and turned his head so that Freddy would not see the look he knew must
be showing in his eyes. The sands of time were running dangerously low
now. Was fate mocking their crazy efforts? Was this house where they
were prisoners so situated that nobody outside would see that yellow
smoke pouring from the skylight? Was this house set alone out on the
outskirts of Honolulu? Had their desperate attempt failed after all, and
in a few moments would that giant, Kato, smash down the door with his
massive shoulders? Would...?
The last thought was never completed in Dawson's brain. At that moment
from beyond the door some place came a cry of alarm, and the sound of
feet running furiously up the stairs. Then the speaking voice came
closer and Dawson could tell that it was Kato shrilling something
rapidly in Japanese.
And then ... and then a voice roared and Dawson's heart leaped with pure
joy. It was a good old American voice and it seemed to boom right
through the barred door.
"Hey you, what's going on here!" it thundered. "Your place is on fire.
What's in that room?"
"It is nothing, Captain," came Yammanato's voice, very sweet and
whining. "It was a cigarette that burned one of my jackets. It is all
right, now, Captain. But thank you for coming to our aid."
"Oh, yeah?" said the booming voice. "Well, I'm not a captain, just a
sergeant. And don't tell me that a cigarette made that much smoke.
What's your name anyway? What's ... Yeah, up here, Mike! Come on up and
bring those two guys with you. This looks screwy to me!"
"Coming, Sergeant!" cried out a second born-in-the-U.S.A. voice. "Hey,
these guys look Jap to me!"
"But that is silly!" the whining voice of Yammanato was heard to
protest. "We are all native Hawaiians. My name is Komo. I own the little
souvenir shop down the street. Why, I have never been in Japan in my
life. You are mistaken, Sergeant. We are loyal Hawaiians. And it is
true. I was smoking a cigarette and put it down to go out of the room
for a minute. It fell out of the ash tray and onto a jacket that was on
the arm of a chair. It is really nothing. No harm at all, save a hole in
my jacket. And it was my favorite jacket, too."
And that was as long as Dawson and Freddy Farmer decided to wait. There
were two Yank soldiers out there. Probably a couple of members of the
military patrol in that part of Honolulu. Anyway, they were undoubtedly
armed, and besides, the time to act had arrived at last. Dawson looked
at Freddy Farmer, and they both nodded.
"Hold them, Sergeant!" Dave yelled at the top of his voice, and started
heaving the furniture that blocked the door to one side. "That rat is
lying in his teeth. He's a Jap, and so are the others. We're a couple
of Air Forces officers held prisoner in here. We started the fire to
bring help. Hold them, Sergeant; we're coming out."
"Hey, what goes on?" came the booming voice.
But at that moment neither Dave nor Freddy wasted any breath replying.
Both were straining every ounce of their strength to push the furniture
aside and get at the door. It seemed to take them years to do it, and
they heard sounds and yells outside. They still paid no attention. And
then finally the last of the furniture was out of the way. Dawson
grabbed the door knob, turned and yanked the door open. Two big husky
members of the military police stood outside blinking at him in
dumbfounded surprise. In one corner of the landing the two little brown
men cringed. But Yammanato and Kato had obviously ducked past the two
soldiers and were racing down a flight of stairs at top speed. Dawson
took it all in at a glance, and yelled at the blinking sergeant.
"Stop them!" he cried. "They're Jap spies. Stop them even if you have to
shoot!"
The sergeant still gaped blankly, but the private first class who was
with him seemed to collect his wits. He spun around and made a grab for
Kato.
"Hey you, hold on there!" he barked.
But the giant Jap had no intention of doing that. As he went down the
stairs he shot out a huge fist. It caught the American soldier square on
the chin and knocked him head over heels as though he were no more than
a toy doll. But Kato did not take into consideration that Dawson was up
on his toes, and fighting mad. As the soldier went toppling over the gun
in his hand flew from his fingers. Dave dived and caught it before it
struck the stair landing. He fell on his side but twisted around on the
top of the stairs. A split second later the gun in his hand spat out
flame and sound. Kato's head snapped forward as though he had been
brained from behind by a baseball bat. His big feet lost their footing
on the stairs. He stumbled and then went crashing forward to fall
headlong down the last seven or eight steps like a slaughtered ox. Even
before he crumpled in a heap halfway through an opened door that led out
onto a sun-filled street, blood was pouring from the bullet wound in the
back of his head, and he was stone dead.
In dying, however, Kato had saved the life of his master, Yammanato.
That is to say, his falling body blocked the entire stairway so that
Dawson was unable to shoot at Yammanato, who was a few steps ahead of
the giant Jap. However, Dave did not waste any time cursing his luck.
Scrambling to his feet, he went down the stairs in just three leaps,
hurtled over the prostrate Kato and bolted out into the sunny street.
He spotted Yammanato not over thirty yards away racing headlong up the
sidewalk on his right. To Dawson's surprise he didn't see any gun in the
Jap spy's hand. Yammanato had either thrown it away, or had stuck it in
his pocket when the two Yank soldiers had come running into the house.
But even if the Jap had had a gun in either hand, it wouldn't have made
any difference to Dawson. The tables were turned, now, and it was
Dawson's time to do the talking.
"Stop, you Japrat!" he shouted, and raced up the sidewalk like a streak
of lightning.
If the Jap heard the challenge he paid no attention. He increased his
speed if anything, and Dawson suddenly saw that he was making for a
narrow alley another fifty or sixty yards ahead.
"Stop, Yammanato!" Dave yelled. "Your last chance. Stop, or you get it!"
But Yammanato did not stop. That he heard Dawson was proved by the fact
that he flung a single look back over his shoulder, and then raced full
out for what he hoped would be the safety of the alley up ahead. He
never reached that alley, though. He missed it by a good twenty yards.
Dawson's single shot seemed to knock Yammanato's feet right out from
under him, and spin his body in the air like a human top. The Jap hit
the sidewalk on his face, and slowly rolled over onto his right side.
The instant the Jap went down, Dave slowed up and went ahead cautiously,
his gun out in front of him on the alert for instant action. He had not
forgotten the gun that the Jap had fired through the door of that
smoke-filled prison room. And when he saw Yammanato slide his right hand
inside his jacket he almost pulled the trigger of his gun again, but not
quite. Perhaps he could not shoot a man sprawled on the ground, even
though he were a filthy Japanese. Or perhaps it was for one of many
other reasons. At any rate, he withheld his fire.
And then Yammanato's hand came out from inside his jacket, and it
happened. For a brief instant the Hawaiian sun gleamed on the polished
blade of a six-inch knife. Then the blade disappeared as the Jap plunged
it with both hands to his heart.
"The stinker!" Dawson heard his own voice pant as he raced up to the
Jap. "Takes his own life rather than face the music. Just an old Jap
custom, I guess."
But Yammanato was not yet quite dead. He stared up at Dawson out of half
closed eyes that gleamed with fiendish hate. And then suddenly his lips
slid back over his teeth in a sort of wolfish grin, and faintly spoken
words came out from between them.
"Good fortune is a fickle woman. I have so spoken."
And with that the Jap died. Dawson saw death steal over the Nip's face.
The light in his eyes went out, he stopped breathing, and all that
remained was the blood that had once given him life seeping out past the
knife blade and staining his white silk shirt a deep red.
"If that was supposed to be an exit line, Yammanato," Dawson grunted
down at the dead man, "it was very corny. Plenty corny."
And then as he straightened up, Freddy Farmer and the two soldiers came
dashing up, and all three of them started talking at once.
"Hold everything, everybody!" Dave cried, and held up his two hands.
"The rat's dead as a doornail, and now all of us have got things to do,
but fast!"
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
_All Or Nothing_
Commander Drake, of U.S. Navy Intelligence, took off his cap and ran
fingers through his hair, and gave a little shake of his head. He had
just completed a minute inspection of the house where Dave Dawson and
Freddy Farmer had been held prisoner, and now he stood with the two of
them in the very prison room. The sergeant, who it seemed was named
Ryan, and a whole squad of troops were standing guard on the building.
The two still cringing brown men, who Commander Drake guessed were
Koreans, were in the sergeant's custody. And the street out in front was
now packed with the curious who had been drawn like flies to the scene.
And incidentally, the bodies of Yammanato and Kato had been carted away
from the public view.
"It's still like somebody telling me a crazy dream he had!" Commander
Drake gasped, and jammed his cap back on his head. "I can still hardly
believe it!"
"Well, it was real enough, sir," Dawson said with a grin. "There are a
couple of witnesses right here to back up that statement. But as the old
saying goes, truth is lots of times stranger than fiction."
"You're telling me!" Commander Drake said, and made a gesture with one
hand that included the entire house. "This nest of the little yellow
rats right here under my very eyes all this time. And it took you two to
smoke them out. And I don't mean that as a pun. Why, heaven knows how
much information they've collected in this very house, and then slipped
out of the Islands to be used against us. Why, that radio down in the
basement is just about as powerful as the naval radio at Kaneohe."
"I sure wish that Yammanato hadn't gone yellow and taken his life,"
Dawson said grimly. "That's why I shot him in the hip. To save him for
you, I hoped."
"Well, don't let it make you feel too bad," Commander Drake said with a
shake of his head. "There's one thing about a Jap, and I suppose we
should give him some credit for it. I mean, when he doesn't want to
talk there's nothing in the world that can make him talk. When you shot
him he knew that he had failed, and would be in disgrace as long as he
lived. So the only thing left for him to do was to take his life.
Yammanato, he called himself, eh? Well, I'll bet a small sum of money
that I won't find him listed under that name, or even listed as living
here, when I look him up. Dawson, and you too, Farmer, do you realize
what you've done for me? Why you've accomplished in a day what I haven't
been able to do since the time of Pearl Harbor. Why, what there is here
in this house may prove to be of inestimable value to the Navy, and to
the Army, too. Those files in that room downstairs may have every Jap
spy this side of Tokyo listed."
"I hope so, sir," Dawson murmured as he stared up at the smoke-smudged
skylight. "But as far as I'm concerned it's a failure. Farmer and I
missed the boat. And that is exactly what I mean."
"Quite," Freddy Farmer echoed gloomily. "If we hadn't been so utterly
stupid as to let ourselves get captured that night, we might have
identified that Nazi who is aboard one of the carriers. He might even
have led us here, and the whole thing would have been cleared up very
nicely. As Dawson says, it's a blasted failure for me, too. Good heaven!
Just think of what may happen to that carrier force. You say you didn't
gain an inkling of his identity, sir? Not one of the fighter pilots
aboard the three carriers made any suspicious moves."
Commander Drake didn't reply for a moment or two. He frowned, pursed his
lips, and balled one clenched fist into the palm of the other hand. Then
he sighed, and shook his head.
"Not one blessed thing," he said sadly. "When you two seemed to have
disappeared from the face of the Islands, I took the job in hand and
personally checked every fighter pilot aboard. Not to anyone's knowledge
aboard, of course. And I had what men I could spare check on fighter
pilots' moves ashore for the day they were in port. Of course I didn't
have enough men to assign one to each fighter pilot, but I doubt if I
would have been any more successful.
"But the force sailed!" Dawson said with a groan. "Why? Couldn't you
have got Vice-Admiral Stone to delay sailing? Or couldn't you have taken
every fighter pilot off the carriers, and replaced them with others? I
mean ... well, wasn't there _something_ that could have been done,
sir?"
Commander Drake shook his head, and sighed again.
"No," he said quietly. "The mission that force is on now has been
planned for months. To hold it up would upset our entire plan of war in
the Pacific. The carrier force simply had to sail on schedule. There
wasn't anything else we could do but take the chance that that Nazi spy
won't be able to get away with whatever he plans to accomplish."
"But why won't he, sir?" Freddy Farmer protested. "Nobody knows who he
is!"
The Naval Intelligence officer gestured with his two hands, palms
upward.
"You're right, nobody does, Farmer," he said. "But all the fighter
squadron and division commanders were called before Vice-Admiral Stone
before the force sailed. They were told the whole story and ordered to
keep an eye on their pilots at all times. Because of one rat in their
midst all the others have got to suffer for it. But that's the way it
is. Also, certain other officers aboard the carriers were told the
story, and they will keep a strict watch of the deck beginning with
sundown. And another precaution has been taken, also. It's probably the
one that will get us the best results, if there are to be any results."
"And what precaution is that, sir?" Dawson asked as the commander paused
for breath.
The Naval Intelligence officer permitted a faint smile to light up his
grave face for a moment.
"That was my contribution to the affair," he said. "A part of the
destroyer escort will sail the same course but exactly four hours behind
the carriers. You heard that Jap in San Diego tell the Nazi that the
flares will burst into light some three to four hours after they have
been in the water. Well, the destroyers will steam four hours behind the
carriers, so their look-outs should certainly spot any flares, if there
are any about."
"My compliments, sir," Dawson said with a smile. "That was a very good
suggestion. It should work. And if you must know, it makes me feel a
little better about the safety of that carrier force. But now I'd like
to make a suggestion to you, sir, if you don't mind? Or to be exact,
it's a request. Something I'd like to ask you to do."
The commander nodded and waved one hand.
"Then go ahead and ask it by all means, Dawson," he said. "What is it,
anyway?"
Dawson hesitated a moment while a faint frown played across his brows.
"I feel a little better about the safety of the carrier force, sir," he
said presently. "But I still feel that Farmer and I have failed in what
we set out to do. So if you could arrange it, Commander, I'd like to ask
you to arrange for us to see Vice-Admiral Stone. And as soon as
possible, too, sir."
"That's just about the easiest thing for me to do, Dawson," the Navy
officer said with a grin. "I got in touch with the vice-admiral fifteen
minutes after your phone call brought me here on the run. I gave him
most of the picture then, and he was very pleased. Naturally he'll want
to congratulate you. I'll drive you to the Kaneohe Naval Air Base right
away. That is, just as soon as I leave some instructions for the guards
downstairs. I've a car right outside."
"Thank you, sir," Dave told him. "I'd be very grateful if you'd be kind
enough to do that."
"Wait right here and consider it done," Commander Drake said, and moved
toward the door. "I won't be five minutes."
"Now what, Dave?" Freddy Farmer asked as the Naval officer disappeared.
"I certainly don't feel like seeing Vice-Admiral Stone. At least not
right away. Even in spite of the luck we had in this Yammanato business,
I couldn't look the vice-admiral in the eye and not feel that we hadn't
let him down something frightful. And that's to say nothing of how we
let down the officers and men in that carrier force."
"Yeah, I know what you mean, Freddy," Dawson said with a nod. "And I
feel pretty much the same way. But I'm willing to face the look in the
vice-admiral's eye if I can only get him to let us carry on with the
unfinished business."
For a brief instant young Farmer stared at him as though he were
slightly crazy.
"Unfinished business, Dave?" the English-born air ace presently gasped.
"You mean that Nazi spy?"
"Certainly," Dave said. "What did you think I meant? As long as that guy
and I are alive in the same world I'll not have a moment's peace of
mind. Sure I meant him. And I still want to show him up for the sneaking
skunk he is, hiding in a U.S. Navy uniform!"
"Well, naturally I want to do the same thing," young Farmer said
quickly. "But I don't think I quite follow you. How in the world do you
figure you can reach him? The carrier force is almost three days out
from Pearl Harbor now."
Dawson opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment Commander Drake
came back up the stairs.
"Let it ride, Freddy," he said in a low voice. "You'll hear me explain
it to the vice-admiral. And maybe it would be bad luck if I spoke about
it first to anybody else. Just cross your fingers and hope."
"I'll do both of those things, right enough," young Farmer replied. "But
you had better make it pretty good, what you're going to say to the
vice-admiral. He may be pleasant enough to us, but I fancy he won't fall
all over himself with joy at seeing us again."
"Just do what I said!" Dave growled as he moved toward the door. "Just
keep your fingers crossed, and hope, that's all."
A short time later Commander Drake ushered Dawson and Freddy Farmer into
Vice-Admiral Stone's quarters. The base commandant seemed genuinely
pleased to see them. In fact, he said so, and congratulated them on the
Yammanato business.
"Commander Drake told me over the phone that there is enough stuff there
to sink a ship," he said. "That's fine. Now maybe we can spend all our
time thinking about the Japs away from Pearl Harbor, instead of those
who are here, and about whom we know nothing. It was a good job, you
two, and I thank the powers that be that you came out of the thing with
your skins. I must admit that we worried more than a little about you
when you did not return here to the base last Monday night."
The vice-admiral paused and suddenly turned full face to Dave Dawson,
and gave him a searching look.
"I have a feeling that you have something on your mind, Captain Dawson,"
he said. "Am I right? And if so, then go ahead and speak. You have my
full permission."
Dave hesitated and glanced sidewise at Freddy Farmer for a little moral
support, but the English-born air ace was watching the vice-admiral.
"I'm no good at making speeches, sir," he said a moment later. "And I
certainly won't take up your valuable time trying to make one. I only
want to say this, sir. The job in so far as Farmer and I are concerned
is not finished. We came out here to the Islands to identify him so that
he could be put where he wouldn't give anybody any trouble. But we
didn't do that, sir, and it was through our own fault. You warned us
that we might be marked men, and we were dumb enough to forget your
warning and walk right into something that only phenomenal luck got us
out of. I suppose everybody makes mistakes, but only fools make the same
mistake twice. And that's just what we did. Once outside that shack in
San Diego, and once last Monday night up by Kahuku Point beach. In
short, sir, I want, and I'm sure Farmer does, too, another chance to
grab that Nazi spy with the carrier force."
"Well, for a man who says he can't make a speech, that one wasn't too
bad, Captain Dawson," the vice-admiral said with a smile. "But aren't
you forgetting that the carrier force has sailed? That it's almost three
days out from Pearl Harbor?"
"No, sir," Dave replied instantly. "Naturally I haven't forgotten that.
But ... well, look, sir. Technically, we are under your command right
now. I was wondering if you couldn't order us to fly to the carrier
force. Aboard one of the mail Catalina boats. A Cat-boat could reach the
force quite some time before the force is within fighter plane range of
Truk. That's true, isn't it, sir?"
"Absolutely," the senior Naval officer replied. "Truk is most certainly
in the force's plans, but it is not steaming directly there. It will not
be within a thousand miles of Truk for several days yet."
"Then there's still a chance, sir," Dawson said eagerly. "Couldn't you
assign us as special observers of the mission for you? In that way we
wouldn't be confined to just one of the carriers. We could fly on and
off all three. That way we could get a good look at one time or another
at every fighter pilot in the force. And ... well, as we once said,
we'll know him the instant we set eyes on him. I know it may sound like
a slightly mad suggestion, sir, but I sincerely hope that you will grant
permission to carry it out."
"And I would like to express my sincere hope that you will grant it,
too, sir," Freddy Farmer spoke up quietly. "Captain Dawson didn't tell
me that he was going to make this request, but now that I've heard it, I
am completely in favor of it, sir. We fell down on our job, sir, and we
only want the chance to make up for our failure, if we possibly can."
The vice-admiral didn't say anything for several minutes. In fact, he
didn't even look at either of them. He scowled silently at his fingers
drumming on the top of the desk. When eventually he did lift his gaze
and look at them he was still frowning.
"It is quite an unusual request," he said. "The Navy doesn't usually
fight a war that way. After all you are Army pilots, so it would be most
strange for you to act as observers for the Navy. Then, too, the moment
the carrier force sailed from Pearl Harbor it was under the complete
command of Vice-Admiral Macon, whose flagship is the Carrier Trenton. I
have nothing to do with it at all. It is quite possible that
Vice-Admiral Macon will maintain radio silence, save for ship to plane,
throughout the entire voyage. A most unusual request, Captains Dawson
and Farmer. Most unusual."
The vice-admiral frowned down at his drumming fingers again, and Dave
Dawson had the sensation of his heart sliding down into his boot-tops
with a thump. Then suddenly after a moment or two of complete and utter
silence, the vice-admiral looked up from his desk with a grunt.
"However," he said quietly, "there are such things as extenuating
circumstances. Exceptions that prove the rule, and so forth. That Nazi
spy is on his way to Admiral Shimoda with valuable information we can
ill afford to have fall into Japanese hands. Also, _if_ he does slip
away from the force he will naturally report on the force to Admiral
Shimoda, and that could prove very disastrous for Vice-Admiral Macon's
ships. So for those and other reasons, I am in favor of _every_ effort
being made to identify this man so that he can be put under arrest."
The senior Naval officer paused to clear his throat, but Dawson
couldn't hold his tongue any longer.
"Then you will, sir?" he blurted out. "You will give us another chance?"
"That's right," the vice-admiral said, and tried not to smile. "There
happens to be a Catalina with mail and some priority things leaving
Kaneohe tonight. I will arrange for you to be on it. I will also give
you a letter to Vice-Admiral Macon stating the reason you are joining
the force, and what you wish to do. That is as far as I can go in the
matter. I cannot order Vice-Admiral Macon to do anything. I can only ask
him to co-operate with you in this matter, but I feel quite sure that he
will. All right, then, Captains, your special request is granted. And,
naturally, I wish you all the good luck and good hunting in the world."
"Thank you, sir, thank you," was all that Dawson could say, because
suddenly he was too choked up to speak other words.
And it was the same with Freddy Farmer. One more chance! It was a time
when mere words could mean everything, or nothing!
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
_Satan Strikes_