The Twisted Cross (4 page)

been taken away. Maybe by slavers, I remember thinking at the time."

The small harbor at Tongo was filled with fishing boats and Pegg and Goldie offered to somehow buy one of the vessels. Instead the villagers told them they could have one for free, if they agreed to take part in a strange ritual.

"They wanted us to make love to all of the young women in the village," Pegg claimed. "Their men were long gone and the young females were getting themselves damp . . ."

It took three weeks for Pegg and Goldie to fulfill their agreement. Once done, the villagers indicated that the seamen should take the best vessel in harbor as none of the boats would ever be used again anyway. Pegg selected the largest one in the small fleet -a 30-foot tuna boat -and set out.

"We decided to go north," Pegg said. "Even though that was the direction that the cruiser took, we knew it was better than going back down around the cape."

Staying as close to the shore as possible, they sailed the tuna boat up the South American west coast, catching fish along the way to sustain them. Using their engines only when necessary, the favorable currents took them up past Peru and Ecuador.

"We were going to sail it right up to California," Pegg said. "But off the coast of Colombia our engine started acting up. Then it died completely. At the same time the currents reversed and started to drag us due west, out to the open sea."

They drifted for another two weeks, Pegg said, their only nourishment coming from eating the huge sea turtles Pegg said he caught off the top of the waves with his bare hands.

Still, they had no water left and soon both men were near death.

"Two angels floated down and landed right on our stern," Pegg said. "Both Goldie and I were lying on the deck, too weak to move, just waiting for our Maker. I saw Goldie's spirit lift right out of his body, I did. But then I pleaded with seraphs to send him back. And they did . . .

"A day later we were picked up by a tramp steamer carrying a Japanese captain and a huge Filipino crew. They were carrying rubber - for tires - from Manila all the way over to Morocco. The captain told us he could make ten thousand bags of gold if he made the trip in two months. So he was shooting for passage through the Canal. The Canal! We thought he was crazy, especially with all the horror stories we had heard. But he knew we were both experienced sailors, so he kept us on."

According to Pegg, the Japanese captain thought he had it all figured out. He was confident he could handle any situation in the canal zone. And with seemingly good reason-the Filipino crewmen doubled as soldiers and there were no less than 150 of them. And the steamer itself was bristling with 3-inch and 5-inch deck guns, as well as a dozen heavy machine guns. It also carried a number of fast attack boats that could quickly be lowered over the side.

"They were well-armed," Pegg reported. "And the soldiers drilled and practiced on deck four hours a day and another two hours at night. They were a crack outfit by the time we made it to the islands that guard the entrance of the Canal."

The captain sent two squads of his soldiers ahead in two attack boats. The plan was for the craft to scout ahead of the steamer, checking for any hostile forces on either side of the waterway. The bonus was that the attack craft crews were also knowledgeable in the kind of water locks used in the Canal.

"A lot of people don't realize that more than half the length of the Canal is actually a lake and a river," Pegg said. "You enter a set of locks from the one side. They gradually raise you up about eighty-five feet until you are at the right level. Then you sail for about twenty-five miles until you reach the other set of locks and they lower you back down and out you go.

"The locks themselves are fairly elaborate, but the Japanese captain knew they required hardly any machinery or pumps. It's all done with gravity. He didn't believe the voodoo stories and figured that there was an even chance the locks were still working, or at least could be made to work by his attack craft guys

. . ."

The scout boats made it to the first lock, and to their surprise, found it to be in working condition, manned by no more that a half dozen sleeping guards of undetermined but apparently non-cannibalistic origin. The scouts reported back to the steamer to proceed, and within hours, the ship was through the first locks and sailing on.

"Everything was going smoothly," Pegg said. "Too smoothly. Oh, we took a few sniper rounds along the way, but the steamer gunners would just open up with those five-inch guns and that would be the end of that!

"The Japanese captain thought for sure he had outsmarted everyone, that he was making history! That is, until we were about halfway through the channel . .

."

As Pegg told it, he had just finished eating breakfast when they heard the lookout give a yell. By the time Pegg made it to the bridge, he and the others saw that one of the attack craft had just blown up.

"It was about a half mile ahead of us," Pegg said. "And the bastard just blew apart. At first the captain thought it was a mine. Then the other boat got it, and after that, we knew it wasn't no mine."

Pegg claimed that the second attack craft was shot at by hundreds of weapons, firing from both sides of the Canal.

"It was unbelievable!" the sea captain said. "They hit that boat with rockets, surface-to-surface guided missiles, big guns, little guns, heavy machine guns.

Everything but the kitchen sink. Whoever was doing the shooting was definitely trying to send a message ..."

That message was that the steamer was going no further. Soon after the attack craft were sunk, a small fleet of gunboats surrounded the steamer, and soon she was being boarded.

"They were just like the guys that had blown us up off Chile after taking the gold," Pegg said. "Same uniforms, same strange look on their faces. Tall, blond and no expressions. Like a bunch of first cousins."

Just like before, the boarding party shot anyone on the ship who looked like a soldier, as opposed to a sailor. In the case of the steamer, this was more than one hundred men.

"Just lined them up on the bow and shot 'em all," Pegg said. "One at a time .

. . but not before they looked into each guy's mouth. In fact, they yanked out a few teeth from a couple guys right then and there. Then they shot 'em."

The mysterious raiders then ordered the captain to move the steamer to a dockworks that had been built on the far edge of the waterway. Pegg said there were at least a dozen other ships there -all sizes, under different flags.

"It was a floating graveyard; they had all fallen for the same ruse." Pegg said. "Like a spider sucking a fly into its web, we sailed right into their trap."

Once docked, the steamer was searched thoroughly n«f less than five times.

"They didn't care about the rubber," Pegg reported. "They were looking for only one thing . . . gold.

"They didn't find any, although they were convinced we had some on us. They tortured the captain until he finally died. Then they gathered up what was left of us -about fifteen in all -and started prowling around in our mouths, just like they did to the Filipinos they shot. It wasn't until they came to me that I realized what they were doing. If you can believe it, they were looking for gold fillings!

"When they got to poor Goldie, they yanked his mouth empty. Then they just threw him overboard, shot him and watched him die."

Why Pegg wasn't shot then and there, he never found out. Instead the strange troops locked him and a few of the surviving steamer mates in a makeshift jailshack.

"We was there for two days and nights," the captain said. "No food. No water.

Nothing. Like they had just abandoned us.

"Then, on the third night, we heard a bunch of explosions. Suddenly there's a hell of a gunfight going on right outside our shack. It went on for more than an hour. We heard mortars, big fifties, rocket-propelled grenades. Choppers flying overhead. People yelling over loudspeakers. Strange music blaring until it split your eardrums. It was incredible!

"Then, something-I think it was an RPG -hit our building. Blew the side right off it. Killed three Filipino fellows, the poor bastards. Me and the others didn't hang around to cry. We just lit out into the jungle.

"I'm an old man and still I've never run that fast in my life . . ."

The bottle of Hong Kong brandy was gone by the time Pegg had nearly finished his tale.

Jones had told Hunter that Pegg, being an old salt and all, might be prone to exaggeration. Yet the pilot knew that despite the story's fantastic flourishes, there had to be a kernel of truth underneath.

"I haven't got to the good part yet!" Pegg said, relighting his pipe for the umpteenth time.

Hunter shifted around in his .chair and said: "So tell me. What happened next?"

Pegg gave out a hoot, then a long, raspy cough. "I crawled through that jungle all night," he said. "I saw lots of soldiers running around. These guys in black, plus other guys in green jungle camouflage outfits. Choppers everywhere. They were shooting at each other and here I am, a man my age, clambering around in the bushes in the middle of them.

"Morning came and I had made my way a good piece down the side of the waterway. I could see the east side locks and of course, they had these blondhaired goons crawling all over them.

"I spent the whole day just watching them. They had a bunch of skin-divers working for them and it seemed like they were planting things in the middle of the channel . . ."

"Things?" Hunter asked. "What kind of things?"

Pegg shrugged. "Long silver tubes," he said, closing his eyes in an effort to remember. "Flashing lights on them.

You should have seen the contraption they was carrying them in. It looked like a big gray box on a piece of toast. They had it fitted out like an egg crate.

And they handled each one of those tubes just like it was eggs. Real careful like . . ."

Hunter ran his hand through his hair, trying to make some sense of the story.

"So how'd you finally get back, Captain?"

Pegg began to say something, when suddenly a shot rang out . . .

Hunter was down on the floor in less than a second, dragging the old man down off his chair with him. The shot had come through the flat's single window, smashing the thick glass and catching Pegg square in the jaw.

Hunter raised his M-16 and shot out the room's only light. Then he lifted Pegg up on his knee.

"Goddamn it ... the dirty bastards must have finally caught up with me . . ."

the old man managed to say, despite his wound.

Just then another shot came through the window. Then another. And another.

Hunter dragged Peg's limp body into a far corner, then he quickly crawled over to the broken window. Through the haze of neon lights and fog, he saw two figures moving in the shadows across the alley.

Not wanting to shoot any innocents, Hunter nevertheless unleashed a long burst from his M-16 on to the wall directly across from the window and just above the two skulking figures. As always, his trademark tracer rounds produced a frightening iridescent stream of fire and lead. Instantly, the two shadows started to run.

Hunter moved back to Pegg and quickly checked his pulse. Finding one, though weak, he burst out of the flat and lit out after the two fleeing figures.

The snipers had made two mistakes: First they had assumed that Pegg was alone when they took a shot at him through the window. Second, they had chosen to run down further into Thunder Alley instead of retreating back out to Orleans Avenue.

What they didn't know was the alley was a dead end.

Hunter was no sooner past the place from where the gunmen had fired when he picked out the two figures running away at top speed. He followed them, running as fast as he could, his flight boots striking the grimy wet alley pavement with a succession of sharp cracks. The chase went on for only 20

seconds or so, when the gunmen turned a slight bend in the road and found themselves facing a brick wall.

Hunter skidded to a stop just as the two men wheeled and fired at him. He was able to dodge their combined barrages, and a split-second later, he cut them both down at the legs with an economical burst of M-16 tracer fire.

Unlike most other New Order cities, the gunfire actually attracted a crowd-this one from the small alley bistros and cathouses.

Two regional militia men were soon on the scene, and after Hunter quickly identified himself, they joined the pilot in walking over to the two wounded men.

"This guy is dead . . ." one of the militiamen said, reaching one of the snipers first.

"Dead?" Hunter asked, legitimately surprised. "I aimed for his legs. I want these guys alive . . ."

He was bent over the body by this time and quickly saw that it wasn't his bullets that had ended the man's life. There was a long stream of black fluid running out of the man's mouth, and his ears were bleeding.

"Poison . . ." Hunter said, quickly reaching down and closing the man's eyelids. "Capsule under his tongue. He bit it when I cornered him."

Hunter quickly moved over to the other man who lay crumpled in the far corner of the blind alley. He at least was stirring, although he had taken at least four bullets in both legs. Oddly, this man's head, like his companion's, was shaved clean.

Hunter reached down and grabbed the man by his collar. "Who are you?" the pilot asked him harshly.

The man managed to open his eyes and look straight at Hunter. Then, of all things, he coughed out a laugh . . .

"Fuck you," the wounded man said in a voice just tinged with some kind of accent. Then he dramatically made a quick chomping motion with his jaws, and a second later, a long stream of inky black came spilling out of his mouth, too.

"Jesus, he killed himself, too . . ." one of the militiamen said in disbelief.

"Who are these guys anyway?" the other soldier asked.

Hunter stood up and shook his head. "I'm not sure," he said, turning quickly and heading back for Peg's flat. "But I've got to find out . . ."