Kusum's gaze faltered, and for an instant Jack thought this might be his chance. But then it leveled at him again.
"What one had once thought unspeakable becomes a duty when the Goddess commands."
"Give me the child!" Jack shouted.
This going nowhere. And time was passing on those bomb timers…he could almost hear them ticking.
"You'll have to earn her, Repairman Jack. A trial by combat...hand-to-hand combat. I shall prove to you that a rapidly-aging, one-armed Bengali is more than a match for a two-armed American."
Jack stared at him in mute disbelief.
"I'm quite serious," Kusum continued. "You've defiled my sister, invaded my ship, killed my rakoshi. I demand satisfaction. No weapons—man to man. With the child as prize.”
Trial by combat. Insane! This man was living in the dark ages. How could Jack face Kusum and risk losing the contest—he remembered what one of the Indian's kicks had done to the door in the pilot's quarters—when Vicky's life rode on the outcome? And yet how could he refuse? At least Vicky had a chance if he accepted Kusum's challenge. Jack saw no hope for her if he refused.
"You're no match for me, Kusum. It wouldn't be fair. And besides, we don't have time."
"The fairness is my concern. And do not worry about the time—it will be a brief contest. Do you accept?"
Jack studied him. Kusum was very confident—sure, no doubt, that Jack was ignorant of the fact that he fought savate-style. He probably figured a kick to the solar plexus, a kick to the face, and it would be over. Jack could take advantage of that overconfidence.
"Let me get this straight: If I win, Vicky and I can leave unmolested. And if I lose...?"
"If you lose, you agree to disarm all the bombs you have set and leave the child with me."
Insane...yet as much as he loathed to admit it, the idea held a certain perverse appeal. Jack could not still the thrill of anticipation that leaped through him. He wanted to get his hands on this man, wanted to hurt him, damage him. A bullet, a flamethrower, even a knife—all much too impersonal to repay Kusum for the horrors he’d put Vicky through.
"All right," he said in as close to a normal voice as he could manage. "But how do I know you won't sic your pets on me if I win—or as soon as I take this off?" He pointed to the flamethrower tanks on his back.
Kusum frowned. "That would be dishonorable. You insult me by even suggesting it. But to ease your suspicions, we will fight on this platform after it has been raised beyond the reach of the rakoshi."
Jack could think of no more objections. He lowered the discharge tube and stepped toward the platform.
Kusum smiled the smile of a cat that has just seen a mouse walk into its dinner dish.
"Vicky stays on the platform with us, right?" Jack said, loosening the straps on his harness.
"Of course. And to show my good will, I will even let her hold necklace during the contest." He shifted his grip from Vicky's throat to her arm. "It's there on the floor, child. Pick it up."
Hesitantly, Vicky stretched out and picked up the necklace. She held it as if it were a snake.
"I don't want this!" she wailed.
"Just hold onto it, Vicks," Jack told her. "It'll protect you."
Kusum started to pull her back toward him. As he switched his grip from her arm to her throat, Vicky moved. Without warning she cried out and lunged away from him. Kusum snatched for her but she had fear and desperation as allies. Five frantic steps, a flying leap, and she crashed against Jack's chest, clutching at him, screaming:
"Don't let him get me, Jack! Don't let him! Don't let him!"
Got her!
Jack's vision blurred and his voice became lost in the surge of emotion that filled him as he held Vicky's trembling little body against him. He couldn't think—so he reacted. In a single move he raised the discharge tube with his right hand and swung his left arm behind Vicky’s back to grasp the forward grip, holding her to him while he steadied the tube. He pointed it at Kusum.
"Give her back!" Kusum shouted, rushing to the edge of the platform. His sudden movement and raised voice caused the rakoshi to shift, murmur, and edge forward. "She's mine!"
"No way," Jack said softly, finding his voice again as he squeezed Vicky closer. "You're safe, Vicks."
He had her now and no one was taking her away. No one.
He began to back toward the forward hold.
"Stay where you are!" Kusum roared. Spittle flecked his lips—he was so enraged he was actually beginning to foam at the mouth. "One more step and I'll tell them where you are. As I said before, they'll tear you to pieces. Now—come up here and face me as we agreed."
Jack shook his head. "I had nothing to lose then. Now I've got Vicky." Agreement or not, no way was he letting her go. "The fight's off."
"Have you no honor? You agreed!"
"I lied," Jack said, and pulled the trigger.
The stream of napalm hit Kusum squarely in the chest, spreading over him, engulfing him in flame. He released a long, high, hoarse scream and reached his arm out toward Jack and Vicky as his fiery body went rigid. Twisting, writhing convulsively, his features masked in flame, he stumbled forward off the platform, still reaching for them, his obsession with ending the Westphalen line driving him even in the midst of his death agony.
Jack held Vicky's face into his shoulder so she wouldn’t see, and was about to loose another blast when Kusum veered off to the side, spinning and whirling in a flaming dance, finally falling dead in front of his rakoshi horde, burning...burning...
The rakoshi went mad.
36
If Jack had looked upon the hold as a suburb of hell before, it became one of the inner circles upon the death of the Kaka-ji. The rakoshi exploded into frenzied movement, leaping into the air, clawing, tearing at each other. Unable to find Jack and Vicky, they turned on each other. It was as if all of hell's demons had decided to riot. All except one—
The rakosh with the scarred lip remained aloof from the carnage; it stared in their direction as if sensing their presence there, even though it could not see them.
As the struggles of the creatures brought groups of them near, Jack began backing down the passageway to the forward hold. A trio of rakoshi, locked in combat, black blood gushing from their wounds, blundered into the passage. Jack sprayed them with the flamethrower, sending them reeling away, then turned and ran.
Before entering the forward hold, he directed a tight stream of flaming napalm ahead of him—first high to drive away any rakoshi lurking outside the end of the passage, then low along the floor to clear the small ones from his path. Putting his head down he charged through the hold along the flaming strip, feeling like a jet cruising along an illuminated runway. At its end he leaped up on the platform and stabbed the Up button.
As the elevator began to rise, Jack tried to put Vicky down on the planking but she wouldn't let go. Her hands were locked onto the fabric of his shirt in a death grip. He was weak and exhausted, but he’d carry her the rest of the way if that was what she needed.
With his free hand he reached into the crate and armed and set the rest of the bombs for 3:45—less than twenty minutes away.
Rakoshi began to pour into the forward hold through both the port and starboard entries. When they saw the platform rising, they charged it.
"They're coming for me, Jack!" Vicky screamed. "Don't let them get me!"
"Everything's okay, Vicks," he said as soothingly as he could.
He sent out a fiery stream that caught a dozen of the creatures in the front rank, then he kept the rest of them at bay with well-placed bursts of flame.
When the elevator platform was finally out of range of a rakosh's leap, Jack allowed himself to relax. He dropped to his knees and waited for the platform to reach the top.
Suddenly a rakosh broke free from the crowd and hurtled forward. Startled, Jack rose and pointed the discharge tube in its direction.