He heard Shang’s padding footsteps retreat while he sought the vein and found it.
She would be good for at least another round, this girl. And next time he would be more careful.
None of the tourists noticed Nick and Paula hanging back from the rest of the group and stealing into the grove. Jacques had been right; there was no way of reaching the heavily barred inner recesses of the castle from within, so they would have to re-enter from outside. But at least they had a good idea of the general layout, which matched the old pictures and the chart.
The horses were waiting in the grove, as Jacques had promised. In the deep shade offered by the mahogany trees Nick changed quickly into his dark green fatigues of the night before and dusted the gray powder from his beard. The thin evening air carried back to him the sounds of the tour party clattering homeward down the trail a half mile or so away. It was a long descent and the last rays of the sun would be dying by the time they reached Milot at the bottom of the slope.
Paula was still changing behind the cover of a low-hanging branch.
There was time to kill before it got dark enough to go to work; too much time for a man of Nick’s impatience. And Paula, withdrawn and angry by turns, was not the sort of woman to help him while away the twilight hours in the manner of his choice.
Nick sighed. It was a pity about her. So cold, so uncommunicative about herself, so beautiful in her lean and catlike way, so unapproachable.…
He padded quietly to the edge of the mahogany grove and looked about him, visualizing the old chart shown to him by Jacques and fitting the scene to the pictures he had seen. The Citadelle loomed above him, vast and impregnable. To his left, beyond the edge of the mahogany stand, lay a grove of palms. To his right, pomegranates, and beyond them the trail leading into town. Almost directly ahead of him, between him and the tall iron-studded outer walls, was a mound of rock topped by thick bush. He stood and listened for a moment, still and silent as a mahogany trunk, watching for anything that might betray another presence. Then he moved, slowly and stealthily like a panther on the prowl.
It took him some minutes to find the opening of the conduit and clear it of the overgrowth, but he was pleased with what he saw when he had uncovered it. They would have to crawl, but unless there was fallen masonry or some other blockage within there would be room enough for anyone moving at a crouch.
Nick glided back to the shelter of the mahoganies and sat down on a fallen log. Through the trees he glimpsed the vague outlines of the horses and the woman, standing motionless and waiting.
He chirruped twice into the tiny microphones beneath his shirt and heard the answering chirp.
“AXE J-20,” a small voice whispered from his armpit. “Where are you, N?”
“Outside La Citadelle,” Nick murmured. “With the woman, Paula.”
He heard a tiny chuckle. “But naturally,” said Jean Pierre. “Carter lands as usual with his bottom in the butter. So The Terrible Ones are all women, yes? Hawk is livid! I believe he thinks you planned it just that way. But how do you progress?”
“In a strange and devious way,” Nick muttered, keeping his eyes peeled for any movement in or near the woods. “Shut up and listen, and spare me your sly cracks. I met the woman, as you heard. I still don’t know anything about the Cuban character but I think Paula’s holding out on me. Anyway, we had a little incident with a Haitian Dog Patrol and left the cave in something of a hurry. She took me to a village called Bambara where she has friends, name of Jacques and Marie LeCIerq. Check them, if you can. We spent the night with them and most of the day. Seems that Jacques is a local rebel leader — plans an uprising against Papa Doc Duvalier some day. Nothing to do with this mission, except that he keeps in contact with Paula and exchanges information.”
“So? Why should he?” Jean Pierre’s thin voice inquired.
“Because he and Tonio Martelo, Paula’s late husband, were lifelong friends. Because they’re both rebels, in their own way. And because Jacques doesn’t like the Chinese any more than we do — or so he says.”
“Chinese? They are there, then?”
“He says so. Claims they had an ammunition cache up in the mountains, says he and a couple of friends have been watching them for weeks. Small group, perhaps six men, apparently doing nothing but guarding the supplies. He also says he’s seen them on small-scale guerilla-type maneuvers, as if training for something. Or else staying in training so they can train others.”
“Operation Blast, you reckon?”
“Maybe. Jacques and Paula think so.” Nick stopped for a moment to listen. Crickets and birds chirped back at him and a horse neighed softly from where Paula waited. That was all right; the sound of a horse was common enough around here. Nothing else stirred. But the shadows were lengthening and it would soon be time to move.
“He says the Chinks moved about two weeks ago,” he went on softly. “Started tunneling their way into the Citadelle and carting in all their supplies. Did it all at night, so Jacques and friends couldn’t see as much as they would’ve liked. But their impression was that three or four new-comers had joined the original group and the whole lot of them were moving into, the Citadelle, ammunition and all. At the same time Paula the Terrible discovered that one of her own gang of female avengers had turned up missing — and a couple of familiar Chinese faces had vanished from Santo Domingo. So she got worried.”
He told the rest of the story briefly, how he and Paula and the LeClerqs had sat around the rough-hewn kitchen table in the village of Bambara going over past events and making plans.
Jacques’ stubby dark finger had traced a path over the chart in the tattered old book.
“It is not impossible to get into the Citadelle,” he said. “Here, you see, are several conduits that used to take water from the mountain stream into the castle. They have been dry now for many years, but as you see they are quite broad. The tunnel used by the Chinese is not marked here, but that does not surprise me. Old King Christophe would have wanted a secret escape route. One of the conduits would be better for your purposes, I think. They cannot guard them all. Still, it will not be easy. But you understand that I can only help you with arrangements; I cannot myself go with you.” His liquid brown eyes had gazed at Nick appealingly. “My own freedom of movement must not suffer for this business of the treasure.”
“It is not only the treasure,” Paula had said sharply. “We must find out what has happened to Evita. Obviously she found out something from Padilla and they got onto her somehow. If she is there—”
“Paula, Paula.” Jacques shook his head sadly. “They killed Padilla; why not her?”
“No!” Paula struck the tabletop so that the coffee cups rattled. Marie clucked quietly in the background. “They would only kill her after she had talked, and she would not talk!”
“But perhaps they already knew all they needed from Padilla….”
The conversation had become a storm, and then finally settled down into a more reasoned discussion of how to broach the Citadelle. But at least Nick had learned a few basic facts. The Terrible Ones was an outfit consisting of women whose loved ones had been killed for political reasons by the former dictator Trujillo. Paula Martelo was their leader. Together they were trying to locate a cache of treasure that Trujillo had intended to ship to Europe but had never gotten a chance to. It was still hidden somewhere on the island shared by Haiti and the Dominican Republic. The Chinese had learned of its presence and were trying to locate if for their own purposes, something to do with a project called Operation Blast. There were certain clues to the location of the treasure and Evita Messina had found a Dominican who knew one of them. Now the Chinese were in Haiti and Evita was missing. Immediate mission: verify the presence of the Chinese, and find Evita.