The famous tropical port of Zamboanga lived up to its reputation as an exotic place. As the taxi carried the Spindrifters from the airport past the waterfront area, Rick saw bright-colored sails mixed with the drab steel of cargo ships. There were many Moros, but Christian Filipinos seemed to be in the majority.
The taxi took them to Bayot's Hotel, a rambling, picturesque affair only two stories high, noted for the best food in the Sulu Sea region. The hotel was almost overgrown with orchids and lush tropical creepers.
As the three checked in, Zircon began asking questions of the man at the desk. "You had Dr. Briotti and Dr. Shannon as guests, I believe?"
"Yes. They stayed here for two days. I read of their disappearance. Incredible."
"Can you tell us if they had any visitors?"
"I recall none."
Rick asked, "Did anyone show unusual interest in them?"
"Not that one could notice. You realize, Americans are not an unusual sight. There are a number who live here."
"Did you know their Moro guide?" Scotty queried.
"I did not know him. I saw him, however. He was an unusual type."
"In what way?" Zircon asked quickly.
"He spoke no Chebucano. When I asked about this he said he was brought up in Tawi Tawi where Chebucano is not spoken. I might have believed this, except for one other thing."
"Yes?" Zircon prompted.
"He spoke excellent Spanish, which also is not spoken on Tawi Tawi."
Rick asked thoughtfully, "You think he might not have been a Moro?"
The man shrugged. "What is a Moro? It is simply a Filipino, of a different religion, and to some extent a different way of life. An educated Moro is like any other educated Filipino. I cannot say if this guide was a Moro. He said he was."
Zircon nodded his understanding. "Do you know if they hired him here?"
"They did. I mean in this city, not in my hotel. I believe they met him on the waterfront."
Rick had seen at once that the man was not a Filipino, and he thought he recognized the accent as Spanish. He asked, "Are you the manager?"
"Yes. I may say, these questions you ask have already been answered by me to Captain Lim of the constabulary. Perhaps he can help you."
"We intend to see him," Zircon replied. "Is his office nearby?"
"No, you will need a car, which I will arrange. He is at the fort, Nuestra Señora Del Pilar. We call it simply Fort Pilar. Now I will show you to your rooms."
Zircon had a room to himself, while Rick and Scotty shared one. The rooms were small, and like all tropic hotel rooms, sparsely furnished but adequate. The three changed clothes quickly and got into their comfortable khaki trousers and shirts. When they returned to the lobby, the manager had a car waiting, with one of the hotel's employees to drive it.
Fort Pilar was a tremendous mass of hand-cut stone many feet thick, pierced for muskets and cannon. It was obviously Spanish in design, and very old. The walls were covered with creepers, and palms had sprung up on what had once been a parade ground. Visible beyond the fort were the clear waters of Basilan Strait.
A sentry took them to Captain Diosdado Lim, who greeted them courteously and scanned the letter they had brought from Colonel Rojas.
"We are at your service," the captain said formally. "This letter makes you more than guests. You are also friends. I welcome you."
"Thank you, Captain," Zircon replied with equal formality. "You knew of our coming from Major Lacson?"
"Yes. We are prepared. We will send your car back and you will ride into town with me. I will introduce you to the man from whom the boat was hired."
"Any news of the boat?" Rick asked hopefully.
"Not yet. The seas are big and our outposts are few. But we will hope for good fortune."
The captain had a stilted way of speaking, Rick noted. His English was good, but he obviously didn't speak it often. The officer was young and dark, and looked more Chinese than Filipino. He was probably a mestizo, a person of mixed blood.
Zircon launched into questions as soon as they got underway in the captain's sedan. It was soon clear that the officer had little to add to what they already knew. He did say, however, that Azid Hajullah, the Moro guide, had not been a local young man, and that the detachment on Tawi Tawi did not know him. No one, apparently, knew where the guide had come from. It sounded suspicious to Rick. He might have been a plant, to betray the scientists to the unknown kidnapers.
Captain Lim took them to the boatyard operated by José Santos, a fat little Filipino who had once served in the United States Navy. Santos was friendly, and very sad about the scientists. Rick felt he honestly was more disturbed about the two men than about his missing boat.
TheSampaguita, he said, was a thirty-foot auxiliary sloop with white hull and red sails. It had once been the private yacht of an American copra planter on Basilan who, alas, had been murdered by his Moro field hands. Santos had not known the Moro guide, and had noticed nothing unusual about him. And there the interview ended. Rick shook his head. They were certainly not making progress.
"Is there anything I can do?" Captain Lim asked.
"I'm afraid not," Zircon replied. "Thank you, Captain. If you don't mind, we'll walk back to the hotel. It's only a short distance. And I'm sure the boys want to see this part of town. I do."
"Of course. Anyway, you must be my guests for dinner at the hotel. At ten o'clock."
"We'll be delighted," Zircon answered. "Will you go back to the fort now?"
"No. If you want me I will be at home, behind the hotel. It is the small white cottage."
The three waved good-by, then turned toward the teeming wharf area, which was also the town's market place. Just beyond the breakwater, native outrigger boats with bright-colored sails in stripes and patterns swept by in a kind of convoy.
Scotty asked an elderly Filipino who was watching, "Sir, may I ask the name of that kind of boat?"
The Filipino smiled. "Colorful, yes? They are vintas. Moro boats from Sulu Sea. They come to sell fish."
Scotty thanked him and the three walked slowly through the market place. By unspoken consent they said nothing about their problem. All of them knew they had reached a dead end, and none knew where to go from this point.
They stopped once to watch two fighting cocks sparring with shielded spurs. A few yards away they stopped once more, at a fruit vendor's stall. Many of the fruits were new and strange. They took a moment to learn about them from the vendor. There were mangosteens, not related to mangoes, with red husks and pure-white fruit; lanzones that looked like clusters of brown plums; foul-smelling but tasty durian; star apples, and several varieties of banana, none of which looked like the Central American variety.
Rick tried a mangosteen. He passed sections of the white fruit to Scotty and Zircon, then bit into his, It was cool, tart, and delicious, unlike anything he had ever tasted before. He decided he could become a mangosteen addict in no time and started back to buy a bagful. A low comment from Scotty stopped him.
"We've picked up a friend. He's been with us for the past ten minutes."
"Let's stop at this stand and look at the baskets," Zircon invited casually.
They did so, and pretended great interest in the huge variety of woven ware while Scotty maneuvered to look back the way they had come. Rick saw his pal's face change, then Scotty fingered a basket and used it as a cover while talking.
"It's nice to find a familiar face in a strange place," Scotty said. "Believe it or not, it's the man in the red fez who trailed us in Manila!"
"Are you certain?" Zircon asked swiftly.
"Yes. It isn't just the fez, it's the face. Besides, he's wearing the same clothes."
Zircon's normally loud voice dropped to a whisper. "Lay a plan, Scotty. We'll mousetrap him. I have a few questions I'd like to ask."
"All right. Let's move on and look for a place. This is too crowded."
They sauntered on, elaborately casual, stopping now and then to examine goods in an open market stall or to marvel at the colors of fish offered for sale. Rick wondered about the man in the red fez. Since he had trailed them in Manila, and had come all the way to Zamboanga, his interest in them must be linked to the missing scientists. Maybe, if the man would talk, they could finally learn something of value!
Rick kept his eyes open, watching for a likely place to set a trap. He saw that the market place ended in an open park that ran along both sides of the street leading from the wharves into town. Up the street, where the park ended, he saw a big warehouse marked with the name MANUAL WEE SIT & CO.
"That shed is the best bet," Scotty said softly. "Let's step it up a little, walk to the end of the warehouse, then go around the corner. Look for a doorway in which we can wait for him."
The three walked faster, but only as tourists might do who had left an interesting area and wanted to go elsewhere. They passed the end of the warehouse and rounded the corner. There was an open shed-type door there, and seated in front of it on a nail keg was an elderly Chinese, smoking his water pipe and getting the afternoon sun. He didn't look up at the three Americans.
"Step in the doorway," Scotty said swiftly. "The old man must be dreaming about something. He won't bother us."
It was cool and dim in the warehouse. Rick saw flour barrels and case after case of canned food, many with American brand names.
Scotty took a position just inside the door where he could watch through the opening. In a moment he tensed, ready to spring. Rick saw the Moro's shadow just as Scotty leaped.
Rick ran out, Zircon right behind him, in time to see Scotty confront the Moro. The man's eyes widened. His hand flashed to his sash with the speed of a striking snake and emerged with a short dagger, a vicious thing with a wavy blade like a kris.
Scotty didn't hesitate. He let go with a punch that had his powerful shoulder behind it. But fast as Scotty was, the Moro dodged, then lunged forward with the knife.
Rick sprang forward to help, but Scotty was ready. The boy stepped to one side and in the same motion grabbed the wrist that held the knife. He doubled the Moro's arm back, twisting at the same time. Rick ran to pick up the knife as it fell.
The Moro hadn't given up. He kicked out, his foot catching Scotty under the armpit, breaking his hold. The Moro broke free and started to run.
"Get him!" Zircon bellowed.
Scotty dove, both hands outstretched, with Rick right behind him. One of Scotty's hands caught the Moro by shirt and jacket, stopping him long enough for the other hand to get a grip, too. The Moro plunged wildly and the clothing ripped loose. By then Rick was in position. He delivered a judo chop to the side of the Moro's neck. The man slumped to the ground, the red fez dropping into the dust.
For the first time Rick got a look at the Moro's back, where Scotty's frantic grab had bared it. The man was tattooed with a strange design. A Moro kris was crossed with a barong, and both weapons dripped blood. Above the knives, in bright blue ink, was a symbol composed of a short horizontal line from which three vertical lines rose. The middle vertical line was slightly taller than the other two.
Sound smote Rick's ears. He turned swiftly and saw that the old Chinese had come to frightened life. The old man's eyes were open wide, staring at the tattooed design. His mouth was open, and he was wailing at such high pitch that Rick flinched.
Then the old man babbled something and ran like one possessed into the shelter of the warehouse.
Scotty stared after him in amazement. "What got into him? He ran as though he'd got a sudden look at the devil!"
Zircon hauled the groggy Moro to his feet. "Possibly he did," the physicist stated. He pointed to the symbol. "This looks like a Chinese character. Perhaps the old man recognized it."
Swift excitement ran through Rick. "If he did, maybe we've just hit a jackpot!"
A crowd of Filipinos, including several Moros, was attracted by the brief fight. A few departed in a hurry after one look at the captive's bared back. The rest remained at a distance, talking in the local dialect. Rick and Scotty kept alert, ready to act if anyone tried to free the captive. Scotty had tied him up with his own sash. He was seated against the warehouse wall, sullen and silent.
Zircon emerged from the warehouse. "I got the captain on the phone. He's on his way."
Apparently the captain wasted no time. In less than two minutes his sedan skidded to a stop and he jumped out. "What is going on?"
"He was trailing us," Zircon said, indicating the Moro. "He also trailed us in Manila. We thought it best to try to find out why. Incidentally, an old Chinese is hiding in the warehouse. He ran when he saw the symbol on the Moro's back. It may be a Chinese character of some sort."
Captain Lim inspected the design and nodded. "It is. I know Chinese. Those lines form the word for 'shan,' which in English is mountain. But I have no idea why it should frighten the old man. I will ask."
The three Spindrifters looked at each other, excitement on all of their faces. "Now we know the word the headman at the Bagobo village used," Zircon commented. "Shan, or mountain."
They waited, keeping close watch on the crowd until Captain Lim emerged. The officer shook his head. "I could get little from him. He fears the 'Pirates of Shan,' of which he says this Moro is a member. He would not elaborate."
"Who are the Pirates of Shan?" Rick demanded.
"I don't know. The phrase is new to me."
"Silly," Scotty muttered. "Piracy has been dead for a century."
"Not so," Lim corrected. "Excuse me, but piracy is not uncommon, especially along the China coast and in the islands south of Borneo. Only a short time ago Chinese pirates captured an ocean-going cargo ship."
"He's right," Zircon confirmed. "I've read of piracy quite recently. And don't forget, the Moros of Sulu were a pirate nation until Spanish gunboats and troops cut down the activity, and the Americans finally stopped it. Piracy is not new to this part of the world."
Scotty helped Captain Lim put the Moro in the sedan. "I will be surprised if we get much from this man," Lim said, "but we can try at the Fort. I will see you at dinner tonight."
The crowd dispersed and the three walked back to the hotel. Zircon left them in the lobby. "Be back shortly. I'm going to wire Okola about pirates."
In their room the boys took off their outer clothes and sprawled on their beds in shorts. "This is shaping up to something big," Rick said thoughtfully.
"I know what you mean. Robbery at Cotabato, kidnaping at Davao, and now this. It must tie together. Apparently some people have heard of the Pirates of Shan, but most haven't."
"Strange the constabulary doesn't know about them. But I suppose it's natural enough in an area like this, with only a few troops and millions of square miles. But why would pirates take our friends?"
Scotty didn't even try to guess. "Isn't Chahda due pretty soon?" he asked.
"Not until eight." Rick had given Chahda details of the findings at the Bagobo village and the Hindu boy had decided to spend another day in Davao. He would join them at Bayot's.
"At least we're collecting some pieces that add up," Rick said with more satisfaction than he had felt in a long time. He closed his eyes and began to review the information they had obtained. Presently he drifted off to sleep.
Scotty woke Rick some time later. "Wake up! Chahda's here."
Rick sat up, blinking. "What time is it?"
"After nine. We're due at dinner shortly."
"Where's Chahda?"
"Getting cleaned up. He'll be back."
"Where's Zircon?"
"Gone out. He had a call from the hotel desk."
Rick got into the shower for a quick wake-up bath. By the time he was dressed Zircon had returned, a yellow sheet of paper in his hands. Chahda arrived a moment later.
"All here," Chahda said. "Good. Now I tell. You know who got our friends? Pirates!"
Rick stared at him in awe. "How did you find that out?"
"Word you said, one that scared Bagobos. I said it too, in few places at Davao. I try different ways to say, and I must have said it good one time. Filipino snapped at me to shut up, because word no good. But did Chahda shut up?"
"Never," Scotty said emphatically.
"Is true. Anyway, Filipino whispers to me about Pirates of Shan. He knows little. Only that they kill quick, and no one knows who is a pirate and who is not. Not many have heard of them."
"Some have," Zircon interjected. He waved the paper. "Okola replied by return wire. Listen."
The big physicist read: "'Pirates of Shan date back to seventeenth century. Originally Chinese Moslems, later joined by Filipino Moslems and some Malays. Most active around 1800. Shan is from Chinese word for mountain, but no one knows what mountain. Some believe Shan located near Borneo coast. Some mention pirates in action against Japanese during World War Two. No record since. Regret no more available.'"
"Okola certainly knows his history," Scotty stated. "Well, at least we have a tag to hang on the enemy. The kidnapers were pirates."
Zircon agreed. "Being trailed by one certainly seems to tie up with Tony and Howard's disappearance. And speaking of kidnapers, that Filipino boy, Elpidio Torres was kidnaped. His folks now have a ransom demand." He held out a recent newspaper.
Rick scanned the front-page story. "Think there might be a connection?"
"Possible, I suppose, but consider the distance. According to the story, a ransom of one million pesos is to be left on the Batangas coast, south of Manila."
Scotty whistled. "Half a million bucks! That would make piracy worth while!"
"Yes, but Manila isn't the Sulu Sea," Zircon pointed out. "Also, there has been no ransom demand for Tony and Howard. They weren't taken until some time after the Torres boy vanished."
"What we do now?" Chahda asked.
"We eat, with the local constabulary chief," Rick replied. "Think it's safe to join us?"
Chahda grinned. "Safe or no, I go. I hungry."
Rick and Scotty were hungry, too. The Spanish-Filipino custom of dining late did not appeal to them. But as it developed, dinner was worth waiting for. Captain Lim was apparently a gourmet. He had ordered soup made of smoked oysters from Palawan Island, a second course of delicate butterfly fish fillets in a marvelous sauce of fresh coconut, a main course of breasts of chicken boiled in coconut milk, a salad of hearts of palm, a Spanish dessert calledlecheflan, which was a kind of custard swimming in caramel sauce, and thick, aromatic Batangas coffee.
Rick and Scotty ate until they could hold no more, and Chahda groaned, "Once I read words 'stuffed like Christmas goose.' This now fits me."
Zircon lighted a Manila cigar and sat back in his chair, a look of pure contentment on his face. "A wonderful meal, Captain. Thank you, for all of us. I haven't dined so well in months."
Captain Lim beamed his pleasure. "Then you may forgive me for failing with the Moro. He would say nothing. I have no legal grounds on which to hold him for long, either."
Zircon nodded his understanding. "We expected nothing, but we had to try. Chahda, tell Captain Lim what you found out in Davao, and I'll give him Okola's message."
The exchange of information completed, Zircon changed the subject. The scientist knew they were in need of something to take their minds off the search for a while, and he encouraged Captain Lim to tell them about Zamboanga and its long and sometimes bloody history.
The officer turned out to be an entertaining story-teller. He kept them laughing, or on the edges of their chairs until after midnight. Then he began teaching them the famous song that goes:
The monkeys have no tails in Zamboanga!The monkeys have no tails in Zamboanga!The monkeys have no tails;They were bitten off by whales!Oh, the monkeys have no tails in Zamboanga!
The monkeys have no tails in Zamboanga!The monkeys have no tails in Zamboanga!The monkeys have no tails;They were bitten off by whales!Oh, the monkeys have no tails in Zamboanga!
The Spindrifters had just gotten into the swing of the rollicking melody when a sergeant came in with a message for the captain. Lim tore the envelope open and read rapidly. Then he slapped his hand on the table. "Good! This is from Major Lacson. A boat answering the description of theSampaguitawas seen about four days after the kidnaping, heading south of the island of Bulan. A fisherman saw it."
Rick's heart leaped with sudden hope and excitement. "Where is Bulan?"
"Across the Strait from here is Basilan. Bulan is a small island south of it."
Scotty said with relief, "At least we know now which way they're heading."
"And we know what to do next," Zircon added.
"We go after it!" Chahda concluded grimly.
José Santos' boatyard was not large, but to Rick it seemed as though the Filipino boatman had a sample of every kind of craft from a rowboat to a Chinese junk.
"We want a boat," Zircon stated. "Not a sailboat. That would be too slow. We want something reasonably fast, and with enough room for comfort. We may have to live aboard for some time."
Santos nodded. "You no care how big?"
"There are four of us to handle it."
"Plenty," Santos said. "No more help needed for mySwift Arrow. See over there?"
Rick's quick eyes caught the lines of the craft first. He exclaimed, "Well, I'll be a galloping grampus! It's a torpedo boat!"
"Yes," Santos confirmed, beaming. "Motor torpedo boat. I convert her myself. Come see."
Chahda asked, "Rick, what is torpedo boat?"
"It's a very fast, light boat, designed to launch torpedoes at bigger ships. It depends on speed for safety. This one must be left over from World War Two."
"Plenty old," Chahda said doubtfully.
Scotty chuckled. "Age doesn't mean anything to a boat if it's well built and well taken care of. The MTB's were light, but very well built. You'll see."
Zircon was well acquainted with boats and Rick and Scotty were not novices. They went over theSwift Arrowfrom stem to stern, missing nothing. The armament had been removed and the original gasoline engines were gone. Instead, it was operated by a pair of marine diesels. Santos claimed that the engines were in excellent shape and that the boat could make a speed of twenty knots even in rough water, with a top speed of nearly thirty knots in calm seas.
Scotty checked the engines and confirmed the claim. They ran like Swiss watches. The boat was fully equipped, even to searchlight, horn, and a brass saluting cannon that fired blanks much like shotgun shells.
"We'll take it," Zircon announced. "Fill it with fuel and water, put charts for the whole area aboard with navigation instruments, and we'll be back in an hour and get under way." He hastily signed a traveler's check for the advance fee, then the four hiked back to the hotel and got down to business.
They made up a provision list, arranged to rent bed linens and towels from the hotel, found out where ammunition could be purchased, packed their bags, and prepared to check out.
Chahda spoke up. "Where you go first? Jolo, maybe? Suppose I go ahead on PAL, and snoop round a little. Meet you there."
Zircon considered. "I suppose Jolo is the logical destination. It's the capital of the Sulu Archipelago. We'll refuel there, probably by tomorrow morning."
Rick thought it was probably a good idea for Chahda to go ahead. He could use his Indian contacts to pick up any information that might be available. It would save them time. "I'm for it," he said.
Zircon made sure Chahda had ample funds, then the three bade him good-by for the time being and started on their shopping tour.
Within the promised hour they had their luggage and provisions loaded aboard and were prepared to cast off. Santos had the boat ready, even to putting in a box of shells for the saluting cannon.
Scotty and Rick cast off while Zircon sent the MTB smoothly away from the dock, through the breakwater and into Basilan Strait. Then Scotty took over, while Zircon checked the first leg of their course. On the charts Santos had given them the routes between principal ports were clearly marked. Zircon found the route from Zamboanga to Jolo and gave Scotty the first compass setting.
Scotty opened the throttle wide. TheSwift Arrowresponded instantly, planing along at a fast clip. Zircon took sightings with the pelorus, then calculated his readings.
Rick watched with interest, anxious to find out what speed they were making. Finally the big physicist looked up, grinning. "We've picked a champion. Twenty-eight knots!"
It was far below the original speed of the craft, but probably far above the speed of anything else in the Sulu Sea. Rick was satisfied. "I'm going below. I'll store the chow, then relieve Scotty."
In a short time, taking turns at the helm, the three had everything stowed and bunks ready for occupancy. Zircon and Scotty had broken out the newly purchased ammunition and loaded their weapons. Rick hung Shannon's quiver on a hook near the bunks.
TheSwift Arrowsped steadily on. Basilan dropped astern as they negotiated the countless islands of the Pilas Group. Two islands formed a narrow channel ahead, Rick saw, as he took the wheel from Scotty. Once through the channel they would be in open water, nothing between them and Jolo but the Sulu Sea.
Scotty walked to the bow, to check on the readiness of the anchor. In a moment he returned and joined Rick. "Must be good fishing country. Lots of vintas in the channel ahead."
Rick had noticed. "Must be two dozen." Between the islands, the channel was dotted with red, purple, green, and brown sails. As the MTB drew nearer, Rick throttled down a little. He was already traveling at cruising speed, considerably less than top speed, but he didn't want to take a chance of ramming one of the Moro craft.
The distance closed rapidly, and Zircon pointed out that the vintas seemed to be spreading in a line across the channel, only a boat's length between them. "Slow down more," he advised. "They may be hauling a net or something."
Rick did so, keeping a careful eye out for net floats. "Not much room to go through. I'll toot the horn."
He gave the horn a long blast. The Moros paid no attention. Apparently fishing boats had the right of way, and they didn't intend to move. TheSwift Arrowwas close enough now, so he could see the triangular masts and the booms of the lateen sails. He could make out the crews, too. The boats seemed to be crowded with men.
"They're not going to make way!" Zircon exclaimed. The MTB was already well within the channel.
"They're intercepting us front and rear!" Scotty yelled. "Look!"
The vintas on the ends of the line had moved rapidly, and the rest followed. The MTB would soon be surrounded! Rick spun the wheel and turned the big boat nearly in its own length, heeling far over. In the same instant a rifle slug splintered wood on the cabin roof overhead.
Scotty jumped for his rifle and started firing. Zircon hauled the automatic from his belt and yelled, "Gun it, Rick!"
Rick didn't need the advice. He straightened the MTB out and rammed the throttles to full speed. Slugs smacked into the hull or blossomed as stars on the glass of the pilothouse. He made the MTB dance through the water at top speed. His evasive action made it hard for Scotty and Zircon to fire accurately and they stopped.
In a few moments they were out of range of the vintas. Zircon called out a new course that would take them through another channel more to the west. It was longer, but safer.
The three remained silent while Rick got on the new course. Attack by vintas in open water was about the last thing any of them had expected.
Finally Zircon slipped the clip from his pistol, ejected the shell in the chamber, and reloaded. The scientist said severely, "Mr. Scott, on a certain occasion at Zamboanga yesterday, you were heard to make a remark to the effect that piracy has been dead for a century. In view of our recent experience, I believe it is only fair to offer an opportunity to correct the record."
Scotty bowed ceremoniously. "You are most kind, Dr. Zircon. It would perhaps be more accurate to state that piracy has not been dead for a century. My conclusion is entirely empirical, of course, but observation leads me to conclude that the vintas in the channel may indeed have been manned by pirates."
"Handsomely said, Mr. Scott. You have a comment, Mr. Brant?"
"I concur," Rick said gravely. "Would you care to hazard a surmise about the identity of these putative pirates?"
Zircon stroked his chin thoughtfully. "We had no opportunity to remove shirts and examine backs. Yet I must venture the opinion that the men in the vintas carry the mark of the mountain."
"And why did they lay in wait for us?" Scotty asked.
"My surmise," Zircon boomed, "is that we are doing exactly the right thing. They fear our ultimate success. Ergo, they try to remove us."
Rick had to grin. "I've always wanted to hear someone say 'ergo.' But how did they know we were coming?"
Zircon shook his head. "The islands in the vicinity are too small to have radio or telephone. However, we've not been too careful about our plans. The waiter last night, or a houseboy outside our hotel door could have overheard us, and a vinta could have gotten here in time to lay a trap."
"We'll probably never be sure," Rick said. Suddenly he grinned widely. He had the feeling they were making progress.
"At least," he stated, "we've met the Pirates of Shan!"
Rick walked to the bow as theSwift Arrowapproached the harbor of Jolo in the early-morning hours. He used Shannon's long glass to inspect some curious-looking houses to the west of the harbor entrance. The glass showed him they were built on stilts over the water, and connected by a series of bamboo walkways.
Zircon joined him and borrowed the glass for a look. "Samal village," he explained. "I've never seen one, but I spent last night reading a pocket guide I picked up at Bayot's. The Samals are Moros, noted as fishermen."
"And pirates?"
Zircon smiled. "The book didn't say."
In spite of the primitive Samal village, the dock and the city were fairly modern. As Scotty took theSwift Arrowcloser, Rick and Zircon looked for a place to tie up.
Chahda saved them the trouble. The Hindu boy appeared on a bale of abacá and waved both arms until they saw him, then he motioned them to the left and ran down the dock. Scotty swung the MTB past the dock and saw a smaller dock where a few pleasure boats were tied up. In a moment they were alongside. Chahda caught the line Rick threw and hauled the bow in.
The Hindu boy jumped aboard as soon as they were tied up. "You early," he greeted them.
"We could have been here last night, but we decided to take it easy and not risk running into vintas and things in the darkness," Rick replied.
"It was a fine trip," Scotty added. "We met some friends."
"Friends? You meaning purposies?"
"Porpoises," Rick corrected. "Not exactly. He means pirates. They took some shots at us."
Chahda's wide eyes took in the bullet holes. He muttered to himself in Hindi.
"We were a little surprised," Zircon added. "We're not even sure they were especially after us. They might have been waiting for any craft that came along. We can't imagine how they could communicate so rapidly, unless they had advance notice of our plans."
Chahda shook his head. "Smarter than you think, these Moros. Sometimes use strange way to get letter far distances. I amazed."
"What is this strange way?" Zircon asked.
"You know there plenty parrots here? Moros teach birds to talk, then tell message and say, 'Okay bird. You go now and tell Charlie.'"
Rick and Zircon stared at the Hindu boy incredulously, but Scotty had been the object of Chahda's humor often enough to recognize it first. He grabbed the lithe brown boy and held him out over the muddy harbor waters in spite of his struggles.
"Take it back!" he demanded.
"Is took!" Chahda yelled. He straightened his shirt as Scotty hauled him in again, and looked at the dark-haired boy accusingly. "That plenty good yarn. You just scooptical, that's all."
"Skeptical," Rick corrected.
"Is so. Anyway, if parrots don't fly, pigeons do. Sometimes my Indian friends use pigeons for messages to islands with no radios. So why not pirates?"
Why not? Rick thought Chahda very likely had the answer. Carrier pigeons would serve a useful purpose in a remote place like the Sulu Sea, and one could have reached the channel from Zamboanga after they departed.
"Let's go into the cabin," Zircon suggested. The boys followed him and took seats on the bunks, waiting expectantly.
"Let's start with Chahda. Learn anything?"
The Hindu boy nodded. "Little. Some peoples here think pirates took plenty boats now missing. Not many hear of pirates, but more than in Davao."
"Any guesses on their hideout?" Scotty asked.
"None good. Some say far to south, maybe near Tawi Tawi. Plenty small islands, no people."
"I agree," Zircon added. "I've studied the chart, and that seems to be the most likely area. We can go right on to Borneo, if need be. It's only about a hundred and twenty-five miles from Jolo. It's even possible the pirate hangout is off the Borneo coast."
Rick spoke up. "I've been thinking about that pirate attack. Yesterday we got away through sheer speed, right? Well, word about our speed will spread. Now, we don't want the pirates to give up because our boat is too fast for them. We want them to think they can attack us successfully, because the attacks are our best clue to whether or not we're on the right track."
He believed that no further attack would mean they were getting cold, while increasing attacks would mean they were getting warm, to use the old game terms. The closer to the pirate stronghold, the more determined the attacks would be, particularly if the pirates saw a chance of taking over the MTB.
Scotty saw what Rick had in mind. "You mean we have to convince them we're no longer fast?"
"That's it. There must be pirate spies here in Jolo. Why not plant a story that one engine is bad?"
"Very good!" Zircon exclaimed. "We could do it by trying, very publicly, to get some engine part. Which one, Scotty? It has to be one we won't be able to get."
Scotty thought it over while the others watched him anxiously, then suddenly he snapped his fingers. "Got it. A new timing gear. I'll be surprised if there's one nearer than Manila. I can juggle the spark, so the engine sounds as though the timing were off. That will make it more convincing."
Zircon rose. "We'll do it. Chahda, you've seen the town. Can you stand by while the rest of us make a quick trip? We must see the constabulary, and I have a purchase to make."
"Gladly do," Chahda assented. "First I go and get suitcase. This time I stay with you until we find our friends."
The Hindu boy got his luggage and a paper-wrapped package from the dock guard's hut. Rick and the others left him to guard theSwift Arrow.
The main street of Jolo started only a few hundred feet from the dock area. Wooden stores and houses predominated, but there were a few of ancient stone. The people were almost entirely Moro, with only a sprinkling of Christian Filipinos. They saw no other Americans, although a few lived in the town.
"Wish we had more time here," Zircon remarked. "After all, Jolo is the seat of Islam in this part of the world."
"Of what?" Scotty asked.
"Islam is the proper name for the religion we called Mohammedanism. Moros are Moslems. The name is from the old Spanish for Moor. This island—my guidebook says—is the home of the Sultan of Sulu, the spiritual head of Islam in the Philippines."
Rick noted a strange pair of men making their way down the street. Their skins were brown, but their bushy hair was an odd orange red. They walked with knees bent sharply, as though on the verge of sitting down. Their legs were spindly, the knees prominent.
"Bajaus," Zircon said. "Sea gypsies. I recognize them from my talks with Tony. He was interested in studying them. They spend their entire lives in vintas, usually in a squatting position. That's the reason for the odd posture. They have trouble standing upright. Their hair is that color because sun and salt have bleached it."
A pair of Moros went by, carrying a bamboo pole from which a dozen small sharks were suspended by the gills. Rick saw that the fins had been cut off, probably bought by some Chinese for making soup.
There were shops everywhere. Zircon looked them over carefully. "Watch for a hardware store," he requested.
They reached the constabulary office before finding a hardware store, however. Rick and Scotty decided to wait outside and enjoy the interesting street scene while Zircon checked in.
The boys noted that many Moros were armed, with krises or barongs in fancy sheaths. Some had small daggers with pistol-grip type handles tucked in their sashes. While Rick and Scotty watched, they were on the alert for possible enemies, but so many Moros eyed them curiously, it was hard to pick out any one of them as being suspicious. Just the same, both had the feeling of being tailed.
Zircon emerged shortly. "Lacson and Lim have both sent messages transmitting what details we have. All detachments in the area have been alerted to watch for theSampaguita. Now they'll also be told to keep a lookout for pirates or information concerning them. Our report on the attack has gone to Manila already. They wasted no time."
The Spindrifters resumed their hike up the main street and came upon a hard-goods store. Inside, Zircon finally succeeded in making his wants known. To the boys' amazement, he bought ten dozen boxes of ordinary household tacks! He refused to tell them what the tacks were for.
"He's going to nail down the facts," Rick suggested.
Scotty shook his head. "Nope. He thinks we have a sailboat, and anyone knows sailboats have to tack into the wind."
Zircon merely grinned and said nothing.
Visits to four ship supply stores followed. Zircon expressed amazement at the top of his voice that no timing gear was available. He bemoaned the loss of one engine unless the gear was forthcoming. He sounded pretty convincing.
"We've got it made," Scotty said with satisfaction as the three walked back to the dock. "Did you know we have a tail? He's good, too. I had trouble spotting him. You can bet he heard the professor's sad story, which means the vintas will know about our 'bad engine.'"
TheSwift Arrowwas in sight now. Rick stared for a heartbeat, then broke into a run. "Come on! Chahda's fighting with someone!"
Rick had seen the Hindu boy dance into sight on the stern of the boat, then lunge behind the pilot house again, a long knife in his hand.
The three pounded down the dock and leaped aboard, then stopped short at the sight on the stern. Chahda had suspended a large bunch of bananas from a convenient hook and was methodically slicing it to pieces with a long Moro knife in each hand.
Rick exploded, "What in the name of an Indian idiot are you doing?"
Chahda paused in his dancing attack to welcome them aboard with a grin. "I get in shape. You like my weapons?"
Rick and the others examined them with considerable interest. One was a barong, with a heavy blade about two feet long. The blade curved along the bottom, or cutting edge, but was nearly straight along the top, which was nearly a quarter of an inch thick. The second weapon was a kris, about the same length, but with two cutting edges, both of which were wavy in typical kris fashion. The kris was more swordlike, but it was a cutting weapon not used for stabbing.
Chahda proceeded to give a demonstration, a blade in each hand. Rick was amazed to see that he used both hands equally well.
"Why all the sudden interest in weapons?" Rick asked.
Chahda sent the remainder of the bananas flying with one cut. "We go after scientists, yes? We find them, too. But, Rick, don't think we get them back without one big fight!"
TheSwift Arrowrounded the western end of Jolo and headed south toward the Tapul islands. On the south side of the group was the island of Siasi where Zircon planned to top off the fuel tanks and check in with the constabulary again.
The four set up watches, two to a watch, four hours at a stretch. They settled down to a long search. At Siasi they would be at the center of the Sulu Archipelago, and would leave the Sulu Sea behind and enter the Celebes Sea. The sun blazed down from nearly overhead at noon until the caulking in the deck bubbled and the sea seemed to steam. They were less than six degrees above the Equator now.
Vintas dotted the waters close to the islands, but they were apparently peaceful Samal fishermen. There was no sign of a pirate fleet.
"I doubt that the pirates will bother us in these waters," Zircon remarked. "Too close to islands with civilization on them. We can look for trouble in the more open waters to the south."
"They bothered us close to Zamboanga," Rick pointed out.
"True. However, I suspect it was simply a quick try at getting us before we were well under way. I'm rather flattered, as a matter of fact. Of course they know what we're after. It was in the Manila papers. But they must realize we won't quit until we find Tony and Howard, and they must be afraid we'll succeed. Otherwise, why attack us?"
Rick saw the sense of Zircon's reasoning. "Then this mysterious island may not be hard to find, at least for anyone who's really determined."
"That's my guess. Anyway, I think we may be attacked when we accidentally start toward their base. And it will be an accident, since we have no clues."
At Siasi the constabulary had no further information of value, except that the government was showing deep interest and concern about the pirates. The searchers topped off the fuel and water tanks, and anchored for the night in the protected harbor. At dawn they hauled anchor and rounded Siasi.
Zircon laid a course that took them south-south-west toward the Kinapusan Islands and cautioned all hands to be on the alert. By noon they had crossed Taapan Passage.
Chahda and Rick were in the galley, cooking hamburgers for lunch. Chahda was explaining the technique of using the Moro blades.
"Must remember, knife is not just a thing. Is part of your arm. Is sharp part that just makes arm longer. You no swing knife. You swing arm, like trying to cut with end of finger. Okay?"
"I get it," Rick agreed. "Don't think of the knife as something separate. Think of it as part of your own body."
"Yes," Chahda assented. "Next, balancing of knife is important. If is good, is like part of you. If is bad, can never be part of you. Moro knives well-balanced. You see..."
Chahda never got a chance to finish.
"All hands on deck! Pirates!" Scotty yelled.