He shook. The colors were brighter. Wild, frightening music sang in his ears. His vision clouded, then sprang into sharp, brilliant focus.
"Look at him trembling. This is how decadent western spies fall to pieces when confronted with the people's might." He thrust his rifle butt between the Dutchman's shoulderblades.
Get away. Now. Before it's too late.
He ran. Behind him, the leader shouted orders to his men. They fired. The Dutchman set up a pattern of anti-rhythm, moving so erratically that the bullets could not reach him. He ran, with the patrol following behind shouting, their weapons echoing through the hills. When he was far enough ahead of them, he changed the pattern. Anti-rhythm was difficult. It strained his sense of balance. He loped along, following the scent of the sea. Even if he had to swim, he would leave this place immediately. There was hope, somewhere, if he could just get away.
He tripped over a deep hole and went sprawling on the grass. The fall knocked the wind out of him, but his head didn't strike ground. His hands gripped the edge of a dirt precipice. Below him, just beneath his head, slithered a swarm of snakes.
The sight startled him, but he made no move to leave the edge of the pit. There must have been more than a
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hundred of the creatures, some as wide as his arm. Seeing him, the snakes coiled and darted in a frenzy, their mouths opening to accommodate their long, hinged vipers' teeth.
He remained, fascinated, watching, as the Korean soldiers approached from behind.
Creatures of my own kind. Like me, you inflict death as a matter of course. Like mine, your power is beyond your own understanding. But I know you, because I am like you, despised, unwelcome among the gentler beings of the earth. You and I, my friends, we are the children of fear.
He gave up. There was no point in escaping now. Quietly, deep inside him, the beast's cage clicked open and flooded him with relief.
The soldiers were close behind him now, crouching, their weapons raised. The Dutchman almost laughed out loud at their clumsy efforts to move silently. He could hear their quickened breathing, the sound of their fingers on the metal and wood of their rifles.
Leaping upward in a spiral, he knocked the weapon out of the leader's hands and kicked him in the throat. Bright blood spurted out of the Korean's mouth. He fell in a heap, his arms and legs akimbo. Rushing the other startled soldiers, the Dutchman struck a finger into a man's eye, gouging deep into the brain tissue. He caught the third by both legs and, shouting to the music ringing in his ears, tore him in two.
The others tried to run. "Oh, no," he said, smiling. He swept his arm past his field of vision. The soldiers, now aglow in pulsating light, stopped in their tracks.
"Come here," he said. The men obeyed.
He nodded, and the music focused into a pinpoint of shattering sound. The men covered their ears, shrieking. Blood oozed from between their fingers.
"Go to the snakes."
The men cried out, but their legs kept moving. One fell
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on his knees, crawling behind the others. One by one, they drew themselves to the edge of the pit and stumbled in.
The snakes were ready.
They attacked in a mass, jerking and writhing convulsively, their yellow fangs sinking deep into the flesh of the screaming men. The Dutchman stood at the edge of the pit, his arms crossed in front of his chest. A thin stream of saliva fell from the corners of his mouth. When the last faint cries of pain had died away, he lay down slowly beside the gaping hole in the ground. The snakes seemed to throb with the rhythm of their own destructiveness.
"My brothers," he whispered, extending his hand over the pit. The vipers slowed and grew still. He raised his arm. Slowly, its eyes opening and closing sluggishly, the largest of the snakes left the ground and floated upward, weightless, out of the pit. He coiled the snake around his own body, where the creature crawled in a lethargic dance over his neck and face, around his upraised arms, between his iegs.
The Dutchman was sweating. The pleasure of the snake's movements was exquisite, better than any woman. Its dry scales carried the scent of death on them. With his tongue, the Dutchman licked the animal's belly. Moaning, he descended into the pit, the viper wound around his waist. He lay there for some time, surrounded by the staring eyes and open mouths of the dead men, while the snakes curled around him like smoke.
Chapter Twenty-One
Mildred Pensoitte smiled when Smith walked into her office in midafternoon.
"How is my resident genius now that he's back in residence?" she asked.
"I'm fine. I just had a very unusual call."
"Oh?" she said.
"Some man called for a Robin Feldmar. He said he wanted to give Earth Goodness a large donation, but he'd only give it to Robin Feldmar and only personally."
"Oh. That's odd." Her brow furrowed. "Did he say anything else?"
"He said that Robin Feldmar would know how to use the money right to get rid of imperialists." Smith said. "He said he knew her well."
"Did he give a name?" she asked.
"No. He said he'd call back." Smith shrugged. "Do you know a Robin Feldmar? I can't find a record on her anywhere."
Dr. Pensoitte was looking out the window as if Smith were not even in her office. Then she turned back to him with a slow, growing smile.
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"Sure, Harry, Of course I do. She was one of my college professors. The first one who got me involved with the environment."
"And she's with Earth Goodness, Inc.?" Smith asked.
"She helped me found it in the early days," Mildred said.
"Okay," Smith said. "Is she around?" He tried a smile and realized how rarely it was that he smiled because his face felt sore as he attempted it. "We can't afford to go turning down large contributions."
"As luck would have it, she's in town," Mildred said. "We're having dinner tonight."
"Good."
"So when that man calls back, get his name and number and tell him that we'll have Birdie call him."
Smith nodded.
"What did he sound like?" Mildred asked.
"What do you mean?" asked Smith in return.
"You think he might have been a crank? Birdie gets bothered a lot by cranks."
"He sounded very substantial," Smith said.
"Good, Harry. 1 like substantial," she said. "As I said, Birdie gets bothered a lot. She even gets death threats."
"From whom?" Smith asked.
Mildred shrugged. "Cranks, 1 guess. Because she's so active in so many organizations to make America live up to its promise."
Smith thought of the young students he had seen that day in Minnesota, set up by Robin Feldmar to use as cannon fodder, and he wished he could tell Dr. Pensoitte that her friend was a faker and a fraud. But he could not do that. Not yet. Not unless he wanted to admit also that the so-called telephone message and the anonymous giver were also just lies-just to find out where Robin Feldmar could be located.
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"Substantial," she said.
"What?" Smith asked.
"We were just talking about substantial. You know, Harry, that's what you are."
"It's what I try to be," he said. He smiled again and found it easier this time. Maybe it just took practice.
"That's why I need you," she said. "Earth Goodness needs you. You have a future here with us."
"You think so?"
"I know so. We're just starting. We're going to be one of the biggest groups in international affairs in just a few more years, and we need management to do that. We need you, Harry. Earth Goodness needs you. I need you. The world needs you."
"That's very flattering," he said.
"And very true. You said you were bored. I can promise that you'll never be bored around here," she said.