Rick Brant - The Golden Skull Part 4

"They might if they knew about it," Dr. Okola said. "Actually, what I have just told you is almost forgotten lore. I doubt that the Ifugao man in the street--or, properly, man in the rice terraces--has ever heard of it. A few old priests may remember."

Irineo Lazada clapped his hands and rose. "Coffee in the living room, gentlemen. You know, I begin to have some hope for this golden skull. I had not really taken your expedition seriously until Dr. Okola's recital."

Tony Briotti picked him up quickly. "Then that is why you have failed to issue our permit?"

Rick stopped in his tracks. Was there trouble about their permit? He had wondered about the reason for this dinner with the a.s.sistant Secretary of the Interior. Perhaps it was to persuade him.

Lazada smiled. "The government doesn't want to stir up trouble among the mountain tribes. We do not have enough constabulary for police duty in the mountains. A small detachment at Baguio is the best we can do."

"I a.s.sure you that we will not stir up trouble," Tony Briotti said.

"Of course not. And so I will issue your permit."

"Thank you, Mr. Secretary," Dr. Okola said. "This will mean a great deal to the Philippines. Dr. Briotti a.s.sures me that Spindrift will not ask for anything to be removed from the islands. The golden skull, if it is found, will remain right here, perhaps at the university's museum."

"Such a treasure would need to be well guarded," Lazada chuckled. "We do have thieves in the Philippines, as does every other country." Again he seemed to be licking his lips without actually doing so.

Over a second cup of coffee they laid their plans. Lazada would instruct the district road commissioner at Bontoc to co-operate with them in every way, since that official came under his jurisdiction. Through the district commissioner they could hire any laborers they might need. The commissioner also would arrange for Rick's plane to land on the highway at Bontoc when necessary. Since there was little traffic, landing would present no real problems. They could use the district office at Bontoc, and make it their headquarters.

Dr. Okola sighed, "I can't tell you how sorry I am that you come in the midst of a school seminar. If you are still searching at the end of next week, I will join you. But until then, it will be impossible."

"But you will send us a good guide who knows the area," Tony reminded him.

"Yes. He will be at your hotel in the morning. His name is Angel Manotok, and you can trust him with no hesitation. He speaks Igorot and Ifugao, as well as the Filipino dialects of this region. He can drive a truck, and he can cook reasonably well." Okola p.r.o.nounced the man's name in the Spanish way, "Ahng-hel."

"Sounds like a handy guy to have around," Scotty remarked.

"Yes," Rick agreed. "Besides, it's nice to have an angel in the party."

The hour was late. The boys and Tony Briotti bade good night to Lazada and Okola, refused the offer of another c.o.ke but accepted a ride back to the hotel in Lazada's car. As they left the house the boys looked for Chahda. There was a Sikh at the gate, but he was a big man. Chahda was not in sight.

Lazada's car turned out to be a brand-new Cadillac with a special maroon paint job and a monogram about four inches square on every door.

Evidently the a.s.sistant Secretary believed in personal advertising.

They were tired. The ride back to the Manila Hotel was made in silence, except for a brief report to Tony that all was in readiness for the trip to Baguio on the first leg of their journey.

At the hotel desk they picked up their room keys. The boys had one room, Tony another. The rooms were on the second floor, so they walked upstairs instead of bothering with the slow elevators.

"Good night, boys," Tony said wearily. He inserted his key and swung the door open, then stiffened as a crash sounded in the room. Rick and Scotty snapped out of their weary haziness and leaped into the room behind Tony in time to see a figure dive headlong from the window.

Rick yelled in horror. They rushed to the window, expecting to see the man dead on the ground below. Instead, they saw him swing lightly from the branch of a flame tree and drop to the ground. He ran across Dewey Boulevard and was lost in the darkness under the walls of Intramuros.

CHAPTER IV

Inside the Walls

"The fire escape!" Scotty yelled.

Rick was with him on the instant. They ran to the end of the corridor, threw open the door, and dashed down the fire escape. No word pa.s.sed between them as they crossed Dewey Boulevard. At a time like this their teamwork was automatic.

They reached the walls of Intramuros, and Scotty went left, Rick right.

Somewhere along the walls, or within the city, was the intruder. The question was, Had the intruder kept right on going across the walled city, or was he in hiding, waiting to see whether or not he was being pursued? If the former, their chances of catching up with him were almost zero.

Rick rounded the corner of the wall and had a clear view all the way down to the Department of Commerce building nearly a half mile away.

There were sufficient street lights to show him that the quarry was not in sight.

He saw a breach in the wall a few yards away and hurried toward it.

There was almost no light within the walled city, he suspected, but he would have to look. The breach turned out to be a pile of rubble. He would have to go over the wall unless he wanted to search for an entrance. There wasn't time for that. He climbed up the pile of rubble, careful about his footholds, and gained the top of the wall. For a moment he was silhouetted at his full height.

And in that instant a rifle cracked. He saw the muzzle flame, and in the next instant he heard the soft smacking sound of the slug as it went past his ear. There was only one thing to do. He jumped.

The wall was high, and he had no way of knowing what was below, but it was better to risk unknown rubble than another shot from the sniper's gun.

He landed with knees flexed, struck level ground, but fell forward with the momentum of the fall. Thorns dug into his hands and he smothered a grunt of pain. He lay where he was, not moving, waiting for some move from the sniper and for his eyes to adjust themselves to the dense blackness within the walls.

He wondered whether the sniper and intruder were the same man. The intruder had carried no rifle when he went out the hotel window. But it was possible that he had cached one somewhere under the wall.

What could the man have been after? Rick rejected the idea that this was common thievery. It was possible, but not probable. Especially after the attack on Tony Briotti aboard the boat. And after finding that Chahda had gone underground and was posing as a Sikh.

He was sure something was cooking that boded ill for the expedition. Nor did he have to rack his brains to find the cause. A golden skull was reason enough. Ma.s.s murder had been committed for less gold many times before this.

His eyes searched the darkness, and his ears strained for the slightest sound, but no movement or noise followed. Yet, unless the sniper were the world's most silent walker, he could not have slipped away.

And where was Scotty?

Again he pondered the mystery of Chahda. The Hindu boy had been registered at the Manila Hotel, waiting for the Spindrift party. Then, three days before their arrival, he had checked out and gotten a job as a guard at Lazada's. The disguise didn't cause Rick much wonderment.

Sikhs, after all, are Indians, and Chahda had once worked for a Sikh officer in the Bengal Lancers. Rick remembered that from an incident during the Tibet expedition. It was probable that Chahda had simply gone to the chief Sikh in Manila--there was always such a leader--and enlisted his aid.

But why?

Rick tensed, sensing a presence near him. He raised on one elbow and thought he discerned a figure nearby. The figure was close to the wall.

He had a hunch that it was Scotty, but he couldn't be sure. He made no further movement, waiting to see.

The figure became clearer, pa.s.sed close in front of him, and from his low vantage point the man was silhouetted against the sky, which had a pink glow from the myriad neon lights of downtown Manila. No doubt of it, the figure was Scotty's. Rick got to his feet, and staying close to the wall, moved in the same direction Scotty had taken.

The inner ground of the walled city was fairly clear, but close to the walls there was considerable debris. Rick proceeded carefully, trying not to make a noise. He picked his way through tangles of weeds and wire, loose stone, and piles of junk that had been acc.u.mulating since the days of the Spanish conquistadors.

He was tense, and his face was wet with sweat. There was a possibility that the sniper was gone, but if not, a noise could bring a lethal slug.

Rick thought grimly that the ancient walled city probably had seen many a murder in the more than three hundred years since the wall had been built. He had no desire to be the most recent victim.

Even as the thought crossed his mind, his foot struck the edge of a twisted sheet of steel. The sheet, all that remained of a j.a.panese armored car, rang dully.

Instantly the rifle flamed. The slug smacked into the stone wall a foot from Rick's shoulder. He didn't wait for the next shot. He hit the ground, scuttled a few feet, and stopped in a th.o.r.n.y patch. He grimaced and risked wiping the sweat off his brow. At least one question was answered. The sniper had not left.