The Golden Skull: A Rick Brant Science-Adventure Story. Goodwin Harold Leland

thoughts were the same.

      CHAPTER II

      Manila After Dark

      Out of the Asiatic Dream's forward hold swung the sleek shape of an airplane fuselage. Rick bristled with nervous energy as he watched. He yelled, "Watch it! Take it easy with that winch!"

      Scotty patted him on the shoulder. "Take it easy yourself before you pop a gusset. They're doing all right."

      Rick didn't take his eyes off the plane. "Okay. But if they drop it, we'll hike into the mountains instead of flying in style. Hey, you! Lift it! Lift it clear of the rail!"

      The plane was Rick's new Sky Wagon, a powerful little four-place job that had replaced his beloved Cub, wrecked by saboteurs, as related in Stairway to Danger. It had less than ten hours' flying time, and he didn't want it wrecked by having a careless winchman bash it against something. But in spite of his fears, the fuselage was lowered safely onto the waiting truck, the wings in their crates were brought out, and in a short time the boys were riding with the plane out to Manila International Airport.

      The day was still young. The freighter had anchored off the Manila port area during the night, berthing in the early hours. The Spindrift party had checked into the Manila Hotel, and Tony, leaving the boys to supervise the unloading and clearance of their equipment, had gone off to the University of the Philippines. Now the crates of equipment were in the customs shed waiting to be picked up, and the plane was en route to the airport to be assembled. Everything was going smoothly, except …

      "Chahda," Rick mused. "Where do you suppose he went?"

      "The day I can figure out Chahda's comings and goings is the day I polish my crystal ball and solve the rest of the world's mysteries. He's probably off studying The World Almanac."

      Chahda had been registered at the Manila Hotel but had checked out three days before their arrival. He had left no forwarding address and no message.

      "He's probably somewhere in the Indian colony of Manila," Rick speculated. "Quite a few Indians here, mostly Hindus. They call 'em Bombays, Tony said."

      "He'll show up," Scotty said. "He always does. Wonder how Tony is making out?"

      Tony had gone to see a colleague, a Filipino archaeologist by the name of Dr. Remedios Okola. It was through Okola that arrangements had been made with the Philippine Government for their expedition – or would be made. Their permit had not yet been issued.

      "I didn't know they had a university here." Scotty added, "Until Tony started writing to this Filipino scientist."

      "You should read the stuff Tony brought," Rick replied. "The Philippines has a dozen universities."

      Scotty grinned. "Chahda is probably taking a course in one of them. Getting a degree of D.D."

      Rick took the bait. "What? Doctor of Divinity or Doctor of Dentistry?"

      "Neither. Dean of Disappearances."

      Rick groaned. Still, it was true. Chahda was the most disappearing person he had ever known. The truth was, as he well knew, Chahda loved the dramatic. The little Hindu boy thoroughly enjoyed baffling his pals with theatrical appearances and disappearances. Not that he did his vanishing act just for fun, however. There was usually a good reason.

      Arrangements had been made by mail and confirmed by phone that morning for hangar space at Manila International Airport. While giant transpacific passenger liners landed or took off, and while the busy twin-engined island hoppers of Philippine Air Lines kept the field active, the boys assembled the Sky Wagon.

      Even allowing for Rick's pride of ownership, the Sky Wagon was a beauty. It was painted pure white with a red strip along the fuselage. It could carry four, plus a fair amount of cargo. It had flaps which permitted slow landings and short take-offs, and it had retractable landing gear and variable-pitch propeller.

      Under the rear seats was a special feature – a small hatch through which a winch-driven cable could be operated.

      This was a typical Rick Brant labor-saving device. Back home, Rick was the errand boy for Spindrift Island, an island off the New Jersey coast where the famous Spindrift Foundation was located. Until he acquired the Sky Wagon, his grocery shopping meant landing at Whiteside Airport, hiking into town, picking up the groceries, lugging them back, loading them in the Cub and flying back to Spindrift.

      Now he could phone in his order, get into the Sky Wagon, lower the weighted cable, and swoop low over the grocery store, which was located on the outskirts of Whiteside. The hook at the end of the cable snagged another cable hung between two steel poles on the roof of the store. The sack of groceries – it was a special strong canvas sack – were on the cable and needed only to be reeled into the plane.

      It worked fine. The only trouble was that Rick had never collected eggs intact. The shock of the pickup was a little too much. When he solved that problem, he would make arrangements with the electronic supply house in Newark to let him put up the same kind of rig. Eventually, he hoped, he would get so efficient that he never would have to land on the mainland except to deliver a passenger or to pay a personal visit.

      Rick and Scotty checked the plane over with the greatest of care, and then Rick got in and started the engine. He let it warm up, watching his instruments. Everything was fine. He motioned to Scotty, who was watching and listening from outside.

      Scotty got in, and Rick taxied to the end of a runway. While he revved up the engine, Scotty obtained take-off permission from the control tower, and in a few moments they were air-borne, enjoying the sudden drop in temperature.

      "First time I've stopped sweating in a week," Scotty said.

      Rick nodded and motioned to pump up the landing gear. The hydraulic system worked on a hand pump between the two front seats. It was not as satisfactory as a motor-driven pump, but it took no electric power and used up no valuable weight. Besides, a few strokes on the pump did the job. He leveled off at five thousand feet above the city.

      Below, the Pasig River cut the city in half. They traced the line of the great wall around Intramuros, the ancient walled city, and they found the white mass of the American Embassy across Dewey Boulevard from some very modern apartments. They passed over the Manila Hotel, then saw the ruins of infamous Fort Santiago.

      Inland, the land was lush green with high mountains rising in the distance. To the north lay Mountain Province, and behind the screen of mountains was their destination.

      There was still work to be done, so Rick reluctantly took the Sky Wagon down again. It was in perfect condition; no need for further flight.

      They lunched at a modern drive-in on Dewey Boulevard, the split-lane highway that runs along the edge of Manila Bay, then picked up their crates of supplies at customs. This was a light expedition, so there were only three crates. One held their camp gear and trail clothing. Another crate held Tony Briotti's special tools and reference books. The third held the most important object of the expedition – the Spindrift Experimental Earth Scanner, called SEES for short, and further abbreviated by the boys to a sibilant hiss.

      "How's the SS working?" Scotty would ask, and Rick would answer: "'Sfine 'scan be."

      The boys were old hands at expeditions and they had learned from bitter experience about the number of unexpected things that can happen to baggage, so in spite of some opposition from the hotel clerk, they insisted on stowing the supplies in their room. This done, they got into bathing trunks and cooled off in the hotel pool. There was nothing to do now but wait for Tony – and Chahda.

      When they returned from their swim a message was waiting, brought by a messenger from Tony Briotti. Rick read it, then handed it to Scotty. They were to have dinner with Tony's colleague Okola, and an Assistant Secretary of the Interior, a Mr. Lazada, at the latter's house. Dinner was at ten. They were to arrive a half hour early, and wear dinner jackets.

      "Dinner at ten!" Scotty was stunned. "It must be a mistake. No one could live until that hour without food."

      The desk clerk overheard the comment and smiled. "Old Spanish custom, sir. Many Filipinos follow Spanish custom."

      "Very fine for those who are