Rick Brant - The Golden Skull Part 9

Angel said no more, and Rick wondered for a moment. What had Nast really said? He decided that it wasn't of any importance. Perhaps Nast was one of those Americans who always talk to people of other lands in a half-insulting way. Rick had met them--and mighty poor advertis.e.m.e.nts for America they were.

They parked the truck behind the hotel and took Angel to their room.

"We'll get help and have the crates carried down for you." Rick said.

Angel grinned. "Why bother? You two take one and I'll take the other."

The boys looked at each other. True, the crates weren't huge, but each was a hefty load for two men.

"Stop bragging," Scotty said. The jocular tone of his voice made a playful challenge of the words.

Angel took the challenge. He went to the largest crate, swung it easily to his head, and balanced it with one hand. "Let's go," he said, grinning.

Scotty stepped forward, blood in his eye, and tackled the second crate.

He got it up, but it was obvious that it was too much of a load even for his above-normal strength. Rick lent a hand and they carried the crate along behind Angel, who walked as though he had a feather pillow balanced on his head.

"Manotok the Mighty," Scotty said, and there was genuine awe in his voice.

Angel p.r.o.nounced his name in the Spanish style, _Ahng-hel_, but now he s.h.i.+fted to the English p.r.o.nunciation and said, "I'm an angel, and my strength is as the strength of ten, because my heart is pure."

The boys laughed. "That was first applied to Galahad, wasn't it?" Rick asked.

"Don't know," Angel replied. "But I like it, anyway."

The crates took up little room in the truck. Angel lashed them in, then the three went to the main dining room to meet Tony. They had time for a gla.s.s of limeade before the scientist showed up. He came to the table and asked, "Do you know a man by the name of Nast?"

Rick's eyebrows went up. "Yes. Met him this morning. Why?"

"He left a phone message at the desk. Wants you to call him."

Rick rose and went to the lobby, puzzled. What could Nast want? He got the number Nast had left. It turned out to be the freight office at the airport. Then there was a wait while the man was paged. At last he came to the phone.

"Brant?... Nast here. Look, I'm terribly sorry to impose on such short acquaintance, but I want to ask a favor. My s.h.i.+pment came in, but now I can't get a truck. The one I usually s.h.i.+p on has a regular run, and the driver took off for Baguio without checking. So I'm stranded. If you haven't too much of a load, could I ride along with your Filipino driver? My s.h.i.+pment weighs only two hundred pounds."

Rick considered. Nothing in the truck would be in any danger. The earth scanner was safely stowed in the luggage compartment of the plane.

Nast added, "I'll be glad to pay for the trip. It will save me waiting over until tomorrow."

"No need," Rick said. "We'll be glad to accommodate you. Meet you at the hangar in an hour." He hung up, very thoughtful. Why should his instincts rebel against doing Nast such a small favor? Again he told himself that no harm could come of it. Even if Nast were finger-man for a bandit gang he would get nothing except clothes and ordinary, easily replaced tools. And it was ridiculous to imagine the American as any such thing. True, he was not an educated man, but that meant less than nothing. Education, as such, has little to do with honesty. No, Nast was just an American sailor who had decided to stay in the tropics, and apparently was making a go of it in a business way.

"Let him ride," Rick thought. "It will be okay. He can't do any damage, I guess...."

CHAPTER VI

Chahda Checks In

Rick had expected the flight to Baguio to be a snap, but as it turned out, he had to call for help. Angel Manotok carried the three Spindrifters to the airport in the truck, Rick and Scotty riding behind, then Angel departed for Baguio with Nast and his bundle of silks.

Rick checked in at the Philippine Aeronautics Commission, seeking information on the airport at Baguio. He took one look at the approach pattern and gulped. The approach was between high mountains, down a valley, and then up a mountainside. What made it worse was that one mountain looked much like another on the topographical map.

He exclaimed, "Boy! That's a rugged landing field to find!"

The Filipino official smiled. "You have maybe Navy flying experience?"

"No. Why?"

"Best experience for landing at Baguio is making landings on aircraft carrier."

"Thanks," Rick said. "Any advice?"

"Yes. Go to Philippine Air Lines. Talk to flight dispatcher. PAL flight leaves here maybe two hours. Just right for you. Fly to rendezvous.

Pretty soon along comes PAL flight and you follow in."

The advice was good, Rick realized. He could not do better than follow a regular air-line flight into the field. He did as directed, met the pilot of the next Baguio flight, a former Filipino pilot in the United States Air Force, and was told the approximate time the PAL flight would pa.s.s the Kennon Road horseshoe curve for the Baguio approach.

"Follow the Kennon Road," the pilot advised. "Pick me up when I go over the curve. You can't mistake the place. Nothing else like it."

While Rick made arrangements, Tony and Scotty loaded their personal suitcases into the luggage compartment with the earth scanner. Scotty started the engine and checked the plane, so that it was warm when Rick arrived. They took off at once and headed north across the great central plain of Luzon.

The landscape below was flat, cut up by creeks and estuaries. It was perfect rice country. Later they pa.s.sed Mount Arayat, once the hide-out of the Hukbalahap--the lawless forces that had been such a threat to Philippine stability. Ahead of them rose the mountains of northern Luzon. Within those mountains they would find Baguio and Mountain Province.

Rick picked up the Kennon Road without trouble as it wound its way through the foothills. Staying high, he followed it until he reached a great switchback curve. A car following that road would literally double back on itself, he thought. He glanced at his watch. The PAL plane would be along in about two minutes. The pilot had estimated Rick's flying time perfectly. Rick climbed, then circled until Scotty saw the twin-engine transport approaching.

The PAL pilot waggled his wings, and Rick followed as the air liner throttled down, swung between mountain peaks, and threaded its way down a wide valley. Rick gulped. A good thing he had had the experienced pilot to follow. He would never have found the way alone. The peaks were completely confusing to someone who had never seen them before.

The air liner turned suddenly and Rick's heart leaped into his throat.

He thought the PAL plane was flying right into the mountainside. But such was not the case. The plane settled down on a landing strip that had been hewn from a mountaintop. It was obvious what the PAL official had meant when he joked about carrier landings.

Rick followed the PAL plane in, and had to fight down his instinctive feeling to gain alt.i.tude when he saw the mountainside rus.h.i.+ng at him. He nearly over-shot the landing strip. But then the Sky Wagon was down, and he taxied toward the control station.

Scotty wiped his brow. "Some field!"

"Next time will be okay," Rick replied. "But this time I aged ten years."

The Filipino pilot walked to meet them, grinning. "How do you like Baguio airport?"

"I've landed on fields I liked better," Rick replied. "Thanks for leading us in."

"You're welcome. I remember my first landing. Couldn't fly again for a week. All I could think of was spreading my pa.s.sengers all over the hillside. But only the first time is hard. We fly in and out of here several times a day, and we've never had a serious accident."

"Your air line doesn't go in for accidents," Tony Briotti said. "You have a remarkable safety record."

"We do our best," the pilot said. "Going into town? I am. I have a car behind the control shack. Be glad to give you a lift."

"Thanks a million," Rick answered. "First I have to make arrangements for my plane."