Jungle Justice. Don Pendleton

believe so,” Takeri said. “His promotion came through merit, based on his arrests of poachers and their contacts in the export trade. Over the past three years, he has maintained an average of three arrests per week.”

      “How many were convicted?” Bolan asked.

      Takeri shrugged at that. “I’ve no idea. Is it important that we know?”

      “Where I come from,” Bolan replied, “it’s not unusual for crooked cops to make a lot of busywork arrests that go nowhere. They pick up prostitutes and small-time dealers, run them through the system to compile a quota of arrests and bag their commendations, while the courts dish out probation and small fines. Meanwhile, the cops draw paychecks from both sides, and business continues as usual.”

      “I see,” Takeri said. “Of course we have such officers in India, as well. But I do not think that Gupta stands among them.”

      “Based on what?”

      “His reputation. While I’ve told you his promotion came through merit, I should first have mentioned that it had been long delayed, apparently by his refusal to participate in—what is the expression? Office politics?”

      Bolan felt better. “Okay, then. What did he give you?”

      “Names and addresses of dealers known or thought to traffic in the sort of merchandise Naraka normally supplies. You understand that it is not all tiger pelts and ivory?”

      “I got the briefing,” Bolan said. “Weird mumbo-jumbo medicine.”

      “To you and I, of course,” Takeri answered. “But to millions in the East, such items are believed to be extremely potent—as their purchasers would hope to be. The so-called medicine concocted from these outlawed items has been used throughout Asia for several thousand years.”

      “And no one’s noticed that it isn’t working?” Bolan asked.

      “Perhaps it does work, Mr. Cooper, for selected devotees. In the Caribbean and parts of the United States, you have practitioners of voodoo, yes?”

      “That’s right.”

      “In Africa and parts of South America, cults practice human sacrifice this very day.”

      “I wouldn’t rule it out,” Bolan replied.

      “Belief,” Takeri said. “It has great power, even though skeptics deny it. When your faith healers perform on television, many people laugh, dismiss it as a fraud, and change the channel, yes? But millions more believe. And who’s to say that none is truly healed?”

      “All right,” Bolan said, “let’s assume that eating tiger organs makes some old man happy in the sack. I wasn’t sent to analyze folk medicine or magic. Let’s cut to the chase.”

      “I am attempting to explain,” Takeri said, “that some of those with whom Naraka deals are men of faith. They’ll never give him up. I have a list of six or seven names but have not pressed them, knowing it would be a waste of time.”

      “Who have you pressed?” Bolan asked.

      “I made inquiries with two dealers in Calcutta whom Captain Gupta identified as covert traffickers in tiger pelts and ivory. Posing as a potential buyer, I approached them and was courteously told that while such items sometimes come on offer from the hinterlands, it is illegal to purchase or sell them. The problem, I suspect, lies in the fact that I am native to the area, while nearly all the traffic in such items flows to foreign dealers.”

      “So, you struck out with the vendors,” Bolan said.

      “Correct.”

      “And underneath that courtesy, did either one of them smell like a murderer?”

      “In my assessment, no.”

      “We’re getting nowhere,” Bolan said.

      “I must confess some disappointment in my progress, to that point,” Takeri admitted. “But I did not grow discouraged. If the dealers would not speak to me, I thought, perhaps I could get through to someone else.”

      “Such as?”

      “Illicit trade of any kind requires protection. Captain Gupta let me have another name.”

      “I’m listening,” the Executioner replied.

      Takeri studied the American, impressed by his intensity, his bearing and the way he had performed during their skirmish with the assassins on the street. The man who called himself Matt Cooper seemed a worthy ally, and the CIA was paying for Takeri’s services—but it was still a risky business, as had recently been demonstrated by the rude attempt upon his life.

      “Girish Vyasa,” he replied after a moment’s hesitation. “He is a customs agent. As you know, cooperation from the Customs Service is essential to the foreign trade in contraband.”

      “Of course,” Bolan agreed.

      “Girish Vyasa is a man of certain appetites, the cost of which exceed his salary. Perhaps they also make him vulnerable to extortion. Who can say? In any case, Naraka pays him handsomely for letting certain shipments pass without detailed inspection. Others may be paying him, as well.”

      “Why is Vyasa still in business if your Captain Gupta knows all this?” Bolan asked.

      “It seems that Vyasa in turn is protected by men of influence in Calcutta and New Delhi. Corruption spreads. No government is perfectly immune.”

      Nodding, Bolan replied, “I take it you inquired about Vyasa in more detail?”

      “Certainly. And therein lies my fault, presumably. He is, as I’ve explained, protected—both officially and unofficially.”

      “Someone got wise and put the hunters on your trail.”

      “I must assume that is the case,” Takeri said. “If any negligence of mine has jeopardized your mission, I must now apologize.”

      “We couldn’t count on cover all the way,” Bolan replied. “I would’ve liked a better lead, but we can work with this.”

      Takeri frowned. “But if the hunters, as you put it, are aware of our intentions—”

      “Scratch that,” Bolan interrupted. “We’ll assume they’re onto you for asking questions, but they won’t know why, or who you’re working for. They don’t know me at all, beyond a glimpse tonight, and there’s no way they have a handle on my plans.”

      “Because?”

      “I haven’t made plans, yet.”

      Takeri’s frown deepened. “I draw no reassurance from that statement, Mr. Cooper.”

      Bolan shrugged. “Don’t sweat it. Coming in, I had no fix on the best way to reach Naraka. Now I’m warming up to it.”

      “You have a plan, in fact?”

      “It’s coming to me. First, I need to have a word with this Vyasa character.”

      “I say again, he is protected.”

      “Not from me.”

      The cutting edge of Bolan’s tone sent an unexpected chill rippling along Takeri’s spine.

      “You would approach him directly?”

      “That’s right.”

      “And if he’s being watched? Guarded?”

      “We’ll have to take that chance.”

      Takeri’s frown deepened. “When you say ‘we’—”

      “You’ll need to show me where Vyasa lives and point him out. Aside from that, I’ll need details of what your Captain Gupta has on him, what links him to Naraka. Dates, facts, figures. Anything at all to crack him open, make him feel cooperative.”