SPY HUNT
The commander of the destroyer placed Stan in the hands of a British
Intelligence Officer. Having had some experience with British methods of
sending all reports through regulation channels before acting upon them,
Stan merely requested that he be rushed to his headquarters at once.
"Certainly, old fellow," the officer said. "But that will be a bit
awkward, you know. Everything is upset and everybody is very busy.
There's a big show in the making. I'll do my best. Should be able to
deliver you there by morning."
"Don't bother, if that is as fast as you can get me there," Stan said.
"I'll find a way out to my outfit."
"No trouble at all, glad to help you. I'll get you a room and you can
get a nice sleep. Bright and early I'll be around with a car." The
officer made it clear he was in a big hurry to be off.
"Thanks a lot," Stan said. "I'll see you later."
The officer stared at him as Stan turned and barged out of the little
office where the Navy had left him. News of a big air push made it
necessary for him to get into action at once. He had to report his
information in time to halt the operations, or catch Egbert Minter
before he reported to Berlin. Getting a report to his own flight
commander seemed the quickest way.
Without his Yank officer's uniform Stan was at a disadvantage. The
destroyer commander had had his civilian suit cleaned and pressed for
him and he was wearing it, having discarded the coveralls he had worn in
the German shop. Standing on a street corner in the coast village, Stan
realized that he was dressed as a German civilian. Getting a ride would
not be so easy. Then he began to understand why the Intelligence Officer
had wanted to hold him overnight. Intelligence had not been so sure the
destroyer commander knew all about Stan.
Grinning broadly he hurried down the street. A few people stared at him
and one man pointed him out to another. A bobby turned and stood
watching him. Stan halted abruptly. The policeman was walking toward
him. Suddenly Stan realized that he did not have a scrap of evidence on
him to prove he was a Yank officer. The Germans had taken all
identification away from him.
A man came up the street and halted the bobby. He showed the policeman
something. The bobby looked at Stan, then turned back to his beat. The
man sauntered on a few steps and paused to look into a shop window. At
once Stan knew he was being trailed by British Intelligence. He had a
hunch he would be picked up soon.
Entering a shop he smiled at a girl leaning on a counter. "May I use
your telephone?" he asked.
"Over there." The girl pointed to a small booth.
Stan went into the little room. He got a connection and asked for Eighth
Air Force headquarters after convincing the operator that he was a
stranded flier. A voice at the other end of the line said in a very
irritated manner:
"We are accepting nothing but accredited calls until tomorrow."
"This is vitally important. I must speak to General Gilmer. This is
Lieutenant Stan Wilson speaking. I've just escaped from Germany. A
British destroyer put me ashore."
"Where are you calling from?"
"Ramsgate."
"Get in touch with British Intelligence there. We can't put you through
to the general."
"Then get me Colonel Holt."
"He is in conference. Now clear the wire."
"Don't hang up or I'll have your stripes!" Stan shouted.
"Yes, sir," the voice said quickly.
That meant the operator was a non-com which would make it a little
easier.
"Get me Lieutenant Allison at Mess 187. Make it quick."
The operator did some plugging and after a bit came back with a report.
"Lieutenant Allison has shifted to fighter group. He is at 155,
Interceptor Base."
"Get him!" Stan snapped.
The operator began plugging again and Stan waited. He saw the man
shadowing him standing out at the counter drinking a cup of tea. After a
long wait he heard Allison's voice.
"Hello there?"
"This is Stan. Hold it! Listen! I'm at Ramsgate and have to get to
headquarters at once. Can't tell you how I got here, but I'm about to be
grabbed by British Intelligence. I'm dressed like a German business
man."
"I say, old man, this is topping." Stan heard him shout to O'Malley.
"Is Sim Jones there?"
"Yes, he was here. I don't see him, but I'm sure he's around. Want to
talk to him?"
"No, but either you or O'Malley keep an eye on him. Don't let him get
out of your sight. If he leaves the mess, follow him!"
"I say, what's up?" Allison was clearly startled.
"Do as I say, and get Colonel Holt. Tell him to pick me up here at
once. Even if he has to come himself. I'm about to be grabbed by a
plain-clothes man. But I'll be at British Intelligence here at
Ramsgate."
The Intelligence man was in the door of the booth. "That will be enough
talk," he said gruffly. "Any other messages you have I'll send for you."
He reached over and hung up the phone before Stan could say another
word.
"Listen, Officer. Take me back to the Intelligence Office," Stan said.
"My commander will call for me there."
"You are acting very strangely, my man. Why didn't you make this call
from the office? It could have been checked there." The officer laid a
big hand on Stan's arm.
"I'll make one from there," Stan said. "I'll admit I should have put
this one through from your office, but I did not know I was to be
followed and I didn't stop to think how I would look in these clothes."
"I have orders to handle this myself in case you showed any suspicious
actions. I think you have acted plenty suspicious. I'm taking you to
the London office. We'll have to check this call you just made and get
you identified."
"I can't waste all that time," Stan protested. "I have to get out to my
outfit."
The officer smiled. "I think I've landed one of the boys we're after. We
have had a tip that the Germans have planted a group of the smoothest
men they have over here. So far we haven't been able to put a hand on a
single man of them. But you fit the picture neatly."
"Why?" Stan asked.
"Well, you are an escaped pilot. That's the way they have been coming
in. They are always able to slip through because they know all about the
outfit they were supposed to have been with. They're even supposed to
look exactly like the officers lost over Germany." The officer laughed.
"The more I look at you, the more convinced I am that we've landed one
of them at last. Come along."
Stan walked beside the officer. He felt like kicking himself for
bungling. If the time were not so short everything could be
straightened out. But he was sure the first waves of the giant air
attack were about due to start, possibly before midnight. Allison had
said Minter was not around. He and O'Malley might not be able to locate
the spy.
"Here's my car," the secret-service man said.
Stan paused beside the sleek roadster. The officer opened the door. Stan
stepped inside. The officer walked around the car. Stan leaned over the
side.
"Aren't you going to do anything about this flat tire?" he asked.
"Another flat?" the officer said in disgust. "That's the third one this
week. It's about time I had some new tires." He got out and started
around the car.
Stan reached over and flipped on the switch. He slid under the wheel and
stepped on the starter. The engine hit at once and Stan slammed the
gears into mesh. The roadster leaped ahead, then stalled. Stan opened
the choke and the car leaped again, its tires showering the agent with
gravel.
"Stop or I'll fire!" the officer shouted.
Stan bent down and hit a near-by corner. He did not want to have a real
blowout. He wanted to get as near headquarters as he could before the
British police headed him off. The car careened around the corner and
headed down a tree-lined street. Dusk was beginning to settle and Stan
switched on the lights. He was disgusted to see that the lights were
hooded for blackout driving.
Stan knew exactly how to get where he was going, but he avoided the main
road and went careening down lanes and along narrow trails hemmed in by
hedges. The car attracted little attention since it was an official
vehicle and clearly marked.
Just when he figured he was going to make it in spite of the dim
headlights and the fact that darkness had settled, he burst out of a
lane into a village. He recognized the place at once. He was just two
miles from his objective, but two military cars blocked the road ahead.
Stan was sure they were waiting for him. He did not drive on to find
out. Cutting the switch he slid out of the car and ducked over a hedge.
The car rolled on in the darkness while Stan sprinted along the hedge.
He passed through a back yard two jumps ahead of a shaggy dog and headed
up an alley. A few minutes later he was hurrying down the blacked-out
street.
Reaching a tavern Stan saw two bicycles shoved into a rack beside the
door. One of them was locked but the other was loose. Stan slipped it
out and headed up the street again. He was mounting the cycle when he
heard shouts down the street and men running. Dimmed car headlights
gleamed. The officers were on his trail again. Stan ducked into a narrow
path and pedaled away as hard as he could.
The officers chasing him drove along the road, which ran parallel to the
lane. They had a spotlight on one of the cars which they kept moving in
wide circles. Finally the light passed over Stan and the men began
shouting for him to halt. The light came back and held on him.
Stan sent the bike into a cross path and was out of the beam and headed
away from the road. He pedaled furiously. The men were out of the cars
and running after him. At the first left-hand turn Stan headed back in
the direction he wanted to go and kept pumping away.
The shouting behind him died down and he began to think he had evaded
his pursuers. Suddenly the lane broke out into the main road. Stan
headed down the road. He could see the looming bulk of a hangar against
the sky and knew that he was nearing headquarters. Suddenly he heard a
car behind him. Looking back he saw that one of the cars was close upon
him. He kept on pedaling but the car rapidly gained on him. It was very
close when he saw a gate ahead.
With five British officers on his heels, Stan ditched the bike and
sprinted for the gate. Under shaded lights he saw two Yank soldiers. He
reached them ten yards ahead of the Britishers, having outrun the
secret-service men. The guards barred the way.
"Get a guard and take me to headquarters," Stan snapped.
"We turn all civilians over to the local police," one of the guards
said. He grinned at Stan. "Looks like they were right on the job, too."
"They think I'm a spy, but I'm an Eighth Air Force officer and I have
important information for Colonel Holt, my commander." Stan spoke
sternly.
The British officers closed in. Their leader said:
"Come now. You led us a hot chase but you won't get away again."
"Colonel Holt will vouch for me," Stan said.
"What was the last password we used here?" the guard asked. "The one in
use when you left."
Stan grinned and stepped forward. "Port wing," he said.
The two guards stared hard at him. "He has it," one of them said. The
other turned to the British officials. "We'll take him to Colonel Holt.
You can come along. If he's a phony you can have him."
"Now you're talking sense," Stan said.
The guard made a call and two soldiers appeared. One of the British
officials went along, but it was clear they had begun to believe Stan.
The guards took Stan straight to the administration building. Stan and
the secret-service man were led to a small room off the operations room.
Within five minutes Colonel Holt appeared.
"Wilson!" he almost shouted. "Where in heck did you come from?"
"I came in just one jump ahead of Scotland Yard," Stan answered and
grinned at the Britisher.
"Guess I'll be running along. Sorry we took you for a Jerry," the man
said.
"You did a fine job. Stick around. We may be able to grab one of the men
you are looking for," Stan said.
"You got out of Germany?" Colonel Holt asked. "The Germans seem to be
getting slack about prisoners lately. O'Malley and Jones got back a few
days ago."
"O'Malley got back but not Jones. The Jones who got here is a spy. I'll
give you the story briefly."
Stan outlined the whole scheme. When he had finished, Colonel Holt
rushed him in to the officers meeting where the final touches were
being made on plans for the big raid. Stan had an audience composed of
generals and other high-ranking officials for the next fifteen minutes.
Then phones began to buzz. The R.A.F. was notified to hold up. Stan soon
found himself out of the meeting. He headed for his barracks. Officers
had been sent to round up Egbert Minter, but Stan had a hunch he might
be able to locate the phony Sim Jones before the officers found him.
Stan found Splinters Wright in the Nissen hut. Splinters leaped to his
feet when Stan opened the door. He had a service automatic in his hand
and the light of battle in his eyes.
"Oh, it's you," he said and seemed disappointed.
"Who were you expecting?" Stan asked.
"O'Malley left me here to grab Sim Jones when he comes in," Splinters
explained. He grinned broadly. "You sure started a little war around
this hut."
"Where's Allison and O'Malley?" Stan asked as he began getting out of
his civilian clothes and into a uniform.
"They tore out of here like wild men. I'd hate to be Sim Jones if
O'Malley locates him. We've all been wondering about that bird. He has
acted half cracked since he got back."
"He isn't Sim Jones, he's Egbert Minter, a German spy," Stan explained.
"And we have to grab him."
"O'Malley seemed to have a clue," Splinters said. "Bugs Monahan went
with him and Allison."
"That Sim's locker?" Stan asked.
"Yes."
Stan walked over to the locker and opened it. Inside hung one of Sim
Jones' uniforms and a few other things. Stan examined the uniform, then
turned to the toilet kit. There was nothing there. He opened the
first-aid kit. It contained sulfa pills, powder for dusting, and other
medicines. Stan picked a roll of bandage out of the kit and looked at it
intently. The bandage was packaged to keep it sterile. Suddenly Stan
ripped open the package and unrolled a strip of the bandage. It came
away freely because there were only a couple of yards of it. Under the
bandage was a roll of adding machine tape. Stan whistled softly and
Splinters crowded close to look.
The tape was covered with figures and fine, even German writing.
"Can you read Kraut?" Splinters asked.
"No," Stan said softly. "But our Intelligence Department can."
At that moment the door banged open. The boys turned and found
themselves staring into the muzzle of a service revolver. Above the
barrel glinted the eyes of Egbert Minter.
"Toss that gun on the floor," he snarled.
"Toss it," Stan said sharply as he saw Splinters' arm muscles begin to
tighten. "This bird will shoot."
"You are right, Lieutenant Wilson. Now give me that roll of tape. It
contains valuable data regarding the Eighth Air Force." He stepped
closer and Stan passed over the roll.
"You'll never get out of camp with it," Stan said softly. "I have tipped
the boys off to your little game."
"I will take it back to Germany," Minter said. "But before I go I will
see that you do not make more trouble for us. You are a very capable
man, Lieutenant Wilson."
"You flatter me," Stan said smoothly. "But how are you going to get back
to Germany?"
"Don't try to stall for time. I have killed your pals, Allison and
O'Malley, the idiotic Irishman. Now it is your turn. I shall break a
container of Herr Domber's gas in this room before I lock you in."
"Is that the way you killed Allison and O'Malley?" Stan asked. A
dangerous light had begun to flicker in his eyes.
"It is and I will go back to the hut where I left them. I have a radio
there and will send a message. Two hours later I will be crossing the
channel on a British patrol boat. You know we have captured a few."
Minter smiled. He could not help gloating over his victims.
"You Nazis have very nice habits," Stan remarked.
"Yes, we are efficient." Minter laughed. "This hut is made of corrugated
iron, the floor is cement, the windows are steel with such small panes.
You will die like rats!"
"Interesting, but I prefer to be shot!" As he spoke Stan dived in a
lightning-like leap, straight at Minter. The Nazi's gun flamed and Stan
felt a blow like the smashing of a big fist against his chest. The gun
flamed again, its fire searing Stan's neck, then he had closed with the
German and had forced his gun arm down. Splinters had dived in and hit
the Nazi around the knees. They went down in a twisting, writhing mass
with Stan's blood spattering over all three.
Splinters got the gun and brought its butt down on Minter's head. He
slumped down and rolled free of Stan. Splinters stood up.
"You're hit bad," he said.
"I'm all right. Get some water and bring him around. We have to locate
his hut and the radio. He must have others helping him." Stan steadied
himself with an effort. He was beginning to feel sick to his stomach.
Splinters got water and doused the Nazi, while Stan tore open his shirt
and began plugging an ugly wound in his shoulder. He had to sink down on
a bunk to do it. But he refused to give in. He had to get to the death
hut and rescue O'Malley and Allison. The medics might be able to save
them.
Minter opened his eyes slowly. He groaned and pulled himself to a
sitting posture.
"Take that container away from him," Stan ordered. Minter had pulled a
square glass container from under his coat. It was attached there by a
leather strap with a snap on it. Splinters grabbed the container and
unsnapped it.
"No, you don't," he growled.
"We have to make him talk," Stan said thickly. His head was beginning to
feel light and his tongue thick. The corrugated dome of the Nissen hut
was wavering and swaying.
At that moment the door burst open. "Sure, an' I told you the rat would
come back here!" That was O'Malley's bellow. "And there the spalpeen
is!"
"I say, old man, are you hit bad?" Allison's voice came to Stan through
the dizzy haze closing in around him.
"Just nicked," Stan muttered and grinned. By some twist Allison and
O'Malley had escaped. He felt much better, so much better that he
laughed, or thought he did.
* * * * *
Stan lay on his bunk with a medic giving him treatment before the
ambulance boys packed him off. He opened his eyes and found the haze had
gone. He could feel the morphine working and knew he would drift away
again in a few seconds. O'Malley was looking down at him, his homely
face twisted into a scowl. There were two suspicious-looking beads which
were not sweat on each side of his nose. When Stan looked up at him,
O'Malley grinned broadly. Beside him, Allison was smiling too.
"We'll have him fixed up as good as ever in no time," the doctor said.
"How did you keep from getting gassed?" Stan asked.
"Aisy," O'Malley answered. "The rat was so scared we'd rush him that he
jest eased out through the door an' tossed a glass jug into the room.
It was fixed to break aisy if it hit anything hard. Allison caught it as
neat as iver he caught a Rugby football." O'Malley laughed.
"But the blighter had locked us in and that slowed us down some. Then
two of his henchman came along to use the radio and when they unlocked
the doors to air the gas out of the hut, we grabbed them." Allison
looked at the doctor to see if it was all right to talk. The doctor
nodded.
"Your phone call came in the nick o' time," O'Malley put in. "We located
Sim and trailed him from the mess to his hideout. It was one of our own
Nissen huts the boys had been using to store bedding in. The rats had
moved the piles of bedding away from the back end and made a place
there."
"Why wasn't their radio located?" Stan asked.
The doctor turned to Allison and Stan. "Better let the rest of the plot
wait," he said.
Splinters and Bugs edged forward. "Be savin' a cot for you, Wilson,"
they said.
Stan grinned happily. The morphine had claimed him, and it brought a
pleasant dream. He was again with his pals and another German plot had
been upset.