by Dean Ing
"No we can't. Love your confidence in us though," called Mel Benteen, as the rope slithered down to lie in a heap at Chip's feet. And briefly, the little man-made cliff echoed with inane cackles of relief from above and below.
With infuriating energy, the youthful Chip went bounding back up the trail, bubbling with ideas and optimism. Lovett got his boot on and started up right behind, but lagged a good deal off the pace, still aching from his fall but determined not to show it. He found his grandson chattering excitedly to the others, who lay about and wheezed at him like dotards, half amused, half angry.
"Your grandson," Reventlo said to Lovett, "bids us leap up and belay him again. Look at me," he continued, holding up a pair of reddened fists.
"I can't unclench my hands, and this witless nipper is ready to have another go at it."
"I'll take him away and have him destroyed," Lovett nned. gn "Would you?" There was humor in Benteen's request, but it was lurking deep.
"At once," the Brit added, beginning to chuckle in spite of himself.
Coop only sat and looked at the youth, shaking his head and flexing his callused old hands. "Now what's this about knocking down the wall, kid?"
"I'm trying to tell you, it's not solid cement," Chip said, and recounted how, in his struggles, he had kicked fragments of the wall loose.
They had fruit and MRF, lunches, but forgot them once they'd recovered enough to find anchoring vines for the rope something they should have done previously. A stout stick tied at the rope's end made a seat for Chip, and knots made gripping easier so that a gangling youth might climb down a few feet and up again without exhausting his elders in the process.
When Chip explained his needs, the group made still another foray into the cave because no one wanted to return to the workshop, perhaps to be sidetracked by some request by Jean-Claude Pelele. Now the cave was only gloomy, not wholly dark. Oiled canvas bundles and'brass-bound boxes lay near the mahogany workbench. The boxes contained old uniforms, meticulously packed. When unrolled, the bundles turned up tools and spare parts that mechanics had once used.
"This isn't bad stuff," Coop mused, testing a pair of cutters on a roll of braided, string-slender control cable. "Not like most of the pot-metal-and-tinfoil crap the Japs turned out before the war."
Reventlo, lounging beside him, knew why. "They had good metal, Coop; but it all went to the military. Shipping, tanks, aircraft, and good tools to maintain it. In Burma, our Nip guards were goggle-eyed at my father's tobacco packed in steel cans because of the implied waste. They made do with wood and oiled paper. But their rifle barrels were good steel. They didn't skimp on the essentials. These Tojos prove my point; they'd climb with the best, and in case you haven't noticed, they carry wing cannons."
"There's an idea," Chip offered. "Just aim at the top of the wall and shoot a few times."
"And the echo alone could bring this whole bloody cave down on us,"
Reventlo laughed. "You've never heard a forty niike-mike fired, I take it."
"No sir. But you've never hung four stories up on a little bitty rope and nibbled a cement wall down. Or have you?' "Touche," said Reventlo, because Coop was laughing at their interchange.
Chip knew what he wanted, and no one was better equipped to provide it than handyman Coop Gunther. While Coop began to make a logger's loop splice in a length of cable and the others sought particular tools, Lovett attacked the upper end of that bamboo pole with a hacksaw. He brought the yard-long, dime-inch-diameter tip to the workbench where Coop, using a miniature brace and bit Myles had located, bored holes at its midpoint. He passed the length of cable through, stuck the free end through the loop, then made a similar logger's splice in that fi-ee end.
Chip loosened his belt, passed the loop through it, retightened the belt. Now the bamboo cylinder was linked to him by six feet of cable and Chip announced that, given a maul or even a claw hammer, he was ready'
The nearest thing they found was a metalworker's double-headed hammer, and they trooped back up the steps to emerge where, as Chip put it, they could all catch some rays while he vandalized the wall. The bamboo staff, as all knew, would be shoved to the vent and propelled through it to form a sort of grapple. By hauling in on the cable, Chip could swing back and forth enough to clamp an arm through the vent. Later they could improvise a better perch but this would give them an idea whether the wall could be nibbled away. And if it fell, Chip would sit safely above.
As Chip eased himself from sight on the rope, a hammer stuck in his belt and the staff hanging free, Reventlo closed his eyes and faced the sun with a huge sigh. Myles stoked his pipe contentedly, and Benteen simply smiled toward the distant surf, perhaps savoring the Benteen legend.
Coop watched the vines anchoring Chip.
Lovett rubbed the knot on his noggin and moved near the silent Reventlo, one ear cocked to judge Chip's progress. Only when he heard, "Sitting down now," did he release the breath he held.
"Penny for your thoughts, Cris," said Lovett softly.
For a moment it seemed the Brit had not heard. Then, "I'm wondering where I'll find another C-47, fast. And a seagoing barge big enough to ship a twin-engined Betty-minus the flying bomb strapped to her belly, mind you."
"Call Quinn for the money," Lovett shrugged.
"I very much doubt it'll stretch that far, Wade. Leasing may be the way to go; the barge will need a crew. I suppose I hadn't really planned for success of this magnitude."
From below, a hollow clatter and a "danunit." Lovett asked, "Will it take long? Given enough time, Pelele, may decide to renegotiate the deal."
"It could take weeks, but he's not my chief worry., We'll need a barge crew we can trust, and piracy comes readily to mind. Some Lascar skipper could decide to relieve us of our cargo, once taken aboard. It's not unknown in these parts, even today."
The sunlight abruptly faded, and Lovett squinted toward a towering mass of cumulus to the west. "Weather front, from the look of it," he said idly.
"That's another thing," said Reventlo. "We're getting into the wet season. If we haven't had a typhoon or a serious blow by August it's a vintage year. Entire islands get swept into the Philippine Sea now and then, Wade. How would you like to be on a barge load of flying antiques when it happens?"
"Isn't that over the Mindanao Deep? Let's talk about something else,"
Lovett pleaded, uneasy at the very idea of water seven miles deep.
Nearby, from below, came an echoing thok.
"Swinging in now," Chip called.
"I'm thinking we might do better to disassemble the planes," Reventlo went on. "We could fit them on a smaller boat. Make several trips if necessary."
"To the Philippines, or Guam?"
"It's six hundred miles or so either way," the Brit said. "I used to fly Air Mike into Yap, which has its own commercial docks. And it's half the distance, due south of us. That's less than two days on the high seas by slow barge."
"Or an hour and a half by C-47," said Lovett.
"Not to mention forty-five minutes in a Tojo," Reventlo added wistfully.
"Fly a Tojo? You're..." Lovett began.
"I said not to mention that," Reventlo interrupted, deadpan. It did seem a stretch, even as a joke.
"Enough with the Benny Hill imitations already," said Lovett, grinning anyway. At that point he heard the first taps of a hammer echoing below, and knew that Chip had begun the long process of disinterring a treasure hidden for half a century.
In an hour, Chip had tapped away several square feet of the wall, enough that they could plan a more efficient attack on it. By now it was clear that the wall had been put up as two thin shells of ochre-tinted cement with a bit more mortar securing a lot of rubble-bits of coral, wood, even bamboo segments-between the inner and outer shells. The fibrous parts-of that rubble made up the only internal reinforcement they had found. That this tender barrier had stood so long was a marvel attributed to Japanese cleverness. The ochre was its crowning achievement, lending s
ubtle shadings of color to the wall that had made it seem natural.
All agreed that they should bring more tiedown ropes the next day. By anchoring ropes outside and passing them through the vents, they could create loop ladders with stick seats to be climbed from inside the cave.
Then, Lovett and perhaps Myles could join Chip in knocking away that wall piecemeal. Myles tried to hide his disappointment at being denied his own brand of demolition work and grudgingly admitted it was too risky. Primacord might be fun, but money was his toy of choice. In the interests of bringing delicate aircraft out intact, quietly tapping away that wall from the inside was the only way to go.
When the first rain squall sent them all inside the cave, Chip announced that he'd done all the dangling he could for one day. "I'm thrashed, Pop," he said, combing cement dust from his hair with dirty fingers, as rain pelted the foliage outside the cave entrance. "The wall gets a little thicker, the lower down you go."
"Probably a foot thick at the bottom," Lovett said. "As a structure, it makes sense." They descended the steps again to the cave floor, where Coop was taking a more thorough in s still shadowy but, with a ventory of the place. The cave wa hole the size of a telephone booth near top center of the wall, they could dispense with flashlights. They could also grumble that, as soon as they began to bring the wall down, errant wind gusts speckled the nearest Tojo with raindrops. "Principle of physics," Lovett observed; "water flows to where you're working."
Before leaving the cave, Reventio called his fellows to that spare engine. "What do you think about moving this little beauty out," he said.
"Little, hell," Lovett responded. Its diameter was roughly four feet, its outlines that of a huge basket with cooling fins staggered about its rim. "Maybe not as big as some of ours but it'll go a half-ton at least."
"You didn't think we'd leave it," Myles said.
"I mean, chaps, move it right away; ship it in the C-47 when I take off-which I intend to do as soon as humanly possible," Reventio reminded them. "Just in case we should need more financing, I cannot imagine a more tantalizing proof of what we've got here." 'Not 'til we've punched a hole to get it out," said Coop.
An extra day, even if I cannibalized the APU cart for a dolly."
Reventlo's glance was sharply hopeful. "You can do that?"
Coop snorted. "Is the Pope Polish?"
"Then let's get to it tomorrow. Wade, I trust you can persuade your master mechanic, Pilau, to lend that half-track lorry of his for an hour."
"It's Merizo's vehicle, but we can find some excuse," Lovett said.
"Right now let's get those fiber mats unrolled topside, so we can tie them in place over the vents. And then-I don't know about you, but I'm going to sleep for a week."
Climbing the steps for the last time that day with one end of a mat in his arms, he saw Myles move near Chip, who was carrying the other end of the mat. The survivalist seemed troubled. He said, suspiciously, "The Pope's a Polack?"
a long time now," Chip said. "You're kidding, "For right?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I knew that," said Myles, and hurried on.
A moment later, Chip glanced back at his grandfather. "Don't they have newspapers in Texas? This man Is a published writer, Pop!"
"Some guys are pretty focused, Chip. Vic Myles is just focused tighter than most."
"Or more loosely wrapped," the youth said.
It was on Lovett's tongue to caution Chip about showing scorn to his elders, but he kept silent. Such things had a way of working themselves out.
Lovett awoke after dark in his room, as freshets of rain swept the roof.
It was not the rain that waked him; in the light of a kerosene lamp an arm's length away, Chip was in whispered, urgent discussion with little Keikano. Lovett Jay quietly and listened. It seemed they hadn't been talking long.
Knocking it down? Is there no way to repair it now?" Keikano's whisper was almost a squeak, as if agonizing over what he had set in motion.
"They don't want to, Kei." Now it's "Kei," thought Lovett. As in Kate, as in kiss-me-Kate. This little pretty boy is definitely romancing my grandson. Or vice-versa. And Chip seems to be comfortable with it. Well, he's old enough to make his own decisions. "That's the only way to remove the planes," Chip went on. "I thought you knew that."
"I did. 1-had not realized how serious this would be."
"To Pelele? Merizo? Who?" 'They? They are in the village planning the leadership games. I am afraid I will lose the respect of-Fundaborans. I am afraid that-I am afraid," he ended simply.
"When we go, we take you along," Chip whispered "What's to fear?"
"But I will return. It is a matter of respect. You cannot understand this, Chip Mason."
"I can if you explain it. Try me."
A silence. Then, "I cannot. I have already done a terrible thing."
"Is that what you think, or what other people think?"
"Others, certainly. 1-do not know what I think. I did what I thought was right. Now I do not know how to undo it."
"You can't shove the Genie back in the bottle, Kei," Chip whispered, not unkindly.
"Jeannie? A girl's name. Your Jeannie?"
"Uh-no. It's a kind of magic person that lives in a bottle and gives you what you ask for. And you'd better be sure you want it. I'm not certain I can explain it."
"You see? My problem, too."
"Are you saying you're in danger, Keikano?"
"Not to my body." A half-snicker, almost a chortle: "At most, nothing that will not heal. But I wish there were something I could offer your elders, some trade. Pearls; I could put my hands on many of those."
"Your pearls, Kei?"
"Well... what would they care?"
"Uh-uh. No, you're trying to get yourself seriously killecl Kei. Anyway, I know our guys, and they're amped on these planes. They wouldn't care if you owned your weight in pearls. I'm sorry, but that's how it is. And you helped work up that agreement with Jean-Claude yourself; those planes are ours now."
"Your grandfather is a reasonable man," Keikano began again.
"Not where those old planes are concerned. He'd sooner die than give them up now. The others, too."
"I hope you are not foretelling his future," Keikano replied.
"Someone might try to kill him?"
"It is possible; him or any of you. I hope I can keep that from happening. Your people could bring awful power to bear. That would be understood. I hope," the whisperer hesitated, then added, "There is an old saying: 'When you wake a sleeping giant, you may fill him with a terrible resolve.'
"I heard that old saying somewhere. It's not Pelele or his guys, is it?"
Another silence. "You are not going to leave the cave in peace," Keikano whispered dolefully. "What is done, is out of the Jeanniebottle. I see that now. Chip, there are many ways to urge your Jeannie back into her bottle. I must not say more than this: all of you be very careful in the cave, especially when I am not with you, from this day; what you move, where you step. I fear for you."
"Booby traps, you mean." 'I do not know how boobies are trapped. I know that if your Jeannie has accidents, she might want to go safely back into her bottle."
Now abandoning the whisper, Chip laughed gently, his voice gruff, almost manly. "I keep telling you she's not my genie, Kei. I don't even know if genies have sex."
"Then how do they," Keikano began in puzzlement.
Chip broke in with, "I didn't mean that. I meant-huh, maybe that's what they do in those bottles, how would I know? Anyhow, I haven't got a Jeannie at home, either; it's just an expression. Okay?"
"I am amped," said Keikano softly. Deep inside Wade Lovett, something small and vulnerable began to shrivel.
"I'll pass the word on," Chip promised. "Hey, where were you all day; in the village?"
"The village, yes," Keikano agreed. "And I must go back again now. You have no idea," he said sadly. Then: "What is that thing you do with your hand?"
Pick my nose," Chip laughed. "You mean this,
" he added. Lovett heard a mild slap of hands and knew that his grandson was instructing this fey little fellow in the ways of the High Five.
From near the doorway: "Dangle free," from Keikano.
"That's 'hang loose.' You, too," Chip said, and released a long sigh.
After a moment he said, "Pop?" Lovett rolled over, yawned for effect.
"Yeah, Chip."
"You weren't asleep," the youth accused. "How much did you hear?"
"All of it, I think. That is one troubled youngster."
"He's a mixed batch, all right. Mostly he seems worried about us. Man, I am flogged, hammered, thrashed." Chip leaned over and blew out the lamp.
"We used to say we felt shot at and missed, and shit at and hit," Lovett chuckled. "More fine nuances for your mom's society gatherings."
"I'll be sure and use it for von Wart, just to watch his expression,"
said Chip, sounding half-asleep.
"One thing, Chip: how'd you know I wasn't asleep? I was inert as a statue."
"That's why, Pop. You roll around when you sleep like you were practicing for the hammer throw. In the past ten years you've kicked my slats out a dozen times. It's always been a mystery to me how you can burn up mifty krillion calories all night long and wake up full of energy."
"You never mentioned that," Lovett said.
"What for? A man can't help what he is," said Chip, mumbling it.
"G'night, Pop."
Lovett said gently, in an old exchange lovingly quoted, "Sleep tight, Chip." But Chip needed no encouragement for that.
Their work parties changed for the next two days, Coop Gunther reconditioning the Letoumeau with Pilau's help, Mel Benteen serving as his combination gofer and translator to Filau. This was a stratagem deftly chosen by Reventio for her safety, after Lovett reported on the booby-trap scenario. Using two motor scooters, the cave party carried hammers and other tools from the maintenance sheds, tiedown ropes, and gourds of water to the cave's hidden mouth. After pulling away mats heavy and damp with residual rain, they set about tying cord age loops, fitting stout sticks, and sending Chip down to insert the rope ladders so that they dropped down inside the wall.