The Pressure of Darkness (46 page)

The man moved away. Her mind sang of freedom.

Then Indira she smelled an awful odor, a body that reeked of excrement and charcoal, and felt humid breath stroking her neck.
Gorman?

"Don't move, pretty," he whispered and fingered her back. "You are so lovely this way." It was Gorman. His odor was terrible, as usual. He spread his body on top of hers and his hardness pressed against her bare buttocks. Indira struggled but froze when something thin and sharp entered her right ear.

"Oh, yes," he sighed, almost erotically. "If I push in here, even just a little, you will go deaf. A bit further and you die . . ."

Make him do it, make him kill you, it will be merciful and quick this way
. Indira knew that to be true. He was accidentally offering her a way out. She gathered herself to shove against the needle, but he withdrew it before she could act. A rustle of clothing and the sound of a zipper. Indira shuddered and tried to buck him off, but he was holding her down and her left side was pressed against the dead weight of the corpse.

"I will fuck you both, as a tribute to Kali," the man whispered in her trembling ear, "first the one who is still alive and then the one who is dead, then back and forth again."

"Get off me!"

"In due time, my pretty."

His freed penis presses against her clenched buttocks. Indira decides she would rather die than have this happen, but she cannot move. He pushes hard, looking to penetrate her; Indira screams in rage and frustration. The man strikes her once, expertly on the right temple, and her limbs collapse into mush. But before he could enter her there came another, somewhat distant sound, footsteps moving rapidly down the hall, almost as rapidly as the killer's had just moments before.

The rapist pauses for a split second, zips himself and backs away from the subdued captive. Indira still cannot move, but she watches her attacker via the mirrored walls and ceiling, that stocky body, those strong, tattooed arms. Gorman moves to the side of the open door, clearly preparing an ambush. Indira, lying helpless beside a corpse, can see the doorway. She wants to warn whoever is coming. Anyone Gorman was afraid of offered hope. Her voice began to come back to her. She blinked rapidly and gathered breath. But when the other man stepped into the room she hesitated, convinced she was dreaming, for it was Jack Burke.

Gorman landed on Burke's shoulders, his strong right hand already trying to strip away the heavy CAR-15 rifle. The men struggled. One powerful, deafening shotgun blast demolished the side of the bed and removed the left arm of the dead girl. Mattress stuffing, gore and smoke soared through the moist red air. The rifle slipped to the carpet. Burke kicked it away before Gorman could grab it. Indira screamed and rolled onto the floor, then to the other side of the bed. She watched Burke and Gorman struggle. For a long moment the two men, evenly matched and rigid, strained against one another. Then Gorman stomped down on Burke's instep. Burke managed to avoid the worst of the blow, but lost his balance.

The two men crashed into a clothing rack and disappeared into a pile of ritual dresses and nightgowns.

The gun!

The rifle was within reach, so Indira, eyes riveted to the spectacle of the two men, crawled toward it, one foot at a time.

Burke and Gorman alternated between rapid bursts of feverish physical activity—myriad attempted blows and effective blocks—and brief periods of intense, silent struggle. Gorman managed to produce a knife and sliced at the front of Burke's shirt. The blade was stopped by the ultra-thin Kevlar vest. Burke's hands moved in a blur to trap Gorman's forearm and wrist, turned and twisted and disarmed him. Burke caught the knife in mid-air and opened a long gash in Gorman's shoulder. Gorman kicked with blinding speed and sent the knife flying. The hand-to-hand battle smashed the two men into the mirrored wall, spider-webbing the tiles and raining down fragments of broken glass. Some of the fine dust got in their eyes. Burke, blinking and shaking his head, lost a fraction of a second. Gorman brought his palm up, aiming to drive Burke's nose into the brain and kill him with one strike. The blow slid off but managed to crack Burke's cheekbone. He grunted from the pain and grabbed at Gorman's testicles. Burke twisted. Gorman screamed.

Burke lowered him to the carpet, still tightening and twisting. Gorman rained blows on his head and shoulders but the pain had weakened him. Burke turned Gorman's back toward Indira. His face was grim with concentration.

Indira had the gun, raised it. She could see herself in the mirror, wild-eyed and naked, cradling a huge shotgun in thin, shaking arms. She tried to aim it, but before she could, Gorman managed to flip Burke in a tangle of arms and legs, removing what had been an easy target. Uncertain, Indira lowered the weapon and watched helplessly as they fought to the death. Burke lay pinned on his side, but did something with his legs and quickly rolled free. He slammed Gorman into the mirrored tile once, twice, and yet again. Blood from a scalp wound splattered upwards like a fine, Zen painting of the rising sun. Burke clapped his palms over Gorman's ears with precision, breaking the eardrums, and Gorman howled with pain.

Burke rolled away, tried to retrieve his weapon, but somehow the nightmarishly indefatigable opponent grabbed his ankle to keep him from reaching the gun. Burke rolled over onto his back and kicked with both feet. Gorman slammed backward into the mirrored wall. His bloody head smashed into the glass with a dull
thwaaack
.

Stunned, the deafened Gorman slid down the wall and sat still. His nose and forehead were bleeding, eyes red-veined and dazed. Burke again turned for the gun, but unbelievably Gorman was already moving again. Burke turned to face him with a snarl and the two men collided right over the naked girl. Their hands and arms moved rapidly again. Gorman seized Burke's right arm and tried to break it.

"Let him go!" Indira bravely brought the gun up and around, forcing Gorman to release Burke and react. Gorman turned sideways and kicked Indira in the stomach. She dropped the shotgun and rolled over onto her side.

Burke saw the world turn red and black, welcomed the rage. He slammed into Gorman from behind and grabbed the killer by the skull. He stomped into the back of Gorman's legs and dropped him to his knees. Burke clutched Gorman's head in his powerful arms and hands and began to twist it around, as slowly as possible; wanting the deaf man to know what was coming, to suffer right to the end.

Gorman struggled and the inhuman, screeching sounds he made were horrific. Burke kept turning. Gorman kicked and wet himself as he fought back, but Burke had the correct angle and would not be denied. Indira shocked herself, for at the first small
craaaacking
sound, she felt only an overwhelming sense of joy. Gorman's bloodshot eyes went wide with surprise and pain. His expression was now one of unimaginable terror.

"No," Gorman croaked. His gravelly voice was loud now, like a man wearing headphones. "Don't! Not me!" In his agonized deafness, he was already hearing the onrushing sound of eternity. His expression announced he'd seen the truth—that God would show him no mercy.

"Yeah, you." Burke yanked hard and snapped Gorman's neck at the spinal cord. He released the body and fell backward, chest heaving.

Indira rushed to be near him, and for a moment all they could do is hold on tight. Burke broke away, grabbed a plain evening dress and some flat shoes from the pile of women's clothing. "Hurry. Put these on."

"Jack, what are you doing here?"

"Later. Let's move."

Indira, nakedness covered, felt stronger immediately. Burke found the shotgun and took her hand. They hurried into the corridor. "Stay behind me," Burke whispered, urgently. "I have to go check on my partner." He spoke into the mouthpiece. "Scotty?" But Burke couldn't be sure it was working any longer, after all the chaos. He moved down the corridor, the rifle up. Indira held on to his belt and followed close behind. She kept her eyes fixed on his back, and deliberately avoided looking at the carnage in other rooms. The hacienda had become a tomb, a monument to her husband's insanity.

"Who else is here?" Burke asked, without turning his head. "Who else would Pal have brought with him?"

"He never goes anywhere without Mr. Nandi."

They came out into the night and Burke paused, chest heaving, to allow his eyes to adjust. "That's the laboratory over there. I'm afraid Scotty's been hurt."

He moved rapidly away from her. Indira lost her grip. Unnerved by being separated, even for a moment, she hurried to catch up. Burke paused at the door to the lab. He motioned for her to stand behind him. He pried the door open with the barrel of his gun and went inside. The two moved smoothly across the room to the waiting elevator. Burke made sure it was clear. He took her downstairs, into the bowels of the building. When the doors opened he swept the room with his eyes and dragged her into the hall. "Scotty?"

No answer.

Burke flattened against the wall. He kept his gun up and motioned for Indira to wait a few steps behind. He moved to the doorway and spun around the corner in a crouch, weapon raised.

Blood
everywhere.
"Where the fuck you been, cowboy?"

Scotty sat propped against the wall, with Mr. Nandi laying half across him. Burke took a knee just in time to watch a last bit of pinkish air bubble from the smaller man's open mouth. Bowden was white with shock, but managed a macabre grin. His trembling hand held one severed ear. "Hey, look. I took this for old time's sake."

"Scotty, hang in there, man. Indira is with me."

"That's good."

"We're going to boogie to the chopper in a few, okay? We're going home."

"
You're
going home." Bowden moaned and flinched. When the pain passed he could barely speak and there was an odd, hoarse rattle deep in his chest. "I'm not."

Burke blinked away tears. He pawed at his medical kit. "That's bullshit."

"Save it, no time," Bowden whispered. "I'll patch myself. You've got orders."

Burke looked down and away. "You're right."

"Do something for me."

"Name it."

"Brother, you take this motherfucker Pal all the way out, okay? Me, I think I'll just rest here for a while. And when the pain gets real bad, I'll make sure to get my sinful ass blown all the way to heaven. Only way I'll ever get to see the place."

SIXTY-EIGHT

Dr. Mohandas Hasari Pal sat calmly among the stacked, putrefying bodies of plague victims, stoned out of his mind, preparing to inject a fatal dose of heroin. He had covered the basement area with gasoline, adding to the already stultifying stench of offal and decay. When Indira walked into the basement he roused himself long enough to speak.

"I asked them to leave you naked."

She challenged fate. "If I am to die, I wish to be clothed."

Pal shrugged. "This does not matter. I am far from being able to respond to your sexuality at this point, although it surprises me that Gorman has not seen fit to partake of it along the way."

"Gorman is a pig. He raped me."

Her expression was so bland, so defeated that Pal coughed and barked a dry laugh. "Oh, that's good. And I hope he was quite perverse."

"He was."

"Where is he now?"

"I told Gorman and Nandi to wait outside."

"Ah."

She crossed the floor, nose wrinkling, barely able to contain her revulsion. She studied him and the expression on her face was a complex mixture of shock and bravado.

For Mohandas Pal sat naked and cross-legged among the stacked dead. He was indifferent to the stench of rotting flesh, vomit, blood and emptied bowels. He looked around, dreamily. "The left-hand path carried to its logical conclusion," he offered. "There is nothing in life or death that should shock us, nothing we cannot incorporate. It can all be absorbed."

"And this is how you assure yourself of immortality?"

He patted something resting by his thin, hairy buttock. It was a canister wrapped in plastic. "No,
this
is how I become immortal." Pal raised something that looked like a garage-door opener. He pushed the button.

Indira heard a whirring coming from the ceiling. She looked up and saw that the braced roof of cement, wood, and dirt had a long chimney of sorts and that a glass panel was sliding away. It hid a chimney that rose all the way to the starry night sky. Pal twisted something near the canister and a balloon began to inflate. "This is my present to the world. It will be followed shortly by several other gifts, presented to the nations by my designated successor Mr. Gorman. Oh, I assure you my dear. My name shall be long remembered."

The balloon filled up and the doomsday device began to levitate. Indira moved to the right, away from the doorway. Pal followed her with his eyes. Meanwhile, Jack Burke eased into the room. He stayed low to the ground and approached Pal from the opposite side.

"Shall I trust you?" Pal kept his eyes fixed on Indira. "You wouldn't lie to me, would you dear?" He called out. "Mr. Nandi! Come in here!"

Burke could not believe his eyes. The area reeked of gasoline, filth and rotting meat, and the scene was eerily reminiscent of his nightmarish experience in Djibouti. Pal, covered with gore, even began rocking and giggling, a man in the throes of sensual ecstasy. Burke shook off déjà vu, closed the gap, but somehow Pal sensed something. He released the lethal balloon device and groped for a nearby cigarette lighter, intending to immolate the room.

Burke was torn for a second, stared as the virus carrier floated upward toward the skylight. He moved toward it just as Pal's hand grabbed for the lighter. Changing gears in mid-air, Burke kicked the lighter away, vaguely aware that the remaining drugs Pal was intending to inject were also on the same small metal tray. Pal, seeing him, dropped into a kind of comical shock, jaws open and his eyes sprung wide.

"
You?
" Then Burke jumped as high as he could. He grabbed for the canister of virus beneath the balloon; got it with one hand but came down awkwardly and lost his balance among the bodies. To his horror, the virus escaped his grasp and floated upwards. Burke, mind working feverishly, backed away. Pal was shouting in triumph. The balloon carried the device relentlessly higher. It bumped into the ceiling, appeared to be stuck for moment, but then drifted into the open chimney. It moved up toward the bleak night sky.