “Whether or not you admit that your real parents died in a plane crash, leaving you out in the jungle to fend for yourself—that's your own decision. But if you do have a family out there . . . somewhere in civilization, then don't you think you owe it to them to say you're alive? That you're safe?”