Bamboo Dragon td-108

by Warren Murphy

  "The main stream turning south from here," Kuching Kangar explained. "We going east more, to the Tasek Bera. That way."

  He was pointing as he spoke, into a wall of trees that seemed to offer little hope of passage. At a closer look, though, Remo saw a narrow trail of sorts, no doubt worn down by animals who chose the path of least resistance when they came down to the river for a drink. If it was anything like Vietnam, he realized, the jungle would be crosshatched with a thousand secret trails, some of them leading nowhere, long abandoned by those early men who'd blazed them, others bustling with life around the clock.

  A well-used trail meant predators and prey, the food chain in its basic, elemental form. From this point on, they would be forced to watch for everything from snakes to prowling tigers, careful not to wind up on the menu of some forest hunter who had never learned the fear of man.

  Pike Chalmers had the rifle off his shoulder now, and while he didn't work the bolt, he could as easily have taken care of that before he left his cabin. Put a live round in the chamber, leave the weapon's safety off and you were primed for anything—an accident included, if it came to that. How easy it would be for him to stumble, yank the trigger as he fell… and who could blame him if the bullet wound up taking Remo's head off?

  "After you," said Chalmers, smiling as they fell into a rough formation.

  "I'll be fine," said Remo. "They could use the big artillery up front, in case we meet an elephant or something."

  "Yes, please, come with me," the guide instructed Chalmers, waiting while the hulk moved up to take his place in line. With Dr. Stockwell in third place and Sibu Sandakan behind him, that left Audrey fifth, with Remo bringing up the rear.

  So far so good, he thought. As last in line, he had a chance to watch them all, react to any challenge from the head of the procession as might be appropriate. And while the others had no way of knowing it, his placement at the rear provided more protection, from that quarter, than the big guns did up front—unless, of course, they wound up being ambushed by a dinosaur.

  Get real.

  For Remo's money, they were just as likely to encounter Elvis, or do lunch with Sasquatch on a UFO from Graceland. It didn't surprise him in the least that ivory-tower scientists would grab themselves a free vacation in the Far East, chasing pipe dreams, but it would amaze him if their quest bore fruit.

  But then again, thought Remo, he'd been amazed before.

  He had to give the storytellers credit, anyway. If they were going to select a spot on earth where almost anything seemed possible, the dark heart of peninsular Malaysia was a perfect choice. He didn't need a lecture from the head of CURE to realize that few white men had passed this way before, and none of them had lingered long enough to leave their mark behind. As for the natives—if there was a local tribe—they would be well content to hide themselves from prying Western eyes and go about their business as they had for generations, prowling thunder lizards notwithstanding. Given any kind of choice, the natives would feel kindlier to jungle creatures—even monstrous ones—than to a group of white men dropping in with guns and cameras to disrupt the scheme of things.

  He wondered idly what Chiun would have to say about their quest, beyond his yen for magic dragon's teeth. Would it amuse him, or would he be irritated by the scientific arrogance of men and women pledged to strip the globe of every secret it possessed?

  Even as the speculative thoughts ran through his mind, his body remained focused on the impressions conveyed by this hotbed of life around them. For they were not alone. His ears picked up the sounds of rodents scurrying in the underbrush, while birds and monkeys flitted in the branches overhead. He glimpsed a snake, just gliding out of sight as Audrey passed, but couldn't make a firm ID from what he saw.

  And there was something else.

  It was a feeling more than anything Remo could put his finger on. No scent or sound to back it up as yet, but something told him they were being followed. From a distance, cautiously, with skill and cunning. Whether the pursuer was a man or animal, he couldn't say.

  Snap out of it, he thought. You're dreaming.

  Except he knew he wasn't.

  Pursuit of the discipline imparted by Chiun had entailed the opening of senses most men never realized that they possessed. It took some practice, granted, but the trick, once understood, was no more difficult than listening to spoken words or opening your eyes to see.

  And they were being followed, definitely.

  He could feel it in his gut.

  But Remo kept the knowledge to himself. First off, he could not prove his feeling to the others, short of putting on a full-scale demonstration of Sinanju, backtracking to find whoever—or whatever—was pursuing them, and he didn't intend to tip his hand that way. Not yet. Without the proof, though, they would simply think he was a nervous Nellie, suffering from jitters in a strange environment. And while his ego could withstand the knocks, there was another, more compelling motive for withholding what he knew.

  If Dr. Smith was right about the ringer on their team, it was entirely possible the guilty party would have outside help available, on call for assistance with chores like digging, transportation or disposal of unwanted witnesses. How many helpers? Remo couldn't even start to guess. It could be two or twenty, even more if some official agency was chipping in to help find the uranium.

  He didn't fear the numbers, but uncertainty displeased him. Chiun had always made a point of stressing that a skilled assassin takes pains to identify his enemies and deal with them by any means available to minimize the risks and stress of life. A head of state would only be removed if proper payment was received, but troops or terrorists pursuing the assassin were fair game at any time.

  Chill out.

  It would have been a simple thing for Remo to fall back, leave the party for a while and backtrack, find out who or what was hanging on their trail, but Audrey might glance back and miss him, raise a hue and cry that would result in inconvenient questions, at the very least. For now, Remo decided, it would be enough for him to know that they were being followed, and stay alert in case the tracker moved up into striking range. If that happened, he would have to act, if only to defend himself.

  Meanwhile, his first job was observing Dr. Stockwell and the others, trying to decide which one—if any of them—was most likely to be harboring a secret, personal agenda. Chalmers almost seemed too obvious a choice, the way he put his feelings on display, but even that could be a sly diversion.

  Dr. Stockwell was the classic scientist, a one-trick pony dedicated to his chosen field… or was he? Had the tedium of teaching gotten on his nerves? Did the potential profits from uranium make Stockwell's Georgetown salary resemble an insulting pittance?

  What of Audrey Moreland, then? Her academic face concealed a sly, seductive personality that some of her acquaintances, at least, would never see. Was there another face behind those two, with greedy eyes fixed on a payday that would leave her set for life?

  And there was always Sibu Sandakan, official watchdog for the Malay government. It would be simple for the deputy or his superiors to summon troops and track the expedition, just in case they stumbled over something—dinosaurs, uranium, whatever—that the government might later wish to seize and milk for badly needed revenue. Suppose their chaperon got greedy, went in business for himself on the black market. What would stop a troop of soldiers from obeying him if they believed his orders issued from the top?

  Too many suspects, Remo told himself. If nothing else, at least the thought of two or three collaborating on some kind of shady deal appeared remote. More reason, then, for the true ringer to have reinforcements standing by.

  They marched for several hours, pausing every mile or two for brief rest stops, before they reached a clearing in the jungle, maybe twenty yards across and thirty long. Nearby, a short hike northward, Remo's ears picked up the sounds of running water from a stream.

  "Camp here tonight," their guide announced, and dropped his heavy pack.r />
  Chapter Nine

  "What would produce a clearing in the woods like this?" asked Dr. Stockwell, shrugging off his pack as he addressed his question to the group at large.

  Their guide was first to answer. "Some say giants rest here long ago," he said. "Kick over trees while sleeping."

  "Giants," Chalmers muttered. "Bloody rubbish."

  "It could easily be something in the soil," said Audrey Moreland, speaking as their botanist in residence. "A nutrient deficiency, perhaps, or deviation in the depth of topsoil."

  "I almost prefer the giant story," Stockwell said. "It's more… romantic somehow."

  "Bloody great oaf sleeping rough and knocking over trees," said Chalmers. "Where's the romance?"

  "You misunderstand me, Mr. Chalmers. Romance needn't be a thing of lust and sweaty flesh. It can be attitude and atmosphere, as well."

  "I'll take mine straight up, thank you very much."

  The pup tents were assembled quickly, Remo helping Audrey out with hers when she got tangled up.

  "There's not much room in here," she told him, frowning.

  Remo said, "There's not supposed to be. It's one per customer."

  "Suppose I wanted company?" she asked, wide-eyed.

  "I guess you'd have to improvise."

  "I'm good at that," she said, and let him feel her breasts again as she brushed past him, wriggling clear.

  He followed, caught a parting glimpse of Audrey's swaying backside as she headed for the tree line.

  "Audrey?" Dr. Stockwell called, sounding anxious.

  "Call of nature, Safford. I'll be fine."

  Pike Chalmers watched her go, felt Remo watching him and glared back in defiance, resting one hand on his Colt revolver. Like a frigging cowboy, Remo thought, and broke off the staring game himself this time, as if he didn't recognize the challenge.

  Let it go, he told himself. For now.

  The time might come when he would have to deal more forcefully with Chalmers, but he saw no need to push it now. He would give the Brit some rope, enough to hang himself if he were so inclined.

  As if by mutual consent, the five men waited until Audrey had returned from answering her call of nature, only then resuming the assorted tasks required to put their camp in shape.

  "Need dry wood for the fire," Kuching Kangar announced, at which point Dr. Stockwell and the Malay deputy went off to lay in a supply.

  "Be careful, Safford," Audrey cautioned, her tone almost admonishing him.

  "We won't go far," said Stockwell, taking it as a sincere expression of concern.

  "Is there a stream nearby?" asked Remo, playing greenhorn to the hilt.

  "That way," the guide directed him, a bony finger pointing toward the trees, due north. "Not far."

  "I'll fetch some water," Remo said, and found the coffeepot among their meager cooking gear.

  "I'll help," Audrey volunteered, scooping up another pot and trailing Remo toward the trees.

  It didn't take them long to lose sight of the camp, though Remo still picked up the sound of voices crystal clear. There was another trail of sorts, though smaller than the one they had been following throughout the afternoon, which led directly from the clearing to the stream.

  "Is this your first time in the jungle?" Audrey asked.

  "In Asia," Remo lied. "I've tramped around a fair bit in the Western Hemisphere."

  "When you were chasing vipers?"

  "More or less."

  "That sounds like an exciting life."

  "It has its moments."

  "I can imagine."

  No, you can't, he thought, but said, "I can't believe you're all that bored. You don't seem like the type who'd stick with something if it drove you up the wall."

  "Oh, really? What type am I, Renton?"

  "An adventuress at heart, I'd say. You like a bit of living on the edge."

  "That doesn't mean I turn my nose up at security," she said.

  "Of course not. Still… "

  "Still, what?"

  "I can't imagine you'd be satisfied to settle for a safe job in a rut."

  "You may be right, at that."

  They reached the stream, and Remo found it somewhat larger than he had expected. Twenty feet across, he guessed, from where they stood, and deep enough that he couldn't make out the bottom more than two feet from the shore.

  "No crocodiles, you said." Her fingers were already toying with the buttons of her denim shirt.

  "I wouldn't recommend a swim, regardless," Remo said.

  "Why not?"

  "Contaminants, for one thing."

  "What, you mean pollution in a place like this? I don't believe it."

  "I was thinking parasites," said Remo. "Anything from microbes up to flukes and leeches. We'll be boiling any water prior to drinking it. And just because you don't see crocs, it doesn't mean the fish are friendly."

  Audrey made a sour face at Remo. "Thanks for spoiling Eden, Dr. Ward."

  "You said you wanted someone to watch out for you."

  "That's right, I did."

  They filled their pots and walked back to the camp, found Sibu Sandakan and Dr. Stockwell there ahead of them, with ample wood to build a decent fire. They put the water on to boil, while Chalmers took his Weatherby and went to have a look around. It troubled Remo, thinking of the Brit beyond his sight line with the big scoped rifle, but he let it go. If Chalmers pulled a stunt like that in camp, it would mean killing all the witnesses, as well, and Remo didn't think he had the stones for that.

  Unless, of course, he'd planned from the beginning to be coming back alone.

  Their evening meal was simple. Freeze-dried stroganoff in plastic pouches that relaxed a bit when it was boiled, producing not-so-haute cuisine with the appeal of third-rate airline food. Still, it was filling, washed down with a good supply of strong black coffee. Remo drank and felt the caffeine tuning up his nerves, preparing him to stay alert as long as necessary through the night.

  Through practice of Sinanju, he had learned to minimize the sleeping time his body needed, taking full advantage of whatever relaxation came his way. He could remain awake for days on end without apparent strain, or "sleep" while he was marching, paying just enough attention on the trail to keep from stumbling into traps and snares. In any case, he had caught up on sleeping in Kuala Lumpur and Dampar. If something happened in the middle of the night, he meant to know about it and respond effectively.

  Among his five companions, there were mixed reactions to a long day in canoes and on the trail. Their guide displayed no symptoms of fatigue, but that was only natural for someone working on his own home ground. Pike Chalmers also seemed alert, a veteran in the bush, while Sibu Sandakan and Dr. Stockwell were already yawning over supper, winding down their conversation early, with remarks about an early start and long days yet to come. A glance at Audrey showed her dozing by the camp fire, but she came awake at once when Stockwell called her name and urged her to turn in.

  "I think I will, at that" She barely glanced at Remo, turning toward her pup tent, but his mind was elsewhere, focused on the job at hand.

  He had lost touch with their pursuers since they stopped to pitch the camp. It was as if the others had retreated, drawing back to some safe distance, minimizing any risk of contact in the dark. There would be no point moving on the camp tonight, he thought, before they even had a chance to start their search, but it was difficult to judge the plans of strangers he had never even seen. If one of his companions simply meant to use the expedition as a cover at the outset, jettison the deadwood early on and start pursuing the uranium in earnest on his or her own, one killing ground might serve as well as any other.

  Still, he told himself, they hadn't even reached the Tasek Bera yet. Another day, without any mishaps, before they reached the jungle neighborhood where Terrence Hopper's party had come to grief. If it was me doing it, thought Remo, I'd put the ambush off until the targets brought me closer to the mark, perhaps did some of the attendant dirty wor
k.

  Don't count on total strangers to be rational.

  With that in mind, he said good-night and crawled into his pup tent, feigning sleep and waiting while the others turned in, one by one. Pike Chalmers sat up for an hour after supper, polishing the Weatherby but never speaking to their Malay guide. Kuching Kangar, in turn, was last to crawl inside his tent, as if his job included seeing all his charges safely tucked in bed.

  Another thirty minutes passed, with Remo listening to those around him through the thin walls of his tent. When he was reasonably sure that all of them were sleeping, Remo wormed his way outside, a silent shadow gliding past the fire and off into the trees.

  He spent a moment standing on the border of the clearing, eyes closed, reaching out with other senses to the night. He paid no real attention to the sounds of birds and insects and nocturnal predators. It was indeed the absence of their noise that would alert him to potential danger. That, and the peculiar, artificial sounds most men are physically unable to avoid. The whisper of a shoe sole brushing over sand or stone, so much more sinister than snapping twigs. Metallic sounds of any kind that rang out loud and clear in nature's realm. A sneeze or whisper. Fabric kissing flesh.

  But there was nothing, and he walked back to the stream, content to be alone. The bats were out and skimming low across the water, snatching insects from the air. A fish jumped somewhere off to Remo's left, and something larger was growling on the far side of the stream, put off by Remo's scent.

  Good hunting.

  He heard the footsteps coming moments later, turned to greet the new arrival, smelling Audrey well before his eyes picked out her silhouette in dappled moonlight. When he stepped out, right in front of her, she jumped and gave a little squeal.

  "For God's sake, Renton!" Even startled, she was whispering, as if to keep their meeting secret from the others.

  "Trouble sleeping?" Remo asked.