The population was gathered around Noah. They were very dark with Indian faces, men in loincloths, women wearing only short, brilliant skirts, naked spidery children, all silent and solemn.
Noah came through them as we walked in, his face grave, drawn, his eyes fierce.
Without preamble he gave it to us. “Dr. Fleming has been kidnapped. Chip Cappola was killed trying to prevent it. Jerome has occupied the hotel. All Americans and Europeans on the island are being evacuated on the cruise boats.”
“Where’s Tara Sawyer?” I asked.
Not until later did it dawn on me that I had simply accepted the information out of hand. Through my silent five-mile ride with Mitzy, I had heard not a single beat of drums.
“The message did not mention her,” Noah told me.
At least there had been a message. He wasn’t conjuring up visions.
I said, “How did you hear about this?”
He cast a look at the people crowding around us and his lips turned up at the corners.
“Do not doubt me, Mr. Carter, there is not time. The doctor is being held in the dungeons under the old fort and must be rescued. Your Miss Sawyer is probably being sent home on one of the boats.”
“Not likely. I can’t see Jerome letting her go when he could hold up her father for ransom.”
“You have a point there. There is other news. Descriptions of you both have been broadcast and a reward, a thousand dollars each, is offered for your capture.”
I swore aloud. “I go joyriding and the sky falls down...”
“As well you did,” Noah interrupted. “Had you been in the hotel, you would be dead now and could do nothing. As it is, you can fight.”
“Well, I’d better do something.” I touched the girl. “Stay here; you’ll be safe. I’ll borrow the car.”
“No dice. You don’t know the territory. I do and I’m on this job, too.” There was a metallic hardness in her voice, a hint of the strength that had gouged her a place in the Brotherhood.
“She is right,” Noah backed her up. “You cannot return to Port of Spain by the coast road. Jerome has it blocked. You’ll have to go through the mountains and you’ll need help.” He pointed a long finger at one squat, dark man, then another. “Pants. Shirts. Guide them.”
The men ran for the buildings.
While we waited, Noah added, “They speak English and are intelligent. Go down to the car and they will meet you there.”
I didn’t like this. How did I know Noah’s story was true? And who wanted his escorts on a trip that could end God knew where? But I had no choice. I was outnumbered by Noah’s boys and even Mitzy was on his side. So I went along — at least for now.
By the time we reached the Caddy, the pair were there, grinning. Our guides now wore knee-length white cotton pants and white shirts with the sleeves tom out. Machetes were stuck under their rope belts. They swung into the back seat of the car, giving directions.
There was enough turning room for a donkey cart. The girl rocked the car back and forth for five minutes before we were headed downhill. The main road had been bad. This one hardly existed. We took it in low gear over a Swiss cheese of holes, and for added pleasure came abruptly out of the trees on a sheer cliff on the far side of the mountain spine. We turned to follow a narrow lane downward. The fenders scraped the wall on one side and on the other I looked straight down to a canyon bottom. I didn’t say a word — talking might distract Mitzy, who was driving.
There was half a mile of that, then we were in timber again with a fence of trunks on either side. I started breathing again.
“So you know the territory,” I said to Mitzy. “How do we get into Jerome’s dungeon?”
She shook her head. “We’ll have to work on that. Our first stop should be that old resort hotel I showed you on our way to meet Noah. We can get ourselves together there and consolidate our plans.”
I said it was O.K. with me and she drove towards Noah’s hotel. It was getting dark when we reached a road wide enough for a car. We caught glimpses of lights below us through the trees so we were close to town. Mitzy flipped on the headlights to enter the highway.
The beam picked up a man in uniform with a rifle leveled on us. The girl hit the brakes fast, threw into reverse and backed up. On a hunch I looked behind the car. The rear lights showed another soldier raising a rifle. My Luger was up and blasting before his gun was high enough. At the same time the windshield exploded. Glass showered over the girl but she kept driving. Then I fired through the windshield frame and the man in front of the car fell.
Mitzy stopped the Caddy and I had time to look at our guides. They were crouched behind the front seat. I thought they might have been hit by the shots, but both of them straightened. They’d been frightened — and cautious. I got out for the presents Colonel Jerome had handed me. Both his soldiers were dead. I took the uniforms, tossed them in the rear seat, then brought in the rifles. Noah’s men grabbed them like professionals.
I said, “You know how those work?”
They did. They’d been in the palace guard when Fleming was president. That knowledge might come in handy some time. For now, I hung onto the weapons while they dragged the bodies into the brush and left them for whatever hungry cat came along.
The roadblock proved Noah’s information. There was more to the old man than I’d been willing to admit. So Jerome had taken over, just like Noah’d said. I’d better get my thinking gear together and figure out a way to free Fleming. Noah’s credibility also gave me new faith in his guides. Since they’d signed up for the trip anyway, and since they could handle firearms, they might come in handy later, when I had to face down Colonel Jerome.
We made the hotel without being jumped again and Mitzy pulled the Caddy into a ramshackle shed at the back. We went from there to the broken-down lobby.
Mildew and rotting wood stank up the air. Our guides crossed the lobby floor and led us down stairs that creaked and sagged, into the kitchen, a big one with a long wood range against one wall and a work table in the middle. We were not alone. A candle burned on the table and three black men were eating an iguana, a delicacy that made my empty stomach snarl.
There was a lot of fast talking, the exhibiting of the guns and uniforms, congratulations all around, and, finally, introductions. When all the hands were shaken, I found a pan of water in the sink, rinsed the blood off the uniform fronts, then joined the supper party. With the edge off my hunger, I felt a little less like a yoyo at the end of a string of astonishments and disasters. My plate was still half full when the three tribesmen left. I was thankful to see them go. We had battle plans to go over and I didn’t relish unwanted company.
Noah had given me our guides’ names when we first got together, but since I didn’t know the language, I couldn’t remember them. It seemed to me they ran long, with a great many syllables. I didn’t want to offend these men by calling them Tom or Harry, so I explained the problem and asked for help.
The taller one laughed and said, “You can call me Lambie.” He pronounced it with a hard “B.”
Mitzy leaned close to my ear. “Lambie is a big salt-water conche. They eat the meat as an aphrodisiac.”
“It has flair.” I smiled. “Says a lot more than N3 by way of a nickname. And you?” I looked at the other guide.
His lips stretched wide. “Caco.”
“Short enough,” I approved. “What’s that mean?”
He smiled. “A bird of prey. Very fierce.”
“Fine.” I beamed. They were sharp. And they could joke even in the face of taking on the whole island army. Maybe we had some kind of chance.
“You understand that we have to get inside that prison, find Dr. Fleming and take him out alive. But first we must get inside. Does anyone know of any old escape routes prisoners may have dug in the past?” I looked around.