Читать книгу Jungle Justice - Don Pendleton - Страница 12

Calcutta

The cab dropped Bolan and Takeri two blocks north of Bolan’s hotel and they walked back through the darkness, alert for any sign of followers. Spotting none, they entered the lobby, where the night clerk shot a glance at them, suspicious, then ignored them after recognizing Bolan.

Takeri started toward the creaky elevator, but Bolan stopped him with a word and steered him toward the stairs. If anything had soured since he’d left the place that evening, Bolan didn’t want to meet new adversaries for the first time when the elevator’s door jerked open and the hostiles blazed away at point-blank range.

It proved to be a wasted effort, if security precautions could be wasted in a combat zone. No enemies were waiting for them on the third floor, none in Bolan’s room after he used his key and cleared the threshold in a rush, pistol in hand. The exercise did not make him feel foolish, even so.

Better to be alive and taking too much care than to relax and die.

When they were safely locked inside the room, lights on and curtains drawn, Bolan repeated his original question. “All right, we’re off the streets. Now fill me in on who we’re running from.”

Takeri found a seat and filled it, stretching in an effort to relax. “You understand I cannot be precisely sure. I did not recognize those men.”

“Best guess?”

“It was the first direct attempt upon my life since I left military service. I have enemies, of course, but in the circumstances I assume it was related to your mission.”

“Break it down.”

“Sorry? Oh, yes, I see. In preparation for your coming, I initiated certain contacts. Seeking information on Balahadra Naraka and his associates, attempting to identify his local contacts, vendors and the like. I exercised the utmost caution, but—”

“You tripped some wires, regardless,” Bolan finished for him.

“It is possible,” Takeri answered ruefully. “The other possibility, revenge for some work previously done, strikes me as too coincidental at the present time.”

“Agreed.”

It was a poor beginning to the mission, with his guide and contact compromised, already hunted by the enemy. Bolan had been sucked into the violence, seen by the enemy, and might have sacrificed the critical advantage of surprise.

Or, maybe not.

“You need to lay out everything you’ve done,” he told Takeri. “Everyone you’ve spoken to about Naraka, when and where. If we can figure out who’s hunting you, it tells us which direction we should go to minimize exposure.”

“Certainly.” Takeri frowned. “But, everyone?”

“In order, if you can,” Bolan replied. “We’ve got all night.”

“Do we have coffee?”

Bolan made a call to room service, then settled in to listen while they waited for the coffee to arrive.

“I started with police contacts,” Takeri said. “A Captain Gupta in Calcutta, who collaborates with agents from the Ministry of the Interior to curb the traffic in endangered species and their relics.”

“Is he straight?” Bolan asked.

“Meaning honest?”

“That’s my meaning.”

“I believe so,” Takeri said. “His promotion came through merit, based on his arrests of poachers and their contacts in the export trade. Over the past three years, he has maintained an average of three arrests per week.”

“How many were convicted?” Bolan asked.

Takeri shrugged at that. “I’ve no idea. Is it important that we know?”

“Where I come from,” Bolan replied, “it’s not unusual for crooked cops to make a lot of busywork arrests that go nowhere. They pick up prostitutes and small-time dealers, run them through the system to compile a quota of arrests and bag their commendations, while the courts dish out probation and small fines. Meanwhile, the cops draw paychecks from both sides, and business continues as usual.”

“I see,” Takeri said. “Of course we have such officers in India, as well. But I do not think that Gupta stands among them.”

“Based on what?”

“His reputation. While I’ve told you his promotion came through merit, I should first have mentioned that it had been long delayed, apparently by his refusal to participate in—what is the expression? Office politics?”

Bolan felt better. “Okay, then. What did he give you?”

“Names and addresses of dealers known or thought to traffic in the sort of merchandise Naraka normally supplies. You understand that it is not all tiger pelts and ivory?”

“I got the briefing,” Bolan said. “Weird mumbo-jumbo medicine.”

“To you and I, of course,” Takeri answered. “But to millions in the East, such items are believed to be extremely potent—as their purchasers would hope to be. The so-called medicine concocted from these outlawed items has been used throughout Asia for several thousand years.”

“And no one’s noticed that it isn’t working?” Bolan asked.

“Perhaps it does work, Mr. Cooper, for selected devotees. In the Caribbean and parts of the United States, you have practitioners of voodoo, yes?”

“That’s right.”

“In Africa and parts of South America, cults practice human sacrifice this very day.”

“I wouldn’t rule it out,” Bolan replied.

“Belief,” Takeri said. “It has great power, even though skeptics deny it. When your faith healers perform on television, many people laugh, dismiss it as a fraud, and change the channel, yes? But millions more believe. And who’s to say that none is truly healed?”

“All right,” Bolan said, “let’s assume that eating tiger organs makes some old man happy in the sack. I wasn’t sent to analyze folk medicine or magic. Let’s cut to the chase.”

“I am attempting to explain,” Takeri said, “that some of those with whom Naraka deals are men of faith. They’ll never give him up. I have a list of six or seven names but have not pressed them, knowing it would be a waste of time.”

“Who have you pressed?” Bolan asked.

“I made inquiries with two dealers in Calcutta whom Captain Gupta identified as covert traffickers in tiger pelts and ivory. Posing as a potential buyer, I approached them and was courteously told that while such items sometimes come on offer from the hinterlands, it is illegal to purchase or sell them. The problem, I suspect, lies in the fact that I am native to the area, while nearly all the traffic in such items flows to foreign dealers.”

“So, you struck out with the vendors,” Bolan said.

“Correct.”

“And underneath that courtesy, did either one of them smell like a murderer?”

“In my assessment, no.”

“We’re getting nowhere,” Bolan said.

“I must confess some disappointment in my progress, to that point,” Takeri admitted. “But I did not grow discouraged. If the dealers would not speak to me, I thought, perhaps I could get through to someone else.”

“Such as?”

“Illicit trade of any kind requires protection. Captain Gupta let me have another name.”

“I’m listening,” the Executioner replied.

Takeri studied the American, impressed by his intensity, his bearing and the way he had performed during their skirmish with the assassins on the street. The man who called himself Matt Cooper seemed a worthy ally, and the CIA was paying for Takeri’s services—but it was still a risky business, as had recently been demonstrated by the rude attempt upon his life.

“Girish Vyasa,” he replied after a moment’s hesitation. “He is a customs agent. As you know, cooperation from the Customs Service is essential to the foreign trade in contraband.”

“Of course,” Bolan agreed.

“Girish Vyasa is a man of certain appetites, the cost of which exceed his salary. Perhaps they also make him vulnerable to extortion. Who can say? In any case, Naraka pays him handsomely for letting certain shipments pass without detailed inspection. Others may be paying him, as well.”

“Why is Vyasa still in business if your Captain Gupta knows all this?” Bolan asked.

“It seems that Vyasa in turn is protected by men of influence in Calcutta and New Delhi. Corruption spreads. No government is perfectly immune.”

Nodding, Bolan replied, “I take it you inquired about Vyasa in more detail?”

“Certainly. And therein lies my fault, presumably. He is, as I’ve explained, protected—both officially and unofficially.”

“Someone got wise and put the hunters on your trail.”

“I must assume that is the case,” Takeri said. “If any negligence of mine has jeopardized your mission, I must now apologize.”

“We couldn’t count on cover all the way,” Bolan replied. “I would’ve liked a better lead, but we can work with this.”

Takeri frowned. “But if the hunters, as you put it, are aware of our intentions—”

“Scratch that,” Bolan interrupted. “We’ll assume they’re onto you for asking questions, but they won’t know why, or who you’re working for. They don’t know me at all, beyond a glimpse tonight, and there’s no way they have a handle on my plans.”

“Because?”

“I haven’t made plans, yet.”

Takeri’s frown deepened. “I draw no reassurance from that statement, Mr. Cooper.”

Bolan shrugged. “Don’t sweat it. Coming in, I had no fix on the best way to reach Naraka. Now I’m warming up to it.”

“You have a plan, in fact?”

“It’s coming to me. First, I need to have a word with this Vyasa character.”

“I say again, he is protected.”

“Not from me.”

The cutting edge of Bolan’s tone sent an unexpected chill rippling along Takeri’s spine.

“You would approach him directly?”

“That’s right.”

“And if he’s being watched? Guarded?”

“We’ll have to take that chance.”

Takeri’s frown deepened. “When you say ‘we’—”

“You’ll need to show me where Vyasa lives and point him out. Aside from that, I’ll need details of what your Captain Gupta has on him, what links him to Naraka. Dates, facts, figures. Anything at all to crack him open, make him feel cooperative.”

“I see.” From where Takeri sat, it was a grim vision indeed. “But once again I ask, if he is guarded?”

“We’ll see how it goes,” Bolan replied. “You did okay tonight against those cutters.”

“Still, if you had not arrived just when you did, the outcome may have been a disappointment.”

“We’ll avoid that in the future if we can.”

“If I am permitted to inquire, what are you, Mr. Cooper? Surely not an analyst.”

“I wouldn’t say that. No.”

“What, then?”

“A trouble-shooter,” the American replied. “We’ll let it go at that, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course.”

“About those details on Vyasa—”

“Captain Gupta did not favor me with all specifics of the case, you understand.”

“Just give me what you have.”

“On several occasions—five or six, I think he said—Vyasa has been seen with export dealers linked to the Naraka group. In normal circumstances, these are men Vyasa should have been investigating, possibly arresting, but he seemed to be on cordial terms with all of them. At two meetings, police observed the passage of an envelope into Vyasa’s hands.”

“Containing money?” Bolan asked.

Takeri shrugged. “Sadly, they did not stop him to inquire. There is a mystery of sorts in that respect. His bank accounts—those known to the authorities, at least—show no unusual or unexplained deposits, yet Vyasa lives beyond his means.”

“So, he’s been hiding cash somewhere.”

“Presumably.”

“Maybe we’ll shake some of it loose from him and use it on the next phase of our journey.”

“Which would be?”

“I thought you understood. I’m here to find Naraka.”

“But he almost never leaves the Sundarbans.”

“I guess that’s where we’ll find him, then,” Bolan stated.

Again, the deadly we, Takeri thought. “I should advise you, Mr. Cooper, that my personal experience in fieldwork of this sort is…limited.”

“You spent time in the military, I believe?”

Takeri masked his first rush of surprise. “That’s true.”

“And you’re my guide for the duration, yes?”

“Correct.” Takeri felt the noose settle around his neck.

“No problem, then.”

No problem. The phrase was said as if the words would not only allay Takeri’s fear but turn him into something he was not. A hunting guide, perhaps. A jungle warrior. True, he had been trained for living off the land and fighting in the wilderness, but all of that seemed long ago and far away.

“I will endeavor not to fail you, Mr. Cooper,” he replied.

“It’s Matt. And failure’s not an option.”

“This is all to do with the Americans, I take it? Those Naraka kidnapped?”

“Those he killed. That’s right.”

“If he had not involved your people—”

“Then I likely wouldn’t be here. But he did, I am and we’re together in this thing for better or worse, if you think you can handle it.”

Takeri knew he should resist the challenge, not rise to the bait, but at the moment it seemed irresistible. “I can. I will.”

“Good man. Now, what say you go on and bring me up to speed about Vyasa. I’d like to drop in for a visit tonight, and before we do that I need chapter and verse.”

Takeri had a sense that everything was happening too rapidly, that he was being swept away, but what choice did he have? His working contract with the CIA demanded full cooperation, and he’d gone so far already in the matter that his life was placed in jeopardy. Those who had tried to kill him would already have his home staked out. At least, with the American, he had a better fighting chance.

But the Sundarbans!

“All right,” Takeri said at last.