Десмонд Бэгли - Wyatt's Hurricane

‘What will you do now?’

‘There’s not much left here,’ said Manning. ‘Julio asked me to stay on, but I don’t think he really wants a white man to play any big part in what’s going to come next. I hear that there are jobs open in the Yemen, working for the Royalists — maybe I’ll go across there.’

Wyatt looked at this big man who spoke of working when he meant fighting. He said, ‘For God’s sake, surely you can find easier ways of making a living?’

Manning said gently, ‘I don’t think you’ve got it, after all. Sure, I get paid for fighting — most soldiers do — but I pick the side I fight for. Do you think I’d have fought for Serrurier?’

Wyatt groped for an apology and was glad to be interrupted by Dawson, who came over and said excitedly, ‘Hey, Dave, I think there’s something you ought to know. One of these guys has just come down from the Negrito — he says there’s an American woman up there. At least, that’s what I think he says; this is a bastard of a language.’

Wyatt swung round. ‘Which man?’

‘That guy there — the one who’s just finished talking to Favel.’

Wyatt strode over and grasped the man’s arm. ‘Did you see an American woman in the Negrito?’ he asked in the island patois.

The man turned an exhausted face towards him and shook his head. ‘I was told of her. I did not see her.’

‘Where was this?’

‘Beyond the St Michel road — down in the valley.’

Wyatt tugged at him urgently. ‘Can you show me on the map?’

The soldier nodded tiredly and suffered himself to be led. He bent over the map and laid down a black finger. ‘About there.’

Wyatt looked at the map blankly and his heart sank. Julie would not be there, so far down in the Negrito. The party had gone along the coast road. He said, ‘Was this an old woman? — A young woman? — What colour hair? — How tall?’

The soldier blinked at him stupidly, and Dawson cut in, ‘Wait a minute, Dave. This guy’s beat, he can hardly stand up.’ He pushed a bottle into the man’s hand. ‘Have a snort of that, buster; it’ll wake you up.’

As the man drank from the neck of the rum bottle Dawson looked at the map. ‘If this guy has come from where he says he has, he’s come a hell of a long way in double-quick time.’

‘It can’t be Julie,’ said Wyatt in a depressed voice. ‘That note she left in the Imperiale said they were going up the coast road.’

‘Maybe they didn’t,’ said Dawson. ‘Maybe they couldn’t. There was a war going on at the time, remember.’ He stared at the map. ‘And if they did go to where they said, they’d get mixed up with Rocambeau’s army when it retreated. If Rawsthorne had any sense he’d move them out of there fast. Look, Dave; if they travelled in a straight line over the hills they could get into the Negrito. It would be one hell of a tough trip, but it could be done.’

Wyatt turned again to the man and questioned him again but it was no use. He had not seen the woman himself, he did not know her age or her colouring or anything more about her than that an American woman had been seen up the Negrito. And Wyatt knew that this meant nothing, not even that she was American; to these people all whites were American.

He said drearily, ‘It could be anybody, but I can’t take a chance. I’m going up there.’

‘Hey!’ said Dawson in alarm, and made a grab at him but could not get a grip because of his ruined hands. Wyatt threw him off and began to run for the road.

Manning came up behind and said, ‘What’s the matter?’

Dawson choked. ‘All hell’s going to break loose in half an hour and that obstinate guy is taking off for the Negrito — he thinks his girl’s up there.’

‘The Marlowe girl?’

Dawson looked after Wyatt. ‘That’s the one. I’ll be seeing you — someone’s got to look after that crazy idiot.’

He began to run after Wyatt, and Manning began to run too. They caught up with him and Manning said, ‘I’m a fool, but I think I can get you up there faster. Follow me.’

That brought Wyatt up short. He stared at Manning, then followed, as Manning led the way back to a place further along the ridge where there was a low stone structure. ‘This is where I’ve been hiding during the hurricane,’ said Manning. ‘I’ve got my Land-Rover inside; you can take it.’

Wyatt went inside and Dawson said, ‘What is this thing?’

‘An old gun casemate — perhaps three hundred years old. It was part of the harbour fortifications in the old days. Favel wouldn’t come in here — he said he wouldn’t have better protection than his men. But I had Fuller to look after.’

They heard the engine roar as Wyatt started up and the Land-Rover backed out. Dawson jumped in, and Wyatt said, ‘There’s no need for you to come.’

Dawson grinned. ‘I’m a goddam lunatic, too. I’ve got to look after you — see you safely back to the nuthouse.’

Wyatt shrugged and rammed the gear-lever home. Manning shouted, ‘Try not to bend it; it belongs to me, not the corporation.’ He waved as the Land-Rover lurched past him, its wheels slipping in the mud, and he looked after it with a thoughtful expression. Then he went back to headquarters because Favel would need him.

When they got on to the road the going was easier, and Dawson said, ‘Where exactly are we going?’

The Land-Rover bounced as Wyatt pressed on the accelerator. ‘We go as high up overlooking the Negrito as we can,’ he said. ‘To where the road turns off to go down to the coast and St Michel.’ That was where he and Julie had admired the view and drunk weak Planter’s Punch. ‘I hope the bridges are all right.’

Dawson tried to wedge himself in as the Land-Rover swung recklessly round a corner. ‘How far is it?’

‘We ought to get there in half an hour if we can keep moving fast. Favel said the road was blocked by fallen trees but he was having it cleared.’

They began to climb and Dawson looked over to the left. ‘Look at that goddam river. It’s like a sea — the whole valley is under water.’

Wyatt concentrated on the road. ‘That’ll be salt water, or very brackish. It won’t do the agriculture any good.’ He did not even give it a glance; all his attention was on his driving. He was going too fast for this road with all its bends and climbing turns, and he tended to swing wide at the corners. It was unlikely there would be anything coming the other way but the chance was there. It was a chance he was prepared to take for the sake of speed.

Dawson twisted and looked back anxiously at the sea. It was too far away for him to see the waves but he caught a glimpse of the distant horizon before the Land-Rover slid round the next corner. It was boiling with clouds — great black masses of them splintered with lightning. He looked sideways at Wyatt’s set face and then up at the wet road coiling and climbing along the southern slopes of the Negrito Valley. This was going to be a near thing.

The plantations on each side were ruined, the soft banana plants hammered flat into a pulpy mass on the ground by the blast. The few plants left standing waved shredded leaves like forlorn battle flags, but it was doubtful if they would survive the next few hours. The sugar-cane was tougher; the stiff canes still stood upright, rattling together in the rising wind, but the verdant green top leaves had been stripped away completely and the plants would die.

They turned another corner and came upon men marching stolidly up the road. Wyatt swerved to avoid running them down, lost speed and cursed as he had to change gear. The soldiers waved as they passed and Dawson waved back. He hoped they found shelter soon — this was no time to be on an open road.