The Death Hunter

by Lou Cameron

  Captain Gringo nodded and said, “We know about the guards at the sulfur mine. Have you tried sneaking along the south side of the point?”

  “Sure I have. You can’t make it, that way. The cliffs are sheer to the water and all cut up with canyons running up that fucking volcano.”

  Gaston nodded and chimed in, “The villagers say the same. That fenced-off trail is the only way in or out. We may as well be on an island.”

  The American frowned and said, “Hell, there has to be a way. Why can’t anyone just walk over the mountain, above the fence?”

  Gaston shook his head and said, “You seem to forget there is an active crater up there. It’s filled with distressing things like molten lava and clouds of sulfuric acid steam. The fence lines run right to the crater rim. An excess of zeal on the part of the mining company, by the way. The upper slopes are cut with deep arroyos,- filled with streaming acid, and there are stretches of thin crust, here and there, where a misstep can plunge one into a sudden hot bath one may not have really felt the need for.”

  The sailor said, “The natives are scared shitless of the slopes up there, Captain Gringo. I tried to hire a guide and they said nobody ever goes up there. They say it’s suicide for a goat.”

  Captain Gringo nodded and said, “Was the U.S.S. Denver looking for a submarine base, sailor?”

  The sailor frowned and asked, “How the fuck should I know? They never tell the fo’c’s’le nothin'!”

  “Come on, you must have heard some scuttlebutt. Are you saying you sailed all the way down here from San Diego without even talking about that damned balloon you towed all the way?”

  “I told you the new skipper was a piss ant. All he ever said was ‘Froggy’ and when that son of a bitch hollered ‘Froggy’ he expected us to jump! I wasn’t even allowed back on the fantail where they stored that balloon. We didn’t even know it was aboard until we looked up a couple of mornings ago and there it was, like a big-ass bird!”

  “Wait a minute. You only launched that observation balloon off the Costa Rican coast?”

  “I guess so. We stood off some place called Salinas to launch it. The mess boy said they were talking on the bridge about dragging it through the sky as far as a place called Dulce.”

  Captain Gringo glanced at Gaston, who nodded and said, “I know. Salinas Bay is on the northern border, Dulce is to the southern border. It’s a full observation sweep.”

  Captain Gringo turned back to the sailor and said, “You said the Denver would be coming back here.”

  “Sure, on the way home. The whole damned country’s only about the size of Virginia. I just wish it didn’t run up and down so steep.”

  He sipped his drink nervously and added, “Listen, gents, you gotta get me off this point! It won’t just mean the brig if I get picked up by the shore patrol. They made us sign some kind of paper for this voyage.”

  “ ‘Articles of War?’ “

  “Something like that. They told us this was a top secret mission and that we’d be in real trouble if we fucked up.”

  Captain Gringo whistled softly and said, “Jesus, you sure picked a bright time to jump ship! Didn’t you know a guy who deserts with classified information can be tried for espionage?”

  The sailor looked unhappy and said, “I do now. Gaston, here, was just telling me. I was hoping I could haul ass with you when you guys left. You can get through them mining company guys, right?”

  Captain Gringo shrugged and said, “I don’t know. They let us through, one way. They might aim to keep us boxed out here. We’ll find out when we try to leave. Meanwhile, you’d better stay out of sight. If they pick you up and can prove you’ve been chatting in bars with known outlaws working for another country you’ll stretch a rope for certain.”

  “Jesus H. Christ! I’d better get rid of this uniform, too, right?”

  ‘‘Wrong, you poor simp! Don’t you know the only chance you’ll have of proving you’re not a deserter will be if you stay in uniform? I saw an army man beat a desertion rap that way one time. He deserted the Union Army during the Civil War and went home to his farm in Ohio. Years later a spiteful neighbor turned him in and the local M.P.s had nothing better to do, so they rode out to pick him up. He had his old Union Army tunic and cap in his attic. So when he saw the troopers surrounding his farm he put them on and came out with his hands up.”

  “And he beat the rap?”

  “Oh, they had him on being A.W.O.L. for twenty-five years. But they couldn’t prove he’d never intended to come back. The most they could give him was commuted by an amused Secretary of War. It was an election year and the farmer had a mess of grown kids who voted the right party.”

  The sailor looked slightly more optimistic and said, “Well, I still want to light out with you when you leave, but I’ll stay out of sight if you think it might help. The dame I’m shacked up with will be looking for me any minute, anyway.”

  As he got up to leave, Gaston suggested, “Remember, if you are caught, that you never jumped your ship. You have been held a prisoner of love by a savage Latin spitfire who lashed you to her bedposts as your ship was about to sail.”

  The sailor nodded and left. Gaston grinned at Captain Gringo and asked, “What do you think, Dick?”

  “We can’t use the slob. A guy who deserts because his C.O. yells at him would hardly be trustworthy in a real showdown.”

  Gaston nodded and said, “Great minds run in the same channels. But I encouraged his dreams in the hope of getting information from him.”

  “You did, and I pin a rose on you. He verified some things and saved us checking them out the hard way:”

  “Mais oui. We know now that the Dutch mining company is barring the only way out on this point, or, for that matter, off it. Did you buy the story about the trail being too dangerous for innocent travelers?”

  Captain Gringo held up two fingers to a passing waitress and shook his head, saying, “Balls. Shooting people to keep them from burning their tootsies is silly. A couple of signs warning them to stay on the path would absolve the company.”

  “Agreed. One’s next of kin would be much more put out if one were shot than if one scraped a knee or stepped in acid waters. We can assume they gave in because they knew we wouldn’t. The machine gun probably tipped the balance. What did you find out from the large pink lady?”

  Captain Gringo hesitated and Gaston said, “Merde alors! I already know you laid her! To hell with your gentleman’s code. What did she say they were doing back there?”

  The waitress put two glasses on the table between them and scooped up the change he’d placed there. He waited until she’d left before he told Gaston, “She insisted they’re mining sulfur, which sounds sort of reasonable. But you saw her husband, Gaston. Did he look like a wife beater to you?”

  Gaston considered before he shrugged and said, “Anyone could be a wife beater. But there are wives one beats and wives one might think twice about.”

  “Yeah, she could break most men in two, and back at the first fence line she was giving orders. Yet she had some nasty bruises and she says she wants to leave with us.”

  “We certainly seem to be popular. You know, of course, there are some people who enjoy rough sexual adventures?”

  “I can read. She says the Dutchman’s an impotent sadist.”

  “Merde, have you ever slept with a cheating wife who said her husband was a jolly fellow and a better lover?”

  Captain Gringo smiled thinly and said, “No. But I still can’t tell if she’s just oversexed or if she had some other motive. She didn’t learn anything by leaping on the sheets with me that they didn’t already know.”

  Gaston said, “If her motive was espionage, she won’t be back. If she is mad for your body, she will no doubt find some reason to return for more. Meanwhile, our stay here is limited to such time as it can take a fast gunboat to travel a short distance, hein? The Denver will have reached Sucre by morning and will be returning at flank speed if they have fou
nd anything. If they have not found anything, they will perhaps return more slowly, but one may rest assured they shall return.”

  Captain Gringo sipped his drink and nodded. Then he said, “We ought to be safe here a day or so. How are our guys making out?”

  “The natives are friendly. The drunks have met bottles and the lovers have met girls. That quiet fellow, Winston, has even met a boy.”

  Captain Gringo frowned as he pictured the pallid tag-along Gaston had mentioned. Then he shrugged and said, “I didn’t know he was that way. Did you know when you recruited him?”

  “But of course. He creates no problems on the trail and some of the best soldiers in history have liked boys.”

  “Well, I guess it’s a matter of taste.”

  “Not with Winston. He takes it in the derriere. But, no matter. The point is that we have all found a place to spend the night and I agree we won’t awake at dawn to see a gunboat in the harbor out there. But sooner or later, we shall, and I assume we did not come all this way to make friends.”

  Gaston waited, saw his younger friend was scowling silently at his drink, and added, “Dick, what in the fuck are we doing here?”

  Captain Gringo said, “We’ve done most of it. If there’s a secret base out here, it’s certainly well hidden. We’ve seen nothing and the U.S. Navy passed by after looking the place over from the air.”

  “But you are not satisfied, hein? I know that look in your eye, Dick.”

  Captain Gringo shrugged and swallowed another jolt of trade rum before he mused aloud, “There’s something fishy going on out here.”

  “I agree. I can smell it. This is a fishing village, non?”

  “Yeah, and the harbor’s deep draft. But the only naval vessels anyone’s seen around here belong to Uncle Sam.”

  “True. The modest basin out front is not a secret in any case. It is open to anyone who wishes to anchor here. One tends to dismiss it as a secret German base. But, on the other hand, there would seem to be no other anchorage for miles. Certainly not out on this point.”

  “We’ve got to get a better look at that sulfur mine.

  “You suspect Ernestine’s accent?”

  “Oh, hell, I couldn’t tell a Hollander from a German if they were faking it or not. The company may be Dutch. The Dutch are neutral in the first place and hard-nosed businessmen in the second.”

  “Mais oui, and the Kaiser has a country estate in the Netherlands. But I fail to see how one could sail in and out of a sulfur mine.”

  “They have to ship the stuff, Gaston. The buildings and works we saw were on the edge of the sea cliff and they never let us anywhere near the edge.”

  Gaston nodded and said, “Aha! That may well account for their concern about the few people they let through clinging to the path. As soon as it is dark, the two of us will make like the lizards on the rocks, non?”

  Captain Gringo shook his head and said, “No. They might expect us to try that and those guards are pros. There’ll be a full moon tonight. Trying to creep across those open lava flats by moonlight would be asking for it. But anything they’ve built along the shore would be visible from the sea.”

  “That’s a long way to swim,” said Gaston. “Count me out,” he added. “It sounds most fatiguing and the last time I pinched the landlord’s little brunette, she forgot to slap me.”

  Captain Gringo smiled and said, “I wasn’t planning a midnight swim. But I’m going alone. I want you to keep things lively, here. If anyone asks for me, I’m upstairs with a bottle and a babe.”

  Gaston nodded and said, “These Latin villages only come to life after sundown, so diversion should be no great problem. I take it you intend to steal a boat?”

  “Hell, no, I’m trying not to attract attention. Most of these guys would raise more hell if you stole their boat than they would if you stole their wife. Where’s that Armenian? He looks like a man who arranges things discreetly.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Captain Gringo had been right about the Armenian, but a little surprised by the arrangement. The boat was a pea-green whaler with a lug sail the same drab color. The Chinese who owned her smuggled on the side and while the coast was seldom patrolled by Costa Rican customs agents, the Chinese didn’t believe in taking chances. The little boat tended to fade into the scenery.

  The second precaution the Oriental man of adventure took was avoiding adventure by having other people sail his boat. As they slipped out of fishing port under cover of darkness, Captain Gringo was under the impression that “Ching” who sat at the tiller, was a Chinese youth of nineteen or twenty. Ching wore a straw sombrero and what looked like black pajamas. The boat’s owner spoke such terrible Spanish that the exact relationship was a bit vague. Ching was either the older man’s offspring or servant. Most of the discussion had been about money.

  Ching followed directions, but didn’t answer as they caught an onshore breeze and coasted east, a quarter-mile offshore. The American had borrowed an ancient brass spyglass from the Armenian, who seemed to sell everything. So he told the youth at the tiller, “Let’s move further out. I can see pretty good from the horizon line.”

  Ching said, “You haven’t done much night sailing, señor. With a full moon, our sail would stand out more against the skyline than it does at this distance.”

  The American was surprised by the clear bright tone of the other’s voice. He nodded from his seat near the stepped mast and said, “You’re the skipper.” Then he noticed the young Chinese was lowering the sail part way and said, “I know this sounds dumb, but what are you doing? We’re slowing down, just as we caught a nice breeze.”

  Ching said, “I know. Look over there at the waves breaking on the rocks.”

  The American trained his spyglass on the base of a point they were passing and saw the water line was glowing greenly as the phosphorescent tropic waters broke and mixed with air. He nodded and said, “Right. You don’t mean to leave a wake they can see from up on the cliffs. I can see you know your job, kid.”

  Ching didn’t answer. The American shrugged and scanned the shoreline as they ghosted on. The phosphorescent organisms in the tepid seawater were an added bonus. Any place the waves weren’t breaking against the shore would leave a dark gap. He asked Ching how deep the water was in these parts and Ching said, “It’s shoal a quarter-mile out.”

  “By the sulfur mine, too?”

  “Of course. I’ve sailed these waters since I arrived from Canton years ago.”

  “I can see you’re an ancient mariner. But how do those Dutchmen ship their product off a shallow shore, Ching? Have you ever watched them?”

  Ching nodded and said, “Certainly. You can see it from the village. A three-island freighter comes by every few weeks to stand offshore about a kilometer. The people from the mine row out to it in shallow draft lighters. They haul the cargo nets aboard out there.”

  “Shit. I had such a nifty notion, too.”

  “Are you ready to turn back, señor?”

  “No, as long as we’re out here, we may as well see it through. There could still be a channel nobody’s talking about for now.”

  “Señor, I told you I know these waters. Before the mining people came and fenced off all that land, I used to dive for abalone just below the cliffs they built on. I would have noticed any channel deep enough for an ocean-going ship to approach the shore.”

  “Unless they’ve dredged one in the meantime. Keep going. We’ve got a nice onshore breeze and if it fails I’ll row us back.”

  Ching said, “The breeze toward Monte Purgatorio never fails, day or night. There is an updraft over the crater. The sea breezes always sweep in and up the mountain. It makes for simple sailing, and was the reason they first built the fishing village out here on the point.”

  Captain Gringo nodded and said, “You can see that rising smoke plume for miles out to sea, too. Doesn’t the idea of an active volcano right on top of you make you nervous, Ching?”

  Ching shrugged and s
aid, “Monte Purgatorio is not always active. When I arrived here, six or seven years ago, it had been quiet for some time. The older people in the village say it has never really erupted seriously since anyone has lived here. It is dangerous to go near the top, but the village is protected by old lava ridges. The sulfur mine is over there, on that higher cliff.”

  Captain Gringo saw the lamplights in the windows even before he zeroed in on the complex with his spyglass. Thanks to the moonlight, he had a good view, but he failed to find anything worth the trip. The buildings he’d seen from the other side seemed to be living quarters. A sort of bowl had been quarried at a lower level on the seaward side of the cliffs, but the mine tipple and machinery stood on a shelf a good forty feet above the breaking water. There was a wooden staircase and an inclined railway running down to a pocket beach below the mine. The luminous wavelets washing over the black sand told him Ching had been right about the water being shoal. He saw the black hulks of lighters hauled up on the beach. He swore softly and said, “Okay, they’re Dutchmen, shipping sulfur, and it was too obvious anyway.”

  “Can we go back now?” asked Ching.

  Captain Gringo said, “No. As long as we’re bobbing around out here, we may as well make a cruise of it. I want to see the south shore of the point.”

  Ching hove to and luffed them west, but said, “There is nothing to be seen over there, señor. Nobody even fishes there.”

  He insisted, “Stand further out as we round the village, kid. I’ve heard there’s no trail by land. I want to check the base of the cliffs.”

  Ching swore in Cantonese and forgot to warn Captain Gringo when the sail swung across on the new tack. Fortunately, there’s no solid boom on a lug sail, but getting slapped across the jowls with canvas can annoy anyone. So Captain Gringo said, “That’s one I owe you, Punk!” Then he said, “Look, kid, I’d rather be ashore getting screwed and tattooed, too, but I paid your old man for the use of this tub, so let’s not get snotty about it, huh?”