The Flaming Mountain: A Rick Brant Science-Adventure Story

by Harold L. Goodwin

  CHAPTER VII

  Casa Guevara

  The scientific party lost only one day because of the dynamite theft.Governor Montoya supplied more explosives and the firing schedulecontinued. Now, however, the dynamite was guarded by police supplied byHis Excellency. Police also were in evidence around the Hot SpringsHotel. No more chances were being taken.

  After three days, the scientists began to have a better idea of what wasgoing on in the earth beneath them, but Rick and Scotty could makelittle sense of the mass of data. Even the picture being filled in byDr. Williams was confusing. Now, two magma areas were showing where onlyone had shown before.

  Esteben Balgos answered Rick's plea for an explanation. Over anexcellent dinner of roast suckling pig and bananas steamed with lemonjuice, the volcanologist took time to answer their questions.

  "There is much we do not know about volcanoes," the Peruvian scientistbegan. "For example, we do not know exactly what causes magma to form.Magma is, in simplest terms, molten rock. Some event takes place farbelow, where the earth's crust ends and the mantle begins, and the rockmelts."

  "How far below?" Rick asked.

  "The distance varies. Under the ocean trenches, for example, the mantlemay begin only four miles down. Under some of the mountainous landmasses it may be closer to forty miles."

  Scotty whistled. "That's a whale of a distance. How can you tell how fardown it is?"

  "By the seismic traces from earthquakes, or from explosive shots likethe ones we are shooting. When the shock waves have reached the zonebetween the earth's crust and the mantle, we see the results on ourtracings."

  "Is it really a sharp line?" Rick queried.

  "Probably not. No one is sure yet. It may be a kind of transitionalzone, from one kind of material to another, or it may be a distinctlayer. We call it the Mohorovicic Discontinuity, after the Yugoslavscientist who discovered it by analysis of seismic tracings. At anyrate, it is somewhat above this discontinuity that magma is formed. Wedon't know how."

  "Then it rises?" Scotty asked.

  "It forces its way up, by expansion. Sometimes the magma strikes waterand there is an explosion--a steam explosion. But generally the magmarises through a fairly small channel. It forms a pool under the volcano.The pool is actually a reservoir of molten rock. Generally it is shapedlike a lens. The magma gathers. Eventually it forces its way to thesurface, again through channels."

  "What kind of channels?" Rick asked.

  "It depends on the kind of volcano. Sometimes the channels areweaknesses in the whole surrounding earth structure, and the magma flowsthrough cracks and emerges as sheets of lava. Sometimes there is acentral channel through which the magma can rise."

  "Which do we have?" Scotty wanted to know.

  "Probably neither or perhaps both. There was once a central channel inEl Viejo. It is closed now, and we do not know if it is weaker than therest of the mountain. There is a weak fissure under the hot springs. So,El Viejo can vent either way."

  Rick shook his head. He had learned enough of natural forces to knowthere are often no definite answers to questions, but this was critical.

  "So the volcano could blow off on top or side, and we can't guesswhich?"

  "That is correct. However, explosive action in a volcano usually comeswhen the magma meets enough water to create steam. Now, our closestmagma front is still far below the floor of the surrounding ocean. Youfollow me? Good. When the magma rises to the level of the ocean floor,what do you think will happen?"

  Rick could see the picture in his mind. He said slowly, "It willprobably meet water. Plenty of it, from seepage of the ocean downwardthrough cracks in the ocean floor. Maybe there are cracks like the onein the parking lot, caused by earthquakes."

  "Precisely. And when the magma meets the water, then what?"

  "The water turns to steam instantly." Scotty answered grimly. "The steamexpands instantly--and boom!"

  "Boom," Balgos agreed solemnly. "But how big a boom we do not know. Itmay blow the top off El Viejo. It may blow a gap along one of thecracks. We don't know."

  Rick digested this information in silence. The picture was certainly nota cheerful one. "How far down are the magma fronts?" he asked.

  "As closely as we can tell, the bottom one is right above thediscontinuity, which is about six miles below us at this point. Theupper one is about a mile below the top of El Viejo. This puts it abouta quarter of a mile below the floor of the ocean."

  "Too close," Scotty muttered. "What now?"

  "We keep shooting, to try and keep track of the upper front. Also, wewill place instruments called tiltometers on the mountain slope. Theseare devices that really measure tilt. You see, if the lens of magma isincreasing, El Viejo will swell up slightly. The tiltometers will showit, and we will then have further proof of what is coming."

  "But what can we do about it?" Rick demanded.

  Balgos shrugged. "_Quien sabe?_ The Spanish phrase is a good one,because it does not only ask 'who knows,' it also carries the meaning ofa kind of resignation. There does not seem to be anything we can do."

  Rick stared across the dining room, eyes unseeing. It was hard toimagine that molten rock was gathering below them in sufficient quantityto make a mountain move; but once you succeeded in imagining it, thepicture was terrifying.

  Motion attracted his glance and his eyes focused in time to see BradConnel rise from the table and excuse himself. He watched the geologistwalk out of the room and turned to Scotty. His pal nodded. He had seenConnel leave, too.

  Rick quickly counted noses. All others were present. Connel was thefirst to leave. He wondered where the geologist was going, and his eyesnarrowed.

  Connel had been very anxious about his and Scotty's condition, once thehotel was reached. Rick was sure his anxiety was strictly phony. Bothboys had been stiff and sore, but a medical examination showed nothingseriously wrong, thanks to Scotty's fast action. Hartson Brant had beenreluctant to accept Rick's opinion that Connel had stolen the dynamiteand booby-trapped them. He pointed out that the geologist had no motive;he had never even been on San Luz before.

  Rick had to agree. There was no apparent motive, but that didn't meanConnel was innocent. He might have a motive that no one suspected.

  Scotty cocked an eyebrow at Rick and made a slight motion of his headtoward the door where Connel had vanished. Rick got the signal. Henodded.

  The boys thanked Dr. Balgos for his explanation, then excusedthemselves. They wandered casually from the dining room.

  Once outside, Rick grinned at Scotty. "So you're wondering where Connelhas gone?"

  "Aren't you?"

  "Sure. But why not ask the others what he said when he excused himself?"

  Scotty shook his head. "They didn't think much of our theory aboutConnel causing our troubles, did they? If we asked, they'd think we werepushing the same point too hard."

  Rick agreed. "Where did he go?"

  "I don't know. But if he leaves the hotel, it will be by jeep. There'snothing within walking distance. If we get out back of the pump shedwe'll see him if he comes out."

  "Aye, aye. And if he jeeps out of here, we'll be on his tail. Roger?"

  "You said a Brantish mouthful. Let's go."

  A quick reconnaissance disclosed no sign of the geologist outside, andthe boys hurried across the dark parking lot to the shadow of the pumpshed. A police officer materialized from the darkness and greeted themcourteously. "Good evening, senores. _A sus ordenes._"

  By placing himself at their orders, the officer was politely askingtheir business, Rick knew. He replied, "We came out to see if anyone hadmade another try for the dynamite, Senor _Teniente_." Calling theofficer "lieutenant" was a form of flattery.

  "_Sargento, muchas gracias_," the officer replied. White teeth flashedin a grin. "But who can tell the future? If I capture the thief, it maysoon be lieutenant instead of sergeant."

  "We hope so," Scotty said politely.

  Rick noted that the three were hidden from the parki
ng lot by the pumphouse. The position was satisfactory. If Connel was going to take ajeep, he probably would do so right away. Otherwise, why should he bethe first to leave the dining room?

  "Why would anyone steal dynamite?" Rick asked the police officer. Hewanted only to keep a quiet conversation going behind the pump house.

  The officer had theories. Perhaps revolutionaries had stolen it. Also,although it was against the law and brought severe punishment, fishermenwere known to dynamite fish. This also was a possibility. But theexplosion of the dynamite on the mountainside was certainly a puzzle.

  Rick didn't think so, but he agreed politely. It was bewildering, hesaid. Why steal explosives and then use it on a harmless scientificgroup?

  Perhaps fear of discovery caused the thief to set a trap, the officerguessed. He admitted it wasn't a good guess.

  A jeep roared into life and the boys stiffened. The officer strolled outof the shadow for a look. "One of your associates is going for a ride,"he said.

  Rick waited until the jeep lights cut across the parking lot and moveddown the western road, then he said, "It's a nice night for a ride,Scotty. What say we take a jeep and look over the country, too?"

  "Good idea," Scotty agreed readily.

  They bade the officer good night and started to where Zircon's jeep wasparked. It was a temptation to hurry, but they suppressed it andsauntered to the jeep. Fortunately, no keys were needed. The jeepignition was turned on by a simple switch. Rick got into the driver'sseat and started up. He waited, the motor idling, until he was sureConnel was out of sight around the mountain, then he drove slowly acrossthe parking lot and followed.

  Fortunately, there was enough moonlight to see the road. Once out ofsight of the hotel, Rick stopped and switched off the lights. As hiseyes adjusted to the dimness he started off again as fast as visionallowed.

  Once he sighted Connel's lights. They were ahead and higher on themountain. He lost sight of them again as foliage blocked the view."Suppose he's heading for the shot station?" he asked.

  Scotty shrugged. "We'll soon know."

  They reached the pumice works without seeing the geologist's lightsagain, and Rick stopped at the turnoff. "Now what?" he asked. "Did he goup the trail or not?"

  Scotty sniffed the air. "Smell anything?"

  Rick breathed deeply. There was the odor of rank vegetation, and, veryfaintly, the odor of sulfur from the hot springs. But there was anothersmell, too. After a moment he identified it. "Dust!"

  "Seems so," Scotty agreed. "Which means he didn't take the trail to thestations. No dust on those tracks. He must have taken the dirt road toSan Souci."

  "But why?" Rick was already moving ahead to where the pavement ended."What's in San Souci?"

  Scotty chuckled. "Ask Connel. Don't ask me."

  "I thought Marines knew everything," Rick gibed.

  "Almost everything," Scotty corrected.

  The jeep moved onto the dirt road and in a moment their own cloud ofdust obscured any slight haze that Connel's passing might have left.They were in strange territory now, and Rick slowed down somewhat.Connel had the advantage of lights. They wouldn't be able to gain onhim.

  "He can't get far," Scotty said reassuringly. "The road goes to SanSouci and nowhere else. It can't be much of a town, so we'll find him."

  Scotty was right. San Souci wasn't much of a town. There were a handfulof fishermen's huts, a dock with a number of fishing boats, racks fordrying fish, a single store, and nothing else. There was a paved roadleading from the town to the main city of Calor, but Connel hadn't takenit. Nor was the jeep in San Souci.

  Rick's halting Spanish was sufficient to communicate with a fishermanwho spoke equally halting English. He had been taking the air allevening. No other vehicle had come to San Souci.

  "Now what?" Rick asked helplessly.

  "He went somewhere," Scotty responded. "And that somewhere has to be aturnoff between here and the pumice works. We must have missed itbecause we traveled without lights. Let's go back and look."

  "I'm with you," Rick agreed. "But wherever he turned off must be atrail, because there are no side roads on the map." He swung the jeeparound and started back. He had turned on the headlights as theyapproached the fishing village; he kept them on.

  They found the turnoff about a mile from San Souci. The road widenedslightly, and there was an opening in the foliage just wide enough for acar. Twin gateposts of concrete marked the passage. Rick turned thejeep, and the headlights picked out a name cut in the concrete pillars:_Casa Guevara_.

  "Someone's house," Rick said. "Name of Guevara. We can't very well gorolling up a private driveway, can we?"

  "Especially with that sign," Scotty added. He pointed to a wooden signset slightly to one side of the private road just beyond the gate. Itread _No Entrar_. No Trespassing.

  "Question," Rick said thoughtfully. "Did Connel go up this road or isthere another one?"

  "No evidence," Scotty replied.

  Rick pointed to the gatepost. "Who do we know that's named Guevara?"

  Scotty breathed, "Sure! The lieutenant governor!"

  "And he took Connel to the hospital to see Ruiz," Rick reminded, "sothey're acquainted."

  He switched off the lights. "That's probably the answer. Connel wasinvited to pay a social call. Why not? This probably has nothing to dowith the project at all."

  Scotty sighed audibly. "The trouble with you is that you come up withsensible answers. We might as well go on back to the hotel."

  "Might as well . . ." Rick began, then stopped as light appeared dimlythrough the foliage up the private driveway. They were headlights!

  "We've got to get out of here," he said, and threw the jeep into gear.For a moment he hesitated. If he went up the dirt road to the hotel,Connel would surely see them. If Rick went back toward San Souci and theoncoming car was not Connel, but someone from Casa Guevara, the carmight also turn toward San Souci, and the boys would be seen.

  Rick thought quickly. About a hundred yards toward San Souci there was abreak in the foliage that he had almost investigated until he saw thatno tracks led into it. He quickly switched into four-wheel drive andswung the jeep in its own length. The lights were closer now. Rickaccelerated and found the opening through the jungle scrub. The jeepbounced as he drove into it, then swung until they were behind a screenof palmetto. He killed the engine.

  Scotty piled out, Rick close behind him. They hurried to the edge of thehighway, careful to keep masked by the palmetto, and watched.

  A jeep emerged from the driveway to Casa Guevara. In the back-scatteredlight from its headlights they saw that Connel was the driver. He wasalone. They watched until his taillights flickered out beyond a bend inthe road.

  _Connel was alone in the jeep_]

  "Interesting," Rick said. "Does a social call last for less than a halfhour? Answer: no, not in San Luz. There's Spanish-style hospitalityhere, and Connel would have been there for hours."

  "He came on business," Scotty said slowly. "But what kind of businesswould he have with the lieutenant governor?"

  "That," Rick said grimly, "is what we need to find out."