CHAPTER 10
THE FACE OF THE ENEMY
Hurricane had never seen the Boeing X-314, but he had no difficulty identifying the large amphibious aircraft as it taxied into the natural harborage below Krieger’s treetop fortress; there was no plane on earth quite like it. Bigger than the Sikorsky Clipper Ships, it seemed almost too large for the narrow tributary where Krieger and his pirates had set up shop.
“Looks like you were on the money with that one, Padre.”
Hurley and Hobbs peered down from their perch, high in the branches of an immense baobab tree — one of a pair that stood watch over the sheltered river lagoon where Krieger’s pirate armada was moored. The pirate — or more precisely, their slave laborers— had been busy over the years, hewing out the trunks of the baobabs and erecting wooden battlements in their branches. An area of several acres had been cleared around the inlet and a wooden palisade secured the perimeter; the only way into the harbor was beneath the fixed gun ports in the colossal trees.
In addition to providing a defensive post, the trees were crisscrossed with catwalks and ladders, which connected innumerable tree house dwellings, evidently the residences of Krieger and his select minions. There was also a suspended holding area for their captives — it dangled high above a section of the harborage where half a dozen crocodiles had been corralled. The hostages taken from the mission were presently occupying this cell, while Hurricane and Hobbs were still in their respective cages nearby. The array of tainted stakes still loomed below, but now with the added peril of a fifty-foot drop.
On the water, the plane behaved like a wind-driven speedboat. The pilot had killed two of the four engines and was feathering the throttles to make the minimal corrections that would bring it up to the dock. Once it was moored, a hatch opened and a man jumped out onto the stubby sponson, then leaped over to the pier to secure the mooring line. Hurricane winced as he saw the familiar exoskeletons adorning the crew, but his expression hardened when he saw a different, but no less recognizable figure step out onto the dock.
“That’s him.”
Hobbs continued to watch as Krieger appeared at the moorage and greeted the hooded newcomer. “Well that relegates Krieger to the role of hired gun, but it still doesn’t tell us anything about the identity of the villain.”
“I have a feeling we’re about to get a real good look at him.”
Their cages were brought down to the level of a nearby catwalk and a contingent of armed pirates herded them into the main fortress crowning the tree trunk. Once more, the captured natives were held as leverage against any failure to cooperate. It was an unnecessary precaution; both men were eager to behold the face of the enemy.
They were ushered into a dark, windowless enclosure at the center of the treetop castle. The room had been decorated along the lines of a Viking mead hall, with long hofbrau tables and benches. At the far end on an upraised dais, seated on an elaborately carved ebony throne was the pirate king himself, Johannes Krieger, but for all his posturing, there was no question about who was really in charge. That honor belonged to a hooded figure that stood in the shadows like the waiting specter of death; waiting, it seemed, for Hobbs and Hurley.
Hurricane peered into the void beneath the hood looking for some sign of familiarity, hoping against hope that the brief moment of recognition he had experienced on the first occasion of seeing this villain — on the screen of the White House movie theater — would now be proved false. In the room’s low light, it was even more difficult to distinguish facial features. As if in response to his unspoken wish, the man took a step forward and gestured to them with his staff.
“Where is Captain Falcon?”
He glanced at Hobbs and caught the almost imperceptible nod and the sad certainty in the other man’s eye. Then, to his surprise, the Padre spoke. “Who the devil are you?”
Hurley grimaced in anticipation of a reprisal. Instead, the hooded man began to laugh. “Very good. I would expect nothing less from Captain Falcon’s closest companions.”
The dull metal rod in his hand began coruscating with violet tendrils of electricity and as it did, his presence seemed to grow. “I am your new god, Father Hobbs. Soon, every knee will bend to me.”
“You’re mad.”
There was a blinding discharge from the staff as a tendril of purple light blasted into Hobbs’ chest and threw him across the hall. The tongue of energy then abruptly shifted to Hurricane knocking him back as well. When the shower of sparks abruptly ceased, everyone in the room was momentarily unable to see anything but spots.
“Now, you will tell me where to find Captain Zane Falcon.”
Hurley coughed, trying to clear his head after the stunning electrical shock. “Sorry, pal. I’d love to help, but we don’t know where Falcon is. He disappeared years ago.”
“Can this be true? America’s greatest champion, gone? Hiding like a craven weakling?” The dark god circled the room, his movements invisible behind a veil of blindness. “If the coward will not come forward to spare the American leader, then perhaps he will do so to save his dearest friends.”
Dodge and Molly reached the perimeter of the jungle compound undetected, but were stopped in their tracks by the palisade fence. They hunkered down there, peering around the edge of the barrier, to observe the situation unfolding on the other side.
There had been no question of returning to the river. They knew from the angle of the plane’s approach that they were already much too close to the pirate camp to risk using the boat again. The forest however afforded a surprisingly easy approach. The dense canopy above not only gave them concealment from the watchful eyes of pirate sentries, but also prevented sunlight from nourishing the undergrowth, allowing them to move at a near run. With the sound of the aircraft’s engines to guide them, they reached the edge of the compound in time to see the procession of its passengers enter the treetop fortress. Despite the humid tropical atmosphere, Dodge felt a chill as he spied the hooded villain, accompanied by three men wearing the flying exoskeleton rigs. A fourth remained on the dock, guarding the plane.
“What now?” asked Molly, at his shoulder.
Dodge studied the compound like a general on the battlefield. “I’ve got an idea, but it could be risky.”
“We’re about to go up against an army of pirates. I think risky goes with the territory.”
“I’m not worried about the pirates,” Dodge replied, looking at the murky river. “I’m worried about the crocodiles.”
Because there is no honor among thieves, the dark god had left a man behind to guard the plane. He knew Krieger’s ilk well, and knew that an experimental intercontinental airplane was too tempting a prize not to warrant at least a token presence. That was about all the man reckoned his duty to be — a token effort. All of the action was inside the fortress; not a single pirate could be found roaming the compound and none seemed to be interested in the plane.
His boredom was short-lived however, for only a few minutes after his master and the others entered the gigantic hollowed-out tree, which formed the foundation of the pirate king’s demesne, the river sent one of its sirens to visit him. He almost rubbed his eyes in disbelief as the red-haired beauty arose from the brown-green water and gave him a winning smile.
“Hey there, big fella. Want to give a girl a hand?”
The stunned guard was deaf to the soft splash of water behind him, and didn’t notice until it was too late, that a pair of hands had slipped through his humming force field to unclasp his belt. “Ach—”