"It's not like that," Durell said.
"What do you want from me?"
"Do you know that Professor Anton Tovachek was shot?"
"Yeah," O'Hara said. "The Indians are talking about it. They say Agosto killed him, plain cold."
"It's true. How do the Indians feel about it?"
O'Hara jerked a thumb toward the naked girl in the hammock. "Ask her. They're kinda upset about it."
"Did they like the professor?"
"They took care of him like a mascot for a few years before Agosto showed up. Sure, they liked him."
"Are they angry at the way Agosto killed him?"
O'Hara grunted and squinted up at Durell's tall figure and then slowly climbed to his feet, hitching his dirty white trousers up over his big belly. He pointed to the naked girl again.
"Her brother's name is Mucujai. He's kind of a chief among these seringueros. They're homeless, the last of their tribe. They never wanted trouble here. They've been upset ever since Agosto first showed up, but they did what he told them, building the airstrip and fixing up the bunk-houses and the old hacienda, only because the professor and Agosto seemed friendly enough."
"Mucujai is one of Agosto's guards, right?"
"Yeah. One of the Indian leaders."
"He's angry now?"
"I reckon so."
"Angry enough to turn against Agosto?"
O'Hara squinted at Durell again, looked at the Indian girl and a slow grin spread in his ragged gray beard. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "What you’ re proposing needs a drink to think on it."
"Later. Inocenza?"
The girl looked frightened. "I'm not so sure—"
"Talk to this Indian woman about it. And put some clothes on her."
O'Hara said, "She don't bother me none."
"Inocenza, ask her about the Indians and her brother. Can we talk safely to Mucujai? Or will he put us under guard again?"
"You take a big risk. Sam," she whispered.
"It's better than just sitting around waiting for a firing squad."
2
O'Hara stumbled and cursed and fell into a bog up to his knees. Mucujai pulled him out easily, his powerful muscles bunched with smooth tension. The moon had set, and only the tropical stars, spinning overhead, guided them. But the Indian moved familiarly along the narrow forest trail, a dry snaking path that reminded Durell of the chenieres in the Louisiana bayous, when he was a boy. Mucujai spoke in accented Portuguese.
"Are you feeling well, Senhor Capitao?"
"Yeah, yeah. I'm just a little drunk, I guess."
"Let me help you, Senhor Capitao."
"I don't need any help," O'Hara snarled.
They walked through the tangle of old rubber trees for fifteen minutes. Mucujai had not said yes or no to Durell's proposal. He had been asleep when O'Hara led Durell to one of the shacks, but he had come awake like a cat, reaching for his gun, then freezing as he looked into the muzzle of Durell's stolen rifle. O'Hara had spoken quickly in his rusty, grating voice. Mucujai had nodded, but his flat coppery face yielded nothing. Durell could not guess what the man was thinking. But apparently there was to be no immediate resistance.
A small tributary stream into the river had overflowed during the recent rain, and water shimmered everywhere around the thick trunks, of the rubber trees. Their progress was marked by small splashings and stumblings and O'Hara's virulent curses. Inocenza clung to Durell's arm, but there was no hint of the original sexuality in the gestures she made. When they came to a sudden clearing in the forest, Mucujai extended an arm and halted.
"What is this place?" Durell asked.
"Old slave quarters," O'Hara rumbled. He belched loudly. "Mucujai is the grandson of one of the old chiefs whose tribe was practically wiped out, dying as forced laborers for Don Federico. These are the old seringuero barracks—what's left of 'em. Mucujai and his people think this place is sacred, for some reason. Best stay here, boy. Let him go on alone."
The big Indian did not look back at them as he strode into the clearing. There were only mounds, covered with vines and grass, where the old structures had been. A larger mound, a few collapsed storage buildings, had melted into the jungle growth until they were almost undistinguishable. But the old railroad had terminated near here, judging from the higher elevation of an unmistakable causeway that still arrowed straight through the surrounding swamp.
Durell waited patiently while the Indian stood still in the center of the circle of old mounds. It was still three hours to dawn. He hoped Belmont and Wells could keep any inquisitive guards from noting his absence from the bungalow.
Ten minutes passed. Mucujai did not change his rigid standing posture. The forest around them was silent.
Then Mucujai returned silently to where they stood.
"Senhor Durell, it was a bad thing that the colonel did, to kill our friend the professor."
"It was very bad. It was a senseless thing."
"Yes. But it is not for me to understand. The professor was a kind man. He was good to us. We were starving here in the forest, living like animals, before he came. He gave us work and money, and he had Capitdo O'Hara bring in new blankets and hammocks and tools for us to build with. This was a good thing, and we thanked Jesus for sending the professor to help us. In return, we did what we could for him. He was not a man who could live easily in the forest. We did not know that the colonel would kill him so cruelly."
"The colonel is an evil man," Durell said.
“I believe this."
"You will be abandoned, to die in slow misery, if he has his way with us before he leaves."
Mucujai said, "We can take care of ourselves now. But the colonel must pay for killing the professor."
"How many of your people feel as you do?"
For the first time, the Indian showed indecision. "Some. Not all. One brother might fight against another."
"I do not wish that," Durell said carefully. "But we will need guns, and some of your men."
"I can get this," Mucujai said.
"If we do it quickly, and cleverly, not many will be hurt or killed."
"The professor must be avenged," Mucujai said solemnly. "I will speak to certain of the men. And get the guns. But it is a bad thing."
"It will be worse for us all, if we do not act."
"I understand this, too, senhor."
3
Willie Wells said, "It's going to be bloody, man."
Belmont said, "Just promise me that I can have Agosto; that's all I want."
"I can't promise anything," Durell said. "But if we sit here on our hands, we'll all be dead men by tomorrow night. Agosto will have to wipe us out."
"When is the Indian coming?"
"In a few minutes."
They waited in silence. Inocenza stood at the door of the bunkhouse. O'Hara grumbled to himself in one of the bunks. His relief at learning that Durell had not come to revenge his grandmother had made the old man high, and he kept drinking heavily from his bottle, apparently to celebrate the ending of a lifelong nightmare.
Outside, the compound was filled with dark shadows. The wind that had moved in the swamp became stronger now, and the night whispered and crackled under the hot tropical stars. The Indian that Durell had knocked out earlier was securely gagged and lashed to one of the bunks. The main house was dark except for the perimeter lights where Agosto's patrols moved relentlessly. Durell studied the area from the doorway, then turned his attention to the other bungalows in the compound. There was a dim light among the Russians, another in the Chinese quarters. He did not know where the British, French, Yugoslav, and others were located, but he had already identified the last in the row, nearest the airstrip, as Atimboku's. A nagging worry and a sense of guilt tagged him. He had not seen or heard from Sally since their arrival. It could well be that Atimboku, win or lose in the bidding, would take advantage of the situation to eliminate his sister and consolidate his exclusive claim to rule the African state of Pak
uru.
His worry intensified. The bungalow down there had been dark all night. Guards patrolled the airstrip beyond it, the hangar area, and the compound. Sooner or later someone would come here to relieve the guard he had knocked out. Agosto would be especially alert, sleepless, knowing that the others would be calculating their chances of getting away alive.
Mucujai did not show up.
Another ten minutes went by.
Wells moved silently beside him in the doorway. "He won't come, Cajun. These people won't fight each other, just to get even for the professor."
"They might," Durell said. "Mucujai has different loyalties from ours."
"Maybe we ought to try to take over, ourselves."
"We wouldn't have a chance."
"Maybe the British and the French—"
"They aren't doing anything."
"Sam, if they've figured out that Agosto plans to kill off all those who don't win the formula, on the one hand, and that the other copy will be published if any of us knock Agosto off—"
"It's a supposition, Willie. I just pulled it out of a hat, to confuse the bidding arrangements. But Agosto is not only the crudest man in the business; he's also one of the craftiest and most unpredictable."
"But suppose you bid tomorrow and win the formula?"
"All the others privately hope to survive by winning that way, too. But could you take the formula and fly out of here and leave all the others to Agosto's firing squad?"
The black man's face went peculiarly blank. "Are you talking about a matter of conscience, Cajun?"
"I think so."
"That's something you're not supposed to have in our business. A conscience, I mean."
"Willie, would you leave Inocenza here to be among those who are massacred?"
"Uh. You notice that we get along, do you?"
"I noticed."
"And you want to get Sally safely away from Agosto, yourself, don't you?"
"I intend to."
"Then there is no use talking about getting out of here by ourselves, is there?"
Durell started to reply, then moved out another step from the doorway. There was movement in the shadows out there, running men, moving from darkness to darkness. The tropical night remained silent, but it was filled with unbearable electric tension, as if another storm was about to break. He heard the slap of naked feet running behind the bungalow and leaped to the corner as a man came around it from the left. There was no time to question or challenge the dark shadow. A weapon glinted, coming up, and Durell threw a fist into the enraged, frantic face, caught the other's rifle barrel, twisted it away and down. The man stumbled, lost his grip on the gun, and went spinning away.
His big straw hat came off, cartwheeling into the darkness. Durell chopped and missed and chopped again. He heard a grunt of pain, the man's mouth opened to yell, and Durell hit him a last time. The Indian fell against the bungalow wall, his knees buckling, and then he slid downward on his shoulders. Durell caught up the rifle, saw the man grope for a sidearm, and swung the rifle against the Indian's head. There was no more resistance. The man slid over on one side and lay still. As he picked up both the pistol and the rifle, he heard Willie Wells.
"All right, Cajun?"
"Fine. Slip out there and get his hat." His head throbbed and his pulse hammered in his bruised leg. Wells was a black shadow in the windy night. Durell said, "Take the pistol. Give Belmont the rifle."
"Good. Mucujai is here."
"I know."
The big Indian had a band of cartridge clips for the Uzi he carried and another pistol, which he gave to Inocenza. Wells moved next to the girl in a protective gesture. Mucujai said, "I have only twenty men so far, senhor. I only spoke to those I was sure of, so that none might warn the colonel. I do not know about the others."
"How many arms do you have?"
"We have given some to the Englishmen and to the Germans and to the African prince—"
"Hell," Durell said. "Which bungalow?"
Mucujai looked dismayed. "Did I do something wrong, senhor?"
"Not exactly. Go on up with your men to the house, but don't raise an alarm. Wait for me."
"Sim, senhor."
The big Indian faded away into the gloom. Wells said, "Coming, Cajun?"
"I have to stop Atimboku. He'll go to Agosto, if he can."
"And check on Sally?"
"Yes."
Durell moved at a swift trot toward the airstrip. He heard a shot and an outbreak of yelling from near the hacienda, and at the same moment, a shadow rose up before him, gun in hand. No man knew friend fr5m foe tonight. He yelled, "Mucujai!" but the unknown Indian snarled and fired. Durell squeezed off a triple burst from the rifle and sent the man fluttering backward. He redoubled his stride toward Atimboku's bunkhouse, although his bruises protested. Then he heard Sally scream and saw her slim figure from the doorway of the bungalow. Two shots were fired, smashing the night wide open.
"This way, Sally!" he called.
She hesitated, searching for him, and Atimboku lunged from the bunkhouse after her. Now shots sounded all over the compound and the main house, mixed with men's screams. The element of surprise in Mucujai's rebellion was lost. He swore and ran for Sally; but Atimboku caught her and flung her to the ground. The African heard him coming and snapped a thin strangling cord around his sister's neck.
"Hold it, Durell."
"Let her go."
"To hell with you. What's going on?"
"You should have figured it out. When Agosto killed Tovacheck, he put himself in a corner. He's going to have to execute all of us. Nobody left to kill him and force publication of the Zero Formula from wherever he hid his extra copy.”
"I thought of that. But I'll get the formula. So don't try to stop me, or Sally gets—"
"Let her go," Durell said again.
The girl was on her knees, the strangling cord held tightly in Atimboku's grip. One jerk, and the knot would crush her larynx. Her golden eyes showed no fear. Her robe had been torn, and her long brown thigh showed taut muscles as she knelt, erect, like some sacrificial maiden at a pagan alter.
Atimboku grinned. "Drop your gun, Cajun."
Durell shot him through the left arm, and the bullet spun the tall African halfway around. The pull of the strangling cord took Sally backward off her knees. Durell yanked the cord loose. She began to cough, her hands at her throat. Atimboku tried to rise, but he was not the finely honed jungle animal Durell had known years ago. His reaction time was slow. Durell looked up and saw the surviving seven-foot warrior come charging out of the bunk-house. He shot the man in the thigh. and he went down with a howl of dismay. Atimboku groaned and hugged his wounded arm.
"Get up, Sally." Durell said quietly.
She stood shaking and he touched her throat. Her voice quivered. "This time he was going to kill me. Sam."
"He always meant to kill vou. Sally." Durell heard a sudden burst of renewed gunfire from the hacienda, took the girl's hand, and ran for the airstrip. The guards there were indecisive. There came a closer burst of automatic fire and two of the guards went down. The others at the hangar threw away their weapons and ran off. Belmont and Wells came running up.
"Take care of Sally for a moment," Durell said.
He ducked inside the open hangar doors The place smelled of gasoline and machine oil. The Bell chopper looked like a giant, bubbled insect in the shadows. The Cessna was parked beside it. It took only seconds to check each plane and pull the ignition keys from the instrument panels. He pocketed them and called to the others.
"Willie. Belmont. Each of you take one of these fuel cans. Sally, you can carry one, too. Let's go."
He was afraid they had lost too much time already, but as they ran with their burdens across the compound, he saw that the fighting at the hacienda had hardly begun. There were confused challenges, a few desultory shots; but everyone had taken cover. The perimeter lights still blazed. But nothing visible moved near there now.
"The generator," Durell said. "Knock it out, Willie." He paused. "Take Inocenza with you."
"Sure thing."
They moved up toward the knoll, Sally close to his side. Wells vanished into the darkness, and a voice suddenly called from one of the last bungalows across the compound.
"Durell! Comrade Durell!"
He turned and saw Vodaniev and his men. "Yes?" "What are you trying to do?" the Russian demanded. "Starting a revolution," Durell said grimly. "Against Agosto. Want to join us?"
Vodaniev looked aghast. "A revolution, comrade?" "Think about it," Durell said, and went on.
4
Mucujai was in a thicket of wild oleander, growing along a crumbled wall of what might once have been a formal garden attached to the hacienda. The Indian lowered his rifle as he recognized Durell. Mucujai looked grim. There was a bad gash across his broad cheek. He moved his head to indicate the lighted area around the big house.
"It is a fortress, senhor, with machine guns. My people in there cannot be approached. They fight for the colonel. They do not know that we, their brothers, are here. The colonel has told them we are foreigners, trying to trick them."
Durell pulled Sally down behind the crumbled stone wall. The generator plant was to the left. The house windows were all shuttered, but there were loopholes visible where rifles glinted. Mucujai's men had formed a loose circle around the knoll to seal off Agosto's escape, but the ring could be broken easily by a planned sortie that concentrated at one point of Mucujai's lines. Durell couldn't guess what Agosto was thinking. He would probably call for a psirley soon, and try to turn the Indians against each other, offering something to them in lieu of the inevitable execution they might expect. Durell did not count on aid from the other bidders. They would wait for the outcome before acting. Vodaniev and Soo would follow their separate orders and watch each other as much as the struggle against Agosto. Each would be thinking of the Zero Formula. He wished he could guess what was hatching in Agosto's fertile brain. The man had made a mistake when he killed the professor, he knew it now, and he would plan a reply and an alternative to the present situation. He would try to turn the bidders against each other, of course—
The perimeter lights went out.
There was a sudden glow of fire from the shed that housed the diesel generator. Wells had succeeded in his task. The flames lit up the left side of the hacienda, and a sudden volley of shots came from that direction. But directly ahead, the walls of the big house were still in the shadows.
Assignment - Amazon Queen Page 16
