The Stone Idol Page 8

  Suddenly Santana rose to his feet and walked past the Hardys without noticing them. They got up and followed him through the waiting room, screening themselves by mingling with the crowd and staying just close enough to watch him.

  Santana walked to the elevator, where he punched the button for the mezzanine. Realizing he was going up one flight, the boys immediately ran up the stairs. They positioned themselves against a low wall overlooking the waiting room, again shielded by their newspapers, and waited to see what would happen.

  The elevator door opened and Santana emerged, walking over to a row of lockers. He took a key from his pocket, opened one, and removed a leather case. Then he walked away.

  “Maybe he has the idol in there!” Joe hissed.

  The boys hurried after the man, who seemed to sense their presence and looked back over his shoulder. When he recognized them, he rushed to the opposite side of the wall overlooking the waiting room. Frank and Joe followed, but at that moment, passengers flooded into the mezzanine from a plane that had just landed. The crowd crossed between the boys and Santana, who raced to the wall, called out something in Spanish, and tossed the case to his companion below in the waiting room.

  The man caught it, clasped it tightly under his arm, and ran out an exit, while Santana headed for the stairs on the opposite side of the mezzanine.

  Still held up by the crowd, Frank and Joe followed as fast as they could.

  When they reached the stairs, they could see the fugitive going through a revolving door leading to the runways outside. Vaulting down the stairway, they dashed to the door, only to be stopped by two small children who got there first. They wedged themselves in with their mother behind them and moved the door slowly.

  At last, the boys found themselves outside the terminal. Many planes were being serviced and a few were taxiing into position for takeoff. One was coming in for a landing.

  A small craft stood on the nearest strip. On its side were stenciled the words Inca Chief. The Hardys could see the pilot preparing to leave.

  “He’s Santana’s pal!” Joe gasped.

  A passenger, whose face they could not distinguish, sat behind the man. Santana, running at top speed, reached the plane while the pilot revved the motor. He jumped in and slammed the door shut, then tapped his friend on the shoulder, pointing through the window at Frank and Joe. Obviously, he was telling his friend to hurry. At once, the plane began to move. A rush of exhaust fumes and dust deluged the boys as they raced up. Then the craft gathered speed, became airborne, and zoomed off into the sky!

  The boys stopped in disgust and watched it vanish into the clouds.

  “We’ve lost him again,” said Joe. “He’s as slippery as an eel in Barmet Bay.”

  “Let’s see if we can find out where he’s going,” Frank suggested. “The pilot had to file a flight plan with air traffic control.”

  They went into the control tower, where the man in charge spoke several languages, including English. Frank explained that the Santiago police were looking for the man in the Inca Chief, and asked for the plane’s destination.

  The official consulted the records. “According to the flight plan filed by Pedro Morena, the pilot, the Inca Chief is headed for Easter Island,” he told them.

  Thanking him, the Hardys went back to the terminal, and Frank phoned the police. The lieutenant they had spoken to earlier listened to his report on Santana.

  “I will radio Easter Island at once,” he promised. “Santana will be arrested as soon as his plane lands.”

  “Now what’ll we do?” Joe asked after his brother had hung up.

  “We’ll try to get a flight to Easter Island,” Frank said. “But first, let’s tell Bertrand what happened.”

  The antique dealer was disappointed that Santana had escaped again, but agreed with the boys that they should follow him.

  “I know Easter Island,” he said, “so I can tell you what to do. Fly into Hanga Roa, the capital. Stay at the Hanga Roa Hotel, and go to the governor’s residence and tell him why you’re there. He’ll help you with everything.”

  “Santana and his buddy should be in the lockup when we get there,” Frank observed.

  “I hope so!” Bertrand said fervently. “You boys have to retrieve our idol!”

  Since there were no commercial flights to Easter Island, Frank and Joe found a charter pilot who was willing to take them. Before boarding, Joe bought a guidebook on Easter Island, while Frank selected a copy of Thor Heyerdahl’s Aku-Aku.

  “Easter Island’s more than two thousand miles off the coast of Chile,” Joe said. “From down here, it’ll be even farther. We’re in for a long flight.”

  After the pilot had taken off, the boys studied the guidebook. They discovered that Easter Island was quite small, only fifteen miles by eleven, with a population of about two thousand people. “It has a number of extinct volcanos,” Joe announced, “the most important being Mount Rano Raraku where the natives got the volcanic stone from which they carved their giant figures.”

  Frank smiled. “That’s one thing I’ve been wanting to see for a long time, and thought I never would. The stone heads of Easter Island!”

  “I know one thing you won’t see,” Joe said. “Trees!”

  “You mean there are none on the island?”

  “That’s right. Only grass. Sheepherding is one of the leading industries, but many natives make a living from the growing tourist trade.”

  “Well,” Frank quipped, “in that case, the only place Santana can hide is in a volcano!”

  15 The Wizard

  As they were thundering along over the ocean, Frank flipped through the pages of Aku-Aku.

  “This book is great,” he said. “Tells about Thor Heyerdahl’s expedition. He wanted to solve the mysteries of the island, which he did. Some of them, anyhow. Like that business of the long ears on the statues. He says the Incas who came from South America had long ears. So when they made the carvings, they gave them long ears.”

  “But why did they produce those big stone figures?” Joe asked.

  “That’s one mystery Heyerdahl didn’t solve. He says no one knows why they created them or how they transported them from Mount Rano Raraku. Some weigh fifty tons! Look at this picture.”

  Frank pointed to an illustration of Heyerdahl sitting on top of a stone figure twenty feet tall. Other illustrations showed giant carvings lying on the ground near platforms on which they had once stood.

  “Who knocked them over?” Joe wondered.

  “Invaders from across the Pacific, Heyerdahl thinks,” Frank replied. “They came from Polynesia and conquered Easter Island. To demonstrate they were the bosses, they pushed the statues off the platforms. That’s the way it was when a Dutch sea captain discovered the island in the eighteenth century. Later, Captain Cook landed there during his voyage around the world. Finally, Chile annexed the place in the nineteenth century.”

  Their conversation was interrupted by their pilot, who offered them sandwiches that he had brought along.

  “Oh, I’m so glad you thought of that,” Joe said. “I’m starved!”

  After their meal, they slept for several hours until at last Easter Island came in sight. The plane circled over the area, and the Hardys got a broad view of rolling, grass-covered terrain. They looked down into the craters of extinct volcanos and noticed that high cliffs fell off into the water along most of the coast.

  Over the airfield, Joe commented, “No planes on the ground. The Inca Chief must have left already. I hope they arrested Santana when he arrived!”

  After landing, the Hardys went to the control tower and asked about Santana’s plane.

  “According to the flight plan of pilot Pedro Morena, that plane’s overdue,” said a man at the monitoring control board. “I’ll see if I can raise him on the radio.”

  He lifted the transmitter and called, “Easter Island control to Inca Chief! Come in, please! Pedro Morena, come in, please!” He repeated the call several times, then
set the transmitter aside.

  “No answer,” he reported.

  “Will you let us know what happens?” Frank asked. “We’ll be at the Hanga Roa Hotel.”

  “As soon as we know,” the man promised.

  “Thanks. Our names are Frank and Joe Hardy.”

  The boys retraced their steps just in time to catch the bus to the hotel at the southeastern end of Easter Island. They found the capital was a town of tiny houses, where most of the people on Easter Island lived. The hotel was small but modern. After being shown to their room, they debated their next move.

  “There isn’t much we can do tonight,” Frank said. “But we should report to the governor right away. He’s the one who can make sure Santana’s taken into custody when the Inca Chief lands. Anyway, we’ll have to let him know what we’re doing here.”

  “You’re right,” Joe agreed. “Let’s go find him. Shouldn’t be too hard. Hanga Roa is a small place.”

  After getting directions at the hotel desk, the brothers walked to a bungalow south of Hanga Roa where the governor of Easter Island resided. Chile’s flag flew from a flagpole, but there was no activity at the building.

  “I guess we’re the only ones who have business with the governor tonight,” Joe said. “Things are rather informal around here.”

  A servant showed them into the official’s office. The governor was a middle-aged man wearing the uniform of a captain in Chile’s army. He shook hands with Frank and Joe, gestured them to be seated, and settled down behind his desk.

  “What can I do for you?” he inquired in fluent English.

  The boys explained that they were looking for Santana and the stone idol. Frank showed him the photograph of the sculpture that Kimberley had given them.

  “I know about this,” the governor responded. “The police called me. I will interrogate Santana as soon as the Inca Chief arrives. The control tower at the airfield informs me that the plane is overdue. Of course, the pilot may have changed his plans or had trouble and set down somewhere else.”

  “Governor, do you know anything about the stone idol?” Frank inquired.

  “I never signed a receipt for its removal from the island,” the man replied. “In fact, I never saw it.”

  “We were told a Scandinavian collector bought it,” Joe pointed out.

  The governor shook his head. “I know nothing about this man or how he got the idol. I suggest you see a man named Iko Hiva, who’s the leader of the people of Easter Island. He’s considered a wizard, and if anyone knows anything about the idol, Iko Hiva does.”

  “We’d like to talk to him,” Frank said.

  The governor gave them directions to the man’s home, and the following morning after breakfast, Frank and Joe walked to the outskirts of Hanga Roa. They stopped at a hut with a grinning skull over the front door.

  “I wonder who that is,” Frank muttered. “Or was!”

  “No point asking him,” Joe quipped. “He’s not about to invite us in.”

  The boy knocked and heard a shuffling of feet approaching inside of the hut. Then the door swung open. The face of a hideous monster confronted them! Its eyes glared savagely, and its mouth was twisted in an evil leer!

  Startled by the apparition, the boys stood rooted to the spot. Suddenly, the figure’s right hand reached up and pulled the face off. An old man grinned at them. “Welcome!” he said.

  Frank was flustered. “Eh, do you always greet your visitors in disguise, with that awful mask on?”

  “It is the image of one of the ancient gods of Easter Island,” the man said in English. He was slightly built with wrinkled brown skin and coal black eyes. He wore a checkered shirt, canvas trousers, and sneakers.

  “I am Iko Hiva,” the man went on without answering the question. “I can see you are Americans. I learned your language at school. Why have you come to see me?”

  The Hardys introduced themselves.

  “We want to talk to you about a stone idol,” Joe explained.

  Iko Hiva shrugged. “I know more about the idols of Easter Island than anyone else. Come in.”

  The boys entered the hut. They found themselves in a single large room with neither table nor chairs. Stone figures with misshapen features were displayed on shelves along the walls, and a number of hideous masks hung from strings attached to the ceiling.

  A block of black, volcanic stone rose three feet from the floor under one window. On it lay a long stone knife. A primitive fishing spear leaned at an angle against the block.

  There was a musty smell in the room because, despite Easter Island’s warm temperature, all the windows were closed and locked.

  Frank thought to himself, the governor said this guy was a wizard. Weirdo’s more like it!

  Aloud he said, “A man named Julio Santana has the idol we’re looking for. Do you know him?”

  Iko Hiva stroked his chin. “I know him. He used to be an important man on the island, a defender of our gods and our traditions. He left to find work elsewhere. But I have communicated with him recently.”

  The Hardys stared at him. “You’ve corresponded with him?” Frank asked.

  Iko Hiva shook his head. “I spoke to him in spirit. ”

  The boys felt disappointed, but said nothing.

  “Do you know the Scandinavian collector who brought the idol from Easter Island?” Joe asked.

  “I do not. But so many collectors come to our island that it is possible I failed to notice him. He did not come to me. What is your interest in him?”

  “He sold the idol to South American Antiquities, who commissioned us to find it after Santana stole it,” Frank said.

  Iko Hiva looked thoughtful. “We have many stone idols. Describe the one you are looking for, and perhaps I can help you.”

  “We can do better than that,” Frank replied and took the photograph from his pocket, handing it to Iko Hiva. The wizard frowned as he gazed at the face with the circular eyes, broad nose, and long ears.

  “This is the guardian of the sacred cave!” he cried.

  “Is that important?” Joe queried.

  “Of course it is! The guardian was on the altar of the sacred cave for centuries. It disappeared but a short while ago!”

  “Maybe an Easter Islander sold it to the Scandinavian collector,” Frank suggested.

  “Never! No one would touch it!”

  “Why not?”

  “The aku-aku would take revenge on him!”

  16 Guardian of the Sacred Cave

  A strange feeling came over the Hardys as Iko Hiva spoke. A tingling sensation ran up and down Frank’s spine, and the hair rose on the back of Joe’s neck.

  “The aku-aku protects the guardian of the sacred cave,” the man shouted. “None of our people would have taken the idol. It must have been stolen from the altar by an outsider. No one has any right to it. Do you intend to keep it from us?”

  “No, we don‘t,” Frank assured him hastily. “If what you say is true, we’ll see the idol stays on Easter Island. But if the sculpture was legally sold by someone in authority, we have to return it to South American Antiquities.”

  “All we want right now,” Joe put in, “is to find the idol. Since you want to find it too, why can’t we work together?”

  Iko Hiva calmed down. “I will tell you what I will do. I will take you to the sacred cave and you can see for yourselves the altar where the idol used to stand. ”

  The wizard led the boys out the back door to a corral where three horses were grazing. A number of saddles hung on the fence.

  “Can you boys ride?” he asked.

  “Sure. We ride a lot at home in Bayport,” Joe replied.

  “Well, then, saddle up and we will go.”

  When the mounts were ready, the old man set out at a quick canter, followed by Frank and Joe. The ride took them about two miles to the coast and then south along a steep cliff where they passed an extinct volcano with stone ruins near the summit.

  “That is Mount Rano Kao,
” said Iko Hiva. “The ruins are those of Orongo, the place where our bird men used to celebrate their rites. Some of them still haunt Orongo,” he added darkly.

  The wizard pulled his horse to a stop on the edge of a steep cliff and pointed across the water to an island. “That is Motunui where the terns nest. The bird men used to race down from Orongo, across to Motunui, and greet the terns flying in. That was the source of their magical power. It still is.”

  The wizard dismounted a short while later and tied the reins of his horse to a stake driven into the ground. Frank and Joe did the same.

  Then Iko Hiva led the way to a point where a rope ladder dangled down the cliff for about fifty feet. Frank judged it was a thousand feet from the end of the rope ladder to the pounding surf below. The ladder swung in the breeze, its rungs clattering against the cliff.

  “Climb down until you see an opening in the wall,” Iko Hiva instructed the boys. “That is the entrance of the sacred cave. Follow the tunnel in and you will find the altar. There is not sufficient room for three, so I will stay here.”

  Frank edged himself over the brink first. Getting a grip on the top rung with his hands, he found a lower rung with his feet and began the descent. Joe came after him. Rung by rung, they worked their way down the swaying ladder along the side of the cliff while the sound of the foaming surf echoed in their ears.

  The mouth of the cave was directly to their left. Frank went in first with Joe right behind him. When they reached the tunnel, they had to get down on their hands and knees, and finally wriggled forward on their stomachs. Soon they were in total darkness.

  “What’s the point of this?” Joe muttered. “We wouldn’t be able to see the altar if we fell over it.”

  “Maybe the old man laid a trap for us,” Frank said uneasily. “Wait—there’s a light up ahead.”

  The way began to broaden until the boys were able to move on their hands and knees again. The light became stronger as they rounded a corner and saw a strange sight.

  The passage ended in a circular opening too narrow for them to slip through. It was guarded by a circle of stone knives fastened into the rock. Beyond the knives there was a block of volcanic rock on which stood seven sputtering candles, three on each side and one in the center.