The Volacano Box Affair Read online

  His face, like theirs, was unsmiling, but instead of expressing objective scientific curiosity he seemed almost to dread the experiment unfolding before him. The fact that one of the members of the crowd trained a Sten on the base of his spine might explain his decided lack of enthusiasm over the project.

  TWO

  THE ONLY PERSON with any semblance of amusement in his countenance was a stocky Oriental, quite tall for his race, who observed both rig and captive with a kind of smugness. His almond eyes dilated with satisfaction as he contemplated the event unfolding before him, and he seemed to carry no doubt whatsoever that success was within his grasp.

  He was a barrel-chested man, with powerful arms and a squat neck that seemed to be all tendon. He wore white slacks and a bizarre Hawaiian shirt of red and green design, almost the only evidence of color on the entire island.

  The rig they watched had the pyramidal shape of a typical drilling device, but was considerably shorter. There were no pipes, however, and no drill heads. Nor were there tubes or other apparatus to collect or store whatever it was these men were drilling for. And instead of conventional machinery, gas driven motors and water pumps and the like, a small cubical device stood over the shaft.

  The device was about four feet square and encased in grey metal. From one side emerged a bundle of wires and electric cables that fed into a generator unit housed in one of the foam huts. And in the belly of this box was what seemed to be a zoom lens not unlike that of a camera.

  Amid the sounds of waves pounding the rocks, and sea birds calling stridently to one another, came the throaty murmur of the generator and a sinister humming of the device itself. From time to time the mist surrounding the rig would be pierced by a bright shaft of purple light radiating from the lens, after which the air would be filled with an intense odor of ozone that hung in the heavy mist and rankled the observers' nostrils.

  As this strange operation progressed, the stocky Oriental in the Hawaiian shirt moved through the little crowd and stood by the side of the redheaded white man. Silently they watched the process, but at last the Oriental addressed his companion.

  "Forty-eight hours have come, Dr. Dacian, and forty-eight have passed."

  "I said forty-eight, give or take a few hours. The exact length of time depends on the structure of the mantle, and the composition of the stone at the critical level. We have no way of knowing these facts except by inference. That is, if the beam penetrates and destroys the stone at a certain rate we know it's working on a certain material, and so on.

  "We can also deduce the density of the mantle roughly, by relying on two factors. One is the changing relationship of echoes rebounding from the solid rock of the mantle and the molten mass of magma underneath it. The other, of course, is the increasing temperature as the drilling operation destroys the rock that stands between the magma and—us."

  "I understand all this," said the Oriental, "except for one thing. If you cannot determine accurately the critical moment, how do we know that you might not err on the side of lateness rather than on that of earliness?"

  Dr. Dacian smiled, for the first time that day. "My dear Kae Soong, since my invention was intended only for approaching the lava beneath man's feet, rather than striking into it, I have to confess again that I am not sure. As I've shown you, the machinery in that hut"—he nodded towards a small foam igloo to the left of the generator house—"is monitoring all developments, and is programmed to signal us as the drill approaches a heat level of volcanic intensity.

  "From my experience and knowledge in geology, which I assure you is considerable, I think I can determine with ample room for error the crucial level. But because there are flaws in the earth's mantle which are impossible to detect with the relatively crude instruments at our disposal, it's possible that we could break through far earlier than we'd expected."

  The Oriental frowned, "In which case—"

  Dacian's smile broadened proportionately as Kae Soong's frown darkened. "In which case my device, to use a colorful American expression, would blow us all to hell."

  Kae Soong pursed his lips and threw a sidelong glance at his helicopters.

  "I am counting on your fear of death to prevent it," he said.

  "I'm not a hero, true," the red head said lugubriously. "But I'm not clairvoyant either. Because I want to live, because I hope to escape, because I hope to see you dead, and because I'm frankly curious to see what my device is going to do, I've done my best to insure that the experiment goes successfully.

  "But because I'm only human, and therefore fallible, I can offer you no guarantees. And if I'm wrong, destruction will come so quickly that I'll have no time to face it, bravely or cowardly. But this talk has made me nervous. Let's take a look at the monitors."

  Kae Soong looked all too relieved to accompany the scientists to the hut where the sensors and recording apparatus stood. Behind them stood Dacian's guard, the muzzle of his gun leveled perpetually at the man's back, while on either side other surly soldiers held their guns in readiness as well.

  Before them a broad tape slowly passed beneath six inked needles. As Dacian was about to point to the first needle his captor held back his arm and said, "Let me see if I have learned my lessons. This needle indicates temperature at the base of the shaft. This red line is the critical temperature. We seem to be almost there, yes?"

  "Yes."

  "And this needle records depth. The black marks you have made here indicate your guess as to the depth at which a breakthrough can be expected, is that correct?"

  "Let's just say it's the level beyond which we'd be foolish to stick around."

  "Quite," said Kae Soong. "And these needles record various aspects of the laser's operation. They do not seem to be fluctuating very much. I gather that means the pulse is steady and satisfactory."

  Dacian nodded. "You're a good student, Kae Soong. I hope to have the pleasure of abducting you one day, to return the compliment you've paid me."

  "I'm afraid I'm nowhere near as valuable to you as you are to me. But tell me, why is this needle not moving at all? It's recording a perfectly straight line."

  "Let's hope it continues to do so," Dacian said. "Because when it begins to squiggle it will indicate approximately ten seconds of life left for us on earth. It's really a superfluous needle, but as I had nothing important to record with it I thought it would be amusing to convert it into a seismograph of sorts. After all, I don't see why you should have all the fun."

  "I do," said Kae Soong, placing his chunky thumb and index finger on the delicate pen and bending it up, so that it looked like the needle of a scorpion poised to strike. "What would you estimate zero hour to be now?" he asked.

  Dacian studied the chart carefully for a minute or two. "I suggest you order the team to board the helicopters in one hour. The flight should then proceed"—he glanced at an instrument and took a reading on wind direction––"due west so that the debris is blown away from it. The choppers should hover at a fairly high level about three miles from here. I would guess that the exact moment will come at four forty-one, give or take—" he chuckled, wringing out of misfortune as much amusement as possible "—three or four hours."

  Kae Soong squirmed perceptibly. "Do not joke, Dacian. How much leeway is there?"

  "Two minutes on either side," he said as the guards, taking their cue from the agitation in Soong's voice, shifted their feet and brought their guns to readiness.

  They emerged from the hut and headed back to the site of the laser drill. In the period in which they had been away an eerie phenomenon had begun to occur over the device. The immense heat from the shaft, as the beam struck deeper and deeper towards the lava beneath the earth's mantle, rose with almost violent speed and sent the mist swirling into the sky so turbulently it looked as if they were standing on the rim of a cauldron.

  "Won't the heat destroy the machine?" Soong asked nervously.

  "No," the scientist assured him. "The metals will resist heat well into the crucial
temperature, and so will the lens of the laser. I'm not sure I can say as much for the flesh of your friends, however. They look a bit under the weather."

  The observers turned to the returning men, hoping for some instruction that would galvanize them into preparation to leave this accursed island and its monstrous experiment.

  Kae Soong pronounced a series of commands and the group broke into a babble. Then they trotted away from the ominous device at the center of the saucer-shaped clearing, gathering their belongings and making last-moment preparations to record the effects of the ensuing climax.

  One by one the blades of the helicopters began to spin, swirling through the steam mist and adding an even more diabolic cast to the atmosphere than before. The island seemed to be shrouded in steam, and nothing but the occasional flashes of purple light from the laser penetrated the grey haze.

  The heat was rising rapidly, and the few birds that ventured over the shaft were borne upward in a violent thermal and deposited, roasted the sea.

  Suddenly a warning bell went off, indicating that the apparatus was entering the final phase. The members of the team, some half blind with fear and others half blinded by the mist and steam, started to bolt towards the helicopters but bumped into each other or tripped over material on the ground.

  "You said an hour remained," Kae Soong said angrily to Dacian as they hustled towards their helicopter.

  "Oh, we still have forty-five minutes, but I guess I miscalculated the ability of the human system to cope with so much heat and so much fear."

  "If I had the formula for that device I wouldn't have the slightest compunction about leaving you here," Soong said.

  "I'm sure you'll wring it out of me in due time," the redhead answered.

  They rushed to their helicopter, followed by Dacian's guard, and the machine raised them off the ground instantaneously. They kept the starboard door open so that they could watch the final moment of the experiment. Clouds of steam roiled like giant waves into the cabin, instantly soaking everything within and almost choking the inhabitants.

  As soon as the helicopter was clear of the crag on the north side of the island it tilted due west and raced away from the site as if the clouds of hot mist were tentacles intent on gathering all of them back in and feeding them to the dreadful belching maw of this is land-monster.

  After a moment six helicopters emerged from the billows and proceeded on a westerly course, gaining altitude as they gained distance. After a few minutes they halted and began hovering at the point where Dacian had suggested. What seemed an inordinate length of time passed, and because of the mist that shrouded the entire island group it was impossible to see the specific isle on which the device stood.

  But the turbulence over that spot marked it clearly, and though they were now well out of the danger zone, the temperature in the helicopter rose as the clock approached 4.41.

  All eyes were fixed on the site, and at around 4.35 the white clouds began to turn brown, then black while an ominous red glow illuminated the spot where their binoculars were focused.

  Suddenly the glow deepened to bright orange, and in another moment a titanic fireball swelled up from the island, throwing great pieces of white-hot rock and pumice into the sky. For several seconds the air around the site cleared completely as the heat vaporized the mist.

  In those seconds was disclosed the awesome spectacle of a volcano being born. The crags of the island were no more, and in their place seethed a fiery mass of molten lava, from the center of which radiated great waves of white-capped water. Then the lava spilled out over the rim of its crater and sent gigantic plumes and geysers of steam thousands of feet into the air.

  The rumble of material pouring from the world's bowels, the searing hiss of ocean converted into steam, the orange river of magma flowing into the sea, and the stench of sulfur resembled nothing less than a nightmare out of Dante.

  Edward Dacian, who had thought he knew what to expect, sat stupefied, his mouth open. The rest of the team stared in almost humble silence. Only Kae Soong appeared fully calm. He gazed, eyes wide with pleasure and lips drawn in a smile of satisfaction, at the product of the most potent weapon ever created.

  "It occurred at four thirty-eight, not four forty-one," he finally remarked to his captive as the helicopters turned away from the first man-made volcano ever created.

  "Nobody's perfect," Dacian explained.

  ACT III

  FOR SALE—DEATH

  ALTHOUGH THREE people were waiting ahead of him, the bony man was admitted as soon as he announced himself to the secretary.

  "This way, Mr. Rawlings. Mr. Greyling has been expecting you." The petite girl, her red jumper shifting provocatively as she led him down a corridor, had been most eager to accommodate him. She thrust open the door to Mr. Greyling's office and bade him pass before her.

  She led the bony guest into an inner office and introduced him to its occupant, a squat, florid man with crew-cut grey hair and a too-ingratiating, almost fatuous grin. They shook hands and both Greyling and his secretary tripped over each other to help their guest into his seat.

  "You'll let me offer you some thing, won't you? Buy you breakfast, perhaps?" Greyling said to his guest.

  "I don't think so," Rawlings said. "Suppose we get right down to business."

  "Fine, fine. Couldn't ask for anything more. That's the way I like to do things. Roll up your sleeves and plunge right in."

  Greyling spread his lips in an almost leering grin. Then his eyes focused on the thin grey scar on the left side of Rawlings' brow. It was an interesting wound, but Greyling decided it was best to say nothing about it. Greyling had a weird-shaped war wound on his belly and didn't mind talking about it, but some folks are funny about these things. The deal was too important to risk offending this character.

  "Well," said Greyling, "as I understand it, you're interested in the Sperber property. If you don't mind my saying so, you're a very shrewd man indeed, Mr. Rawlings. Fifteen years ago, that bunch of oil wells promised to be the biggest producer in Oklahoma, maybe even in the southwest. But the men who tapped the well were after the fast buck. Know what I mean?

  "They just wanted to skim the surface oil, raise it by means of the gas pocket down that hole, and when the gas fizzled out they didn't care a hoot for building a rig to pump the rest of the stuff out. So as far as anyone knows, there's a mighty big pool of black gold sitting under the Sperber property waiting for the right man to invest a little dough and bring it up."

  He looked into Rawlings faded blue eyes for a sign of greed—the dilated pupil, the glazed stare he had seen so often as he began to weave one of his preposterous stories to hook the real estate sucker.

  But no such change came over Rawlings' countenance. It remained calm and almost dispassionate. The bony man had simply nodded politely as Greyling did his spiel, and then looked at him blankly when the speech was over.

  Greyling began to wonder. The guy didn't really seem to care what story he told him; he was, as he'd announced on the phone, desirous of buying the Sperber property and didn't need to be sold on it. Well then, Greyling said to himself, don't try to sell the guy on it, otherwise you may sell yourself right out of a sale.

  "Uh, tell me, Mr. Rawlings," the broker said, hoping to find out what kind of backing the man had, "what's the name of your firm?"

  "Land Development Enterprises," Rawlings said flatly.

  "I see. Can't say as how I'm familiar with that one," be said. Obviously a dummy corporation, Greyling concluded, and after putting a few more leading questions to his guest abandoned the inquiries.

  It was clear that whoever wanted this land didn't want his identity revealed, which meant Greyling would be unable to estimate what the buyer had in mind as far as price was concerned. So he would have to resort to the time-honored system of offer and acceptance, which in turn meant getting the buyer to name his price. "Just what terms did your firm have in mind?" he asked.

  "You said on the phone," count
ered the visitor, "that you could name a fair price."

  Greyling frowned. He hated to start the bargaining, but obviously the men behind Rawlings were good bargainers, and with a cow-pasture like the Sperber property anything over five digits was a killing. So he launched a ten-minute tirade on the beauties of the land, the untapped wealth below its surface, the relative prices of land in the area, the booming economy, his personal troubles and, in case Rawlings wanted the land for something other than its oil wells, its potential value both as farm and factory property.

  Towards the end of his speech his visitor began looking around the room and shifting in his seat. Greyling had a good sense of audience and realized he was putting off his guest, so he hastened to his conclusion and said, "So I don't think I'm being at all unreasonable in suggesting thirty-five thousand for the land. I have so much faith in those wells that I'm tempted to request a royalty on the oil you raise, but if you pay the full amount now, in cash, I'll drop that request."

  Greyling settled back in his chair and strained the muscles of his face against the temptation to look eager. His eyes scrutinized the face of his customer for that pained reaction that inevitably appeared when a ridiculous price was named.

  However no expression except thoughtfulness crossed Rawlings' demeanor, and, after only a few moments, he said, "That will be acceptable."

  Greyling suppressed a gasp. Barely, controlling the tremble in his voice, he buzzed his secretary and said "Please come in with a deed blank, and your pad and pencil. And be prompt. Mr. Rawlings is in a hurry."

  TWO

  IN SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA, in Pennsylvania, in Florida and in about six other key locations in the United States, similar negotiations were being carried on. In each case the buyer represented a dummy company interested in buying an abandoned oil property. And in each case the broker or principal named a price far too high, expecting a counter-proposition. And in each case the terms were accepted calmly, to the astonishment of the seller.