James Chase: Vulture Is a Patient Bird

His head throbbed and when he touched the side of his face, he felt encrusted blood. He was still dazed, but after resting a few minutes, his mind began to clear. His hand went to his shirt pocket and he found the compass gone. He struggled to his feet and went unsteadily over to where Gaye was lying. She now looked flushed and her forehead was covered with beads of sweat. She seemed to be either sleeping or unconscious. He looked at her right hand. It was no surprise to see the ring was missing.

He squatted down beside her and considered his position. He had possibly fifteen kilometres of jungle swamp ahead of him before he reached the boundary exit. He glanced towards the rucksacks and saw the rucksack containing the food was also missing. Without food or water, he couldn’t hope to last long. His watch told him it was i6.00 hrs. The Zulus had been searching for them now for nine hours. Had the rain washed out their tracks? If it hadn’t, he could expect the Zulus to appear any time now.

Had he been alone, he would have gone off at once in the hope of overtaking Fennel, but he couldn’t leave Gaye.

He looked down at her. Maybe Fennel had been right about her picking up a bug. She looked very ill and was obviously running a high temperature. As he watched her she slowly opened her eyes. It took her a few moments to get him into focus, then she frowned, moving as if in pain.

“You’re hurt,” she said huskily.

“It’s all right.” He took her hot hand in his. “Don’t worry about that.”

“He’s taken the compass and the ring.”

“I know. Take it easy. Don’t worry about anything.”

The sudden crashing of branches overhead startled them and both looked up. One of the vultures had dropped from the upper branch to a lower one and was stretching its mangy neck, peering down at them.

Getting to his feet, Garry picked up the blood-stained rock and heaved it up into the tree. The rock whistled by the vulture. It flew off with a great flapping of wings and rustling of leaves.

“It knows I am dying,” Gaye said, her voice breaking. “Garry! I’m so frightened.”

“You’re not dying! You’ve caught a bug of some sort. In a day or so, you’ll be fine.”

She looked at him, and his heart sank at the fear and hopelessness he saw in her eyes.

“There’s nothing you can do for me,” she said. “Leave me. You must think of yourself, Garry. It won’t be long for me. I don’t know what it is, but it’s as if something is creeping up inside me, killing me piecemeal. My feet are so cold, yet the rest of me burns.”

Garry felt her naked feet. They were ice cold.

“Of course I’m not leaving you. Are you thirsty?”

“No. I have no feeling in my throat.” She closed her eyes, shivering. “You must go, Garry. If they caught you…”

It dawned on him then that she could be dying. With her by his side, the attempt to get through the jungle wouldn’t have daunted him, but realizing he might have to do it alone sent a prickle of panic through him.

“Do you believe in God?” she asked.

“Sometimes.”

He hesitated.

“For both of us this is really the time to believe, isn’t it?”

“You’re going to be all right.”

“Isn’t it?”

“I guess so.”

There was a sudden disturbance in the tree above them as the vultures settled again.

She caught hold of his hand.

“You really mean you are going to stay with me?”

“Yes, darling. I’m staying.”

“Thank you, Garry, you’re sweet. I won’t keep you long.” She looked up at the vultures who were looking down at her. “Promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“You won’t be able to bury me. You can’t dig with your bare hands, darling, can you? Put me in the river, please. I don’t mind the crocodiles, but the vultures…”

“It’s not coming to that. You rest now. By tomorrow, you’ll be fine.”

“Promise, Garry.”

“All right, I promise, but…”

She interrupted him.

“You were right when you told me not to pin everything on money. If money hadn’t meant so much to me I wouldn’t be here now. Garry, have you a piece of paper and a pen? I want to make my will.”

“Now, look, Gaye, you’ve got to stop being morbid.”

She began to cry helplessly.

“Garry… please… you don’t know what an effort it is even to talk. I hurt so inside. Please let me make my will.”

He went to his rucksack and found a notebook and a biro.

“I must do it myself,” she said. “The manager of the Swiss bank knows my handwriting. Prop me up, Garry.”

As he raised her and supported her, she caught her breath in a sobbing moan of pain. It took her a long time to write the letter, but finally it was done.

“Everything I have, Garry darling, is for you. There’s over $100,000 in securities in my numbered account in Bern. Go and see Dr. Kirst. He’s the director there. Tell him what has happened… tell him everything and especially tell him about Kahlenberg’s museum. He’ll know what to do and keep you clear. Give him this will and he will arrange everything for you.”

“All right… you’re going to be all right, Gaye. Rest now,” and Garry kissed her.

Three hours later, as the sun, a red burning ball in the sky, sank behind the trees, Gaye drifted out of life into death. With the deadly scratch she hadn’t noticed, the Borgia ring claimed yet another victim.

Fennel had been walking fast now for the past two hours. From time to time, swamp land had made him take a wide detour, wasting time and energy. Once he had floundered up to his knees in stinking wet mud when the ground had given under his feet. He had had a desperate struggle to extricate himself: a struggle that left him exhausted.

The silence in the jungle, the loneliness and the heat all bothered him but he kept reassuring himself that he couldn’t now be far from the boundary exit and then his troubles would be over.

He kept thinking of the triumphant moment when he would walk into Shalik’s office and tell him he had the ring. If Shalik imagined he was going to get the ring for nine thousand dollars, he was in for a surprise. Fennel had already made up his mind he wouldn’t part with the ring unless Shalik paid him the full amount the other three and he would have shared… thirty-six thousand dollars. With any luck, in another four or five days, he would be back in London. He would collect the money and leave immediately for Nice. He was due a damn good vacation after this caper, he told himself. When he was tired of Nice, he would hire a yacht, find some bird and do a cruise along the Med., stopping in at the harbours along the coast for a meal and a look around: an ideal vacation and safe from Moroni.

He had now dismissed Gaye and Garry from his mind, never doubting he had seen the last of them. The stupid, stuck-up bitch had asked for trouble. No bird ever turned him down without regretting it. He wished Ken were with him. He frowned as he thought of the way Ken had died. With Ken, he would have felt much more sure of himself. Now, the sun was going down and the jungle was getting unpleasantly dark. He decided it was time to stop for the night. He hurried forward, looking for a clearing where he could get off the narrow track. After some searching, he found what he was looking for: a patch of coarse grass, clear of shrubs with a tree under which he could shelter if it rained.

He put down his rucksack and paused to wonder if he dare light a fire. He decided the risk was negligible and set about gathering sticks and kindling. When he had collected a large heap by the tree, he got the fire going, then sat down, his back resting against the tree. He was hungry and he opened the rucksack and took stock. There were three cans of stewed steak, two cans of beans and a can of steak pie. Nodding his satisfaction, he opened the can of steak pie. When he had finished the meal, he lit a cigarette, threw more sticks on the fire and relaxed.