Bluebolt One (29 page)

He came out from the last of the store rooms, stared down at the metal rails of the track, frowning, biting his lip. Like the power-house, that track was in a good state of maintenance, and the rails themselves were not as rusty as Shaw would have expected to find if they had remained unused for as long as the rest of the old mine appeared to have been.

Funny. . . .

He ran a hand along his jaw and said, “Gillian, we’ll have to go right along, that’s all. Wiley could have gone this way. If he did, then it seems at least a possibility that it comes out somewhere in the area of the control-station.” He took her arm and they went forward, went beyond the line of overhead lights into the gloom. Soon they couldn’t see anything, simply went ahead by feel through total blackness, their scalps tingling. They clung together, the girl fearful of losing Shaw. They edged forward, hands reaching out for the sides of the tunnel, feet stumbling on the rails. Small animals slithered across their feet. There could, Shaw supposed, be snakes down here too—or spiders. He urged the girl on as fast as she could go, always conscious of the lack of time and of the dreadful thing that was going to happen if he didn’t reach the station before Hartog was ready to go into operation. It was not far off dusk now. It was a long, tricky walk, but in time their groping hands noted the widening of the tunnel, and soon after that they stumbled up against the trolley which Wiley had left there earlier. And then, a little later, they saw the faint glimmer of the fading daylight ahead and they went on faster, able soon to make out the tunnel walls and then the overgrown entrance.

Shaw whispered, “Dead quiet now, Gillian. There could be some one else on guard this end, just as an extra precaution.”

They edged forward—very slowly, very carefully and silently.

There seemed to be no one there after all.

Shaw halted again just inside the entrance, pressed his body close to the wall and kept in the lee of the thick green vegetation which overhung the tunnel-mouth. He looked all around, then beckoned Gillian to follow him. He went ahead carefully, his fingers on the trigger of the Sten.

He’d just caught a quick glimpse of the man in the tree when he heard Gillian’s shout:

“Look out—get down—”

He dropped at once, felt Gillian doing the same behind him. As he fell he fired a burst into the tree, heard a stifled scream, and then saw the black body crashing from a branch.

Shaw felt a slight tugging sensation in his shirt-sleeve and when he looked down at it he saw the small barbed arrow. Drawing in his breah sharply, he picked the barb out, held it up and looked at it. He said “Poisoned—I suppose.” He threw it away. They waited five minutes after that, and when no further attack came Shaw said, “All right, let’s go. Looks as if it was just the one at each end.”

He helped the girl to her feet, and they walked out into the overgrown clearing. Away to their right, down in the valley and just visible in the trees through the gathering dark, they saw the complicated antennae on the beaming-mast over the Bluebolt station’s control-tower.

The mast was turning slowly, seeking, listening . . . waiting for Bluebolt.

Shaw took a deep breath, found that his hands were shaking. He said, “Well—there she is. I only hope Geisler’s there.”

“You’re going to make direct for the station?”

“Yes, surely. We may be in time—or we may not. It’s too late now to get hold of troops from Manalati or anything like that. We’ve got to move fast now—damn fast, and by ourselves.”

Taking his direction from the mast, Shaw quickly found the track leading to the road, and then he turned along to the right. It was still a goodish way and the going was hard, up sloping ground and through deep, muddy ruts left behind by service transport, and the rain was still teeming down on them. By the time they had made the station some half an hour later the last remnant of the daylight had gone from the sky, and the barred gateway was illuminated by floodlights.

Shaw and Gillian were covered with oozy, clinging mud. They were tired and filthy and almost unrecognizable. A naval sentry stopped them at the entrance with a wicked-looking sub-machine-gun aimed through the gateway at Shaw’s stomach. He said, “Okay, fella, that’s close enough. Drop those guns.”

“Like hell I’m going to——”

“I said drop ’em.” The man’s eyes were hard, narrowed to slits. His finger was moving on the trigger of his own weapon.

Shaw seethed, but obeyed, nodded curtly at Gillian to do the same. The Sten and the revolver were laid on the ground. The sentry relaxed a little, asked, “Who are you and what d’ya want?”

“The name’s Shaw. I’ve lost my identification, but I’m Commander Shaw of the British Navy—"

The man grinned, his jaws moving on a stick of gum. "Yeah? Guess yu're a Limey all right—a Limey bum."

Shaw snapped, "Cut it out, laddie. I'm an officer of Naval Intelligence and—"

"Well, whaddya know!" The gun was prodded forward, the man's hand caressing the trigger again. "Say, isn't this just like a goddam Limey to —"

“Now just you shut up and listen.” Shaw’s voice was a rasp of fury now; he was shaken with a terrible, consuming dread that he was going to be too late after all. “I’ve told you who I am, and I demand to see Commander Geisler immediately. The matter’s vital—and I mean vital—and if you hold me up here with any more fool wisecracks I’ll personally see to it that you’re chucked into cells once I
do
get in. After that you can argue it out with the Pentagon. Now—open up those gates and be damn fast about it!”

The sentry stared at him, still chewing. He’d been slightly shaken, Shaw thought, at the direct mention of Geisler; but the gun was still lined up on his stomach and the hand was steady, the face unrelenting again.

Shaw went on harshly, desperately, “If I was up to anything d’you imagine I’d come right here to the gates, openly and alone except for a girl? Use your ruddy head! Anyway—I’m coming in even if I have to shoot my way through.”

He bent quickly towards the Sten. The sentry jerked his weapon forward, snapped, “Leave those guns right there unless you want a load of this, Limey. You’re coming in all right—but not the way you want.”

Sweating, Shaw straightened, left the Sten in the mud. The sentry said, “Hold it just like that.” Still keeping his gun aimed at Shaw and the girl, he moved sideways and pressed a bellpush in a small weatherproof box by the gateway. Almost at once an armed petty officer of the British Navy came out from the guardroom alongside the entrance. Shaw gave a gasp of relief when he saw the Royal Naval cap. The American rating jerked a thumb in Shaw’s direction. He said, “Guy out there says he wants to see the Old Man. Says it’s urgent—”

Shaw broke in, explained once again who he was, that he had to see Geisler and Hartog right away. Time was running out now, every single second counted ... slowly, maddeningly the petty officer rasped a brown hand across his jaw. He said, “We’ll have you in the guardroom, then we’ll see.” To the sentry he said briskly, “Righto, lad, keep ’em covered.” He went forward, put a hand on the gate. “Move away from those guns, you two.”

“But—”

“You ’eard. Move, or else! Remember, I’ve no proof you’re who you say you are . . . sir.”

His mouth tight, nails digging into his palms, Shaw moved away. The petty officer opened the gates, walked through, picked up the Sten and the revolver. “Right, in you go now. Watch your step. Move along, miss, please.”

Shaw and Gillian went in through the gates, covered now by the two guns. They were pushed into the guardroom. The petty officer called out in a loud voice, “Knocker... you’re wanted. Look lively now.” A moment later a door opened and another British rating came in, nipping off a dog-end and buckling a blancoed belt. The petty officer said, “Keep these two covered while I ring the Commander’s office.”

The man called Knocker jerked a revolver from his holster.

Ordering the sentry back to his post, the petty officer took up an internal telephone and asked the exchange for Geis-ler’s room. He waited, then said, “No reply, eh? Put me through to Mr Hartog, then.” A few moments later he was speaking to the scientist. After a while he put down the phone ruefully, his face very red.

He said, “Sorry, sir. Reckon I’ve maybe overstepped myself this time . . . but you’ll understand I’ve got to make sure who I let through. Very strict, the orders are, and without papers, sir, well. . . .”

“I understand, of course. You were only doing your duty.” The petty officer was standing squarely in front of the door, and Shaw was trembling with impatience, fists clenching and unclenching again and again. “For God’s sake, don’t waste any more time now. I’ve—”

The petty officer raised a hand. “If you’ll just hang on a moment, sir, Mr Hartog’s coming down himself to identify you. I can’t let you go right in till he’s done that.”

“What about Commander Geisler?”

“Busy, sir. Mr Hartog, ’e says he’s the only other gentleman as can positively identify you.”

“That’s true, but—” Shaw lifted his arms, let them drop again, gave a despairing look at Gillian. Hartog, if he chose to—and it was almost a certainty he would—could so easily fail to identify him. And then what? They’d be treated as a couple of lunatics and chucked into a cell to await investigation by Geisler, an investigation which Hartog would presumably see to it was delayed until it was too late... Shaw walked up and down like a caged tiger, looking at his watch. Hartog was taking his time. . . it wasn’t that far from the admin, block to the gates . . .
what was going on?

It was nearly ten minutes before Hartog came in, dripping rain off his oilskin. Shaw swung round, face tight, and stared at the scientist. There was a curious look in the man’s eyes, and he seemed once again to have been drinking heavily. His step was uncertain and his words were a trifle slurred.

He smiled sardonically, and then, to Shaw’s relief and surprise, he said, “Why, hullo there, Shaw—”

The petty officer broke in, “It’s all right, then, Mr Hartog?”

Hartog nodded. “Perfectly all right. I’ll vouch for him.” There was a tenseness in the air as he turned back almost broodingly to Shaw. “We were expecting you long before this, you know. Get delayed in Jinda, did you?”

Shaw said evenly, “Yes, I did, just a little. But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

Hartog belched. “Not me. You get any further ahead?” Shaw stared at him, still puzzled, wishing he could fathom what was going on behind those eyes. . . the man seemed quite unconcerned, unworried. That
could
be because he was genuinely innocent after all, had really been double-crossing Wiley. Shaw said, “I’ve got quite a long way ahead, I fancy. I’d like a word with you, Hartog. At once.”

“Why, sure. Come along up to the office. All right, P.O.?”

“Yessir, of course, on your say-so. They’ll have to leave their arms behind, though, the Sten and the lady’s revolver.” He added to Shaw, “That’s the orders, sir. You can collect ’em on leaving, of course.”

There was no time to argue the point, and Shaw thought it unlikely in any case that he would need a gun now he was inside the station. The arms were left in the guardroom, and they went outside with Hartog, making for the admin, block.

Hartog asked, “Who’s the lady, eh?”

“Never mind that just for now. As it happens, though, she can back up what I’m going to say, and I’d like you to listen. It’d be as well if Commander Geisler was present too, so we’ll use his office.”

“Geisler?” Hartog’s dark eyes glittered strangely. “Oh— sure! I thought you’d want to see him, since the petty officer told me on the phone you asked for him in the first place. He’s expecting you.” They were nearing the veranda now, and Hartog added, “Oh, by the way. . . it may sound trite to say this, but I can explain everything.” He stopped just by the steps, looked away over Shaw’s head, around the lighted compound, eyes darting here and there. Then he grinned in a sardonic way and said, “What are we waiting for? Come into Steve’s office and we’ll talk. I rather fancy you’ve a few nasty thoughts about me—right?”

“Right,” Shaw agreed quietly. “So—just be careful.”

“I told you I could explain everything. Steve’s satisfied, anyway.” The scientist rammed his hands into his pockets and ran up the steps. Just before he’d turned away Shaw had noticed the sudden red glint in his eyes; that was partly drink, and partly a kind of phobia, a madness, he felt certain. And yet somehow, against all the evidence, he still had that odd, illogical feeling that Hartog wasn’t quite in this thing as deeply as Wiley had said he was.

He followed Hartog along the passage. There was nobody about, and Geisler’s door stood open, with light streaming out. Hartog said casually, “Looks as if Steve may have nipped out for a moment. Hell be back.”

He walked with his loping strides straight into Geisler’s office and went across to the desk without a sideways glance, fumbling in his shirt pocket for a cigarette. The office appeared to be empty; but as Shaw followed Hartog in he caught the sudden swift movement of a black-skinned arm from behind the door and then something heavy came down hard on the back of his head, there was a flash of brilliant light, and he went down, stone-cold out. As Gillian opened her mouth to scream a hand came across her face, a length of piping took her in the same way as Shaw, and she too fell in a crumpled heap, without a sound.

Two Africans stood by the door, grinning.

Hartog looked at them. He said tautly, “Well done.” If Shaw had been conscious he would have detected a note of distaste, of unwillingness in the way Hartog had said that, as though the man were having to force himself to get the words out. That in itself might have added to Shaw’s puzzlement ... and then Hartog went on, speaking again to the two Africans, who were men from the station’s own local labour force, “Go into my equipment store. You will find an instrument packing-crate. A big one. Bring it in here.”

The man went out, returned quickly with the crate. Hartog said, “The girl first. Take her to the store where Commander Geisler is—and hurry. Come back for the man. He’ll be a tight fit, but you’ll have to get him in somehow. He’s to go in the store too . . . and you are not to harm either of them. They’ll be out for as long as I want them to be. You understand?”