The blessing of Nagaq.
He stared ahead now, his heartbeat fast and joyous. His first glimpse of the City, after time Outside, inevitably caused his pulse to quicken. Beautiful was not a word that sprang to mind—the jade was ancient, weathered, faded, mostly overgrown with moss and creeping vines—but it was home. His heart was here, among the other members of the tribe. So would it always be.
The massive gates were fashioned out of square-cut timber, thirty-five feet tall, and flanked by sentries on the wall. At the appearance of the warriors and their captives, one of those on guard gave out a birdlike call to someone in the courtyard, an all clear for opening the gates. It took some time—each gate weighed tons, and only Small Ones were permitted, for some reason, to perform the opening—but Kangar felt no need to hurry. He had performed his mission, and he would receive his just reward.
Perhaps, he thought, already conscious of a restless stirring in his loins, he could request a night with Jelek, the three-breasted one.
"What is this place?" the old professor asked, yelping when one of the Small Ones jabbed him with a spear.
"The City," said Kuching Kangar, as if that answered everything. Which, in his own mind, was the truth.
"You live here?" There was amazement in the voice.
"The tribe lives here, white man. I am a member of the tribe. Where should I live?"
"I simply meant—"
The Small One used a bit more force this time, and Dr. Stockwell got the point. He shut his mouth and kept it shut, eyes focused on the double gates as they crept open, inch by groaning inch.
"I'll guess you don't have many visitors," Pike Chalmers said. "Be bloody tiresome, going through this nonsense every time somebody rings the bell."
The one-eyed member of their party stepped in close to Chalmers, lashed out with his spear as if it were a cudgel, using force enough to bruise the tall Brit's shin.
"Goddamn your eye!"
The next blow dropped him to all fours, a dazed expression on his face.
The gates stood open before Kuching Kangar now, his people gathered in the courtyard to behold the offerings he brought Nagaq.
He smiled and led the way inside.
His first glimpse of the hidden city startled Remo, made him double-check his map, but there was no mistake. He didn't have a fever, wasn't prone to fantasy and this was no mirage.
The maps were simply wrong—Or rather, incomplete.
He watched and waited while the massive gates were opened, a laborious procedure that convinced him there must be some other means of access to the city, for emergencies. If fire broke out, if they were suddenly attacked, there would be some hidden exit, almost surely more than one.
The trick would be to find it, if he didn't want to scale the wall for starters. Not that it would be a challenge, since the weathered stone offered countless cracks and crevices, all kinds of creepers on the outside that could double as a ladder. Even so, the wall was guarded, and while Remo had the utmost confidence in his ability to take the sentries out, there would be hell to pay if one of them lived long enough to sound a general alarm.
In that case, Remo knew, the hostages would be in greater peril than himself. It was impossible to know exactly how the tribesmen would react, but at a glance, he didn't think they would be noted for their self-control.
It was ironic, when he thought about it, that he felt compelled to try to rescue these three men, when one of them was his enemy and Remo was pledged to kill another on behalf of CURE. The rub was that he didn't know which member of the party was the ringer, which one he should terminate.
No problem, Remo thought. Just let the natives have all three.
It was a way to go, of course, but there was more to it than that. If possible, he needed to find out what had become of Terrence Hopper's expedition—though he had a fair idea by now—and also dig up any leads he could discover on a new strike of uranium.
Which meant that he would have to make his way inside the ancient city, check it out and go from there.
He was just starting on a quick reconnaissance of the perimeter when Remo heard someone approaching through the jungle. Solo, by the sound of it, and trying hard to keep the noise down, even though it didn't help that much. He scanned the wall, saw nothing to suggest the living gargoyles stationed there heard anything to put them on alert and turned away to meet the new arrival.
He chose his spot, a tree limb fifteen feet above the ground, well out of sight from sentries on the wall, and settled in to wait. Short moments later, Remo focused on a figure moving through the jungle, drawing closer to the ancient city, seemingly oblivious to its existence.
Seconds later, Remo knew this was no tribesman. This one's clothes were torn and stained, but they would never be mistaken for a layer of mud. The face, turned up toward Remo once without detecting him, was neither Malay nor malformed.
He chose his moment, dropped to earth behind the solitary hiker, pinning both arms while he clapped his free hand over Audrey Moreland's mouth.
She struggled for a moment, with surprising strength, then ceased when Remo whispered in her ear. "Don't make me break your neck."
The woman nodded, faced him as he cautiously released her.
"You're alive!" she blurted, smart enough to whisper on the home turf of their enemies.
"You, too, I see."
"Of course. I mean, what made you think I wasn't?"
"Our esteemed guide found your scarf in quicksand," Remo told her, leaving out his own discovery. "You never made it back to camp. It was assumed—"
"That I was dead," she finished for him. "Wrong, as you can see. I'm right here, in the flesh."
"So why the disappearing act?" he asked.
"I was afraid, I heard all kinds of shooting and I got lost in the jungle. Spent the whole night up a tree, in fact, and never got a wink of sleep. What happened at the camp?"
He fought the urge to smile. It was a variation on the same lie he had planned to use on Stockwell and the others, and it had the hollow ring of fabrication to it.
"I got lucky," Remo said without elaborating.
"What about the rebels?"
Remo did smile then. He had a flash of Audrey as she stood by a jungle stream in moonlight, well beyond sight of their last night's camp. Where he had left her, moments prior to any gunfire or anything at all to give the enemy away. How could she know who the attackers were, their politics, unless… ?
"Their leader asked about you," Remo said.
"Excuse me?" Audrey looked confused, fearful and angry all at once.
"Your contact," Remo said. "They must be disappointed in Beijing."
She stared at Remo for a moment, finally heaved a weary sigh. "What tipped you off?"
"It's not important. You were all right for a while, but in the long run, I'm afraid you don't have what it takes to pull it off."
"Which means?"
"The cloak-and-dagger business, Audrey. You're a lousy spy."
"I haven't had much practice," she informed him.
"That's apparent. Why the big career change?"
"Money, plain and simple, Renton. Is it Renton, by the way?"
"What difference does it make?"
"Not much, I guess. If you were really a professor, any kind of academic type, you'd know how boring it can be. Sometimes I feel like I'm the fossil. Can you understand that?"
"It's a lame excuse for treason," Remo said.
"There's no such thing in peacetime, Renton. Honestly, I looked it up. The laws on spying don't apply, since I've done nothing in the States."
"Except to meet with the Chinese."
"A business meeting," Audrey said. "One million dollars was the going rate, with half up front. A bonus when they make arrangements to deliver the uranium."