Shadow Play (34 page)

Breathless, Teobaldo snatched the rock from his father's hand.
"Dios,
Papa. Where did you get this?"

"From the stream. It washed into the cuff of my pants as I was bathing."

"And you said nothing of it? Why?"

"What good would it have done you?" Morgan demanded. "You said yourself there is no escape. And if you had even hinted to King, or anyone else, about the gold, he would have killed you where you stood. Your father is right about the boats. They're full of people he brings in to work the mines. He pushes them to the point of death, then orders them to dig their own graves and puts a gun to their heads and pulls the trigger. Then he brings in another boatful to replace them. Murdering them is the only guarantee that word

of his find will not reach the outside. Were the government to learn of it, they would be crawling all over this place in a matter of days, and King's paradise would be no more.' *

"But where is this mine? And how does he get the gold out of Brazil without the officials learning of it?"

Smiling, Morgan said, "Rubber."

"Rubber?"

"La
casa blanca
is sitting on a vault that is as big as his entire house. When he gets ready to ship out his rubber loaves, he hollows every other loaf and fills it with ore. The loaves are then crated up and, when they reach their destination, unloaded by a waiting party who sells the rubber and exchanges the gold for currency."

"And how did you learn of this if he's so cautious with his secret?"

"He... trusted me. At least for a while. He thought I would be impressed by the enormity of his find. He imagined that I would eventually get over my distaste for mayhem and murder, as do most of his associates when confronted with the possibility of sharing the fortune. Those who don't are executed."

"But he did not execute you."

"No."

Teobaldo squatted by his father and rolled the nugget in his hand. "Do you realize, Papa, that this rock could bring you more money than you would be paid in six months of working for that bastard King? This is a miracle."

"Not unless you can escape this place, Teobaldo," Morgan stated.

"I see your point. I take it you have a plan?"

"I'll do my part on the inside, but I'll need someone on the outside who can devise a way to get word to the
seringueros
—"

"A rebellion!"

"Yes. A rebellion. It will be army against army."

"But his army has guns."

"You know where his arsenals are kept. Use his own weapons against him. Make your own."

"That will take time."

"You don't have time. I don't have time. Once I'm inside..." Morgan shrugged. "King may, as you say, kill me on sight. I'll do my best to stall for time. What I need now is a man to lead the people, Teobaldo."

"I am that man, senhor."

"Then we begin tonight."

For the next week Morgan lay low, sleeping during the day in a shelter in the floresta, far enough from Chico's dwelling so that if he were discovered by one of King's men, there would be no proof that he had contacted the man. Long after nightfall, Teobaldo would search him out and relay the plans he'd set in motion regarding the rebel- lion.

"There is great enthusiasm among the people," Teobaldo told him on the fifth night. "But also, there is great fear. What if we fail?"

"You won't," Morgan told him.

"We
... won't. You often forget to include yourself."

Lying on his mat of palm leaves and river grasses, Morgan gazed up through the dark at the canopy of trees as Teobaldo placed food on the ground that he had brought with him in a burlap sack. There was flat bread, fruit, and a runny white cheese that turned his stomach as he smelled it. There was also a pouch of tobacco and papers to roll it in. And matches.

"Every night that I come here, Kane, I see mat you have grown weaker. You rarely eat the food I bring you. You are obviously ill. Why do you not allow us to treat you? Do you wish to die so badly?"

"Is that what you think?"

"Why else would a man refuse to eat? Refuse medicine that could cure him? And why would he willingly walk to the devil's door, knowing he will never walk back?"

"There could be a great many reasons, I think."

“Perhaps. But I wonder. Forgive my curiosity, but I have never known a man who has lost all will to live."

"Well, now you do."

"Has King done this to you?"

"I don't think so."

"A woman, perhaps?"

Silence.

"Ah," Teobaldo whispered. "She must have been extraordinary."

"Yes."

"You must have loved her very much."

"Yes."

"But she did not return your love?"

"She had lost her heart to someone before she met me."

"But tomorrow you could find another love."

"Perhaps, but she wouldn't be Sarah."

"A very pretty name.

"A very pretty lady." He looked at Teobaldo and asked, "Are the troops ready?"

Laughter. "I think you would have made an excellent general. Never let the memories of a pretty woman get in the way of the battle."

"There's no time to delay." He closed his eyes as the tremors rushed through him.

"What would you have me to do now?" Teobaldo asked. "We have never discussed the matter of your 'getting inside,' as you say. How will we know when to move?"

"I can't tell you when the exact moment will come. And there's no guarantee that my plan will work. King may kill me on sight. But instinct tells me he won't. Not right away.'' The effort to speak took most of his strength. He rested before continuing. "There should be a watchman from each section posted close to the house each night. At some time there will be two shots fired. That will be your signal to move."

"But King—"

"Will be dead."

"And you?"

"Dead also."

"Dios

"King's henchmen are a lot of damned zombies, and once he's gone there will be a great
deal of confusion before someone takes charge. Their defenses will be down. That's when you strike. But for now..." Reaching out for Teobaldo's hand, he asked, "Will you help me to stand?'' When the young man had done so, he said, "Now take me to your section, to the place where you'll go at daybreak to collect your rubber."

"But—"

"Not now. I'll tell you why when we get there."

An hour later Teobaldo helped Morgan sit down at the base of a rubber tree. "Before you go," he told the boy, "roll me a few cigarettes with that tobacco." When that was done, Teobaldo held a match to the cigarette as Morgan inhaled, then released the smoke through his nose and mouth. "Now get your butt home and get some rest. Go about your usual routine of tapping the trees, and when you come upon me at daybreak, I'll tell you what to do."

"But—"

"Everything must seem normal. It can't appear in any way as if this meeting was set up, or King may become suspicious.''

With some hesitation, Teobaldo agreed. Morgan watched as the young man disappeared into the dark.

He smoked. And waited. He imagined that by now Henry and Sarah had made great progress in fighting their way out of Japura\ Perhaps they had even made it as far as the Achuara village, where he was certain the natives could be convinced to escort the travelers as far as the Negro. After that it would be clear sailing all the way to Coari, where Wickman would be awaiting their return. Sarah and Wick- man would have their seeds. They could sail away to England... and live happily ever after.

And Henry?

He grinned. Maybe he would go back to Georgetown, and maybe he wouldn't. Morgan wouldn't be surprised if his friend returned to Japurei and tried to find out what had happened to him. By then, of course, the danger would be over. King would be long dead and his tyranny nothing but a fading nightmare.

He ground out his cigarette and, resting his head against the tree, closed his eyes and allowed his mind to relax. He was going to need all his strength during the next days.. Mustn't let the fever, or his memories of Sarah, weaken him now.

Gradually, the whoops and cries of the night animals dwindled and became the quieter symphony of day birds. A light rain pattered on the treetops, rustling the leaves like a whisper and falling cool and sparingly on his face and shoulders. He dozed, until the sound of footsteps awakened, him. He opened his eyes to see Teobaldo standing in

the pathway, his hands poised upon the tree, his gaze locked on Morgan.

' 'Drop your things as if you've just happened upon me," Morgan told him. "Run like hell back to
la casa Blanca
and tell King you've just discovered me. Quickly! Run, Teobaldo. Run!"

He looked down at the cup and
machadinho
lying on the ground, and settled back to wait again. A half hour passed before he pulled himself up by holding on to the tree. He dusted off his clothes as best as he could, ran a hand across his bearded face, and adjusted his hat over his eyes. He lit a cigarette, taking the smoke deep into his lungs, releasing it slowly through his lips. Then he began walking, doing his best to fight down the agony each movement brought him, battling just as hard to block out the image of Sarah that kept rising in his mind's eye.

There was still time to turn back. He knew these trails like the back of his hand. He could dissolve into the wilderness right now and King would not be able to find him.

If she had only agreed to marry me
...

His foot caught on a root and he fell, facedown, on the ground. He struggled to push
himself back up. When he was at last able to stand, he found himself surrounded
by gun-bearing men who regarded him from beneath their hats with malice and murder.

Then King was there, materializing from the shadows like a beautiful pale specter, his shining gold hair that hung to his white-suited shoulders blowing in the breeze. His eyes burned with an incandescence. Had Morgan believed in God, or Satan, he might have thought that King was one or the other. Or perhaps he was both.

All his conceptions of heaven and hell were vanquished in that moment. There was no more guilt over his past, or dread of his future. Even his will to die seemed to vanish, as vaporous as the steam rising from the ground to swallow the trees. He saw his life as if he stood apart from it, fleeting images of one petty grievance after another streaking before him like moving pictures. All the lip service he had paid in his youth to Christ and God and the Holy Virgin, and to a long line of equally holy saints, seemed to make no difference as he considered his worthless existence, and the long road that had brought him to this moment.

Squaring his shoulders, he looked death in the face and smiled.

Chapter Seventeen

The ache in his arms was crucifying. He felt as if they had been lurched from their sockets. But some good had come from the pain; it had made him focus. Because of it, he could think sharply for the first time in days.

A door swung open behind him, and the guard sitting in a chair jumped to his feet.

"And how is our visitor this morning, Tatunca?" King asked..

"He seems very comfortable,
patrao.
'' The dark-skinned man laughed and drove the butt of his rifle into Morgan's groin. The impact sent Morgan spinning on the end of his tether. The pain made him want to vomit.

Closing his hands around Morgan's bare waist, King stopped his twirling. He cupped his hand under Morgan's chin and raised his head so that he could gaze directly into his eyes. "Would you like me to cut you down from there, Morgan?"

"Yes," he gasped.

"Perhaps I will, but first you'll tell me why you've re- turned to paradise."

"You," he managed through his teeth.

Flashing him a smile, King said, "How very flattering. Yet you left me in the first place so... abruptly. I was given to think you liked neither my company nor my hospitality.''

"I reconsidered."

"Did you?" His mouth curled in a manner that made him look boyish. "Why don't I believe you, Morgan? Especially since Gilberto and Diego had such a hellish time extending you my cordial invitation to return."

"They were trying to blow my brains out."

"Do you blame Gilberto? After all, you scarred him rather nastily on his face before you left us."

"It was me or him."

"Yes, I suppose it was." Moving away, King slid his hands into his pockets and regarded Morgan from a distance. "I was unhappy and angry when you left. I had so many plans for you. I wanted to share with you everything I had attained. I wanted that so badly, Morgan. Can you under- stand why I became so distraught that I wanted to hunt you down? Besides, you knew my secret. All of my secrets. I felt certain you would use

them to destroy me."

"But I didn't."

"No. You didn't." The fury in his blue eyes diminished as he watched Morgan, his face full of emotions Morgan could only guess at. "Why?" King finally asked.

"Better not to burn bridges behind you, as they say."

King smiled and Morgan was stunned, as always, by the wrenching beauty of it. He tried squeezing his eyes shut, blotting the visage from his mind, doing his best to concentrate on the pain in his arms. He heard King move behind him, staring at his back. Fear rolled over inside him as memories tumbled through him. His body tensed. He felt as if he were being pulled apart, as if his feet, suspended just above the floor, had been tied with hundred-pound weights.

Something cool touched his back and he screamed and kicked, causing the ropes to whirl him around and around so that the barren room and King's face seemed to overlap and become mixed up with the pain biting into his wrists.

"Morgan." The word floated to him. "It was only my hand. See?"

Morgan opened his eyes, clenching his teeth against the humiliation that turned his face hot.

"Only my hand," King repeated. "Did you think Chavez had returned with his whip? Never mind. I'm sorry I startled you. I'll be careful from now on. I should have known you would be overly sensitive to someone moving up behind you."

"Are you going to cut me down?" he snapped, knowing the moment he said it that it was a mistake.