Clive Cussler - Devil's Gate

“Constrictor,” Kurt said, thinking aloud. “A twenty-two-foot, two-hundred-seventy-pound snake. Perfect.”

“You’re not going to—”

Before Ion could finish his sentence, Kurt had flipped the latch on the door, swung Ion in front of the opening and shoved him backward. He splashed down in the snake’s water pit.

Kurt opened the collar, pulled it over Ion’s head, and withdrew it. Joe slammed the door and pinned the latch.

“This thing’s handy,” Kurt said, looking at the stick collar and putting it down.

Ion got to his feet and looked around. Incredibly, the snake had already begun to move. Just its head and neck, sniffing around, nothing aggressive so far, but it seemed interested.

“I’ve been to a couple zoos,” Kurt said. “Honestly, never even seen one of these things move before.”

“Yeah,” Joe said. “The pythons in zoos are fed all the time, and they get so fat and overweight that they don’t do much of anything. But see how thin this one is.”

Joe pointed. The snake didn’t exactly look thin to Kurt, but he played along.

“He does look a little skinny,” Kurt said.

“Probably been starved for months,” Joe said.

By now Ion had moved toward the door.

“Why would they starve him?” Kurt asked.

“The owners of these places sell to rich collectors who want to see the snakes in action, crushing something and eating it,” Joe said. “So they keep ’em hungry until a buyer comes around. That what the rats are for.”

Kurt had no idea if Joe was serious or just making this stuff up, but it was a good shtick.

The snake was cooperating too, sliding down from the ledges near the back of the enclosure and beginning to stretch out.

Ion came up to the door. “Let me out of here, Austin.”

Kurt ignored him, instead looking at some type of poster describing the python. He looked at Joe. “It says here these things can eat a goat.”

“Oh yeah, sure,” Joe said.

Kurt looked into the enclosure. “He’s not much bigger than a goat. I wonder if it can get him down.”

“I don’t know,” Joe said. “He’s got a big head.”

Kurt turned. “He does have a big melon. Bet his neck gets tired holding it up.”

Ion went to speak and then froze. The snake had moved up behind him, its tongue had flicked out and grazed his thigh.

Kurt wondered if it would bite him first or just start coiling around him. Before it did either, Kurt decided to give Ion another shot at freedom.

“You want to tell me about Andras?” he asked, the joking nature of his voice long gone.

“I can’t,” Ion whispered.

“Once that snake wraps around you, there’s nothing I can do but leave and try to shut the door behind me,” Kurt said, “so you’d better talk quick before it’s too late.”

Ion was pressed against the plastic door. He seemed as if he was barely breathing. The snake slithered past his legs and began to curve back around.

“Can it sense him?” Kurt asked Joe.

“Oh yeah. That tongue senses heat.”

The snake began to coil up as if it would strike.

Ion sensed it; he was shaking but he didn’t speak. Then the snake lunged, knocking him down, and wrapping around him.

Kurt hadn’t actually expected it to happen.

Ion screamed and struggled. Both moves were a big mistake because they expended air, and as soon as his chest cavity shrank a smidgen, the constrictor tightened.

“Austin,” he managed, freeing one arm and grabbing at the snake’s neck. “Austin…”

Ion could speak no more, and obviously he could say nothing if he was dead. Kurt opened the door and sprang into action. He looped the stick collar over the snake’s head and tightened it. Moving to get leverage, he forced the snake’s head and neck up and away from Ion.

Kurt pushed with all his might. He found it hard to believe how strong the snake was. It fought him and twisted and flipped, even with Ion still in its coil.

“Joe,” Kurt shouted. “A little zookeeper help please?”

Joe was already there. He’d dropped down beside Ion and grabbed the snake’s midsection, pulling with all his might. He arched his back and managed to create a small amount of space in its tight coil.

Thin, wet, and desperate to live, Ion squirmed free, crawled out of the pen, and collapsed on the floor.

Joe followed right behind him, and Kurt released the snake and slammed the door shut. He immediately placed the stick collar over Ion’s head again. The man didn’t even resist.

“Where can I find Andras?” Kurt asked.

Ion turned his eyes toward Kurt, his face drawn, his look that of a beaten man.

“I haven’t seen him in over a year,” Ion said.

“Bull,” Kurt said. “You were his go-to guy for work. We all know that.”

“He doesn’t need work anymore,” Ion said. “He has a permanent gig now. He hasn’t looked for action in two years.”

“And yet you saw him a year ago,” Kurt said, tightening the collar again. “Get your story straight.”

“I did see him a year ago,” Ion admitted. “But he wasn’t looking for a job. He was hiring.”

“Hiring?”

“He needed men,” Ion said. “He needed some guys who knew demolitions and ships. More than he could round up on his own.”

Kurt thought about that, thought about the pirate attack on the Kinjara Maru and Dirk Pitt’s information about the mercenary group that had loaded the superconducting material on board in Freetown. It certainly sounded like Andras had built a small army. But why?

“How do you contact him?” Kurt asked.

“By e-mail,” Ion said. “You want to go beat up a server in some office tower somewhere?”

One of the problems with the modern world: people could send and receive information anywhere at any time. The days of the dark meeting and the dead drop had passed, for the most part.

Kurt looked down at Ion. He was still holding back, Kurt was sure of it. “You know something you’re not telling me,” Kurt said. “Otherwise, you would have told me all this without the hassle.”

Ion didn’t respond.

“Joe,” Kurt said. “If you please, it’s feeding time again.”

Joe unlatched the door to the snake pen one more time. Kurt began to drag Ion over there.

“Wait… Wait,” he said.

“Talk to me,” Kurt said, “or talk to the snake.”

“He lives at sea,” Ion said. “Andras lives on the sea. He doesn’t have a home. He goes from place to place on a ship. That’s why no one can find him. That’s why he can get in and out of almost any country even though he has no citizenship or passport and is wanted everywhere. He comes ashore as part of the crew or even with the cargo.”

Now it made sense. Every time the CIA, FBI, or Interpol got a lead on Andras, he seemed to vanish into thin air like a ghost, only to pop up somewhere else a month later. It was like an international game of Whack-A-Mole. But no one had been able to figure out how he did it. Turned out he was like an evil version of Juan Cabrillo.

“What’s the name of this ship?” Kurt asked.

“It could be any ship,” Ion said.

Kurt pushed him toward the door.

“I swear,” Ion said. “Do you think he would tell me?”

Kurt relaxed. He had a better idea. “When was he last in Singapore?” he asked. “The exact dates.”

“The last I saw him was February fourth,” Ion said. “I know because it was the day after Chinese New Year, a holiday here.”

Kurt sensed that Ion was telling the truth. He glanced at Joe, who closed the door of the snake enclosure tight. The python had retreated to the back of the enclosure and coiled itself up defensively anyway.

Kurt released Ion and stood over him. “We’re leaving,” he said. “Don’t even think about warning Andras. If you do, he’ll know you ratted on him. And you’re right. He’ll do far worse than feed you to the snakes.”