In the Shadow of Falcon's Wings

CHAPTER 9 UP THE CREEK

Any lingering suspicions that Dodge might have harbored, concerning whether Molly was a nun, novice or some other kind of missionary worker, were swept away in the torrent of profanity that spewed from the feisty redhead’s shapely lips. Molly Rose Shannon knew curses that would make a sailor blush, and she used them all to underscore the irritation she felt toward Hurricane. Dodge could only stand back and do his best not to get hurt by the blowback.

She simmered down after a while and sat beside Dodge in the light of the newly stoked fire. “So what do we do now?”

“Do?”

“We can’t just sit here. We have to go after him.”

He took her by the shoulders and held her gaze with his own. “Molly, I want nothing more. Can you find and follow his trail in the dark? Because I sure can’t.”

“Well…”

“That’s what I thought. As I see it, we can’t do a thing until daybreak.”

She slumped then petulantly pulled out of his grip. “I hate this!”

“I do too. But Hurricane was right about one thing. If we get some rest, we’ll be in a lot better shape to make a big push tomorrow.”

She crossed her arms and purposefully stared at the fire. After a moment however, she broke her self-imposed silence. “There might be another way.”

He glanced sidelong at her. “I’m listening.”

“I tried to tell Hurricane; the pirates attacked from the river.”

“Okay. Why is that important?”

“The jungle is… well, people get lost out there — permanently lost. If you want to get anywhere, you stay on the river. The pirates know that; they operate from the river.”

Dodge turned this over. “So if we want to find the pirates, we stay on the river? We don’t have a boat.”

“We can cut the dock loose; it’s really nothing more than a raft. Use the machete to cut a couple poles so we can punt upstream.”

He had to admit it was a good idea. “So one group left with the boats —”

“And our plane.”

“— and your plane, while a second group marched the captives through the forest. Leaving aside the rationale behind that decision, it tells us something very important. Our pirates must be based somewhere close by. I think this might actually work.”

Molly’s smile was enough to melt any remaining icicles of doubt. He set to work hacking a pair of poles, while Molly began transferring their limited array of supplies down to the dock. Neither task took very long. Removed from the jungle canopy, they discovered an abundance of natural light — moon and stars — reflected on the surface of the river. Dodge joined his new companion on their makeshift raft and started sawing through the ropes that anchored it to the pilings. When the last strand separated, the dock settled into the water and started drifting with the current.

Dodge planted one of the poles and gave the craft a push in the opposite direction. As the dock sidled up river, something stirred in the water near the place where his pole had been, causing him to jerk back in alarm. As he did the platform rocked in the water and a low wave washed across the deck. “Ah, Molly, what’s to stop the crocodiles from climbing up onto the raft?”

He couldn’t see her face very well, but her long silence was answer enough. Her eventual observation offered little comfort. “Frankly, I’m more worried about the hippos.”

“I’m sorry I asked.” Dodge eyed the shadows along the bank as he pushed them further along, but he also made sure the machete was always within reach.

The greatest challenge in punting up the Congo was keeping the raft out of the main channel. On more than one occasion, a random eddy sent them too far from shore, and into the deeper water where the poles could not reach the bottom. These mishaps required them to wait until another vagary of the current brought them back to shore, for a loss of hundreds of yards and several minutes. By daybreak, Dodge estimated they had gone no more than a few miles from the ruins of the settlement.

The constant friction of the pole against the skin of his palms, which was already raw from the struggle with the crocodiles on the previous day, soon began to weep blood. In the ascending light of dawn, Molly spied the scarlet rivulets running down the length of wood and immediately called for a halt.

“It’s okay,” Dodge lied. “I don’t even feel it.”

“Good for you, tough guy.” Molly didn’t sound very impressed by this stoicism. “The bad news is that your blood is stinking up the water for miles. Anything with a nose is going to think there’s wounded animal or a fresh kill floating on the river. So why don’t we clean and bandage that before we attract unwanted attention.”

Dodge scanned the reedy shore to make sure there were no crocodiles sunning themselves there then pushed them onto the beach. “Whatever you say, doc.”

He was impressed with her firm grip as she took his hands and twisted them in opposite direction in order to view his ragged palms. “Oh, I see why you’re not feeling much pain. See these black specks?

“What’s that, dirt?”

“Leeches,” she answered, matter of fact. “They secrete a natural anesthetic in their saliva so that their victims won’t feel the bite.”

Dodge grimaced, but said nothing as she went to her satchel and brought out a clear glass decanter. “Here, take a sip of this.”

“What is it?” He took a swig of the odorless liquid, and immediately choked as it burned a cool trail down his throat.

“Medicine. I distilled it myself from a local tuber. I guess it’s kind of like gin.” She took the bottle and before he could protest, splashed a copious amount on his ravaged flesh.

He tried to snatch his hands back, but it was too late. The spirits felt like liquid fire in the open wound, and if it had been within his power to draw breath past the burn in his throat, he would almost certainly have screamed out loud. Instead, he flailed his hands in the air, trying to cool the ongoing blaze.

“Damn!” he finally managed, still coughing. “You should have warned me.”

There was a gleam in her eye and a mischievous smile she could not quite suppress crept over her lips. “That’s what they always say.”

His indignation quickly gave way to laughter. “Maybe I should have another sip.”

“That’s the other thing they all say.” She took out a packet of gauze and after verifying that the wounds were clean, began wrapping his hands. “So why are you called ‘Dodge’?”

“When I was a kid, I wanted to play baseball. I was even a bat boy for the team in Brooklyn. Back then, the team didn’t really have an official name, but everyone was already calling them the Dodgers — short for ‘trolley dodgers’ — and the name stuck. My friends started calling me ‘Dodger’ and eventually it just became ‘Dodge.’“

“But you don’t play baseball now?”

“No. I guess I found out that there’s a difference between doing something you love for fun and doing it for a job.”

She finished cinching the gauze bandages in place. “How’s that?”

He flexed experimentally. “Doesn’t give me very much freedom of movement.”

“That’s the idea. It will heal better that way. Let me ask you something else. You’re not old enough to have served with my dad in the war, so why are you here?”

Dodge wasn’t used to conversing with people who didn’t already know everything about him. That he was with someone who probably knew Captain Falcon’s story better than he, only complicated things further. “Well, I’m a writer. Hurricane and I write a weekly feature based on… I should say, loosely based on his experiences with Captain Falcon and your father, during the war and after.”

“Really? I’d love to read them sometime.”

Dodge scrutinized her expression. From any other girl, he would have taken that to be the opening salvo in one of the flirtatious exchanges he had so come to loathe. Ironically, Molly was the one girl he wouldn’t have minded making an impression on, but flirting didn’t seem Molly’s style, which meant she was probably sincere. “You probably know them all already,” was his guarded reply.

“Not really. Dad doesn’t talk about the old days much; his friends, yes, but no war stories. Dad’s kind of… well, he keeps to himself a lot.”

Dodge had to smile; that was exactly how he had imagined Hobbs to be.

“I sure hope he’s all right.”

Dodge reached out patted her shoulder. The gesture felt awkward because he was unquestionably attracted to her and didn’t want to seem forward. “He’s fine. Believe me, once Hurricane helps him escape, there’s nothing those two can’t accomplish.”

Hurley’s hands shot through the bars of his cage to seize the taut rope, just as the last hemp fiber parted under the assault of Krieger’s claw blades. There was a lurch as the tension holding the box abruptly vanished but it stopped, bare inches from the poisoned tips of the spikes below. Hurley’s fists were clenched tight around the rope, his grip the only thing holding him back from a painful demise.

Krieger was inscrutable behind his mask, but made no further effort to dispatch Hurricane. “That should keep you busy for a while,” he remarked sardonically. “Wouldn’t want you entertaining notions of escape.”

“If you’re going to kill us,” Hurley rasped through clenched teeth, “just do it. Get it over with.”

“I thought I told you. I am a businessman; you are worth more to me alive.” Krieger turned abruptly and stalked away, leaving only a handful of pirates to guard the caged men and the native captives; the rest of the gang moved off to their respective duty stations and commenced getting the armada ready to depart. As the first gleams of dawn illuminated the sky, the pirate vessels commenced moving further up the tributary.

After recovering from the shock of the nearly getting skewered, Hurricane pulled in the slack, drawing down enough of the rope to knot it around one of the bars. Once the cage was secure, he turned to Hobbs. “Just like old times, eh?”

“Yes,” the clergyman observed sourly. “I’d forgotten how much fun we had. So how did you get dragged into all this?”

Hurley briefly recounted the attack on the White House and the demands of its hooded mastermind. “Do you think it could have been Krieger? That this was all part of an elaborate plot to bring the three of us together so he could take his revenge?”

Hobbs stroked his bloodied chin thoughtfully. “Krieger’s known where to find me for years. He could have taken me any time.”

“What? You knew Krieger was alive and didn’t do anything about it?” Despite the bonds they shared, both brotherhood-in-arms and currently prison bonds, Hurley could not stem the flood of anger that arose from learning of the omission.

“Yes, well it seems I am being punished for that sin.” Hobbs sighed heavily. “I didn’t come here looking to relive the glory days, Hurricane. But I was keeping an eye on Krieger. He’s never done anything like this; it’s not his style.”

Hurricane took a deep breath, letting his wrath boil away. “Seems exactly like his style, Padre.”

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.”