Night Patrol
The jeep rolled out of Calor on the highway back to the Hot Springs
Hotel. Scotty drove, while Rick relaxed in the seat beside him. They had
taken time for a sandwich and coffee, because they were not sure when
they might eat again.
Hartson Brant and the scientists were at work on detailed analysis of
the day's shots. It would take some time. When Rick told his father
about the conversation with Captain Montoya, the scientist had nodded
agreement. "It sounds like good sense, especially since there has been
no sign of an invasion of the city. The troops could have been here
before this. Go ahead, but be cautious. Always leave your escape route
open."
It was good advice, and the boys intended to take it.
Scotty drove in silence for a few minutes, then said, "We're nearly at
the fork in the road. Keep an eye open."
"Will do," Rick assured him. The left fork was the main, paved road to
San Souci. The right fork led up to the hotel.
Scotty reached the fork and slowed.
"There!" Rick pointed.
Twenty yards up the right fork there was a barricade fence, newly made
of small logs. Lounging against the fence were a half dozen soldiers.
"We could go left to San Souci, but not to the hotel," Rick said. "Now
what?"
"Hold on and be ready for a quick take-off," Scotty muttered. He turned
the jeep into the left fork, then shifted and backed around and up the
right fork to where the soldiers waited.
One soldier, with sergeant's stripes on his sleeve, sauntered over to
them. He carried a rifle, but Rick noted that he didn't hold it at the
ready. The boy called, "Do you speak English, sergeant?"
"Leetle beet," the soldier replied. He smiled cordially. "What you
weesh, senores?"
"Can we get to the hotel?" Scotty asked.
"No can, senor."
"Why not?" Rick asked.
"Ees ... how you say? ... big talk at hotel. Ees _el gobernador y_ ...
and ... _el comandante_ Guevara. Also more mens. No one goes to hotel
long time. Maybe when talk feenish."
"The governor and lieutenant governor are having a big conference at the
hotel?" Rick asked incredulously.
"Ees so, senor."
"How long will this conference last?" Scotty asked.
The sergeant shrugged. "_Quien sabe?_ Maybe two day, maybe two
_semana_ ... how you say?..."
"Weeks," Rick supplied. "What are they talking about?"
"Ees ... how you say?... _seguridad nacional_. Thees ees what _el
comandante_ speaks to us."
Rick glanced at Scotty. "National security conference. Those can last a
long time." He looked at the sergeant again. "We could go to San Souci,
and from there to the hotel, maybe."
"_Pero no_, senor. That way also ees guard. Ees no way get to hotel.
More good you not try, eh? _Soldados_ at hotel, they maybe shoots."
"Now we know," Scotty said. "Nothing more to be gained here."
"Did you see the governor?" Rick asked.
"No, senor. But I saw _el comandante_ Guevara. But eef he ees here, also
_el gobernador_. _Como 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'll just 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 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.
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 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 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.
[Illustration: _The three invaders waited while the long minutes ticked
away_]
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,
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.