Manus Xingue (18 page)

Maria acts quickly behind Chevez.

In a few steps, and with one quick action – she slices off her husbands left ear with a knife! Chevez cries out in pain and clutches the left side of his face, blood running through his fingers.

Maria throws the bleeding ear in front of Dublin.

‘There, Señor - you have your million-dollar ear. Chevez is dead - you have his ear to prove it! Do you promise to leave us alone now?’

‘We promise,’ answers Lacy. But it is Dublin’s word Maria is seeking and she addresses the Irishman.

‘Do you promise, Señor?’ she asks again.

Frank Dublin nods.

‘Swear it on the Holy Madonna,’ demands Maria - her shotgun inches from Dublin’s temple.

‘Chevez is dead,’ answers Dublin.

‘Swear it on the Madonna,’ Maria insists.

‘I swear it on the Holy Virgin,’ says Dublin.

Maria then holds up Dublin’s silver Madonna. The Irishman kisses the holy relic. Even for the ruthless SAS trooper, an oath on the Virgin Mary is no small undertaking.

Maria cuts the Irishman’s bonds. Chevez lowers his rifle a fraction, but still watches Dublin. There is no reaction of gratitude on Dublin’s face; he grabs the severed ear and dusts the dirt off.

Lacy takes out his medical kit and dresses Chevez’s wound. He notices Maria’s envious glances at the contents of his Bergen. He gets up and empties Dublin’s Bergen on the ground.

‘Take all you need,’ offers the soft-hearted Lacy.

Maria takes medical supplies, mostly malarial tablets.

‘The fever,’ says Maria, ‘is killing my people and Chevez. We are poor and have no money to buy much medicine.’

Lacy plunges his hand into Dublin’s Bergen and pulls out a wad of notes along with food and cigarettes and gives them to Maria; she quickly packs a cheap cotton bag.

Chevez is still covering the kneeling Dublin but his malarial shakes have begun again. Dublin has noticed this and watches Chevez intently. Maria is aware of the danger; she covers the Irish SAS trooper with her shotgun while collecting their meagre belongings. Maria hands Chevez the SAS soldiers’ rifles.

‘I will leave your guns on the trail north, Señor, hanging from a branch… Adios.’ Chevez and Maria turn and leave.

‘Chevez,’ calls out Lacy. Chevez slowly turns – the grinning Lacy tosses him the empty brass cartridge shell he left behind on the hill. Chevez catches it and gives the faintest of nods - then leaves.

Dublin, who is still heavily bleeding from his shattered right hand, is placing the severed ear in a self-sealing envelope, with great difficulty. He then jumps up and searches for the snub-nosed Pit Bull revolver, sent flying from the shotgun blast into the jungle. Lacy picks up a stout, wooden pounding implement.

‘Break your word, Frank, and go after them and I will brain you – you Irish cowson!’

Dublin does not answer but quickly finds the revolver and checks it, unworried by the hollow threat.

Lacy observes Dublin looking in the opposite direction to Maria and Chevez’s departure.

‘What’s up, Frank?’ Lacy asks.

‘Our venereal friend, Manus Xingue, is out there – I caught a fleeting glimpse of him – his face was not a pretty sight,’ says Dublin.

‘Why the fuck didn’t you tell Chevez? ‘ Lacy asks.

‘I was hoping Manus Xingue would put an arrow into Chevez,’ explains Dublin, looking at his hand. ‘Look, are you going to let me bleed to death – some medic you are.’ Lacy dresses the Irishman’s hand.

‘You are a cold-hearted bastard, Frank,’ says Lacy. ‘Maria saved your poxy life.’

‘Just one more widow,’ answers Dublin. ‘That’s why you won’t last three months in the Regiment. I killed my own cousin,’ continues Dublin. ‘We were once altar boys together!’

‘Why didn’t you join the fucking Irish army?’ Lacy asks.

‘Ireland has only one enemy - the English. The English have enough enemies to keep the British army in wars all over the world – forever! Just what a professional soldier like me needs.’

‘Rumpleforeskin is after killing and eating the pair of us,’ exclaims Lacy, ‘and we only have a poxy revolver between us.’

‘He wants to kill us, all right,’ replies Dublin, ‘but we are not a priority yet – it’s Chevez he wants to kill first!’

‘What for?’ asks Lacy.

‘Manus Xingue has more then one agenda - that’s why he’s stuck with us. He wants us to kill Chevez for him – because unlike us he did not underestimate Chevez.’

‘Then why did Manus Xingue do a runner?’ Lacy asks.

‘A sixth sense,’ replies Dublin, ‘something you have not got. Manus Xingue sensed his life was in danger that night!’

‘You reckon he’s gone after Chevez and Maria now?’ Lacy asks.

‘I would bet a penny to a pinch of snuff on it,’ answers Dublin. ‘He knows Chevez is now vulnerable with the malaria.’

‘Well, let’s go - we might be able to save their lives,’ urges Lacy.

‘I promised to confirm Chevez was dead - not to be his bloody guardian angel,’ argues Dublin. ‘All I’m interested in is getting that dog-tag off Manus Xingue - after I’ve killed him!’

‘Why do you need that dog-tag, Frank?’ Lacy asks. ‘I saw you write those co-ordinates down on a piece of paper – five minutes later!’

Dublin’s attitude to Lacy suddenly changes. ‘Did you see those compass readings?’ Dublin asks.

‘Yes,’ answers Lacy! Unknown to Jack Lacy, he has just signed his own death warrant! The Irishman suspiciously studies Lacy. Dublin now has another good reason to kill the mouthy Cockney ex-marine – but not yet. Frank Dublin the Irish exile, once a capable and ruthless SAS trooper, is now incapacitated because of his missing trigger-finger. He can no longer handle weapons with skill and efficiency. He still needs the young and fit SAS trooper Lacy’s help to achieve his objective – to kill Manus Xingue for Lt Peterson’s dog-tags. He may even have to tell the young man he tried to kill in Selection the truth; the significance of the co-ordinates – to gain Lacy’s confidence.

Killing is so much easier, Frank Dublin knew, when you have the victim’s trust. He tests the water.

‘I will give you a third share of that million dollar reward.’

‘I thought you were joking about the reward,’ answers Lacy, surprised. ‘One of your dodgy ways to distract Chevez and Maria.’

‘It’s no joke,’ replies Dublin.

‘A third of a million,’ repeats Lacy in wonderment. ‘Ok.’

‘On two conditions,’ insists Dublin.

‘Depends,’ replies Lacy cautiously.

‘You first help me kill Manus Xingue - get Peterson’s dogs-tags back.’

‘I wouldn’t mind killing Rumpleforeskin myself,’ answers Lacy, ‘after what he did to Sgt Kane!’

‘And one last thing,’ continues Dublin, ‘you drop your grudge against me.’

Dublin does not like the time Lacy takes to think about this.

‘Well, don’t take all bloody day,’ says the Irishman. ‘Look,’ he continues, ‘you need me to get out of here alive – there is a man-eating cat – and a wife-eating man out there.’

‘I have a better chance than you,’ replies Lacy. ‘You may think marines spend their time at sea tarring their pigtails – doing the sailor’s hornpipe and buggering each other while hanging from the rigging like monkeys – but we learn things like navigation. I know the southern skies well, even without a compass.’

‘But you are not lost at sea,’ points out Dublin. ‘You will have a job even seeing the night sky in the jungle. Apart from that, you are scared of the jungle, especially in the dark.’

‘I would kip in a tree at night and use my compass in the day,’ argues Lacy.

Suddenly, the two SAS troopers hear the sound of an approaching helicopter.

‘Quick – into the hut,’ orders Dublin. Inside the hut, they listen to the circling chopper.

‘This is no coincidence,’ says Dublin angrily. ‘The bastard Yanks are monitoring our every move – for sure.’

‘What are you on about?’ Lacy asks.

‘I will explain later,’ answers Dublin. ‘Give me that gold Parker pen.’

‘Bollocks!’ swears Lacy. ‘I nicked it fair and square.’

‘I have a feeling everything the Yanks left lying about for us to nick was fitted with location detectors. This is the third time they’ve found us,’ explains Dublin. Lacy finds the pen.

‘Open it up,’ orders the Irishman. Lacy unscrews the pen and tips out a small, shirt-button-size bug. Dublin smashes it with the butt of his revolver.

The American Black Hawk chopper soon leaves!

‘There will be more than one location detector,’ remarks Dublin. ‘The other one must be in our weapons Chevez and Maria have taken. That’s why the Black Hawk is confused – it was getting two different signals. You are in on this – whether you like it or not.’

‘In on what?’ asks Lacy. ‘And why are the Yanks keeping tabs on us?’

‘I will tell you later – there’s no time now – we need our weapons to stay alive,’ answers Dublin.

‘I also want to save Maria and Chevez from Rumpleforeskin, says Lacy. He must have seen them leave and is following them now – they have no chance!’

The two SAS troopers follow Maria and Chevez up the track, hoping Maria has kept her word. They soon find their rifles hanging from a branch. Dublin curses as he finds it difficult to handle a rifle again with his missing fingers; he painfully checks his weapon for location-tracking bugs.

‘Nothing!’ Dublin says. ‘Check your telescopic sight.’ Lacy breaks down the sights, finds another tracer bug and destroys it. ‘That has to be the last one,’ says Dublin.

Unknown to Dublin and Lacy, the pilot and intelligence officer monitoring their movements through the location detectors are totally confused by the different signals they are picking up – from the bugs in the discarded bottles of bourbon and a moving signal from Chevez and Maria who are carrying Lacy’s rifle.

‘We only have an hour’s daylight left,’ remarks Lacy, ‘and there’s a storm coming!’

‘Then look lively,’ answers Dublin. The two troopers continue up the trail. The tracks of Chevez and Maria are clear because Chevez is forced to use a stick again to support himself.

Dublin stops. ‘Chevez is in a bad way now – I don’t give them much of a chance against Manus Xingue if he is following them!’

They move on, quickening their pace. Dublin stops again, looking down at a big, splayed-out, bare footprint.

‘I would recognise those big plates anywhere,’ says Lacy. ‘How far is Rumpleforeskin behind them?’

‘Not far – his fresh prints are superimposed on theirs. Manus Xingue only needs to get into arrow range,’ answers Dublin, ‘but he will bide his time. He knows Chevez is handy with a gun.’ The two SAS troopers move on.

Half a kilometre further up the track, Chevez and Maria struggle on. Chevez is sweating again. Maria stops, and looks up.

‘A storm is coming,’ she declares, then something else attracts her attention from behind. ‘Chevez,’ whispers Maria, ‘listen to the animals – we are being followed!’

‘It could be the white soldiers,’ mutters Chevez weakly, straining his ears to hear above his raging fever and pounding head.

‘No,’ replies Maria, ‘the white soldiers have what they want. I can hear the blue sunbird.’ Her eyes widen. ‘It always warns that big cats are near – Chevez, it is the evil spirit – the man-eater!’ Then, in horror, ‘Chevez, I have only one cartridge left - we must do something!’

Chevez does not answer. He is on the point of collapse; their survival now depends on Maria!

Maria helps Chevez off the track a few metres into the jungle, to the base of a tree attacked by a parasitical vine. The vine’s roots form a small alcove into which Maria places Chevez. Quickly cutting a few branches, she expertly disguises their hideout. Then, retracing their steps to the track, she disguises their trail to their hideout. Using Chevez’s stick, Maria carries on down the main track, laying a false trail. Stopping, she makes her way back through the jungle to the now unconscious Chevez in their makeshift hideout.

A hundred metres back, behind Chevez and Maria, Manus Xingue, now dressed in his full jaguar outfit, stealthily follows the couple’s tracks. He looks just like a big jaguar – walking on its hind legs!

Manus Xingue, the Cat-man, is nervous. He constantly checks the surroundings with his one eye. He, the powerful, evil Shaman of the feared Cat-people, is now in the land of the Kier Verde – the Invisible People–his tribe’s deadly enemies.

The blue sunbird, which has mistaken Manus Xingue for a jaguar, is still following and giving its alarm calls. The bird is distracting him and is giving his position away. He stops, glares up at the bird, fits an arrow to his bow and takes aim. The blue sunbird drops transfixed – Manus Xingue swears under his breath and continues to stalk his intended victims.

Jungle night is beginning to fall; lightning and thunder herald the coming of a torrential tropical storm, common in the rain-forest. Hidden in the roots of the strangler fig, Maria watches the jungle track, her shotgun ready. In the descending gloom ahead, a stealthy movement on the track catches Maria’s attention. Through a small gap in the vine foliage, she catches a glimpse of Manus Xingue! She freezes; her eyes widen in terror – to her superstitious mind, she is watching an evil Shape-shifter!

Manus Xingue stops and studies the point where Maria and Chevez left the track but Maria’s bush-craft fools him. He moves on following her false trail. He carries on for another hundred metres, then realises his quarry has gone to ground for the night – somewhere behind him!

It is too dangerous to backtrack, even for the nocturnal Cat–man. Chevez and Maria will have to pass his ambush in the morning; he will be waiting! He prepares an ambush position by the side of the jungle track and settles down to wait. Just like the jaguar, the Shaman of the Cat-people has patience in abundance.

Five minutes after Maria sees Manus Xingue pass, she sees the armed Dublin and Lacy on the track. She freezes – have the two soldiers broken their word? Maria wonders and watches.

However, Dublin and Lacy pay no attention to the fact that Chevez and Maria’s tracks are no longer present; they continue tracking Manus Xingue.

Maria realises this, crosses herself and offers up a silent prayer to the Holy Madonna - her patron saint.