Chapter 14: A Sudden Development
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Nightwing bounds up. Granted, this Renwick doesn't act like a threat, but Dick will never leave me in a combat zone without cover.
"Ba....Bruce."
"It's all right, Dick", I answer calmly. Maybe, maybe not. But Dick doesn't need me to tell him the difference. I note he relaxes, but stays at in good tactical position. Just in case.
The big man turns, signaling to two others who now emerge from the dark.
"All clear, Renny." The shockingly high voice comes from a chest as broad as one of these oil drums. Not much over one in height, which puts his hands in the vicinity of his knees. The effect should be comical, but there is far more then the large caliber pistol in one of those hands that convinces me this is not an opponent safely ignored.
"The encampment would indeed appear universally vacated." A much more impressive voice, but from a figure so unimpressive that I had to look twice to confirm my first impression. As tall as myself, but with perhaps half the weight. " An unadvisable commonality of purpose in their assault."
I'd put both men in their late sixties. A healthy, athletic sixties, but still a bit older then your average jungle rat.
Renwick waves the two forward. "Permit me to introduce my associates."
"Andrew Blodgett Mayfair." Renwick gestures at the shorter man, then turns to the other. "William Harper Littlejohn." He grins at me. "You can thank Johnny for your sudden rescue. He's our expert on the local tribes, so when this many men started moving through the green....." He leaves the finish to my imagination.
"This is Mr. Wayne, who came down from Gotham to - what was it - count our birds?" So Renwick's tone indicates zero belief. It also indicates zero interest in disputing the matter. I can call myself an ethnologist, or an eggplant, and it would be all the same to him.
We shake hands all around, civil as a boardroom, but I notice all three men keep their guns.
The short red-head snorts, "Got some birds around here worth counting."
"Please, Monk." Renwick settles into a voice of accustomed patience. " Mr. Wayne has his own young lady. I doubt he needs you to play matchmaker."
I smile a bit at that. "Honored to meet you, Mr. Mayfair. This is my companion.." Dick moves up before I finish.
"Pleased to meet you. I'm Richard Grayson."
Oh oh. 'Richard' means he doesn't trust this bunch. Could be worse. At least he didn't say 'Richard John'.
*Thwwwwipp. Thwwwwipp.* Their helicopter is back. Moving slower this time, and lower. Coming in to land. We move over unasked to give it space.
"Ham, you miserable mouthpiece, yer late for the show." Mayfair calls out over the clatter of the blades. The short mans words are rude, but his tone if rich with affection.
"Entirely anticipated." The pilot responds in a clear Boston accent. "You never did have the manners to leave some for me."
"Yo. Ya snooze, ya loose, Hambone."
An astoundingly well dresses man steps out of the machine. I have known about jungle white's, but despite my rather rarefied upbringing this is the first time I have actually seen them worn. And worn well. Despite the ridiculous impracticality of his dress, this man has an air of dignity stronger than Alfred's. On him, starched pleats seem somehow natural.
"Theodore Marley Brooks, Mr. Wayne." He looks me over with a strangely proprietary air. " You are Thomas Wayne's son?" It isn't a question. "I knew your father when he was a Harvard."
That earns another round of handshakes, and this time the firearms are reholstered.
Mayfair looks over the fallen foes, then nods at the skyline. "Was dat other chopper your's, or did some of dese creeps get away?"
"Mine. Or at least my people." I made a gesture to encompass the flight field. "I'm afraid we had to borrow the machine. Perhaps I might count on to you to return it?"
Littlejohn has been inspecting me like a field specimen. Now he turns to Boston companion. "Mr. Wayne's vitality appears unimpaired. No indications of Goloka poisoning. It would appear our worries our apprehensions that matter were possibly unwarranted."
"No", Richard answers him. "That was me."
Dick smiles at their error. Of course they would assume the 'playboy' Wayne would have been the one taken.
"We had observed an aquatic and arboreal egress?", Littlejohn inquires, pulling a monocle out of his shirt pocket.
"No, that was him," Dick replies, pointing a thumb my direction. He leans back into the barrels. "I got the funny gas."
"He gave you the antidote?" Renwick interjects with a touch of concern.
"Didn't need to." Dick yawns. It has been a long day. "Must have been a light dose, because I woke up on my own." Taking a deep breath, he stretches his shoulders. Perhaps he is still a bit stiff from his bonds. "Got out and caught up with Bruce and company just before this fight."
Monk looks at the others. "Think we should get 'im to Doc?"
"I don' need a Doc." Dick shakes his head. "A nap, maybe... I'm getting tired, bu....."
Caught mid-word, Dick drops. I barely catch him before he hits the ground. I rip open his collar, feeling for the neck pulse. Still there, but uneven. I fumble for the med-kit. Atropine, or perhaps a barbiturate.
"Evacuation would prove an advisable operation."
"Yep." Monk adds. "Like Johnny says, we should get him to Doc."
The words reach through my worry. "Doctor?" I growl. "Get him!"
On these men, the voice has no apparent effect. The one named Renwick hands me two pills. "Mr. Grayson will be fine," he says. "Give him two of these and he can see Doc in the morning."
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I pass the pills through Dick's lips, helping him to swallow. No time for inquiry, but if these aren't a cure there will be hell to pay. And I'll know where to send the bill.
"Br.."
"I'm here." I help him to sit. It's been a nervous few seconds, but the cure takes effect quickly, and Dick returns as swiftly as he departed.
"Wha...?"
"It's OK," I reassure him. "The drug the kidnappers used has some side effects."
"Bird", he chokes out.
Damn, Dick's right. I hit my contact. "Bruce to Dinah - come in. Now!"
"Yeah?" Her voice is there, but I detect a sleepy edge.
"Dinah!" I continue "Hand over the controls to Doctor Jones NOW!"
"Sure, Bruce, but..."
"Now!," I interrupt. If she must pass out, it's best that she is not controlling an aircraft just over the jungle canopy. I overhear her mutter "Here Indy, you drive" before she returns to the line.
"Whaaa's the matter, Bruce?"
Yes, sleepy. Thank God Dick thought of that in time. I instruct her "There are side effects to the drug the kidnappers used, one of which is a sudden sleep. I have an antidote." With which remark I glance at Renwick for confirmation, and am relived to see him nod. "We will catch up with you at..." I pause. Renwick will know his local resources.
"Hap'osil, perhaps? Or else...?" He hesitates as if considering his options, "Our place is a bit closer. That is, if you would care to be our guests."
I accept. Not that we have much choice. I need medical care for Dick, and very likely for Dinah and the hostages as well. Besides, if they wished to harm us they certainly had every opportunity. I can see the guns on their helicopter. With an air assault, neither Dinah or ourselves would stand a chance. Better, for right now, to go along.
I click on Oracle. At least she will know where we are.
"Jones can fly them there," I answer him. "Give me your coordinates."
He does so. A radio frequency for night flying. Night is darker in the jungle then in 'civilization'. Even if they *had* a heliport with lights, it would be hard to see in this welter of layered green. Then the 'address'. Longitude, latitude, and standard map grid. I go over the local map in my memory. Nothing. Those directions should drop us into the unexplored heart of the jungle. I consider that. Threat? No. Wherever we are going, these men are going with us. For all their unusual behavior, I do not believe they are evil men. They mean us no harm. The secret they keep must relate to whatever is there.
So, it appears that all my questions about the Hidalgo operation will soon be answered. But at what price?
END CHAPTER FOURTEEN
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Nightwing bounds up. Granted, this Renwick doesn't act like a threat, but Dick will never leave me in a combat zone without cover.
"Ba....Bruce."
"It's all right, Dick", I answer calmly. Maybe, maybe not. But Dick doesn't need me to tell him the difference. I note he relaxes, but stays at in good tactical position. Just in case.
The big man turns, signaling to two others who now emerge from the dark.
"All clear, Renny." The shockingly high voice comes from a chest as broad as one of these oil drums. Not much over one in height, which puts his hands in the vicinity of his knees. The effect should be comical, but there is far more then the large caliber pistol in one of those hands that convinces me this is not an opponent safely ignored.
"The encampment would indeed appear universally vacated." A much more impressive voice, but from a figure so unimpressive that I had to look twice to confirm my first impression. As tall as myself, but with perhaps half the weight. " An unadvisable commonality of purpose in their assault."
I'd put both men in their late sixties. A healthy, athletic sixties, but still a bit older then your average jungle rat.
Renwick waves the two forward. "Permit me to introduce my associates."
"Andrew Blodgett Mayfair." Renwick gestures at the shorter man, then turns to the other. "William Harper Littlejohn." He grins at me. "You can thank Johnny for your sudden rescue. He's our expert on the local tribes, so when this many men started moving through the green....." He leaves the finish to my imagination.
"This is Mr. Wayne, who came down from Gotham to - what was it - count our birds?" So Renwick's tone indicates zero belief. It also indicates zero interest in disputing the matter. I can call myself an ethnologist, or an eggplant, and it would be all the same to him.
We shake hands all around, civil as a boardroom, but I notice all three men keep their guns.
The short red-head snorts, "Got some birds around here worth counting."
"Please, Monk." Renwick settles into a voice of accustomed patience. " Mr. Wayne has his own young lady. I doubt he needs you to play matchmaker."
I smile a bit at that. "Honored to meet you, Mr. Mayfair. This is my companion.." Dick moves up before I finish.
"Pleased to meet you. I'm Richard Grayson."
Oh oh. 'Richard' means he doesn't trust this bunch. Could be worse. At least he didn't say 'Richard John'.
*Thwwwwipp. Thwwwwipp.* Their helicopter is back. Moving slower this time, and lower. Coming in to land. We move over unasked to give it space.
"Ham, you miserable mouthpiece, yer late for the show." Mayfair calls out over the clatter of the blades. The short mans words are rude, but his tone if rich with affection.
"Entirely anticipated." The pilot responds in a clear Boston accent. "You never did have the manners to leave some for me."
"Yo. Ya snooze, ya loose, Hambone."
An astoundingly well dresses man steps out of the machine. I have known about jungle white's, but despite my rather rarefied upbringing this is the first time I have actually seen them worn. And worn well. Despite the ridiculous impracticality of his dress, this man has an air of dignity stronger than Alfred's. On him, starched pleats seem somehow natural.
"Theodore Marley Brooks, Mr. Wayne." He looks me over with a strangely proprietary air. " You are Thomas Wayne's son?" It isn't a question. "I knew your father when he was a Harvard."
That earns another round of handshakes, and this time the firearms are reholstered.
Mayfair looks over the fallen foes, then nods at the skyline. "Was dat other chopper your's, or did some of dese creeps get away?"
"Mine. Or at least my people." I made a gesture to encompass the flight field. "I'm afraid we had to borrow the machine. Perhaps I might count on to you to return it?"
Littlejohn has been inspecting me like a field specimen. Now he turns to Boston companion. "Mr. Wayne's vitality appears unimpaired. No indications of Goloka poisoning. It would appear our worries our apprehensions that matter were possibly unwarranted."
"No", Richard answers him. "That was me."
Dick smiles at their error. Of course they would assume the 'playboy' Wayne would have been the one taken.
"We had observed an aquatic and arboreal egress?", Littlejohn inquires, pulling a monocle out of his shirt pocket.
"No, that was him," Dick replies, pointing a thumb my direction. He leans back into the barrels. "I got the funny gas."
"He gave you the antidote?" Renwick interjects with a touch of concern.
"Didn't need to." Dick yawns. It has been a long day. "Must have been a light dose, because I woke up on my own." Taking a deep breath, he stretches his shoulders. Perhaps he is still a bit stiff from his bonds. "Got out and caught up with Bruce and company just before this fight."
Monk looks at the others. "Think we should get 'im to Doc?"
"I don' need a Doc." Dick shakes his head. "A nap, maybe... I'm getting tired, bu....."
Caught mid-word, Dick drops. I barely catch him before he hits the ground. I rip open his collar, feeling for the neck pulse. Still there, but uneven. I fumble for the med-kit. Atropine, or perhaps a barbiturate.
"Evacuation would prove an advisable operation."
"Yep." Monk adds. "Like Johnny says, we should get him to Doc."
The words reach through my worry. "Doctor?" I growl. "Get him!"
On these men, the voice has no apparent effect. The one named Renwick hands me two pills. "Mr. Grayson will be fine," he says. "Give him two of these and he can see Doc in the morning."
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I pass the pills through Dick's lips, helping him to swallow. No time for inquiry, but if these aren't a cure there will be hell to pay. And I'll know where to send the bill.
"Br.."
"I'm here." I help him to sit. It's been a nervous few seconds, but the cure takes effect quickly, and Dick returns as swiftly as he departed.
"Wha...?"
"It's OK," I reassure him. "The drug the kidnappers used has some side effects."
"Bird", he chokes out.
Damn, Dick's right. I hit my contact. "Bruce to Dinah - come in. Now!"
"Yeah?" Her voice is there, but I detect a sleepy edge.
"Dinah!" I continue "Hand over the controls to Doctor Jones NOW!"
"Sure, Bruce, but..."
"Now!," I interrupt. If she must pass out, it's best that she is not controlling an aircraft just over the jungle canopy. I overhear her mutter "Here Indy, you drive" before she returns to the line.
"Whaaa's the matter, Bruce?"
Yes, sleepy. Thank God Dick thought of that in time. I instruct her "There are side effects to the drug the kidnappers used, one of which is a sudden sleep. I have an antidote." With which remark I glance at Renwick for confirmation, and am relived to see him nod. "We will catch up with you at..." I pause. Renwick will know his local resources.
"Hap'osil, perhaps? Or else...?" He hesitates as if considering his options, "Our place is a bit closer. That is, if you would care to be our guests."
I accept. Not that we have much choice. I need medical care for Dick, and very likely for Dinah and the hostages as well. Besides, if they wished to harm us they certainly had every opportunity. I can see the guns on their helicopter. With an air assault, neither Dinah or ourselves would stand a chance. Better, for right now, to go along.
I click on Oracle. At least she will know where we are.
"Jones can fly them there," I answer him. "Give me your coordinates."
He does so. A radio frequency for night flying. Night is darker in the jungle then in 'civilization'. Even if they *had* a heliport with lights, it would be hard to see in this welter of layered green. Then the 'address'. Longitude, latitude, and standard map grid. I go over the local map in my memory. Nothing. Those directions should drop us into the unexplored heart of the jungle. I consider that. Threat? No. Wherever we are going, these men are going with us. For all their unusual behavior, I do not believe they are evil men. They mean us no harm. The secret they keep must relate to whatever is there.
So, it appears that all my questions about the Hidalgo operation will soon be answered. But at what price?
END CHAPTER FOURTEEN