The Last Place God Made

FOURTEEN

At two o'clock that afternoon the steam barge dropped me at Landro, pausing at the jetty only for as long as it took me to step over the rail. I waved as it moved away and got no reply which didn't particularly surprise me. During the entire trip, Silvio had not spoken to me once and the Indian deckhands had kept away from me. Whatever he was up to was no business of mine, but it was certainly illegal, I was sure of that.

A couple of locals were down on the beach beneath the jetty beside their canoes mending nets. They looked casually up as I walked by, then carried on with their task.

There was something missing — something which didn't fit. I paused on the riverbank, frowning over it, then realised what it was. The mission launch was no longer tied up at the jetty. So they'd finally decided to get out? In a way, that surprised me.

An even bigger surprise waited when I crossed the airstrip. The Hayley stood in the open ready for off as I would have expected, but when I reached the hangar, I saw to my amazement that the Bristol stood inside. Now how could that be?

There was no one about. Even the military radio section had been cleared. In fact, there was something of an air of desolation to the place. I helped myself to a whisky from the bottle on the table then climbed up to the observer's cockpit of the Bristol and found the 10-gauge still in its special compartment and a couple of boxes of steel buckshot.

I loaded up as I crossed the airstrip. All very dramatic, I suppose, but the chips were down now with a vengeance and I was going to have the truth out of him for the whole world to see, nothing was more certain.

I tried the house first, approaching cautiously from the rear and entering by the back door. I needn't have bothered. There was no one there. There was another mystery here also. My old room had been cleared of any sign that Joanna Martin had ever inhabited it, but Mannie had very obviously not moved back in for neither of the two beds was made up.

It was a different story in Hannah's old room. It stank like a urinal and from the look of things had very probably been used for that purpose. The bed had been recently slept in, sheets and blankets scattered to the floor and someone had vomited by the window.

I got out of there fast, my stomach heaving, and moved towards Landro, the shotgun in the crook of my left arm. Again, there was this quality of déja vu to everything. As if I had taken this same walk many times before, which in a way, I had. The same hopeless faces on the veranda of the houses, the same dirty, verminous little children playing underneath.

Time was a circle, no beginning, no end and I would take this walk for all eternity. A disquieting thought to say the least and then, when I was ten or fifteen yards away from the hotel, I heard the crash of glass breaking, a woman screamed and a chair came through one of the windows.

A moment later, the door was flying open and Mannie backed out slowly. Beyond him, Hannah stood inside the bar clutching a broken bottle by the neck.

It was Hannah who saw me first — saw a ghost walk before him. A look of stupefaction appeared on his face, his grip slackened, the bottle fell to the floor.

He was certainly a sight, no resemblance at all to the man I had met that first day beside the Vega. This was a human wreck. Bloodshot eyes, face swollen by drink, the linen suit indescribably filthy and soaked in liquor.

Mannie glanced over his shoulder. His eyes widened. ‘God in Heaven, we have miracles now? You're supposed to be dead in some swamp on the Seco. We had a message on the radio from Manaus last night. What happened?’

‘My luck turned, that's what happened.’ I went up the steps to join him. ‘How long has he been like this?’

‘Fifteen or sixteen hours. He's trying to kill himself, I think. His own judge and jury.’

‘And why should he do that?’

‘You know as well as I do, damn you.’

‘Well, thanks for speaking up for me,’ I said. ‘You were a real friend in need.’

He said instantly, ‘I didn't know till the night before last when he started raving. Didn't know for sure, anyway. Even then, what proof did I have? You were pretty mad when you left here, remember? Capable of most things.’

Hannah had simply stood there inside the door during this conversation staring stupidly at me as if not comprehending. And then some sort of light seemed to dawn.

‘Well, I'll be damned,’ he said. ‘The boy wonder. And how was Devil's Island?’

I moved in close, the barrel of the 10-gauge coming up. Mannie cried out in alarm, a woman screamed, Figueiredo's wife standing with her husband behind the bar. Hannah laughed foolishly, took a swipe at me and almost lost his balance, would have done if he hadn't fallen against me, knocking the barrel of the shotgun to one side.

He had a stink on him like an open grave, a kind of general corruption that was more total in its effect than any mere physical decay. I was seeing a human being disintegrate before my eyes.

I lowered my gun and pushed him away gently. ‘Why don't you sit down, Sam?’

He staggered back and flung his arms wide. ‘Well, if that don't beat all? Would you listen to the boy wonder turning the other cheek.’

He blundered along the counter sending glasses flying. ‘But I fixed you, wonder boy. I really fixed you good.’

Figueiredo glanced at me, frowning. I said, ‘Nobody fixed me, Sam, I just got caught, that's all.’

The remark didn't seem to get through to him and in any event, was unnecessary for he condemned himself out of his own mouth with no prompting from me.

He reached across the counter, grabbing Figueiredo by the front of his jacket. ‘Heh, listen to this. This is good. Wonder boy, here, was running out on me, see? Leaving me in the lurch so I fixed him good. He thought he was taking his last mail run, but I slipped him a little extra something that sent him straight to Machados. Don't you find that funny?’

‘Very funny, senhor,’ Figueiredo said, gently disengaging himself.

Hannah slid along the bar, laughing helplessly, glasses cascading to the floor. When he reached the other end he simply fell on his face and lay still.

Figueiredo went round the end of the bar. He sighed heavily. ‘A bad business this.’ He turned and held out his hand to me. ‘No one regrets what you have been through more than myself, Senhor Mallory, but by some miracle you are alive and that is all that matters. Naturally, I will make a full report to Manaus as soon as possible. I think you will find the authorities more than anxious to make amends.’

It didn't seem to matter much any more. I dropped to one knee beside Hannah and felt his pulse which was still functioning.

‘How is he?’ Mannie demanded.

‘Not good. He could probably do with a stomach wash. If it was me, I'd give him something to make him vomit then I'd lock him in the steam house and leave him there till he sobered up.’

‘Which was exactly what we were trying to do when he attacked us,’ Figueiredo said. ‘You have come at an opportune moment, my friend.’

‘How's that?’

He went behind the bar, found a bottle of his best whisky, White Horse, no less and poured me one. ‘The day after your unfortunate arrest, Sister Maria Teresa came to see me with as hair-brained a scheme as I have ever known. It seems this Huna girl, Christina, who Senhorita Martin purchased from Avila, had persuaded the good Sister that if she was returned to her people she could obtain news of Senhorita Martin's sister and her friend, perhaps even arrange for their return.’

For a moment, I seemed to see again the Huna girl standing on the veranda of the house looking across at me, the flat, empty face, dark animal eyes giving nothing away.

‘Good God, you surely didn't let her fall for that?’

‘What could I do, senhor?’ He spread his hands. ‘I tried to argue with her, but I had no authority to prevent her leaving and she persuaded Avila and four of his men to go with her. For a consideration, naturally.’

‘You mean they've actually gone to Santa Helena?’ I said in astonishment.

‘In the mission launch.’

I turned to Mannie. ‘And Joanna?’

He nodded. ‘She and Sam had one hell of a row that day. I don't know what it was all about, but I can guess. She told him she was going with Sister Maria Teresa. That she never wanted to see him again.’

Poor Sam. So in the end, he had lost all along the line?

‘You've been in touch with them?’ I said. ‘They have a radio?’

‘Oh, yes, I insisted they took the one the military left in my care. It seems the girl went into the jungle the day they arrived and has not returned.’

‘And that doesn't surprise me.’

‘You think the whole thing could be some sort of trap to get them up there?’ Mannie asked.

‘On her part, perhaps, to put herself right with her people if she wants to return to them permanently. They'd catch on to the idea fast enough.’ I turned back to Figueiredo. ‘What's the latest development?’

‘Huna have been seen near the mission for two days now. Some of Avila's men panicked and insisted on leaving. It seems Sister Maria Teresa stood firm.’

‘So they cleared out, anyway?’

‘Exactly. Avila was on the radio just before noon. Reception was bad and he soon faded, but he managed to tell me that three of his men had cleared out at dawn in the mission launch, leaving the rest of them stranded.’

‘Anything else?’

‘He said the drums had started.’

‘Which was why you were trying to sober up our friend?’ I stirred Hannah with my foot. ‘Have you been in touch with Alberto?’

‘He's on leave, but I spoke to a young lieutenant at Forte Franco an hour ago who said he'd contact Army Headquarters for instructions. In any case, what can they hope to do? This is something to be handled now or not at all. Tomorrow is too late.’

‘All right,’ I said. ‘I'll leave at once in the Hayley. Is she ready for off, Mannie?’

‘Is now. She was having magneto trouble, but I've fixed that.’

‘How come the Bristol's here?’

‘Sam went down-river by boat and flew her back. Had to just to keep a plane in the air while I fixed the Hayley. Once that penalty clause comes into operation he has a fortnight to find another pilot. He still hoped something would turn up or at least I thought he did.’

He hurried out and Figueiredo said, ‘With four to bring back you must go alone, which could be dangerous. Would a machine-gun help?’

‘The best idea I've heard today.’

He beckoned and I went round the bar counter and followed him through the bead curtain into the back room. He sat down, grunting, beside an old cabin trunk, took a key from his watch-chain and opened it. There were a dozen rifles, a couple of Thompson guns, a box of Mills bombs and quantities of ammunition.

‘And where did you get this little lot?’ I demanded.

‘Colonel Alberto. In case of attack here, Take what you wish.’

I slung one of the Thompson guns over my shoulder and stuffed half a dozen fifty-round clips of ammunition and a couple of Mills bombs into a military-type canvas haversack. ‘If this doesn't do it, nothing will.’

I returned to the bar and paused beside Hannah. He moaned a little and stirred. I turned to Figueiredo who had followed me through. ‘I meant what I said. Lock him in the steam house and don't let him out till he's sober.’

‘I will see to it, my friend. Go with God.’

I patted the butt of the Thompson gun. ‘I prefer something you can rely on. Don't worry about me. I'll be back. Keep trying to raise Avila. Tell him I'm on my way.’

I smiled bravely, but inside, I felt considerably less sanguine about things as I went down the steps into the street.

I took the Hayley up and out of there fast. The last time I'd flown her to Santa Helena it had taken me forty minutes. Now, with the wind under my tail, I had every chance of doing it in half an hour.

When I was ten minutes away, I started trying to raise them on the radio without any kind of success. I kept on trying and then, when I was about three miles down-river from Santa Helena, I found the mission launch. I reduced speed, banked in a wide circle and went down low to take a look.

The launch was grounded on a mudbank, her deck tilted steeply to one side. The hull and wheelhouse were peppered with arrows and the man who hung over the stern rail had several in his back. There was no sign of the other two. I could only hope, for their sakes, that the Huna hadn't taken them alive.

So that was very much that. I carried on up-river, my speed right down, and passed low over the mission. There was no sign of life and I tried calling them over the radio again. A moment later and Avila's voice sounded in my ear with reasonable clarity although the strength was weak and there was lots of static.

‘Senhor Hannah, thanks be to God you have come.’

‘It's Mallory,’ I said. ‘How are things down there?’

‘Senhorita Martin, the good Sister and I are in the church, senhor. We are all that is left.’ In spite of the distortion, the astonishment in his voice was plain. ‘But you here, senhor. How can this be?’

‘Never mind that now. I found the launch downstream. They didn't get very far, those friends of yours. I'm going to land now. Get ready to bring the women across.’

‘An impossibility, senhor. There is no boat.’

I told him to stand by and turned over the jetty. He was right enough, so I crossed the river and went in low over the airstrip. There was no sign of life there, but there was a canoe by the little wooden pier.

I circled the mission again and called up Avila. ‘There's a canoe at the landing strip pier. Have the women ready to go and I'll come over for you. I'm going down now.’

I banked steeply and plunged in very fast, going in low over the trees. A final burst of power to level out and I was down. I taxied to the far end of the campo, turned the Hayley into the wind ready for a quick take-off and cut the engine.

I sat there for a couple of minutes waiting for something to happen. Nothing did, so I primed the two Mills bombs, shoved a clip into the Thompson, slipped the haversack over my shoulder, got out and started towards the river.

Except for the path which had been flattened by constant use as a landing strip, the grass over the rest of the campo was three or four feet high. Somewhere on the right, birds lifted in alarm. Enough to warn me in normal circumstances, but then it all happened so fast.

There were suddenly voices high and shrill, a strange crackling noise. When I turned, flames were sweeping across the campo from the edge of the jungle, the long, dry grass flaring like touch paper. Beyond, through the smoke, I caught sight of feathered head-dresses, but no arrows came my way. Presumably they thought me a moth to their flame.

It was certainly the end of the Hayley for as I turned to run, the flames were already flaring around the underbelly. I was halfway to the river when her tanks blew up, burning fuel and fuselage spraying out in a mushroom of flames. That really finished things off and within a few moments the entire campo was a kind of lake of fire.

But at least it put an impassable barrier between myself and the Huna, one flaw in their plan or so it seemed. I scrambled into the canoe at the jetty, pushed off and found half a dozen canoes packed with Huna coming down-river to meet me.

Even with the Thompson, there were too many to take on alone and in any case, I couldn't paddle and fire at the same time. There seemed to be only one thing to do which was to push like hell for the other side and that's exactly what I did.

A point in my favour was the numerous shoals and sandbanks in that part of the river. I got to the far side of a particularly large one, ibis rising in a great red cloud, putting what seemed like something of a barrier between us.

They were nothing if not resourceful. Two canoes simply grounded on the sandbank and their occupants jumped out and ran towards me, ankle-deep in water. The other turned and paddled back upstream to cut me off.

The men on the sandbank were too close for comfort by now so I dropped my paddle in the bottom of the canoe for a moment, pulled the pin on one of the Mills bombs and tossed it towards them.

It fell woefully short, but as on a previous occasion, the explosion had exactly the effect I was looking for. They came to a dead stop, shouting angrily so I gave them number two which turned them round and sent them running back the other way.

Even at that stage in the game I didn't want to kill any of them, but as I picked up my paddle again I saw that the others were rounding the tip of the sandbank a hundred yards north of me, effectively blocking the channel. Which only left the jungle on my left and I moved towards it as quickly as I could.

Undergrowth and branches spilled out over the bank in a kind of canopy. Inside the light was dim and I was completely hidden as far as anyone on the river was concerned. I paddled upstream for a little way, looking for a suitable landing place and came to a shelving bank of sand where a creek emptied into the river.

I turned the canoe in towards it, aware of the Huna voices drawing nearer, aware in the same moment of another canoe lying high on the mudbank inside the mouth of the creek, as if left there by floodwater, tilted to one side so that I could see it was not empty.

I splashed through the water towards it and knelt down, groping amongst the broken bones, the tattered scraps of what had once been nuns’ habits. They were both there, but I could only find one identity chain. Sister Anne Josepha. L.S.O.P. It was enough. One mystery was solved at least. I dropped the disc and chain into my pocket and started up the creek as the canoes moved in behind me.

I had about three hundred yards to go to the mission and it seemed sensible to get there as quickly as possible. I started to run, holding the Thompson at the high port, ready for action in case of trouble.

I kept as close to the riverbank as possible, mainly because the ground was clearer there and I could see what I was doing. I could hear their voices high and shrill, down on the river, and there was a crashing somewhere behind me in the brush. I turned and loosed off, raking the undergrowth, just to show them I meant business, then ran on, bursting out of the forest into the open a couple of minutes later.

The church was only thirty or forty yards away and I put down my head and ran like hell, yelling at the top of my voice. An arrow whispered past me and buried itself in the door, then another as I went up the steps.

I turned and fired as a reflex action towards the dark shadows at the edge of the trees, each topped by a bright splash of colour. I couldn't tell if I'd hit anything. In any case, at that moment, the door opened behind me, a hand grabbed me by the shoulder and pulled me inside so forcibly that I lost my balance.

When I sat up, I found Avila leaning against the door clutching a carbine. Sister Maria Teresa and Joanna Martin on either side of him. The American girl was holding a rifle.

She leaned it against the wall and dropped to her knees beside me. ‘Are you all right, Neil?’

‘Still in one piece as far as I can tell.’

‘What happened out there? We heard a terrific explosion.’

‘They set fire to the campo and the Hayley went up with it. I was lucky to get here.’

‘Then we are finished, senhor,’ Avila cut in. ‘Is that what you are saying? That there is nothing to be done?’

‘Oh, I don't know,’ I said. ‘You could always ask Sister Maria Teresa to pray.’

A drum started to beat monotonously in the distance.