“It's a pleasure you could have had eight and a half days sooner as far as I'm concerned,” I told him.
“You led us a merry little chase,” he noted pleasantly. “There were times when I despaired of ever capturing you.”
“Come to think of it, how
did
you know we'd be where we were?” I asked.
“Most armies travel on their stomachs, Doctor Jones,” he said. “Let us say that a cannibalistic army is just a tad easier to trace than certain others might be.”
“Poor heathen must of backslid,” I said. “Sam promised me they were only going to practice it as a ritual.”
“Eating can be as ritualistic as most things,” noted Montenegro. “But here you are safe and sound in Beria, so why bother yourself with how you came to be here?”
“True enough,” I said. “But perhaps you might tell me why a man of the cloth who never meant no harm to nobody should have been held in durance vile for lo these many days?”
“My dear Doctor Jones,” he said, “we may be an old colonial power, but we are not yet senile. When we discovered that a block of two hundred thousand acres had changed hands we started piercing through the corporate veil and came up with your friend Colonel Carcosa. We discovered, in tracing back over his actions, that he had spent a considerable amount of time in your company, and began reconstructing what you two had been up to. It all fell into place after we had a little chat with a fellow countryman of yours, a circus owner who thought he was helping your cause and incriminating a gentleman with a Germanic name who is of no importance to this case.”
“Well, if you know all about it,” I replied, “then you know that we were flim-flammed ourselves, and that there ain't no such thing as an elephants’ graveyard. So that ought to let us off the hook, right?”
"Wrong!"
he thundered. “Doctor Jones, conspiracy with intent to defraud is every bit as much a criminal offense as fraud itself, and is punishable under very stringent laws, as your friend the former officer is currently finding out.”
“You mean you're going to lock me up for a deal that cost me and my partner a million shillings?” I demanded,
“We would prefer not to,” he said. “After all, you are an American citizen, and we don't wish to cause your government any distress or embarrassment.”
“Well, then, just let me go and we'll let bygones be bygones and I'll forget the whole thing ever happened,” I said magnanimously.
“It's not as easy as all that,” said Montenegro. “Your presence is no longer desired in Portuguese East Africa.”
“Never fear,” I said. “I'll just take my copy of the Good Book and such members of my Mangbetu flock as remain loyal to me in my hour of need and clear out lock, stock, and barrel.”
“I'm afraid that's out of the question,” he said, shaking his head slowly.
“What's the problem?” I said. “There's lots of other countries around that'd be proud to have a missionary preaching the Word to the poor uneducated heathen.”
“Doctor Jones,” he said slowly, “while you were our ... ah ... guest, we made certain inquiries of our neighboring nations concerning their reaction should we decide to expel you.”
“And?” I said.
“You are wanted in South Africa, Bechuanaland, and the Transvaal for selling fraudulent treasure maps. There is a warrant out for your arrest in Egypt for slave trading and certain illegal practices involving a mummy. You are wanted in Morocco and Algeria for grand larceny involving the theft of a diamond known as the Lion's Tooth.”
“But I didn't steal it!” I protested. “Hell, I didn't even know I
had
it!”
“Please don't interrupt. You are wanted in the Lado Enclave and Uganda for ivory poaching. You are wanted for removing certain national treasures in the form of precious stones from Nyasaland. The nation of Southwest Africa has issued a warrant for your arrest for killing whales without a license.”
“A series of misunderstandings, nothing more,” I said.
“Let me continue,” he said. “You are wanted in Kenya for operating a bawdy house. The Congo has issued a warrant for your arrest for possible complicity in the disappearance of a gentleman named Burley Rourke. The Sudan wishes to speak to you about slave trading and impersonating a British officer and war hero, and Tanganyika is after you for consorting with known criminals.” He paused and stared at me. “Frankly, Doctor Jones, I wonder where you find the energy to get through the day.”
“How about Rhodesia?” I said. “I ain't never been there.”
“Both Rhodesias have extradition treaties with all of the nations I have mentioned.”
“Then what are you going to do with me?” I asked.
“It is my opinion that the entire continent of Africa will be better off without your particular brand of salvation,” he said slowly. “Therefore, if you will agree to accept passage out of here tomorrow morning, I'll see to it that you are placed aboard a ship before any other African government can officially request that we detain you.”
“I don't see as to how I've got much of a choice,” I said. “As long as I've got to go, Brother Montenegro, how about getting me on a boat today so's I don't have to spend another night in jail?”
“Nothing would make me happier than getting you out of Beria today,” he said, “but the only passenger ship currently in port is
The Dying Quail
, and for reasons I can only guess at, they refuse to allow you aboard.”
So I spent my last night in Africa pretty much the same way I had spent some of my first ones.
My spirits were at an all-time low when they took me to the ship the next afternoon. I'd made three or four quick fortunes, only to be gulled out of them by sinful, godless men, and I had even had my beloved tabernacle ripped from my hands by a cruel and unfeeling Fate.
"Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?"
I muttered as I started climbing up the gangplank without a penny to my name and carrying no luggage except my well-worn copy of the Good Book.
I paused halfway between shore and ship and turned to take a last look at the Dark Continent. I'd met a lot of interesting folk there, and done most of them more good than they had done me. If it hadn't been for me and me alone, Herbie Miller and the Rodent would still be looking for jobs, and the Dutchman, Ali ben Ishak, Major Theodore Dobbins, Ishmael Bledsoe, and Luthor Christian would all still be hunting for spouses. Rosepetal Schultz would still be selling her dubious services in the back alleys of Cairo, Friday would be wearing a loincloth and living out in the bush, Lord Bloomstoke would still be hiding from his creditors, Capturing Clyde Calhoun would have lowered the world's gorilla population by half, and Mademoiselle Markoff wouldn't have seen the Glory and the Light.
All in all, I decided, it wasn't a bad four years’ work at that. I'd left my mark on a whole bunch of previously worthless lives, and I was still young and vigorous and with my whole life ahead of me.
“You can keep this damned hellhole, Von Horst!” I hollered into the wind. “I'm going off to strange new lands where a God-fearing Christian can still make an honest living!”
I climbed up the rest of the gangplank and was about to hunt up my cabin when my eyes fell on one of the passengers, a vision of loveliness who looked like a redheaded version of Rosepetal Schultz, and the human spirit, glorious and unquenchable thing that it is, began to soar within me once again, especially after I saw the size of the diamonds on her necklace. I stopped to introduce myself and offer her any form of spiritual comfort or uplifting that might appeal to her. She giggled and agreed to discuss the matter more fully over dinner, and by the time the voyage was over we had become fast friends. In fact, truth to tell, it was occasionally a race between us to see just which of us was the faster.
We landed in the far exotic Orient, where sinful and mysterious cities like Hong Kong and Macao and Singapore and Shanghai, all filled with godless men and women and dens of vice and rebel armies and the like, were just waiting for a handsome young buck like myself to come and bring the Word to them, a task to which I dedicated the next few years of my life with considerable success.
But that, of course, is another story.
THE END
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