She looked about, half-sinking. "What about Captain Yutigaffa?"
"He knows the way."
Beyond the buoy was the loom of a half-rounded shape, like the partially submerged back of some giant water beast. Durell felt the urgent current that came from it as soon as he drew near. He tried to swim silently, without splashing, but Irene did not do as well; her strokes were awkward, beating at the water with loud and irregular slaps. The spotlight began traversing out toward them as Durell reached the end of the big conduit. The water flow from the huge pipe was cooler than the temperature of the river, but it was not too swift to prohibit swimming against it. He reached up and caught the top of the metal flange. It was like a cave inside there, when he peered in.
The machinegun began to rattle again, moving uncertainly toward them. He pulled Finch and Irene toward him, then ducked. Irene looked pale and frightened; her pale hair was a screen pasted to her face. He saw Yutigaffa and Kantijji draw near and then looked toward the shore.
The Strange jute mill that Yutigaffa had described was some distance from the massive walls of the old fort. But there obviously was an underwater turn in the big waste conduit if it led out from the factory. They were about a hundred feet from the shore at this point, and it was anybody's guess whether there was enough air in the pipe to let them swim through. His first doubt was about Irene. But he was worried about Georgette too. Part of the conduit was submerged deeply under the surface of the river, probably where the elbow occurred, and they would have to swim blindly underwater through the big pipe and pray they could reach a pocket of air before their lungs gave out.
A new burst of bullets whined through the dark air over their heads. Flashlights moved about on the parapet of the Portuguese fort. He thought he heard the sudden throb of a marine engine, then he swore softly. Sure enough, a motor launch was coming out to search for them.
Irene spoke in angry fear. "What are we waiting for? Why can't we just swim ashore?"
"They've spotted us. There's no chance of making it when that boat comes nearer."
"But those are my friends," Irene gasped, arguing. "They won't do anything to hurt me."
"Maybe not. But I'd rather meet them when the odds can be arranged a little better."
"So what do we do?"
Durell looked at Yutigaffa. "We swim in through the pipe, according to your judgment. Is that right?"
"Yes, mtamba."
Irene exclaimed, "Are you crazy? I couldn't - I wouldn't swim in there not for all the tea in China and-"
"Go," Durell said and shoved her into the yawning half circle that protruded above the river's surface.
He went ahead with Yutigaffa. The tall Bogandan was like an eel in the river water. He waited until the two women were sheltered safely within the corrugated steel conduit, with Kantijji covering them all from the rear, before Durell went on, moving through the cooler water with careful strokes.
The darkness was complete. There were few problems at first. The water level was shallow enough for the initial twenty feet going inshore through the pipe, but then the pipe suddenly sloped downward on the river bottom. Then the level of the water rose continually until swimming was a necessity and there was barely enough air space to gulp a breath in through the nostrils without banging against the mossy metal top.
They moved very slowly. Yutigaffa had said nothing about it, but Durell would not have been surprised to find nests of water creatures in here, maybe even a croc or two. Trapped in the conduit, with their weapons unavailable, they could be easy prey for anything-or anyone.
He heard a deafening hammer stroke of sound all at once, as a few slugs from the machinegun hit the metal pipe's outer skin where it projected from the water. His head rang with the echoes. Irene made a sound of pain.
"What is it?" he asked.
"I bumped me stupid head."
"Try to be careful."
"I can't. I'm s-scared."
"Stay close to Miss Finch."
"I'd rather stay close to you."
They spoke to each other in absolute darkness, unable to see a finger raised before the eyes. Durell turned and went on, feeling Yutigaffa's big hand on his arm, urging him forward. The "ceiling" of the conduit suddenly sloped downward again, and there was no more air to breathe on the top of the pipe.
They halted.
"Now we must swim for it, mtamba."
"How far?" Durell asked.
"I do not know. I go only by the old building and architect's charts. The pipe may have sunk deeper than the charts show." The FKP man's voice was strange, echoing slightly in the narrow confines of the last air space. "Old floods may have changed the conduit's direction a bit, because of the force of the water."
Durell said, "There must be a point of no return, swimming underwater through the tunnel like this. A point where we have to turn back or else."
"Yes, sir. I am troubled by this, of course. I do not think the Ragihi-"
"Do you want to go back with her and see that she's safe? Her whole venture here is dangerous for her," Durell suggested. He hoped the tall, thin Natangan would agree. But Yutigaffa shook his narrow head.
"No, sir. There is nothing for me to go back to, now. Not for the Ragihi or myself. I will stay with you, and if you please, I will go first, mtamba."
"No," Durell said. "I'll lead the way."
When they stopped talking, the metallic echoes of their words slowly faded away. There was only a faint lapping sound from the current that came sluggishly through the conduit, and the hiss and gasp of Irene's quick, frightened breathing. He felt Georgette Finch touch him, her hands groping awkwardly in the darkness.
"Sam, maybe we shouldn't go on."
"You can go back too," he said bluntly.
"You don't want any of us with you, do you?"
"No, not any of you."
"But you'd never succeed in this by yourself. You don't know anything about the Getoba or what you might run into in there."
"I can learn," he said. "I'd have a better chance going in alone."
"Don't you trust anybody at all?"
"No."
"Not even me?"
He wished he could see her face in the darkness. "No. Especially not you."
He turned away from her and ducked his head under the surface of the water. Behind him, Abraham Yutigaffa did the same. Durell swam hard and fast, using a sidestroke because of the narrow confines of the conduit. After a count of ten, he let himself come upward, hoping for air at the top level of the pipe; but his head only bumped painfully on the growth-covered interior of the corrugated metal, and he went down again. Another ten strokes, and he felt his lungs begin to ache and protest. He could feel the turbulence of Yutigaffa's swimming strokes behind him, and he could sense the pressure of the current coming through the pipe from the stream that emptied into the river. His outthrust hand struck metal that curved to the left. He could still return to the higher area of the conduit, where he had left the girls with Sergeant Kantijji. He had not yet reached the halfway point, he judged, where his lungs would give out before he could return to the air behind him. He swam on, counting still another ten strokes, then lifted himself again and reached upward for the top of the huge metal tube. His hand came out of the water, but only by an inch or two. He rolled over on his back, aware now of a dangerous pressure in his lungs and an even more dangerous pressure from possible panic. He let his face come up, and his mouth sought the inch or two of air that existed in the very top of the tunnel. Gratefully he drew a deep lungful of the precious air, feeling its heaviness and moist warmth. Behind him, Abraham Yutigaffa pushed and shoved to reach the air too. Durell gave way for the FKP man, and for several moments they floated on their backs, resting, their faces exposed to the black air. There was absolutely nothing they could see. The darkness was complete.
"Mamba, it is difficult," Yutigaffa murmured. His voice echoed unnaturally in the narrow tongue of air that supported their lives. "Very hard, even for men like you and me. Can the ladies
swim this far?"
"They will have to," Durell said, "or else they can go back."
"Have you made an enemy of the Ragihi?"
"Whether she's a friend or an enemy is of no consequence to me."
"But she can be like a spiteful child, sir. She insists that we go on and take her with us, so we must help her."
"If you like, I'll go back and drag her along," Durell decided.
"You are a brave man, sir."
"And you're a puzzling one," Durell said.
He had rested enough. In a moment he doubled over and jackknifed, and swam back the way he had come, swimming harder now, with more confidence, knowing that the path was feasible, after all. The way back seemed shorter and quicker than his first swim. He suddenly bumped into a woman's wet body, knew instinctively it was Georgette, and came up. In a moment he had explained to the two girls and Kantijji what had to be done. It was strange, speaking into the closed blackness of the conduit, inches away from the others, but unable to see them. Finch seemed calm enough. Irene said, "I'm just plain funky. I'm afraid. I never learned to swim too well in the alleys, you know."
"I'll go along with you," Durell suggested. "Just hold your breath and don't panic."
"I'm afraid of closed-in spaces too," she added.
He started to reply with impatience, but the decision was made for them when there came a sudden great uproar of clanging noises on the outer skin of the pipe, a hammering of metal on metal that rang deafeningly in their brains. A loud voice came bellowing down the conduit from the end that projected above the river's surface. The words were not intelligible, but the meaning was clear. They were being asked to come out. It was an order to surrender. The voice had the power of military force behind it.
"Sam?" Georgette murmured.
"They're not sure we're in here."
"But is it the Teleks? Or could they be General Watsube's men?"
He shrugged. He was just able to stand, by ducking his head at this point, where the level of the water was lower in the big pipe. The thin current that moved outward into the river felt definitely colder now. He said, "Doesn't matter, does it, if it's Watsube or the Teleks? At the moment either side will cheerfully kill us."
There came another clang and clamor of metal striking the skin of the conduit. They would be in a boat, Durell guessed, as many as a dozen of them. If they began firing down the tunnel
The thought coincided with the fact. He heard the sudden hammering of an automatic rifle, saw the distant flare of dame at the mouth of the conduit. They would be dead in another moment. It was like being shot at in the bottom of a barrel. He yelled an order, shoved Georgette under the surface, pulled Irene with him, and felt Kantijji slide by as smoothly as a fish.
Chapter 11
THE MACHINEGUN stopped. Light flickered through the water. Durell heard the officer's voice bellowing again, amplified by the curved steel walls of the conduit. There was no time to think about it now. Forty strokes, long and hard, should bring them all to the curve in the pipe. Ten more beyond that, and there would be air, with Yutigaffa waiting to help. Georgette swam ahead first, moving quickly, not questioning him now. Irene floundered awkwardly, bubbles coming from her mouth. Durell bumped into her, felt her thrash about in wild-panic; she grabbed dangerously for his head and neck, and he pushed away her desperate gestures and wound his fingers in her long hair, remembering the careful array of curlers she had displayed hours earlier. He pulled her unceremoniously by the hair now, using one arm to stroke. The others had made it farther ahead, leaving a mild turbulence in their wake. He reached the bend in the tunnel. No air here yet. He felt the strain in his lungs again and wondered if Irene could hold out. He turned and started to count his strokes once more. He reached for the top of the conduit. No air here either. Irene thrashed about violently, then began to go limp. He pulled desperately at her, struck out forward again, then felt a hand reach and grab for his own and pull him strongly along the way.
He gulped air, held Irene's chin up above the surface of the stream that flowed through the corrugated steel pipe. For a bad moment he thought she had stopped breathing. Then she began to gasp and cough and gurgle and retch.
"Hurry, mtamba." It was Yutigaffa speaking. "It is shallower farther on; there we can all walk. If you like, I will help the Ragihi."
"Never mind," Durell said. "I've got her."
They surged forward through the pipe, crouching, sometimes on all fours. It slanted sharply upward all at once, and the level dropped as a consequence. In a moment it was no deeper than to their knees. Irene had made herself a dead weight, hanging heavily in his arms. He paused and lightly slapped her face.
"Come on out of it, Irene. You're all right. We're all safe now."
"Oh, you bastard, you bloody-"she groaned.
"Stand up now."
"I can't."
"Then I'll just let you drown."
"You would, wouldn't you?"
He released her suddenly. She went down, floundering, swearing in her Liverpool accent, using every gutter term she had grown up with. In a moment, however, she had found her footing on the slime-slippery bottom of the conduit.
There was still nothing to see. Durell squeezed beyond Yutigaffa and forged upward through shallowed water. All at once he thought he saw starlight. He went farther ahead, trying to keep his splashing noises to a minimum. There was still the possibility of an alert welcoming party of Teleks waiting for them at this end. He held back the others, warning them in a whisper to be quiet, then went ahead again. The air felt different. It smelled a little fresher, if the stink of burned timbers and old bombings could be considered better than the dead air in the conduit.
The roof of the big pipe suddenly gave way, opening into a little banked stream that ran alongside the wreckage of the jute mill. Durell waded quickly up out of the water and threw himself flat along the embankment. The warm night air plastered his clothes to his body. He heard the clicking of insects, the sudden scurry of tiny clawed feet. There would be rats here, of course; and desperate men, entombed in this besieged area for too many days of despair. Hungry, perhaps, and thirsty too, waiting for the next hourly barrage of mortar shells to claim its victims.
Several mortar shells, as a matter of fact, had struck the jute mill not too long ago. One whole end of the corrugated tin roof had been blown in and lay in great sheets at odd angles to the sky. Several trees had also been blasted by the explosions and had fallen across the tangled wreckage. But on this side, toward the little creek, the loading platform and big warehouse doors were still intact, and the roof towered over thick foliage that grew in great vine patterns up over the walls. The sign, Thomson-Strang Jute Mill, Ltd., had fallen from one of the mortar blasts and lay partially buried in the little stream that ran alongside the building. Looming to the right, beyond the jute mill compound, was the heavy outline of the Portuguese Fort, downstream from where they had emerged from the conduit. The jute mill seemed to have been, used and incorporated as part of the Getoba District's walls. This area of the old medina had once bordered the river's edge. A little beyond, Durell saw narrow lanes, shabby Natanga houses on high wooden stilts, a few signs hanging motionless under the black, star-spangled sky.
The smell of burned-out buildings, the smell of death, was a tangible stench that seemed to stick solidly in his nostrils.
There was no one in sight.
He waited a bit longer, watching carefully to make certain there was no immediate danger here. Looking back across the black expanse of the river, he could barely make out the buoy that marked the conduit entrance. The mutter of a powerboat's engine came from there, along with an occasional wink of light. They were still searching, still probing for them, in the entrance to the huge water pipe.
Some native wagons and a bombed-out truck stood at the partially burned loading platform. Beyond this a road went along the riverbank and vanished into brush, trees, and Natangan houses on stilts that came right down to the water's edge. The way
into the Getoba, however, led through the wreckage of the jute mill.
Finch slid along the bank of the stream and sat herself down beside him. She had managed to tie up her hair in a rough knot atop her head, although it was still dripping wet, and her thin clothing clung to her tall figure to reveal her Junoesque proportions. Durell was a little surprised. She caused some pebbles to rattle in the stream bed, but he did not reprimand her for the noise.
"Can you see anything?" she whispered.
"No, but I think its safe-as long as Irene doesn't blunder into anything."
"Why do you suppose she really wanted to come along? It doesn't make much sense, does it?"
Durell said, "Everything that girl does must have a good reason-at least from her personal and avaricious point of view. Get the others up here, please."
"Yes, siree," Finch said.
Assignment- Silver Scorpion Page 8