The Tarantula Stone

‘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.’

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