by Al Cooper
Neither it was hard to deduce that he should not be alone in all that. On one hand, it was necessary a small fortune to put up a project of that scale and Clerigan had always lived a day. On the other hand, it was strange that he was so well informed, he should have some contact with the outside, Internet communications there were almost impossible without very sophisticated equipment (Satellite Internet access) that also had the added problem that could betray them in their try to keep anonymity. She chose not to stop and think that Clerigan had anything to do with the death of Owen, because she didn't considered him so petty as to carry out something similar. And, about the Indians who had missing, was yet to be tested that authors could have been him and his people, but had to admit that she was being too magnanimous with his professor, and that everything pointed in that direction.
Then she thought that she had been a fool led by her impulses. If she had been able to control them, Clerigan had told her until the smallest detail, she hadn't had more than wait, even the foolest one would have realized that Clerigan enjoyed talking about his work. But her character had played her a trick, being unable to swallow her anger and disappointment. She proposed to herself that the only way to clarify the matter would be to approach him, taking advantage of the bridge that he had pitched to her, although she disliked to feel accomplice of something considered immoral, contrary to both her work and her values.
It was two o'clock and she kept tossing and turning in bed, she couldn't sleep immersed in a tangle of emotions difficult to control and fuzzy thoughts. She was thirsty. She got up, grabbed the water jug and poured a glass. The tranquility that reigned in the house was overwhelming. Instinctively looked toward the ceiling, it was in some way strange that she had never heard any noise coming from upstairs.
It was probably uninhabited, or perhaps Clerigan kept some shameful secrets there, reason enough for the access door that looked at the top of the stairs remained closed. Then an idea came to her mind that, far from abort it, she allowed it to be taking shape. She didn’t lose anything by taking a look again, there was always the possibility that someone had forgotten to close it or at least, to bring her ear to the door looking for some enlightening noise broking the deathly silence. She lit the candle, but as she stepped into the corridor she noticed that the light could complicate things more than helping. The darkness of the night flooded every last corner of the house, broken only by the dim moonlight coming through a window, but Kelly knew the way to the stairs, she only had to move cautiously. The slab of wood neither helped because it crunched under her feet as soon as she was neglected a bit, like expressing a pain, a complaint.
Slowly stepping so delicately that seemed to want become a friend of the soil that caressed each step, she was approaching to the stairs, until she reached the landing. She took a while to orient and find, based on successive trials, the first step of the flight of stairs. When she succeeded, she felt a slight relief. She should hurry, because once there, if someone was leaving his room she wouldn't have a place to hide. She had never liked the idea of being dependent on luck, so decided to climb the stairs as fast as she could. When finally found the door on her way, she noticed that her hands were shaking. She tried to open it, but was a huge disappointment that once again, was closed. Put her ear to the door, and stayed a while, but was unable to hear anything the other side, so she decided to turn around, started down the stairs. It was then when she heard a noise behind her that came from behind the door. She had the impression that someone was going to her, the slab of wood betrayed her footsteps. She barely had time to reach the landing, as the door was opened. She had just time to move to the first steps leading down to the lower floor, hugging the wall. It was very risky but had no choice. Whoever it was who came out through that door, if it came down the stairs would soon discovered her presence.
From her improvised hiding place could perceive as a light took possession of the darkness until allow to see the landing, while its owner was down the stairs quietly. Those footsteps seemed caused by high heels, so she easy concluded that it shouldn't be a man but a woman. Soon she was out of doubt as she could see a hand holding a candelabra, behind which one could guess the silhouette of a woman. When reached the landing, Kelly could hear the sound of her heart nearly as well as the footprints of that strange. If she was heading the downstairs, she would find her. She sighed deeply when she realized that was headed to an undetermined site of the plant, and then was the biggest surprise of her life when she could see her profile, then her back to the point that came out slightly from her hiding place to ensure that her tired eyes were not betraying her.
Because it couldn't be possible that, only to a few meters from her, was the same woman of the portrait of the room, with a candelabra in her hand and the same dress in which had been immortalized. At first she thought it might be somebody dressed with the same outfit, but, if so, the resemblance was amazing, extraordinary. The mystery woman followed one of the halls and stopped at a door, knocked softly and a voice that soon recognized was listened to the other side.
- Come in, my love.
That voice was unmistakable to her. It belongs without doubt to Clerigan. As soon as the woman came in and closed the door, Kelly ran by the other corridor to her room. When she arrived, she rubbed her eyes. Perhaps she had seen a ghost? It had no sense, because ghosts do not make noise with their steps, in any case they are limited to drag chains, she thought with a laugh. Was Clerigan's wife? Neither seemed a rational explanation, she was dead. Perhaps, simply, it was a person with a striking resemblance? It could be the most rational explanation not only of vision, but in part of the changes she had perceived in the professor, who certainly should have gone mad over the loss of his wife and, therefore, had decided to devote the last years of his life to a project away from any moral conventionalism. He probably had been looking for a woman of great resemblance to his wife, whom he had convinced to dress and make shift exactly like her. What's more, perhaps he had reeducated her to his taste.
Whatever the explanation, it seemed to her as outrageous as the idea of that woman had to take refuge on the upper floor for anyone could see her. How could be possible that she endured such abuse? She should love him too much to get to do something like that. Then he remembered that Clerigan always had been a seducer, able to seduce others to get everything that proposed, so that hypothesis, when she went to bed trying to sleep at least a few hours, didn't seem to her so outlandish.
XXXIII
Three mercenaries of Clerigan, well armed and located in strategic places of the town by day, discouraged them to think of any possibility of escape. Late in the afternoon were reduced to two, who were relieved in turn by a third party at sunset, probably because white men at Clerigan disposal were not so many, or at least that was the conclusion of Hanson, Marvin and Souza, who were plotting afternoon a plan to approach the stockade without their guardians noticed it.
But a fact altered the initial idea when they noticed that Indians were preparing to hold a big party around the campfire by night. Bottles of alcohol quickly began to circulate from hand to hand, as soon as the sentry of Clerigan supplied them. It seemed that the white settlers knew the way to keep them happy.
Marvin and Souza soon joined the party, drinking just enough to not be rude and retaining yet intact their mental faculties, while most of the Indians, drunk, danced around them.
One could not say the same about his night watchman, who abruptly rejected invitations several times as he followed closely their footsteps. The routine of their guards was clear. When they didn't find visually to one of their prisoners and there was any doubt, they were not blushed for addressing to their huts. Never came into them, they only needed to take a look from the outside to make sure that none of their tenants were missing. Hanson inhabited one of the huts. Other, pretty distant of Hanson’s was inhabited by Marvin and Souza.
About their guides, they oc
cupied a hut next to Hanson,that the guards didn't even bother in watching never.
Marvin looked at his watch, it was almost half past two. Then he glanced around, it wasn't difficult to realize that Indians that still jumped and danced around the bonfire were drunk, many others were lying on the ground sleeping drunk.
- I think it's time - Marvin whispered to Souza.
- I hope Hanson is ready - said Souza, who nodded to the two Indian guides, who were sat by his side -
Guides got up and walked to their hut. One of the guards stood watching the scene, then stopped paying attention. After a few minutes the Indians went out of his hut, and returned with Marvin and Souza, sitting down again beside him.
- I can’t believe it! Too bad you do not speak their language - Marvin said to one of the theoretical guides -
- You'd be surprised! Souza has taught me some words - Hanson responded. He was so well disguised that in the darkness it was impossible to recognize -
- We can’t stay here long. The important thing is either they don't notice the absence of Hanson nor ours. They think that Hanson is in his hut, now we must leave walking slowly to ours - Souza said trying to make clear some of the nuances of the plan. Then headed to Hanson to wish him luck –
I hope to return before sunrise - Hanson said as quietly dismissed them -
- You'd better, because in the contrary case I don’t think the trick works with our guardians in the morning – Marvin said sententiously -
Marvin and Souza stood up and walked to their hut as Hanson and another guide joined the group of drunken Indians. Several of them were dipped into the jungle, as another group had done previously. Hanson thought it should be a way to have fun like any other, which did not attract attention at all the guard, who seemed familiar with that attitude. He didn't miss such opportunity, made a sign to the guide and both disappeared into the forest with the group, whose members were more concerned for keeping to stand up than in identifying their drinking buddies.
Once in the jungle, Hanson left the group, but not before telling by signs to the guide that he followed them in order to not return alone because the guardian could realize it.
Hanson moved slowly toward the palisade, trying to make as little noise as possible. At night, in the jungle, it would had been very difficult to be oriented, but from the moment he had plunged into the thicket had a very clear direction to follow. As he reached the palisade, he encircled it until find an access door, which was guarded by a sentry, one of the men of Clerigan. He looked around. The wall was too high, he estimated about twenty feet, he thought it would be very difficult to climb. Between the palisade and the forest there was about thirty feet of distance, so it was impossible to access from any of the surrounding trees, except one, located right next to the access gate and therefore well guarded by the sentry.
Hanson picked up a stone of considerable proportions, approached as much as he could to the guard and waited for the guard gave him his back. Then threw the stone just in opposite way, so that the guard as he heard to drop the stone became nervous leaving momently his post,rifle in hand, as willing to find out the cause which had produced the sound. Hanson used the confusion to cross to the tree, climb up for a branch that was at the level of the wall and then jump to a branch of another tree that was inside the enclosure. He bent down and looked at his surroundings: a beautiful tropical garden, well kept, surrounding a stunning colonial-style mansion. He approached quietly, protected by the shadows of the night and the silhouette of the trees. When he was close enough, the moonlight enabled him to appreciate the majesty of the building of three floors, solid stone walls, elegant windows and wooden balconies. Apparently the huge wooden door was closed, in any case that access entailed many risks, being within sight of the guard, because there was a little path between the gate of the palisade and the house. He noticed an open window in a terrace of the second floor that seem to be the only way he could to get into, but it could belong to a bedroom so he would risk of finding face to face with its tenant. Then he noticed that, about two hundred yards from the house, stood a small mansion of a single level, as a huge bungalow. Interestingly, there was a light that cast its beam through two sober windows. At that distance he couldn’t see any detail of the interior. He looked to all sides and didn't see more sentries, so he decided to approach the bungalow.
He didn't need to approach the window to satisfy his curiosity, since the door was open. The wind was blowing a little, enough to open and close intermittently the door, a fact that allowed him to take the opportunity to penetrate into the interior without disturbing the monotonous cadence, in order to not be discovered.
It was a large and diaphanous space, full of furniture with shelves on which reposed diverse laboratory equipment. It was not exactly a scholar in that field, but he remembered his visit to the biotechnology company Genfly and deduced that it was facing another research center equipped with the most advanced resources, with the peculiarity of being located in the middle of the jungle. It was very well lit, he concluded that they should have a power generator. However, cages with mice and snakes attracted specially his attention.
The lab was so great that it was impossible to determine, at first glance, the presence of a busy researcher beyond the first rows of shelves and tables. For a moment he tried, unsuccessfully, to perceive a noise that would serve as a reference, so he decided to make a closer inspection of the entire stay.
He was going quietly scrutinizing table by table, corner by corner, until he heard a sound that seemed similar to dump the contents of a liquid on a test tube, so he approached the origin of it. Initially he only was able to see him by his back, he was a researcher engaged in his work in such a way that Hanson thought that he probably would not had noticed him although he had done the greatest bang to enter. He decided not to interrupt and wait for him to turn around to see his face. Perhaps, with a bit of luck, he would meet Clerigan.
After a few minutes, all pointed the man didn't seem be willing to change his position to make life easier to Hanson, and patience was not one of the virtues of him, so he was forced to do a spin around the researcher, approaching him from the opposite side. The agent did not lack sense of humor even in the most difficult moments, so through his mind passed the idea that if his target turned on himself precisely at the last second and changed his position giving him again his back, both could be playing cat and mouse game all night, and Hanson didn't have so much time. Fortunately it didn't happen and when he could finally see his face clearly enough, he froze.
Instinctively, driven by his desire to be sure that he hadn’t lost his mind, came so close to him that under normal conditions, the researcher surely would have noticed it. But he was still so focused on his work that although Hanson had approached his face to a few inches from him, would not have paid any attention.
It could not be true, the dead are not raised, although they were in the Amazon, as close to the concept that humans have of paradise.
The agent took advantage of his state of absolute distraction to get behind him and grab him by the neck with one arm as covering his mouth with his other hand. Then he whispered:
- Listen, I do not believe neither in zombies nor resurrections. I watched how they made you the autopsy, Dr. Klein. Who the hell are you? Are you his twin brother? ... I'm going to draw out my hand, if you shout, I swear I'll kill you right here.
- You almost achieved, little has been lacking. - Klein replied with bereaved voice, touching his throat, once Hanson withdrawed his arm -
- In any case, it wouldn't be the first time.
- I have no idea what you're talking about. Who the hell are you? - Klein stared up and down the agent - Congratulations, nice disguise.
Hanson showed him his badge that was hidden into his loincloth.
- FBI? I don't think you have jurisdiction here, my friend. - Klein refined -
&n
bsp; - We have an international order. We act as agents of Interpol here, but I didn't think it was suitable bringing a collection of plates on my backs through the jungle.
- What do you want to know?
- At first, the name of the person you work for.
- I don't think that is of your concern.
Hanson took a stylus on the table and put it on Klein's throat, with the sole intent to intimidate him but making him to think that he was ready for anything.
- Listen, I have little time! This has gone too far, there are innocent people that could die, I'm not going to take "no" for an answer. - He said -
- To Stephen Clerigan - Klein replied to the belligerent attitude of the agent -
- The disappeared? This is getting exciting. The difference is while he is missing, you're dead. - Hanson said as he was withdrawing the stylet -
- As you can see, that is not true.
- In the tab I didn't see anywhere that you had twins.
- Look, agent. I have left everything to come here, that's the only truth. In much the rest, I swear I don't know what you're referring.
