Governor Luis Montoya paced the floor of his office. Seated in the comfortable chairs were the Spindrift scientists, Captain Montoya, and the boys.

"We are in a difficult situation," the governor stated. "Guevara controls the army, and the army controls the area in which you must work. We need the army if we are to evacuate the island. My nephew and his fellow police are efficient, but their number is too small."

"Is there any possibility of getting outside help?" Hartson Brant asked.

"I am afraid not. Our difficult political situation makes it almost impossible to obtain any fast action. We would need to approach three governments at the same time. They would have to have conferences, to agree on how the help was to be given. Each would be afraid to let the other help, you see, for fear of giving up its claim to sovereignty over us. No, I'm afraid we must find our own solution."

"You are the governor," Hobart Zircon pointed out. "Wouldn't the troops respond to your orders?"

The governor shrugged. "You can be sure our efficient lieutenant governor has his own men in key positions. But what you suggest has occurred to me, and I must make the attempt. First, however, I must alert the people of the island. The danger must be described to them."

"How?" Julius Weiss asked.

"By radio. We have our own government radio here. I think Esteben and I should go on the air at once. He can describe what is going on under El Viejo. I will ask the people to assemble at the docks." He turned to his nephew. "Ricardo, send two of your most trusted men to Redondo and San Souci. They must persuade the fishermen to load their families and villagers, then come to Calor. We will need to crowd all fishing boats for many trips if we are to get the people off."

"At once, seÑor," Montoya replied. He hurried to the door and gave orders to the police guard. The handful of police were now the sole security force of the island. The chief of police was personally supervising the government's safety, somewhere outside the building. Only two officers were still on regular police duty. The rest were either guarding the executive office or awaiting orders.

"Where can the people be taken?" Balgos asked.

"I think we will send them to CuraÇao and Bonaire. Those islands are close, and they belong to the Netherlands. The Dutch are hospitable, no? And we avoid entanglement with England, Venezuela, and Colombia."

It sounded reasonable to Rick. He asked, "Aren't there ships in the harbor? I mean, big ships?"

"One freighter, and two interisland cargo ships of the C-1 class. All three fly the flag of Panama. We will have the harbor master speak to their captain and attempt to hire them. I am sure they will co-operate."

"I'm sure that if you asked for help from the United States they'd send all available U. S. Navy ships in the area," Dr. David Riddle said.

The governor smiled warmly. "That is our ace in the hole, as you would call it, SeÑor Riddle. The world knows that the Americans are always ready to help. But perhaps there will be no need. We will see."

The building shook slightly and Rick waited, holding his breath. But the temblor subsided. It was the third one within an hour, he thought. The magma must be moving fast.

"Now, gentlemen, I must get busy. Ricardo, I leave the details of moving our people in your hands. I will go to the roadblocks and see if these soldiers can be persuaded that their governor speaks for the people. But first, Esteben, you and I will go to the government radio and speak to the people. Our talk will be put on tape, and repeated over and over. Vamos. Let us go. Time is getting short."

At Montoya's request, Rick and Scotty had agreed to remain with the governor, in company with two police sergeants. The scientists returned to the hotel, to continue their attempts to predict the magma movement based on data already in hand. New data would be obtained as soon as the situation cleared up.

The governor, Balgos, Rick, Scotty, and the governor's secretary drove in the official car, a huge American import. The two police sergeants led the way in one of the island's two police cruisers.

The radio station was only a few blocks away. These were the studios. The transmitter was on the coast a mile south of Calor. Rick was pleased to see that the equipment was modern, the staff apparently efficient.

A musical program was interrupted and the governor and Balgos put on the air at once. Rick's Spanish was too poor to permit him to follow the discussion, but he gathered that the governor told the people of the scientific mission, and then Balgos described the situation. The governor returned to the mike with a plea for instant evacuation.

Tape recorders rolled while the speech was on. At the governor's orders, the tapes would be replayed every hour on the hour from now on.

It was getting very late. The night was warm and pleasant, and the clouds had vanished leaving a brilliant moon shining down on San Luz. It was a lovely island, Rick thought. The greed of two men, Connel and Guevara, had prevented any possibility of action to save it. Now, evacuation of the people was the only possibility.

Ricardo Montoya met the governor's party as they emerged from the studios. He reported rapidly to his uncle, speaking English in courtesy to the Americans.

"Men are on the way to the fishing villages, seÑor. The harbor master is speaking to the ships in the harbor, and already one C-1 is agreeing to take the people. I have spoken with the airlines managers at the airport, and they are trying to obtain many aircraft from the nearby cities. Your own aircraft is being made ready for instant take-off."

It was the first Rick had heard of a government plane. "What kind is it?" he asked.

"A very ancient, but very reliable Douglas, of the DC-3 type. We hold it in reserve, Rick. Your scientists, the governor, and our police will be the last to leave the island. I have counted the numbers. If you can carry four, our plane will carry the rest."

Rick nodded. It was nice to know there would be a way out, even though he hadn't considered the necessity until that moment. He was glad Ricardo Montoya was thinking ahead.

"Now," the governor stated, "I must visit the army."

"I will go with you," the police captain said instantly.

"No, Ricardo. There is too much for you to do. I will be safe. There is no enemy but Guevara. No soldier would harm me."

Rick admired the little governor's courage, but he wasn't as sure of their safety as the old man seemed to be. "I think we'd better be armed," Scotty said.

Ricardo Montoya had met them in the island's other police cruiser. He said, "Wait," and hurried to the car. Pulling down the rear seat, he disclosed a gunrack. From it he drew two riot guns, automatic shotguns with short barrels.

"Can you use these?" he asked.

Scotty nodded an affirmative. "Both Rick and I have fired automatic shotguns on a skeet range. These can't be much different."

"They are not. The safety is behind the trigger guard. There is no shell in the chamber now, but there are nine in the magazine. Go with God, seÑores."

The governor's car with its police escort rolled through the streets of Calor, en route to the roadblock at the hotel road. Rick and Scotty held the riot guns, both hoping that they would not be needed.

The governor chatted calmly, as though this were simply a routine sightseeing trip. "Few Americans come to San Luz. We had hoped that perhaps an advertising campaign might bring more of you to our island. We have much to offer, you will agree. Have you tried our swimming yet? I appreciate there has been little opportunity for pleasure."

The boys answered politely, but neither could really get into the swing of the conversation. It took a kind of experience they did not yet have, to talk of casual things while en route to what might be genuine danger.

The governor's secretary called over his shoulder, "There is the roadblock, seÑor. How shall I approach?"

"Drive up to it, Juan. Be very casual."

Rick fingered the safety on his riot gun. He could see dark figures at the barricade fence.

The car drew to a stop. The governor said quietly, "Perhaps you had better stand by the car. Do not let your guns be seen. If necessary, you will know what to do."

One boy got out on either side, leaving the car doors open. The doors shielded them and the riot guns. The governor got out and walked briskly to the barricade and spoke in Spanish.

It was light enough so Rick could see the men at the barricade clearly. He realized suddenly that they were not dressed as the soldiers had been earlier; these men seemed to be farmers. But they had rifles, and two hand grenades hanging from their belts.

He couldn't follow the exchange in Spanish. The governor was talking in a quiet voice with one man who was better dressed than the rest. The man's voice was cultured, but mocking in tone.

Rick heard the secretary draw in his breath sharply, and he surreptitiously got ready to pump a shell into the riot gun's chamber. But nothing happened. Esteben Balgos muttered, "This is unbelievable!"

Then the governor was coming back. He got into the car and spoke quietly. "Back to Calor, Juan."

The boys got in and closed the doors. The secretary swung the big car around and headed back the way they had come. Governor Montoya took time to light an aromatic cigar. Only when it was going well did he speak.

"An interesting talk, seÑores. Those were not soldiers, but the peons—how do you say it?—tenant farmers of Jaime Guevara. The man with whom I talked is his foreman. They have replaced the troops at all barricades, and their loyalty is only to Guevara."

"But the troops?" Balgos asked.

"Either guarding the volcanic pipe or working in it. I am told that Guevara is now the governor of the island. He has taken over. If I try to resist, it will mean bloodshed. If I leave the island, all will remain quiet and peaceful."

"That's nonsense!" Rick exploded. "Guevara can't get away with it!"

"No? He is getting away with it, SeÑor Rick. We have a dozen policemen; he has the army. He also has his own men, at key points. So what can we do? We haven't enough force to fight. Besides, there is no time. We can't arm the people because we have neither weapons nor time."

"But what can we do?" Scotty demanded.

"I do not know. At least we can continue our efforts to get the people off the island. Without the ability to make scientific readings, we cannot know how much time is left, so we must hurry. We will do the best we can. After that—well, you had a Spanish song in America that says it well. You recall the title? 'QuÉ serÁ serÁ.'"

Rick remembered. An expression of fatalism. What will be, will be.