Chapter 15: Savage and the City
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Mayfair and Littlejohn return, having checked the camp. "All empty", the redheaded roughneck reports. "This is the lot of them. No sign of the boss, though."
"The man in charge and the woman who was his pilot went running off into the jungle," Dick explained. "No idea why. They were talking to me, a sentry came in, and poof." He makes the universal gesture for 'vanished'.
"Wish I spoke the local lingo." He uses the pole to pull himself upright.
Dick is standing now, but perhaps a bit dizzy. At any rate, he allows me to help him into the helicopter. There's not enough room for everyone, but Brooks assures me that he and 'Monk' will be fine until a second chopper arrives to pick them up. Normally I might argue. Leaving civilians in a combat area is seldom wise. There is always the risk that additional criminals might arrive. Less wise in the darkness of the city-less night. Too much risk that the villains they thought gone were simply hiding in the shadows. But I have Dick to consider and his medical care comes first. Besides, these particular civilians have proven they can take care of themselves.
Renwick assures me that those two will have no difficult containing the prisoners until the men can be turned over to the authorities. It's reassuring to learn that our 'rescuers' intend to deal with the law. The way things have been going, it would not surprise me to hear someone suggest finding another cat and serving lunch.
I help settle Dick into the back row, and take the seat beside him. His color is improving, but I'm still worried. I watch the ground recede below us. Difficult terrain, shear rock on three sides. Not difficult to control if you know the job. 'Monk' and 'Ham' will hold it until the authorities arrive. But as the chopper turns, I do think I catch another flash of purple.
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Four of us in the chopper. The cabin is rather cramped - as even the best such machines are - but that is all to the good. It gives me an excuse to keep a hand as well as an eye on the boy. I trust his judgement in everything else, but when it comes to his own care? I've seen him take a bullet and keep fighting. He may think he's fine, but I won't be content until I have a doctors word on that was well.
One in the air, Dick seems to recover swiftly, and before long moves away to strap himself in his own seat. Not my ideal, but the correct procedure. I did insist that he always wear his seat belt.
Dinah's chopper catches up with us after about twenty minutes. I have a radio head-set and I turn it to their frequency.
"That you, Jones?"
"On track and following you." he answers, his voice solid despite the static. "How much farther? We're at half tank now."
Damn, I knew fuel would be a problem. The cabin is to noisy for conversation, but I shout at Renwick. "LONGER?"
He hand signs forty minutes, which I pass on to Jones.
"OK then, we can make it."
"How's Dinah?", I ask.
"Sleepy but not crashed." I can hear her in the background, so he's telling the truth. "I'm more worried about the Captain."
"We've been promised medical support when we arrive." Which we will get - one way or another . I still don't totally trust this Hidalgo bunch. Their behavior certainly indicates they are the 'good guys', but still.... I send a code to Oracle with the new names. Lets see what she can come up with....
^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)
Fifteen minutes more before Oracle is back in my ear.
"Bruce - I have those names."
I say nothing, but send her the signal to continue.
"Doctor William Harper Littlejohn. No connection to the British Harpers. PHD's in geology and anthropology, major expert on Mayan culture until the sixties. Some of his opinions on the Aztecs were a bit unpopular. He left UCLA to 'write a book'. Never was published, and no known income other then the Hidalgo Trading Company. They list him as a 'consultant'. Don't know what he does, but it pays pretty well."
"Doctor Andrew Blodgett Mayfair, aka Monk. Definite connection with the Salem Mayfair's. He's the black sheep of the family. Social news shows a real taste for bimbos until he moved to Hidalgo in 1962. Military service - made Lt. Col. before he mustered out. Somewhat lower rank then the others, but still? Quit to go to school. PHD from MIT, and another from Berkeley. Major industrial chemist, usually working as a consultant. Not cheap. One point of interest. WayneTech hired him for the Katchik Reclamation job. You weren't there, but Fox speaks highly of him."
"Brigadier General Theodore Marley Brooks, Juris Doctorate. Swiftest shark Harvard ever produced. His reputation is legend. Appointed to the Federal Bench in 1960, resigned in 1962 to 'spend more time with his family'. That could mean anything but the truth. The man is a orphan. No particular friends except Mayfair. Looks like a blue blood, fights like a snake. Seven homicides - all dropped as self defense. Watch out for the cane. He apparently carries a sword in it. Still licensed to practice law , but no known clients. Last case he took was for the Hidalgo Trading Company."
She pauses a moment. "All three are American citizens. All three are permanent residents of Hidalgo. Other then that - your guess is a good as mine."
I can't risk a reply. They don't appear to know of this link, and I see no reason to tell them. So I just tap off. Oracle will understand.
^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)
Sharp rock faces rise out of the jungle, reflecting the moonlight and the runner lights that otherwise vanish into the vegetable blackness. We thread through a narrow canyon, all but invisible even when known to be there. Thick, unbroken foliage, No warning of a city underneath. I assume Renwick knows his business as we start our drop through the leaves. It's a narrow passage, and he clips a few leaves, but he holds the bird steady.
I hope Jones really knows how to fly. With Dinah there would be no question, but this will be a tight landing for a civilian pilot with a larger craft.
I look out as the runners touch down.
We land just down from the main pyramid. This must be the high rent district.
Interesting place - like Chichen Itza after urban redevelopment. Helipad is a large courtyard surrounded by banana and cane. Looks like a basketball court for a shot putter.The central trees are in pots. Urban garden? More likely camouflage. Someone has gone to great effort to make this place invisible. On the border, ticked under more cane, flares the cool 'moonlight' glow of mercury vapor lamps. Quite enough to see by, although the silver tint washes out the color of the scene. Probably not enough to see seen from above unless you already had a satellite fix and new precisely what you were looking for.
Someone went to a lot of work on this place. I don't think it's just George Villa.
^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)
Brooks has radioed ahead, and the medics are waiting for us on the pad. I offer Dick a hand down, but he ignores it. His strength is back.
*Thwipp. Thwipp. Thwipp.* That will be the other chopper coming behind us. I take a quick look. Plenty of room for them to land, even with this crowd on the field. I head over to them as the rotors slow.
Canary steps out first. She's looking pale, but still standing.
"Miss? Can you swallow this?" A young kilt-clad man with a western-looking medics kit has angled past me to reach her. I step back. He seems to know his job. "Once we get you to the clinic you will be better quickly."
"The Captain...", Dinah waves toward the cabin behind her.
"We will help him." Despite his unorthodox garb, the young man speaks with the 'doctor' voice taught worldwide. "Right now, I want you to relax so I can take care of you."
I watch as the rest of his paramedic crew comes up. The Captain and his wife will be in good hands. I can go back to Dick.
He's sitting on one of the runners with a young lady kneeling in front of him holding his wrist. Another medic, according to the kit beside her. He's stripped off his shirt to accommodate the blood pressure cuff, and I can see a series of small burns down his back. Cigarette, to judge by the size and shape.
Mental note: When we catch the pirate boss, have a talk with the man. Privately.
The doctor smiles. "Your blood pressure seems to be holding, but..." I see him wince as she pulls off the cuff and carelessly scrapes one of the burns. She notices too. "You were hurt in the fight?"
"Pirates were lousy conversationalists." Dick turns to show his back."Seemed to take it personally when I didn't want to talk to them."
"Burns." The medic presses lightly on the flesh beside the sores, checking the damage. "Second degree at least. Nothing major at that size, but all skin breaks are dangerous in this climate." She paws through he bag, producing a small pump bottle. Zylocaine, likely, or some other topical anesthetic. "I want you in the clinic for at least 24 hours of hyperbaric, antibiotic dressings, and.......how's you tetanus shots? I'll give you another anyway."
Good medical advice, but I don't know these people,and until I trust them much more Dick isn't going anywhere without me. The thought must show, because General Renwick comes over .
He grins at the busy girl, who returns the smile. "My daughter,Mr. Wayne. Dr. Virginia Renwick."
She looks at her father, and her smile widens. "Don't worry, Mr. Wayne." She has a laugh in her voice. "I promise I'll give your son my very closest attention."
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A noise behind me. While medics have been helping Allnut and Mrs. Captain, Jones has been strolling around like a tourist. No problem, I had considered, as long as he stayed out of the way. Wrong. Apparently there is a problem. At least for Littlejohn.
"Jones! You grave robber."
"Littlejohn, you verbose thief!"
Apparently the two men know each other.
"I should have assumed a brigand like you would be involved in this!" Littlejohn stomps hard enough to pop out his monocle.
And are not friends.
"What? Just pissed because I got a look at your private Disney-dig?" Jones is all but snarling. "Must be nice. A hell of a lot easier to get artifacts when you can order them up like a catalog."
"I never!" Littlejohn's bones are practically shaking from real rage. "You just refuse to give up your obtuse chauvinistic assumptions, you ill-taught ignoramus. My dissertations were all unimpeachable research, unlike your filmy adventure tales disguised as scholastic inquiry."
"Research!" Jones makes that sound like a dirty word. "Who did you ask? Your girlfriend."
"My *wife*! Whom at least I married, unlike your progression of bimbo's. The singular salutary circumstance to affirm about those dense dames is that they aren't moronic enough to persevere in you presence to any appreciable extent."
"Unlike your little princess? At least I don't get mine from their daddies!"
"Listen , you Aztec apologist."
"Not to you, you made-up Mayan spin-doctor!"
I am enjoying their free and frank exchange of ideas when, at an instant, the field falls silent. Everyone has turned to watch a single man as he enters the square. Impressive, I grant. Dark blond and heavily tanned. My height plus some inches, and fit beyond the normal human range. Evidently in his sixties, but a most athletic sixties. He moves with a grace unexpected for his bulk. Not a Master, perhaps, but I wouldn't relish facing him in a fight. Neatly dressed in khakis and a plain white shirt.
"Gentlemen." He nods at the two contenders, who now strive to look uninvolved. Then he walks up to me. "I'm Clark Savage Jr." He holds out his hand, which I shake automatically. "Welcome, Mr. Wayne, to the City of Gold."
END CHAPTER FIFTEEN
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Mayfair and Littlejohn return, having checked the camp. "All empty", the redheaded roughneck reports. "This is the lot of them. No sign of the boss, though."
"The man in charge and the woman who was his pilot went running off into the jungle," Dick explained. "No idea why. They were talking to me, a sentry came in, and poof." He makes the universal gesture for 'vanished'.
"Wish I spoke the local lingo." He uses the pole to pull himself upright.
Dick is standing now, but perhaps a bit dizzy. At any rate, he allows me to help him into the helicopter. There's not enough room for everyone, but Brooks assures me that he and 'Monk' will be fine until a second chopper arrives to pick them up. Normally I might argue. Leaving civilians in a combat area is seldom wise. There is always the risk that additional criminals might arrive. Less wise in the darkness of the city-less night. Too much risk that the villains they thought gone were simply hiding in the shadows. But I have Dick to consider and his medical care comes first. Besides, these particular civilians have proven they can take care of themselves.
Renwick assures me that those two will have no difficult containing the prisoners until the men can be turned over to the authorities. It's reassuring to learn that our 'rescuers' intend to deal with the law. The way things have been going, it would not surprise me to hear someone suggest finding another cat and serving lunch.
I help settle Dick into the back row, and take the seat beside him. His color is improving, but I'm still worried. I watch the ground recede below us. Difficult terrain, shear rock on three sides. Not difficult to control if you know the job. 'Monk' and 'Ham' will hold it until the authorities arrive. But as the chopper turns, I do think I catch another flash of purple.
^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)
Four of us in the chopper. The cabin is rather cramped - as even the best such machines are - but that is all to the good. It gives me an excuse to keep a hand as well as an eye on the boy. I trust his judgement in everything else, but when it comes to his own care? I've seen him take a bullet and keep fighting. He may think he's fine, but I won't be content until I have a doctors word on that was well.
One in the air, Dick seems to recover swiftly, and before long moves away to strap himself in his own seat. Not my ideal, but the correct procedure. I did insist that he always wear his seat belt.
Dinah's chopper catches up with us after about twenty minutes. I have a radio head-set and I turn it to their frequency.
"That you, Jones?"
"On track and following you." he answers, his voice solid despite the static. "How much farther? We're at half tank now."
Damn, I knew fuel would be a problem. The cabin is to noisy for conversation, but I shout at Renwick. "LONGER?"
He hand signs forty minutes, which I pass on to Jones.
"OK then, we can make it."
"How's Dinah?", I ask.
"Sleepy but not crashed." I can hear her in the background, so he's telling the truth. "I'm more worried about the Captain."
"We've been promised medical support when we arrive." Which we will get - one way or another . I still don't totally trust this Hidalgo bunch. Their behavior certainly indicates they are the 'good guys', but still.... I send a code to Oracle with the new names. Lets see what she can come up with....
^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)
Fifteen minutes more before Oracle is back in my ear.
"Bruce - I have those names."
I say nothing, but send her the signal to continue.
"Doctor William Harper Littlejohn. No connection to the British Harpers. PHD's in geology and anthropology, major expert on Mayan culture until the sixties. Some of his opinions on the Aztecs were a bit unpopular. He left UCLA to 'write a book'. Never was published, and no known income other then the Hidalgo Trading Company. They list him as a 'consultant'. Don't know what he does, but it pays pretty well."
"Doctor Andrew Blodgett Mayfair, aka Monk. Definite connection with the Salem Mayfair's. He's the black sheep of the family. Social news shows a real taste for bimbos until he moved to Hidalgo in 1962. Military service - made Lt. Col. before he mustered out. Somewhat lower rank then the others, but still? Quit to go to school. PHD from MIT, and another from Berkeley. Major industrial chemist, usually working as a consultant. Not cheap. One point of interest. WayneTech hired him for the Katchik Reclamation job. You weren't there, but Fox speaks highly of him."
"Brigadier General Theodore Marley Brooks, Juris Doctorate. Swiftest shark Harvard ever produced. His reputation is legend. Appointed to the Federal Bench in 1960, resigned in 1962 to 'spend more time with his family'. That could mean anything but the truth. The man is a orphan. No particular friends except Mayfair. Looks like a blue blood, fights like a snake. Seven homicides - all dropped as self defense. Watch out for the cane. He apparently carries a sword in it. Still licensed to practice law , but no known clients. Last case he took was for the Hidalgo Trading Company."
She pauses a moment. "All three are American citizens. All three are permanent residents of Hidalgo. Other then that - your guess is a good as mine."
I can't risk a reply. They don't appear to know of this link, and I see no reason to tell them. So I just tap off. Oracle will understand.
^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)
Sharp rock faces rise out of the jungle, reflecting the moonlight and the runner lights that otherwise vanish into the vegetable blackness. We thread through a narrow canyon, all but invisible even when known to be there. Thick, unbroken foliage, No warning of a city underneath. I assume Renwick knows his business as we start our drop through the leaves. It's a narrow passage, and he clips a few leaves, but he holds the bird steady.
I hope Jones really knows how to fly. With Dinah there would be no question, but this will be a tight landing for a civilian pilot with a larger craft.
I look out as the runners touch down.
We land just down from the main pyramid. This must be the high rent district.
Interesting place - like Chichen Itza after urban redevelopment. Helipad is a large courtyard surrounded by banana and cane. Looks like a basketball court for a shot putter.The central trees are in pots. Urban garden? More likely camouflage. Someone has gone to great effort to make this place invisible. On the border, ticked under more cane, flares the cool 'moonlight' glow of mercury vapor lamps. Quite enough to see by, although the silver tint washes out the color of the scene. Probably not enough to see seen from above unless you already had a satellite fix and new precisely what you were looking for.
Someone went to a lot of work on this place. I don't think it's just George Villa.
^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)
Brooks has radioed ahead, and the medics are waiting for us on the pad. I offer Dick a hand down, but he ignores it. His strength is back.
*Thwipp. Thwipp. Thwipp.* That will be the other chopper coming behind us. I take a quick look. Plenty of room for them to land, even with this crowd on the field. I head over to them as the rotors slow.
Canary steps out first. She's looking pale, but still standing.
"Miss? Can you swallow this?" A young kilt-clad man with a western-looking medics kit has angled past me to reach her. I step back. He seems to know his job. "Once we get you to the clinic you will be better quickly."
"The Captain...", Dinah waves toward the cabin behind her.
"We will help him." Despite his unorthodox garb, the young man speaks with the 'doctor' voice taught worldwide. "Right now, I want you to relax so I can take care of you."
I watch as the rest of his paramedic crew comes up. The Captain and his wife will be in good hands. I can go back to Dick.
He's sitting on one of the runners with a young lady kneeling in front of him holding his wrist. Another medic, according to the kit beside her. He's stripped off his shirt to accommodate the blood pressure cuff, and I can see a series of small burns down his back. Cigarette, to judge by the size and shape.
Mental note: When we catch the pirate boss, have a talk with the man. Privately.
The doctor smiles. "Your blood pressure seems to be holding, but..." I see him wince as she pulls off the cuff and carelessly scrapes one of the burns. She notices too. "You were hurt in the fight?"
"Pirates were lousy conversationalists." Dick turns to show his back."Seemed to take it personally when I didn't want to talk to them."
"Burns." The medic presses lightly on the flesh beside the sores, checking the damage. "Second degree at least. Nothing major at that size, but all skin breaks are dangerous in this climate." She paws through he bag, producing a small pump bottle. Zylocaine, likely, or some other topical anesthetic. "I want you in the clinic for at least 24 hours of hyperbaric, antibiotic dressings, and.......how's you tetanus shots? I'll give you another anyway."
Good medical advice, but I don't know these people,and until I trust them much more Dick isn't going anywhere without me. The thought must show, because General Renwick comes over .
He grins at the busy girl, who returns the smile. "My daughter,Mr. Wayne. Dr. Virginia Renwick."
She looks at her father, and her smile widens. "Don't worry, Mr. Wayne." She has a laugh in her voice. "I promise I'll give your son my very closest attention."
^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)
A noise behind me. While medics have been helping Allnut and Mrs. Captain, Jones has been strolling around like a tourist. No problem, I had considered, as long as he stayed out of the way. Wrong. Apparently there is a problem. At least for Littlejohn.
"Jones! You grave robber."
"Littlejohn, you verbose thief!"
Apparently the two men know each other.
"I should have assumed a brigand like you would be involved in this!" Littlejohn stomps hard enough to pop out his monocle.
And are not friends.
"What? Just pissed because I got a look at your private Disney-dig?" Jones is all but snarling. "Must be nice. A hell of a lot easier to get artifacts when you can order them up like a catalog."
"I never!" Littlejohn's bones are practically shaking from real rage. "You just refuse to give up your obtuse chauvinistic assumptions, you ill-taught ignoramus. My dissertations were all unimpeachable research, unlike your filmy adventure tales disguised as scholastic inquiry."
"Research!" Jones makes that sound like a dirty word. "Who did you ask? Your girlfriend."
"My *wife*! Whom at least I married, unlike your progression of bimbo's. The singular salutary circumstance to affirm about those dense dames is that they aren't moronic enough to persevere in you presence to any appreciable extent."
"Unlike your little princess? At least I don't get mine from their daddies!"
"Listen , you Aztec apologist."
"Not to you, you made-up Mayan spin-doctor!"
I am enjoying their free and frank exchange of ideas when, at an instant, the field falls silent. Everyone has turned to watch a single man as he enters the square. Impressive, I grant. Dark blond and heavily tanned. My height plus some inches, and fit beyond the normal human range. Evidently in his sixties, but a most athletic sixties. He moves with a grace unexpected for his bulk. Not a Master, perhaps, but I wouldn't relish facing him in a fight. Neatly dressed in khakis and a plain white shirt.
"Gentlemen." He nods at the two contenders, who now strive to look uninvolved. Then he walks up to me. "I'm Clark Savage Jr." He holds out his hand, which I shake automatically. "Welcome, Mr. Wayne, to the City of Gold."
END CHAPTER FIFTEEN