by Ahern, Jerry
He kept moving. The ground shook exceedingly violently and Rolvaag stumbled, catching himself on his left hand. Bremen was either not so quick or not so lucky, falling almost flat. As Rolvaag started to stand he faintly heard the noise of a helicopter. He looked up and saw a machine rising over the artificial horizon of the cone. It was not the Naval helicopter which had brought them here and waited now some distance off shore to be called back for pickup. But as they had flown out here, Rolvaag, despite his immersion in his own efforts, could not have avoided even if he had tried, hearing of the theft of Admiral Hayes’s helicopter and the rescue from captivity of Martin Zimmer by Nazi commandos.
As Carl Bremen slowly and evidently in some pain started to his feet, Rolvaag said to him, “We have to get up toward the height of the shield, the summit. That helicopter.”
Bremen asked, “What is it? What is wrong, professor?”
Rolvaag stared toward the cone, never looking at Bremen as he said, “Remember what the pilot said? Our pilot. That Doctor Rourke had instructed all aircraft in the area to look for signs of the commando unit having landed, that the stolen helicopter might be put on autopilot and flown away as a diversion?”
Immediately after the theft of Admiral Hayes’s helicopter all communication frequencies had been altered to guard against Nazi interception. “What if that commando squad landed here with Martin Zimmer? That helicopter looked like it was taking off not just passing overhead.” By now, ever since the capture of Martin Zimmer, almost everyone on the islands with any sort of official connections knew that Martin Zimmer was not only of strategic value to the United States as a potential bargaining tool in the impending war with Eden, but that Zimmer was John Rourke’s only chance to force the infamous Nazi doctor, Deitrich Zimmer, to perform restorative surgery on John Rourke’s wife, Sarah.
Without John Rourke’s taking him to Admiral Hayes and helping him to present the Diversion Theory, Thorn Rolvaag knew that precious hours, perhaps days, would have been lost in reaching the right ears.
If Martin Zimmer were somewhere beyond the height of the volcano’s shield, Thorn Rolvaag could not just calmly go ahead with his measurements and escape to safety. He would have to confirm that Zimmer was or was not here on the volcano and if Zimmer were there, return the favor to John Rourke by communicating that data.
Rolvaag turned to Bremen “Look Carl, you can do these measurements as well as I can. We both know that. I’ll stay in radio contact with you, answer any questions you might have, but I’m going up to take a look on the other side of the shield. You’ve got a gun. Keep it handy.”
Thorn Rolvaag slung the SP-89 forward on its sling, drawing the bolt rearward and upward then slapping the bolt handle down out of its notch, letting the bolt fly forward to strip the top round from the magazine. A second magazine was clipped beside and parallel to the first. He had sixty rounds of ammunition. To save on weight, he had left his conventional-sized handgun aboard the aircraft.
He looked at Bremen, “All right, I’m going. Be alert. You know as well as I do that one of these cracks could turn into a full lava flow at any second.”
And then, Thorn Rolvaag changed direction and started toward the summit of the shield. He started asking himself questions, the principal of which as he moved through the purpling darkness was, just what would he do if he did see Martin Zimmer and a squad of Nazi commandos? He forced the thoughts from his mind as he quickened his pace.
42
The fighter banked gently, evenly, but rapidly to port under her hands as she climbed it in preparation of another ascending sweep over her assigned section of the grid. Even with the best night vision equipment available, all Emma Shaw could see was the blackness of the ocean.
And she still wasn’t one hundred percent firm in her mind as to what action she would take should she see the Admiral’s helicopter. She listened attentively as the revised orders had come in over the new frequency she’d been instructed to tune to, these instructions relayed to her in person from the crew chief on the flight line just as she was prepared to close her canopy.
It was hoped that the faked radio messages that would be sent out over the usual frequencies would delude the men aboard the stolen helicopter, but there was no reason to assume that they wouldn’t be scanning a wide range of frequencies and pick up the en clair transmissions despite the precautions. The new orders were based on a theory of John’s, and the idea did make sense. If she had stolen the Admiral’s helicopter, she would have done what John supposed the Nazis were doing. And, because of her agreement with the new orders, she was doubly frustrated searching empty ocean.
But, orders were orders, and she usually obeyed them.
She attained level flight and almost immediately contacted her wingmen. “This is Lookout Five to Lookout Five Alpha and Bravo. Tm at altitude and about to begin next search sequence. Signal that you copy, Over.”
Lookout Five Alpha and Lookout Five Bravo responded in turn.
She queried them as to their positions: Alpha was fMshing a search pattern, had picked up a blip of something on the horizon and gone to investigate, but the blip turned out to be only a Russian freighter steaming toward the Orient. Bravo was nearly at altitude and would be commencing his next search pattern approximately a minute after Commander Emma Shaw began hers.
She started into a dive, the chest holster which carried her Lancer 2570A2-C 9mm Caseless pressed hard against her left breast by the G-Force. Emma Shaw hoped that John Rourke was right, that instead of out here somewhere over the vast expanse of the Pacific, the Nazi commando team and their prize, Martin Zimmer, were someplace safe-where they could be found by John Rourke …
There were seven men, two of them in Navy dress whites, all the others in work uniforms, one of these-he was tall, slender-Rol-vaag observed through the binoculars to be in manacles of some sort. The men in dress whites were changing clothes while the chained man spoke to them. The man in chains-as Rolvaag watched, the handcuffs were removed and so was the belly chain-looked to be black, all the others white.
But, once the chains were removed, the black man appeared to be peeling away his skin.
Thorn Rolvaag took his eyes from the tubes of his vision intensification binoculars, squinted, closed his eyes, opened them again. There was a fumarole less than fifty yards from where Rolvaag lay in hiding just inside the cone, the noxious, sulphurous smell of volcanic gas discharge giving him a headache. The interior of the crater was upwind of the fumarole and the seven men seemed unaffected. Soon, Rolvaag knew, it would be necessary for him to don his breathing unit, either that or pass out.
He wished that he could hear what was being said …
Croenberg smiled as he sat on the end of a flat rock in order to tie his track shoes. A good officer learned to realize when it was wisest to discard even the best thought-out plan in the face of enor
mous opportunity. Such was now the case. He had planned to leave young Martin shackled, then order the men to execute him. But this idea was even better.
“And, so you see, Gruppenfiihrer, this place is most unacceptable. We could all die here, because this volcano might erupt,” Martin Zimmer went on, prattling as always about his safety, his comfort,
“Martin, would your old friend let you be endangered? Of course not!”
“The Gruppenfiihrer is right, Herr Zimmer,” Rauph said in Croenberg’s defense, slipping a web harness across his shoulders as he spoke. “All of us, Herr Zimmer, are devoted to your safety even at the cost of our own lives.”
“Indeed,” Croenberg agreed. One shoe tied, now the other.
The shoulder harness Rauph donned was fitted with a knife on either side, one beneath each armpit. Rauph seemed never to be without it. “The Gruppenfurer could not have known about the volcano, Herr Zimmer. Is this not so, Herr Groppenfuhrer.”
“Indeed, Rauph. But, it is a happy circumstance, bringing confusion to our enemies and enabling us to hide here better while we await transportation. I am ce
rtain it is nothing to worry about.” And the volcanic activity was proving fortunate in another way that Croenberg could never have imagined but in which Croenberg now saw considerable advantage. This would cost him the lives of five loyal comrades, of course, but to have had these men survive with the guilty knowledge they would have possessed might have been too dangerous to suffer at any event. So, they would have had to be killed at a future date. It was better to let them die now.
He was reminded of the Pharaonic method for keeping a secret. The ancient Egyptians would have slaves bury their treasure or their kings-the present occasion would be more similar to the burial of a king-and these slaves guarded by trusted priests. The priests would kill the slaves, then the tongues of the priests would be cut out to keep the secret forever.
Croenberg would especially miss Rauph, and Croenberg toyed with the idea of sparing the young officer’s life. But to take the field commander away might have looked suspicious to the other four men. Croenberg looked at Rauph as he said, “I think, my friend, that it is best for me to establish that the safe house to which we intend repairing is, indeed, safe. We cannot risk our Martin’s being recaptured. I had not anticipated the enormity of the search force arrayed against us. Would you agree, that I should go on alone and send the plane back?” Croenberg had, wisely, ordered that all frequencies be scanned, and as a result knew that Doctor Rourke had second-guessed their basic plan. But Croenberg followed through with it anyway based on information he had heard while setting the scanning monitor. That information was in the form of radio communications between the control tower at Pearl Harbor and the massive cargo planes which filled the skies above the base and flew from Oahu toward the island of Hawaii. There was an evacuation in progress because Kilauea was erupting.
Because of the way Croenberg phrased the question, Rauph could not contradict him without appearing insubordinate or, at the feast, distrustful. “Yes, Herr Groppenfuhrer. That does sound best, that the safe house should be investigated. But, I would volunteer, Herr Gruppenfiihrer, to undertake this mission personally.”
Was Rauph smarter than he supposed? Croenberg dismissed that idea. “Good man, but I shall go it alone, I think.” And Croenberg clapped young Rauph on the shoulder. He genuinely liked the boy for his ruthlessness, his obedience, his loyalty, his courage.
“Groppenfuhrer?”
Croenberg turned to look at young Martin, worked to disguise the disgust he felt for this young man. Nearly all of the theatrical makeup was off and Martin’s own face was once again his own. “Yes, Martin?”
“Is it safe to wait here? The volcano, I mean, the eruption?”
“These volcanoes in Hawaii are always doing this, Martin! You should read more, my young friend. You will be perfecdy safe.” In fact, as the snippets of radio traffic had indicated, this volcanic cone was quite possibly the least safe place on the face of the earth, now.
Croenberg glanced at his watch beneath the beam of the small flashlight from his pocket. In two minutes, if the pilot were prompt, he would board the vertical takeoff jet and be gone.
And the death of young Martin and of Rauph and all the others
would be a great tragedy rather than a murder which would need to be hidden beneath more murders…
As Rolvaag donned the oxygen breather, he heard the thunder of jet engines from above. And, as he looked, he saw a V-stol cargo craft swooping in from the west out of the purple night.
He spoke into his radio set as soon as the air flow was adjusted to his comfort. This is Rolvaag calling Navy 189 Charlie 18. This is Rolvaag calling Navy 189 Charlie 18. Come in Navy.” He forgot to say “Over,” so he added that lamely.
The pilot’s voice came back to him. “This is Navy Helicopter 189 Charlie 18, Doctor Rolvaag. Reading you loud and clear. Over.”
“Patch me in-” That was the correct term, he thought. “Patch me in at once to Doctor Rourke. I have what he’s looking for.” Rolvaag watched as the V-stol landed near the center of the crater. But only one man walked toward the aircraft. And it wasn’t the one who looked like a somewhat weaker version of John Rourke himself.
43
John Rourke stripped away the radio headphones. He stayed in the chair beside the console, staring at its buttons and dials and diodes as he told Paul Rubenstein, “Rolvaag has spotted them. One of them left by jump jet, but the others-six men, one of them Martin-stayed behind.”
“Where?”
Now Rourke stood up and looked at his friend. ‘The volcano.” Paul literally took a step back. The one-ohh shit.” John Rourke smiled at his friend, then looked at the communications officer who stood near the door. “Ensign?” “Yes, sir?”
Ensign Clyde was a pretty young woman in her very early twenties, light chocolate brown skin and the darkest brown eyes Rourke could remember combining to give her a look of wonderful innocence. “Ensign, I need your help.”
“Whatever the General would require, sir-“
“It’s a favor. This radio message. I know you have it on tape and it’s logged automatically on the computer. I want you to hold back on notifying base headquarters of the contents of this message for fifteen minutes.”
“But, sir, I-“
“Ensign. This will be an easy favor.” And John Rourke reached under his jacket and drew one of the twin stainless Detonics .45s, not actually pointing the gun at her, but letting her see it. “Now you can say I forced you to cooperate.” And Rourke looked at Paul. Tm taking a helicopter and going in. You keep an eye on the Ensign until fifteen minutes have passed.”
“Another way, John. You’re not going alone.” “He’s my son-1 can’t ask you-“
Tm your friend,” Paul reminded him. “You can’t stop me, even with one of those.” And Paul nodded toward the pistol. “But Michael’s arm’s still bothering him a litde. And I don’t think Annie or Natalia should come along.”
John Rourke felt the corners of his mouth raising slightly in a smile. It would be like the old days, the two of them, friends in life and friends to the death. “All right. But Rolvaag says the eruption is already starting. It could be hours or minutes before the top of that mountain blows, and he thinks that’s only a prelude to an even larger eruption.”
“Then we’d better get started. And the Ensign can accompany us to the airfield. Then she can walk back. That’ll give us fifteen minutes or more.”
John Rourke looked at Ensign Clyde and smiled. “Sorry, Ensign.”
44
Thorn Rolvaag could hardly see. The fumarole near where he had hidden to observe the men in the cone now spewed gas at such a furious pace that great clouds of the vile sulphurous mixture enveloped the mountaintop. But the interior of the cone, when he’d moved out, was still free of the gas, instead the winds still blowing the gas out toward the sea.
Although he considered his work done-he’d reported to Doctor Rourke, returned the favor done to him-he would have been forced to evacuate the position at any event, no choice left to him unless he wished to be killed.
The vents which lined the shield like great glowing veins had begun to spill forth magma. It was pahoehoe, fluid and fast moving. And, even as he moved along the shield now, it was necessary at times to change from his intended path, as geysers of magma would spout before him, brightly flaming liquid rock soaring skyward, raining down and scorching the ground, flowing before him as if the mountainside itself were his enemy, trying to trap him in its killing ground.
The oxygen mask was a blessing, because without it he would have been dead.
A lava flow was moving downward along the shield roughly from right to left in relation to Rolvaag’s line of travel. He jumped it, only about eighteen inches wide here, running now before he was truly cut off. He spoke into his radio again. “Navy, come in and get us. Come in and get us.”
Tm already on my way, Doc. Keep your radio open so I can home in on you. If you shoot off a flare, I’ll never see it. Be
ready, ‘cause Fm not anxious to wait. Out.�
��
Rolvaag kept moving, panting into the radio, “Carl? Do you have the pressure measurements?”
There was no response.
“Carl? Answer me, damnit.”
But there was no response. Rolvaag, his breath coming so fast he was afraid that he would hyperventilate on the oxygen mixture, scanned the shield below him, for some sight of Carl Bremen. If the young man had gotten into trouble, gotten hurt, Rolvaag knew he would never forgive himself.
The ground only a few yards ahead of Rolvaag split and the mountainside trembled. Rolvaag fell. Magma rolled up with more force than Rolvaag would have imagined possible, spouting into the purple smoke already engulfing the mountainside and flowing like white water over rapids across the slabs of volcanic rock it dislodged, pushing them along with tremendous force, tearing loose every rock and boulder in its path.
“Carl. I need you to answer me. The helicopter is coming in to get us. But I need you to answer me.”
There was still no answer.
As Rolvaag moved, he realized suddenly that he was lost, that the entire landscape had so violently and suddenly altered that there were no landmarks. And fear, cold and sickening and overpowering seized him, and his breathing was so rapid now that he was becoming light headed. “Carl!”
There was still no answer.
Thorn Rolvaag stopped dead in his tracks. He forced his breathing to slow, spoke as calmly as he could into the radio microphone before his lips. “Navy, can you hear me?”
“Reading you Loud and Clear, Doc. If you hold to your current position, I’ll find you. Keep talking me in. Then we can find Mr. Bremen together. Over.”
“That seems like a good idea.”
“Glad you see it my way Doc. Keep talking. Whafs your favorite baseball team? Over.” “The Oahu Eagles.”