Jungle Of Steel And Stone vk-2

by George C. Chesbro

  "That's not the point, Veil."

  "Prince Toby of the K'ung isn't going to fare too well when he comes up against our legal system, is he?"

  "No." Reyna shuddered, then abruptly swept her hair back from her face in an almost defiant gesture. "There are two murder charges against him. The fact that Toby acted both times in self-defense and that there are extenuating circumstances won't help him escape a trial. The authorities will never allow him out on bail, which means that Toby could be required to spend months in a prison cell. And then he could get a prison sentence. He won't last a week in a cell, Veil. It will kill him. He'll be alone in a cage, in a place where nobody speaks his language. . . . Toby will simply refuse to eat or drink anything, and then the end will come very quickly. In his mind he will have failed, and the Nal-toon will be lost to his people forever. The will to live will drain out of him like water down a drain."

  "And he could be right about the idol being lost to his people forever. Not a very happy ending."

  Reyna heaved a deep sigh, then bowed her head. "Shit," she murmured dispassionately.

  Veil put his hand under Reyna's chin and gently lifted her head. Her eyes were filled with tears. "We've looked at the problem and discussed it, as we had to," Veil said evenly. "We had to think a couple of steps ahead, but now it's only a waste of time to be distracted by future problems. You need to focus all your energy and concentration on finding Toby. You let me worry about what to do with him when you do, okay?"

  Reyna stared into Veil's eyes for a few moments, then nodded and forced a smile. "Okay."

  "Good!" Veil kissed Reyna on the forehead. "Now let's talk about important things. It could be a long night, and it's time to think about how to keep the members of this safari in good spirits."

  This time Reyna's smile was genuine. "You're going for food?" "Right."

  "I wondered when somebody was going to think about feeding the chief tracker of this expedition."

  "I propose to pick up provisions from the jungle deli, which I'm sure is only a block or two away. What will the chief tracker have?"

  "Roast beef on a roll—make that two—with lettuce, tomato, and mayo. Black coffee. And watch out for unfriendly natives; since you'll be carrying the provisions,

  I don't want you to get mugged."

  * * *

  Veil ordered the sandwiches and coffee to go in a nearby delicatessen, then went to a pay phone in the corner. He dropped a quarter in the slot and dialed a number. Victor Raskolnikov answered on the third ring.

  "Victor, it's Veil."

  "Veil! I've been trying to get hold of you! Who's that strange man answering your phone?"

  "A friend holding down the fort. Listen, Victor, I—"

  "Have you found out anything?"

  "Not over the phone, Victor. I have a strong suspicion there may be heavy ears slapped on to a few phones in the city. But I do have to talk to you."

  "Okay," the Russian said evenly. "I understand. Say it the best way you can."

  "Things are warming up, and they may come to a boil soon. I will have a few things to report to you."

  "Excellent."

  "You and I discussed the matter of compensation for my services, you may recall. I believe it will be barter, if that's agreeable to you."

  "What do you need, my friend?"

  "First let me give you some indication of what I want to do. I think you'd agree that even matters of vital importance can get tangled up in our legal system?"

  "I agree."

  "Assuming I can find the package we're mutually interested in, I'd like to dump the whole bundle in the sand—a direct drop. Anyone else interested in the package can go look for it there."

  Raskolnikov's deep, booming laugh carried over the phone into the delicatessen, startling the man behind the counter, who had placed Veil's order on top of a glass display case. "I love it!" Raskolnikov barked.

  "At the moment you might say I'm trapped in the bush, and I'm up to my ass in alligators. I need someone to man a control center and coordinate things. It's specialized work and time-consuming. Can you give me the time?"

  "The time is yours," Raskolnikov answered uncertainly, "but I don't know much about these things."

  "If you're agreeable, and if I get lucky with my quarters, a man with an ugly face, an ugly nickname, and a very beautiful heart will get in touch with you, perhaps as early as tonight. He'll know exactly what to do. You'll work together."

  "It will be done, Veil."

  "There's more. The ugly man will know how to take care of business, but the business may require some heavy financing. We're talking big bucks—cash—up front. I can see money down the road coming from the sale of exclusive rights to stories about the package, told by people who have been on the inside. It's exploitive, but I don't see any other way to buy all the sand we're going to need. In other words, I see no reason why you wouldn't be reimbursed, but the cash is going to be needed quickly."

  "It will be done, Veil. You just concern yourself with the proper wrapping of the package. What you want is precisely what I want."

  "I'll be in touch when I can, Victor. You'll stay by the phone?"

  "I'm here."

  "Thanks, Victor," Veil said, and hung up.

  "Hey, pal!" the counterman called. "Your stuff's ready."

  "In a minute," Veil said without turning, and dropped another quarter in the slot.

  He spoke to his personal physician, then spent fifteen minutes on the phone talking to a friend he had not seen in six years. When he hung up, Veil was barely able to suppress laughter. The last number he dialed was his own.

  "Veil Kendry's residence."

  "It's me. Be careful what you say."

  "Veil, darling! We've all been worried about you. Where have you been?"

  "How are things?"

  "No problems."

  "Any calls? Be careful."

  "A couple of miscellaneous items, Veil, but nothing you'd be interested in at the moment. Victor called."

  "Got it."

  "Also a couple of mystery guests—although it could have been the same person both times."

  "Any clues?"

  "The first mystery guest simply hung up. The phone rang again about five minutes later. There was music playing."

  "Did you recognize it?"

  "Verdi's Requiem."

  * * *

  Veil brought the food and coffee back to Reyna. A brief ripple of anxiety passed across her face when he told her that he had to leave for an hour or two and could not explain why, but she contented herself with asking him to return as quickly as possible.

  Veil drove the rented car back into Manhattan, south to' Little Italy. He parked six blocks away from the church, in an underground garage. He left the garage through a rear emergency exit and walked two blocks before ducking into an alley and waiting. When he was satisfied that he was not being followed, he walked around the block, then headed toward the church as it began to grow dark. He entered the darkened sanctuary, paused, and listened. When he heard nothing, he slipped silently into the confessional booth.

  "It's me," Veil said as the wooden panel in the partition slid back.

  "So you got my message," the gravelly, broken voice said. "I was hoping that you'd know it was me and realize that it was important enough for you to come down."

  "Yes. I'm sorry I took so long to get here. You've been waiting a long time."

  "It's all right. God and I are old friends, and we've been talking. You recall mentioning a man by the name of Gabriel Vahanian?"

  "Yes," Veil said, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck begin to rise. "He's Nagle's partner."

  "Not anymore. He's dead."

  "Nagle?"

  "Yes. Nagle shot him in the ear with a Magnum. There are a lot of rumors on the street. Somebody did or said something to Nagle that pushed him over the edge at about the same time he found out that Vahanian had been assigned to spy on him. Yesterday the families made a decision to execute h
im, and he may have found out about that too. Whatever; the point is that he's on the run and off the leash. There are no controls on him anymore."

  "I hear you, Father."

  "It's come out that the idol is filled with heroin."

  "Mm-hmm."

  "It's white and pure; there's talk of the package being worth six or seven million dollars, depending on how it's cut.

  "Does Nagle know about the heroin?"

  "Probably. The information is on the street. His former employers speculate that he'll go after it on his own, since that kind of money is the only chance he has to survive. Nagle makes even these people nervous. A mad dog is not to be taken lightly, and it's rumored that Nagle has a large collection of very powerful weapons. You must be very careful, Veil."

  "I will. Thank you very much, Father."

  "Go with God, Veil."

  * * *

  "It s me."

  "Veil, darling!"

  "Your watch is over, Chuck. You get out of there and take the other guys off the street. Just lock up and split."

  "What's the matter, Veil?" All traces of femininity had disappeared from the voice, replaced by the hard, tempered tone of a warrior.

  "The guy I told you about is on the loose and over the edge. He doesn't have to play by any rules, and he's rumored to be carrying heavy artillery. He may well come gunning for me, and he'll blow up anybody or anything in his way. I won't be going back there until this thing is over, so I don't need you any longer."

  "Do you want me to gather up your paintings and take them someplace safe?"

  "No. Just get out of there. Tell the other guys I said thanks, and I'll be in touch."

  "Veil, there must be something we can do to help."

  "No, Chuck. I can handle it."

  "Indeed you can. But be certain to take care, Veil."

  "Thank you, friend."

  * * *

  "I've been worried about you," Reyna said, wrapping her arms around Veil and squeezing him hard. "A little scared, too, I guess."

  "I'm sorry I had to leave you."

  "Were you able to take care of your business?"

  "It turned out to be a waste of time, nothing important. No sign of Toby, huh?"

  "No."

  "Why don't you sleep for a while, Reyna? I've got things covered now."

  "I already took a nap." She reacted to Veil's look of surprise with a shrug. "If Toby can crawl and is determined to get past us, Veil, he will; he could make a shadow seem noisy, and we can't possibly cover everyplace down here he could slip through. We can only hope that he'll stay where he is and I'll find him, or that he'll react to my presence and come to me on his own. You sleep. I'll wake you if there's a need."

  "Wake me in an hour. Tomorrow could be a long day. We'll take turns resting."

  Chapter Twelve

  Veil dreams.

  He is Toby.

  He leaves his shallow trench soon after moonrise. He is naked; his clothes, filthy from his sickness, have been buried. He has constructed a new carrying sling from relatively clean pieces of clothes, and in it he carries the Nal-toon and his new weapons.

  He has gone only a short distance when he realizes, with pangs of frustration and despair, that he will not be able to travel much farther. Perspiration runs in thick streams off his flesh, draining him of strength, as well as precious fluids and salt. His legs feel ready to collapse under him at any moment. The left side of his head throbs, each drum-pulse sending a blinding stab of pain down through his left eye into his neck. His bowels are constantly churning. Even the air seems to be dragging him down, like the water in the river, and he senses that the airplane fields are still very, very far away. . . .

  He needs more of the Nal-toon's blood-shilluk, Veil thinks.

  The amount of the Nal-toon's gift that he sniffs this time is considerably larger than what he has used in the past. However, the effect is the same; his pain abruptly vanishes. A warm, liquid sensation creeps down through his body and into his limbs, accompanied by an almost overwhelming desire to sleep.

  Veil staggers and falls. A heavy, shapeless weight with wings flaps inside his skull, threatening to club him into unconsciousness. He knows that he will be in deadly peril if he loses consciousness on open ground, and he somehow manages to will himself back onto his feet.

  He stumbles onto a stone path and staggers forward on its hard surface until he comes to a large meadow. By squinting, he is able to focus the vision in his right eye sufficiently to see in the moonlight a field filled with the Newyorkcities' spirit-totems. His knees sag, and he falls again. He sucks in a series of deep breaths to focus his energy, then somehow manages to crawl on his hands and knees through the totem field, dragging his precious bundle after him.

  After what seems an agonizing eternity of dizziness and nausea, Veil reaches the jungle beyond the totem field. He feels a slight depression under his hands and collapses on his side into it. He tries to pull some leaves and branches over his body but can't seem to grasp anything with his fingers. He shifts his weight until he can feel the hard, comforting shape of God against his belly, then releases his terrible burden of will and passes out.

  * * *

  When Veil, as Toby, awakens, the sun is already well over the horizon and climbing rapidly into the sky. The ground under him is damp, and he is shaking with cold. His entire body throbs with pain and sickness. He cannot travel now, Veil thinks; it is day in this jungle of the dead, and there is a spirit moving around.

  A voice is calling him.

  The voice is Reyna's. For a long time she calls to him repeatedly, then abruptly falls silent. Then her voice comes to him again, this time from a greater distance. She is singing a camp song of love, fire, and water. Tears spring to Veil's eyes, and he stifles a sob as loneliness and soul-pain blow through him with the sudden ferocity of a sandstorm.

  Reyna sings songs of children, and Veil weeps. Reyna's voice drifts away, then comes closer again. In between songs she calls out, asking him to come to her.

  Yes! Veil thinks. Enough pain, sickness, and—most terrible burden of all—loneliness. He can trust Reyna; she will care for him until he is well; she will help him return with the Nal-toon to his people. His suffering will be over. Surely he has proven himself as a warrior. . . .

  A chill ripples through his body. Veil starts to roll out of the depression—then freezes.

  What if he is wrong? What if his trial is not over and the voice of Reyna is really that of a Newyorkcity spirit calling him to doom? How can he know? Only the Nal-toon decides such things.

  Deciding that he cannot risk failure simply because of personal suffering, Veil settles back into the depression and finally manages to pull some leaves over his body. He closes his eyes and reminds himself that no personal suffering is beyond endurance as long as God is with him, and God is; the Nal-toon has repeatedly provided him with sanctuary and has even given him His precious blood to ease his suffering.

  Veil shifts his position slightly until he can see out through a space in his covering of leaves. He tenses when he sees blurred movement on a knoll just beyond the field of spirit-totems. He squints and is finally able to make out the figure of Reyna. She stands very still for a long time, and Veil begins to fear that she has picked up his spoor and is about to descend on him. She slowly turns in a full circle, then drops to her hands and knees and begins to crawl along the edge of the field.

  Veil's stomach knots with anxiety. If the figure is Reyna, or a spirit with Reyna's skills, she will certainly find his spoor. Perhaps.

  She has found it, Veil thinks as adrenaline flows into his system, sharpening his senses and reflexes. He watches with growing tension as the Reyna-figure crawls slowly through the spirit-totems, following his spoor of wet, crushed grass and leaves. Surely she will find him now.

  He must quickly decide what to do.

  Should he kill the Reyna-figure?

  Or does the Nal-toon mean for Reyna to find him, since he has not gone to he
r? Has the Nal-toon sent Reyna to end his suffering and take him home?

  "Help me, Nal-toon," Veil whispers. "Help me to decide."

  As if in immediate response to his prayer, the Reyna-figure abruptly crawls off in the wrong direction. She stops, looks around, then shakes her head in frustration. Veil begins to relax but then tenses again as the Reyna-figure stands, puts her hands on her hips, and appears to stare directly at his hiding place.

  She has found him, Veil thinks.

  He will attack if she comes for him, he thinks. He will let the Nal-toon guide his muscles and reflexes, will let the Nal-toon decide whether this Reyna-figure lives or dies and whether or not he must now prepare for his final battle with the Newyorkcities.

  Then the Reyna-figure turns and stares off in another direction. And another. Then she shakes her head again and walks quickly back the way she came, disappearing over the knoll.

  It certainly was a spirit, Veil thinks with satisfaction, but he was not tricked by it. He held firm, and the Nal-toon sent the spirit away.

  His loneliness dissipates as Veil begins to feel a comforting sense of oneness with God. His heart fills with joy and thanksgiving as he sniffs a small portion of the Nal-toon's blood-shilluk and drifts off to sleep.

  * * *

  At nightfall Veil-in-Toby rises and moves on through the jungle of the dead. He abruptly stops and drops to the ground when he again hears Reyna's voice calling to him from somewhere in the darkness ahead of him.

  He sniffs some blood-shilluk to focus his senses, then creeps soundlessly forward until he comes to the edge of a stand of trees. Before him, thirty running-steps away across an open expanse, Reyna and a man whose features are hidden by the night sit on a stone barrier. Between them is some kind of magic box that makes the sound of Reyna's voice. The box repeats the same message over and over, but Veil no longer even bothers to listen. It is silly magic, he thinks, and now that he knows it is magic, it has lost its stranglehold on his heart.

  Veil moves laterally, inside the shrouding darkness of the line of trees. He fears the Reyna-figure most; if she does possess Reyna's skills, she might well see or hear him, no matter how stealthily he moves. But he goes on, moving silently past the position of the man-in-night until the sounds from the magic box can no longer be heard.