In Search of the Dove (27 page)

Jon Bequi suggested that they approach the compound during the afternoon. “They don’t expect anyone to come in broad daylight,” he pointed out. “My brother sometimes goes up there to sell them fresh fish. He had a good catch yesterday. We could ride in the back of the van.”

“Does Barahona have a checkpoint on the road to the sanitarium? Will his men want to have a look in the truck?” Michael asked.

Bequi shrugged. “The driver will slip them some money and tell them we’re in a hurry. To make the point, we’ll stow some rotten fish in the back.”

Michael and Holcroft exchanged glances. So they were going to be riding to Blackstone in a truck with rotten fish. Well, if that was the best way to get there, so be it.

But they planned an alternate way to get out. Two of the men would bring the
Star Fish
to Devil’s Point and wait off the coast for a signal if needed.

* * *

T
HERE WAS ONLY WEAK TEA
for breakfast and no lunch. Jessica huddled in her dark cell, wondering what was going to happen next. In the middle of the afternoon, three muscular female attendants came for her. Two pulled her up by the arms and led her out of the cell. The other stood by in case of trouble.

When she asked where she was being taken, rough hands simply shoved her down the hall. After that she kept her mouth shut and tried to stay calm. The first stop was a shower room where her clothing was summarily stripped off. Then she was thrust under a spray of water where her hair and body were washed. The attendants dried her with a large towel, rubbing her hair so vigorously that her scalp stung. It felt good to be clean. Yet the very impersonal way the women were treating her—almost as if she were an object, not a person—was disconcerting. What were they preparing her for? She didn’t want to examine the possibilities.

One of the women threw a long cotton robe over her shoulders, and she shrugged her arms into the sleeves, glad to cover her nakedness once more. Clutching the front closed, she was hustled barefoot down a flight of stairs to a hall with a vaulted stone ceiling. The guard who wasn’t gripping one of her arms knocked on a wide mahogany door.

“Enter,” a voice instructed.

Jessica was thrust inside to find herself facing Simone. The priestess was dressed in a simple white shift and turban. She pointed toward a wooden table similar to the one where Jed had been strapped down when he had been given the tricarbotane.

“No!” Jessica was powerless to hold the plea back.

“Quiet,” an attendant commanded.

Though Jessica put up a struggle, it wasn’t difficult for the muscular woman to strip off the robe and strap her naked to the table. Simone casually laid a piece of coarse linen across her middle, slipped it under her hips, and tied it at one side to make a sort of short sarong. Then she turned back to the attendants. “You may leave me now.”

“The doctor has asked me to wait outside the door,” the tallest of the three announced.

“That will be satisfactory. But this part of the ritual only I may witness.”

The three women withdrew, leaving Jessica alone with the priestess.

Simone eyed the almost-naked woman strapped to the table. She could see the terror in Jessica’s eyes and the tension in her body as she tested the bonds that held her arms and legs to the corners of the table.

“This is the only place in Blackstone besides Talifero’s bedroom that’s not on his closed-circuit system,” she whispered. “But I can believe the woman out there has her ear pressed to the door.”

Jessica closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again to study the face of the woman she had thought was her friend. “What are you going to do to me?” she asked, unable to keep her voice steady but wanting to know the worst.

“Prepare you—as I did your friend Jed an hour ago—for the voodoo ceremony. The two of you are to be sacrificed to the gods tonight.”

The casual way the words were uttered was numbing. So she was going to die here. What else was in store for her first? “After Lonnie’s had me?” she asked quietly.

“I’ve made sure he won’t touch you.”

“Thank you for that, at least.”

Simone sighed and moved very close to the table, observing her captive’s face. “Jessica, the
hungan
will be with me at the ceremony. He must read your terror, know that it is real.”

“What—what are you talking about?”

“I’m sorry, old friend. Sorry that you got yourself involved in this. It was your old psychic powers that pulled you in.”

Jessica nodded tightly.

“You had a lot of ability, even as a teenager. But what happened this time may be partly my fault.”

Jessica stared at her wide-eyed. “How?”

“I was focused on you when you came back. The connection between us may have helped awaken your buried powers.”

“Then please,” Jessica appealed. “Please just let me go.”

“You wouldn’t make it across the grounds. Now, stop talking to me or I will be forced to put a gag in your mouth. I’m sorry for what happened, but there’s nothing more I can do.”

The thought of another choking gag made Jessica’s stomach knot. She clamped her lips together. Last night Simone had come to her and pretended that she was trying to help her. Thank God she hadn’t grasped at that straw. At least she had told the priestess nothing. She could comfort herself with that.

It had been a long time since she’d thought of religion in any positive sense. Now she found a remembered psalm from her childhood running through her head. The words helped to soothe her a bit.

Moving to the shelves against the wall, Simone opened a jar of fragrant oil. She rubbed it on Jessica’s wrists and feet and the sides of her breasts, releasing a strong jasmine odor into the room.

Next she took a pot of red pigment and began stirring it with a small stick. Coming back to Jessica, she dipped a brush into the jar and drew a small circle around the pulse point at the base of her neck. A soft chant flowed from her lips as she worked.

Jessica closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. Her arms jerked at the bonds, but her struggle had no effect.

“Lie still,” Moonshadow commanded. “You’ll only hurt yourself.”

Intoning all the while, the priestess painted outward from her original circle, fashioning a chain of similar circles, which she filled in with black and white. Other designs were blue, green, and yellow.

Jessica could feel her heart thumping against her ribs. The sensation of the brush smoothing across her flesh and the priestess’s lulling singsong were not unpleasant, but the implications were. The design became more elaborate as the priestess worked, spreading up the captive’s neck, down her arms, and across her breasts, turning her white flesh into an exotic work of pagan art.

On her hands and fingers the strokes grew more delicate, like a fretwork of painted lace. The ritual itself was mesmerizing, almost blocking out the horror that was to be its culmination. Jessica’s eyes closed, her mind drifting. If only they were Michael’s fingers touching her, not Simone’s. She wanted to reach out to him, tell him what was happening to her. See him one last time. Let him know how much she loved him. The unspoken words burned in the back of her throat now, like unshed tears.

Where was he now? she wondered. Her mind reached outward, wanting, needing him. Abruptly she felt Simone’s hand on her shoulder, shaking her from her reverie.

“No!” the priestess commanded. “You must stay here. You belong to me now.”

Jessica’s eyes snapped open. “What are you doing to me?” she cried out.

“I’m doing what is necessary. It won’t be long before the ceremony now.”

There was a basket of small white orchids on the shelf. Moonshadow brought it down and began to stud the delicate flowers into the curls of Jessica’s hair.

When she finished, she stepped back to admire her handiwork. “You really do look quite lovely,” she murmured. “But I must go robe myself now. We will meet again very shortly.” Simone turned and left the room.

In the basement chamber, Jessica had lost all track of time. Now she could hear the sound of drums coming from the jungle. With great effort, she raised her head and looked down at her painted body and knew a fear that reached to the very depths of her soul.

* * *

J
ACKSON
T
ALIFERO
rarely attended the voodoo ceremonies, but when he paid the worshipers that honor, he occupied a special seat on a platform at the right of the altar where he had an excellent view of the proceedings. Tonight his guest, Feliks Gorlov, was sitting beside him. With the flickering torchlight, pulsing drums, and colorfully dressed participants, it was really quite a spectacular show, he thought. Not to mention the
hungan
prancing around in his feather costume waving his arms about like a great bird of prey as he exhorted the faithful. Tourists would probably pay premium prices to see something like this, but the ceremonies held behind the Blackstone Clinic were reserved for the true believers and a few privileged voyeurs. It was a mark of Talifero’s status on the island that the ritual was conducted on his property and that his presence and that of his guest was accepted. Any other white man who tried to sneak in would be treated to the same painful reception that Jed Prentiss had experienced. Too bad the American agent hadn’t broken, Blackstone’s director mused. But with the Dove deal shifting into gear and his own political aspirations, getting rid of the man was probably just as effective.

The crowd was large tonight, Talifero thought, looking around with satisfaction at the islanders who had assembled for the ceremony. True believers, he mused, or those who came because it was prudent to pay their respect to him.

At the edge of the clearing, the drummers provided a steady rhythmic beat. The tempo was still fairly slow, and the dancers were still in control of their gestures. But he knew from experience that soon the pace would quicken until the flow of the moving bodies became frantic. Some would fall out on the ground, victims of exhaustion. Incredibly, others would stay in frenzied motion for hours.

He spared a glance at Gorlov. Earlier in the evening the Russian had been jovial, almost boisterous. Now he was pale and wide-eyed, his body stiffly perched on the edge of his seat. Talifero couldn’t tell whether he was excited or frightened. Probably both. At any rate, he’d have an entertaining story to tell back in Moscow—if anybody believed him.

Gorlov fought to loosen the iron fist that gripped the pit of his stomach. Up until now he’d been enjoying Talifero’s rather extraordinary hospitality. Yet here in the darkened jungle with the drums and savages, he was suddenly aware of how powerful the man was. He had decreed ritual murder, and these people were enthusiastically carrying out his edict.

The
hungan
glided toward the center of the altar and turned his head, giving the honored guests a silhouette of his mask with its enormous bird’s beak. It was part of the threatening persona he chose to project. Talifero knew that Moonshadow preferred direct eye contact with her worshipers—and victims.

She was already at the ritual grounds, but she had decided not to appear during the early part of the proceedings. The doctor shifted slightly so that he could see the other side of the clearing where a paved road stopped about fifty yards from the edge of the altar. Prentiss and the girl would be coming in by van very shortly, and their trip to the ceremonial grounds was going to be strictly one-way.

* * *

T
HE VAN LURCHED
to a stop and Jessica shivered. Next to her, Jed pressed his shoulder against hers. It was all the comfort he could give her, and damned little, under the circumstances. If Michael Rome was coming to rescue them, it had better be soon. They had almost reached the end of the line. “I’m sorry I got you into this,” he whispered.

Jessica pressed back for just a moment. They were shackled together leg to leg and arm to arm. But fear, not the chains, made even the simple movement stiff.
Michael,
she thought.
Michael, where are you? Oh, God, Michael.

After the first shock of seeing Jed, she had tried not to look at his body. Like her he was almost naked and painted with a carefully symmetrical design. Simone had shaved the thick hair on his chest to make the application smoother. Only the orchids were missing.

There were more wardens than passengers in the van. One got up and threw open the doors at the back. The drums had been growing louder during the short trip from the clinic grounds into the jungle. Now, with the back open, the noise seemed to boom inside the vehicle, almost like a physical assault. Jessica shrank back, but strong arms seized her wrists and pulled her onto the pavement. Jed lurched along with her. In a moment they were standing with a semicircle of armed escorts around them.

Her legs were rubbery so she stumbled against Jed. She knew from her laboriously spelled-out conversation with him that they had been practically starving him to make him weak. Nevertheless, his body tensed, his gaze darting about the clearing, seeking an escape route.

Moonshadow was standing before them, flanked by two tall attendants dressed in linen loincloths. The dark skin of their bodies had been oiled so that it glistened in the light of the torches they held. Behind them was another shadowy figure, holding a bowl.

Though still garbed in white, the priestess had exchanged the simple shift for a long ceremonial robe gathered just under her high breasts. In the flickering light, Jessica could see that she had painted heavy black, almost Egyptian, lines over her lids and extending beyond the corners of her eyes. The space above them was filled in with a brilliant, iridescent jade. There was no resemblance between this woman and the friend of Jessica’s youth.

The priestess intoned an order, and the man with the bowl stepped into the small circle of light. Whatever was in the container smelled foul.

“You will drink this,” Moonshadow commanded her captives.

“Drink it yourself,” Jed spat out.

One of the wardens behind him grabbed his head. Another held his mouth open. As they poured the liquid down his throat, he gagged.