by John Blaine
“Act?”Connel demanded.“How?”
Balgos shrugged. “That is what we are here to decide.”
Rick watched the geologist’s face. He was sure that Connel, for reasons unknown, was trying to slow down the project. He was satisfied that the man had stolen both the initial tracings and the dynamite. He also knew that Connel lied. On their return from trailing him to Casa Guevara, the boys had found Connel having a cup of coffee in the dining room and had asked casually where he had gone. He had muttered something about going into Calor for a supply of cigars.
Hartson Brant asked, “What do you make of this series of tracings? My own opinion is that we have found a structural weakness through which the magma will move. But the weakness does not extend far enough upward to give any idea of the channel the magma will take to the surface.”
The scientist pointed to a series of blue lines as he spoke. Dr. Williams examined the lines, then took his pencil and began to sketch rapidly on his cross-section drawing of the volcano and the earth under it.
Rick watched as the sketch took shape. From the upper lens-shaped magma front Williams was drawing a series of lines that changed direction, moving toward the western side of the island. Then, across the top of the upward-moving lines Williams drew a horizontal line.
“Those upward strokes are the fissures shown by the tracings,” he said. “Notice that they stop at the horizontal line. My guess is that the horizontal line represents an unbroken stratum that will probably stop the magma temporarily. We may even have another one of those lens-shaped pools develop.”
Big Hobart Zircon poked at the sketch with a huge finger. “Jeff, how far below the surface is this stratum?”
“Slightly over a quarter of a mile, I’d guess. It’s hard to be accurate within a few feet. On that side of the mountain the ocean bottom is a few hundred feet below sea level, and I’d say the hard rock is probably a thousand feet below that.”
Zircon rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “If we could somehow breach that hard rock and allow room for the magma to flow upward, what would happen?” he inquired.
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Esteben Balgos exclaimed excitedly, “Once through the layer of hard rock, the magma would encounter plenty of surface water. Look at Jeff’s sketch. Above the hard rock there are many fissures, which must havea high water content. If the magma reaches those, we will have violent eruption through the western side of the mountain, probably right about sea level.”
Rick could see instantly what Balgos meant. “Dad, an eruption on the west side would beperfect, The mountain itself would protect Calor and the rest of the island!”
“That’s true, Rick,” Hartson Brant agreed. “The problem is,how can we possibly create a break in a layer of hard rock so far underground?”
David Riddle answered him. “There’s one way. Drive a tunnel down through it.”
All eyes looked at him.
“Can it be done?” Julius Weiss demanded.
“Yes. If there’s enough time, enough machinery, and enough manpower. But look at the problem. Once the magma starts to move upward through those faults Jeff has drawn, it will move fast. The tunnel would have to be done before the magma started to move. Otherwise, the heat would be too great for men to work, and even if they could work they’d be drilling right into magma.”
“This stuff is beyond me,” Connel said. “Let me know what you decide, will you?” He turned and walked from the room.
Rick’s eyes met Scotty’s. The ex-Marine nodded, and in a moment quietly slipped out of the room.
Julius Weiss demanded, “Are you seriously proposing that we drive a tunnel for over a quarter mile, almost straight down, through solid rock?”
Riddle shrugged. “Do you know any other way of releasing the magma safely? I don’t.”
“Perhaps it could be done,” Hartson Brant said thoughtfully. “But, as Dave says, we’d need time, machinery, and manpower. I’m sure we can get the machinery and the manpower from the governor. But do we have time?”
Balgos and Williams looked at each other. They were the experts. It was up to them to say.
“How long, Jeff?”Balgos asked.
“I don’t know. If we assume the magma will continue rising at roughly the same rate we’ve measured during the past few days, I’d guess perhaps two or three weeks. On the other hand, the magma could find weaknesses we haven’t detected. We may have only a few days.”
“We’ll have to try,” Hartson Brant stated. “If the governor can give us the entire labor force of the island, and all available earth-moving machinery, we have a chance at least. If we do nothing, there’s no chance at all. I think we should pay a visit to the governor right now.”
Scotty came back into the room. “Connel’s in his room,” he reported. “I think he made a telephone call, but I can’t be sure without checking with the switchboard. Shall I?”
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“It doesn’t matter,” Rick told him. “We’re on our way to see the governor. Connel can’t stop things now.”
The scientists were already moving through the door and to the jeeps. Within a few moments the small convoy was moving down the mountainside toward Calor and the executive offices.
Inside the cool, white stone building the group waited while Esteben Balgos went to see if the governor was available. He came out of the executive suite with a look of concern on his face.
“The governor is not in,” he reported. “His secretary does not know where he is. The secretary’s worried. Montoya didn’t show up at all this morning and his residence says he left at the usual time. I think we’d better see the lieutenant governor.”
Rick started to speak, but thought better of it. Connel had not come with them, and his visit to Guevara could mean nothing.
Jaime Guevara was a tall, thin man with a hawk face and a tiny goatee. Hartson Brant, as spokesman, got to the point right away. He described the reason for their coming, and their findings to date. He stressed the need for fast action. In the governor’s absence, he stated, they would need the active support of Sefior Guevara. If he would issue orders at once, the scientific group would be happy to organize and supervise the work.
Guevara listened until the scientists had finished, then he smiled. “A strange tale,” he said. “It is difficult to believe El Viejo is getting ready to erupt. Surely your imaginations have run away with you.”
“We do not depend on imagination,” Balgos said curtly. “We depend on scientific investigation. The situation is precisely as Dr. Brant outlined it.”
“No doubt,” Guevara said soothingly. “But surely you realize I cannot disrupt the economy of the entire island simply to dig a hole. Why, the people would laugh their heads off. No, senores, I am helpless. You had better see the governor.”
“The governor isn’t here and there is no time to lose,” Hartson Brant said flatly. “You must act immediately if the island is to be saved. The lives of your people are in your own hands.”
‘Perhaps the governor will return soon,” Guevara said. “He will doubtless believe your story and take action. I regret that I cannot.And now, if you will excuse me?”
“Then you will not move even to save the island?”
“I do not believe the island is in danger, Dr. Brant,” Guevara said coldly. “Convince the governor if you can find him. Meanwhile, have the favor to cease bothering me with your silly tales”
CHAPTER IX
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The Yellow Ground
Governor Luis Montoya could not be located. Neither his family nor his staff knew his whereabouts.
There was great alarm over his unexplained absence. The police were searching for the missing executive, but with no success.
Hartson Brant called a council of war and told the scientific group that his most recent phone call to Guevara had even resulted in a turndown when he asked for more dynamite. The lieutenant governor evidently was not content with refusing to help, he was going to obstruct.
“There is
dynamite onTrinidad ,” Hartson Brant said.“Plenty of it. I made a phone call to a friend at the U. S. Air Base there, and he agreed to get it for us. Rick, you and Scotty fly over toPort of Spain right away. The information is written down here.” He handed Rick a slip of paper.
“If you leave now, you can get there before dark, spend the night and come back in the morning.
Bring all the dynamite you can carry, with caps and a few reels of primer cord. Well need more wire, too. Get hopping, now.”
“Yes, sir,” Rick said. He and Scotty ran to their room for toothbrushes, stuffed their pockets with extra socks and underwear, and ran to the parking lot for the jeep.
The weather was fine and clear, and the flight uneventful. When they landed at theU. S. base they found that Hartson Brant’s friend, Colonel Tom Markey, had arranged for a full load of dynamite, and full gas tanks for the plane. The boys spent the night at bachelor officers’ quarters at the base and took off at dawn, the Sky Wagon sluggish from its load of dynamite cases.
Back at the Hot Springs Hotel, they unloaded the dynamite from the jeep and stored it under police protection in the pump house. Then they went to look for the scientists.
Hartson Brant, David Riddle, and Julius Weiss were in the conference room working over drawings.
Rick saw that they were sketches of a tunnel.
The scientists welcomed them, and Rick asked, “Any progress, Dad?”
“No, Rick. The governor is still missing. We can’t get help until he’s found.”
“Where are the others?” Scotty asked.
“Placing tiltometers on the mountain,” his father told him. “The instruments were ordered by phone fromCaracas right after you left and got in on the first morning plane.”
Rick glanced at Scotty. He asked, “Exactly where are the others?”
“Balgos and Connel are at the north end of the mountain, above Redondo. Williams and Zircon are up above us somewhere. They started the climb behind thehot springs .”
“I think we’ll get a bite to eat,” Rick said.“Unless you need us.”
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“No. There’s nothing for you to do right at the moment, but Balgos wants you to take some photos from the air later this afternoon.”
“Okay, Dad.” Rick gestured, and Scotty followed him out.
“All’s quiet,” Rick told his pal. “And a quiet time is a good time to do a little investigating. Let’s go to the kitchen, get a couple of sandwiches, and eat them on the way.”
“To where?”Scotty asked. He grinned. “Don’t tell me. To see what Connel is hiding over at his stations.”
“On the button.Let’s get going.”
There was nothing whatever of interest at Connel’s first two stations. The ground was torn up somewhat from the series of shots, but the boys could find no trace of anything unusual. They got back into the jeep, and Rick drove up the trail to the last station. He followed the path of broken vegetation Connel’s jeep had made, noticing that the trail was dipping downward to a spot lower on the mountain than the other stations.
They reached a patch of crushed and yellowed growth where Connel obviously had parked his jeep.
There were oil stains on some of the broken leaves.
Scotty pointed to a brown-paper cigarette stub. “Ever see Connel smoke one of those?”
Rick hadn’t. “He smokes cigars. Where do you suppose that came from?”
Scotty got out of the jeep and bent over the butt. “The tip is still damp,” he said. “Someone’s been here very recently. We’d better keep an eye open.”
Trampled vegetation showed them the path to the firing place. Moving cautiously, the boys walked down the path, eyes constantly searching for signs of movement in the heavy growth.
The clearing where Connel had placed his shots was only a short distance down the path. Rick examined it carefully, but it looked like all the others, except for one thing. The broken earth was yellow, and of a different texture than the deep jungle loam at the other stations.
Rick walked into the shattered area and picked up a piece of the yellow ground. It broke in his hands.
“Funny-looking stuff,” he said.
“Yes,” Scotty agreed. “Take a look around while I keep a watch. I have a funny feeling we’re not alone here.”
There was a fairly deep crater in the middle of the area. Rick stepped into it and kicked yellow earth out of his way. He was puzzled. There was nothing visible in the area except the yellow ground, and there was nothing about that to give him a clue to Connel’s determination to keep them away.
His foot dislodged a clump of earth. It rolled to the bottom of the shot crater, exposing two large crystals. Rick picked them up and rubbed the dirt off. They felt rather greasy. He didn’t think they were quartz. His mind ranged over the possibilities. Probably datolite, he decided. The color was about right, and he knew datolite was found in igneous rocks of volcanic origin. He put the crystals in his pocket.
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A trace of blue caught his eye and he knelt, digging with his hands. He uncovered a few more of the datolite crystals and put them in his pocket. They weren’t particularly good specimens; he had some in his rock collection that were perfectly formed and clear, but at least they were something to take home.
Digging uncovered a layer of hard blue rock, heavily pockmarked and filled with the yellow ground. He saw one place where the blue actually blended in with yellow and decided that the blue and yellow were probably the same rock. The slaty blue simply turned to yellow when it was exposed to the air for a while.
There were loose pieces of blue, broken by the dynamite blasts. He picked up a couple of smaller pieces,then added a piece of yellow to his collection. He uncovered another crystal, too, a large one nearly the size ofa golf ball and put that in his pocket.
Scotty was getting restless. “Let’s get going,” he said. “I don’t like this.”
Rick had seen enough, and it had told him nothing. He was just as puzzled over Connel’s motive as ever.
Obviously, the answer was not here-or, if it was, they couldn’t see it.
“Okay,” he said. “Move out.”
Scotty led the way back to the jeep. Rick got into the driver’s seat and started the motor. He backed and turned in the narrow space Connel’s jeep had created, and finally got his wheels straight for the run back.
From somewhere behind them a voice called, “ Parada !”
“Who’s that yelling at us to stop?” Rick asked.
“I can’t see anyone,” Scotty replied. His eyes were scanning the jungle. “But I don’t know anyone around here we want to talk to. I’ve got a hunch we should get going.”
Rick felt the same. He released the clutch and the jeep moved ahead.
“ Parada !” the voice yelled again, and on the echo came the clear crash of a rifleshot . A jagged star suddenly appeared on the windshield between them!
Rick reacted instinctively. He shoved the gas pedal to the floor and bent low, the skin of his back crawling with the expectation of a rifle bullet hitting it. The jeep leaped ahead and he steered as best he could. He shifted into second and the vehicle picked up speed. The rifle snapped again and he heard the sound of the slug hitting metal in the rear of the jeep. Then the trail turned and there was heavy jungle growth between them and the unseen sniper.
Not until they reached the second station, a mile away, did Rick slow down. He looked at Scotty, his face grim. “The place was guarded. What else can you make out of it?”
“Just that,” Scotty agreed. “The guard must have been making a tour around the shot station. He got back just as we were taking off.”
“Funny he didn’t hear the jeep when we came,” Rick said.
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“Not very.Sound gets lost pretty fast in this heavy growth. You couldn’t hear us a hundred yards away.
Probably there’s just the one guard, and he goes around the station in a big circle.”
“I�
��ll buy it,” Rick agreed.“But why? Why guard a chunk of jungle with nothing in it but some torn up yellow ground?”
“When I find out,” Scotty replied, “I’ll let you know first thing.”
CHAPTER X
The Volcanic Pipe
Hartson Brant and Julius Weiss were still at work in the conference room when Rick and Scotty returned. David Riddle had gone, and the others had evidently not finished placing the tiltometers.
The two listened to Rick’s story in silence,then Hartson Brant sighed. “I don’t know how you do it, Rick. But if there’s trouble around, you and Scotty will find it. Are you sure the rifleman shot at you?”
“We’ve got a bullet hole in the windshield and one just under the rear seat,” Scotty said. “One might be an accident, but not two.”
“I agree.” Hartson Brant nodded. “Let’s see the samples of earth you brought back, Rick.”
He took both the yellow and blue pieces from his pocket and put them on the table. Hartson Brant and Weiss examined them with interest.
“Unusual,” Weiss said. “I think you are right in assuming that the yellow is simply an oxidized form of the blue, Rick. But I can’t tell you what the material is. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
“The grain is pretty fine,” Hartson Brant added. “It could be igneous or sedimentary in origin. I’m not enough of a rock hound to know. David Riddle can tell us when he returns.”
“Connel would know, too,” Scotty reminded. “He’s a geologist. Wouldn’t you think he would have mentioned an unusual formation like this when he found it?”
“Perhaps it’s not unusual to a geologist,” Weiss pointed out.
“Where is Riddle?” Rick asked.
“He went to his room a few minutes ago. He should be back shortly. Rick, I think you’d better tell us the whole story. Why do you suspect Connel? Why was it important for you to look at his shot station?”
Rick started at the beginning. “It wasn’t any onething, it was a series of little offbeat things. We thought it was funny he didn’t even want company after Ruiz was hurt. Then he reacted so violently when we proposed swapping stations. It just seemed odd. The theft of the tracings bothered us, too. No ordinary thief would steal papers and leave Dr. Williams’ wallet in his pocket, or leave his pocket transistor radio Page 39
