Rick Brant - The Flaming Mountain Part 8

"Can you see?" Rick whispered.

"Fine," Scotty whispered back.

They sat in the jeep, waiting. Rick kept the motor idling, knowing that the sound would be inaudible a short distance away.

The troops reached the point the boys had selected. It was a big papaya about fifty feet beyond the dynamite. Scotty pushed the plunger. The dynamite exploded.

Rick raced the motor, then shifted into gear. Scotty cut the wires loose with one flick of his knife and Rick lurched onto the road and fled toward the hotel as fast as he could accelerate.

Through the rear-view mirror he could see the troops scatter and knew they had slowed things down for a few minutes at least. The last view he had was of one man, evidently an officer, trying to rally the troops again.

Rick rounded the turn leading to the hotel grounds and saw that the scientists were waiting in the jeeps, ready to roll. He slowed long enough to yell, "Let's go," then led the way down the road to the front of the hotel and into Calor.

The next problem was to find a place to stay. Honorario advised staying away from the big hotels on the beach and suggested a smaller but quite comfortable hostelry on the outskirts of town. Rick was pleased to see that it was located right on the water, at the point where the long San Luz beach began. But he doubted there would be time for swimming.

The Hotel Internationale was comfortable, and more than adequate. The scientists congratulated each other on being able to get rooms. Fortunately, as the manager explained, it was not yet full turista time. If they were prepared to double up, two to a room, he could accommodate them.

Rick and Scotty drew a room on the second floor. The bath was down the hall, but they didn't mind that. Hartson Brant and Hobart Zircon shared the largest room, and there was a large porch that could be used as a meeting place.

The hotel also had a bas.e.m.e.nt room that the manager was glad to turn over for the equipment-at a slight fee, naturally. But he boggled when the boys appeared with cases of dynamite on their shoulder.

"Leave it to me," Honorario suggested. "I will find a place that will be safe."

Rick was glad to leave it to Honorario. He was anxious to get in touch with Montoya, to explain what had happened. The police station was not far away. He and Scotty hiked over and found the young captain alone in his office.

Montoya listened to their story, and his face became stern. "There are two possibilities," he said finally. "Either Guevara is mounting a big revolution, or he is interested only in the diamonds. If it is the diamonds, then he probably will keep the troops near the mountain, and the city may not be bothered at all."

"How can we find out?" Rick asked. "Except by waiting to see if troops show up here."

Montoya stared through the window at the tiny harbor of Calor. The boys waited while he thought it over.

Finally the captain swiveled around and faced them. "We can find out, if you will take a chance. I do not think it is much of a chance, really, but it may be. Let us think of things from Guevara's point of view. He knows that you know of these diamonds. He also knows, because he is intelligent, that you surely realize the danger of talking about them. So, what would he do with you if he caught you? Perhaps detain you for a while, but no more. He knows that harm to foreigners would bring down trouble he could not handle. We would have Venezuela, Colombia, Great Britain, and the United States in here. The first three might bring in troops on the pretext of restoring order, but actually to back up their claims to the island. The United States would bring great pressure on all three to do something."

"It makes sense," Rick agreed. "So you don't think we're in any great danger from Guevara?"

"No. If you had been at the hotel, he would have kept you there, I think. But you were not, so we must see if he is prepared to follow you. My own opinion is that he wants to be let alone to mine diamonds, while he has time. It does not take an invasion of Calor to do this."

"What do you want us to do?" Scotty asked.

"Simply take a ride to the hotel, or as far as you can go. See what the situation really is. If I, or my men, should try this it would surely mean shooting. But you are extranjeros,-foreigners. You can get away with it."

"You hope," Rick said.

Montoya's teeth flashed in the first smile they had seen on his face. "Indeed," he agreed. "I hope."

CHAPTER XIV.

NIGHT PATROL.

THE jeep rolled out of Calor on the highway back to the Hot Springs Hotel. Scotty drove, while Rick relaxed in the seat beside him. They had taken time for a sandwich and coffee, because they were not sure when they might eat again.

Hartson Brant and the scientists were at work on detailed a.n.a.lysis of the day's shots. It would take some time. When Rick told his father about the conversation with Captain Montoya, the scientist had nodded agreement. "It sounds like good sense, especially since there has been no sign of an invasion of the city. The troops could have been here before this. Go ahead, but be cautious. Always leave your escape route open."

It was good advice, and the boys intended to take it.

Scotty drove in silence for a few minutes, then said, "We're nearly at the fork in the road. Keep an eye open."

"Will do," Rick a.s.sured him. The left fork was the main, paved road to San Souci. The right fork led up to the hotel.

Scotty reached the fork and slowed.

"There!" Rick pointed.

Twenty yards up the right fork there was a barricade fence, newly made of small logs. Lounging against the fence were a half dozen soldiers.

"We could go left to San Souci, but not to the hotel," Rick said. "Now what?"

"Hold on and be ready for a quick take-off," Scotty muttered. He turned the jeep into the left fork, then shifted and backed around and up the right fork to where the soldiers waited.

One soldier, with sergeant's stripes on his sleeve, sauntered over to them. He carried a rifle, but Rick noted that he didn't hold it at the ready. The boy called, "Do you speak English, sergeant?"

"Leetle beet," the soldier replied. He smiled cordially. "What you weesh, senores?"

"Can we get to the hotel?" Scotty asked.

"No can, senor."

"Why not?" Rick asked.

"Ees ... how you say? ... big talk at hotel. Ees el gobernador y ... and ... el comandante Guevara. Also more mens. No one goes to hotel long time. Maybe when talk feenish."

"The governor and lieutenant governor are having a big conference at the hotel?" Rick asked incredulously.

"Ees so, senor."

"How long will this conference last?" Scotty asked.

The sergeant shrugged. "Quien sdbe? Maybe two day, maybe two semana . , . how you say? ...

"Weeks," Rick supplied. "What are they talking about?"

"Ees ... how you say? ... seguridad national. Thees ees what el comandante speaks to us."

Rick glanced at Scotty. "National security conference. Those can last a long time." He looked at the sergeant again. "We could go to San Souci, and from there to the hotel, maybe."

"Pero no, senor. That way also ees guard. Ees no way get to hotel. More good you not try, eh? Sol-dados at hotel, they maybe shoots."

"Now we know," Scotty said. "Nothing more to be gained here."

"Did you see the governor?" Rick asked.

"No, senor. But I saw el comandante Guevara. But eef he ees here, also el gobernador. Como no?"

"I guess so," Rick agreed. "Mil gracias, sergeant. Vaya con Dios. A thousand thanks. Go with G.o.d."

"Y ustedes," the sergeant returned politely. "And you, senores."

Scotty let the clutch out and the jeep moved ahead. "Now to call on Captain Montoya," he said. "Right?"

"Right," Rick agreed. "Interesting. Guevara tells the troops he and the governor are having a security conference and should not be interrupted. So guards are posted to protect the hotel. And none of the poor soldados realize that blocking the roads also keeps people away from the volcanic pipe, so Guevara and Connel can start work."

"With Guevara's own men to do the dirty work," Scotty added.

"Too true. Maybe they even have soldiers on the job. I know what else the soldiers are guarding, too. Probably without knowing it."

Scotty turned to look at him. "You thinking the same thing I am?"

"Yep. Somewhere behind that guarded perimeter is the governor. And until we get him out, we're helpless."

"Then," Scotty announced, "we'll just have to get him out."

The jeep almost flew down the road to Calor. Scotty wheeled it through the narrow streets and drew up at the police station. In a moment they were reporting to Captain Montoya.

The young officer listened, then smacked a fist into his palm. "Bueno! This is good, amigos. We will let Guevara and your Connel have the diamonds, eh? They can use the entire army to guard the mine, if they wish. I hope they do. That means we have the rest of the island in which to maneuver. I have already sent one of my most trusted men to approach the diamond pipe from the north, through Redondo. That way we will know the exact limits."

"But they've got the army," Rick objected. "Where does that leave us?"

"Free to operate in other ways," Montoya said. "The army is occupied, no? Let them stay that way."

His keen eyes examined the two critically. Rick felt a little uncomfortable at the penetrating stare. Then Montoya smiled. "I do not know you," he said flatly. "But I have certain evidence of the kind of young men you are. First, you came to this island. Why? On a mission of mercy, in answer to my uncle's call. It was unselfish, and it was also dangerous. Then, tonight, you took the chance of finding the roadblock. Also, though this may surprise you, we have heard something of the Spindrift Scientific Foundation even here on this island."

Rick was surprised. He knew the Foundation had an international reputation, but he had thought it was limited to scientists.

"So, I have some basis for what I now ask of you," Montoya added. "There is no time to collect those of my men who are completely loyal. It is because they are scattered, searching for some trace of my uncle. I do not wish to take time to wait until they report in."

"What do you want us to do?" Scotty asked.

"It is simple, and not so simple. A large party cannot invade the perimeter Guevara has established, but a very few can perhaps do it. We will be that few. We will go to Casa Guevara. And, if we are lucky, we will rescue my uncle. What do you say?"

The boys exchanged glances. Rick spoke for both of them. "We're with you."

Montoya didn't have to reply. His warm handshake said everything there was to say.

Scotty spoke up. "I've had some experience in nighttime operations. We will need dark clothes, and something to blacken our faces. We will need weapons. Not guns. If we get into a shooting sc.r.a.pe it will bring the whole army down on us."

"I agree." Montoya opened his desk drawer and drew out a policeman's night stick. He handed it to Scotty. "How about this?"

Scotty hefted it, grinned, and handed it to Rick. It was heavy, and perfectly balanced. Rick guessed it had been drilled and the end filled with lead. "One good thing about this," he said. "No moving parts to get out of order."

Montoya smiled. "True. We will each have one, and I will take my pistol as a last resort. Let us look at the map and memorize it. We will have to go through the jungle to reach the house, and it would be disastrous to lose our way."

"Get a compa.s.s," Scotty requested. "We can set a compa.s.s course and hit it right on the nose."

Rick looked at his pal. "Marine training?"

"Nope." Scotty grinned. "Boy Scout. But it will come in handy. I think I could take you there anyway, but we'd better have a compa.s.s to be sure."

The three bent over the map and worked out the approach to Casa Guevara. For one thing, they agreed to approach as close as possible by jeep. If they found the governor, transportation would be needed. He could not be as fast on foot as might be necessary, because of his age. Besides, they had no idea of his present physical condition.

It was dark when they rolled out of Calor, Rick driving. All three were dressed in dark clothes, and each had a night stick in his belt. Montoya's pistol was hidden in a shoulder holster.

At the officer's direction, they turned toward the airport, pa.s.sed it, and headed toward the lighthouse at the extreme southern tip of the island. The road led past the light and along the southern sh.o.r.e, a hundred yards from the sea. Then, as they reached their first turning point, Montoya said, "Slowly. It should be about here."

After a moment he found it, a pair of ruts through the rolling farm land. Rick knew from his study of the map that it was a road on which bananas were hauled from the plantations. It cut across to the main road to San Souci. By taking this route, they would miss the check point near the hotel.

The road was b.u.mpy but pa.s.sable. Rick kept a steady speed in spite of the jouncing it gave his pa.s.sengers. They could take it.

Presently there was blacktop ahead. They had reached the road to San Souci. Rick pulled a flashlight from his pocket and pointed it at the odometer, counting off the tenths of a mile as he headed toward the town. When he reached seven-tenths he stopped the jeep.

"Turnoff point," he said. "From now on, we steer our way through the boondocks. Any preferred way, Captain?"

Montoya shrugged. "There is no road, or even a path. Do what you can."

"Okay. Scotty, make sure we head due north."

"Check. Make a 90-degree turn and keep going. I'll correct you."

Rick had only one real concern, and that was that the jeep lights might be visible from the higher elevation of Casa Guevara. But it had to be risked. He thought there wasn't really much of a chance, because the thick foliage would screen them. Besides, anyone seeing the lights might a.s.sume it was soldiers making their rounds.

The ground was carpeted with fallen vegetation, but it was the dry season and the earth under the leaves was firm enough. There was little danger of the jeep bogging down, especially in four-wheel drive.

Rick picked his way through the jungle, keeping to clear spots as much as he could. Once it was necessary to b.u.t.t down a huge banana plant before he could continue, but mostly it was a matter of plowing through scrub. Sometimes a palmetto leaf whipped across his face, and once a th.o.r.n.y bush caught painfully and drew blood.

Scotty navigated, keeping track of their direction. Now and then he spoke. "More to the right when you can. We're about a hundred yards to the left of our base line." Then, "Straighten out. We're on course again."

After what seemed to Rick an eternity of plowing through the heavy growth, Scotty said quietly, "Pick a place to turn around, then kill the lights and motor."

Rick reached a place where there was room, swung the wheels hard, backed around, and put the jeep in its own tracks facing the other way. He turned off the lights and cut the motor switch. The silence and darkness flooded in.

"Just sit still until our eyes adjust," Scotty said, very quietly. "If I've figured right, we're about a hundred yards from the dirt road, just about in front of the Guevara driveway. We'd better walk the rest of the way, in case of guards."