The Flaming Mountain: A Rick Brant Science-Adventure Story

"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! Qué pasa?"

Across the way a figure rose, rifle ready. A suspicious voice called, "Quién 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.

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.