by Bill Craig
The pirate boat began to list as water washed across the broken deck, then the doomed vessel slid beneath the Congo. Screams of the dead and dying filled the air along with the snuffling grunts of feeding crocodiles. The water looked like a window into Hell itself, reflecting the glow of the fire amid a mosaic of blood and torn limbs. Great clouds of steam erupted into the air as the burning boat vanished under the water. There were a few pirates still thrashing in the water, but they didn’t last long; the crocodiles saw to that.
*****
Bridget Ellen O’Malley awoke to the sound of gunfire. Jumping to her feet, she started towards the river. A hand landed on her shoulder, spinning her around. “They need my help, Dad!” Bridget snapped.
“No, Bridget, they don’t,” Niles McKenzie said. “They have the situation well in hand.”
“What the devil is going on?” Francisco Degiorno demanded from the far side of the fire. McKenzie had been keeping a close eye on the wily Italian to make sure he didn’t slip off into the jungle on his own.
“River pirates, but I’m sure you know all about them,” McKenzie replied dryly.
“The Ninety-Nine?” Degiorno asked his voice quaking with fear. It was a rhetorical question, and both men knew it.
“We really can’t see all that much from here, just a burning pirate boat sinking into the main channel of the river. Would you like to swim out and see if you recognize any of them?” McKenzie asked. “You heard the shooting and explosions the same as we did.”
“Krieger stays off the Lower Congo.”
McKenzie raised an eyebrow, as if the comment had confirmed what he already knew to be true. “Maybe these aren’t his fellows after all.”
“Shouldn’t we go help them?” Degiorno asked, trying to muster some small amount of courage to cover the fearful quiver in his voice.
“They have it pretty well taken care of now. The crocs will finish anyone they miss.”
“Mother of God!” Degiorno gasped in horror at McKenzie’s apparent callousness.
“Hannigan, are you okay?” Bridget’s voice rang out.
McKenzie spun around his eyes narrowing as he sought out his daughter’s slim form in the darkness beyond the fire.
“Can you fly the plane, Padre?” Degiorno’s voice asked quietly from behind him. McKenzie turned to face him. It was then he caught sight of the small revolver in the Italian’s hand.
“I can,” McKenzie replied softly, forcing his body to relax so he wouldn’t telegraph his plans to the Italian.
“Then how about the two of us take a ride to get to the emerald ahead of everybody else?” Degiorno moved around the fire, keeping the revolver close to his body.
“How about we don’t?” McKenzie asked his voice barely above a whisper.
“I could kill you now, where you stand,” Degiorno hissed.
“Maybe,” McKenzie said softly. “Maybe not.”
Then he vanished. Degiorno’s eyes went wide as he searched for the priest. Suddenly something struck his wrist and the revolver flew into the circle of light around the small fire.
Fingers as hard as steel bars found pressure points and the Italian was suddenly on the ground moaning with pain. When he opened his eyes, McKenzie was standing over him.
“Are you man or ghost?” Degiorno gasped, eyes wide with an almost primal fear.
“I’ve seen the evil in your heart, Degiorno. I know what kind of person you are. Never forget that.”
McKenzie turned and walked over to where the revolver had fallen. He scooped it up and stuffed it into his belt. McKenzie looked down at the Italian. “You won’t be needing it anymore.”
“God help me,” Degiorno gasped, fear taking hold in his heart.
“He’s been trying.” McKenzie said softly. “But you won’t accept his help. I need to check on my daughter. If you move, I will kill you.”
*****
Bridget stood near the banks of the river, gazing anxiously out toward Captain Morgan’s riverboat. She waited anxiously to hear Hannigan’s reply, but all she was hearing so far was shooting. She had retrieved her own pistol from the plane earlier in the evening. It was a Smith & Wesson .38 caliber revolver with a four-inch barrel. The gun was holstered at her waist, but the flap was unsnapped in case she needed the pistol to fend off crocodiles. However, the crocs seemed too engrossed in feasting on the pirates that had either jumped or fallen into the river.
“Hardluck, are you okay?” Bridget screamed out over the river.
“Doin’ fine, Kid!” Hannigan’s voice carried over the water to her. Bridget’s knees went weak and she felt like fainting but didn’t. Hannigan was okay! That was the most important thing. She felt a smile creeping across her face.
*****
Mike Hannigan heard Bridget shouting for him, demanding to know if he was okay. He shook his head, then called back: “Doin’ Fine Kid!” He hoped that would pacify her until the killing was over. He didn’t want Bridget to see this part of him, the cold-blooded killer that was more machine than man. He fired his pistol, mercifully killing yet another pirate that was being torn apart by the crocodiles.
He took a deep breath, seeking another target. The river was becoming quiet, the crocs dragging the corpses below the surface to their dens buried deep in the mud. Finally, he looked up at the sky and noticed it was beginning to lighten with the coming of a new day
Chapter Thirteen
Doctor Ragnarok stood on the control deck of the zeppelin watching as the sun burned into view at the edge of the horizon, emerging from the jungle as if all of Africa were on fire. It was a breath-taking sight; it reminded him of the creation of the universe.
That had been a glorious time - an entire cosmos in chaos. Only later - millennia later - he realized the awful truth: he was imprisoned in the physical realm, modulated in the confining dimensions of a world where everything that is or ever was consists of raw energy and crude matter. Worse, he’d been trapped in the gravity well of this world as it gradually coalesced into a terrestrial sphere; trapped, just as he was trapped in this frail human body.
The reminiscence only further exacerbated his irritation with the current situation. For expediency’s sake, he had allowed the Nazis to imagine that he was working for them, serving their ends. To facilitate that deception, he was forced to allow the smug toad Wessel to command the mission, and Wessel seemed to be stalling. He had anchored the zeppelin for the night despite Ragnarok’s urging that they press onward. His desire to reach the emerald, to free himself from his fleshy prison, was all consuming. Yet, he could not argue with the toad’s logic; in the darkness, they might miss the landmarks to the emerald’s location, and only postpone that eagerly anticipated event.
Still, the toad had seemed different; arrogance had replaced the fear that he had instilled in the man earlier. Something had happened outside his influence, something he would have to investigate. …First things first, however. It was time to begin moving again, time to go after the Emerald of Eternity. Soon it would be within his grasp.
A noise behind him alerted Ragnarok that the command crew for the airship was arriving from their quarters and he turned to face them. Conversations stopped as the crew saw him standing there waiting for them. They had not expected this; he could feel the fear as they saw him, feel it rising from their weak flesh, filling the air, giving him strength and fresh power. “It’s about time you got this ship underway,” Ragnarok intoned, his voice deep and intimidating. They scurried to their places like insects. He felt his burned lips turn up slightly into a smile beneath his metal mask.
*****
“Okay, Degiorno, it’s time to put up or shut up.” Hannigan fixed the Italian with a deadly expression. “Draw the copy of the map.”
“But…”
“No buts Francisco,” Gregor Shotsky said, his voice devoid of emotion. “Do it now or we’ll just shoot you and toss you to the crocs, or better yet, leave you here for the Ninety-Nine to find,”
“Anything but that,” Degi
orno shivered. Hannigan placed a large piece of paper and a pencil in front of the Italian. McKenzie knelt down beside Degiorno.
“Remember, I know that territory very well,” McKenzie said softly, quiet menace flowing off him. The Italian nodded and began to draw. McKenzie watched the map take shape, quickly picking up various landmarks. He had not overstated his familiarity with the region; in fact, he knew exactly where the lost city was located. He was pleased to notice that Degiorno placed the temple of Simbalwe more than twenty miles from where it was actually located. The Nazis were going to the wrong location. In the thick Congo forest, twenty miles might as well be on another continent. McKenzie decided to keep that piece of information to himself for the moment.
Bridget and the others were right in one respect; the Emerald of Eternity could not be allowed to fall into Nazi hands. He would do all that he could to prevent it, but he was not happy about the prospect of having to face Prester John. Prester John was frightening; the limits of his mystical powers untested. The Pope himself was frightened of the Priest King.
*****
Mike Hannigan had lost interest in watching Degiorno draw the map and walked out to the river’s edge. In less than twenty-four hours time, he had foiled three assassins, escaped from a group of Nazis, fought in a dogfight with German fighter planes, and survived two battles with pirates. Somewhere in between all the violence, he had also met Bridget and fallen in love. It was enough to make his head spin.
In an effort to bring some kind of control back into his life, he set about cleaning his pistol. He had put a lot of lead through the barrel and the mechanism was black with carbon residue. The Colt had taken good care of him, and now it was time to return the favor. He also needed to find some more ammo for the weapon, or soon it would be no more useful than a paperweight. He knew that the Thompson submachine gun Shotsky had found the previous night used .45 ACP ammunition--same as the Colt--with any luck Captain Morgan might have a few rounds to spare.
As he scraped the gunpowder residue from the mechanism, he kept an eye on McKenzie, as the latter watched Degiorno recreate his map. The Padre’s eyes had betrayed him; he had spotted something significant but hadn’t spoken up. The good Padre was keeping secrets, that much was very evident, but how to get him to reveal them that was the question. Hannigan didn’t doubt that the priest was a good man, but he knew from experience that men who follow God put His interests above all others, even their friends.
After reassembling the big reliable Colt, Hannigan untied the rowboat and stepped inside it, taking an oar and using it to push himself away from shore. It took only a few brief moments of rowing to reach the riverboat.
“Ahoy, Captain!” Hannigan called as he tossed a line onto the deck of the riverboat. “Permission to come aboard?”
Morgan replied with a grin: “Permission granted, Son. You saved both my boat and my ass last night, you’re welcome anytime.”
“Well, then you won’t mind me asking a favor,” Hannigan said as he stepped onto the deck.
“Name it.”
“Four or five boxes of ammo for my .45 if you can spare it,” Hannigan replied.
He liked the riverboat captain. The man reminded him of his grandfather who had helmed a riverboat on the great Mississippi River years before.
“Not a problem, Lad. I keep a couple of cases on board for that old Chicago Piano. You’re more than welcome to a few boxes.” He rustled in a locker and passed over several waxed cartons of Automatic Colt Pistol cartridges, then gave Hannigan an appraising glance. “So you’re the fellow sparking the Padre’s adopted daughter and getting him all fired up?”
Hannigan raised an eyebrow, a little surprised by the revelation. “He doesn’t strike me as particularly ‘fired up.’”
Morgan chuckled. “Aye. He was so concerned about little Bridget that he could barely think. She’s led a pretty sheltered life out here, but she’s a woman with a woman’s needs. Ain’t many fellows out here with much to offer; the river ages a young man right quick. But you’re still pretty fresh. The good father would be a fool not to be a little worried about her virginity.”
Hannigan could feel the heat of blood rushing to his face. “Ah well, ok,” he stuttered.
*****
Gregor Shotsky watched Francisco Degiorno work on the map. He had noticed Hannigan moving off towards the riverbank earlier. McKenzie had drifted away at about the same time. It was then that he had noticed that Degiorno was making some subtle alterations to the map.
Through narrowed eyes he watched as Degiorno shifted landmarks on the map. He kept quiet, but it was something he would mention to both Hannigan and McKenzie later on when the opportunity arose.
“I’m done,” Degiorno said firmly as he laid the pencil aside.
“Is it accurate?” Shotsky asked, not really expecting the truth.
“More so than the one the Nazis have. The original was in my safe. They have a copy I substituted when they weren’t looking. On their copy everything is off by several miles,” Degiorno grinned.
“I’ll get the others. McKenzie! Come here, Padre, and take a look at the map,” Gregor called, watching Degiorno from the corner of his eye. The man flinched visibly. He was afraid of the wily old priest. McKenzie and Bridget both headed in their direction and he could see Hannigan rowing back to shore. Hannigan would join them soon enough.
Gregor watched as the wiry priest walked over to the Italian. He moved with the grace of a panther. Something was coming to life in the priest, something that had been gone a long time. That much was easily apparent to anyone who watched him move. Bridget had moved up beside the priest, shaking her red curls back out of her face and then tucking her hair behind her ears so she could more easily see the map as well. Being such an accomplished pilot, Gregor had no doubt she could read the chart with the same ease as her father.
After several minutes McKenzie folded the map. “It’s pretty accurate as far as the landmarks and the countryside,” the Priest said.
“I saw a couple of small things that weren’t quite right, but they were not too far off either,” Bridget added.
“That’s great,” Mike Hannigan said, walking up to join the rest of them. “Now we just gotta get us all there.”
“Bridget can fly two of us ahead and then come back and pick up the other two,” McKenzie folded his arms.
“That would work. The two she comes back for can help Captain Morgan get those supplies loaded on his other boat and headed towards the mission. She should be able to pick us up on the river,” Hannigan agreed.
“Degiorno can come with me and Bridget can fly us ahead to the Mission first then,” McKenzie said.
“Well, since you have the map, Degiorno can wait with me and Gregor can go with you. He’s really good at this expedition stuff. Besides, that way I know you’ll send Bridget back for us.”
“You don’t trust much of anyone, do you Mr. Hannigan?” McKenzie asked with a sigh.
“Not since most of the people I’ve met since I set foot in Africa have tried to kill me,” Hannigan replied.
Chapter Fourteen
Mike Hannigan waved at Bridget as the Duck lifted off. She dipped her wings in response, then lifted the nose into the bright blue morning sky. Hannigan returned his attention to Degiorno.
“Time to do some honest work for a change.” He shoved the Italian towards the rowboat.
“The priest is up to something,” Degiorno stated as he took a seat. “You know that don’t you?”
“Why should he be any different? Listen Pal, I know you altered the map, and I know the Padre knows the territory up there. Do you honestly think he didn’t spot the changes you made? I don’t trust him any more than I trust you, which is why I sent Gregor with him.”
“You trust the Russian?” Degiorno replied in evident surprise.
“Unlike the rest of you jerks, Gregor has never given me a reason not to trust him. Now start rowing.” Hannigan shoved the rowboat out into the river and c
lambered aboard.
The plan was for Bridget to fly her father and Gregor to the mission where she would refuel and then fly back down to the rendezvous in Leopoldville to pick up Hannigan and the Italian. Once they were all at the Mission, the quest for the Emerald of Eternity would begin in earnest.
Morgan stood by, Tommy gun in hand, watching as they made their approach. He kept an eye on Degiorno as the Italian heaved himself over the gunwale, but did not offer a helping hand. Evidently, Degiorno’s reputation had preceded him. Hannigan set about securing the rowboat as Morgan sent Degiorno forward to haul in the anchor. A few minutes later, the Congo Ruby was moving upriver towards the falls.
The journey to the rail depot was brief. It was mid-morning when they tied off at the pier and commenced offloading cargo. Hannigan stripped off his shirt as he began the sweaty job of transferring crates onto the rail flats that would eventually be taken on a short journey around the tumbling falls. Time spent under the African sun was bleaching his brown hair blond as well; already thick blond streaks mixed with the reddish-brown. Sunlight glistened off the thin sheen of perspiration that painted his sun-bronzed flesh, accentuating the wiry cords of his physique.
Hannigan wasn’t muscle-bound in any sense of the word, but his visible musculature was whipcord tough and had a quality of strength beyond the size of the muscles themselves.
Where Degiorno was gasping and wheezing for breath, unaccustomed to hard labor, Hannigan was seasoned from his labors aboard the African Queen.
There were several other riverboat captains gathered on the dock, helping secure other loads bound for other destinations to boats of their own. Hannigan caught a snatch of a conversation as he hauled the last load onto the dock. The silver zeppelin had created quite a stir as it flew overhead the day before, following the course of river, then abruptly turning to the northwest, as if looking for something.
