back on the mainland, sir?" Freddy Farmer asked with a frown.
"I think I can answer that, Freddy," Dave Dawson spoke up with an
apologetic glance at the senior naval officer. "Because of what
Vice-Admiral Stone just told us. That our little Japrat is not the only
Jap around. He may have spies of his own right here in the Hawaiians.
And there's such a thing as short-wave radio, you know. To play it
safe ... I mean, in case we did reach Hawaii, which we have, he might
radio one of his pals to do what he wasn't able to do. And to do it
before that Nazi carrier put in to Pearl. Isn't that what you had in
mind, sir?"
"That is it, exactly, Captain Dawson," the vice-admiral said, giving him
a nod of approval. "You two, and you two alone, can block this thing. So
until the force puts into port, which will be the day after tomorrow,
you are marked men. At least we have got to assume that such is the
case, until we know better. And that brings us up to the matter of the
carrier force arriving, and you identifying this Nazi for us ... if you
can."
The senior officer paused and stared at them both a little hopefully.
Dawson grinned and nodded.
"We'll spot him, sir," he said with all the assurance in the world in
his voice. "We didn't get much of a look at him, and nothing that we saw
of him stood out in a noticeable sort of way. But I know very well, sir,
that I'll recognize him when I see him again."
"And so will I, sir," Freddy Farmer echoed with a confident nod. "It's
just one of those things that a chap can't put into words. I mean, I
couldn't for the life of me tell you _why_ I'll be able to recognize
him, but I know that I will."
"Well, you'll both certainly get all the chance in the world to do just
that," Vice-Admiral Stone said.
"And it will be a happy moment when we see your men take him in charge,
sir," Dawson said grimly. "I'll er--no, sir?"
Dave stumbled, and mumbled the last as he saw the station commandant
shake his head.
"No, we're not going to do it that way," the Navy officer said. "Oh,
we'll grab him in time, but not the very next moment after you point
him out to us. You're forgetting that address over in Honolulu, whatever
it is. You will point him out to us, but in such a way that he'll never
suspect. We plan to let him leave ship unmolested. It is our plan to
trail him to his destination, and ... well, the rest is obvious, isn't
it? We'll catch the lot of them. Instead of catching just one Nazi spy,
we'll clean out an entire nest of them that is still causing us concern
here on Oahu, almost three years after Pearl Harbor."
As Vice-Admiral Stone spoke the last he glanced over at Commander Drake,
and nodded. The junior officer returned the nod.
"Let us hope so, sir," he said quietly, but with a certain grimness in
his voice. "Nothing I'd like better than to smoke them out into the
open."
Vice-Admiral Stone saw the questioning looks that came to Dawson's and
Farmer's faces, and he hastened to explain.
"Commander Drake is chief of Naval Aviation Intelligence, here on Oahu,"
he said. "During the last few months a couple of things have happened
that shouldn't have happened. Sabotage, missing papers of importance,
and that sort of thing. The commander has been in charge of breaking
the thing, and has made some arrests. Japs every time. Born and raised
here in the Islands, but still Japs. Didn't do any good, though. Every
one of them killed himself rather than talk and save his life. They
actually killed each other. A suicide pact. I'll spare you the gory
details. All we were able to learn was that the root of the whole
business, the main nest, is somewhere in Honolulu. But Honolulu is a
fairly big place. So, naturally, we are hoping that your lead will take
us straight to that spot, and make it possible for us to wipe out the
menace once and for all."
"I see, sir," Dawson said after a moment's silence hung over the room.
"But you spoke of pointing him out so's he wouldn't suspect. Just how,
sir? He probably got a look at us, at the time that Jap was scared off
before he could finish us. So when he sees us come aboard his carrier,
whichever one it is, he'll know us instantly. I mean, even if no move is
made toward him, he'll certainly know _why_ we are there. And later he's
bound to guess that we pointed him out so that he could be followed. Or
am I getting this all mixed up?"
"No, you make your point clear enough," the vice-admiral said with a
smile. "But we're not going to advertise it as much as that. You two
will see him, I hope. But he certainly won't see you. I've got all that
arranged, so don't worry. You'll get a good look at every fighter pilot
in the three-carrier force, but not one of them will even know that
either of you are aboard. Just leave that part to me, and don't worry.
I'll explain my little plan later. Right now, I guess we've talked
things over enough for the first meeting. You two could do with some
rest and relaxation. So I'll say again that I'm very pleased to meet
you, and express my sincere hope that we can clean up all this very
dirty business within the next seventy-two hours. Meantime, I'm turning
you over to Commander Drake. He'll act as the Navy's official host
during your stay here on the Islands."
The vice-admiral stood up, and smiled. The other three stood up,
saluted, and then went outside.
"Well, what will it be first, Captains?" Commander Drake asked when they
reached the golden sunshine. "Feel like a sight-seeing tour about the
Station, a little nap, or what?"
"Those eggs we had for breakfast, sir," Freddy Farmer said with a
sheepish smile. "The way they were cooked. I've never tasted anything so
delicious. I ..."
Dave Dawson groaned aloud and shook his head sadly.
"Here we go again, Commander," he said. "You might just as well get used
to it. There are perpetually three things that Farmer always wants to do
most. One is eat, two is to eat some more. And three is to eat again.
It's a habit that will never be broken, I'm afraid. So we might just as
well humor him, or we'll have a terrible grouch for company."
"Rubbish!" Freddy Farmer snapped angrily. But just the same, he looked
hopefully at Commander Drake. And then grinned broadly when the Naval
officer nodded, and started leading the way over to his quarters.
CHAPTER EIGHT
_Black Lightning_
"What do you say, Dave; stop this blasted thing for a moment, what?"
Freddy Farmer said. "I'm coming loose at the joints. Besides, this is a
beautiful spot. What is it anyway, do you know?"
"The beach at Kahuku Point," Dawson replied as he guided the jeep in
which they were riding to the side of the road, and braked it to a stop.
"And you're right, Freddy, this is some spot. With that half-moon
hanging up there in the sky, it's just like a picture from the brush of
a great artist."
"Well, strike me pink!" young Farmer gasped as he climbed out of the
jeep and gazed at Dawson. "The chap seems to have some beauty and
romance in his soul after all!"
"And nuts to you!" Dave snapped as he climbed down, too. "Can't a fellow
admire something without being taken for a guy with long hair who lives
in a garret?"
"But the way you said it, Dave," Freddy Farmer said with a sly look in
his eyes. "So soft and so deep. Do you write poetry, too, my good man?"
"Look, dime a dozen!" Dawson grated. "It was your idea to take this jeep
trip around the island. So don't start any of that stuff with me. I
simply said that this was quite a spot. And it is, _see_?"
"Right you are, Dave, right you are, old thing," young Farmer laughed.
"I simply couldn't pass by the chance to pull your leg a bit. First time
I ever heard you admit there were such things as moons, and what not.
Just shows there is another side to you. And I like that side, _too_. So
am I forgiven?"
"Aw, go spin a wing!" Dawson growled, but he grinned and gave Farmer a
playful punch in the ribs. "Fact is, Freddy, nobody can be hard-boiled
in the Islands. There's something about them that would break down the
toughest egg that ever came down the pike. I've seen a few places in
this old world in my few years, but somehow the Hawaiians always remain
at the top of the list."
"Yes, they really are quite something, I must admit," Freddy murmured as
he gazed about at the faintly silver-washed scenery. "I'm fair to being
in love with them myself. What say we take a walk back along the road a
ways? Or should we be getting on back to the Kaneohe Naval Air Station?"
Dawson glanced down at his wrist watch and shook his head.
"It's early," he said. "We've got lots of time. And I don't think
Commander Drake will be mad at all if we stay out of his hair for a
spell longer. Now, there is one swell guy, isn't he, Freddy? I went for
him one hundred per cent the moment I laid eyes on him."
"A very pukka chap, and no doubt of it!" Freddy Farmer agreed instantly,
and dropped into step. "We've probably bored him to tears, but he hasn't
shown it for a single second. Always ready to please. Always eager to do
anything to help us pass the time. That day yesterday with him is one
I'll always remember. Don't believe there's a blasted thing left on this
island that he hasn't shown us. A very, very top-hole gentleman, for
fair."
"That, and more," Dawson grunted. "But I've a hunch he got a kick out of
it too, taking us on the sight-seeing rounds. If only because it got
his mind off other things. The commander is worried about the spy
business here in the Islands. There are no two ways about that. If we
don't spot that Nazi tomorrow when the carrier force comes in, he's
going to take it like a mule's kick in the face."
"I fancy we'll feel much the same way ourselves," Freddy Farmer
murmured. "Makes me almost afraid to have tomorrow come. And for two
reasons, too."
"One is maybe we won't find the guy," Dawson said. "What's the other?"
"That we'll find him, and then that will be that," young Farmer replied
after a moment's pause. "I mean, our job will be all washed up. I
gathered that Vice-Admiral Stone expects us to go back to the mainland
on the next plane, after this business is all taken care of."
"Yeah, I got the same idea," Dave said gloomily. "And it's been
bothering me. I'll hate like sixty to go back to instructing. To tell
you the truth, once this business is all settled, I'm going to go to the
vice-admiral and see if I can't get him to arrange for us to be sent to
the Southwest Pacific war zone. Anyway, some place other than back to
the mainland."
"I doubt that you'll have any luck," Freddy Farmer sighed. "Technically,
the vice-admiral hasn't anything to say about where we go next. We are
Air Forces, you know. Loaned to Naval Aviation for instruction duty.
Orders for us to proceed to any fighting zone would have to come from
the Air Forces Command, not the Navy."
"Right, but did you have to bring it up?" Dawson groaned. "However, this
business isn't cleared up yet. I've got me a funny feeling, I have."
"Was there ever a time when you hadn't?" young Farmer shot right back at
him. "What's it this time? That we're going to fail tomorrow?"
Dawson didn't reply for a moment. He walked along the moonlit and
shadowed road, hands jammed in his pockets, and a faraway look in his
eyes.
"Yeah, Freddy," he eventually said slowly, "I guess you could put it
that way. I've been making the old brain wheels spin over in high gear
on all this business. And I stumbled on one little item that maybe
throws the whole thing out of whack. Time."
"Time?" Freddy Farmer questioned with a frown.
"Yeah, time," Dawson said. "No matter how you look at it, the carrier
force was far at sea when you and I stopped hearing the birdies sing.
And ..."
"But you said...!" young Farmer began.
"I know," Dawson stopped him. "I said that being as how things were all
arranged, they probably took a chance and had that Nazi spy go back
aboard his ship. But later, when the Jap guessed that we were going to
do things about it, he stopped taking chances."
"You certainly don't make sense," Farmer growled. "But if you're
referring to the Nazi spy, no matter what the Japrat decided, or didn't
decide, the Nazi was far at sea by then. And on his way to Pearl
Harbor."
"Correct," Dave grunted. "But there was the item of that guy in
Honolulu. Oh sure, we may spot the Nazi tomorrow, but I don't think
_he'll_ lead Commander Drake and his men to the Honolulu address. And
even if he should, Commander Drake won't find anybody there."
"You're crazy!" Farmer snorted.
"Okay, so I'm crazy," Dave said placidly. "But that's the way I feel
just the same. Doggone it, Freddy, the thing is just too open and shut,
as far as we're concerned. I mean, we hold all the cards. And nothing
ever works out that way. The stakes are too high for it to come off
that way!"
"Rubbish!" young Farmer snorted again.
"You think so?" Dawson murmured, and turned his head to look at him.
"Okay, then. Figure it this way. One, that Japrat was smooth enough to
hear us outside that shack, and catch us with our flaps down. Two, he
was smooth enough to swipe a plane and chase us up to L.A. Three, he was
smooth enough to slip time fire bombs into the mail sacks aboard the
Fort we were to fly. Four ... But skip the rest. Do you think he's not
also smooth enough to somehow get word to his Honolulu man, so that this
end of the business won't go boom along with that Nazi spy? Do you think
he's dumb enough to risk the loss of an important spy contact here in
the Islands by just hoping that his Nazi spy won't be nailed? If you do,
you're nuts, is all I've got to say. And what's more, I'd like to lay a
little bet that he _also_ gets word to the Nazi spy. Maybe not until the
Nazi sets foot on shore, but darn soon after that, and don't kid
yourself."
"About the beggar in Honolulu, yes," Freddy Farmer said. Then with a
shake of his head, "But about that Nazi spy, no. He wouldn't be bothered
with that, because if he's as smart as you say he'll know that his Nazi
spy will never be able to set foot on shore. I mean, if he has such
communication with his Honolulu chap then he'll obviously be informed
that his mail sack business failed. That we did arrive. So he'll
naturally realize that his Nazi spy will be identified by us before he
even steps ashore."
"Nuts!" Dawson snapped. "If you give the guy a little brains, then for
cat's sake go all the way, and figure him for a lot of brains. Figure
him to be able to figure it the way we have. Vice-Admiral Stone's plan,
I mean. In short, that we won't grab the guy aboard ship. That we'll let
him go ashore, and trail him. Don't you see, Freddy? If that Jap figures
that we heard all about his Nazi spy sailing on one of the carriers,
then he _also_ figures that we _also_ heard about the meeting in
Honolulu. And he will act accordingly, believe you me!"
"Well, it's rather involved, but perhaps you're right," young Farmer
said with a shake of his head. "But if we spot the chap tomorrow, I
wouldn't call that failing."
"I would!" Dawson said quickly. "Nailing that Nazi spy is just part of
the thing. There's the Honolulu angle. Now that we're in it, we're in it
all the way, as far as I'm concerned. Our big mistake was to be caught
flat-footed way back at the start. So unless the whole thing is cleaned
up one hundred per cent, it'll be a failure for me, is the way I look at
it."
"Yes, I see your point," Freddy Farmer mumbled. "But not to change the
subject, what do you think of Vice-Admiral Stone's plan for us to spot
the chap?"
"Okay, I guess," Dawson replied with a shrug. "The entire force is to
anchor inside the submarine nets while the vice-admiral makes his
inspection of all three carriers. We'll go aboard with his party not as
officers, but as gobs. Nobody ever looks at a couple of gobs in a
vice-admiral's inspection party. Besides, we won't be trailing along
with all the gold braid. We'll be stationed at the gangway ladder where
we can get a look at everybody, and still be noticed. All pilots will be
lined up on deck, and so forth. Yeah, I think the plan is okay."
"Wish I thought so," Freddy Farmer grunted. "Strikes me as a bit too
fancy, though. I can think of a lot of ways that would be just as good,
and much simpler."
"Well, I'll tell the vice-admiral when he comes in," Dave said with a
chuckle.
And with that they both lapsed into silence and strolled slowly along
the road that paralleled the Kahuku Point beach. There was nothing to be
gained by rehashing things. What was to happen tomorrow when the carrier
force arrived, would happen. And that would be that. So they strolled
along, one or both of them pausing every now and then to admire the
moonlight on the palm trees, or the way it danced over the broad expanse
of the Pacific like billions and billions of spinning silver coins. At
one spot the sight was particularly awe-inspiring, and Dawson stared at
it intently like a man in a trance.
Eventually, he heaved a long sigh, stretched his arms over his head,
drew in a deep breath, and then let it out in another long drawn out
sigh of complete contentment.
"Some night, hey, Freddy?" he grunted. "Boy, this is sure one swell
spot, war or no war. Me for this place in my old age, and no fooling.
After I make my million in civilian life, of course. How about you,
little man?"
There was no comment from Freddy Farmer. Dawson turned and started to
open his mouth to repeat his words, but he snapped it shut instead. For
perhaps five full seconds he stared pop-eyed at the spot where the
English-born air ace had been walking by his side. But Freddy wasn't
there anymore. He had disappeared; completely vanished as though the
ground had swallowed him up. Shadowed moonlight all over the road, but
not a sign of Freddy Farmer.
"Hey, Freddy!" Dawson suddenly let out a yell. "Where the heck are you,
fellow?"
The silence of the night swallowed up the echo of his words. He slowly
turned all the way around and searched with puzzled eyes in all
directions. A wave of annoyance suddenly flooded through him. He had the
urge to go on walking along the road, but on second thought he curbed
it.
"Okay, funny man!" he snapped. "Come out, come out, wherever you are.
Come on, Freddy! I don't feel like playing _that_ kind of a game! Snap
into it, fellow!"
And the silence again swallowed up the echo of his words. There was
nothing but the moonlight, the shadows, and the soft velvety silence of
a Pacific night. Real anger flamed up in Dawson, and then suddenly the
anger was touched by the finger of cold fear. A clammy, eerie sensation
rippled across the back of his neck. For no reason at all he suddenly
remembered when once as a kid he had fallen out of bed and awakened on
the floor of his room. The room was black as pitch, and the feel of the
carpeted floor as frightening to him as the feel of a rattlesnake. His
yells that night had been heard five houses down the block. But he
didn't make a sound now. The very air that he breathed seemed to clog in
his throat.
And then without warning the strangled cry came to him from out of the
depths of the night-shrouded trees that bordered the road on the left.
"Dave! Help! Come quick! Dave! Dave!"
The last was choked off by what seemed like a gurgling moan that made
Dawson's heart stand still, and the blood in his veins turn to ice. For
perhaps two seconds he stood paralyzed, and then he spun and plunged
into the dark trees. But he had taken only half a dozen steps when
something caught him sharply across the forehead. Something else slammed
into his right side. And as his head seemed to spin off his shoulders,
and the rest of his body to go crashing downward, he was vaguely
conscious of hissing sounds, and the dank, musty smell of something
crawling and loathsome!
CHAPTER NINE
_Room Of Death_
When he again opened his eyes, a smell that was something like that of
dead and rotting flower blossoms filled Dave Dawson's nose, and seemed
to clog up his throat. For several seconds he stared bewildered at a
world of murky shadows. Then suddenly he realized that he was in some
kind of a room, and that he was lying on his side on the floor of that
room. And the air he was breathing was heavy with the smell of rotting
sweet things. Like perfume that had turned bad. Or still more like cheap
perfume mixed with a dash or two of ether. It stung his nose, and his
eyes, and made him gag.
"What the heck?" he heard his own voice mumble.
The sound of his own mumbling voice gave him the idea to sit up and take
immediate stock of his crazy, cockeyed surroundings. But the idea
remained just an idea. That is to say, he soon found that he could not
sit up. And he couldn't because his wrists were bound tightly behind his
back. His ankles were bound tightly, too. And a rope connecting his
bound wrists and ankles was drawn so taut that the only movement he
could make was to roll over on his face. And that didn't do any good
because then he couldn't see anything. And the strain on his wrists and
ankles made white dots of pain dance about in front of his eyes.
Gasping and panting for breath, he managed to flop back onto his other
side. But for a couple of minutes he could see nothing but blurs because
of the dancing white spots. Then as his vision cleared he saw the
huddled form of Freddy Farmer on the floor not four feet from him.
Freddy was trussed up, too, and his eyes were closed tight as though in
deep sleep. A terrible fear gripped Dawson as he stared at his flying
pal, and then his heart began to beat again when he saw that Freddy was
breathing regularly.
Over beyond Freddy on the opposite wall was a small window. But it was
so high up from the floor that it was more like a skylight. And when
Dawson twisted his head back so that he could look up at it, he saw
four pale squares of light. The pale light from outside seeped down
through the four small panes of glass that made up the window.
"Dawn," he muttered. "It must be close to dawn, or else that glass is
plenty dirty. I'll ... _Dawn?_ But it was early evening when it
happened. Well, not later than nine o'clock, anyway. Yeah! Freddy
disappeared, and then yelled. I went hunting for him, and ... bingo! I
got clouted, and there was a funny smell. Something like this, and ..."
He cut off the rest with a groan and closed his stinging eyes tight as
he tried to force his brain back in memory and recall what else had
followed. But he couldn't remember anything else. Yes, a sort of hissing
sound, that dank, musty smell, and then ... and then the lights had gone
out for him.
He groaned again, opened his eyes and looked at Freddy Farmer. He tried
for a moment or two to wiggle and edge closer, but the white pain in his
wrists and ankles made him give it up.
"Freddy, Freddy!" he called out softly. "Can you hear me, Freddy? Open
your eyes, pal. This is Dave. Can you hear me, Freddy?"
Young Farmer's eyelids seemed to flutter a bit, but they did not open
immediately. A tremor ran down the youth's body. Dave saw him quiver,
and then heard him sigh. Then presently young Farmer opened his eyes,
and just gaped blankly.
"Freddy, it's Dave!" Dawson said sharply. "How are you, Freddy? Okay,
pal? Say something, won't you?"
The English-born air ace continued to stare blank-eyed for a moment or
two longer. Then he blinked rapidly, and frowned.
"What's the matter, Dave?" he asked. "Where are we? What are we...?
Ouch! I say, what the heck is up? I can't move. My feet and hands are
tied! I say!"
"Me, too, Freddy," Dawson said quickly, and tried to grin but without
much success. "But I don't know any of the answers. I just woke up.
Look, what happened to you last night?"
"To me, last night?" young Farmer murmured. Then in a startled voice.
"_Last night_, you said? You mean...? I mean, this isn't last night? I
mean, this isn't tonight. I ... Oh, good grief, what do I mean?"
"Take it easy, son, take it easy," Dave soothed him. "Right now it's
early dawn, I think. Last night you suddenly faded out of the picture.
We'd parked the jeep at Kahuku Point beach and were taking a stroll.
Remember? You disappeared, called out to me, and I ran smack into a kick
in the face, or something. Why did you call out? Where had you gone, and
why?"
Freddy Farmer scowled, and slowly moved his head from side to side in a
bewildered gesture. Then suddenly he stiffened, and his eyes flew open
wide.