The Golden Skull: A Rick Brant Science-Adventure Story

by Harold L. Goodwin

  CHAPTER II

  Manila After Dark

  Out of the _Asiatic Dream's_ forward hold swung the sleek shape of anairplane fuselage. Rick bristled with nervous energy as he watched. Heyelled, "Watch it! Take it easy with that winch!"

  Scotty patted him on the shoulder. "Take it easy yourself before you popa gusset. They're doing all right."

  Rick didn't take his eyes off the plane. "Okay. But if they drop it,we'll hike into the mountains instead of flying in style. Hey, you! Liftit! Lift it clear of the rail!"

  The plane was Rick's new Sky Wagon, a powerful little four-place jobthat had replaced his beloved Cub, wrecked by saboteurs, as related in_Stairway to Danger_. It had less than ten hours' flying time, and hedidn't want it wrecked by having a careless winchman bash it againstsomething. But in spite of his fears, the fuselage was lowered safelyonto the waiting truck, the wings in their crates were brought out, andin a short time the boys were riding with the plane out to ManilaInternational Airport.

  The day was still young. The freighter had anchored off the Manila portarea during the night, berthing in the early hours. The Spindrift partyhad checked into the Manila Hotel, and Tony, leaving the boys tosupervise the unloading and clearance of their equipment, had gone offto the University of the Philippines. Now the crates of equipment werein the customs shed waiting to be picked up, and the plane was en routeto the airport to be assembled. Everything was going smoothly,except ...

  "Chahda," Rick mused. "Where do you suppose he went?"

  "The day I can figure out Chahda's comings and goings is the day Ipolish my crystal ball and solve the rest of the world's mysteries. He'sprobably off studying _The World Almanac_."

  Chahda had been registered at the Manila Hotel but had checked out threedays before their arrival. He had left no forwarding address and nomessage.

  "He's probably somewhere in the Indian colony of Manila," Rickspeculated. "Quite a few Indians here, mostly Hindus. They call 'emBombays, Tony said."

  "He'll show up," Scotty said. "He always does. Wonder how Tony is makingout?"

  Tony had gone to see a colleague, a Filipino archaeologist by the nameof Dr. Remedios Okola. It was through Okola that arrangements had beenmade with the Philippine Government for their expedition--or would bemade. Their permit had not yet been issued.

  "I didn't know they had a university here." Scotty added, "Until Tonystarted writing to this Filipino scientist."

  "You should read the stuff Tony brought," Rick replied. "The Philippineshas a dozen universities."

  Scotty grinned. "Chahda is probably taking a course in one of them.Getting a degree of D.D."

  Rick took the bait. "What? Doctor of Divinity or Doctor of Dentistry?"

  "Neither. Dean of Disappearances."

  Rick groaned. Still, it was true. Chahda was the most disappearingperson he had ever known. The truth was, as he well knew, Chahda lovedthe dramatic. The little Hindu boy thoroughly enjoyed baffling his palswith theatrical appearances and disappearances. Not that he did hisvanishing act just for fun, however. There was usually a good reason.

  Arrangements had been made by mail and confirmed by phone that morningfor hangar space at Manila International Airport. While gianttranspacific passenger liners landed or took off, and while the busytwin-engined island hoppers of Philippine Air Lines kept the fieldactive, the boys assembled the Sky Wagon.

  Even allowing for Rick's pride of ownership, the Sky Wagon was a beauty.It was painted pure white with a red strip along the fuselage. It couldcarry four, plus a fair amount of cargo. It had flaps which permittedslow landings and short take-offs, and it had retractable landing gearand variable-pitch propeller.

  Under the rear seats was a special feature--a small hatch through whicha winch-driven cable could be operated.

  This was a typical Rick Brant labor-saving device. Back home, Rick wasthe errand boy for Spindrift Island, an island off the New Jersey coastwhere the famous Spindrift Foundation was located. Until he acquired theSky Wagon, his grocery shopping meant landing at Whiteside Airport,hiking into town, picking up the groceries, lugging them back, loadingthem in the Cub and flying back to Spindrift.

  Now he could phone in his order, get into the Sky Wagon, lower theweighted cable, and swoop low over the grocery store, which was locatedon the outskirts of Whiteside. The hook at the end of the cable snaggedanother cable hung between two steel poles on the roof of the store. Thesack of groceries--it was a special strong canvas sack--were on thecable and needed only to be reeled into the plane.

  It worked fine. The only trouble was that Rick had never collected eggsintact. The shock of the pickup was a little too much. When he solvedthat problem, he would make arrangements with the electronic supplyhouse in Newark to let him put up the same kind of rig. Eventually, hehoped, he would get so efficient that he never would have to land on themainland except to deliver a passenger or to pay a personal visit.

  Rick and Scotty checked the plane over with the greatest of care, andthen Rick got in and started the engine. He let it warm up, watching hisinstruments. Everything was fine. He motioned to Scotty, who waswatching and listening from outside.

  Scotty got in, and Rick taxied to the end of a runway. While he revvedup the engine, Scotty obtained take-off permission from the controltower, and in a few moments they were air-borne, enjoying the suddendrop in temperature.

  "First time I've stopped sweating in a week," Scotty said.

  Rick nodded and motioned to pump up the landing gear. The hydraulicsystem worked on a hand pump between the two front seats. It was not assatisfactory as a motor-driven pump, but it took no electric power andused up no valuable weight. Besides, a few strokes on the pump did thejob. He leveled off at five thousand feet above the city.

  Below, the Pasig River cut the city in half. They traced the line of thegreat wall around Intramuros, the ancient walled city, and they foundthe white mass of the American Embassy across Dewey Boulevard from somevery modern apartments. They passed over the Manila Hotel, then saw theruins of infamous Fort Santiago.

  Inland, the land was lush green with high mountains rising in thedistance. To the north lay Mountain Province, and behind the screen ofmountains was their destination.

  There was still work to be done, so Rick reluctantly took the Sky Wagondown again. It was in perfect condition; no need for further flight.

  They lunched at a modern drive-in on Dewey Boulevard, the split-lanehighway that runs along the edge of Manila Bay, then picked up theircrates of supplies at customs. This was a light expedition, so therewere only three crates. One held their camp gear and trail clothing.Another crate held Tony Briotti's special tools and reference books. Thethird held the most important object of the expedition--the SpindriftExperimental Earth Scanner, called SEES for short, and furtherabbreviated by the boys to a sibilant hiss.

  "How's the SS working?" Scotty would ask, and Rick would answer: "'Sfine'scan be."

  The boys were old hands at expeditions and they had learned from bitterexperience about the number of unexpected things that can happen tobaggage, so in spite of some opposition from the hotel clerk, theyinsisted on stowing the supplies in their room. This done, they got intobathing trunks and cooled off in the hotel pool. There was nothing to donow but wait for Tony--and Chahda.

  When they returned from their swim a message was waiting, brought by amessenger from Tony Briotti. Rick read it, then handed it to Scotty.They were to have dinner with Tony's colleague Okola, and an AssistantSecretary of the Interior, a Mr. Lazada, at the latter's house. Dinnerwas at ten. They were to arrive a half hour early, and wear dinnerjackets.

  "Dinner at ten!" Scotty was stunned. "It must be a mistake. No one couldlive until that hour without food."

  The desk clerk overheard the comment and smiled. "Old Spanish custom,sir. Many Filipinos follow Spanish custom."

  "Very fine for those who are used to it," Rick said. "But here's oneAmericano who is not going to follow Filipinos who follow old Spanishcustom."

&n
bsp; "Two Americanos," Scotty corrected. "We will follow old American customof snack early, English custom of dinner at eight, and then Spanishcustom of dinner at ten. That way we get plenty chow, hey?"

  This exchange was for their own benefit. The clerk did not overhearbecause they were hurrying to their rooms to change.

  It was not too early to get into dinner jackets. They hauled out whatScotty called their "penguin rigs" and got into them. In spite offeeling a little self-conscious, they looked brown and handsome in theirwhite tropical jackets with maroon bow ties.

  They found a table on the porch, looking out over Manila Bay and thegreat field called The Luneta. By turning a little Rick could see thetraffic on Dewey Boulevard. Rick had never seen anything like it.Apparently Filipino drivers were all mad at something, and all under theimpression that no other vehicles were on the road. Also, Filipinodrivers obviously had wild affection for their horns. They tootedconstantly.

  "The life of a pedestrian must be less than ten minutes in this town,"Scotty commented.

  "Pedestrians are nothing but the raw material for accidents," Rickagreed. "Look at that!"

  Among the busses, the cars, and the jeeps that ranged the boulevardtrotted a half-dozen two-wheeled carriages drawn by tiny horses. Thesewere the _calesas_ of bygone days, still competing with Manila'scountless taxis for passengers.

  "We should hire two and have a chariot race," Scotty suggested.

  They had a sandwich and a cold drink made with _calamansi_, the pungentsmall Philippine limes, then walked across the boulevard to where thegreat wall of the old city rose high in the air. The wall was of hugestone blocks, rising about four times the boys' height into the air. Itwas perhaps twenty feet thick at the base.

  Within the walls there had once been a city of a hundred thousandpeople, but it was there that in World War II the Japanese had chosen tomake their last stand. Most of the people of the city had been wipedout, along with their Japanese captors, and of the ancient buildingsonly a cathedral remained. The area had been bulldozed flat in mostplaces, and Quonset-type warehouses, called _bodegas_, had replaced theruined Spanish buildings.

  "Rick, look at this!" Scotty called, pointing to a fern-like plant thatgrew near the wall. "Watch." He touched it and the leaves rolled intotight tubes. "How about that?"

  A Filipino gentleman, immaculate in a white nylon suit, watched them fora moment, then joined them. "The plant is strange to Americans, I think.It is a sensitive mimosa. You have the mimosa in America, but not thisvariety."

  "It's good of you to explain, sir," Rick said.

  "Not at all. In Tagalog, the plant is called _makahiya_. It means,literally, 'I am ashamed when you touch me.'"

  "It's ashamed, so it closes up," Rick said. "That's charming. Tagalogmust be a picturesque language."

  The Filipino nodded. "It has a certain flavor. Allow me to introducemyself. I am Colonel Felix Rojas of the Philippine constabulary."

  Rick took his first good look at the Filipino and immediately recognizedthe soldierly bearing and lean fitness of the professional soldier. Heintroduced himself and Scotty.

  Colonel Rojas smiled. "The young men who are going to dine with theesteemed Assistant Secretary tonight, eh? Welcome to our country." Hebowed and walked away, leaving them openmouthed. Then, as anafterthought, he turned. "Surprised? Don't be. We are interested instrangers until their intentions are known. Yours are above reproach."His smile faded. "However, you may be interested in another bit ofTagalog." He spoke briefly a phrase that seemed to be mostly vowels.

  "What does it mean?" Scotty asked.

  The colonel's eyes searched theirs. "What good is hay to a dead horse,"he said and walked away.

  The boys stared at each other.

  "A very good question," Rick said at last. The colonel had vanished intothe Manila Hotel. "Scotty, what good is hay to a dead horse?"

  "The deceased equine has little use for hay," Scotty said. "Obviously.Was that a warning?"

  "I don't know what it was," Rick said. The phrase could have been awarning, but of what? And how had the colonel known where they weredining? He put the question aloud.

  Scotty shrugged. "Doesn't the constabulary come under the Department ofthe Interior? Maybe Lazada told him. A colonel would be pretty high rankin the constabulary; he could even be the commander."

  The Philippine constabulary had a long and distinguished history. It wassimilar to a police force, but was a military organization. It was, Rickthought, something like a cross between the American state militia, theTexas Rangers, and any good state police force.

  "I'm snowed," Rick said at last. "The only thing I'm sure of is that hewasn't looking for information when he asked what good is hay to a deadhorse. Come on. Let's start for Lazada's."

  The way led across busy Taft Avenue, named for the American president,across the Ayala Bridge which spanned the Pasig River, and past MalaccanPalace. The palace was the equivalent of our White House. In its timeSpanish, American, and Japanese conquerors of the Philippines had livedthere. Now it housed the president of the Republic of the Philippines.

  It was very dark by the time they passed the palace. They left thestreet-lighted area and entered an area of old Spanish houses. The PasigRiver was very close. They could smell the water hyacinth which floatedendlessly down to the sea.

  The air was heavy with unshed rain. The boys had long since shed theirjackets and were carrying them. Now the heat seemed to push down onthem, muffling even the sound of their leather soles on the cobbles.They passed a solitary street light and Rick read the sign. They were onthe right track. The hotel clerk's directions, obtained before they ate,had been very good.

  "Almost there," Rick whispered, then wondered why he hadn't spokenaloud.

  Apparently Scotty was feeling the same physical oppression because hedidn't comment on the whisper.

  The houses were two-story, old Spanish style, with much wrought-ironfancy work. Few lights showed. Such houses presented only blank faces tothe street. The life inside them found its open air in secluded patiosin the rear.

  "We must be getting close," Scotty said. His voice was very low.

  Rick unsnapped his key ring. It had a pencil flashlight attached. Heshot the light over the house fronts, searching for a number. Acream-colored lizard darted frantically out of the circle of light intoprotecting darkness.

  "Two more numbers," Rick said. "Must be the house after the next one."He flashed the tiny light ahead and froze as he saw the shape of a man.Beside him, he felt Scotty tense.

  It was silly to stand frozen. Rick moved ahead, slowly, and the shapetook form. Turban, flowing tunic with sash. Fiercely whiskered face. ASikh guard.

  He breathed a sigh of relief. Sikhs--Indians--were noted for theirbravery and fighting ability, and they could be found in most cities ofthe Far East, usually employed as private guards or police.

  The Sikh came to attention and Rick noted that he was rather small forhis race. Most Sikhs were big men. He had kept the light on the beardedface, noting that the beard was neatly tied in the Sikh fashion. Browneyes stared unblinkingly. A hoarse voice said, "This ees house ofMeester Secretary Lazada. Please to enter."

  Suddenly the voice changed and Rick nearly jumped out of his skin.

  "Go right on up the stairs, meatheads. Scotty must be hungry. He alwaysis."

  Rick choked.

  "Chahda!"