Warren Murphy: Bamboo Dragon

"Or the bloody crocs," said Chalmers, scowling as he lit up an unfiltered cigarette.

"We can't rule out a few stray crocodiles, of course," acknowledged Remo, "but the fact is, none are native to the area we'll be exploring."

"Is that right?" The big ex-soldier's tone was challenging.

"Afraid so, Mr. Chambers."

"Chalmers."

"Sorry, my mistake." He turned back toward Audrey, all smiles. "Crocodylus siamensis is the most common species in Southeast Asia, but its normal range cuts off about two hundred miles due north of here. Now, Crocodylus porosus is larger, a certified man-eater, but its typical habitat runs toward coastal waters—hence the popular nickname of 'saltwater crocodile.' It's possible that one might swim upstream along the Rompin, here—" he pointed to the map, his elbow nudging Audrey's thigh in the process "—but it's not too likely."

"Well, it's good to have an expert on the team," sneered Chalmers.

"We can all learn something, I imagine," Remo told him.

"If we're lucky," Stockwell interjected, "we'll have bigger specimens to deal with than a crocodile, in any case."

"Now, Safford…" Audrey's tone was almost chiding.

"Yes, I know," said Stockwell. "Mustn't get my hopes up. Even so, you won't mind if I keep my fingers crossed."

"You think it's really possible," Sibu Sandakan spoke up, "to find a prehistoric creature in the Tasek Bera?"

"Prehistoric specimens are not uncommon, if truth be told," said Stockwell. "Why, the lowly cockroach is a prime example, and the crocodiles described by Dr. Ward have survived, more or less unchanged, from Protosuchus in the late Triassic period, more than two hundred million years ago."

"Incredible!" The little Malay's eyes were sparkling with enthusiasm. "There is hope, then."

"For a startling find?" The expedition's leader glanced at Audrey Moreland, smiled, restraining his enthusiasm with an effort. "I believe that in a region like the Tasek Bera, anything is possible."

"We must be dazzling Dr. Ward," said Audrey.

"I can use a little dazzling from time to time," Remo replied.

"You've brought the necessary gear, I trust?" asked Dr. Stockwell.

"Hiking clothes, insect repellent, all that sort of thing," said Remo. "Back at my hotel, that is. I'll need a chance to pack."

"We all have work to do in that regard," said Stockwell. "I propose that we adjourn and meet again for breakfast, in the restaurant downstairs. Is 6:00 a.m. too early?"

"Not for me," said Remo, while the others shook their heads in unison.

"Till six o'clock, then."

Stockwell rose, a gesture of dismissal from the dean, and Remo made his way in the direction of the exit. He was only halfway there when Audrey Moreland overtook him and stopped him with a warm hand on his arm.

"I'm glad you've joined our little party, Dr. Ward."

"Please, call me Renton."

"Very well. I'm glad you're coming with us, Renton."

"So am I."

"I'll see you in the morning?"

"Bright and early," Remo said.

Her smile spoke volumes on the benefits of adolescent orthodontia.

"I'll be looking forward to it, Renton."

Remo rode the elevator down to give himself a change of pace, still wondering which one of them had tried to kill him in the marketplace and when the next attempt would come.

Chapter Five

"What did you think of him?"

"Of whom?" asked Audrey Moreland.

Safford Stockwell smiled indulgently. "Our Dr. Ward. He caught your fancy, didn't he?"

"Oh, Safford, don't be silly. Just professional interest."

They were still in Stockwell's suite—alone at last, but Stockwell didn't feel relaxed somehow. A part of that was natural anticipation and anxiety, he realized. They were embarking, almost at the crack of dawn, on what would either be the crowning highlight or the most embarrassing fiasco of his long career.

But there was something else on Stockwell's mind besides the hunt. A twinge of something the professor was reluctant to identify.

"It's not a problem if you like him, Audrey," Stockwell said.

"I've barely met the man, for heaven's sake." There was a hint of irritation in her tone now, recognizable at once to anyone who knew her moods.

"I'm simply saying—"

"What? What are you saying, Safford?"

And the question stopped him cold.

It was an article of faith at Georgetown, where they taught and frequently took meals together, that there must be something "going on" between himself and Audrey Moreland. Stockwell didn't circulate the rumors, but he didn't bust his hump to contradict them, either. If the rest of Georgetown's staff—composed primarily of men and women Stockwell's age or older—chose to think that he had won the heart of Audrey Moreland, who was he to run around the campus bursting their balloons?

In truth, he had been startled when the first such rumor came to his attention, overheard in passing. Surprise had quickly given way to irritation, but before he got around to setting anybody straight, Professor Stockwell—then a sprightly lad of fifty-six—had felt a new emotion horning in.

He had been flattered.

It was something at his age for men who knew him well—several of them younger men, at that—to think he had the looks, charm and stamina to woo and hold a thirty-something female with traffic stopping looks and a vivacious personality. The ego strokes were even more rewarding when he learned that many women staffers also took the story at face value.

They believed in him somehow.

He had been driven to a confrontation with his bathroom mirror, normally a prospect he avoided like the plague. The past few years, his mirror had become the enemy, a living Picture of Dorian Gray that emphasized the ravages of time up close and personal. The spreading rumors of his prowess as a Casanova forced him to look deeper, though, to see what others saw.

In fact, he never found it, but it didn't matter in the end. The lovely, ego-stroking rumors kept on circulating, pumping up his self-esteem, and while he never made a move on Audrey Moreland—pride was one thing, but courage another—Stockwell had begun to think of them as… well, a couple. There was nothing to it, and he took himself to task on more than one occasion, but it felt good just pretending and it did no harm.

Except when he felt pangs of jealousy.

That was the height of foolishness, he realized, and Stockwell had the common sense to keep those feelings secret, hidden from the world at large.

Until tonight.

"I'm sorry, Audrey." It wasn't an answer to her question, but he had no answer that would get him off the hook. "I didn't mean to come off sounding like your father."

"I'm a big girl, Safford." Telling him the obvious, as if he hadn't noticed, each and every day since they were introduced. "And I can take care of myself."

"Of course."

"It's sweet of you to worry, but I didn't fly halfway around the world to fall in love."

"That wasn't what I meant," he said, casting about to try to salvage something from the conversation. "I was curious to find out what you thought of Dr. Ward as an addition to our little family."

"Some family," she answered, and surprised him with her tone. "At least he's not like Chalmers. God, that man disgusts me with his swaggering and all that talk about the animals he's killed for fun."

"We need a man like Chalmers, Audrey. Just in case, you understand?"

"He's still a bully, Safford. And I hate the way he looks at me, like he was ordering a piece of meat."

"Has he done anything?"

The question slipped through Stockwell's teeth before he had a chance to catch it. What did he propose to do if Chalmers had made some improper overtures to Audrey? Challenge him to fight? The very notion was ridiculous.