The hunter sips his coffee as the door to the cockpit opens and the copilot enters. “Everything checks out on the checklist, skipper – it should be smooth fast ride to San Miguel running with the bay empty,” announces Jake.

“Thanks Jake, please take over and maintain course and speed; we’re going aft,” orders the pilot. Hunter rises from the left seat and nods at Jake as they pass. Jake takes the right seat and buckles in and puts on his headset and says, “I have the plane, skipper.”

“You have the plane,” acknowledges the pilot; he unbuckles and removes his headset. He rises out of the left seat and follows the hunter out of the cockpit and into the huge cargo bay of the large transport. The near windowless hold is dimly lit with small recessed spotlights on each side of the bay that run its entire length. The bay is empty except for a small container cube about 3 feet high, 3 feet wide, 4 feet long, and covered with a canvas tarp. The cube is chained to the cargo floor, each corner with lengths of chain that can be ratcheted to different lengths, to secure cargo of various sizes and proportions.  

The hunter stops before the covered cube and turns to his friend and says over the dull hum of the aircraft’s engines, “Before I show you the ape man, please remember I was provided a strict set of detailed instructions on how he is to be handled him once I captured him – none of this, none – was my idea.”   

“You actually have a man stuffed in that small container… cage?” asks the pilot.

“Like I said, the instructions were very detailed. My client provided the cage… he wanted him completely immobilized the entire duration of his trip,” replies the hunter as he stares at the dark  

canvas tarp that covers the cage. “When we spoke by satellite-cell, he even added on more handling instructions.”

“Who is this… client?” asks the pilot.

The hunter sighs and says, “Normally, I don’t divulge the identity of my clients, but the circumstances are unique in this case. You could easily find out on your own; you’re flying us to his island… San Miguel. A simple goggle search would provide the name of the owner: William Martin.”

“William Martin, the billionaire? He the one who bought this jungle man?” asks the pilot.

“The very one. His depravity is not common knowledge; he has a wife for show. Think she lives in Paris. You learn all kinds of things about people in my line of work.” smiles the hunter as he kneels down and unsnaps the clips that hold the tarp in place. He sighs as he lifts the canvas tarp off the cage and tosses it aside.

“Oh, my God!” exclaims the pilot, circling the container, trying to contain his shock at the sight of the naked, muscular young man, hooded and tightly restrained inside the cage.

“Jack, this is Tarzan. Tarzan, this is Jack,” says the hunter cynically.

“Wow… Tarzan screwed with the wrong guy!” says the pilot.

“He sure did. Like I said, none of this sick shit is my idea. It’s not my cup of tea, either. But, I couldn’t pass up the cash,” adds the hunter quickly. And shrugs.

“It’s just hard to take in all at once,” replies Jack, regaining his composure.

“He’s paying me one million dollars to bring Tarzan to him… plus expenses,” adds the hunter casually.

“One million dollars!” gulps the pilot, and takes another look at the bound man in the small cage.

The man in cage is a pathetic site. He is naked and compressed tightly on his knees; his stomach to his thighs. The cage aside, thick leather ankle-to-thigh restraints hold his ankles tightly against his long, muscled thighs, preventing him from standing. His notably fine arms are restrained behind his back, within thick leather neck-wrist restraints, attached to a leather collar wrapped and tightly buckled around his strong neck. Attached to collar is a short length of chain that is snapped onto a cage bar that holds the man’s head down close to the cage floor. The caged man has a bizarre hood over his head – the full hood is actually a mask with no eye holes, keeping the victim in the total darkness. The hood is a mask of a black gorilla; its features are distorted and exaggerated. The lips of the gorilla are thick, fat and stick out, and the gross lips are divided, revealing a large ball gag inserted in the man’s mouth preventing speech. The mask’s nose is wide and flat with two small air holes; the top and back of the hood has shoulder-length, jet-black kinky hair, which straggles down and covers the tanned shoulders of the jungle man. The jungle man has a wide black leather belt buckled around his waist. From the back of the belt there is a narrow leather strap that runs tightly between the jungle man’s buttocks and disappears.

“How long has he been like this?” asks the pilot, kneeling down for a closer look at the captured ape man.

“I drugged him nearly four days ago. He’s been restrained ever since. He’s had nothing to eat – only a minimal amount of water to keep him alive. Apparently, Mr. Martin wants Tarzan rather weak for their initial meeting,” explains the hunter.

“This is amazing. I thought I’d seen everything,” remarks the pilot as he continues to stare at the captive jungle man. “Is he sleeping?”

“I had the vet sedate him before I brought him on board… the instructions be dammed. Tarzan will be out for another two to three hours,” says the hunter as checks his watch.

“Well… I feel for the kid; he sure is in for a life of misery. Hey, but I’m not going to lose any sleep over it. Running around the jungle like that, guess it was only a matter of time before he pissed off the wrong person,” says the pilot. He rises and helps the hunter put the tarp back over the cage.

As the hunter refastens the clips that hold the tarp in place, he says casually, “I’m glad you feel that way, Jack. When I spoke to Mr. Martin, he mentioned another contract.”

“Another job—doing what?” asks the pilot.

“It sounds like weird Martin has new hobby: collecting jungle men…  and jungle boys. He mentioned another young savage he has located in southern Africa—known to the locals as Bomba, the Jungle Boy,” remarks the hunter.

“Bomba, the Jungle Boy?”

“Yes, Bomba. I’m told Bomba spends a lot of time helping out the local police commissioner, and he has an eye for the girls. That means he easily interacts with civilized people; therefore, he’ll not be as easy to catch as Tarzan was,” says the hunter, the wheels of his mind turning. “Additionally, his association with the local police will require a more elaborate drug and capture plan. I can’t just dart him and drag him away like I did Tarzan. Tarzan lived in the wild; Bomba does not. I need to lure Bomba away from the safety of the village and the police commissioner. I’d say a pretty young girl in distress could easily entice young Bomba to me. Yes, a pretty seductress with a couple of roofies, instead of a tranquilizer dart,” decides the hunter. 

 “Did he cross Mr. Martin, too?”

“No… I just think it’s just fascination. A younger version of Tarzan he wants to have his way with. Sounds like we might have to go into business together. We could score big, traveling Africa, scooping up jungle men and jungle boys for Martin, and then delivering them to San Miguel,” proposes the hunter. “What d’ya say?” 

“Poor Bomba… he’ll never see it coming. He’ll be in a cage wearing a hood before he knows what hit him… just like Tarzan here. Sure, count me in. Zach has two more years of college,” laughs the pilot. As if the destruction of other young men… meant nothing to him at all.

“Then, it’s settled. We’ll drop off Tarzan on San Miguel, and then set off to find and capture Bomba, the Jungle Boy,” says the hunter with a grin.

To be continued…