Читать книгу The Tarantula Stone - Philip Caveney - Страница 12

Martin was running down a long fleshy tunnel, its walls misty and ill-defined; but at the far end of it, the tarantula stone glittered enticingly, spinning around on the empty air like some mysterious alien planet. It seemed to have grown in size, as large now as a football, and within its glittering heart the spider pulsed, its body seeming to rise and fall as though it were actually breathing. He concentrated all his energy on reaching the end of the tunnel, but his actions were sluggish, his legs heavy, as though he were rooted in the thick clinging mud of a jungle stream. The harder he strove to cover the distance, the farther the end of the tunnel seemed to be.

He woke with a start and sat blinking in momentary confusion. Then he remembered and he instantly slid a hand to the inside of his shirt; with a shock of pure terror, he realized that the pouch was no longer there. He turned to speak to Claudio, but it was not the friendly Portuguese who sat beside him now; it was Agnello, his purple face wreathed in a friendly smile. He opened his mouth to speak and something came tumbling out, something fat and furry and obscene. A tarantula. It fell into his lap with a dull plopping sound and it was followed by another and another and another …

‘Jesus Christ!’ Martin opened his eyes and the back of the seat in front of him came abruptly into focus. He reached out a hand to stroke the fabric of it, anxious to reassure himself that this time he really was awake. His trembling fingers found the leather pouch against his clammy chest; and when he turned, fearfully, it was to find Claudio Ormeto sleeping peacefully beside him. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he whispered again and gave a long sigh of relief. He fumbled for his cigarettes and placed one in his mouth, which felt as dry as a desert. He leaned over and glanced back along the aisle, searching for the hostess. She came forward with an undisguised scowl on her face.

What is this charm I have? thought Martin dryly. She looks like she hates my guts.

Helen came and stood beside Martin’s seat. ‘Yes?’ she inquired mechanically; and Martin noticed that she was not even looking at him but that her eyes were fixed intently on the door to the pilot’s cabin.

‘I was wondering if I could have that drink now?’

‘Drink …?’ She seemed hardly to have registered what he had said. ‘I uh … what kind of …?’

‘Excuse me, but is there something wrong?’

She turned now to stare at him. ‘Wrong? What do you mean? Why should there be anything wrong?’

Martin shrugged. ‘Well, I don’t know. You just seem a little disturbed, somehow.’

Helen shook her head. ‘I’m tired, that’s all. I’m sorry, Mr …’

‘Martin. My name’s Martin.’

‘I’m sorry Mr Martin. Now what drink was it you wanted?’

He ordered a Scotch and soda and watched as the girl threw another intense look at the pilot’s door and then moved away. Probably had an argument with her old man. He glanced back at his sleeping companion, then at his watch. He had slept for just over an hour. He found his matches and lit the cigarette that still drooped from the corner of his mouth. When he got to Belém, he’d search out the best hotel and just climb into bed and stay there until it was time to pick up his flight to Europe. Right now, the luxury of sleeping between clean sheets in a soft double bed seemed the most incredible experience a man could wish for. Later he would think of much more imaginative pleasures.

A glass was pushed unceremoniously into his hand.

‘Er, thanks a lot.’ He gazed at the whisky. The contents were nearly slopping over the brim of the glass. There must have been nearly four shots in there. ‘Say lady, if you’re planning to send me back to sleep, you’re going the right way about it.’ He glanced up at her but she was staring apprehensively at that damned door. ‘Look, honey, what’s the matter? Is somebody in there giving you a hard time?’

She glared at him. ‘No,’ she snapped ungraciously. ‘Of course not!’ She turned and stalked away. Martin sighed.

‘If I carry on at this rate,’ he murmured to himself, ‘she’ll be wanting to marry me by the time we land.’ He chuckled and took a large swallow of his drink. It tasted warm and unpleasant, making him long for a handful of crushed ice.

He leaned across Claudio and stared out of the window. Below there was nothing but a wilderness of jungle, stretching in every direction as far as the eye could see.

What a Godforsaken place, he thought. Brazil must be the ass-hole of the world. Nothin’ down there but trees, snakes and savages … He felt suddenly very vulnerable, comparing the tiny, insect-like plane to the vast all-encompassing jungle far below.

Mike was getting desperate. The plane was fast approaching the point of no return and still the kid with the gun had not let his guard down enough for the pilots to risk jumping him. He stood just at the back of their seats, tense and watchful, swinging his gun from right to left at the merest sound from either of them, and he would question every little move they made towards the control panel. It was clear that at some time the boy had received extensive training on the subject of aircraft and it would clearly be unwise to try and hoodwink him in any way. There was only one point in Mike’s favour. The boy did not know about the shotgun tucked away by the pilot’s feet. But to have the gun there was one thing; to use it quite another. It would take several seconds to snatch the gun up, swing it around and fire – no need to aim of course, in the cramped confines of the cabin, but without some kind of diversion, it was folly to even attempt it. The boy’s gun was already aimed and he was jumpy enough to fire at the slighest movement. Besides, there was Ricardo to consider. So Mike just kept asking questions, hoping to needle the boy into making a mistake.

‘Look kid, why don’t you tell me about this organization you’re workin’ for, huh?’

‘I don’ work for no organization,’ the boy sneered.

‘Well, whatever you call it. If I’m gonna fly all this way on account of something, I figure I ought to know what it’s all about.’

‘You don’ need to know nothin’! Just keep doin’ what you’re doin’.’

Mike turned to grin at Ricardo. ‘Helpful kind of guy.’

‘Sure is.’ Ricardo fixed Mike with a curious stare, trying to transmit a silent message in his eyes. The copilot’s gaze moved rapidly across and down to the area at Mike’s feet, then came back to glare encouragingly at him. Mike stiffened, because he had recognized the message and he didn’t like it. It seemed to say: ‘I’m going to try something. Back me up.’

Mike framed the word no with his lips, but Ricardo was already starting.

‘Hey kid, listen, I gotta go take a leak, you know? It’s been ages …’ As he spoke, he began to unbuckle his safety belt, as though taking it for granted that the boy would give him permission to leave.

The gun swung across to cover him. ‘You just stay right where you are, senhor.’

‘Hey, but look, you know … we’ve been flying for over three hours. We’ve still got a long way to go. What am I supposed to do, piss in my pants?’

‘Yeah, if you have to. I sure as hell ain’t gonna let you go out back.’

‘Hey, but look, I gotta go real bad …’

Surreptitiously, Mike reached his hands into his lap and unclipped his seat belt. Ricardo was still talking, half-rising from his chair, his arms outstretched. Mike began to lean slightly forward, so he could reach down to touch the butt of the shotgun.

‘Hey you, whatcha doin’?’

Mike turned his head to look back at the boy. ‘Nothin’, just stretching a little …’

‘You hold still!’ He waved the gun at Ricardo. ‘And you, I’m tellin’ you to sit down. Do it now!’

Ricardo would not let the idea alone. He began to move forward, out of his seat, his hands held up above his head. ‘I tell you what, I’ll make a deal with you –’

That was as far as he got. The boy stepped forward and brought the barrel of his pistol down with sickening force against the side of the co-pilot’s head. He reeled back and collapsed against his seat. He was out cold.

‘You little bastard!’ snapped Mike. ‘Why did you do that?’

‘Because he was trying something, that’s why.’ The boy prodded Ricardo’s inert form with his right foot.

‘You could have killed him. You didn’t have to hit him so hard.’

‘Maybe not. Anyway, we don’t need him.’ He leaned forward and, picking up Ricardo’s charts, threw them contemptuously into Mike’s lap. ‘It’s easier to watch one man than two. Now, Captain, don’t do nothin’ stupid. Remember, you’re responsible for all them good passengers back there … and the girl too. I guess you wanna get her ass back down in one piece, huh?’

‘You lousy bastard,’ said Mike tonelessly.

‘Sure, Chefe,’ the boy chuckled, ‘that’s the way. You just call me whatever you like; and make damn sure you get us to that airstrip. Look at the distance we’re puttin’ behind us. Soon, there won’t be any other place in reach.’

Then it’s gotta be soon, thought Mike calmly. Ricardo’s out of the way now and if the bastard doesn’t give me an opening I’ll have to make one.

He unfolded Ricardo’s chart and placed it on his lap, pretending to study it intently; but all the time he kept his gaze fixed on the wooden butt of the shotgun. He figured he had maybe another fifteen minutes to wait for an opening; then, ready or not, he would have to make his move.

Claudio woke with a yawn. He stretched himself luxuriously and ran a hand through his black hair. He scratched himself and turned to blink at Martin.

‘Oh, how I hate these long flights! Forgive me, senhor, but you looked so comfortable, I decided to join you.’

‘Don’t mention it! Would you like a drink? They do an interesting warm triple whisky here.’

‘Oh no thank you. Too early in the day for me. You have the time, please?’

‘Sure. It’s a little after four, so I guess we’ve done about half of it. First thing I do when I get to Belém is find a good hotel room with a hot shower.’ The hostess moved past him to take drinks to the seat in front. He watched thoughtfully as she bent forward and handed the glasses to the old couple who sat there. ‘On second thoughts, make that a cold shower.’

Claudio chuckled. ‘Oh, Senhor Taggart, I fear that you are beyond saving! But at any rate, I think I can recommend a good hotel that …’ Claudio’s voice trailed away in mid sentence. He was looking out of the window at the landscape below.

‘Somethin’ wrong?’ inquired Martin, puzzled by his silence.

‘Well … it is only that we … appear to have changed direction.’

‘What?’

‘I have flown this route many times. The jungle below looks different somehow.’

‘Hell, I wouldn’t know one piece of Brazil from the next. Maybe we’re just flyin’ a different way.’

‘I hardly think so.’ Claudio was standing up now, craning his head around to peer this way and that through the window.

‘Hey, take it easy, Christopher Columbus! I’m sure the crew know where they’re headed.’

‘Yes, but you see, there’s something of a mystery here.’ He sat down in his seat, looking vaguely perplexed. ‘When we took off this morning, flying almost due north, the sun was, of course, to our right and slightly in front of us. Now, at … just after four, I think you said … we would surely expect it to be to our left.’

Martin nodded. ‘Sounds logical.’

‘But it is not! It is right in front of us.’

‘Which means?’

‘Which means we are flying west … back towards the middle of Brazil, towards the headwaters of the Amazon.’ He shook his head. ‘But that doesn’t make any kind of sense. There’s nothing that way but jungle.’ He stood up again and began to peer back towards the rear of the plane.

Martin frowned. He looked up at the hostess again. The old people in front were asking her interminable questions in Portuguese and she was answering them, but her gaze was, once again, fixed on the door.

‘Maybe there is something wrong,’ murmured Martin. He waited until the hostess had finished with the questions and then, as she turned to walk past him, reached out and grabbed her wrist.

She looked down at him in surprise. ‘I asked you before if there was anything wrong,’ he told her quietly. ‘Now I’m asking you again.’

‘What do you mean?’ she blustered. ‘Everything’s fine … now, please let go of my arm.’ But Martin kept hold and pulled her gently but firmly closer.

‘My friend here seems to think we’ve changed course,’ he said beneath his breath. ‘And you seem damned interested in what’s going on behind that door. If anything is wrong, I think you’d better tell us, now.’

She stared at him for a moment, a look of indecision in her eyes. ‘It’s a … a temporary change of course,’ she stammered. ‘A fuel correction, that’s all.’

But Claudio shook his head. ‘That doesn’t make any sense. We’re heading inland, aren’t we?’ She lowered her head, her lips pursed. ‘Aren’t we?’ repeated Claudio, a little louder.

Helen glanced nervously around. ‘Please, the other passengers …’

‘Then tell us the truth,’ persisted Martin.

‘All right, I’ll tell you, but please keep your voices down. I don’t want a panic on my hands. There’s a man in the cabin … a young man, seventeen, maybe eighteen. He’s got a gun.’ She waited a moment for this to sink in, then she continued, talking quickly and methodically. ‘He marched me in there hours ago. He made them change course; as you said, inland towards the Mato Grosso. I heard him say something about an airstrip in the jungle. That’s all I know, but please, I beg you not to try anything. He said if anyone tried to go in at the door he’d shoot Mike … he’d shoot the captain and his co-pilot. Besides, the door’s bolted from the inside. There’s nothing anyone can do.’

Martin and Claudio exchanged glances.

‘I hate to admit it,’ muttered Claudio, ‘but I think she’s right.’

Martin nodded. He glanced back at the girl. ‘And you’ve known this for the last few hours? Christ, no wonder you’ve been such a grouch.’ He brightened a little. ‘Say, does this mean there’s still a chance for me?’

She stared at him in mild disbelief and then, despite herself, she had to smile. ‘I’ll tell you the answer to that if and when we get out of this mess.’

‘Lady, you’ve got some style,’ observed Martin. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Helen. Helen Brody.’

‘Well, Helen Brody, I think you’re a brave girl. And now you can have your arm back.’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t believe this conversation,’ she said simply; and she turned and made her way back to the rear of the plane, feeling better for having shared her problems.

‘What happens now?’ asked Claudio blankly.

Martin shrugged. ‘You got me, Mister. I guess we’ll just have to sit tight and sweat.’ He tilted his glass and drained the remainder of its contents. ‘Like the lady said, we can’t risk going in there. Even if we could kick the door down, the pilots would be dead before we could help ’em. Of course, the kid with the gun could be bluffing but I wouldn’t like to take that chance.’ He stared blankly ahead for a moment, then brought his fist down suddenly on his knee. ‘Of all the Goddamn flights I have to wind up on a Jonah!’

Claudio sighed. ‘I feel as bad about it as you do, but surely we aren’t going to sit here and do nothing?’

‘I don’t see what the hell else we can do; not while we’re still in the air. Maybe when we touch down at wherever it is we’re headed for …’ He glanced slyly at Claudio. ‘You carry a gun?’

Claudio shook his head. ‘There’s a handgun in my luggage; a couple of rifles too.’

‘Not much use to us there,’ observed Martin dryly. ‘Well, Claudio, you’re in luck. I just happen to have a spare pistol in my carpet bag here.’ He nudged the bag with his foot and Claudio raised his eyebrows slightly.

‘Do you always travel so well prepared for trouble?’ he inquired.

Martin declined to answer the question. ‘The way I see it,’ he continued, ‘the kid’ll have to come out this way when we land. If he comes past us, it shouldn’t be too much of a job to blow him away, though we’d have to be damned sure the pilots didn’t stand a chance of being hit.’

‘Why just the pilots? There are other people on board.’

‘Yeah, but we don’t need any of them to fly our way out of there. The trouble is, I can’t see the kid taking us way out into the jungle unless he’s expecting a sizeable reception committee.’

‘And what are we meant to do meanwhile? Just sit here and wait?’

‘Well, I can’t think of anything better, I must admit.’ Martin chuckled bitterly. ‘You know, Claudio, for a little while there I really thought that for once things were going to happen like I wanted.’

‘You found a diamond, didn’t you?’ said Claudio unexpectedly.

Martin choked on his own breath. He turned slowly to face the Portuguese. ‘Claudio,’ he murmured. ‘You keep saying things that make me very nervous. A little while ago, I suggested you might be some kind of detective. Bearing in mind that I had to kill the last guy who found out, I’d sure like to know what made you say that.’

Claudio’s dark eyes gazed back at him, frank and unafraid. ‘It was a very easy deduction to make, senhor. You must remember, I know the garimpeiros well, half of my work is with meeting them. I know too that there are only a small number of ways that a man can escape from that life. He can die … he can become ill with the maculo and be carried away on a stretcher … and just once in a while, he may find a diamond big enough to chance running with. You clearly do not fit the first two descriptions … so it follows that you are making a run.’ He smiled. ‘I can assure you that I have no personal interest in your find. Wealth holds no great lure for me. On the contrary, I wish you luck.’ And then he added, cryptically. ‘You will need it.’

Martin looked at Claudio. The man’s face was open, peaceful and somehow without the slightest trace of deceit. ‘I must be getting old or soft in the head,’ he muttered at last, ‘but I think I believe you. Still, just the same, I wish you hadn’t told me what you know.’

Claudio looked puzzled. ‘Why is that?’

‘Because if the diamond ever goes missing … it’s you that I’ll have to come looking for.’

Claudio smiled disarmingly. ‘Believe me, Senhor Taggart. You are probably looking at the last honest man in all of Brazil.’ He brightened a little. ‘At least there is one good thing to come from all this.’

‘Yeah? What’s that?’

‘The ones you are running from will never think of looking in the middle of the Mato Grosso.’

Martin grinned. ‘I guess I never looked at it that way.’ The point of no return had long been passed, the designated last fifteen minutes had elapsed fully an hour and a half ago and still Mike’s opportunity had not come. He glanced sideways at Ricardo. The young pilot remained slumped against his seat, his forehead matted with congealed blood. Apart from the steady rise and fall of his chest, there had been no sign of life since he had fallen. Meanwhile, the kid with the gun remained vigilant, standing just a few feet to Mike’s rear. It was silent in the cabin, for Mike had long since given up the idea of breaking the boy’s concentration by flinging questions at him. What he needed now, he mused glumly, was a miracle, an act of God; as if in answer to some silent prayer, one came along.

The plane began to lurch and buck alarmingly.

‘Hey, what’s this?’ snapped the boy suspiciously. He jabbed the gun barrel into Mike’s neck.

‘Relax, it’s just some air turbulence. We’re passing over a range of hills.’

The boy peered out of the window to validate this statement; then he became alert again as Mike reached for his intercom.

‘OK, leave it be. I don’t want any messing around.’