The Complete Adversary Cycle: The Keep, the Tomb, the Touch, Reborn, Reprisal, Nightworld (Adversary Cycle/Repairman Jack)

by F. Paul Wilson

  “Any helpful hints?”

  “Yeah. Always check your nozzle adjustment before your first discharge. It’s like a firehose and will tend to rise during a prolonged tight stream. Otherwise, think of it as spitting: Don’t do it into the wind or where you live.”

  “Sounds easy enough. Help me get into the harness.”

  The tanks were heavier than Jack would have wished, but did not cause the anticipated burst of pain from the left side of his back; only a dull ache. As Jack adjusted the straps to a comfortable fit, Abe looked at his neck questioningly.

  “Since when the jewelry, Jack?”

  “Since tonight… for good luck.”

  “Strange looking thing. Iron, isn’t it? And those stones… almost look like—”

  “Two eyes? I know.”

  “And the inscription looks like Sanskrit. Is it?”

  Jack shrugged, uncomfortable. He didn’t like the necklace and knew nothing about its origins.

  “Could be. I don’t know. A friend… lent it to me for the night. Do you know what the inscriptions say?”

  Abe shook his head. “I’ve seen Sanskrit before, but if my life depended on it I couldn’t translate a single word.” He looked closer. “Come to think of it, that’s not really Sanskrit. Where was it made? “

  “India.”

  “Really? Then it’s probably Vedic, one of the Proto-Aryan languages that was a precursor of Sanskrit.” Abe tossed off the information in a casual tone, then turned away and busied himself with gently tapping the nails halfway back into the corners of the crate of incendiary bombs.

  Jack didn’t know if he was being put on or not, but he didn’t want to rob Abe of his moment. “How the hell do you know all that?”

  “You think I majored in guns in college? I have a B.A. from Columbia in Languages.”

  “And this is inscribed in Vedic, huh? Is that supposed to mean something?”

  “It means it’s old, Jack… O-L-D.”

  Jack fingered the iron links around his neck. “I figured that.”

  Abe finished tapping down the crate top, then turned to Jack.

  “You know I never ask, Jack, but this time I’ve got to: What are you up to? You could raze a couple of city blocks with what you’ve got here.”

  Jack didn’t know what to say. How could he tell anyone, even his best friend, about the rakoshi and how the necklace he was wearing made him invisible to those rakoshi?

  “Why don’t you drive me down to the docks and maybe you’ll see.”

  “It’s a deal.”

  Abe groaned under the weight of the case of incendiary bombs while Jack, still in harness with the flamethrower, maneuvered his way up the steps to the ground floor. After Abe had deposited the crate in the rear of the panel truck, he motioned Jack out to the street. Jack darted out from the store doorway and through the rear doors of the truck. Abe pulled the iron gate closed in front of his shop and hopped into the driver’s seat.

  “Whereto?”

  “Take West End down to Fifty-seventh and turn right. Find a dark spot under the highway and we’ll go on foot from there.”

  As Abe put the truck into gear, Jack considered his options. Since climbing a rope with a flamethrower on his back and a crate of bombs under his arm was out of the question, he would have to go up the gangplank—his variable frequency beeper would bring it down. Events could go two ways after that: If he was able to get aboard undiscovered, he could set his bombs and run; if discovered, he would have to bring the flamethrower into service and play it by ear. If there was any chance to do it safely, he would let Abe get a look at a rakosh. Seeing would be believing—any other means of explaining what dwelled in Kusum’s ship would be futile.

  Either way, he would see to it that no rakoshi were left alive in New York by sunrise. And if Kusum cared to interfere, Jack was quite willing to help his atman on its way to its next incarnation.

  The truck stopped.

  “We’re here,” Abe said. “What now?”

  Jack gingerly lowered himself to the street through the rear door and walked up beside Abe’s window. He pointed to the darkness north of Pier 97.

  “Wait here while I go aboard. I shouldn’t be long.”

  Abe glanced through the window, then back at him, a puzzled expression on his round face. “Aboard what?”

  “There’s a ship there. You just can’t see it from here.”

  Abe shook his head. “I don’t think there’s anything there but water.”

  Jack squinted into the dark. It was there, wasn’t it? With a mixture of amazement, bafflement, and relief growing within him, he sprinted down to the edge of the dock—the empty dock!

  “It’s gone!” he shouted as he ran back to the truck. “It’s gone!”

  He realized he must have looked like a crazy man, jumping up and down and laughing with a flamethrower strapped to his back, but Jack didn’t care.

  He had won! He had defeated the Mother rakosh and Kusum had sailed back to India without Vicky and without Kolabati! Triumph soared through him.

  I’ve won!

  25

  Gia ran up the steps of the five-story brownstone and stepped into the vestibule inside the front door. She pulled on the handle of the inner door just in case the latch hadn’t caught. The door wouldn’t move. Out of habit she reached into her purse for the key and then remembered she had sent it back to Jack months ago.

  She went to the callboard and pressed the button next to “3”, the one with the hand-printed slip of paper that said “Pinocchio Productions.” When the door did not buzz open in response, she rang again, and kept on ringing, holding the button in until her thumb ached. Still no responding buzzer.

  Gia went back out to the sidewalk and looked up to the front windows of Jack’s apartment. They were dark, although there seemed to be a light on in the kitchen. Suddenly she saw movement at the window, a shadow looking down at her. Jack!

  She ran back up to ring the “3” button again but the buzzer started to sound as soon as she stepped into the vestibule. She pushed through the inner door and ran up the stairs.

  As she approached the third floor, she found a long brown wig and a flowery, broad-brimmed hat on the stairs. A sickeningly sweet perfume hung in the air. The newel post on the landing was cracked almost in two. There were torn pieces of dress fabric strewn all about the hall and splotches of thick black fluid on the floor outside Jack’s apartment.

  What happened here?

  Something about the splotches made her skin crawl. She stepped around them carefully, not wanting to touch one, even with her shoe. Controlling her unease, she knocked on Jack’s door.

  The door opened immediately, startling her. Whoever was there must have been waiting for her knock. But the door had swung inward only three inches and stopped. She could see the vague shape of a head looking out at her, but the dim light from the hall was at the wrong angle to reveal the face.

  “Jack?” Gia said. She was plainly frightened now. Everything was wrong here.

  “He’s not here,” said a hoarse, cracked, whispery voice.

  “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know. Will you look for him?”

  “Yes… yes.” The question was unexpected. “I need him right away.”

  “Find Jack! Find him and bring him back! Bring him back!”

  The door slammed closed as Gia stumbled away, propelled by the sense of desperate urgency that had filled that voice.

  What was happening here? Why was there some strange shadowy person in Jack’s apartment instead of Jack? There was no time for mysteries—Vicky was missing and Jack could find her! Gia held on to that thought. It was all that kept her from going insane. Even so, the sense of nightmare unreality that had come over her after finding Vicky gone gripped her again. The walls wavered around her as she played along with the bad dream…

  … down the stairs, through the doors, down to the street to where the Honda sits double parked, start it up, drive to where yo
u think—hope!—Abe’s shop is… tears on your face…

  Oh, Vicky, how am I ever going to find you? I’ll die without you!

  … drive past darkened brownstones and storefronts until a dark blue panel truck pulls into the curb to the left just ahead and Jack gets out of the passenger side…

  Jack!

  Gia was suddenly back in the real world. She slammed on the brakes. Even as the Honda was skidding to a stalled stop, she was out of the door and running to him, crying his name.

  “Jack!”

  He turned and Gia saw his face go white at the sight of her. He ran forward.

  “Oh, no! Where’s Vicky?”

  He knew! Her expression, her very presence here must have told him. Gia could hold back the fear and grief no longer. She began sobbing as she collapsed into his arms.

  “She’s gone!”

  “God! When? How long?” She thought he was going to cry. His arms tightened around her until her ribs threatened to break.

  “An hour… no more than an hour and a half.”

  “But how?”

  “I don’t know! All I found was an orange under her bed, like the one—”

  “NO!” Jack’s anguished shout was a physical pain in her ear, then he spun away from her, walking a step or two in one direction, then in another, his arms swinging at the air like a wind-up toy out of control. “He’s got Vicky! He’s got Vicky!”

  “It’s all my fault, Jack. If I’d stayed with her instead of watching that stupid movie, Vicky would be all right now.”

  Jack suddenly stopped moving. His arms lay quiet against his sides.

  “No,” he said in a voice that chilled her with its flat, iron tone. “You couldn’t have changed the outcome. You’d only be dead.” He turned to Abe. “I’ll need to borrow your truck, Abe, and I’ll also need an inflatable raft with oars. And the highest power field glasses you can find. Got them?”

  “Right in the shop.” He too was looking at Jack strangely.

  “Would you put them in the back of the truck as quick as you can?”

  “Sure.”

  Gia stared at Jack as Abe bustled away toward the front of his store. His abrupt change from near hysteria to this cold, dispassionate creature before her was almost as terrifying as Vicky’s disappearance.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to get her back. And then I’m going to see to it that she is never bothered again.”

  Gia stepped back. For as Jack spoke, he had turned toward her and looked past her, looked downtown as if seeing through all the buildings between him and whoever was in his thoughts. She let out a small cry when she saw his expression.

  She was looking at murder. It was as if Death itself had taken human form. That look on Jack’s face—she turned away. She couldn’t bear it. More rage and fury than any man was meant to hold were concentrated in his eyes. She could almost imagine someone’s heart stopping just from looking into those eyes.

  Abe slammed the rear doors of his truck and handed Jack a black leather case. “Here are the binocs. The raft’s loaded.”

  The look in Jack’s eyes receded. Thank God! She never wanted to see that look again. He slung the binoculars around his neck. “You two wait here while—”

  “I’m going with you!” Gia said. She wasn’t staying behind while he went to find Vicky.

  “And what?” Abe said. “I should stay behind while you two run off with my truck?”

  Jack didn’t even bother to argue. “Get in, then. But I’m driving.”

  And drive he did—like a madman: east to Central Park West, down to Broadway, and then along Broadway for a steeplechase ride downtown. Gia was squeezed between Jack and Abe, one hand braced against the dashboard in case they had to stop short, the other against the roof of the truck’s cab to keep from bumping her head as they pitched and rolled over the hillocks and potholes in the pavement—New York City streets were no smoother than the rutted dirt roads she used to drive in Iowa.

  “Where are we going? “she cried.

  “To meet a ship.”

  “Jack, I’m so frightened. Don’t play games with me. What’s this have to do with Vicky?”

  Jack looked at her hesitantly, then past her to Abe. “You’ll both think I’m crazy. I don’t need that now.”

  “Try me,” she said. She had to know. What could be crazier than what had already happened tonight?

  “All right. But just listen without interrupting me, okay?” He glanced at her and she nodded. His hesitancy was unnerving. He took a deep breath. “Here goes…”

  26

  Vicky is dead!

  As Jack drove and told Abe and Gia his story, that inescapable fact stabbed at his mind. But he kept his eyes fixed on the road and held himself away from the agony of grief that threatened to overwhelm him at any moment.

  Grief and rage. They mixed and swirled within him. He wanted to pull over to the curb and bury his face in his arms and weep like a baby. He wanted to ram his fist through the windshield again and again.

  Vicky! He was never going to see her again, never do the orange mouth gag, never paint up his hand like Moony for her, never—

  Stop it!

  He had to stay in control, had to look strong. For Gia’s sake. If anyone else had told him that Vicky was missing, he might have gone berserk. But he had remained calm for Gia. He couldn’t let her guess what he knew. She wouldn’t believe him anyway. Who would? He’d have to break it to her slowly… in stages… tell her about what he had seen, what he had learned in the past week.

  Jack drove relentlessly through the near empty streets, slowing but never stopping for red lights. It was two a.m. on a Wednesday morning and there was still traffic about, but not enough to matter. He was headed downtown… all the way downtown.

  His instincts insisted that Kusum would not leave without the Mother rakosh. He would not want to wait too far from Manhattan. To sail on, even at bottom speed, would mean outdistancing the Mother and leaving her behind. According to Kolabati, the Mother was the key to controlling the nest. So Kusum would wait. But Kusum didn’t know that the Mother wasn’t coming. Jack was coming instead.

  He spoke as calmly as he could as he raced through Times Square, past Union Square, past City Hall, past Trinity Church, ever southward, all the while telling them about an Indian man named Kusum—the one Gia had met at the U.K. reception—whose ancestors were murdered by a Westphalen well over a century ago. This Kusum had come to New York with a ship full of seven- and eight-foot creatures called rakoshi whom he sent out to capture the last members of the Westphalen family.

  There was silence in the cab of the panel truck when he finished his story. He glanced over to Gia and Abe. Both were staring at him, their expressions alarmed, their eyes wary.

  “I don’t blame you,” he said. “That’s just the way I’d look at somebody who told me what I just told you But I’ve been in that ship. I’ve seen. I’m stuck with it.”

  Still they said nothing.

  And I didn’t even tell them about the necklace.

  “It’s true, damn it!” he shouted. He pulled the Mother’s scorched fangs and talons from his pocket and pressed them into Gia’s hand. “Here’s all that’s left of one.”

  Gia passed them over to Abe without even looking at them. “Why shouldn’t I believe you? Vicky was taken through a window twelve stories up!” She clutched at Jack’s arm. “But what does he want with them?”

  Jack swallowed spasmodically, unable to speak for a moment. Vicky’s dead! How could he possibly tell her that?

  “I—I don’t know,” he said finally, his vast experience as a liar standing him in good stead. “But I’m going to find out.”

  And then there was no more island left—they were at Battery Park, the southern tip of Manhattan. Jack sped along the east side of the park and screeched to the right around a curve at its end. Without slowing, he plowed through a cyclone gate and hurtled across the sand toward the water.


  “My truck!” Abe yelled.

  “Sorry! I’ll get it fixed for you.”

  Gia let out a yelp as Jack swerved to a stop in the sand. He leaped out and ran to the bulkhead.

  Upper New York Bay spread out before him. A gentle breeze fanned his face. Due south, directly ahead, lay the trees and buildings of Governor’s Island. To the left, across the mouth of the East River, sat Brooklyn. And far off to the right, toward New Jersey, on her own island, stood Lady Liberty with her blazing torch held high. The bay was deserted —no pleasure boats, no Staten Island Ferries, no Circle Line cruisers. Nothing but a dark wasteland of water. Jack fumbled the binoculars out of the case slung around his neck and scanned the bay.

  He’s out there—he’s got to be!

  Yet the surface of the bay was lifeless—no movement, no sound but the lapping of the water against the bulkhead. His hands began to tremble as he raked the glasses back and forth over the water.

  He’s here! He can’t get away!

  And then he found a ship—directly between him and Governor’s Island. On previous passes he had confused its running lights with the lights on the buildings behind it. But this time he caught the glint of the setting moon off its aft superstructure. An adjustment of the glasses brought the long deck into focus. When he saw the single kingpost and its four cranes amidships, he was sure he had her.

  “That’s it!” he shouted and handed the glasses to Gia. She took them from him with a bewildered look on her face.

  He ran to the back of the truck and dragged out the raft. Abe helped him unbox it and activate the CO 2 cartridges. As the flat oval of yellow rubber began to inflate and take shape, Jack slipped into the harness of the flamethrower. His back bothered him hardly at all. He carried the box of incendiary bombs to the bulkhead and checked to make sure he had his variable frequency beeper. He noticed Gia watching him intently.

  “Are you okay, Jack?”