"But of course!" the Jap replied, and looked at him in surprise. "Did
you...? But naturally. I am being stupid. I am forgetting that only this
morning you awoke from the drugs. I am sorry that I assumed that you
knew and understood. The carrier force has been at sea, now, for two
days."
Dawson's throat contracted so that he could hardly breathe. He gaped at
the Jap in dumbfounded disbelief.
"Two days!" he heard Freddy Farmer choke out. "What day is today?"
"Friday, the thirteenth of the month," Yammanato replied. "And Friday,
the thirteenth, is supposed to be an unlucky day in your country, is it
not?"
"Friday, Friday?" Freddy Farmer mumbled over and over to himself.
"Why ... why, it was Monday night when we were at the Kahuku Point
beach. I can't believe it. It's a blasted lie!"
"It is the truth, Captain Farmer," the Jap corrected him smoothly. "I am
sorry that I cannot permit you to go outside and confirm it by asking
anybody you might meet on the street. You will just have to take my word
for it. It _is_ Friday, the thirteenth, and the American carrier force
has been at sea for two days. Its destination is, of course, a matter of
mystery to us. But of course it will not remain a mystery to us for very
long. I ... You are sick, Captain Dawson? Kato! Get that chair for
Captain Dawson. He is ill, or perhaps something I have said has upset
him."
Dave wasn't even listening. He probably couldn't have, even if he wanted
to. All the bombs and guns in the world were going off in his brain.
His insides felt as though they had shriveled up into nothing, and as if
every drop of blood in his veins were trickling out through the end of
his toes. The carrier force had come and gone? That Nazi rat spy had not
been caught, and he was now aboard one of the carriers? He made his
contact with the man in Honolulu, who was obviously this Yammanato, and
had obtained other information to be taken to Admiral Shimoda at Truk?
As well as the water flares? But it couldn't be! It was impossible!
Yammanato was lying. Freddy and he couldn't have been out cold from
drugs from Monday night until Friday. That was crazy, screwy, and
downright impossible.
"It is true, Captain Dawson, I am sorry for your sake, to say," the
quiet voice of Yammanato filtered through his spinning and roaring
thoughts. "And here is your proof. I didn't think of it until just this
moment. Stupid of me. I fear I have just been living amongst you
Americans too long. I am becoming forgetful. But here, Captain Dawson.
See for yourself."
The little Jap had pulled a folded copy of the _Hawaiian Herald_ from
his pocket, and was holding it up for them both to see. The big black
headlines were just so many blurs to Dawson. His eyes flew to the date
in small type, and all the life seemed to flow out of him.
It was Friday, the thirteenth of the month!
CHAPTER ELEVEN
_Fate Laughs_
"Well?" the quiet voice of Yammanato came to him, after a period of time
which seemed to be no less than a hundred years. "Do you believe me,
now? Or do you think I printed this myself for a little joke?"
Dawson didn't say a thing, and neither did Freddy Farmer. It is doubtful
if at that moment either of them could have spoken a word, even at the
cost of their lives. The blackest and most inexcusable failure possible
was theirs. It was complete and utter defeat for them. Every single step
they had taken had been a step downhill toward failure and disgrace.
They had failed Vice-Admiral Carter, and they had failed Vice-Admiral
Stone, and Commander Drake. And they had failed themselves. From the
very moment the lightning had struck them as they crouched outside that
shack near San Diego they had not done one single thing that wasn't the
wrong thing to do. Twice doom had reached for them, and missed. But not
the third time. It was all over now. They had failed. To the end of
their days they would not be able to hold their heads up among men. It
would be far better if ...
"Good fortune is a fickle woman, Captain Dawson," Yammanato spoke again,
as Dawson caught himself swaying like a drunken man. "She belongs to no
one, for always. Even I have suffered from her fickle ways at times. But
in your case you were doomed to lose. You were mere boys trying to beat
men. To beat men who will one day become masters of the entire world. So
do not let your sorrow and anger at yourself rob you of your desire to
live. It was inevitable, this thing. You two were but two pawns to be
taken and removed from the game. We Japanese have made this thing happen
to others before, and we will make it happen to still more in the
future."
The pitch-black mood still engulfed Dawson, but he forced himself to
rally his thoughts, and to regain control of them. He looked at
Yammanato and regarded him, flint-eyed.
"Taking a couple of tricks isn't winning the whole game, Yammanato," he
said with an effort. "Okay, we didn't catch that spy aboard the
carrier, and the force has sailed. You forget the other thing. The other
job we did accomplish!"
The little Jap just looked at him and smiled pleasantly.
"How many times, Captain Dawson?" he asked with arched eyebrows.
"How many times, what?" Dawson retorted.
"How many times has the famous American tendency to bluff been
successful with you?" the Jap shot right back at him. "Another job?
Well, somehow I find myself not even curious any more, Captain Dawson.
Simply talking with you has satisfied me completely. There was no other
job, and we all know that now."
"No?" Dawson flung at him. "That's a horse on you, Yammanato! If nothing
was bothering you, Farmer and I wouldn't be alive now. It's not the
Japrat way to let their prisoners go on living for nothing. It won't
work, Yammanato. And I do mean _your_ bluff!"
The little Jap continued to smile, and then suddenly he looked almost
sad and a little reproachful.
"I am afraid you have absorbed too much American propaganda," he said
softly. "Not all Japanese are alike in the matter of waging war ... and
winning. There are many like I am. The thrill of the battle is not death
for my enemies. It is the defeat and the complete humiliation of the
enemy that pleases me most. Why have you not long since been dead? I
will gladly tell you, Captains Dawson and Farmer. Because killing you
would not bring me half the joy or the satisfaction of letting you live
to return to Vice-Admiral Stone, and Commander Drake, as two items of
proof that their stupidity is no less than your own. Your deaths would
mean nothing to me because I have nothing against you as individuals.
You are, as I have said, merely two pawns that I have won, and which it
pleases me to return to the loser ... for what you are worth. No, I have
no desire at all to kill you. In a week, or two weeks, or perhaps
longer, you will be drugged again and returned to the very spot where we
captured you. I will have left the Islands by then. Of course, if when
you again awake from the drugs, you wish to take your own lives, that is
something that will be out of my hands. But I have a feeling that you
will not do that. You Americans appear to have one admirable quality,
stupid as it is. You find it difficult to realize when you are
defeated."
The Jap stopped talking, smiled broadly, and made a little gesture with
his hands, palms upward.
"And now I must leave you," he said. "No, you are not to be tied up
again. Kato is a little over-zealous on some things. You are free to
move about this room as you wish. Blankets will be given you to sleep
on. There is already some furniture here. Make what use of it you like.
I am sure you will have no complaint about the food we will give you.
No, your confinement will not be too severe a hardship in a physical
sense. And one more thing. If you are overcome with the desire to escape
from this room, you are quite welcome to try. Kato! Come with me."
Yammanato raised his voice slightly on the last, and then calmly turned
his back on the two air aces and walked toward the door. Wild madness
seized hold of Dawson and he was tempted to fling himself at the little
Jap. But he had just enough cold, hard common sense left not to make the
slightest move in that direction. Kato was sidling around them, his jet
black eyes glittering and alert. And Dawson knew that the giant son of
Nippon had the power in either hand to snuff out his life with a single
blow. So he stood stock-still and inwardly prayed that Freddy Farmer
would do the same. And Freddy did.
As he reached the door Yammanato turned and looked back at them
inquiringly.
"There is something else," he said. "Or maybe there isn't. Have either
of you a reasonable request to make? Say, something that might add to
the comfort of your visit? After all, you can expect to be my guests for
a considerable length of time."
Dawson started to shake his head, and hot, blistering words rose up in
his throat. But at that very instant the glimmer of an insane hope
winked in his brain.
"Yes, I've a request, Yammanato," he said, and pointed upward. "The
stink in this place would suffocate me in a day. How about opening that
skylight and letting some fresh air into the place?"
The small Jap's eyes flew to the window, and Dawson could tell he was
gauging its height. Suddenly he lowered his eyes to Dawson's face and
smiled and nodded.
"Certainly, Captain Dawson," he said. "I will have Kato open it at once.
Even by piling up the furniture I do not think you could reach it. But
if you can ... my very best wishes, Captain. It is sixty feet from that
skylight to the ground, and nothing but sheer wall. Nor does that let
out on any roof. It is simply an opening in the side of the building.
For ventilation, of course. Kato! Open that skylight."
The big Japanese hesitated while the shadow of a scowl passed across his
face, and then he went over to the side wall and unhooked the pair of
lines that controlled the skylight. He pulled down on one hard and the
hinged window opened with a rusty squeak. Then he yanked viciously on
both lines and they parted in a shower of dust high up by the skylight.
Rolling up the lines that dropped to the floor, the big Jap stuffed them
in his pocket and glared at Dawson and Freddy Farmer. Yammanato laughed
softly.
"I'm afraid that Kato has more confidence in your ability to escape,
Captains, than I have," he said. "But now if it rains you will probably
get wet."
"We won't mind," Dawson said with a stiff grin. "And thanks for the
fresh air, Yammanato. It's certainly needed around here."
The polished Jap gave him a brief smile, a longer searching look, and
then nodded and went outside with Kato at his heels. The big brute of a
Jap jerked the door shut with a bang, and the two air aces heard both
the key twisting in the lock, and a bolt ramming home. Then all was
silent again.
But not quite completely silent. There were faint, new sounds that came
to their ears as the two youths stood there in their room prison. Sounds
that came down through the skylight high above their heads. The faint
murmurs and whispers of a city of some one hundred and thirty-five
thousand population. The sounds of Honolulu. They both listened to the
sounds for a moment, and then looked at each other.
"Too bad we didn't go down in flames in that Fortress!" young Farmer
broke the silence between them bitterly. "What a blasted mess we've made
of everything. Gosh! I was never so disgusted with anybody as I am with
myself right now!"
"Yeah," Dawson mumbled with a grimace. "I'm sure not in love with me,
that's a cinch. The carrier force already two days at sea, and that Nazi
rat still aboard one of the ships! When he proved that to us it hit me
as hard as hearing that we'd lost the war."
Freddy Farmer gloomily agreed with a silent nod, and not words. Dawson
bit his lower lip in meditation, balled one clenched fist into the palm
of the other hand, and cast furtive glances at young Farmer out of the
corner of an eye.
"Are you game, Freddy?" he presently asked in a low voice.
The English-born air ace jerked his head around and looked at him
puzzled.
"Game for what?" he demanded. "What do you mean?"
"Taking our chances on getting out of here," Dawson said. "Everything
looks like it's been sunk to the bottom. Heaven knows but what that Nazi
rat has tossed half a dozen water flares over the side by now. But ...
well, until I'm dead and gone I'll never give up trying, at least. No
matter how much of a fool I've made of myself to date. Besides, there's
always the chance that something lucky _for us_ might happen."
Freddy Farmer made an angry gesture with his hands as Dawson paused.
"If you've got something to say, Dave, for heaven's sake then say it!"
he bit off. "What are you working up to, I'd like to know? What do you
mean, take our chances on getting out of here? You know perfectly well
I'd risk anything to get out of this hole. But how? It's impossible! We
even haven't a gun between us to shoot the lock and bolt off that door.
And even if he was lying about the window being sixty feet from the
ground, how are we going to get up there? Fly?"
"Close that trap of yours, and keep your shirt on, and you'll find out!"
Dawson said sharply, but placed his arm on Freddy's shoulder. "I've got
a key, see? This. Don't even know how it got into my pocket. Felt it in
the lining as Yammanato was leaving. That's why I asked for him to raise
the window. Look."
As Dawson spoke he pulled a match from his pocket and held it up. Wild
hope had blossomed on Freddy Farmer's face, but it faded out in a flash
as he stared at the match. He switched agonized eyes to Dawson's face.
"Don't, Dave, please!" he said in a voice that was close to breaking.
"This isn't the time for leg pulling, or any of your funny gags. Please,
old man! It only makes me feel worse, and ..."
"Stop it, will you?" Dawson barked. "Sweet tripe! Do you think I'm
wasting time kidding, _now_! Don't be a dope. This little match _is_ a
hope for us ... I hope. Now, give me a hand lifting the table and stuff,
that's here, over by the door. First thing is to block them off from
getting in. No, save the questions. Just give me a hand, Freddy. And
I'm not crazy, so help me!"
Freddy Farmer closed his mouth with an effort, and together they lifted
a heavy table, two chairs, and a bamboo chest affair, across the room
and wedged them as best they could against the door.
"Okay," Dawson said when that was done. "Peel off your tunic and shirt
and tear them into strips. I'm going to do the same just as soon as I
get old rags and papers over there in the corner."
But Freddy Farmer didn't move. He simply stood rooted in his tracks and
stared at Dawson as though he believed his pal had suddenly gone stark,
raving mad. He was still standing there rooted in his tracks when Dawson
returned with an armful of filthy rags and old papers that he had
gathered up from the corner of the room. He placed them in a pile close
to the side wall and directly under the skylight. Then he straightened
up and took off his own tunic and shirt, and started ripping them down
the seams.
"Get yours off, Freddy!" he said. "Get them off fast. Don't you get the
idea of the match, now?"
"No, I do not!" young Farmer replied, and fumbled with his buttons.
"Unless you intend to set the house on fire?"
"No, just this pile of rags, cloth, and old papers," Dawson said, and
motioned for Freddy to toss him his tunic. "And unless I miss my guess
it will make plenty of smoke."
"Smoke?" Freddy fairly gagged. "Good grief, why?"
Dawson looked at him, and smiled.
"Boy, you sure are slow on the uptake today, pal," he said and pointed a
finger upward. "That skylight. It's a natural for a chimney. If we can
make enough smoke it will go pouring out of there. Maybe we'll even have
to break up some of those chairs and toss the pieces on the fire. But we
want lots of smoke to go pouring out of that skylight for people to
see."
"Why, bless me!" Freddy Farmer ejaculated. "It'll ..."
"Absolutely, my friend," Dawson said grimly. "Somebody's going to see
the smoke, think the place is on fire, and pull in the alarm. And if we
can keep enough smoke pouring out it's going to be plenty embarrassing
for Mr. Yammanato when the fire department, and the police, start
banging on his front door. In fact I hope it gives him, and every one
of the rats in this place, a permanent case of heart failure. Anyway,
it'll be an out for us, at least."
"Boy, the things you can think up!" Freddy Farmer cried softly as he
practically tore his shirt from his back. "I always said you had the
brains of a dozen people."
"Well, you've said it once, just now, anyway," Dawson grinned, and
tossed Farmer's ripped tunic on the pile. "But let's say a silent prayer
that that skylight doesn't act as a down-draft. Okay, Freddy, toss the
rest of it on. I'm going to set her alight."
"Just a minute!" young Farmer stopped him. And then after he had closed
his eyes tight for a moment, and had opened them, and nodded, he said
soberly. "Right-o, Dave. Strike the match, and start the stuff
burning."
CHAPTER TWELVE
_Flashing Finish_
Yellow throat-stinging smoke curled and swirled about the room where
Dawson and Freddy Farmer were held prisoners by Yammanato. It stung
their eyes, too, and half blinded them. It hung like a thick blanket of
acid not more than three feet from the floor. For some ten minutes now,
the two air aces had hugged the floor to keep under the smelly stuff and
waited for an up-draft to take the smoke upward and out through the
skylight.
"I guess you went wrong on this one, Dave," Freddy gasped. "This stuff
is heavier than water, and it will never rise."
"It's got to, it's got to, Freddy!" Dawson said grimly. "It's our only
hope of getting out of this place. And of maybe getting the rats here in
this nest caught."
"Small chance of that, I fancy," Freddy said with a groan. "But even if
the police and the fire department do come busting in here and free us,
then what? The way we've messed up this job, it will certainly take
something to face Vice-Admiral Stone and Commander Drake. They certainly
won't love us for this business, I can tell you!"
"Maybe not, but we'll just have to take our medicine, Freddy," Dawson
replied. "But the big idea right now is to get _out_ of here. You know
there's always a chance that we may be able to do something. After all,
the carrier force is only two days at sea. It's going to take longer
than two days for them to get within flight range of Truk. At least,
near enough for that Nazi rat to skip off and get going. I ... doggone,
I could cut my throat for the way things have turned out. After all the
tight places we've been in, and wiggled out of them, to be caught cold
like this. Boy, do I feel lower than a heel!"
Freddy Farmer didn't reply for a moment. He moved a bit closer to Dawson
on the floor, and then reached out a hand and touched his flying pal on
the arm.
"We'll get out, Dave," he said quietly. "We've got to, old chap. And you
and I aren't licked until we're dead and buried six feet under, as you
would say."
Dawson looked at him, and some of the telling strain went out of his
smoke-streaked face. He grinned and winked knowingly at Freddy.
"Now you're talking, kid," he said. "For a moment there I was afraid
that you had given up the ship for keeps. But you were just fooling me,
and I should have known better. Sure we'll get out, and we'll still win
somehow. You just wait and see."
As Dawson finished the last he got slowly up on his hands and knees, and
crawled over toward the wall on his right. He was playing a hunch, and
his hunch proved to be correct. There was a draft of air over on that
side that was lifting the yellow smoke upward. As a matter of fact the
smoke was beginning to pour out through the skylight.
"Give the gentleman a cigar; it's working, Freddy!" he cried out in a
low voice. "Crawl over here and see for yourself. It's working, Freddy."
A few seconds later young Farmer was by his side and peering upward out
of smoke-reddened eyes. He gasped happily, and instantly crossed all the
fingers of his two hands.
"For luck, Dave!" he breathed. "This and a prayer that they will see it
outside. I mean, that there aren't tall buildings around here that will
hide it off from those in the street. Gosh! Dave! Look at that stuff
pour out. I never knew that just a bundle of clothes and things could
throw off so much smoke!"
"One of the very special Dawson fires, kid!" Dave said to him. "And if
that amount of smoke going out that skylight doesn't attract plenty of
attention, then I'm a Chinese uncle."
"Whatever that means," Freddy Farmer said with a chuckle. "Anyway, all
we can do now is wait. As though we haven't been doing that little thing
for years and years it seems. I ..."
Freddy cut off the rest as Dawson suddenly grabbed his arm and gave a
shake of his head to be quiet, and listen. Breath virtually locked in
their lungs, the two air aces stood perfectly motionless and strained
their ears. A few seconds later they were rewarded by the sound of
footsteps racing up a flight of stairs beyond their locked and barred
door. And almost at the same time there came wild, high-pitched chatter
in a language that neither of them understood.
"This is it, Freddy!" Dawson whispered in young Farmer's ear. "Sounds to
me like those are the two rats who brought us our food."
"Sounds like them to me, too," Freddy replied. Then, pulling on Dawson's
arm, he added quickly, "Better stand well out of line with that door,
Dave. When the blighters find that they can't get in they may try to
shoot their way in."
"Yeah, you've got something there," Dawson said.
But that was all he had the chance to say. The door was being tried now,
violently. And it definitely sounded as if whoever was outside were
having a fit because the door could not be opened. And then came halting
words spoken in English through the door.
"Open, please, yes. There is fire and smoke in there. Open, please, and
we will put out fire, yes!"
Dawson and Freddy Farmer simply looked at each other, and winked.
Neither of them spoke a word, but each could tell that the other had
exactly the same thought. In short, that the next few minutes could well
mean success or failure for their hopes. There was not much smoke going
up from the burning clothes and papers now. The fire had spent itself,
and if help in the form of the Honolulu fire and police departments did
not come soon, their mad play for freedom would have been all in vain.
And then suddenly from beyond the door a voice spoke that made the hair
crawl on the backs of their necks, and made each wish with all his
heart and soul that he had been armed. It was the voice of Yammanato,
and it was not soft and quiet and polished now. It was high-pitched,
even a little off key, and ringing with fiendish frenzy.
"Open at once or I will kill you through the door. Your trick has
failed, do you hear me? It has failed, and if you do not wish to die a
thousand deaths then open this door at once. Do you hear me? Do you hear
me?"
Fists, and more than one pair of fists, pounded violently on the door.
The door squeaked and groaned a little but it did not budge a fraction
of an inch. The furniture that the two air aces had piled up in front of
it was made of heavy stuff and held the door fast.
"Open! Open this door at once! I have a gun. I am going to shoot!"
It was the man called Yammanato who screamed the words, and almost
before their shrilling was lost to the echo there came the muffled sound
of two shots, and bullets tore through the heavy paneling in the door to
lodge harmlessly in the bamboo chest.
"You see?" Yammanato screamed, seeming to beat the butt of his gun
against the door. "I have a gun, and I will shoot you. No matter where
you stand I will be able to hit you. Kato is coming and he is strong
enough to break down this door. I tell you, your trick has failed. Be
not fools any longer, or it will go that much harder with you. Do you
hear me in there? Do you hear me?"
Freddy acted as though he were going to fling some kind of a taunt
through the door, but Dawson cut him off with a curt shake of his head,
and then put his lips to young Farmer's ear.
"Don't ask for it, Freddy!" he breathed. "He might be able to place the
sound of your voice, and plug us at that. Just keep mum. If we don't get
a break pretty soon, then ..."