Emerald Death by Bill Craig Page B

Padre?”
                McKenzie stared into the darkening jungle as if lost in thought.  “So far they have left the Mission alone, but even I have no idea how long that will last.”
                “Maybe you should consider arming your flock. I know a fellow who could get you a good deal on some Springfield rifles.  Old war surplus.”
    “I can’t do that, Captain.” McKenzie offered a look of earnest remorse at refusing the offer.
    “The Force Publique would never permit native laborers to form a militia.  We'd be in more danger from the authorities than the pirates.”
    Morgan laid one finger alongside his nose.  “What they don't know....”
    McKenzie chuckled. “It’s a matter of principle,” he replied softly. 
                “Guess then you are doin’ what you gotta do, Padre.” Morgan knew he was right, and knew that McKenzie knew it to.
     
    Principle, he thought, taking a pipe and pouch from his back pocket.  He dipped the bowl of the pipe into the tobacco, tamped it and lit it with a wooden match.  Damned foolishness is what it is. 
                “Dad!” a voice called out from shore, snatching the captain's attention.
                “Bridget?” McKenzie called back.
    Morgan squinted his eyes; he still couldn’t make out the source of the female voice, the jungle and the river could certainly make things tricky, but there was no doubt concerning the identity of the speaker.
                “Over here,” the voice called again, and this time Morgan saw a flash of light.  The small flicker of flame from a cigarette lighter caught his attention.  He pointed towards it, letting McKenzie follow his finger.
                “Thank God,” McKenzie gasped.
                Coming from him, the invocation seemed to carry a lot more weight.
                                                   
     

Chapter Ten
     
    Mike Hannigan had a small fire going by the time Morgan and McKenzie reached the shore.  The fire had helped guide them in to the bank.  McKenzie looked relieved as he stepped ashore and folded Bridget into his arms.  Hannigan felt a slight twinge of jealousy as he watched their reunion; he was Bridget’s protector now.  But McKenzie was her father and a priest to boot.
     
    A smile crept across his face as he remembered the past couple of hours in the jungle as he and Bridget had become much more intimately acquainted. Not in a biblical sense, but a lot of time spent necking. It had been paradise, the whole world forgotten except for the two of them. Then Bridget had heard the riverboat’s engine approaching.  Worried that it might be some of the infamous river pirates that plagued the Congo region, they had slipped to the riverbank to check it out.  Then Bridget had recognized the boat that routinely carried supplies to the Mission.
                McKenzie’s concerned look snapped Hannigan back to the present. The priest’s eyes were narrowed and appraising.  Hannigan rose to his full height to greet the Priest on equal footing.
                McKenzie stopped in front of him. “Bridget says you’ve saved her life a couple of times now.”
                “She’s saved mine too,” Hannigan answered with a shrug.
                McKenzie was unimpressed.  “I misjudged you, Mr. Hannigan.  I had hoped that given the choice, you would choose the righteous path, leading my daughter away from these dangerous men, instead of drawing her into their company.”
                “I saved her from those Nazis.”
                “I’m not talking about the Germans.  I’m talking about the Italian and your mercenary friend.  This ends now.  I will not permit Bridget to take you men up river.” McKenzie’s voice was unequivocal.
                “Isn’t that her choice to make?”