War From The Clouds (14 page)

He said guerillas at the mouth of the first hollow had quickly missed their sentries. Rather than send for help from an adjacent hollow, they had split up in squads and had set out to find out what had happened to their sentries. This squad had been searching for two hours, finally locating this old trail but not expecting to find anyone. One of the guerillas had run on ahead. He was the one who had spotted the Indian and had killed him by throwing his knife at him. The others hadn't known what was happening up ahead and had walked into our trap.

By now, the guerilla said, the other search teams had probably sought help from others. The hill would soon be swarming with search teams, leaving the valleys unguarded. It seemed to be our grand opportunity to search for the ancient cave. But I looked at my watch and saw that it was well past noon. In about eight hours, it would be dusk and Don Carlos would send up the signal from the top of Alto Arete.

The guerilla, of course, had no idea where the cave entrance was. He had merely been given orders not to let anyone pass up the hollow; he wasn't even to go up the hollow himself. That was why the search teams had gone up the ridge, and had unhappily stumbled onto us.

After conferring with Purano and Antonio, I found the future prospects dimmer than I'd previously thought. It would take at least an hour to check out each of the seven hollows. Unless we hit the cave on our first two or three tries, it would be too late to stop Don Carlos. Even after we found the cave, Purano pointed out as succinctly as possible, it would take many hours to scale the natural chimney. It was, after all, more than two thousand feet long.

For the first time in many years, it looked rather conclusively that Nick Carter, N3, Killmaster for AXE, would fail in an assignment. Not only fail, but be lucky to get out of it alive.

But there was an answer somewhere in my mind, something that could shorten the time considerably, enable us to find the cave in a matter of an hour or two, giving us ample time to scale the chimney and reach Don Carlos Italla's lair in the clouds.

But what was the answer, and who had it?

We dragged all the dead bodies off the trail and, with the sole surviving guerilla securely tied, we started off down the trail again. This time, we moved with more caution, keeping our eyes and ears peeled for the search teams. It wasn't likely they'd all cover the same ground, but with our luck one team could get lost and accidentally stumble across our path. It was a possibility we couldn't overlook.

We were near the mouth of the hollow when Purano suddenly stopped and held up his hand. We all took to the brush, weapons ready. We could all hear it then. Someone was thrashing his way up the hill, ignoring stealth, coming hell bent for election.

I crouched in the brush, my hand gripped tightly around Wilhelmina's butt. The thrashing became louder and it sounded as though a whole troop of Marines was making its way up the faint trail, knocking aside trees, vines and brush, kicking fallen logs.

I saw a flash of cloth and raised the luger. I was sighting down the barrel, tightening my finger on the trigger, ready to fire as soon as I had a clear shot at the target. I would get the first in line and let the others concentrate on those behind.

I had just about reached the point of no return on Wilhelmina's trigger when I saw who was coming. I damned near threw the luger away then.

In another fraction of a second, I would have killed Elicia Cortez.

She was alone and in a hurry. She had forgotten all I'd taught her about traveling in the jungle when there were enemy troops about. She had been in such a hurry to find us, to be with us, she had ignored danger. And she had almost paid for that ignoring with her life. I was trembling when I came out of the brush and saw her still plunging up the trail.

"Senor Carter," she cried. "Oh, Nick, I thought you were dead. I thought you were all dead."

She was crying as she lunged into my arms and began to shower my face, grizzly now with several days' growth of beard, with sweet, wet kisses. I held her loosely and glanced back over my shoulder at Purano, who had been smiling at her arrival. He was now scowling at us both. Jealousy. It can work wonders, even among the best of allies.

Elicia saw him, too, but her response was quite different. She leaped back out of my arms and suddenly turned darker in a blush. She glanced at Purano's eyes, then her eyes fell and she looked at the ground near his feet.

"I was fearful for you as well," she said. "It gives me pleasure to see you healthy and well."

That was all the mush stuff Purano needed. His eyes gazed at the ground near Elicia's feet and he made the longest speech of his brief life.

"It gives me pleasure that you are pleased that I am well. I fear for you, also, and am delighted to find you healthy and well."

I stood back and watched Elicia Cortez turn into a rose in that moment, budding, blossoming, flowering — more than Purano knew.

I had to break up the unusual courtship, though.

"Why did you come looking for us, Elicia?"

She tore her eyes away from the ground near Purano's feet and looked at me, steadily, without her usual shyness. "The hermit came to the Indian camp to warn Botussin," she said. "The Iman from Apalca has given his assent to a revolution in both Nicarxa and Apalca. The revolution is to begin at nightfall. No one else knows that agreement has been reached. Once the signal has been given from Alto Arete, a special contingent of guerillas, part of Don Carlos Italla's elite corps, is to attack the Ninca lands and kill every man, woman and child."

"How does Pico know all this?" By then, Antonio and the others had formed a circle around us, all listening with keen ears and wide eyes.

"He has a radio," Elicia said. "He took it with him when he went to the mountain to live away from man. He makes periodic trips to the capital, disguised as a monk, to buy parts and batteries. He has been listening to frequencies he has learned about in his listening. He has heard coded communications between Don Carlos and the Cubans. With so much time on his hand, old Pico has broken the code."

A thought came. "I've been told that Don Carlos will signal the beginning of the revolution with a flare gun from the top of Alto Arete. If he has sophisticated radio equipment, why doesn't he spread the word that way?"

"I can answer that," Antonio said. "We are still a poor country, Senor Carter. Not many people have radios. Not even Don Carlos has been able to equip all his revolutionary groups throughout the island with radio equipment. But a flare at dusk from Alto Arete can be seen from every point on the island, even in Apalca and far out at sea. Even, it is said, in Cuba."

Good God, I thought. That flare has more significance than I had imagined. Somehow, I had to stop Don Carlos from shooting off that flare. Without it, he might radio a few of his contingents — the Cubans mostly — but not enough to make the revolution a total success. But how?

I thought of old Pico sitting up there on his hidden plateau listening to all of Don Carlos Italla's radio communications. This man, who had sought a place away from the company of men. I recalled the sadness in his voice when he had told me about what had happened to his beautiful eleven-year-old daughter:

Thoughts began to tumble through my brain. I thought my head would explode trying to sort them out. They were a jumble of thoughts, leading everywhere and nowhere. In that jumble of thoughts was the answer I had been seeking. I grabbed Elicia by her slender arms.

"Elicia, where is the hermit now? Where is Pico?"

"With Chief Botussin. He will stay there and help fight the elite corps when they come to murder the Nincas."

"Does he know where we are, what we're trying to do?"

"I don't know. I only know what he told the chief. After that, they sat down to a big dinner, planning to discuss strategy later."

It figured. Botussin's stomach came before everything. Pico didn't know that we were looking for the cave entrance. If he did…

"Let's go," I said to Antonio and Purano. "Elicia, you stay with the others and come back to the Ninca camp. We'll go on ahead. I have to talk with Pico."

"Why…"

"Just do as I say. There isn't a minute to lose."

As Antonio, Purano and I hurried down the trail, heading for the tribe's camp, I explained what I hoped to learn from Pico.

Perhaps the old hermit couldn't remember a day thirty years ago when he had followed Ancio and his evil friends to a cave at the base of Alto Arete, in one of seven hollows.

But there were other memories, other knowledges, that hadn't been concealed deep in his mind by tragedies. Remembering the one might open the door to the other.

If I could tap those other memories, those other knowledges, there was a slim chance of saving the people of these two island countries.

If not?

I wouldn't think of that just yet.

My second meeting with Pico, the hermit, was a mixture of pleasures and disappointments. Or, as the comedians like to remind us somewhat monotonously, some good news and some bad news.

First off, he was angry at me for having left his camp on my own.

"I spent years, Senor Carter," he said, crouching among the short Indians to diminish the effect of his great height, "concealing the trail to my hermitage. No living man but you knows now how to come there. Besides, you weren't ready to leave. The poultice needed several more hours to do its work."

We were in the square of the tribal encampment. The hot midday sun blazed down on the mixture of white and brown bodies. Flies the size of teacups buzzed around us. Some of them even attacked the bandages on my side and my right foot. Shooing them away was a dangerous activity, fraught with promise of reprisal.

Antonio and Purano flanked the fat chief on one side of the circle. A little behind them were Elicia and the spearchuckers from the mission to the seven hollows. The body of the dead spearchucker was in a special burial hut, being prepared by the few remaining women of the tribe. I sat beside Pico on the other side of the circle. Filling in the circle, on either side of the hermit and I, were the village elders I had seen that first night in the council hut. Other spearchuckers, jealous that they hadn't gone on the mission to share in the glory, surrounded all of us, a circle outside a circle.

"The poultice did its work well," I assured Pico, "If it had done much better, it would be like not having had a wound at all. But I do apologize for breaking your rule. Will you accept?"

Pico grinned. It was all the acceptance I would receive. "You must promise never to tell another living soul how you left my camp."

"I won't." Actually, I couldn't. It had been darker than the inside of a pig the night I had left his camp. If I were given the chore of finding my way back there, I would probably wander in the jungle for the rest of my life.

"Now, what is it you wish of me, Senor Carter?" he asked after the amenities and the chastizing were over. "What is the purpose of such hurrying back here to talk to me?"

I refreshed his memory about our conversation, about his saying that he had followed Ancio and his friends, had learned that the man had indeed lied, and had seen his daughter and several others covered with oil and burned. I repeated as much as I could remember of what he had said, hoping to spark memories from him. Important memories.

"I want to know everything you saw and heard that night," I told Pico. "I know it's painful remembering, but this is important. I want to know as much as you can possibly remember before I show you something of great importance."

He looked puzzled. So did all the others. But everyone remained silent while Pico considered the request. I was conscious of the minutes ticking away, of the day and the mission being completely shattered, while this old hermit searched back through thirty years of memories.

"I was there, as I have told you," he said, his voice sounding deep and hollow, his eyes starting to mist. "I remember so little, no more than what I told you. I saw the cave. I saw the seashell necklace that I had made for my daughter. It was on the body of a naked corpse. That is how I was able to tell that it was her."

His voice cracked then and I wanted him to stop that particular line of thought. It wasn't necessary to recall details of the inside of the cave, of the grisly scene there. I wanted him to recall details of the outside, of how to get there. But I knew enough about idea association to let him ramble in his own way, as time slipped past, minute by minute.

But he was finished with his grim recollections. He looked at me blankly, puzzled over what I was seeking. I didn't want to lead him. It was important that his mind be free of prejudice when he saw what I had to show him.

"Do you recall any details of when you followed Ancio and his friends into the mountains?" I asked.

He spent some time thinking. Precious time. My anxiety grew.

"I was under great stress at the time," he said. "I had anticipated that my daughter was gone, but I had no idea…" He stopped, swept the circle of interested faces with deeply sad eyes, and said, "it was thirty years ago. I recall many scenes quite well. They are emblazoned on my soul. However…"

That was the worst of the bad news. He had no idea whatsoever of where the cave entrance was. I wouldn't be able to jog his memory with further questions, and I was afraid of even more bad news when I sprang my one and only possibility. But there was no more time to waste. I turned to Antonio.

"Would you get the map and show it to Pico."

"The map?" Antonio asked, puzzled. "Senor Carter, it is in Indian hieroglyphics and, if the Indians can't read the symbols, how can you expect…"