The Flaming Mountain: A Rick Brant Science-Adventure Story

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. Call to 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, "Hola, amigo! Qué pasa?"

Across the way a figure rose, rifle ready. A suspicious voice called, "Quién 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.

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 in Mexico, stucco on the outside, probably with heavy brick walls.

And there were guards! 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. "Come on!"

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.

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."

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, señor 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.

"We are in a difficult situation," the governor stated. "Guevara controls the army, and the army controls the area in which you must work. We need the army if we are to evacuate the island. My nephew and his fellow police are efficient, but their number is too small."

"Is there any possibility of getting outside help?" Hartson Brant asked.

"I am afraid not. Our difficult political situation makes it almost impossible to obtain any fast action. We would need to approach three governments at the same time. They would have to have conferences, to agree on how the help was to be given. Each would be afraid to let the other help, you see, for fear of giving up its claim to sovereignty over us. No, I'm afraid we must find our own solution."

"You are the governor," Hobart Zircon pointed out. "Wouldn't the troops respond to your orders?"

The governor shrugged. "You can be sure our efficient lieutenant governor has his own men in key positions. But what you suggest has occurred to me, and I must make the attempt. First, however, I must alert the people of the island. The danger must be described to them."

"How?" Julius Weiss asked.

"By radio. We have our own government radio here. I think Esteben and I should go on the air at once. He can describe what is going on under El Viejo. I will ask the people to assemble at the docks." He turned to his nephew. "Ricardo, send two of your most trusted men to Redondo and San Souci. They must persuade the fishermen to load their families and villagers, then come to Calor. We will need to crowd all fishing boats for many trips if we are to get the people off."

"At once, señor," Montoya replied. He hurried to the door and gave orders to the police guard. The handful of police were now the sole security force of the island. The chief of police was personally supervising the government's safety, somewhere outside the building. Only two officers were still on regular police duty. The rest were either guarding the executive office or awaiting orders.

"Where can the people be taken?" Balgos asked.

"I think we will send them to Curaçao and Bonaire. Those islands are close, and they belong to the Netherlands. The Dutch are hospitable, no? And we avoid entanglement with England, Venezuela, and Colombia."

It sounded reasonable to Rick. He asked, "Aren't there ships in the harbor? I mean, big ships?"

"One freighter, and two interisland cargo ships of the C-1 class. All three fly the flag of Panama. We will have the harbor master speak to their captain and attempt to hire them. I am sure they will co-operate."

"I'm sure that if you asked for help from the United States they'd send all available U. S. Navy ships in the area," Dr. David Riddle said.

The governor smiled warmly. "That is our ace in the hole, as you would call it, Señor Riddle. The world knows that the Americans are always ready to help. But perhaps there will be no need. We will see."

The building shook slightly and Rick waited, holding his breath. But the temblor subsided. It was the third one within an hour, he thought. The magma must be moving fast.

"Now, gentlemen, I must get busy. Ricardo, I leave the details of moving our people in your hands. I will go to the roadblocks and see if these soldiers can be persuaded that their governor speaks for the people. But first, Esteben, you and I will go to the government radio and speak to the people. Our talk will be put on tape, and repeated over and over. Vamos. Let us go. Time is getting short."

At Montoya's request, Rick and Scotty had agreed to remain with the governor, in company with two police sergeants. The scientists returned to the hotel, to continue their attempts to predict the magma movement based on data already in hand. New data would be obtained as soon as the situation cleared up.

The governor, Balgos, Rick, Scotty, and the governor's secretary drove in the official car, a huge American import. The two police sergeants led the way in one of the island's two police cruisers.

The radio station was only a few blocks away. These were the studios. The transmitter was on the coast a mile south of Calor. Rick was pleased to see that the equipment was modern, the staff apparently efficient.

A musical program was interrupted and the governor and Balgos put on the air at once. Rick's Spanish was too poor to permit him to follow the discussion, but he gathered that the governor told the people of the scientific mission, and then Balgos described the situation. The governor returned to the mike with a plea for instant evacuation.

Tape recorders rolled while the speech was on. At the governor's orders, the tapes would be replayed every hour on the hour from now on.

It was getting very late. The night was warm and pleasant, and the clouds had vanished leaving a brilliant moon shining down on San Luz. It was a lovely island, Rick thought. The greed of two men, Connel and Guevara, had prevented any possibility of action to save it. Now, evacuation of the people was the only possibility.

Ricardo Montoya met the governor's party as they emerged from the studios. He reported rapidly to his uncle, speaking English in courtesy to the Americans.

"Men are on the way to the fishing villages, señor. The harbor master is speaking to the ships in the harbor, and already one C-1 is agreeing to take the people. I have spoken with the airlines managers at the airport, and they are trying to obtain many aircraft from the nearby cities. Your own aircraft is being made ready for instant take-off."

It was the first Rick had heard of a government plane. "What kind is it?" he asked.

"A very ancient, but very reliable Douglas, of the DC-3 type. We hold it in reserve, Rick. Your scientists, the governor, and our police will be the last to leave the island. I have counted the numbers. If you can carry four, our plane will carry the rest."

Rick nodded. It was nice to know there would be a way out, even though he hadn't considered the necessity until that moment. He was glad Ricardo Montoya was thinking ahead.

"Now," the governor stated, "I must visit the army."

"I will go with you," the police captain said instantly.

"No, Ricardo. There is too much for you to do. I will be safe. There is no enemy but Guevara. No soldier would harm me."

Rick admired the little governor's courage, but he wasn't as sure of their safety as the old man seemed to be. "I think we'd better be armed," Scotty said.

Ricardo Montoya had met them in the island's other police cruiser. He said, "Wait," and hurried to the car. Pulling down the rear seat, he disclosed a gunrack. From it he drew two riot guns, automatic shotguns with short barrels.

"Can you use these?" he asked.

Scotty nodded an affirmative. "Both Rick and I have fired automatic shotguns on a skeet range. These can't be much different."

"They are not. The safety is behind the trigger guard. There is no shell in the chamber now, but there are nine in the magazine. Go with God, señores."

The governor's car with its police escort rolled through the streets of Calor, en route to the roadblock at the hotel road. Rick and Scotty held the riot guns, both hoping that they would not be needed.

The governor chatted calmly, as though this were simply a routine sightseeing trip. "Few Americans come to San Luz. We had hoped that perhaps an advertising campaign might bring more of you to our island. We have much to offer, you will agree. Have you tried our swimming yet? I appreciate there has been little opportunity for pleasure."

The boys answered politely, but neither could really get into the swing of the conversation. It took a kind of experience they did not yet have, to talk of casual things while en route to what might be genuine danger.

The governor's secretary called over his shoulder, "There is the roadblock, señor. How shall I approach?"

"Drive up to it, Juan. Be very casual."

Rick fingered the safety on his riot gun. He could see dark figures at the barricade fence.

The car drew to a stop. The governor said quietly, "Perhaps you had better stand by the car. Do not let your guns be seen. If necessary, you will know what to do."

One boy got out on either side, leaving the car doors open. The doors shielded them and the riot guns. The governor got out and walked briskly to the barricade and spoke in Spanish.

It was light enough so Rick could see the men at the barricade clearly. He realized suddenly that they were not dressed as the soldiers had been earlier; these men seemed to be farmers. But they had rifles, and two hand grenades hanging from their belts.

He couldn't follow the exchange in Spanish. The governor was talking in a quiet voice with one man who was better dressed than the rest. The man's voice was cultured, but mocking in tone.

Rick heard the secretary draw in his breath sharply, and he surreptitiously got ready to pump a shell into the riot gun's chamber. But nothing happened. Esteben Balgos muttered, "This is unbelievable!"

Then the governor was coming back. He got into the car and spoke quietly. "Back to Calor, Juan."

The boys got in and closed the doors. The secretary swung the big car around and headed back the way they had come. Governor Montoya took time to light an aromatic cigar. Only when it was going well did he speak.

"An interesting talk, señores. Those were not soldiers, but the peons – how do you say it? – tenant farmers of Jaime Guevara. The man with whom I talked is his foreman. They have replaced the troops at all barricades, and their loyalty is only to Guevara."

"But the troops?" Balgos asked.

"Either guarding the volcanic pipe or working in it. I am told that Guevara is now the governor of the island. He has taken over. If I try to resist, it will mean bloodshed. If I leave the island, all will remain quiet and peaceful."

"That's nonsense!" Rick exploded. "Guevara can't get away with it!"

"No? He is getting away with it, Señor Rick. We have a dozen policemen; he has the army. He also has his own men, at key points. So what can we do? We haven't enough force to fight. Besides, there is no time. We can't arm the people because we have neither weapons nor time."

"But what can we do?" Scotty demanded.

"I do not know. At least we can continue our efforts to get the people off the island. Without the ability to make scientific readings, we cannot know how much time is left, so we must hurry. We will do the best we can. After that – well, you had a Spanish song in America that says it well. You recall the title? 'Qué será será.'"

Rick remembered. An expression of fatalism. What will be, will be.

CHAPTER XVI
The Brant Approach

The magma drove upward, melting its way through the fractured rock of the channels under the western side of the island. Now and then it struck rock with a higher water content, and the island shuddered under a new explosion as the steam expanded.

Rick felt the bed shake under him and sat upright. A new day had dawned, and there was much to do. He and Scotty had volunteered to help Captain Ricardo Montoya plan the evacuation of the island, and the youthful officer had accepted with pleasure. He had agreed to meet them for breakfast.

The scientists had worked late, trying to extrapolate their data into some kind of prediction. Rick and Scotty, tired after an exhausting day, had gone to bed while the light still burned in Hartson Brant's room.

Scotty awoke as Rick's feet hit the floor. "I'm getting used to these little earthquakes," he said. "Don't know if I'll be able to sleep on steady ground after this."

"The ground is going to get unsteadier," Rick reminded. "Until – boom!"

"I'm not forgetting," Scotty said grimly. "Let's get dressed and eat. I'm famished."

"It's ham and eggs for me," Rick told him. "If I had to watch milk slosh around in a cereal bowl I'd get seasick."

The boys dressed rapidly and hurried down to the hotel coffee shop. They were just in time. Ricardo Montoya walked in just as they were seated.

The officer joined them. Rick noted that his face was drawn and tired, and thought Montoya had probably been up a good part of the night. "How's the evacuation going?" Rick asked.

Montoya shook his head. "Poorly. My uncle's radio broadcast continued all night and through the morning hours. A few families have come to the harbor, and the stevedores are organized now to get them aboard ship. A few fishing boats have come, with fishermen's families, but there is no big exodus."

"Don't they realize the danger?" Scotty exclaimed.

"Perhaps. You must understand my people. They have lived with earthquakes all their lives. Not so often, perhaps, but these temblors are not unusual. What is there to be excited about? Who believes El Viejo will explode? It never has, so it never will."

Rick thought it over. "Maybe not enough are hearing the broadcasts."

"That is possible. I have put volunteers to work going from house to house, asking people to turn on their radios to hear the governor, and also to explain the urgency. But it will take a long time, even in Calor."

"If we only had the troops," Rick said thoughtfully. "Trained manpower is what's needed for a job like this."

"True. And I think if my uncle could only talk to the troops they would believe him. But he cannot reach them. Guevara's peons would never let him by."

The hotel loud-speaker system drowned out his last words as a soft feminine voice paged someone in Spanish.

"If only the troops could listen to the radio," Rick commented. "Perhaps they'd believe him and turn on Guevara."

"Perhaps. But soldiers cannot afford radios, and they are away from their barracks now. There is no way for my uncle's voice to reach them."

There had to be, Rick thought. There had to be some way. The loud-speaker sounded again, paging a Señor Alvarez. Rick sat bolt upright. Why not use a loud-speaker?

"Listen," he said excitedly. "If the government radio station has a loud-speaker system, or can make one, we can put it in my plane. I can fly the governor over the troops and he can talk to them direct. My plane can go slowly enough, and low enough for that!"

"How about power supply?" Scotty asked.

"There must be an inverter on the island somewhere. We can use automobile batteries, and the inverter will give us 110 AC for a while, until the batteries run down. Just twenty minutes of power would be enough and we can get that with enough batteries!"

Scotty chuckled. "The Brant approach," he said. "There always is one. How about it, Captain?"

"We will try," Montoya said decisively. "You have not eaten?.. Then do so, while I make a phone call to the radio station. I have had coffee and rolls, and perhaps there will be time to join you for more breakfast while the radio engineers get the equipment together."

The boys were just finishing ham and eggs when Montoya returned. There was a broad smile on his tired face.

"The engineers say it can be done. They have a portable loud-speaker system, and there is an inverter, as you call it, at the transmitter. What is this inverter?"

"It's an electric generator," Rick explained. "Battery current turns it, and it produces 110-volt alternating current. But inverters aren't very efficient, and they take a lot of battery current. That's why we'll need as many batteries as we can carry."

"The chief radio engineer said he understood exactly what was needed. He will gather the materials and meet us at the airport. Now, I think we have time for coffee, and perhaps I can follow your example with ham and eggs. It will take an hour for the equipment to be ready. Also, I called my uncle. He will be waiting for our call."

"Did you get any sleep last night?" Scotty asked.

Montoya smiled. "Sleep? I have forgotten what it is. But perhaps if this plan of yours works, I will remember, eh? Then I can sleep tonight."

A check with the hotel desk told Rick that the scientists had left word that they were not to be disturbed until later in the morning except for an emergency. They had worked a good part of the night, apparently with no satisfactory results.

The boys waited until Ricardo Montoya had breakfasted, then rode with him to the airport. There was another wait while the radio engineers arrived, bringing the loud-speaker equipment.

Rick supervised the placement of the amplifier in the rear seat. The inverter was placed on the floor, and wedged into place with scrap lumber. The automobile batteries were put into the luggage compartment behind the rear seat and were also wedged in place.

Wires were run from the amplifier through the rear-seat windows, which were opened just enough to take the thin cables. The leads were then brought out to the plane's struts. Two large loud-speakers were attached to the struts. At first there was some difficulty in figuring out a secure attachment, but the chief engineer, a resourceful type, managed to find a pair of U bolts somewhere in the hangars. They did the job nicely.

The chief engineer connected up, then hung the microphone between the two front seats. He threw a switch and the inverter started up with a whine. At the throw of a second switch, the loud-speakers broke into a hum. The engineer tapped on the microphone, and the tap, greatly amplified, reverberated across the airstrip.

"It works!" Rick exclaimed, delighted.

"Cómo no?" the engineer said with a smile. He spoke to Montoya in Spanish. The officer translated. "There is one more thing. He has rigged a cable with a switch box so you can operate the controls from the front seat. When the cable is attached, you will be ready. I will go call my uncle."

Rick and Scotty watched as the engineer got busy, hooking the remote-switch cable into the amplifier.

"Room for only two," Rick pointed out. "Want to toss for it?"

Scotty shook his head. "It was your idea. I'll stay on the ground. Take the governor and talk those troops into submission."

"Maybe," Rick said. "We'll see. I think it depends on whether or not they know the real story. If they have any idea there are diamonds around, they won't be interested in anything else."

"Guevara wouldn't dare to let them in on it," was Scotty's opinion. "I'll bet they're just following orders, with no idea what's behind all this. Most of them probably think there really is a national security conference going on."

Rick thought Scotty was probably right. Time would tell. He waited until the engineer signaled that the job was done, then climbed into the pilot's seat. He checked the plane over. Plenty of gas. Everything seemed okay. He tried the loud-speaker switches, then spoke into the microphone. He could hear his voice boom out with thunderous amplification and saw Scotty clap his hands to his ears.

Finally, he started the motor and let the plane warm, keeping an eye on his gauges. When the manifold temperature got high enough he cut the switch. He tested the control surfaces and he was satisfied. Now all he needed was the governor.

Governor Montoya arrived within ten minutes. He inspected the plane and its equipment and nodded his approval. "Very ingenious. Shall we try it?"

"Yes, sir." Rick helped the governor in, buckled his safety belt, then ran around and got into the pilot's seat. He started the motor, waved to Scotty and the others, then taxied out to the runway. The tower gave him clearance and he took off.

"We'll make a swing over the area and locate the troops," he explained, "then I'll slow down as much as I can, and you can talk."

Rick climbed to a thousand feet and set a course directly for the Hot Springs Hotel. He asked, "Sir, how many troops are there?"

"Our army numbers three companies, of about two hundred and fifty men each. Then we have a few special units, including the transportation platoons. Perhaps nine hundred in all. We do not need a large army. But we need some kind of force. These are troubled times, and there is always some danger that a revolutionary force might consider us an excellent staging or training base for an invasion of a nearby country. So, we keep prepared."

The Sky Wagon was over the hotel within minutes. Rick spotted a large group of soldiers – he estimated about two hundred – dispersed around the hotel. They probably thought they were guarding the conference.

He banked left and followed the contour of the mountain, and found another group of soldiers camped near the pumice works.

"That is two companies accounted for, more or less," the governor stated. "Now, can we find the third?"

It wasn't difficult. Rick followed the dirt road to San Souci, and found the third large group marching in the direction of the mountain, apparently about to join forces with the group at the pumice works.

"Let's take a look at the diamond pipe," he suggested, and pulled the Sky Wagon around in a tight circle. He had his bearings, and the third shot station was not difficult to locate. There was considerable activity. Earth-moving machinery had been moved into place and was operating. The yellow ground was already gone, and the equipment was cutting into the blue kimberlite below.