In Search of the Dove

by Rebecca York

  At the edge of the clearing, the drummers provided a steady rhythmic beat. The tempo was still fairly slow, and the dancers were still in control of their gestures. But he knew from experience that soon the pace would quicken until the flow of the moving bodies became frantic. Some would fall out on the ground, victims of exhaustion. Incredibly, others would stay in frenzied motion for hours.

  He spared a glance at Gorlov. Earlier in the evening the Russian had been jovial, almost boisterous. Now he was pale and wide-eyed, his body stiffly perched on the edge of his seat. Talifero couldn’t tell whether he was excited or frightened. Probably both. At any rate, he’d have an entertaining story to tell back in Moscow—if anybody believed him.

  Gorlov fought to loosen the iron fist that gripped the pit of his stomach. Up until now he’d been enjoying Talifero’s rather extraordinary hospitality. Yet here in the darkened jungle with the drums and savages, he was suddenly aware of how powerful the man was. He had decreed ritual murder, and these people were enthusiastically carrying out his edict.

  The hungan glided toward the center of the altar and turned his head, giving the honored guests a silhouette of his mask with its enormous bird’s beak. It was part of the threatening persona he chose to project. Talifero knew that Moonshadow preferred direct eye contact with her worshipers—and victims.

  She was already at the ritual grounds, but she had decided not to appear during the early part of the proceedings. The doctor shifted slightly so that he could see the other side of the clearing where a paved road stopped about fifty yards from the edge of the altar. Prentiss and the girl would be coming in by van very shortly, and their trip to the ceremonial grounds was going to be strictly one-way.

  * * *

  THE VAN LURCHED to a stop and Jessica shivered. Next to her, Jed pressed his shoulder against hers. It was all the comfort he could give her, and damned little, under the circumstances. If Michael Rome was coming to rescue them, it had better be soon. They had almost reached the end of the line. “I’m sorry I got you into this,” he whispered.

  Jessica pressed back for just a moment. They were shackled together leg to leg and arm to arm. But fear, not the chains, made even the simple movement stiff. Michael, she thought. Michael, where are you? Oh, God, Michael.

  After the first shock of seeing Jed, she had tried not to look at his body. Like her he was almost naked and painted with a carefully symmetrical design. Simone had shaved the thick hair on his chest to make the application smoother. Only the orchids were missing.

  There were more wardens than passengers in the van. One got up and threw open the doors at the back. The drums had been growing louder during the short trip from the clinic grounds into the jungle. Now, with the back open, the noise seemed to boom inside the vehicle, almost like a physical assault. Jessica shrank back, but strong arms seized her wrists and pulled her onto the pavement. Jed lurched along with her. In a moment they were standing with a semicircle of armed escorts around them.

  Her legs were rubbery so she stumbled against Jed. She knew from her laboriously spelled-out conversation with him that they had been practically starving him to make him weak. Nevertheless, his body tensed, his gaze darting about the clearing, seeking an escape route.

  Moonshadow was standing before them, flanked by two tall attendants dressed in linen loincloths. The dark skin of their bodies had been oiled so that it glistened in the light of the torches they held. Behind them was another shadowy figure, holding a bowl.

  Though still garbed in white, the priestess had exchanged the simple shift for a long ceremonial robe gathered just under her high breasts. In the flickering light, Jessica could see that she had painted heavy black, almost Egyptian, lines over her lids and extending beyond the corners of her eyes. The space above them was filled in with a brilliant, iridescent jade. There was no resemblance between this woman and the friend of Jessica’s youth.

  The priestess intoned an order, and the man with the bowl stepped into the small circle of light. Whatever was in the container smelled foul.

  “You will drink this,” Moonshadow commanded her captives.

  “Drink it yourself,” Jed spat out.

  One of the wardens behind him grabbed his head. Another held his mouth open. As they poured the liquid down his throat, he gagged.

  When Jessica’s turn came, she didn’t fight. What was the use? The vile-tasting concoction burned all the way down.

  Moonshadow looked at them with satisfaction. “Now we are ready,” she pronounced.

  With two escorts walking behind them, two in front and two on either side, they started toward the altar, the chains clanking as their legs moved.

  * * *

  IN THE DARKNESS of the jungle, Holcroft grasped Michael’s arm. The other man nodded, although he suspected that the gesture went unseen. Dressed in black, their faces and hands smeared with carbon, they were crouched in the deep shadows behind an oleander. The three islanders who had come around the clinic wall with them were fanned out in a semicircle guarding their rear. Michael could see the other recruits among the dancers in the crowd. They looked pretty into it. He wondered if they were really going to be of any help once the action started.

  But at least part of the operation had gone off smoothly. As no one was expected to have the audacity to sneak in from this side of the ceremonial ground, the approach was only minimally patrolled. Michael had taken out two guards, and Holcroft had brought down another.

  Since sunset, the two agents and their local commandos had silently carried out their own preparations for the ceremony. At a dozen locations to the north and west of the ritual clearing they had planted plastic explosives, molding them to the trunks of trees and hiding them with foliage. Each charge was equipped with a blasting cap and a fine-gauge antenna. The small transmitter that would set them off one at a time rested on the ground between them.

  Yet Michael was far from sanguine. He and Holcroft could cause a diversion, but they had no control over what would happen after that.

  The prisoners were coming. Michael suppressed a gasp. He’d thought years of fieldwork had prepared him for anything. But he watched in stunned silence as the captives were led forward to the front of the altar. Jed was still holding himself alert. Jess stumbled and one of the guards jerked her up roughly. Three wooden stakes had been set up facing the audience. As Michael watched, the captives’ hands were lashed to rings at the tops of the posts. Only then were the leg chains and handcuffs that held them together released. A guard tested the bonds and nodded with satisfaction. Michael had to stop himself from crashing out of the bushes, his automatic blazing.

  The drums began a new beat. The frenzied movement of the worshipers slowed slightly. All eyes were riveted to the altar and the two captives immobilized between the wooden posts. Up till now a tall man dressed in a feathered costume had been holding sway. With a little bow, he stepped aside in deference to a stately woman clad in a white gown. As she ascended the steps to the altar, her head high and her back straight, Michael barely suppressed an exclamation.

  The woman from New Orleans! The one with the shop. Jess’s friend Simone! She was here. It didn’t make sense. Or did it? The scene in the garden Jessica had related—the hungan replaced by a woman. Simone. She was the voodoo priestess! He’d had a bad feeling about her from the start, and now she was getting ready to preside over two murders.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The armed escorts moved to the background, giving the priestess center stage with her victims. Michael was calculating the moment when he would set off the first explosive charge and stun the crowd so he could make the rescue.

  But the priestess had other plans. With no forewarning, she pulled a silver dagger from the folds of her gown. He heard a low exclamation rise from the worshipers. Without further preamble Simone raised the knife in an arch above her head. It plunged into Jed’s painted chest, piercing the skin above his heart. As she withdrew the blade, dark blood spurted and the agent slumped, his
lifeless body held up only by his bonds.

  Michael watched in frozen horror. He had expected rituals, chanting, something to let him know that the moment was approaching. It had simply happened before his eyes like an ax murderer leaping unexpectedly out of a closet in a third-rate horror movie. But this was not make-believe. It was hideously real.

  The woman held the bloody knife up for the crowd to see, then she turned toward Jessica. God, no. With a curse he was on his feet. There was no thought of the plan he’d worked out—or his own safety. He had to save Jessica. He had just reached the edge of the crowd when a blast tore through the jungle, sending bark and wood flying.

  Holcroft must have detonated one of the charges. Farther to the right, a second explosion erupted, a flash of light followed by a concussion in the darkness. A moment of shocked silence among the worshipers erupted into mass panic. As a date palm crashed across the clearing, men and women screamed, almost stampeding each other trying to get out of the way.

  A wave of human flesh hit him, knocking him backward. He was going in the wrong direction through a sea of people. It was almost impossible to struggle forward, yet he made the desperate effort, focused all the while on the altar.

  The priestess looked up in disbelief. Though chaos reigned, her mind was clear. She saw the hungan start toward Jessica, a long dagger in his hand. He must be intent on finishing the sacrifice despite the sudden shambles. She couldn’t allow that. Without hesitation she pushed the tall, feather-clad man out of the way and raised her arm again, bringing her own silver knife down into Jessica’s chest. Her second victim uttered a muffled scream and collapsed between the wooden posts.

  Jessica’s gasp was echoed by Michael’s gut-wrenching cry of anguish. Redoubling his efforts, he surged forward like a madman. More blasts ripped through the jungle, causing the ground to tremble as though from an earthquake. The air was filled with the acrid smell of the explosives. Wood and bark rained down on the clearing.

  * * *

  A QUARTER MILE AWAY, the blast sent a retort crashing to the floor of Gilbert Xavier’s laboratory. The chemist’s eyes swiveled to the burner where a large beaker of highly volatile chemicals was heating. It vibrated on the stand, and he jumped back. God, he wasn’t going to be able to pull it off. Simone had asked him for an explosion. The stuff was going to blow while he was still in the lab! Another shock wave hit the building. This time a bottle tumbled from a side shelf sending a spray of acid across the room, searing his face. He didn’t notice. A few drops fell into the open beaker. No! Xavier could literally see the chemical reaction taking place before his eyes, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. Run! his mind shouted.

  * * *

  BENEATH THE feathered mask, Piers Lavintelle’s features registered pure hatred for the foreign priestess. How dare an interloper shove him aside! His fingers contracted around the handle of the dagger he still held. Raising his arm, he brought down the steel blade. In the next instant it had buried itself in Moonshadow’s back. She uttered a curse and sank to her knees. Another wicked jab and she pitched forward in front of the man and woman she had offered up to the gods.

  Holcroft had pulled out his gun, but he couldn’t shoot. Rome and their local recruits were still in the middle of the crowd. As he watched, one of them shouldered his way toward Blackstone’s director.

  At the side of the altar Talifero was on his feet shouting orders over the din. No one paid the slightest heed. The worshipers were too intent on flight, trampling each other as they struggled to evacuate the clearing. Gorlov had climbed below the platform at the side of the altar and flattened himself against the ground, his hands over his head. Their man reached the director’s side and tried to grab his arms. From inside his jacket, Talifero pulled a small pistol. The recruit grabbed for the gun. They struggled and there was a sharp report. Talifero went down.

  Michael was only yards away. Ignoring Talifero, he leapt onto the altar. The priest grabbed his shoulder and their eyes locked. The urge to strangle the man with his bare hands was almost overwhelming. Instead he settled for a vicious abdominal jab that sent Lavintelle flying off the platform and across the clearing. He hit a running woman and landed like a broken doll. Michael didn’t even look to see what had happened. Quickly he untied Jessica’s hands and lowered her limp body gently to the rough stones.

  He felt as if someone had plunged a dull knife into his own chest and twisted the blade to increase the pain. God, why had this happened? Jessica had come down there to help him. He should have alienated her so completely that she wouldn’t have wanted to be on the same continent with Michael Rome, let alone the same Caribbean island.

  He touched one of the white orchids still clinging to her hair, then smoothed his hand across her brow. The skin was already cold and gray. He could feel no breath from her nose or mouth. If she had a pulse, it was too weak for him to detect. He cursed, then bent to examine the wound where the knife had gone in. It seemed to have sealed itself up, the blood no longer flowing freely. He remembered the disembodied presence that had come to him last night over the water. It had promised that Jessica and Jed would only appear dead. He hadn’t really believed it then. He certainly couldn’t believe it now. He was probing gently, trying to assess the internal damage, when the devil priestess stirred beside him. He wanted to stay with Jessica, but something compelled him to turn to the other woman.

  Savagely he rolled her over. Her eyes were open. As he watched, her face contorted with effort and her lips formed words. Whatever she wanted to say must be terribly important. He bent so that his ear was inches from her lips. “Not dead.”

  He stared at the woman. The voice in his head. Simone. Was it possible?

  “Jessica. Jed. Not dead. Drugged,” she repeated.

  He stared at her, his heart starting to pound but his brain still not daring to believe. He had seen her stab them, could still see the congealed blood on their bodies.

  “Last night. I came...to you...Xavier and I...a plan.”

  He grasped her shoulder. “Tell me what you’ve done!”

  “I—”

  He saw the life force slip from her body. There was no use wasting any sympathy. He pried the silver knife from her limp hand. Just as he was cutting Jed down, another explosion rent the jungle night. Much more powerful than anything they had set, it came from the direction of the clinic. The sky to the west was lit as if by a second sunset. Then flames shot upward toward the heavens. The heat was intense. Even at this distance, Michael could feel it licking out toward him. If the priestess was right, he had to get Jess and Jed out of there. They could find Xavier later.

  Holcroft and two of the men materialized at his side. The CIA agent looked toward where Talifero and Gorlov had been viewing the ceremony. The Russian was gone. But there was still the chemist to consider. “What do we do about Xavier?” he questioned.

  “We can worry about Xavier later. We’ve got to get Jed and Jess out of here.”

  “But they’re dead!”

  “The priestess said they’re not. I hope to God she was right.”

  Holcroft looked incredulously from one ashen body to the other. He’d seen them killed.

  “You can carry Jed, I’ll take Jess,” Michael ordered.

  “What’s the use now?”

  Michael’s hand went to his gun.

  Holcroft appraised the deadly look in the man’s eyes. He meant what he said. Arguing with him might be suicidal. Silently, he reached for Jed’s body.

  He reached for Jess. Slipping off his shirt, he pulled her hands through the sleeves. Then he slid his arms under her limp shoulders and hips. Despite the wound in her side, she didn’t move or groan. For just a moment he pressed her slender body close against his chest. Then he slung her over his shoulder so that he could carry her more easily.

  Flames licked through the underbrush. Fanned by the wind, they headed in the direction of the ceremonial clearing. There was an acrid smell in the air.

  Chemicals, M
ichael thought. Had the lab gone up? Right now it didn’t matter. He looked around for the best escape route. Alone they could have easily outrun the conflagration. Carrying two limp bodies, they would be slowed down considerably.

  Maybe they could get to the van that had brought the victims in. But when one of the men went to check it out, the vehicle had disappeared. Their own truck was out of the question. It had probably already gone up in the fire.

  “The boat,” Holcroft shouted.

  I hope it’s there, Michael thought, but didn’t waste the breath to voice the uncertainty.

  With the fire at their backs, they slogged through the thick vegetation, one of the islanders leading the way. Thorns and tangled undergrowth grabbed their clothing and tore at their flesh. Pushing on, they disregarded the impediments.

  Every step Michael took was agony. Jessica’s inanimate body sagged over his shoulder. Her skin was cold and clammy. It was almost impossible to believe she was really alive.

  Finally the little group broke from cover to confront the moon reflecting a silvery path along the water. Holcroft set Jed down. The agent took a deep breath and wiped his forearm across his brow. Then he pulled out his gun and fired two signal shots. From the darkened water came an answering flash. Thank God. They were there.

  The cabin cruiser maneuvered in closer. It took several trips with the small boat; but twenty minutes later the party had been transferred to the Star Fish. Miraculously, they had only lost one man in the melée.

  “You’d all better come with us to Jamaica,” Holcroft told the islanders, “until we find out how hot it is on Royale Verde.”

  Bequi, the island recruit, peered back at the flames consuming the peninsula. “Right, mon.”

  Holcroft set a course for his home port and one of the islanders took the helm. When he came down the companionway, Michael was already below in the lounge with the couple they had rescued. Each had been laid out on one of the bunks. Holcroft turned on the cabin lights.