Casa Guevara
The scientific party lost only one day because of the dynamite theft.
Governor Montoya supplied more explosives and the firing schedule
continued. Now, however, the dynamite was guarded by police supplied by
His Excellency. Police also were in evidence around the Hot Springs
Hotel. No more chances were being taken.
After three days, the scientists began to have a better idea of what was
going on in the earth beneath them, but Rick and Scotty could make
little sense of the mass of data. Even the picture being filled in by
Dr. Williams was confusing. Now, two magma areas were showing where only
one had shown before.
Esteben Balgos answered Rick's plea for an explanation. Over an
excellent dinner of roast suckling pig and bananas steamed with lemon
juice, the volcanologist took time to answer their questions.
"There is much we do not know about volcanoes," the Peruvian scientist
began. "For example, we do not know exactly what causes magma to form.
Magma is, in simplest terms, molten rock. Some event takes place far
below, where the earth's crust ends and the mantle begins, and the rock
melts."
"How far below?" Rick asked.
"The distance varies. Under the ocean trenches, for example, the mantle
may begin only four miles down. Under some of the mountainous land
masses it may be closer to forty miles."
Scotty whistled. "That's a whale of a distance. How can you tell how far
down it is?"
"By the seismic traces from earthquakes, or from explosive shots like
the ones we are shooting. When the shock waves have reached the zone
between the earth's crust and the mantle, we see the results on our
tracings."
"Is it really a sharp line?" Rick queried.
"Probably not. No one is sure yet. It may be a kind of transitional
zone, from one kind of material to another, or it may be a distinct
layer. We call it the Mohorovicic Discontinuity, after the Yugoslav
scientist who discovered it by analysis of seismic tracings. At any
rate, it is somewhat above this discontinuity that magma is formed. We
don't know how."
"Then it rises?" Scotty asked.
"It forces its way up, by expansion. Sometimes the magma strikes water
and there is an explosion--a steam explosion. But generally the magma
rises through a fairly small channel. It forms a pool under the volcano.
The pool is actually a reservoir of molten rock. Generally it is shaped
like a lens. The magma gathers. Eventually it forces its way to the
surface, again through channels."
"What kind of channels?" Rick asked.
"It depends on the kind of volcano. Sometimes the channels are
weaknesses in the whole surrounding earth structure, and the magma flows
through cracks and emerges as sheets of lava. Sometimes there is a
central channel through which the magma can rise."
"Which do we have?" Scotty wanted to know.
"Probably neither or perhaps both. There was once a central channel in
El Viejo. It is closed now, and we do not know if it is weaker than the
rest of the mountain. There is a weak fissure under the hot springs. So,
El Viejo can vent either way."
Rick shook his head. He had learned enough of natural forces to know
there are often no definite answers to questions, but this was critical.
"So the volcano could blow off on top or side, and we can't guess
which?"
"That is correct. However, explosive action in a volcano usually comes
when the magma meets enough water to create steam. Now, our closest
magma front is still far below the floor of the surrounding ocean. You
follow me? Good. When the magma rises to the level of the ocean floor,
what do you think will happen?"
Rick could see the picture in his mind. He said slowly, "It will
probably meet water. Plenty of it, from seepage of the ocean downward
through cracks in the ocean floor. Maybe there are cracks like the one
in the parking lot, caused by earthquakes."
"Precisely. And when the magma meets the water, then what?"
"The water turns to steam instantly." Scotty answered grimly. "The steam
expands instantly--and boom!"
"Boom," Balgos agreed solemnly. "But how big a boom we do not know. It
may blow the top off El Viejo. It may blow a gap along one of the
cracks. We don't know."
Rick digested this information in silence. The picture was certainly not
a cheerful one. "How far down are the magma fronts?" he asked.
"As closely as we can tell, the bottom one is right above the
discontinuity, which is about six miles below us at this point. The
upper one is about a mile below the top of El Viejo. This puts it about
a quarter of a mile below the floor of the ocean."
"Too close," Scotty muttered. "What now?"
"We keep shooting, to try and keep track of the upper front. Also, we
will place instruments called tiltometers on the mountain slope. These
are devices that really measure tilt. You see, if the lens of magma is
increasing, El Viejo will swell up slightly. The tiltometers will show
it, and we will then have further proof of what is coming."
"But what can we do about it?" Rick demanded.
Balgos shrugged. "_Quien sabe?_ The Spanish phrase is a good one,
because it does not only ask 'who knows,' it also carries the meaning of
a kind of resignation. There does not seem to be anything we can do."
Rick stared across the dining room, eyes unseeing. It was hard to
imagine that molten rock was gathering below them in sufficient quantity
to make a mountain move; but once you succeeded in imagining it, the
picture was terrifying.
Motion attracted his glance and his eyes focused in time to see Brad
Connel rise from the table and excuse himself. He watched the geologist
walk out of the room and turned to Scotty. His pal nodded. He had seen
Connel leave, too.
Rick quickly counted noses. All others were present. Connel was the
first to leave. He wondered where the geologist was going, and his eyes
narrowed.
Connel had been very anxious about his and Scotty's condition, once the
hotel was reached. Rick was sure his anxiety was strictly phony. Both
boys had been stiff and sore, but a medical examination showed nothing
seriously wrong, thanks to Scotty's fast action. Hartson Brant had been
reluctant to accept Rick's opinion that Connel had stolen the dynamite
and booby-trapped them. He pointed out that the geologist had no motive;
he had never even been on San Luz before.
Rick had to agree. There was no apparent motive, but that didn't mean
Connel was innocent. He might have a motive that no one suspected.
Scotty cocked an eyebrow at Rick and made a slight motion of his head
toward the door where Connel had vanished. Rick got the signal. He
nodded.
The boys thanked Dr. Balgos for his explanation, then excused
themselves. They wandered casually from the dining room.
Once outside, Rick grinned at Scotty. "So you're wondering where Connel
has gone?"
"Aren't you?"
"Sure. But why not ask the others what he said when he excused himself?"
Scotty shook his head. "They didn't think much of our theory about
Connel causing our troubles, did they? If we asked, they'd think we were
pushing the same point too hard."
Rick agreed. "Where did he go?"
"I don't know. But if he leaves the hotel, it will be by jeep. There's
nothing within walking distance. If we get out back of the pump shed
we'll see him if he comes out."
"Aye, aye. And if he jeeps out of here, we'll be on his tail. Roger?"
"You said a Brantish mouthful. Let's go."
A quick reconnaissance disclosed no sign of the geologist outside, and
the boys hurried across the dark parking lot to the shadow of the pump
shed. A police officer materialized from the darkness and greeted them
courteously. "Good evening, senores. _A sus ordenes._"
By placing himself at their orders, the officer was politely asking
their business, Rick knew. He replied, "We came out to see if anyone had
made another try for the dynamite, Senor _Teniente_." Calling the
officer "lieutenant" was a form of flattery.
"_Sargento, muchas gracias_," the officer replied. White teeth flashed
in a grin. "But who can tell the future? If I capture the thief, it may
soon be lieutenant instead of sergeant."
"We hope so," Scotty said politely.
Rick noted that the three were hidden from the parking lot by the pump
house. The position was satisfactory. If Connel was going to take a
jeep, he probably would do so right away. Otherwise, why should he be
the first to leave the dining room?
"Why would anyone steal dynamite?" Rick asked the police officer. He
wanted only to keep a quiet conversation going behind the pump house.
The officer had theories. Perhaps revolutionaries had stolen it. Also,
although it was against the law and brought severe punishment, fishermen
were known to dynamite fish. This also was a possibility. But the
explosion of the dynamite on the mountainside was certainly a puzzle.
Rick didn't think so, but he agreed politely. It was bewildering, he
said. Why steal explosives and then use it on a harmless scientific
group?
Perhaps fear of discovery caused the thief to set a trap, the officer
guessed. He admitted it wasn't a good guess.
A jeep roared into life and the boys stiffened. The officer strolled out
of the shadow for a look. "One of your associates is going for a ride,"
he said.
Rick waited until the jeep lights cut across the parking lot and moved
down the western road, then he said, "It's a nice night for a ride,
Scotty. What say we take a jeep and look over the country, too?"
"Good idea," Scotty agreed readily.
They bade the officer good night and started to where Zircon's jeep was
parked. It was a temptation to hurry, but they suppressed it and
sauntered to the jeep. Fortunately, no keys were needed. The jeep
ignition was turned on by a simple switch. Rick got into the driver's
seat and started up. He waited, the motor idling, until he was sure
Connel was out of sight around the mountain, then he drove slowly across
the parking lot and followed.
Fortunately, there was enough moonlight to see the road. Once out of
sight of the hotel, Rick stopped and switched off the lights. As his
eyes adjusted to the dimness he started off again as fast as vision
allowed.
Once he sighted Connel's lights. They were ahead and higher on the
mountain. He lost sight of them again as foliage blocked the view.
"Suppose he's heading for the shot station?" he asked.
Scotty shrugged. "We'll soon know."
They reached the pumice works without seeing the geologist's lights
again, and Rick stopped at the turnoff. "Now what?" he asked. "Did he go
up the trail or not?"
Scotty sniffed the air. "Smell anything?"
Rick breathed deeply. There was the odor of rank vegetation, and, very
faintly, the odor of sulfur from the hot springs. But there was another
smell, too. After a moment he identified it. "Dust!"
"Seems so," Scotty agreed. "Which means he didn't take the trail to the
stations. No dust on those tracks. He must have taken the dirt road to
San Souci."
"But why?" Rick was already moving ahead to where the pavement ended.
"What's in San Souci?"
Scotty chuckled. "Ask Connel. Don't ask me."
"I thought Marines knew everything," Rick gibed.
"Almost everything," Scotty corrected.
The jeep moved onto the dirt road and in a moment their own cloud of
dust obscured any slight haze that Connel's passing might have left.
They were in strange territory now, and Rick slowed down somewhat.
Connel had the advantage of lights. They wouldn't be able to gain on
him.
"He can't get far," Scotty said reassuringly. "The road goes to San
Souci and nowhere else. It can't be much of a town, so we'll find him."
Scotty was right. San Souci wasn't much of a town. There were a handful
of fishermen's huts, a dock with a number of fishing boats, racks for
drying fish, a single store, and nothing else. There was a paved road
leading from the town to the main city of Calor, but Connel hadn't taken
it. Nor was the jeep in San Souci.
Rick's halting Spanish was sufficient to communicate with a fisherman
who spoke equally halting English. He had been taking the air all
evening. No other vehicle had come to San Souci.
"Now what?" Rick asked helplessly.
"He went somewhere," Scotty responded. "And that somewhere has to be a
turnoff between here and the pumice works. We must have missed it
because we traveled without lights. Let's go back and look."
"I'm with you," Rick agreed. "But wherever he turned off must be a
trail, because there are no side roads on the map." He swung the jeep
around and started back. He had turned on the headlights as they
approached the fishing village; he kept them on.
They found the turnoff about a mile from San Souci. The road widened
slightly, and there was an opening in the foliage just wide enough for a
car. Twin gateposts of concrete marked the passage. Rick turned the
jeep, and the headlights picked out a name cut in the concrete pillars:
_Casa Guevara_.
"Someone's house," Rick said. "Name of Guevara. We can't very well go
rolling up a private driveway, can we?"
"Especially with that sign," Scotty added. He pointed to a wooden sign
set slightly to one side of the private road just beyond the gate. It
read _No Entrar_. No Trespassing.
"Question," Rick said thoughtfully. "Did Connel go up this road or is
there another one?"
"No evidence," Scotty replied.
Rick pointed to the gatepost. "Who do we know that's named Guevara?"
Scotty breathed, "Sure! The lieutenant governor!"
"And he took Connel to the hospital to see Ruiz," Rick reminded, "so
they're acquainted."
He switched off the lights. "That's probably the answer. Connel was
invited to pay a social call. Why not? This probably has nothing to do
with the project at all."
Scotty sighed audibly. "The trouble with you is that you come up with
sensible answers. We might as well go on back to the hotel."
"Might as well . . ." Rick began, then stopped as light appeared dimly
through the foliage up the private driveway. They were headlights!
"We've got to get out of here," he said, and threw the jeep into gear.
For a moment he hesitated. If he went up the dirt road to the hotel,
Connel would surely see them. If Rick went back toward San Souci and the
oncoming car was not Connel, but someone from Casa Guevara, the car
might also turn toward San Souci, and the boys would be seen.
Rick thought quickly. About a hundred yards toward San Souci there was a
break in the foliage that he had almost investigated until he saw that
no tracks led into it. He quickly switched into four-wheel drive and
swung the jeep in its own length. The lights were closer now. Rick
accelerated and found the opening through the jungle scrub. The jeep
bounced as he drove into it, then swung until they were behind a screen
of palmetto. He killed the engine.
Scotty piled out, Rick close behind him. They hurried to the edge of the
highway, careful to keep masked by the palmetto, and watched.
A jeep emerged from the driveway to Casa Guevara. In the back-scattered
light from its headlights they saw that Connel was the driver. He was
alone. They watched until his taillights flickered out beyond a bend in
the road.
[Illustration: _Connel was alone in the jeep_]
"Interesting," Rick said. "Does a social call last for less than a half
hour? Answer: no, not in San Luz. There's Spanish-style hospitality
here, and Connel would have been there for hours."
"He came on business," Scotty said slowly. "But what kind of business
would he have with the lieutenant governor?"
"That," Rick said grimly, "is what we need to find out."