Goodwin Harold Leland
The Flaming Mountain: A Rick Brant Science-Adventure Story

CHAPTER VII
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. "Quién 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, señores. A sus órdenes."

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, Señor 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.

"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."

CHAPTER VIII
The Governor Vanishes

Far below the surface of San Luz, white-hot rock, flowing like incandescent molasses, forced its way upward under enormous pressure. Sometimes the magma remained quiet for hours, pulsing slightly like a living thing. Then it would melt its way through to a weakness in the earth's structure, creating a new channel for its upward flow.

In one new channel was basaltic rock with a higher moisture content than the magma had encountered before. As the moisture turned instantly to steam, it expanded with sudden violence, and the earth shook with the force of the explosion.

Far above the pocket, Rick Brant felt the earth tremble, and shook his head. The temblors were increasing in frequency, although none had been as violent as that first day's earthquake. The boy looked at Scotty. His pal's face was grim.

The scientists around the worktable had paused, too, as they felt the earth tremble.

Esteben Balgos said quietly, "El Viejo is getting ready. If we are going to act, it must be soon."

"Act?" Connel demanded. "How?"

Balgos shrugged. "That is what we are here to decide."

Rick watched the geologist's face. He was sure that Connel, for reasons unknown, was trying to slow down the project. He was satisfied that the man had stolen both the initial tracings and the dynamite. He also knew that Connel lied. On their return from trailing him to Casa Guevara, the boys had found Connel having a cup of coffee in the dining room and had asked casually where he had gone. He had muttered something about going into Calor for a supply of cigars.

Hartson Brant asked, "What do you make of this series of tracings? My own opinion is that we have found a structural weakness through which the magma will move. But the weakness does not extend far enough upward to give any idea of the channel the magma will take to the surface."

The scientist pointed to a series of blue lines as he spoke. Dr. Williams examined the lines, then took his pencil and began to sketch rapidly on his cross-section drawing of the volcano and the earth under it. Rick watched as the sketch took shape. From the upper lens-shaped magma front Williams was drawing a series of lines that changed direction, moving toward the western side of the island. Then, across the top of the upward-moving lines Williams drew a horizontal line.

"Those upward strokes are the fissures shown by the tracings," he said. "Notice that they stop at the horizontal line. My guess is that the horizontal line represents an unbroken stratum that will probably stop the magma temporarily. We may even have another one of those lens-shaped pools develop."

Big Hobart Zircon poked at the sketch with a huge finger. "Jeff, how far below the surface is this stratum?"

"Slightly over a quarter of a mile, I'd guess. It's hard to be accurate within a few feet. On that side of the mountain the ocean bottom is a few hundred feet below sea level, and I'd say the hard rock is probably a thousand feet below that."

Zircon rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "If we could somehow breach that hard rock and allow room for the magma to flow upward, what would happen?" he inquired.

Esteben Balgos exclaimed excitedly, "Once through the layer of hard rock, the magma would encounter plenty of surface water. Look at Jeff's sketch. Above the hard rock there are many fissures, which must have a high water content. If the magma reaches those, we will have violent eruption through the western side of the mountain, probably right about sea level."

Rick could see instantly what Balgos meant. "Dad, an eruption on the west side would be perfect! The mountain itself would protect Calor and the rest of the island!"

"That's true, Rick," Hartson Brant agreed. "The problem is, how can we possibly create a break in a layer of hard rock so far underground?"

David Riddle answered him. "There's one way. Drive a tunnel down through it."

All eyes looked at him.

"Can it be done?" Julius Weiss demanded.

"Yes. If there's enough time, enough machinery, and enough manpower. But look at the problem. Once the magma starts to move upward through those faults Jeff has drawn, it will move fast. The tunnel would have to be done before the magma started to move. Otherwise, the heat would be too great for men to work, and even if they could work they'd be drilling right into magma."

"This stuff is beyond me," Connel said. "Let me know what you decide, will you?" He turned and walked from the room.

Rick's eyes met Scotty's. The ex-Marine nodded, and in a moment quietly slipped out of the room.

Julius Weiss demanded, "Are you seriously proposing that we drive a tunnel for over a quarter mile, almost straight down, through solid rock?"

Riddle shrugged. "Do you know any other way of releasing the magma safely? I don't."

"Perhaps it could be done," Hartson Brant said thoughtfully. "But, as Dave says, we'd need time, machinery, and manpower. I'm sure we can get the machinery and the manpower from the governor. But do we have time?"

Balgos and Williams looked at each other. They were the experts. It was up to them to say.

"How long, Jeff?" Balgos asked.

"I don't know. If we assume the magma will continue rising at roughly the same rate we've measured during the past few days, I'd guess perhaps two or three weeks. On the other hand, the magma could find weaknesses we haven't detected. We may have only a few days."

"We'll have to try," Hartson Brant stated. "If the governor can give us the entire labor force of the island, and all available earth-moving machinery, we have a chance at least. If we do nothing, there's no chance at all. I think we should pay a visit to the governor right now."

Scotty came back into the room. "Connel's in his room," he reported. "I think he made a telephone call, but I can't be sure without checking with the switchboard. Shall I?"

"It doesn't matter," Rick told him. "We're on our way to see the governor. Connel can't stop things now."

The scientists were already moving through the door and to the jeeps. Within a few moments the small convoy was moving down the mountainside toward Calor and the executive offices.

Inside the cool, white stone building the group waited while Esteben Balgos went to see if the governor was available. He came out of the executive suite with a look of concern on his face.

"The governor is not in," he reported. "His secretary does not know where he is. The secretary's worried. Montoya didn't show up at all this morning and his residence says he left at the usual time. I think we'd better see the lieutenant governor."

Rick started to speak, but thought better of it. Connel had not come with them, and his visit to Guevara could mean nothing.

Jaime Guevara was a tall, thin man with a hawk face and a tiny goatee. Hartson Brant, as spokesman, got to the point right away. He described the reason for their coming, and their findings to date. He stressed the need for fast action. In the governor's absence, he stated, they would need the active support of Señor Guevara. If he would issue orders at once, the scientific group would be happy to organize and supervise the work.

Guevara listened until the scientists had finished, then he smiled. "A strange tale," he said. "It is difficult to believe El Viejo is getting ready to erupt. Surely your imaginations have run away with you."

"We do not depend on imagination," Balgos said curtly. "We depend on scientific investigation. The situation is precisely as Dr. Brant outlined it."

"No doubt," Guevara said soothingly. "But surely you realize I cannot disrupt the economy of the entire island simply to dig a hole. Why, the people would laugh their heads off. No, señores, I am helpless. You had better see the governor."

"The governor isn't here and there is no time to lose," Hartson Brant said flatly. "You must act immediately if the island is to be saved. The lives of your people are in your own hands."

"Perhaps the governor will return soon," Guevara said. "He will doubtless believe your story and take action. I regret that I cannot. And now, if you will excuse me?"

"Then you will not move even to save the island?"

"I do not believe the island is in danger, Dr. Brant," Guevara said coldly. "Convince the governor – if you can find him. Meanwhile, have the favor to cease bothering me with your silly tales!"