  High up the side of Mauna Loa volcano, Tom Brewster and Hank Mahenili turned their binoculars on the sea 10,000 feet below them and several miles away. The men scanned the coastline, inch by inch, searching for any activity on the wide horizon. “Can’t spot the Easy Action, Hank. Can you?” Tom Brewster asked. “No. But look over there. To your right. Line up on that tall palm tree, couple hundred feet down.” Tom Brewster followed his friend’s directions. He adjusted his glasses. As the focus became sharp, he spotted a black object, apparently a boat, anchored off shore. “Couldn’t that be a black power boat? Looks like it to me, Tom,” Hank said. Brewster studied the boat for a minute before replying. “I think it is. I’m sure it is. That must be Perez Soto’s boat.” Mahenili had turned his glasses in the direction where the Easy Action should be riding at anchor. “I’m getting worried about the boys, Tom.” “Oh, they’ll be all right. They’ll be coming into sight any moment now. Anything in particular worrying you? We’ve spotted Perez Soto’s boat. They haven’t had any trouble with him.” It was late afternoon. Hank Mahenili had turned his glasses to the south, looking out over Ka Lae. “See that cloud formation to the south?” he said. “It’s building up fast. It could be a Kona wind coming up.” “Maybe we’d better start down, then,” Mr. Brewster suggested. The two men had descended only halfway down the side of the volcano when the Kona storm struck. They had to halt. It was too dangerous to make the steep descent in the raging storm, the same storm that had hit the Easy Action two hours earlier. The high wind, ripping and roaring, whining against the side of the mountain, was followed by a sheet of rain. Tom Brewster and Hank Mahenili had to scramble for any cover they could find. They located a small but deep depression, more of a pocket than a cave, and dived into it. Water trickled in, wetting them, but it was better than being in the open with the rain and wind lashing at them. Shortly after nightfall, the storm lessened. There was no question of trying to continue their descent. “Have to make the best of it for the night,” Mr. Brewster said. “What about the boys?” Hank asked. “Nothing we can do, Hank. Don’t think I’m not worried. I am. But I do trust Biff. He’s been up against many a tough situation and has always come through. He will this time, too. And so will Li.” Tom hoped his strong tone of confidence would be imparted to his friend. He knew that the Mahenilis weren’t accustomed to running into the dangerous situations that had been a part of his own life for many years, and recently, had become almost a pattern for Biff, too. Henry Mahenili was made of stout stuff, too. He also knew that, when faced with a situation where there was no immediate out, the best thing to do was to face up to it and hope for the best. Tom Brewster changed the subject. “I’ve an idea, Hank. I base it on seeing that black power boat anchored off shore.” “What is it, Tom?” “I think that Perez Soto and whoever is working with him must be ashore. I think they must have Dr. Weber with them. It would be too easy to spot someone being held captive in as confined a space as a boat.” “I’m with you in that thinking, Tom.” “Tell me this, then. Don’t you think they must have a hideout somewhere nearby? They wouldn’t want to be too far from their anchorage. They’d want to be able to get to their boat quickly if any definite news came about the location of Huntington’s sunken sloop.” “There are all sorts of places around here, Tom. Lean-tos, shacks. Finding one certain hideout won’t be simple. There’s also a lot of the Mauna Loa, too. Don’t expect too much too soon.” “I know. But I won’t rest until I’ve made every effort to find Dr. Weber.” “Well, Tom, if we don’t rest now, we won’t have the strength to continue our search. Let’s try to get some sleep.” “Good idea.” They spent a restless night in their cramped, wet quarters. Daylight, with a bright sun already sending up steam vapors as it dried the wet mountain side, was a welcome relief. The first thing both men did was to scan the shore line again with their binoculars, searching for the Easy Action. Failure to spot her increased the worry in both men’s minds. Neither spoke of the matter. Each knew how greatly concerned the other was. But there was no point in dumping one worry upon another. “Come on, Hank. Let’s get back on down. The boys may be there when we arrive.” They started on down the side of Mauna Loa. At an elevation of about one thousand feet, almost directly opposite the anchored black power boat, they halted for a breather. They were only a mile or so from the shore. Their intention was to cut to their left, now that the going was easier at the lower altitude. The descent was no longer so precipitate. They headed almost due south now. They stayed at the same elevation, stopping now and again to sweep the coast line with their glasses. At one halt, Tom Brewster placed a retaining hand on Mahenili just as he started off. “Hold it a moment, Hank,” Tom said in a low voice. “Hear anything?” Hank Mahenili listened. In a few moments, he nodded his head. “Sound like voices to you?” “Yes. And angry ones.” “Come along then, let’s find out.” The voices seemed to be coming from a point below them, not too far below, and just a bit to their right. They proceeded most cautiously in the direction of the voices, careful not to start any pebbles or small stones rolling downward. Easing themselves down, the two men came to a ledge. It projected out like the roof of a shed or porch. Tom Brewster got down on his stomach. He wormed his way forward. The voices were coming, it appeared, from directly beneath him. Inching ahead, Tom Brewster came to the edge of the ledge. Carefully, he craned his head forward and looked down. He saw the tops of two men’s heads. A third man was stretched out on a makeshift bed of brush, covered with a worn cloth. The third man was Dr. Weber. The doctor’s cheeks were sunken. His color was bad. He looked completely ill and worn out. Towering over the doctor was Perez Soto. Thomas Brewster couldn’t see the other man’s face, but he knew it must have anger written on it from the tone of his voice. Dr. Weber groaned as he turned on his side. Brewster could see that his hands were bound behind his back. His ankles were also lashed together. “You old fool!” Perez Soto said. “Why should it make any difference to you whether I get the cesium or Brewster gets it? You’re a scientist. Bah! A scientist should put his science before all else.” Brewster heard the doctor’s reply in a voice barely audible: “There are certain things even a scientist places a greater value on—friendship, loyalty, humanity.” Perez Soto leaned over the old man, his arm raised as if to strike him. Brewster had all he could do to keep himself from leaping off the ledge onto Perez Soto’s back. But Soto’s henchman stood, gun in hand, by the old man’s side. “I give you this day, and no more, my fine doctor,” Perez Soto said. “By nightfall, if you do not reveal to me the location of the cesium strike, the world will lose one of its most eminent scientists!” |
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