Pattern for Panic (25 page)

I held my body motionless, my mind shocked. I told myself that this was only mental torture, a psychological technique to soften me up and make me talk; that Monique had told Villamantes of what I had done to her, and planted the idea in his brain that this was the way to make me break, turn back on me the treatment I had given her.

But I heard, or thought I heard, the soft, slithering sound of snakes crawling, gliding nearer me over the cold ground, feeling for the warmth of my body. I strained my ears, tried to peer motionless through the darkness, my eyes the only part of me that moved. I thought I heard that sound again and I couldn't stop the ripple of movement on my spine, tension growing in me until I wanted to shout.

And then I felt a touch, a faint, cold touch upon my skin.

I held my breath—and then I knew. I felt the touch again, felt the thing crawl upon my skin, the slow, ugly, sinuous movement of a snake that glided upon me. My mind seemed to freeze inside my skull, like the horror that had been behind Amador's dying eyes—then there was another ugly crawling thing upon my naked flesh, and then another and another as I bit my lips until I tasted blood. The blackness all around me writhed and boiled as cold seeped deeper into my bones. Cold, rancid sweat oozed from my body like poison, mingled with the touch of the snakes' bodies, became a slime mat covered my skin.

I could see again that vision from my dream, my nightmare, the great, ugly brain pulsing; and it seemed as if that vision roiled my brain, and that my own brain moved, pulsed, as that great snakelike brain had pulsed.

I lay for minutes or hours, my thoughts frozen, and then suddenly light flashed against my eyes, blinded me. I couldn't move or think. As if still in a nightmare I saw the light float closer, held in his hand, Villamantes' hand, and then my arms and legs were free and other hands dragged me to my feet and pulled me forward. My bare foot pressed against something that squirmed beneath it and I leaped toward the light, crying out.

In the big room, faces were a blur around me. Villamantes' lips were moving as he spoke softly to me: Buff, the girl. Or did I want his pets to crawl on me again? At first I couldn't understand what he was talking about. Then a little of the blankness in my mind dissolved, thoughts moving slowly.

“The girl?” I said. “Buff?” My voice was thin and weak. “You've found her?"

He seemed to be quiet for a long time. Then he said, easily, “Yes, Mr. Scott. We have found the girl. So there is no further need to worry. We found her where you left her."

“In Tlaxpacin? She's—is she all right?"

“Of course, Mr. Scott. We found her there in the home of—” He paused, waiting.

“Home?” I said. “No, the little hut near—” I stopped. The thought of Buff, of General Lopez, of writhing snakes, twisted together in my mind. I remembered General Lopez, remembered that he would soon be here, and truly believed it as I stared at Villamantes.

“Near what, Mr. Scott?” he said.

Finally the alarm rang in my brain, faintly, but enough. I held my tongue. He spoke again, questioned me; but I refused to say any more.

I saw him turn, speak, saw others leave me room. There was movement, but it had no significance. It didn't yet mean anything to me. Someone put a chair behind me and I sat down, and finally, after long minutes, I separated the blurs into recognizable figures. Monique and Villamantes were together. Others walked around the big room. The door to the place below where I had been was closed; near it on the floor I saw the ugly cage, snakes writhing behind the glass, two thin threads of venom still glistening on its inner side. Revulsion was my only emotion for a while; then slowly it was replaced by disbelief and wonder.

I had heard Villamantes slide the glass door up, release the snakes. And there could be no doubt that snakes had crawled upon me, on my stomach and thighs and throat. But these were still inside the box, not slithering in darkness down below.

Villamantes walked toward me. “How are you now, Mr. Scott? Do you like my pets?"

“The snakes,” I said. “I thought—"

“My pets are still below,” he said. “And they were real enough. But harmless things.” He turned, walked to the door and went down the steps. He came back in a moment with a black thing wriggling in his hand. “You see?” he said. Then he flipped his arm forward, threw the snake at me.

I yelled and jumped without thinking, sprawled from the chair and landed on my hands and knees, pain shooting through my left wrist and shoulder. Villamantes laughed gleefully as the snake wriggled away over the floor. I got to my feet as Villamantes stepped closer.

“You were very difficult,” he said. “I almost believed you were never going to tell us enough. But we are through with you now, Mr. Scott."

I knew what that meant. I had nothing else to tell him, so there wasn't any reason to keep me alive. I wondered if he'd kill me like the others, with the snakes—the rattlesnakes this time, the ones in the box on the floor. I thought again of General Lopez. At least there was a chance that he'd get here in time.

Villamantes was watching me. He said, “You know of course how we found you, don't you?"

I remembered the Plymouth, the truck. “I think so."

“It was the car, of course. When Monique and her driver failed to arrive with Emilio's reports, the logical deduction was not too difficult. I reasoned that whoever had upset my plans—you, as it turned out, and as I had reason to suspect—might be driving the car. It was, at least, a possibility I could not overlook."

He smiled. “But how did it happen that we found you near the service station in Tlaxpacin? There was much noise there, señor. The sounds of pumps, men shouting, asking and answering questions. Or so the General's maid told me when she phoned. Your General is not coming, Mr. Scott."

Chapter Nineteen

For a moment I wouldn't let myself believe him. Then I realized it must be true. And I understood, finally, that I had told Villamantes enough so he could easily find Buff. Now he knew every bit of it. And the maid had, after all, been one of Villamantes' plants—General Lopez would never even know I'd phoned him. The thread had been thin all day; I'd almost lost it before; finally it had broken. I felt washed out, empty. But in me a small hot core of anger fluttered, grew.

He said, “You were stupid even to oppose me, Mr. Scott. You should have known you had no chance from the beginning. We have organization, strength—"

I cut him off, swearing filthily at him, the anger bubbling inside me. I had killed men—even wanted to kill men—before, but that had always been in sudden passion, fighting, or when they had been trying to kill me. Now, though, simply standing here and looking at Villamantes, I wanted to kill him, murder him. I looked around. There were at least ten men in the big room, most of them armed. Even Villamantes had a gun under his coat. But he was several feet from me. On my left a man stood near the open door to Villamantes' office, a big automatic dangling in his hand. Near me, against the wall, the snakes moved silently behind their wall of glass.

I held my breath, my mind swinging slowly from one thought to the next. I knew I couldn't get out of here, much less completely away. But my mind was racing faster, grabbing at every hope. I was as good as dead already, so anything I might try, anything at all, was better than simply waiting to be killed.

I turned to Villamantes and started swearing at him again. I called him mad, insane, depraved. I called him a woman, a stupid man. And while I talked I put my hands in front of me, pain flickering through my sprained left arm and shoulder. I pressed my hands together, wincing as torn muscles pulled in my flesh. I'd have to chance it anyway.

I said, “Villamantes, you stinking sonofabitch, nobody but a completely crazy man would have stuck me down there with those snakes—"

“It was effective."

His face showed a growing anger. He hadn't seemed to mind before when I had sworn at him dully, but I'd pulled out all the stops this time.

“Yeah,” I said. “It worked, up to a point, but it backfired, too. I'm not afraid of them now. Not even the real ones.” I pointed at the box, three yards away on the floor. And I was lying in my teeth. But I kept it out of my voice. “Hell, you sonofabitch,” I said. “I'm a snake charmer from here on in. I eat the things. I bite off their heads.” I made the first step then, and every nerve in my body jumped and jangled. I stepped toward the box, and kept the words squirting out. “I can kiss the ugly things—"

That was at my second step and Villamantes woke up. He shouted something in Spanish and from the corner of my eye I saw him leaping toward me. I jumped forward, bent toward the box and got my right hand curled around its side, my left palm pressing the other corner as pain ripped up my arm. I squeezed my hands together, heard Villamantes shouting as he rushed toward me, and I whirled, swinging the box around with all my strength.

I heard a shot crack out somewhere in the room and then all I could see was Villamantes' contorted features a yard from me, and I kept spinning, shoved the box squarely at him, and heard him scream as it crashed, splintering, into his face.

I whirled, sprinted toward the man near the open door to Villamantes' office. He was staring past me, his mouth open, but in that instant he jumped backward, flipping up his gun. He fired once, the bullet burning across my hip, then I crashed into him, my right hand grabbing, fingers curling around the barrel of the automatic. I twisted the barrel away from him, drove my knee between his legs and jumped past him, clutching the gun, as two shots cracked in quick succession behind me.

The open door was right in front of me. I jumped through it, whirled around and started to slam the door with my gun-weighted fist. I caught a brief glimpse of the big room, snakes squirming on the floor and men running. But one of the flat-faced
indios
was looming in the doorway, empty hands reaching for me.

He crashed against me, spinning me around, and then his momentum carried him past me into the office. I shoved my shoulder against the door, slammed it shut and banged the bolt home as the
indio
leaped on my back. His arms whipped around my throat and I bent forward, trying to throw him over my head, but he grimly clung on. I fell to my knees, trying to protect my left arm, and the gun slipped from my fingers.

His legs wrapped around my waist, the arm cut into my neck, and spots started to whirl before my eyes as I strained forward toward the gun. My fingers touched it, slid along it. I got my hand around it, my finger on the trigger as a roaring grew in my skull. I pressed the gun flat against my side, its muzzle pointing toward the man behind me and pulled the trigger.

The gun boomed and he jerked violently. Slowly his arms relaxed; I heard him gasp, then heard the sound of his body hitting the floor. I struggled to my feet and looked down at him. He was alive, his hands pressed against his side, blood welling between his fingers. I jumped to the phone, jerked it from the receiver and let it clatter on the desk top while I dialed General Lopez' number. A weight crashed against the door. I put the phone to my ear, the automatic in my right hand. There was another bang at the door and I fired through the wood. Somebody yelled outside. The
indio'
s voice rattled in his throat. He coughed, moaned.

The phone buzzed in my ear. I was sweating. Then there was a voice. A man's voice.
"Bueno?"

It sounded like something from another world, that casual
"Bueno?"
I shouted, “General Lopez?"

"Sí. Aí,
my ear, it—"

“Shut up. This is Scott, Shell Scott. I'm at the Center, El Centre."

“The Center? What is—"

“Shut up Sand listen! I'm five kilometers past Tlaxpacin, dirt road to the right leads to the Center. Culebra is here. Villamantes.” There was another bang at the door; it moved inward perceptibly. I slammed a shot through it and the General chattered in my ear.

“For God's sake,” I yelled, “get out here. Bring a cannon, anything. Ten-foot wall around the place. Wooden gate. You hear me?"

“
Sí
, but—"

“Listen, it took me nearly an hour to get here. But coming fast you can make it in half that, even less. These bastards are gonna kill everybody—"

“But I must get help."

“Get anybody, but hurry."

His voice got brisk, businesslike. “
Sí,
I understand. I come."

I said, “General, there is a girl in Tlaxpacin. She's—General!” The line was dead. He hadn't heard what I'd started to say about Buff—but he could hardly have reached her soon enough, anyway. I jiggled the receiver. There was no sound from the phone; the line had been cut.

I wondered why there had been no further attempt to force the door. Then I remembered the snakes. A dozen or more deadly snakes were squirming around out there. The men would have to get them out of the way or killed before they could move around with any freedom. That would help. Every minute helped.

I checked the automatic, took out the magazine. Two cartridges in it, one in the barrel chamber. Three shots left. I went to the
indio.
He was dead. There wasn't any weapon on him, and there were none in the room. I saw the coiled-snake statue, slammed it against the wall and shattered the obscene thing into bits. Then I shoved the desk against the door and waited.

My watch was broken. This was the third time I'd looked at it, nervously, forgetting it was useless. I had to guess at the time that had passed since I'd phoned the General. Ten minutes. Maybe more. Villamantes knew I couldn't get out of here, and maybe he didn't think I'd phoned. At least he couldn't know. Another minute went by; I could hear noise out in the big room, sporadic gunshots, occasional shouts and rapid Spanish. The inside of my right arm was stinging, and I found the spot where one of those bullets, fired at me as I ran for the office, must have sliced along my biceps. I hadn't felt it then.