The Flaming Mountain Part 18

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 sc.r.a.pe 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 compa.s.s," Scotty requested. "We can set a compa.s.s 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 compa.s.s 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.

At the officer's direction, they turned toward the airport, pa.s.sed it, and headed toward the lighthouse at the extreme southern tip of the island. The road led past the light and along the southern sh.o.r.e, 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 b.u.mpy but pa.s.sable. Rick kept a steady speed in spite of the jouncing it gave his pa.s.sengers. 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 a.s.sume 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 b.u.t.t 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 th.o.r.n.y 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 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. 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! Que pasa?_"

Across the way a figure rose, 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.

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 b.u.t.ts on the front porch, and another toward the rear. Three so far. Then a figure crossed through the light from a window. Four!