The Martian Pendant (22 page)

What the Pope said was true, and Celestre knew it. What no one knew was how the rest of the story would turn out. After a paroxysm of coughing, which appeared to shake the Prelate, Celestre was given the Vatican plan. In a hoarse whisper, Pius said, “We intend to see that the shipment to America is stopped in the Indian Ocean by an armed skeleton crew, and the vessel diverted to Nagasaki, on Japan’s main island. It
would thus emulate the Portuguese ‘Black Ship’ that carried goods to and from the Shogunate that ruled Japan in the sixteenth century. Fitting, don’t you think? And, we have been assured by their government that not only will the Church be paid handsomely, but that they will once again allow our missionaries free access to their people. Don’t you see? Your Jesuit motto,
Ad Majorum Dei Gloriam
, For the Greater Glory of God, to which all Catholics should aspire, will be fulfilled!”

“Yes, your Holiness,
but the route is many thousands of miles, allowing more than enough time for one of the great powers to stop the freighter well short of its destination. How could it possibly get through to Japan, with the naval forces of at least three countries in pursuit?”

Smiling enig
matically, the Pope rejoined, “We won’t burden you with our methods, but the ship will steer a course well off the usual sea lanes where the search will be centered. Moreover, if they should find the ship despite our efforts, the crew will threaten to scuttle the vessel and its cargo. That would keep them at bay until it reaches its destination. They wouldn’t want to risk loss of all that technological treasure, now would they?”

“But your Holiness, what if a boarding party calls your bluff
? Merely opening the ship’s sea-cocks to scuttle her would be too slow. The cargo would end up in the wrong hands anyway. What about provisions for holing the hull, as was done with the
Ancona
in the
Mediterranean? But remember, that charge was miscalculated. Nearly everyone went down with the ship. Are you prepared for that?”

Pius seemed to ignore that. “We
think you have all you need to know. You will be contacted when the time is right, to make the final arrangements.” Saying that, the Pontiff held out his hand--and ring--for Celestre. Taking the wizened but still soft hand, he feigned kissing the ring with an audible smacking of his lips, followed by his bowing his way out.

Immediately, the Pope rang for Security. “Have him followed, and we mean all the way to the dig in Africa. He isn’t to be trusted because of his allegiance to the Mafia. But what he learned here tonight will be used by them, and to our advantage.”

Celestre failed to notice the agent tailing him, and on his return to Dar-es-Salaam, after a preliminary radio message, he again met with his Mafia contact, Manzone. He spent the better part of the hour recounting the Vatican’s position and plans, adding some insights of his own.

After taking
in all that, Manzone said, “Good work. This might even get you a spacious villa in Tuscany--
if
it all works out. Otherwise, all you can expect is a six by three plot of Sicilian soil.”

Why did the Mafia have to think that way
, Celestre thought,
either promises or threats? Wasn’t there ever anything in between?

As soon as the priest left the café, Manzone contacted his superior, and arranged a conference. He would transmit the Pope’s plans for the Martian technology, so the Mafia could be ready to pre-empt the Vatican’s scheme with a plan of its own. Certainly they wouldn’t settle just for Japan’s offer. As usual with the Mafia, it would be a sale to the highest bidder. No telling
how many millions it would bring, he gleefully conjectured, his eyes glittering greedily in anticipation of his share.

*
   *   * 

At the dig, the propulsion unit of the spaceship still
rested on the huge trailer, and under the direction of Max and Diana, the Martian crew’s fossilized skeletal remains had been removed and crated for shipment to Chicago. Along with photos of the printing from the bulkheads of the hulk, metal plates containing identification and instructions regarding controls and other equipment had been detached, catalogued and packed, as were the weapons found in the crew’s pods.    

The Italian company’s digging machines were
still laying waste to the surrounding sections in their mining of the remnants of the other ship. At the dig, powerless to legally intervene, they despaired that the hull material excavated would soon find its way to Dar, to be sold there by the Mafia, probably to the Soviet Union.

One afternoon, Diana chanced to be standing with Kindred viewing the Italian activity, which was sending a column of dust to a heig
ht rivaling the perennial cloud that formed the plume over the volcano. “Look at that,” she remarked, “they’re despoiling this whole valley. Rather like the strip miners in their search for coal are doing in Appalachia in America. All this scenic wildlife habitat and rangeland will be ruined forever. You’re the Minister now. Can’t anything be done about it?”

He looked down at her, mostly seeing the top of her head, but by that time he had learned how her jaw was set at such times. “I rather think there is little we can accomplish
, short of an act of Parliament.”

“Oh, don’t just give up on it,” she s
aid, “there jolly well must be a way to stop them somehow. What about invoking laws concerning national security? Those shattered fragments could unlock metallurgic secrets that could give Britain’s enemies armor that could be impenetrable.”

“I don’t think that in peacetime there is much interest in that direction, Miss Howard. And after all, the U
.S. government will have the same secrets.”

“Well, there has to be a way,” she
replied.
Then, the solution occurred to her.
She exclaimed, “By Jove, I’ve got it! The Martian hulk is unique on earth, and since it’s so huge, it won’t pay to cut it up and ship it home. What about making this valley a National Park, or seeking a United Nations Designation? That would exclude all further mining and exploration, effectively freezing out those bloody Italian
Mafiosi
. And you know as well as I do that anything they find will be sold to enrich their coffers. What do you say? Can you start the ball rolling?”

“I could try,” he r
eplied. “But to have it ruled an international site would require a vote of the United Nations, and China or the Soviet Union would be sure to invoke their veto. Declaring it a National Park is a more viable solution, but what about your oil Cartel? Their stance would be of great importance.”

“I don’t think they will have any objection. It’s evident that they possess enough fragments to learn the formula for Martian metallurgy, and when they receive the engine, reverse engineering will unlock the nuclear secrets. Their mission will have been fulfilled. They have, in fact, no interest in the anthropological specimens, which we’ve already collected and crated for shipment to the Department in Chicago.”

“Then it’s simply a matter of presenting your recommendation to the Governor in Dar-es-Salaam. I’m returning there tomorrow. I shall be able to present it to him then, if you can type up a formal request tonight. But I think it may take as long as a month before this site and the surrounding sections assigned to those blokes can be officially designated and the mining stopped.”

Diana smiled up at Kindred. “We’ll just have to find a way to slow them down, then, won’t we?”

That night, after she finished typing the request the Minister suggested, she lay awake racking her brain for an answer. There had to be a way to stop that strip-mining. Sabotaging their equipment would get results, but might turn the authorities against them, and they needed the high ground, at least until National Park status was granted. Sleep overcame her before she could come up with an answer.

At sunrise, still sleep-deprived, she was jolted awake from her fitful dozing by Max and Dan. Both were highly agitated.

Dan was the first to blurt out, “Those bastards have cut us off from the road to Arusha, with their damn machines creating a deep ditch surrounding our camp. There’s no way we’ll be able to transport our stuff for loading onto the freighter when it arrives in port.”

Diana rubbed her eyes and sat up. “Jolly good!
Don’t you see? They’ve in fact played into our hands. Now we have a legal right to stop them.”

The two men, their mouths agape, said in unison, “You’ve gotta be kidding!”

“Quite the contrary,” she said. “Don’t you see, without this move, we couldn’t legally stop them for at least a month. By that time they would have shipped off all the pieces of the wreckage they’ve uncovered. Now we can move against them with impunity, stop their work, and forestall any chance of that treasure falling into the wrong hands.”

By that time, Chet, who had arrived in time to hear
her, announced, “My men can take ’em all prisoner, and wreck their equipment with explosives. No more diggin’ fer them.”

“No!” Max almost shouted
. “We can’t risk bloodshed. The word would get out to the press, and all our work here would be tainted.”

“Then,” Dan offered, “
we use the power of the law to stop them. Any judge, even in this backwater, would invoke an injunction, because of what they’ve done, to cease and desist. All legal and non-violent.”

Diana mulled that over as they all looked to her for an answer. “A judge could do it, and would, providing the Mafia doesn’t get to him first. We’ll need a Colonial magistrate, not a provincial, to issue it. I’m
flying Kindred to Dar today for the purpose of presenting our National Park recommendations. He’s on our side, and will be helpful in expediting that process, and the injunction. Now you chaps get out of my tent. I have to dress.”

*
  *   *

Diana and the Minister
flew to Dar-es-Salaam, arriving at noon. After they had taken a taxi into town, Kindred called the British magistrate’s office and obtained an appointment for that afternoon. They had lunch at a little Indian café, the air redolent with the aromatic spices used in their curries. She loved those fragrances, and the ingredients of the dishes they were served, but the chilies were hot enough to make the tears well up.

“By Jove,” she exclaimed, wiping her eyes, “I know Indians thrive on this fare, but does one initially unaccustomed to these hot spices in fact ever come to tolerate them?”

Kindred, watching in amusement, replied, “I’ve been here for ten years, and some of the spices still affect me the same way. My reaction hasn’t changed one bit. We in the Foreign Service look upon it as just another element in that old concept, ‘The white man’s burden.’ But they say the various spices are full of vitamins, making us better able to survive the tropics.”

With her face flushed from eating the burning spices, Diana chuckled, “I prefer my vitamins in capsule form from the chemist, thanks. And tell me, how does one say ‘No heat’ in Hindi?”

After lunch, it was a short stroll to the Colonial offices, in the typical European design for the tropics, bred of the previous century. Built by the Germans, little but the decorations had been altered by the British when they took over. Her first thought, as they were ushered into the magistrate’s presence,
was that their personnel hadn’t changed, either.

The Minister of Justice, sitting behind his massive desk, seemed the stereotypical British colonial official, with his flushed face, sparse white hair augmented by a large, drooping mustache, and even to the “Harrumph” on clearing his throat. He stood, stiffly offering his hand to Kindred, peering curiously at Diana. He looked like something out of a Hollywood movie. That invoked her concern that he would be too hidebound to accommodate them. This worry was immediately dispelled when he addressed her.

“So you’re the fabulous lady of whom Kindred has told me! Please sit down. I understand there is something of a legal paper you’ve in mind. You must tell me the story. What I’ve heard thus far has been interesting indeed.” 

Diana looked at Kindred, who nodded, and then recounted briefly that while the technological and anthropological goals of the dig had been reached, they were concerned that the remaining alien material would fall into the wrong hands if nothing further were done. The concept of creating a National Park was presented as the best way to preserve the alien spaceship and the surrounding natural environment for posterity.

After some minutes asking questions and wiping his forehead and his watery blue eyes, the Minister of Justice merely sat there, nodding affirmatively several times.

“Does that mean, Your Grace,” she asked, “that you’ll give us an injunction against the Italian strip miners?”

“Quite,” he nodded again. “But it will just be a piece of paper, however officially issued. Shan’t the real problem be how to enforce it? Just now, with all the unrest along the border, the necessary forces can’t be spared for such a possible minor police action. And, I warrant, the provincial police, if enlisted, would be a menace equal to the Italians.”

With a glance seeking Kindred’s support, she replied, “Sir, we have our own security forces that are more than sufficient.”

The magistrate seemed shocked at that. “They’re a private force, hired by your sponsors, and have no legal standing in Tanganyika other than to defend your encampment. Why, they are really only mercenaries, and could behave as lawlessly as did the vigilantes of the old American West.”