GFU03 - The Golden Boats of Taradata Affair

by Simon Latter

  The stiletto clicked out, slashing viciously. It sliced across April's upper arms, severing cloth, missing her eyes by inches. She could have shot to kill, but could not bring herself to do it. Even on an S.F.D., and following the selective-kill code, she hadn't the nature for actual cold killing. She snapped one shot, aiming to wound, but Lucy's arms were waving too fast as April herself ducked the blade.

  Then she flung the gun smack into Lucy's face, leapt down and sideways, coming up under the parasol. In seconds she had paralysed that arm and pulled the parasol away. Lucy Padrack's eyes went wild. She screamed horribly, then, cursing and screaming, ran out into the moonlight. April snatched up her gun and raced after her. She saw the howling mob of islanders before Lucy realized they were there.

  Lucy ran headlong into them. They closed around her in a milling press, shovels and whips waving and flaying. Soon, a tattered doll that once was Lucy Padrack was thrown high above their heads — to fall, lifeless, and disappear.

  April faced the approaching islanders, gun poised.

  "Back — get back!" She fired at the ground in front of them.

  The leaders halted, wide-eyed. The others slowed behind them.

  "That's it," said April. "Quiet, now — stay there." A voice called: "Okay, Miss Dancer, they won't hurt you. They're on our side!"

  "You could have fooled me. Hey! Is that you, Randy Kovac?"

  The four of them came out of the darkness. The islanders slowly moved aside, very quiet now, almost ashamed. They left a trampled clearing on which sprawled the remains of Lucy Padrack.

  Count Kazan said: "I would not care to be the judge who has to decide who holds the greater guilt. We are told she personally killed three islanders with a parasol. I do not understand how, but…"

  "I know how," said April. "Why?"

  Kazan shrugged. "They were happily married."

  "Ah!" said April. "And she..."

  "So the little Hiho has just told me."

  April said: "Sama and Randy — go help Mark." They ran into the building as a group of men pounded from the rear of it, all armed, a white-coated figure leading them, a gun in each hand.

  "Oh no!" April exclaimed. "Who asked you to get in on the act?"

  "At your service, miss," said Chas. "We heard gunfire so we came running."

  Kazan said: "You were nearly dead."

  "Yes," said April. "You took a chance, Chas."

  He moved across to the islanders. A number of them dropped to their knees. Chas spoke to them quietly. Then they gathered up Lucy Padrack and marched slowly away down the valley.

  Chas said: "You have no authority on this island. It is under the magisterial jurisdiction of my father. I am a sworn officer of his court. You will please surrender your guns."

  "Now, look, Chas — don't come the old blarney with me..."

  Chas turned to his men. "If I am attacked — Shoot to kill." He came to April, held out his hand. "There'll be no more killing or shooting on Taradata, Miss Dancer." Then speaking more quietly in his cockney voice, continued:

  "Don't be a flippin' mug, girlie — I can make what you've done all nice and legal. If I don't, them Palagas — and me old Daddy, bless him — will stick you and your mates in the clink and keep you there 'til your teeth fall out."

  April sighed, handed over her gun. She smiled at Kazan.

  "Mr. Fix-it — island style. Do as the gent says."

  Kazan shrugged again. "You're the boss."

  Chas took the guns. "Is she now? Well, well! Seems you're a more important girlie than I thought. I never fancied working for a woman."

  April said sweetly: "No, not one — at least four or five."

  "Nasty," said Chas. "Not nice. Let's not get personal. Now — what's going on in there?"

  Soon after Chas entered the building, all the lights went out. Cheval tried to escape. Padrack did get clear, then suddenly fainted — possibly from loss of blood. Moonlight was now brilliant so the lighting was not really necessary. It came on after a while.

  Mark thought he'd call Chas's bluff, even though April had accepted the position. Chas then produced a police card, showing him truly to be an officer of the court of jurisdiction. A strange man, full of strange twists, but a local power. All the islanders respected him. So did Chief Kuala, who marched in with his headmen. April, Mark and their companions fumed as Chas and the chief exchanged flowery greetings. Under cover of this long-winded powwow, Mark whispered an idea to April. They passed it on to the others. Chas's seamen had taken charge of the wounded Padrack, but had left only one man to guard Cheval.

  April chatted up this seaman, asking him questions about the wonderful Chas and gushing over him, drawing the man farther away from Cheval. When he glanced around, Cheval had gone. So had Kazan and Lars Carlson.

  "It's all right," said April, patting the man's shoulder. "Chas told us to take him to the ship. You'll be having a whoop-up tonight, huh? Lots of dancing, drinking — I come? You like me to come?" She beckoned Sama Paru, whispered: "Get going. Contact the launch. Rendezvous with it. Surface and take off Cheval. Then go full speed for Mr. Waverly. Hand Cheval over. The charge is complicity in murder, inciting a riot — anything you like — but break Cheval."

  Sama and Randy departed.

  Mark had wandered into the building. April followed him.

  "They're all congratulating each other," said Mark. "Kuala's men are going to fire the workshops. April, me old darling — there's something we've missed out on. Why did we lose control? Even allowing for the Lucy fiasco, we could have handled it."

  "Chas," said April. "That Chas! He had tabs on how things were going. Must have done. Then he shows up smack at the moment when he could say we weren't in control." She stormed through the laboratory, crunching broken glass, slamming aside chairs. She stood staring at the rifled filing cabinet, the clipboard with shreds of torn paper jammed under the metal. Then glared back at Mark.

  "You?"

  "No. I aimed to get in here, but couldn't leave Cheval and Padrack."

  April looked through the window as flames streaked up in wild-searing tongues of fire. Kuala and his headmen and other islanders were gone. Chas was directing his seamen to carry Padrack to the ship. He told others to collect Lodori's body. All was quiet as he came to them, smiling. They smiled back at him.

  "Kuala and his people will never forget what you have done," said Chas.

  "I'm sure they won't." April still smiled.

  Mark wandered about casually. "No more little boats — no more lush pickings, eh, Chas?"

  Chas shrugged. "Money ain't everything, y'know. These are simple, happy people. They got a right to live their own lives."

  "Oh, sure, sure!" Mark suddenly leapt from behind, pinioning Chas's arms and fixing a garotte hold on his throat. "Methinks you are a very crafty little man."

  April sprang forward, searched with swift, expert actions, and pulled folded papers from inside Chas's shirt.

  "How did you know they'd be there, Chas?" She flicked his nose with the papers.

  Chas laughed in her face. A slightly strangled laugh. Mark eased his hold, then released Chas and stood back. Chas massaged his throat.

  "You're the clever ones," he said. "You tell me. But don't forget I got a right to take anything I want as evidence."

  April laughed softly. "Anything? With a whole row of files to choose from?" She glanced at the papers as she spoke. "You choose the latest and probably most important ones. The final analysis and the final tests."

  Mark rattled a metal tray containing empty phials. "On these? Oh, Granny, what quick eyes you've got! They only arrived this morning."

  "You ain't the only ones with a little brain," said Chas. "Very cocky, you youngsters these days."

  April exclaimed: "Lodori — of course!" She operated the communicator. "Channel D, please. April Dancer calling Mr. W. Priority." When he answered, she said: "Full report later, sir. Am now requesting full information on Dr. George Lodori of Taradata — minor chara
cter. Background — war record." She waited, listening carefully. "Thank you, sir. Have you received our message re the package we despatched via Kazan? You have? Good! Thank you." She closed the communicator.

  "I'll have to get myself one of those," said Chas. "Cute, ain't they?"

  "So are you," said April. "Dr. George Lodori was a prisoner-of-war at the same time as you, in the same camp. How else could you know that final tests were taking place as soon as Cheval arrived? How else, except from Lodori, could you know anything about this angle? Not from your islander chums. Most of them don't know a test tube from a light bulb — or how to work a phone. That's why there are no modern communications — except the radio. Who works the radio, Chas? One of your wives?"

  "Nah!" Chas was scornful. "One of me sons, of course! You'll probably find out, so why not tell you. Okay, so the doc and me were old buddies." He looked at her sadly. "Did you have to let him die, miss?"

  "You know Padrack shot him. Mark told you."

  Mark said: "We'd been knocked out by blast from that trick prowler trap, but not badly hurt. We were lying doggo, biding our time. We're pretty used to controlling our actions under stress. But even if I'd leapt up — it would have been too late. I think Lodori was expendable. You must have had an idea he was in danger."

  Chas nodded. "Out of his depth, was George. Got himself involved with big money men." He laughed cynically. "Ain't we all? But he was clever." Chas waved his hand. "At this sort of thing. He was a sick man when I brought him here years ago. That prisoner-of-war camp just about finished him. But he had peace here. Peace and sun and happy people. He took up teaching — then doctoring again — and made a life for himself. Then 'he began this — what-you-call-em — research stuff. The islanders never got sick — not from things like you and me. George thought he'd found out why. He wanted money for equipment and suchlike. I helped all I could, but it wasn't enough. Two years ago he took a trip to find a backer. He found one. I guess they were waiting for a mug like George." He glared at April. "Well, they do, don't they? Wait for the little fellas with the big ideas but no money."

  She nodded. "It's done quite often. Your friend George's last words were — 'It's mine, mine!'"

  "Ah! And it was too."

  "What?" said April. "What, Chas?"

  He grinned, suddenly twinkling. "You find out. That's what you're paid for, ain't it?"

  "We're paid," said Mark, "but our commission is paid in terms of lives saved, and the prevention of world domination by fear and exploitation of the many by the few."

  "Proper little crusaders, ain't you?" The words were sarcastic, but his voice was kindly. "I see you whipped Cheval away while I was in the powwow. Maybe just as well. I've got Padrack, and I'll want your evidence — unless you're going to claim some sort of diplomatic privilege?"

  "No," said April. "We could, but we won't. We'll swear affidavits saying we witnessed the murder. What about Lucy Padrack?"

  "I reckon she died resisting arrest for complicity in murder," said Chas calmly. "I shed no tears for Lucy. Would you like to swear otherwise?"

  April shook her head. "We might need your evidence before we can deal with Cheval." She smiled at Chas.

  "Under International Law, that could be tricky for you, eh, Mark?"

  "Very tricky." Mark followed her lead. "You're an officer of a court, Chas— not just an ordinary citizen. As you've been careful to prove to us. Our government and its agencies could make you travel to the other side of the world as a material witness — if they wanted to."

  "And if we made certain they did," said April, smiling sweetly. "You are a man of many talents, Chas. I admire you. And I appreciate that a long absence from your many business interests around the islands…"

  "Not to mention your personal and family life," Mark interrupted.

  "... would be seriously disrupted by prolonged absence," April continued. She sighed, as if very concerned over the problem. "But there are better legal brains than ours on board a certain ship not far from here. I expect they would advise us."

  "They'd do more than advise," said Mark. "They'd ruddy-well order us to make sure you were available. We don't want to threaten you to come with us, but if you don't, then I think they might sort of lean on your ship with theirs and take you off. You see — the Padracks were American citizens. Oh, not very good ones, I'll admit, but that's not really the point."

  Chas hitched one leg over a high stool, lit a cigarette, feathered smoke. Mark leaned against a broken cabinet, hefting his gun gently up and down. April sat on the table, knees drawn up, chin resting on them, staring at Chas, her hands wafting the papers to and fro.

  "You might, and they might," said Chas at last. "But there ain't one of you could make me do anything I didn't want. Better and tougher cookies than you have tried — and failed."

  "Who's talking about making you?" said Mark. "We know you don't scare."

  "You're right, I don't. Likewise, I ain't a complete halfwit. You know I can't afford to leave the islands right now. And I know that you know." He shrugged. "So I trade. What's the deal?"

  April waved the papers. "Your friend Lodori discovered a drug in the leaves of the tara plant. These had to be processed and pressed in a certain way so that they could travel. Numbers of them were then moulded into the coracles as an inner skin. Why such a tortuous way? Why not extract the drug here and export it in one guise or another?"

  "Too bulky, for one thing. The leaves must be bonded with a special solution, as you say. They have to stay like that for at least eight weeks, but not stacked up. They must have air around them. You forgot to mention the tara root dust. That is separated from the earth and sifted over the bonded leaves. It contains a concentration of a substance found only in the tara tree roots. Useless on its own — just like the leaves are useless without it. A natural substance in a young leaf is released by the substance in a mature root, and vicky-verky. Follow me?"

  "Almost ahead of you," said April.

  "Taradata is not a big island," said Mark. "But there's room to spread out a few thousand leaves."

  "No go," said Chas. "George tried it. They mustn't dry out beyond a certain point. Then he found — by accident, ain't that comical? — that the tara bark, leastways the under side of it, was a natural. It stopped the leaves from breaking before they were ready, and it actually helped the drug to do what he called 'become stable and viable'."

  "So why boats? Why not strips of bark?"

  "Because you can't get large enough pieces of bark. It comes off in strips, and you mustn't bind the leaves into tight packaging. Okay for tiny quantities, but George's backers wanted production — big production. So they revived the native coracle industry. Seems too that there's a whole mess of laws in your country about importing plants. But they didn't bother about them little boats."

  "It jells." April looked at Mark. He grinned and said:

  "It might justify our expense sheets. But if they were ready to spend all they did on this set-up, why not go the limit and build an extractor plant here?" He picked up a bottle he'd put ready to collect along with other items. It was full of coarse brown flakes. "What do the victims do, Chas — crunch it for breakfast, or boil it in a teapot?"

  "It don't travel like that," said Chas. "You have to pour boiling water over the whole leaf — strain the water, and drink it. Only keeps about three days before it begins to lose its effect. But once you've drunk a course of it, you don't need any more for a helluva long time. All the dosages are worked out. The islanders have drunk it for years. The leaves of the tara fern and the roots of the tara tree make smashing vegetables and juice in a fish stew."

  Mark shuddered.

  April said: "Your friend George should have kept it to the islanders — not let an anti-social and powerful organization get their hands on it by mixing it with cold viruses in a concentration. It's a fiendish weapon, Chas. It could wipe out half a population."

  Chas stamped on his cigarette as he jumped to his feet.

/>   "Wipe out! What the hell are you talking about?"

  Mark juggled the empty phials. "Your ship brought these in."

  "So what? I've brought plenty. George used them for testing."

  "But these are full of virulent cold germs!" Mark exclaimed. "If they're released in concentration, thousands of people could die of congestion, pneumonia, bronchitis, or go tubercular. Our experts will tell us exactly how THRUSH intended to use them. But for my money, Chas, both you and your mate George are unscrupulous rats. I don't know why April has bothered to trade with you."

  Chas stared at her. "Is he crackers? What's he talking about? Don't he know there's not a ruddy native on this island, nor on mine, nor me, nor my wives and kids, ever has a cold — is never ill with any chest complaints?" He stabbed Mark in the chest with his finger. "You sink a few gallons of George's wallop down you, and you'll never have a cold, no time, not ever — see?"

  Mark goggled at April, who was scanning the sheets more closely than on her first flip through them.

  "It's true," she said. "Cheval's tests were all positive.

  He'd been sent to conclude Lodori's work. THRUSH was ready to move into action. Cheval has some notes here about suspending the tara substance inside mercury linings — he doesn't seem very hopeful about it, and suggests the present methods of transporting the leaf be retained pending further tests." She smiled at Chas. "Sorry we misjudged your friend — and you. It is a wonderful discovery."

  "I told you," said Chas, waving his arms. "I told you!"

  April nodded. "I don't think George knew either."

  "Knew what?"

  "That the organization he'd sold out to were going to use the tara substance to make their own people immune. Then they could spray concentrations of virus around any community they chose. They could cripple the work, the economy, and the life of any country by being the only healthy persons in that sector. The more illness there was, the more cultures their scientists would make."

  "A weapon!" Chas exclaimed. "My Gawd — a weapon to destroy people! And all George wanted was to save them." He moved to look out at the flames streaking up to the sky. When he turned back, the tears were streaming over his wrinkled brown cheeks. "Y'know something? You'll laugh like hell. George never took any money for it — not for himself. We all made money — except him." He stumbled to the door, turned. "There ain't no deal," he said. "Your people want me — I'll come to the other side of the world."