Operation Manhunt

by Christopher Nicole

  “That’s telling her, Doctor,” Benny said. “Oh, there’s just one more thing, Mrs. Malthus. We have to borrow your dog.”

  “Aristotle?” she screamed, hugging the unfortunate animal to her breast. “You touch him.…”

  “No harm is going to come to him, unless he’s careless. But it’s time he earned his keep. Come on, little fellow.”

  Aristotle wagged his tail, wriggled free of the enclosing arms.

  “Oh, pet, do be careful,” Phyllis Malthus cried. “Oh, Doctor, what’s going to happen to him?”

  Benny climbed back down to the floor of the valley, Aristotle scrabbling at his heels, Jonathan bringing up the rear.

  “He seems fond of you,” Jonathan said.

  “He’s starving. And he remembers I used to feed him on board the ship. Well, Captain, how goes it?”

  Strohm stood above a heap of fist-sized stones. “I figure there’s about a hundred here.”

  “Which allows us sixteen shots at each man,” Benny said. “And if that isn’t sufficient, we don’t deserve to win. Now then, gentlemen, first thing I want you to remember is that the only way to fight a battle, even a strictly defensive one, is to be aggressive about it, and to be absolutely sure that your side is going to win.”

  “Just tell us what you want us to do,” Jonathan said.

  “What you have to do, Mr. Anders, is take forty of these stones. I suggest you remove your shirt and use it as a bag. Then make your way down the valley about fifty yards, just beyond the stream, and there conceal yourself.”

  “There’s not much cover.”

  “They won’t be looking for you by yourself. So you should be all right. Now you stay there until I call you into action. Remember, not a sound, not a movement, until either Captain Strohm or myself gives you a shout. Is that understood?”

  “Yes.”

  “When we do call you, stand up and throw your stones as fast and as accurately as possible, and you must aim to do the maximum damage possible. No squeamishness, now; remember always that these men wish to kill us. There is an English game called cricket, which requires the throwing of a ball just about the size of these stones. Did you ever play it?”

  “Not very well,” Jonathan confessed. “But I was a good fieldsman. I had a straight throw.”

  “Which is exactly what I hoped you’d say. So go to it. Oh, there is just one more point. Should anything go wrong with my plan, it follows that the captain and myself will be overrun. You will be able to observe this from your concealed position. Should that occur, the command will devolve upon you, and you will have to take whatever steps you think necessary, bearing in mind that Dr. O’Connor and Miss Geraldine will then be quite helpless. You understand me?”

  Jonathan nodded. He took off his shirt, filled it with forty of the stones, slung it over his shoulder. “I’ll wish you good luck.”

  Benny grinned. His eyes had taken on a totally unaccustomed glint. “Every general needs a bit of luck, Mr. Anders. And good material to fight with.”

  Jonathan crossed the stream, picking his way carefully from stone to stone. When he estimated he had covered fifty yards, he selected as his hiding place a large boulder, rather closer to the center of the ravine than he would have preferred, but still not likely to attract much attention from someone feeling his way through the sulphur smoke. He emptied his shirt-load of stones, put the shirt on again. It burned his flesh, but was yet some protection against the heat in the valley. It was scorching now, and sweat trickled out of his hair. He had become accustomed to taking short breaths, so as not to impregnate his lungs with sulphur, but he wondered just how much of this a human being could stand.

  He sat down, but the ground was too uncomfortably warm. So he squatted instead, and became cramped. His muscles were aching, and, apart from Geraldine, he was by a great many years the youngest member of the party. He wondered how fit Benny or Strohm were feeling. He gazed at his watch. Ten minutes had passed, and … he heard voices.

  He knelt. Now he could hear them distinctly, displacing rocks as they came down the last of the hillside.

  “What a place,” Harman said. “If you ask me, these islands aren’t even fit for birds.”

  “Down here would be an excellent place to catch up with them,” Malthus said. “Wouldn’t that be the Boiling Lake over there, Jonas?”

  “That’s it, Mr. Malthus.”

  “The good doctor has told me about it. Didn’t a surveyor once fall into it?”

  “There’s a story about that,” Jonas said.

  “And was killed instantly, of course,” Malthus said. “What’s more, his body was never recovered. Yes, indeed, here would be the ideal place to make sure that we are the only survivors. I think, when we catch up with them, that we should bring them back here in any event.”

  “If we’re going to catch them at all, Mr. Malthus,” Harman said, “we had better get a move on. Watch these steppingstones, now. They’re not all that well anchored, and this water looks hot.”

  “It’s boiling, Harman,” Malthus pointed out. “This stream is obviously an overflow from the lake. Here, let me go first.”

  They were all past the boulder, now, and Jonathan could allow himself a look at them. Malthus was halfway across the stones, both arms outstretched to maintain his balance, the revolver held in his right hand. Harman came next, then Byrne, and then the three other Negroes.

  “Come on,” he whispered. “Come on.”

  But Benny and the captain made no move. Malthus arrived at the far side, and Harman joined him, then the crew. “The path seems to lead up there, as far as I can see,” Malthus said.

  “What’s that?” Harman snapped.

  A cascade of small stones rattled into the ravine as Aristotle, thrust from his hiding place by Benny, tried to scramble along a nonexistent ledge above their heads, and slipped. Malthus brought up the revolver and fired. The report sounded like a dynamite charge in the narrow canyon, and brought down another avalanche. Aristotle kept on going, panting and squealing, and Malthus fired again.

  “It’s only that blasted dog!” Harman yelled.

  The echoes boomed and crashed, and gradually died. Aristotle put a paw into a pool of boiling water, squealed, and darted past Jonathan’s hiding place. The six men stood in a huddle just beyond the line of steppingstones, suddenly looking less like would-be murderers than a herd of disturbed sheep.

  “They’re close,” Malthus said. “Phyllis would never have just let Aristotle run away. They’re around somewhere.” He raised his voice. “You may as well come out, Doctor. Captain? We’ll find you.”

  Jonathan saw a stone arching through the air. He could not tell where exactly it had come from, and the men had not yet seen it. It struck the rocks with a clatter. Malthus turned and fired, and once again the valley reverberated.

  “I’d save those bullets of yours,” Harman suggested. “Apart from the fact that we might need them, the noise you’re making must be heard for miles.”

  “Come out!” Malthus yelled. “Come out, confound you!”

  Benny and the captain obliged, one on each side of the head of the ravine, each hurling stones into the huddled group beneath them. Malthus fired again, twice, and they promptly disappeared again, but it was impossible to tell whether or not either of them had been hit. And still no call had come for Jonathan to take part in the battle. He knelt in the heat, chewed his lip. One of the sailors had been hit in the head, and was sinking to his knees, blood running down his face. The others were certainly angry.

  “We have to get them now, Mr. Malthus,” Jonas shouted.

  “We’ll rush the captain,” Byrne decided, taking charge of operations as Malthus was clearly out of his depth in an affair so bluntly physical. “He’s the one we have to worry about. You pick him off as he shows, Mr. Malthus.”

  He ran up the slope toward the captain’s hiding place, Jonas and the remaining deck hand behind him. Harman stayed with Malthus and the injured man. Strohm rose to hi
s feet, a gigantic figure against the rocks. Malthus pointed the revolver and fired, and the hammer clicked on an empty chamber. The climbing men hesitated, and Strohm hurled a stone with deadly accuracy. It struck Byrne on the chest, sent him tumbling back into his two compatriots. By this time Benny was also on his feet, pumping stones at Malthus and Harman; one struck the engineer on the shoulder and he uttered a cry of pain.

  Byrne and the two sailors rolled back down the slope, and there Jonas was struck on the back of the head; his knees buckled, but he didn’t fall. Harman and the other sailor dragged the injured man to his feet.

  “We have to get back under cover, Mr. Malthus,” Byrne gasped, massaging his chest. “We can’t do nothing here. Come on.” He stepped on to the stones. Jonas followed, then Malthus, and then Harman and the other sailors.

  “Now, Jonathan!” Benny bellowed, his voice echoing. “Let them have it!”

  Jonathan put all the frustrated energy of the last five minutes into his first throw; the stone sang through the air like a bee, struck Byrne squarely in the center of the forehead, opened a three-inch gash, and shot high into the air. The mate, just reaching the the dry land on Jonathan’s side of the stream, threw up both arms and fell as if hit by a bullet. Jonas ducked, leaving Malthus exposed and balanced precariously on a trembling rock. Jonathan’s next stone struck him in the stomach. He gave a cry which was half gasp, teetered for a moment, and was hit on the thigh by another stone. He overbalanced and fell into the water with a loud splash, which was followed by an even louder howl as he bounced up and scrambled clear. Jonas was also in the water by now, having been struck by a volley of stones from behind him, and uttering high-pitched wails was hopping around, attempting to reach dry land. Harman hastily turned and ran back, knocking over the two sailors. A stone struck him on the body and brought him to the ground, and he raised both hands high in the air.

  “Lay off!” he screamed. “Lay off. We surrender!”

  The men followed his example, divided into two groups now, Malthus and the unconscious Byrne on Jonathan’s side of the stream, and the three sailors with Harman.

  “Keep your ground, Mr. Anders,” Benny shouted. “If they attempt to approach you, let them have it.”

  “Give us a break, man,” Jonas called. “We are all done fighting.”

  “Then drop your knives,” Strohm said, climbing down.

  Harman and the two other sailors obeyed, but Jonas, casting a quick look around him, ran straight for the captain, face working, whipping his seaman’s knife from his belt.

  “Look out!” Jonathan shouted.

  His warning was unnecessary. Captain Strohm did not even draw his own knife. He rose to his full height, caught Jonas’ swinging fist in his left forearm, and threw his right. The blow lifted the big sailor off the ground, and stretched him flat on the earth.

  “And that concludes the entertainment for this morning.” Benny dusted his hands. “Unless any more of you gentlemen would like the same treatment. Well done, Captain. Well done, Mr. Anders.”

  “And well done to you, General Pobrenski,” Jonathan said, “Without you, we’d have been sunk.”

  The steward’s smile was childlike. “General Pobrenski?” he inquired softly. “Now don’t start that all over again, Mr. Anders. My name is Benny. Benny the steward.”

  “Well, Benny, steward or general, we owe you a vote of thanks,” Strohm said. “It all seems pretty simple, when it’s done, eh, Mr. Anders? Question is, what happens now? Benny?”

  “Well, Captain, I’d say first thing we should tie those chaps’ wrists so they can’t give us any more trouble.”

  “I’ll do it.” Jonathan left the protection of his boulder. The sailors eyed him malevolently, but there was no question of their attempting to take advantage of his presence in their midst; bruised, battered and discouraged, the last of their fighting instinct had disappeared. Even Jonas meekly submitted to having his wrists bound with his own belt. Only Malthus, sopping wet and glowing crimson from his immersion in the hot water, spoke.

  “So you think you’ve fallen on your feet, eh, Mr. Anders? Well, let me give you a word of advice. You’re not out of these particular woods yet. That’s a joke, eh? Funny, ha-ha.”

  “And now,” Benny said, when the last of the sailors was secured. “I think we might also be able to manufacture some kind of a stretcher for Miss Geraldine, and four of these great strong fellows can carry it.”

  “There’s a splendid idea,” Jonathan said “What do you think, Doctor?”

  Brian O’Connor climbed down from the lakeside. The brief rest seemed to have done him a world of good, and he looked much more alert. “I quite agree, Mr. Anders.” He stood next to the captain, hands on hips. “Well, well, James. It seems that things haven’t quite gone your way, this morning.”

  Malthus licked his lips. “I’d like a word with you, Doctor. In private.”

  “Oh, we will have a chat, James,” O’Connor said. “But it may just be possible for me to persuade these gentlemen to take a lenient view of your attempts to murder them.”

  “I’m not quite with you, Doctor,” Jonathan confessed.

  “Well, Mr. Anders, I’ve been doing a bit of thinking, up there with the ladies. You claim to be an agent for the British Government, come to the West Indies to locate General Pobrenski and persuade him to return to London with you. And like James, you are acting on the assumption that Benny is your man. Now as things are at present, we are heading straight for a police court, with all the consequent publicity, which will not do you, or your superiors, or your mission, any good at all. I propose that we treat the events of last night and today as a simple catastrophe, a fire at sea, early on in which our wireless was destroyed, and following which we were forced to abandon the schooner and make for the nearest shore. Fortunately, we all reached safety with the exception of poor Pete, although, obviously, several members of the crew suffered some very painful bruises from the rocks during their gallant efforts to bring the rest of us ashore. Now, of course, there will still have to be an inquiry, but one from which criminal proceedings will be absent, and therefore, you see, Mr. Anders, there will be nothing to prevent you, and Benny, from making a written statement of your version of events, and then taking the first available plane to England.”

  Jonathan gazed at him with his mouth open. It occurred to him that he had put altogether the wrong tag on Brian O’Connor.

  “But I don’t want to go to England,” Benny said. “I don’t want to go anywhere. I like it right here. Well, not right here, if you see what I mean.”

  “Of course I understand your feelings, Benny,” O’Connor said soothingly. “That is something we will have to discuss, but I do assure you that no one is going to force you to do anything against your will. Right now we have to decide our attitude toward the shipwreck. Do you think my plan is a reasonable one, Captain Strohm?”

  “Sounds all right to me, Doctor.”

  “And what about you, Mr. Byrne? And your merry men? I’m afraid, of course, that once the inquiry is over we shall be parting company. I very much doubt whether Captain Strohm will ever care to employ any of you men again, or whether he will be willing to give you references.”

  “I should need my head examined,” Strohm said.

  “On the other hand, you will at least be free, able to seek employment where you can, although I would suggest that you give the West Indies a rest for a while. What do you say?”

  “Oh, we are with you, Dr. O’Connor,” Byrne declared. “Eh, Jonas?”

  “Whatever you say, man.”

  “And what about you, Mr. Harman?”

  The engineer hesitated, and then shrugged. “It seems pretty good to me, Dr. O’Connor, seeing as how you have us across a barrel. I wish I knew why you were being so generous, though.”

  “There are some issues in this world of ours which are far bigger than revenge, or even, perhaps, plain justice, Mr. Harman. But of course, should any of you characters ever seek to
make capital out of what you have learned about Mr. Anders, it would pay you to remember that there are half a dozen people who would testify against you. I presume you understand this, James?”

  “You won’t get away with it, O’Connor,” Malthus said. “There was a fire. Deliberate arson. How do you propose to explain that away if I won’t play ball? Seems to me your precious Benny could wind up behind bars for the next dozen years.”

  “Arson?” Brian O’Connor inquired mildly. “You are suffering from sunstroke, Malthus. What would you say caused the fire, Captain Strohm?”

  “A fuel leak,” Strohm said. “Do you agree, Mr. Harman?”

  “Eh? Oh, yes, Captain. Every time. Those stern tubes were running hot, all right. It was that damaged prop, you see. We had to get out of Kingstown in a hurry, because of the weather, and that shaft wasn’t properly repaired.”

  “I still say you’re all wasting your time,” Malthus said. “The old woman will never forgive me for trying to drown her. And her confounded dog.”

  “It may surprise you to know that I have already discussed the matter with Phyllis, James, and she agrees that while she loathes your guts, she does not quite loathe them to the extent of wishing to see you in the dock on a charge of attempted murder. She will probably settle for a nice, quiet divorce.”

  “You have it all worked out, eh, Doc?” Malthus sneered. “Okay, we’ll play it your way, for the time being, at any rate.”

  “So there remains only yourself, Mr. Anders. Can you suggest any improvement upon my plan?”

  “It sounds too plausible to be true, Doctor,” Jonathan said. “And you mean to tell me you bear these chaps no ill will? They tried to murder you and your daughter.”

  “Life is too short to waste on thoughts of revenge, Mr. Anders,” O’Connor said sententiously. “My aim is to do my best for the community as a whole. Now, gentlemen, although we have agreed on a course of action, I’m sure you will appreciate that we must leave your arms secured for the time being, as once we have given up our commanding position on these rocks we will have no means of making sure you keep to your side of the bargain. We shall, of course, release you whenever we approach civilization. But I am in entire agreement with Benny’s other suggestion, that we should manufacture a stretcher for my daughter. Perhaps you would cut the necessary timber, Strohm, with that trusty knife of yours?”