Chapter 2 Vanua Lava
Chip Morton, aboard Seaview, ordered an armed, five-man diving party, led by Chief Sharkey, to swim over to the flying sub and check it out. Chief Sharkey and Kowalski entered the sub by the floor hatch.
"Both men missing, Mr. Morton. FS1's pretty badly beat up. Like a bomb hit it. Two diving masks and two tanks also gone. What do you make of it, sir? All that hammering we heard over the radio?"
"Nothing as yet, Chief. Don't jump the gun. Maybe it could have been some locals trying to rescue them. They saw FS1 go down and swam out to help."
"I'd very much like to believe that, sir, but I feel differently."
"We can't go by what you feel, Chief. We all feel strange sometimes."
Speaking on his throat mike, Sharkey nodded his head, then looked over at Seaman Kowalski. Kowalski shook his. Mr. Morton could muddy-up the facts sometimes, but at least, he thought privately, the Exec's imagination never went into overdrive like the Chief's.
"What do we do now, Mr. Morton?" asked Sharkey.
"You might swim to the island. See if the admiral and Lee are holed up there."
"Will do."
The two men rejoined the other Seaview divers in the water, swimming to the surface and then to the island. Climbing the ridge of trees, the five men clung to the brush as they climbed the road. At last, they caught sight of the lofty house on its hilltop pinnacle.
"Man, what a knock-out!" said Kowalski, stopping to admire.
"If we hurry, maybe they'll give us a tour around the place before dark," said Sharkey, a bit wittily. "Come on, Ski!"
"Sure, sure, Chief. Just coming." Kowalski hefted his amphibious rifle again and followed. The shadows were lengthening in the Kauri woods, though the house still sat in the sun on its eminence.
Within a hundred yards of the house, the rescue party ducked as two shots rang out. These came from the porch. Sharkey motioned his men to get down. Tense, all five waited for another shot.
"If the admiral and the skipper are in there," he whispered to Kowalski, "they could be in danger."
"Yeah, no one would take potshots like that," said Ski, "without first seeing who they were shooting at!"
"What'll we do, Chief?" asked one of the other divers, Martin. Ron Martin.
"Ron, you go around that way, flanking the house. Bob, you take the other side. Three of us, Jason, Ski and myself, will wait until you're in position and then head slowly up the road, keeping low. If anyone shoots at us, fire back, okay?"
"Got you, Chief," said Ron, an athletic, dark-haired man who was excellent material in a fight and who knew how to run several systems in the Control Room aboard Seaview. Just like Kowalski, who could do everything from work sonar to guard duty, he was an all-rounder.
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Inside the house, the admiral jumped at the noise. It had been growing dark and no lights were on as yet, though there had to have been a generator as the house had electric fixtures and hot water.
"It sounded like shots," said Lee, just waking up after closing his eyes on the sofa in the study, the same room they had fought in earlier.
Two or three of the natives, still armed with harpoons, stood guard over them, while 'Mr. Reading' had gone out to lock things down for the night. Never knew in these latitudes just when a strong wind would blow.
"Must be our men," said the admiral, pushing a footstool away and rising. He headed to the window, drawing a native after him. Ignoring the man, Nelson pulled back the curtain and looked out onto the main yard in front of the porch, where two dark figures, their backs as straight as arrows, stood holding rifles. He also noticed two men, no three, making their cautious way up the drive. Sharkey's men?
"What is it? What do you see, Admiral?" Lee, feeling lightheaded, stayed seated.
"What might be good news, and what might bad. Depends on the outcome of the operation, I guess."
"Huh, sir? I'm still a bit foggy."
"Lee, help may be here a little sooner than we planned. Remember how we said we'd take these jokers just after a changing of the guard, when the new men were just getting used to us?"
"Yes."
"We might have to act very shortly. I see the cavalry."
"Oh, I get you. The cavalry."
Lee now rose, but a gun-butt signaled him to sit down again. The natives were not taking the chance of having two such fighters on their feet. Ty, straight as carved wood by the door, only moved his eyes as he directed the other two men to follow the admiral and stand over Lee.
Mr. Reading returned, looking somewhat anxious. "Admiral Nelson, I believe you are being rescued. My men are trading shots with yours from the Seaview—but haven't hit one yet. They melt into the trees. It's quite dark out. A few stars, no moon."
"If you'd tell us what you want, Mr. Reading, we could discuss this like rational men and I could call my men off."
"I'll let you speak to them. Then you and I can have a chat."
"Agreed. See that no harm comes to anyone, Reading."
"Come, Admiral, outside. From the porch you can be heard all the way to the trees on such a night as this."
Nelson left Lee feeling disconcerted with events and still a bit shaky from the explosion and the crash on the reef earlier. His head hurt and he had watery vision. He knew it would clear up, but when?
Outside on the veranda, standing between armed guards, Nelson called out. Taking a chance Sharkey was leading the shore party, he yelled, "Sharkey! Come inside for a few minutes. Put your weapons up."
Sharkey looked over at his men, wondering if the admiral had flipped. He stood up first, lowering his weapon. When he did not draw any fire, he walked a few paces out of the brush and trees and into the yard, followed by Kowalski. The three other Seaview men remained hidden in various parts of the yard.
'Admiral, what's going on?" he asked, walking nearer. He stopped about twenty paces from the porch, slightly raising his gun again. He didn't like the looks of the situation, Admiral Nelson flanked by armed men.
"Well, come in, Chief. Don't stand outside like that. Bring Kowalski with you."
"Admiral, is it safe? I mean, all these men with guns."
"It's safe for now. You can trust that nothing will happen."
Reading quietly had come to stand just behind the admiral on the porch. Sharkey gestured to him with his amphibious rifle. "Who's that? Is he friend or foe, Admiral?"
"I'm not sure, yet. Come on, Sharkey. Lee's inside."
"Well, okay, Admiral. Whatever you say." Sharkey turned and nodded back at Kowalski to follow him.
Once in the study, Nelson introduced them both. Having had medic training, Sharkey bent over Lee and looked at his eyes. "I don't like this, Admiral. His pupils don't match."
"Concussion, then," said Nelson. "I should have seen it." He turned back to Reading. "Whatever your business with us, we'll have to wrap it up shortly and get Capt. Crane back to Seaview."
"Your men can be accommodated in the dining room. I'll have cook prepare a supper meal for them. How many came along?" asked Reading, simply enough.
Nelson paused to look once more at the Seaview men and shook his head.
"Just us two," said Sharkey. "We thought a small party best."
"Then I'll plan for just two more, in addition to the three of us." Reading slightly bowed. "I hope your other men, Chief, brought rations along."
Sharkey laughed a little bit at that. Reading was perceptive! He gestured for Kowalski to follow him out again as Reading gestured to a chair and Nelson silently took it. Lee remained, though not exactly invited, due to his head injury. He pretended to sleep on his settee while the admiral and Reading talked near the unlit fireplace. Even though sleep claimed him for a second or two, Lee overheard much of their conversation.
Waiting for the owner of the house to speak first, Nelson was conscious of a ticking clock on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. It was the only sound for a long minute or two. Producing a cigarette from his pocket and striking a match to it, he felt better, though there was a thought nagging at his brain. Reading hadn't sent for his cook yet. A slip of memory?
Then Reading spoke. "I don't work for the Russians. I'm not helping them."
"Who are you helping then, Reading?"
"Well, besides myself, Admiral Nelson, my employers."
"Who happen to be?" asked the admiral, hoping to lead him into a fuller answer.
"The People's Republic."
"Funny. You don't look Oriental, or speak with an Oriental accent."
"Still, that's where I owe allegiance."
"I wonder just how much that allegiance cost, Mr. Reading."
"Far more than you'll ever know, Admiral. Now, for what I want."
"Excuse me for one moment, Mr. Reading. It seems we have a Mexican standoff here. My men are well-armed and their number is nearly equal to that of your men."
"You mean, Admiral Nelson, that you'd go to blows with me, just to protect one Soviet satellite?"
"Of course. The information the satellite has recorded on its film canister means a lot to my country's national security. It's that security I aim to protect."
"Admiral, you underestimate me. I have the upper hand here, no matter how many men you have with you. You see, I have you."
Nelson lowered his cigarette before taking a drag of it. "What do you mean?"
Reading clapped his hands, abruptly, once, in the air. As suddenly as an exhale of breath, the room unfolded in chaos. Several green-uniformed men burst through a second door into the study and through a pair of French doors from the patio outside. No longer natives, but privately trained guardsmen, they stopped meaningfully before the admiral, and Lee on his couch, leveling guns on them, automatic weapons that were clearly ready to fire.
"Is this what you mean? You'll hold us hostage?"
"Just you, Admiral. I don't need your skipper." He nodded again and Lee was hoisted onto his feet and dragged out of the room into the foyer where Sharkey and Kowalski waited. "Keeping you here guarantees that he will obey me and deliver the satellite to me."
"Just where are you going to put a three-ton satellite? You can't hide it in the cellar!" Nelson felt his anger rising.
"I don't have to. Your divers—or mine—will deliver the film canister to me. The same way you were going to retrieve it."
"You think my men will hand it over to you, just because you're holding me against my will?"
"They seem very loyal."
"Each one of them has a sworn duty to uphold. Protecting U.S. security interests ranks higher than saving one man."
"Even if it's you that they're saving?"
"No man outranks national interests. You have in me, Reading, an empty gun."
"That doesn't mean I won't wave it around and cause at least a little disturbance with it."
"Do what you will. The satellite film won't be delivered to you."
Reading turned to his men, all of them fighters for the People's Republic, all of them of the Oriental race.
"You can take him to the 'hiding' place. It's far enough away, Admiral, that your men won't be able to find you. Your captain will decide if he wants to fulfil my request for the film."
"Waste of time, Reading. Lee Crane won't give in to you, any more than I would."
"Whether he does or doesn't, Admiral Nelson, there's something I have planned for you. It will net me a little more money on the side. Ever hear of Admiral Smirnkov?"
"Yes, of the Russian navy."
"He's obsessed with finding you, ever since you escaped Russia a year ago, in the Tereschenko affair. He's put out feelers for you everywhere. He wants someone to turn you in. A phone call from Port Vila to the Soviet Union—an expensive call, relayed by satellite, but worth it—and he will come. Or send for you."
"Got it all worked out, have you? You'll need to make sure I'm alive when he does come. If your blackmail of Capt. Crane fails, you'll have to kill me."
"On the chance that Crane doesn't turn the film over to me, I can fake your death, Admiral, and still turn you over to Smirnkov. Then I'll have to hide from the People's Republic for a while."
The admiral laughed a bit sourly. "Because the film you were supposed to get will still be in U.S. hands?"
"Yes, like nearly everyone in these rush-rush days, the People's Republic takes a dim view of failure." He turned around, signaling his men to move forward. Then to Nelson, he said, "You will go with them. Quietly. Or you'll die—right here, right now."
"I'll go with them," said Nelson acidly, "but only because it won't change a thing. The threat of my death will not bring you what you want."
"That's what you say now, Nelson. I don't think you'll be deserted as easy as all that."
The admiral laughed again. "You're blind, Reading. Blind!"
He was manhandled by two uniformed men out of the room through the patio doors and into the dark brush just beyond. He didn't escape some bruises and scratches in the rough hands of Reading's men. He couldn't fight them or get away without being unnecessarily killed, so he went along for the moment with Reading's plan. He knew that Lee Crane, even though torn between friendship and his duty, would not give in and turn the satellite film over to Reading.
It was fully dark now. About a half-mile through the brush, he and the others, now including the native man known as Ty, came to a helicopter landing pad. A large bird sat on the pad, waiting for the party to arrive. Before boarding, the American admiral glanced up at the stars, reckoning their position, then he was pushed inside and told to buckle up. All four men could climb into the 'copter, with its double row of seats. One of these green-jacketed men was the pilot and another flanked Nelson in the rear seat. Ty sat up front with the pilot. The pilot spun the double set of propellers, opened the throttle, pulled up slowly on the collective, depressed the left foot pedal, and pushed the cyclic lever slightly forward. The bird took off, nearly straight up, throwing clouds of dust into the trees of the landing area.
Nelson stretched his neck looking down and could see the lights of the house. He hoped his men wouldn't start a fight, for he didn't want any of them killed over a false hope of rescuing him. Lee was a sensible man. He'd do the right thing. Go back to the Seaview, find the satellite, retrieve the film and turn it over to the U.S. Defense Department at the Pentagon.
Over the water, the huge, Chinese-made 'copter flew with its four-man burden. Landing on another island far to the north of Tanna, a long while later, as Nelson could tell by the position of the stars when they landed, the armed men forced him on another march. Here there was no road, only dark hollows of land created by old lava flows. By starlight, he saw that banyan trees grew most profusely here, with their wild, chewed-up looking arms, and fewer of the darker Kauri trees, with their wide upper spread of branches.
At a small, palm-thatched hut, the three armed Orientals stopped and pitched him inside. He fell to the pandanus mat covering the sandy floor and rolled to a sitting position. He was hot, sweaty, mosquito-bitten and very irritable. His legs hurt from hours of dark trekking across lava country and from the cramped helicopter jaunt before that. The three men disappeared after depositing him on the floor, probably lifting off again in the 'copter. A native entered the hut and thrust half of a coconut shell of kava his way and this time, he had a different attitude towards it. He didn't refuse it, but sipped it as if his life depended on it. Kava was narcotic and it would make some of the aches and pains go away. It might even replace some of his current weakness with some of his old strength. Walking at night had its charms—on a country road in Vermont, on a beach in Waikiki, but not through acres of hard black volcanic rock.
He brushed a hand over his warm face and felt dizzy for a moment, reeling back against the hut's bamboo wall—an old wall, and not a substantial one. A stiff onshore wind might knock it into the sea, which Nelson reckoned a few miles away. His shell of kava was filled again and then again, and the Vanuatuans shared with him some of the fruits of their dark, fibrous pandanus—a most useful Micronesian shrub. Obviously, his captors wanted him to get strong again, too. But for what?
Sometime the next day, after sleeping in the hut with four natives as guards, Nelson awoke to Ty's hand. In a way he was glad to see Ty, Reading's huge foreman, for the husky native with the thick blond-black hair spoke the best English among the natives. Nelson felt he was someone to talk to, a man who would remember civilized amenities, as in answering a few calm questions.
"Ty, where is this place?"
Both men were resting in the deep shade of the hut. Outside, the rainforest squealed and cawed. It was an eerie place to spend the afternoon.
"Here," he answered, not very fruitfully. "I am going to take you to the cave-place. Where you stay until Mr. Reading says you come back."
"The cave-place?"
"Near Mount Sere'Ama, the fire mountain."
"A volcano? One that spews ash?"
"This one silent. It smokes, but there no red fire flows."
"That's good. So we're on Vanua Lava, one of the Banks Islands." Nelson sat back against the wall of the hut again, resting his wrist on an upraised knee. "Why do you work for Reading?" he asked, thoughtfully.
"He's good to me and my mother. He give us house and money and much food. Good man."
"I see we don't share the same opinion about him."
"I'm not sure what you say. But I guess you don't like him."
"Guessed right. When do we leave for the cave-place?"
"Tonight. In the dark, you will not see trail well. Then not easy to return."
"Leaving tonight doesn't surprise me. I haven't seen anything up to now but this hut and lots of banyan trees."
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Once the admiral did not reappear in the foyer of the house, after a good half-hour, Lee Crane, waiting there with Sharkey and Kowalski, took matters into his own hands. He ignored the upraised guns of the green-uniformed men and headed for the study. Both the Chief and 'Ski were in tow. Opening the door without a knock, he found Reading alone, flipping the pages of a book at his desk.
Crane looked around and in some deep concern didn't see his friend. "Okay, Reading," he said. "Where's the admiral?"
"He's gone." Reading put his book down on the desk, but still held it. "And we have something to discuss."
"The only thing I want to discuss is the admiral's whereabouts. What have you done with him?"
"Would you believe I spirited him away to another island?"
"What?" Lee said, aghast. "How? In what? A boat?"
"Boats are fine to get you from here to there, as I'm sure you'd agree, Captain, but helicopters are better."
Lee, Sharkey and Kowalski, usually out-spoken men when their interests—or the Seaview's, or the admiral's, for that matter—were at stake, became unusually quiet.
"I don't like this," murmured Sharkey. Kowalski nodded absently, keeping a steady eye on the man at the desk.
Hearing him, Reading only laughed and clapped his hands again. Armed men, perhaps some of the same who took the admiral away, and now returned, appeared once more from out of the woodwork. This time, they directed Lee and his men to exit the study, also relieving Sharkey and Kowalski of their guns.
Lee took a long, hard look at Reading, wanting to lay hands on him and beat it out of him where the admiral was, but he knew he had to bide his time. At least, for now.
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Slogging through a jungle of vines and sharp fronds in the middle of the night with a soft rain falling was not an appealing way to spend a visit to the tropics of the southwest Pacific. With the nightlife in Port Vila, on Efate Island, music and food and dancers in grass skirts, it was almost a shame to spend these hours beating back brush and slapping at bugs in the almost pitch black.
Almost dawn, they arrived at the 'cave-place,' a hole in the rock of a tall hill. Beyond weary, his face creased with lines of exhaustion, Nelson sighed and ducking low, walked into the cave. He was following Ty. Four other natives followed them in. The six men came to a standing spot. Pulling cobwebs out of his hair, Nelson looked around in the light of the torches carried by the guards and his tall native guide.
Ty paused only a moment. Then taking Nelson by the arm, he forced him down a long corridor with a ceiling of uneven heights. The other four men stayed in the central spot, not sticking to Nelson and Ty. The admiral might have felt safer if they had been along. With Ty, alone, he now feared for his life.
Ty stopped, again taking Nelson by the arm, but this time making him stop. Ty acted as if he were listening. Indeed, there was sound. The sound of water flowing down rock, a sound with texture. Nelson sniffed, he could smell the rock-mold under the water. Ty began again, taking him to the sound, probably wanting to leave him where there was water to drink, however green it tasted.
The corridor sloped upward, almost startling so. Was he going into the bowels of a mountain, or maybe a volcano? Then he figured out what this was—a lava tube, where the flow of hot lava had burned its way through the side of the hill and created a tunnel. If that were so, then they were walking deeper into the heart of a live volcano, Sere'Ama.
"Ty," Nelson said, stopping and panting hard. "I must rest. We've come over a mile in this tunnel."
"You rest in cave-place." Ty gripped his arm again, but the admiral was stubborn. He pulled back.
"I thought the whole tunnel was the cave-place."
"Up hill."
"You mean, up this hill? How much further?" he asked, his heart tight in his chest. He wiped his forehead and shook the water away from his hand. Not a part of him but had its own ache. About to fold like a bad hand of cards, he leaned back on the cave wall, fearing he wouldn't be able to stir again. The image of himself as a hand of cards amused him, and he laughed aloud. But it was no use. Nothing could lighten his mood or the situation he found himself in. Ty, his face spectral and grim in the light, bathed in the warm torch-glow, looked at him as the older man hesitated to move.
"Come, now," the native insisted. He pulled Nelson's arm again.
"For the zillionth time," said the admiral, "I need to rest." He had decided to stand fast and to question Ty. "Why do we keep going deeper into this place? The torch will die soon."
"Come," Ty urged again. "Or I will drag you."
"I'd like to see you try," said the adamant admiral. He laughed again, this time at Ty and saw the native stiffen his shoulders in reaction. The grip on his arm tightened. Ty was serious. "All right, all right," Nelson murmured. "Have it your way. To the cave-place."
So they continued ever upward in the lava tube. Once, Nelson stooped and placed his hand on the ground. "I'd say it was hot." He turned to Ty. "I'm sure I've seen steam vents, too."
"Sere'Ama is alive, Nelson. It boils inside. But it no blow."
"Not since 1965, if I remember rightly. Eleven years ago."
"I was boy then. Ten. It no blow now."
"I wish I could be as sure of that as you are, Ty. I'm not, though."
"A little heat, nothing more."
"Is the cave-place part of Mount Sere'Ama?" He dreaded that it was, but Ty said nothing. He turned and started up the trail again and his prisoner had to follow. The cave-place, inside a mean-spirited volcano?