The Flaming Mountain

by John Blaine

  “No, senor.But I saw el comandante Guevara.But eef he ees here, also el gobernador . C6mo no?”

  “I guess so,” Rick agreed. “Mil gracias, sergeant. Vaya con Dios . A thousand thanks. Go with God.”

  “Y ustedes ,” the sergeant returned politely. “And you, senores.”

  Scotty let the clutch out and the jeep moved ahead. “Now to call on Captain Montoya,” he said.

  “Right?”

  “Right,” Rick agreed.“Interesting. Guevara tells the troops he and the governor are having a security conference and should not be interrupted. So guards are posted to protect the hotel. And none of the poor soldados realize that blocking the roads also keeps people away from the volcanic pipe, so Guevara and Connel can start work.”

  “With Guevara’s own men to do the dirty work,” Scotty added.

  “Too true.Maybe they even have soldiers on the job. I know what else the soldiers are guarding, too.

  Probably without knowing it.”

  Scotty turned to look at him.“You thinking the same thing I am?”

  “Yep.Somewhere behind that guarded perimeter is the governor. And until we get him out, we’re helpless.”

  “Then,” Scotty announced, “we’lljust have to get him out.”

  The jeep almost flew down the road to Calor. Scotty wheeled it through the narrow streets and drew up at the police station. In a moment they were reporting to Captain Montoya.

  The young officer listened,then smacked a fist into his palm. “ Bueno ! This is good, amigos. We will let Guevara and your Connel have the diamonds, eh? They can use the entire army to guard the mine, if they wish. I hope they do. That means we have the rest of the island in which to maneuver. I have already sent one of my most trusted men to approach the diamond pipe from the north, through Redondo. That way we will know the exact limits.”

  “But they’ve got the army,” Rick objected. “Where does that leave us?”

  “Free to operate in other ways,” Montoya said. “The army is occupied, no? Let them stay that way.”

  His keen eyes examined the two critically. Rick felt a little uncomfortable at the penetrating stare. Then Montoya smiled. “I do not know you,” he said flatly. “But I have certain evidence of the kind of young Page 53

  men you are. First, you came to this island. Why?On a mission of mercy, in answer to my uncle’s call. It was unselfish, and it was also dangerous. Then, tonight, you took the chance of finding the roadblock.

  Also, though this may surprise you, we have heard something of the Spindrift Scientific Foundation even here on this island.”

  Rick was surprised. He knew the Foundation had an international reputation, but he had thought it was limited to scientists.

  “So, I have some basis for what I now ask of you,” Montoya added. “There is no time to collect those of my men who are completely loyal. It is because they are scattered, searching for some trace of my uncle. I do not wish to take time to wait until they report in.”

  “What do you want us to do?” Scotty asked.

  “It is simple, and not so simple. A large party cannot invade the perimeter Guevara has established, but a very few can perhaps do it. We will be that few. We will go to Casa Guevara. And, if we are lucky, we will rescue my uncle. What do you say?”

  The boys exchanged glances. Rick spoke for both of them. “We’re with you.”

  Montoya didn’t have to reply. His warm handshake said everything there was to say.

  Scotty spoke up. “I’ve had some experience in nighttime operations. We will need dark clothes, and something to blacken our faces. We will need weapons. Not guns. If we get into a shooting scrape it will bring the whole army down on us.”

  “I agree.” Montoya opened his desk drawer and drew out a policeman’s night stick. He handed it to Scotty.“How about this?”

  Scotty hefted it, grinned, and handed it to Rick. It was heavy, and perfectly balanced. Rick guessed it had been drilled and the end filled with lead. “One good thing about this,” he said. “No moving parts to get out of order.”

  Montoya smiled. “True. We will each have one, and I will take my pistol as a last resort. Let us look at the map and memorize it. We will have to go through the jungle to reach the house, and it would be disastrous to lose our way.”

  “Get a compass,” Scotty requested. “We can set a compass course and hit it right on the nose.”

  Rick looked at his pal.“Marine training?”

  “Nope.”Scotty grinned.“Boy Scout. But it will come in handy. I think I could take you there anyway, but we’d better have a compass to be sure.”

  The three bent over the map and worked out the approach to Casa Guevara. For one thing, they agreed to approach as close as possible by jeep. If they found the governor, transportation would be needed.

  He could not be as fast on foot as might be necessary, because of his age. Besides, they had no idea of his present physical condition.

  It was dark when they rolled out of Calor, Rick driving. All three were dressed in dark clothes, and each had a night stick in his belt. Montoya’s pistol was hidden in a shoulder holster.

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  At the officer’s direction, they turned toward the airport, passed it, and headed toward the lighthouse at the extreme southern tip of the island. The road led past the light and along the southern shore, a hundred yards from the sea. Then, as they reached their first turning point, Montoya said, “Slowly. It should be about here.”

  After a moment he found it, a pair of ruts through the rolling farm land. Rick knew from his study of the map that it was a road on which bananas were hauled from the plantations. It cut across to the main road to San Souci. By taking this route, they would miss the check point near the hotel.

  The road was bumpy but passable. Rick kept a steady speed in spite of the jouncing it gave his passengers. They could take it.

  Presently there was blacktop ahead. They had reached the road to San Souci. Rick pulled a flashlight from his pocket and pointed it at the odometer, counting off the tenths of a mile as he headed toward the town. When he reached seven-tenths he stopped the jeep.

  “Turnoff point,” he said. “From now on, we steer our way through the boondocks. Any preferred way, Captain?”

  Montoya shrugged. “There is no road, or even a path. Do what you can.”

  “Okay. Scotty, make sure we head due north.”

  “Check. Make a 90-degree turn and keep going. I’ll correct you.”

  Rick had only one real concern, and that was that the jeep lights might be visible from the higher elevation of Casa Guevara. But it had to be risked. He thought there wasn’t really much of a chance, because the thick foliage would screen them. Besides, anyone seeing the lights might assume it was soldiers making their rounds.

  The ground was carpeted with fallen vegetation, but it was the dry season and the earth under the leaves was firm enough. There was little danger of the jeep bogging down, especially in four-wheel drive.

  Rick picked his way through the jungle, keeping to clear spots as much as he could. Once it was necessary to butt down a huge banana plant before he could continue, but mostly it was a matter of plowing through scrub. Sometimes a palmetto leaf whipped across his face, and once a thorny bush caught painfully and drew blood.

  Scotty navigated, keeping track of their direction. Now and then he spoke.“More to the right when you can. We’re about a hundred yards to the left of our base line.” Then, “Straighten out. We’re on course again.”

  After what seemed to Rick an eternity of plowing through the heavy growth, Scotty said quietly, “Pick a place to turn around, then kill the lights and motor.”

  Rick reached a place where there was room, swung the wheels hard, backed around, and put the jeep in its own tracks facing the other way. He turned off the lights and cut the motor switch. The silence and darkness flooded in.

  “Just sit still until our eyes adjust,” Scotty said, very quietly. “If I’ve figured right, we�
��re about a hundred Page 55

  yards from the dirt road, just about in front of the Guevara driveway. We’d better walk the rest of the way, in case of guards.”

  Rick waited until the blackness lessened. His pupils were fully dilated now, and he could see surprisingly well. There was a moon, but at the moment it was behind a cloud bank. When it emerged, he would be able to see perfectly.

  “Let’s go,” Scotty said. “No more talking now. When I hold up my hand, stop and wait for me.”

  The ex-Marine took the lead, Montoya following and Rick bringing up the rear. He took the night stick from his belt and hefted it. The weight was comforting in his hand.

  Scotty found his way with the ease that Rick always admired. Their steps were noiseless on the carpeted jungle floor. Presently Scotty held up his hand, and Montoya and Rick stopped, waiting. Scotty disappeared ahead of them.

  The seconds ticked by. Mosquitoes found them and whined around their heads.Neither moved.

  Scotty returned as silently as he had gone. Beckoning them close, he whispered, “One guard at the gateposts. Give me one minute,then walk forward until you reach the road. Cahto him in Spanish, Captain. I want to be sure his attention is on you.”

  “I understand,” Montoya said softly.

  Rick put a finger on his pulse and began counting. He could tell his pulse was a little fast. When the count reached ninety he tapped Montoya on the shoulder. But the officer was already moving.

  Rick followed close behind, the night stick held in a palm that had grown sweaty with tension. The San Luzian picked his way carefully, but he moved at a good speed. Then, suddenly, he stopped. Rick peered past him and saw the lighter color of the dirt road.

  Montoya took a breath,then he called clearly, “Hold, amigol Que pasa ?”

  Across the way a figurerose , rifle ready. A suspicious voice called, “ Quien va ?”

  There was a soft but definite sound, like a pumpkin dropping on a hard floor. The guard crumpled.

  Montoya and Rick moved to Scotty’s side with long strides. Scotty was already tying the guard hand and foot with his own belt and rifle sling. Then he took out a handkerchief and tied it into place as a gag.

  The guard could breathe past it, but yelling would get him little-when he woke up.

  “Help me get him into the brush,” Scotty whispered. In a moment the guard was out of sight of any casual glance. There wasn’t time to hide him with care.

  “Up the driveway,” Scotty whispered. ‘I’ll lead. When we get near the house, there probably will be other guards, so we’ll have to leave the road and take to the bush again. Let’s go.”

  It was an eerie walk. Rick kept expecting a challenge from up ahead, but apparently there was no guard on the driveway itself. It wound through the jungle for a good quarter of a mile before it began to widen out into a clearing.

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  Scotty motioned and led the way off the road. The march through the jungle began again. Rick plodded ahead, with complete faith in Scotty. He knew his pal was taking them in a circle, but he couldn’t have said exactly where they were in relation to the house or the driveway.

  Then, suddenly, there were lights ahead!

  Scotty moved a few feet more,then sank down into the dense cover. Rick inched to his side, and saw that Montoya was doing the same.

  They had a clear view of the two-story house and the surrounding clearing. It was a hacienda very much like those Rick had seen inMexico , stucco on the outside, probably with heavy brick walls.

  And there were guards I He saw the glow of two cigarette butts on the front porch, and another toward the rear.Three so far. Then a figure crossed through the light from a window. Four!

  The three invaders waited while the long minutes ticked away. The three were not alone; hordes of night insects joined them and made the wait miserable.

  Scotty drew back until his lips were close to Rick’s ear. “I’m going to circle the house once. Keep watching.”

  When Montoya would have followed Scotty, Rick put a hand on his arm and whispered that they should wait. The two concentrated on watching the windows and the guards. Rick guessed that Guevara was not at home. So far as he could tell, no one was inside the house, at least on his side. There was light in one upstairs window, but the angle was wrong; he couldn’t see inside.

  The two guards on the front porch stayed there. That was probably their station. Another guard seemed to have the rear corner of the house. The fourth also seemed to be assigned to the rear, but he moved around more than his compatriot. Rick could see that the four were not soldiers. At least they were not in uniform. Probably they were Guevara’s personal employees.Bodyguards, perhaps.

  Scotty returned, silent as a wraith in the night. He sank to the ground between the two and whispered, “I don’t think there’s anyone home.Just the four guards. If the governor is here, he’s in that upstairs room.”

  “What do we do?” Rick whispered.

  “We’ll have to take it from the rear. It will be tough, because there’s not much cover.”

  Scotty began to outline his plan,then stopped suddenly. Rick had a strange feeling in his stomach again, and he realized that the earth was trembling under him. The tremor grew in strength, and from close by there was a snapping sound as a dead limb broke under the vibration and dropped to the jungle floor.

  “Now!”Scotty whispered sibilantly. “Comeon !”

  Instantly Rick and Montoya followed the ex-Marine’s lead, withdrawing into the denser brush, then rising and hurrying after him, crouched over and careful not to make a sound.

  Scotty led them in a wide circle that brought them finally to the rear of the house. Rick sized up the situation and saw only two trees that offered any cover. The ground was still trembling, although slightly.

  Then, as he crouched, the temblor increased again.

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  The guards were disturbed. The two in the rear moved back, away from the house, as though expecting it to fall on them. One of them spoke in Spanish and the other replied curtly.

  Montoya sucked in his breath. He whispered, “The first one asked if they should not get the old man out, and the second said let him fall with the house.”

  The two guards were well back from the house now, staring upward at the second floor. If the stucco started to go, it would be high on the house wall at the roof line.

  Scotty touched Rick on the arm, then rose and moved like a dark ghost, straight across the open glade toward the guards. Scotty reached the tree nearest the house and slipped into its shadow.

  Rick sized things up. The other tree was perhaps thirty feet away from Scotty, and about ten feet closer to the jungle’s edge. The guards were still looking at the house. Rick moved, bent low, night stick firmly clutched in his hand. He sensed that Montoya was close behind him.

  He straightened up in the shadow of the tree, his eyes on Scotty. His pulse was speeding and his breathing was short and shallow. Montoya crouched next to him, ready to move.

  Rick saw Scotty bend and pick up something. He saw Scotty wave toward them, then saw Scotty throw something. The object crashed into the stucco of the house high on the second floor,then it tumbled to the ground. Scotty had thrown a rock!

  The guards stiffened, thinking that the sound was the first evidence that the house was falling. Scotty moved like a streak, and Rick charged forward with club held high. Montoya was even faster.

  The two guards, interested only in the house, never knew what hit them. Rick eased one to the ground as his knees crumpled after Montoya’s vicious swing. Scotty had the other; he had knocked him out and caught him before he fell.

  The three left the guards and hurried to the back door. Montoya motioned, and took over the lead. He snaked the pistol out of his shoulder holster and held it ready.

  For an instant they paused in what seemed to be a pantry,then moved into the kitchen beyond. Rick could see a hallway leading straight to the front door. The door was solid wood, and
it was closed.

  Montoya gestured with the pistol and led the way. Then, motioning the boys back, he boldly opened the door and strode out.

  The surprised front guards stared into the pistol muzzle. Montoya spoke in crisp Spanish that Rick couldn’t follow, but the meaning was amply clear. The guards’ hands shot high. Montoya stepped aside and the guards walked into the house like lambs.

  “Tie them!” Montoya snapped.

  A cord from the Venetian blinds was the most convenient tie material. Scotty cut it loose with a sweep of his scout knife and slashed it into two pieces. While Montoya held his pistol on the guards the boys tied their arms behind them, lashing their elbows together.

  “Now,” the police captain said, “let us find my uncle.”

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  The stairs led up from the hallway. Montoya took them two at a time, the boys close behind. At the top of the stairs, the officer called in Spanish. There was an answer from a room on the left.

  The door was locked, but the key was hanging from a hook on the wall. In a moment the two Montoyas were greeting each other with a warm embrace, and then with a more formal handshake.

  The governor greeted the two Spindrifters with a bow and a handshake, and then inquired, “What good providence brought you here, nephew mine?”

  “We knew you were here,” Montoya said, “because there was no other place where Guevara could have hid you.”

  “Let’s discuss it later,” Rick urged. “Those guards out back will be coming to, and we want to be out of here.”

  “You are right,” Montoya agreed instantly. “We are not yet in the clear, senor uncle. We must hurry.”

  “Into the jungle,” Scotty said. “Once in the brush and we’re okay. They’ll never catch us then.”

  Montoya hefted the pistol he still held in his left hand.

  “It will be better for them if they do not,” he said quietly.

  CHAPTER XV

  Stalemate

  Governor Luis Montoya paced the floor of his office. Seated in the comfortable chairs were the Spindrift scientists, Captain Montoya, and the boys.