Death Island

by Nick Carter

  Behind him, above on the path, the remaining soldiers scrambled the rest of the way past the overhang and headed back into the cavern.

  The surf was very bad. In the troughs Carter could manage a couple of strokes, but then the breaker would bury him, tumbling him end over end toward the shore.

  He was just coming ashore beyond the rocks when a tremendous explosion lifted the front of the rock cliffs away from the hill.

  A split second later, a second, much larger explosion lit up the sky, blowing out more of the cliff face.

  Carter staggered ashore on the beach, rocks and smoke and flames still shooting out of the vast opening in the hillside to the east.

  It had been felt all over the island, and probably had been seen and heard on Hiva Faui. Everyone would know what had happened here.

  Carter tore off the wet suit top as he hurried away from the surf pounding the beach, then headed west the last mile or so to where the Starfish was scheduled to pick them up.

  It was no longer raining, but the wind was strong, and the sky was still overcast. He had no trouble finding the rendezvous spot. It was near where he had found the outrigger canoe the previous night.

  Carter was standing on the beach looking out to sea when he saw a flash of light well offshore to the west.

  It was most likely the Starfish. But she was much too far to the west…

  Seconds later he saw another flash, this time even farther west and definitely farther out to sea.

  Captain Petti had warned them that if the Chinese sub came back, he would have to stand off.

  Carter watched for another five minutes, but there was nothing. Once again he was stranded on Natu Faui.

  Thirteen

  Nick Carter turned away from the ocean and looked up the beach in both directions. The outrigger canoes that had been tied up just off the beach were gone now. It was very possible, he thought, that the natives had gone on another raid of the satellite receiving station. Either that or they had hidden their boats after the one had turned up missing last night.

  It was very early in the afternoon, but Carter felt a sense of detachment. He had not had much rest in the past forty-eight hours. But he could not quit now.

  The base here on Natu Faui was destroyed. The Starfish would probably play cat and mouse with the sub for a day or so, and then the Chinese boat would be ordered back home.

  Which left only Governor Albert Rondine and his setup on these islands.

  The man was probably working for the Chinese. At least Carter figured he was. But what was his motivation? Simple greed'.

  Whatever it was, the man held the power of life and death over these people. He was also the apparent master of the Chinese peasants living on Hiva Faui.

  Finally there was Gabrielle. Carter could not get her out of his mind. What they had had together, however brief it was, had been wonderful. He wanted to hear from her own lips that everything she had told him was a lie.

  He headed up the beach toward the west, his stride long and steady. There was a possibility, he figured, however slight, that the Starfish had left even before the shore party had gotten aboard. It would mean the patrol would probably be in the vicinity of the beach down from the volcano. The area was several miles to the west. He wanted to see if they were still there. If not, he would find another outrigger and make the trip back to Hiva Faui one more time.

  For a time, as he walked, he thought about all the strange things that had happened so far on this assignment. Most of all of his misjudgments. Fenster, whom he was certain was somehow involved in all of this, apparently was innocent. Gabrielle he had misjudged from the beginning. He wondered if he was misjudging her situation still.

  The beach curved in toward the south, the jungle coming right down to the water. He had to wade through the gentle waves, the water protected here by the outcropping of land, to get to the other side.

  Across the lagoon a small boat was washed up on the beach. There were several figures lying in the sand beside it.

  Carter remained where he was for several long seconds, scanning the line of the beach and the jungle to the far point of land.

  There was no movement. Nothing lived across the lagoon.

  He splashed through the hip-deep water around the last of the vegetation, and then he was running down the beach, his Luger in hand.

  As he got closer he could see that there definitely had been a fight between the shore patrol and the natives. The boat on the beach was one of the sixteen-man inflatables. It had been punctured several times by arrows and was partially deflated.

  He reached the first of the bodies. He turned it over. It was one of the young crewmen. He had not died of arrow wounds, however. He had been shot with a rifle at least four times. Twice in the chest, once in the throat, and once just below his nose, destroying most of his upper lip.

  There were four of them. All had died of gunshot wounds. Carter straightened up and looked inland.

  The shore party had come here, had been attacked by the natives, but had nevertheless managed to get off the beach.

  Four of them had survived to make it back to the boat. Here they had been cut down by the Chinese patrol. It meant there were still Communist soldiers on the island.

  Each of the crewmen carried an M-16 automatic rifle with a stainless steel wire stock and plastic grips.

  Carter took one of the weapons, then gathered the ammunition from all four bodies, coming up with a total of five clips of forty rounds each.

  He pulled the arrows out of the inflatable and found the pump and repair kit in one of the compartments. The fuel tank and the large outboard motor did not seem to be damaged.

  Within a half hour he had repaired the half-dozen punctures and had inflated the three compartments that had been damaged.

  The boat was seaworthy again. It would get him back to Hiva Faui a lot faster than an outrigger.

  In some of the other compartments were supplies of canned water, some rations, and other equipment. There was even a pair of aluminum paddles with extension handles in case the motor did not work. He could get back to Hiva Faui no matter what.

  Slowly he manhandled the heavy raft around so that it was facing outward toward the sea. Then he stopped, straightened up, and looked back toward the volcano rising up into the overcast sky.

  The shore party had landed here, and the men had pushed their way inland. Their orders: destroy the dish antenna and projection equipment at the native meeting place Carter had described.

  Four of them were dead here on the beach. How about the others? Where were they? Were all of them dead?

  Captain Petti said he would be sending an officer, a chief petty officer, and twelve crewmen. It was all he could spare. There were four crewmen here. That left the officer, the petty officer, and eight crewmen.

  No way, Carter thought, I can't leave without finding out what happened to them.

  He shoved the extra ammunition clips into his waistband and headed up the beach onto the trail presumably blazed by the Starfish patrol.

  A hundred yards inland the petty officer lay on his side with an arrow through his neck, a huge amount of blood beside him. His nametag said Jones.

  A half mile farther, two more of the crewmen lay dead, their bodies penetrated by arrows. Here it looked as if the patrol had been attacked and had made a stand, apparently driving off their attackers. Ahead and on either side of the trail were at least two dozen bodies of natives.

  It was such a terrible waste, Carter thought. The natives were not really at fault. They had been incited to this by the Chinese.

  Carter pushed farther inland, moving higher on the slopes of the foothills at the base of the volcano. Away from the sea, the wind blew only in the treetops. Here at the floor of me jungle it was nearly still, and it was becoming hot.

  He stopped and peeled off the wet suit bottoms, tossing them aside. His stiletto was bare on his forearm, and his Luger was stuffed into the waistband of his shorts. He carried the spare
ammunition clips in his left hand and the M-16 in his right. He was becoming angry. The farther inland he went, the more bodies he saw, and the angrier he got.

  He came across three more of the Starfish's crew who had been cut down by arrows. Only their bodies had been mutilated afterward. All had been disemboweled, and their genitals had been cut off.

  Carter shivered despite the increasing heat and humidity. The officer and three crewmen were all that was left of the shore party. All that were still unaccounted for. But Carter feared if he continued inland, he might be forced to engage some natives, which he did not want to do.

  He turned around to start back to the inflatable. And stopped suddenly. He held his breath and listened. In the vague distance he thought he heard something, but it was just the sound of the waves pounding on the beaches and rocks. There was nothing else. The jungle was silent. As if it were waiting for something.

  The Chinese troops would probably not be on this side of the island now. When they heard the explosion they had probably all hurried back to their base to find out what happened.

  Still, there were four men unaccounted for. Carter decided he had to find out what had happened to them.

  Carter checked to make sure the M-16 was ready to fire, then he stepped around the gruesome remains of the three crewmen and headed up the track through the jungle.

  The land rose up sharply from this point, and the Starfish patrol had gone up into the hills toward the dish antenna. He and Gabrielle had come to the amphitheater and the dish antenna from the opposite direction, but here the land was essentially the same, the jungle valley to the east and the hills rising to the volcano to the west.

  Carter climbed, stopping now and then to scan the valley below, but there was no movement, and everything was quiet.

  At the crest of the hill he headed south, almost missing the spot where the dish antenna had been located. He remembered it because of the lightning-struck tree. The tree was still there, but the dish antenna was gone. There were no signs of a fight here. It was very possible that the Chinese, knowing that a patrol was coming — possibly warned by Governor Rondine — had come up here and removed the antenna. They had probably done this before when other U.S. Navy patrols had come ashore.

  Carter got down on his hands and knees by the tree and began digging around in the dirt with his stiletto. Almost at once he came up with the end of a cable with a connector. The cable ran directly down the hill in the direction of the amphitheater. The Chinese had unplugged their antenna and had moved it. Probably to a hiding place not far from there.

  Carter looked up the hill toward the volcano. Probably up there somewhere. No one would go there looking for it. And even if he did, there would be millions of places to hide the antenna in the natural cracks and crevices in the volcanic rock.

  He sheathed his stiletto, grabbed the M-16 where he had leaned it up against the tree, and headed down the hill, the rocks hard on his bare feet.

  From here the patrol would have gone directly down the hill to the amphitheater to dismantle the projection equipment. Afterward the survivors had gone back to the beach, where they had been gunned down by the Chinese. Their officer and two of the crewmen had been killed between here and there.

  Near the bottom of the hill Carter slowed down, coming at length to the spot where he had pulled up the projection cable and had cut out a fifteen-foot section.

  He crept the rest of the way to the edge of the cliff that led down into the meeting place and looked over.

  The place had been the scene of a bloodbath. There were at least twenty bodies scattered around the amphitheater. Most of them were bare-chested natives. But among them he saw at least one body clad in dungarees.

  There was no movement below. Only the wind in the treetops made any sound.

  He crawled back away from the edge, then stood up and made his way around the rim of the natural depression, coming at the bottom to the path that led back into the bowl.

  The officer who had led the patrol lay dead on the path, hacked to pieces by what must have been at least a half-dozen machete-wielding natives. His body was horribly mutilated. His left arm was severed from his torso, his spine was nearly chopped out of his body, and the entire back of his head had been peeled back, revealing his brain.

  One of the crewmen lay beneath a pile of four natives just within the amphitheater, and the third crewman lay in the middle of the meeting area.

  Blood and mangled bodies were everywhere.

  Carter started to turn away when a small noise, like a wounded animal or a crying baby, startled him, and he spun around, bringing up the M-16 and flicking off the safety.

  It was silent in the amphitheater for a long second. The noise had come from up front, near the altar. There was a pile of bodies on and around the stone.

  Carter started forward when the whimpering came again. It was definitely human, and it came from near the altar. Someone was still alive.

  He hurried forward to the altar, picking his way around the bodies. He leaned the rifle against the stone and gently pulled one of the bodies from the pile.

  Bob Tieggs, his face covered with blood, looked up at him.

  "Christ," Carter breathed.

  "Oh… Carter…" Tieggs croaked.

  Carter pulled the other bodies from the wounded pilot. He had been cut deeply on the shoulder, probably with a machete, and an arrow stuck out from his left thigh. He had lost a lot of blood.

  "Hang on," Carter said. He jumped up and hurried back to the body of the crewman just in from the path. He had been carrying a small musette bag with a red cross on it.

  He grabbed the first aid kit and the canteen on the crewman's hip, and went back to Tieggs. He helped him drink, which seemed to revive him somewhat.

  "Am I glad to see you, Carter," Tieggs said, his voice weak.

  "What the hell are you doing here, Bob?" Carter asked. He opened the first aid kit and found the bandages and disinfectant.

  "I went up to the governor's place like you asked me to do… to see if I could find out what happened to Gabrielle… to his wife. They were busy as hell up there. I watched from up in the hills."

  Carter took out his stiletto. "The arrow has to come out, Bob."

  Tieggs swallowed hard, but he nodded. "I watched as they started taking off in their helicopters. I saw the governor and his wife leaving. I figured they were coming out here to watch the show."

  "How'd you get here?" Carter asked. He pulled out a syringe of morphine and some cotton. He swabbed an area of Tieggs's hip with the disinfectant.

  "I got into their compound and managed to steal one of the helicopters. When I got here I saw all the fighting, so I landed on the beach and came up."

  "No sign of the governor?"

  "None," Tieggs said.

  Carter gave him the shot of morphine.

  "I was lucky. I got up here, and it was mostly all over," Tieggs said, but then his voice began to slur, and after a moment he blinked and grinned. "God Almighty, she's beautiful…" he mumbled.

  Carter poured some of the disinfectant over the blade of his stiletto, and then over and around the arrow wound.

  Tieggs did not flinch. He kept grinning and mumbling as Carter carefully cut deeply around the arrow. Within a few seconds he had cut the arrowhead out of Tieggs's thigh, the blood welling up slowly.

  He poured some more disinfectant into the wound and bandaged it firmly. He did the same for the wound on Tieggs's shoulder.

  It had taken less than ten minutes. Tieggs was sweating profusely.

  "Don't feel so good, old man…" he slurred. It was the loss of blood and the effects of the morphine.

  Carter bundled up the first aid things back in the bag, threw it and the M-16 over his shoulder, and carefully picked up Tieggs. On the path, Carter turned south around the volcano toward the beach. It was several miles away, and Tieggs was heavy. The spunky helicopter pilot had passed out, but he came to when they stopped by the spring and Carter splashed so
me cool water on his face.

  He winced when he tried to move, and his eyes fluttered. "Christ," he swore out loud, his voice ragged but a lot stronger.

  He had passed out less than an hour ago, but already his color was a lot better.

  "How do you feel?" Carter asked.

  "Feel? Like a goddamned Mack truck ran over me." He pushed himself up with his good arm. Carter helped him, then gave him the canteen. Tieggs drank the cool spring water, letting a lot of it spill down his chest.

  When he was finished he looked from his leg up to Carter. "You do pretty good work for a cop."

  "I only did it because I needed another favor."

  "It figures." Tieggs said. He glanced toward the trail. "What about the shore party from the sub? Did any of them make it?"

  Carter shook his head. "I found four of them on the other side of the island. They were dead. The Chinese killed them."

  Tieggs looked back. "There was an explosion. Everyone bugged out. It's the last I remember. Was it you?"

  "The Chinese base here is destroyed."

  "Where's our sub?"

  "Out there someplace, chasing down one of theirs."

  "It was based here, on this island, all this time?"

  "Yes."

  Tieggs whistled. "And you think Governor Rondine is involved somehow."

  "He 's involved up to his ears. Our sub will take care of theirs, but we have to get to Rondine."

  Tieggs grinned, although he was obviously in a great deal of pain. "And you'd prefer that I fly the chopper."

  "Are you up to it? You know your way around those things a hell of a lot better than I do."

  Tieggs shrugged with his good shoulder as best he could. "Who the hell knows until we try it."

  Carter refilled the canteen, then hefted the first aid kit and the M-16, and picked up Tieggs, who protested.

  "I want you to save your strength for flying. I'll do the walking for the both of us."

  * * *

  They passed the spot where Fenster's helicopter had been shot down. As far as Carter knew there were no missile emplacements on the island. His helicopter had probably been brought down by a bazooka or some other hand-held weapon carried by one of the Chinese patrols.