Hobbs shook his head. “Krieger’s insane, but he’s not stupid. An attack like this will bring unwanted attention. He’s had a good thing going here — a protection racket that the Belgians turn a blind eye to. Now they’ll be forced to do something about him.”
“Ha. They won’t get a chance. I’ll see to that.”
“We’ll see to it,” amended Hobbs, and gave a reassuring nod.
Hurricane grinned. “Just like old times.”
“Now, it occurs to me that the timing of this little coincidence is impeccable.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that I have trouble believing that Krieger decided to make this move at almost the same moment you come looking for me. There’s another hand at work in all of this; someone who wants all of us together.”
“Another of our old nemeses?”
“It crossed my mind, but none of our old foes had access to technology that confounds even the best scientific minds in America.”
Hurricane chewed on this for a moment. “Dodge told me that one of the fellows spoke what sounded like Afrikaans; could have been German, though.”
“Dodge? Oh, your partner in crime.”
“He’s a good kid. Reminds me a lot of the Cap. The way he went after those guys… it was exactly something he’d of done.”
Hobbs mouth twitched in what might have been a smile. “Germans. They’re definitely spoiling for a fight, but this flying technology you describe — I don’t know if they’re that advanced. It reminds me more of…”
Hurricane could not endure the thoughtful silence. “Reminds you of what?”
Hobbs face took on the serious expression he sometimes used when he was about lecture. “In the Hindu Vedas, there is a deity known as Indra who rode the sky in a golden chariot and wielded a magic thunderbolt to slay monsters.”
“Magic,” Hurricane scoffed.
“I have studied these matters,” Hobbs continued tolerantly, “and there is a ring of truth to some of it. Indra may well have been an early tribal hero whose deeds were embellished over the ages, something you might be familiar with.”
“Hah!”
“Thunderbolts and flying ships; these things are common in the old myths, common enough that some wonder if there isn’t more to the story than just the wild imaginings of storytellers.”
“Like what?”
“Have you ever heard of Atlantis?” Hurricane answered with another bark of derisive laughter, and Hobbs’ patience began to wear thin. “Whether you believe it or not, you must believe your own eyes. You saw men flying without wings, you saw them hurl lightning bolts from their hands. Was it magic? Was it a technology far superior to our own? Perhaps there’s no difference.”
“So these magic flying machines were just laying around, waiting for this madman to find them?”
“Perhaps well hidden, but yes. I think he may very well have found the remains of an ancient, advanced civilization — a society remembered in legends as Atlantis, Shambala or Xanadu — and when he learned that he had the power of the ancient gods at his disposal, he developed delusions of grandeur.”
“Delusions,” Hurley echoed. “Then why hire an army of mercenaries? And why, with the world at his fingertips, does he decide that the most important thing he needs to do is tangle with the Cap?”
“That, my friend, is the real mystery.”
They found Marten’s boat run up on the bank, shortly after they resumed their upriver journey. Dodge was cautious as he nudged the raft closer, but it was evident that the boat had been abandoned many hours before. A crowd of monkeys had succeeded in breaking open some of the cartons of provisions left behind and the mess they had left added to the shambles left by the earlier gun battle. They discovered the reason behind the dereliction of the boat when they tried to start the engine.
“Well, it’s got plenty of diesel,” Molly announced after a practiced inspection. “But none of it’s getting to the motor.”
Dodge, was a quick study, but as a trolley riding New York pedestrian, he knew nothing about mechanical systems. “It took a few hits when Hurricane shot it out with Marten. Maybe something got damaged.”
“There are some holes in the tank, but I don’t see any leaks along the fuel line. I wonder…” She worked the fuel line loose from its fitting to the tank and stood back to avoid the expected spray of diesel oil, but there was only a very slow drip. “Aha. There’s something in the tank blocking the outflow.”
Dodge was in awe. “You’re a mechanic, too?”
“You’ve got to be a little bit of everything out here. If something breaks, it could be weeks before you get a replacement.” She probed the blocked stem fitting with a twig and was rewarded with a jet of fuel. “I thought so. It was a bullet. Must have rolled down to block the hole.”
“Why didn’t it blow up the tank?”
“Diesel doesn’t burn very easily.” She reconnected the line and primed the engine. “Your friend Marten probably assumed the engine was done for and decided to take his chances in the jungle.”
“Or someone gave him a ride.” Dodge tried the starter, and after a few coughing lurches, the engine caught. He shot Molly a grin. “Now we’re in business.”
With a new burst of speed, they resumed the upriver journey while breakfasting on some food that had escaped damage from curious monkey fingers. Shortly thereafter, they arrived at the confluence of a tributary large enough to navigate.
“Decision time,” Dodge announced.
“I’ve been upriver to Stanleyville a few times, but always on the main watercourse.”
“In other words, this would be a perfect place for the pirates to hide.” He steered the boat through the tricky currents and onto the side channel. “This river will cross the foot trail used by the ground party.”
Molly gazed down river, into the impenetrable verdant veil. “What do we do when we catch up to them?”
He gave her a sharp look, but then burst out laughing. “I guess that’s something we should work out in advance.”
He had in fact been considering their options, but it was a short list. Armed with only a shotgun and a dull machete, they could not hope to win in a pitched battle. If they could not somehow join up with Hurley along the way, their only chance of surviving any encounter and effecting the rescue of the captives would lay in a stealthy approach. Unfortunately, there was nothing stealthy about the chugging diesel engine powering the boat.
“We’re probably still a few hours behind them,” he said, with more confidence than he felt. “I’ll think of something.”
He was still thinking to no avail, two hours later when they heard the distant noise of an engine. Dodge immediately steered into the reedy shallows and killed their own motor, and then he and Molly darted for cover in the jungle.
“We were lucky that time,” Molly breathed once they had found a place of concealment. “We heard them before they heard us.”
“We’ll see just how our luck holds. If they see the boat, they’ll know someone is here, and they might stop to investigate.” Dodge watched the water intently as the sound grew louder, but something about the roar of the engine struck him as familiar. “That’s not a boat. It’s a plane.”
“I think you’re right; a big one at that.” She leaned out of their hide and peered skyward. “Holy…”
Dodge joined her and saw the reason for her oath. An enormous aircraft was descending from the sky, plowing through the air at a shallow angle. It was no more than five hundred feet above the treetops.
“That’s a big commercial job,” Molly observed. “What’s he doing out here?”
“He’s going to land upriver, at the pirate camp.”
“How can you know that?”
“Because,” Dodge answered, still reeling from the revelation, “I’ve seen that plane before.”