Jack Hudson
Nam Palung meant business. There was no question about that. But Biff
had no intention of yielding without a struggle. He would make his
escape if at all possible. Right now, though, as his mind whirled trying
to think his way out of this predicament, it would be best to do exactly
as he had been told.
Biff promised himself one thing. Once he was free of Nam Palung he, Biff
Brewster, was going to give himself, Biff Brewster, one swift kick. He
had been played for a sucker, a trusting, easy-to-take American, and he
had filled the role perfectly. How, he now thought, could he have been
so taken in?
The jeep rolled across the field. Biff shot a sidelong glance at Nam
Palung. The jeep moved at a steady pace, not fast enough to attract
attention. It was headed toward a gate in the high wire fence
surrounding the airfield through which service trucks passed. He noticed
that the gate was blocked by an iron bar, raised to allow a vehicle to
pass underneath it. When raised, the bar on its upright poles looked
like a football goal post.
As the jeep drew near and fell in line behind a truck and a small car,
Biff noticed the bar was raised just sufficiently to allow about a
foot’s clearance for the vehicle passing beneath. An idea came into
Biff’s head. He turned to look over his shoulder at his knife-bearing
guards.
“Keep your head straight forward,” Nam ordered. “And no tricks as we
pass the gateman.”
Biff watched the truck ahead pass through. It slowed down without
stopping as it passed under the raised bar. The bar was lowered to stop
position after the truck’s tail-gate went through. Next came the smaller
car, its roof much lower than the truck’s. Again the bar was raised, but
this time, just high enough to accommodate the car, leaving about two
feet between it and the car’s top.
Now the jeep approached the bar barricade. The bar began rising slowly.
Biff watched it, his heart in his mouth. “Don’t let them raise it too
high,” he prayed. Biff leaned slightly forward, placing his weight on
his firmly planted feet. He tensed his leg and thigh muscles until they
felt like tightly coiled steel springs.
The bar was about three feet higher than tall Nam’s head. Biff waited
until the front of the jeep was directly under the bar. Then he leaped
up as if he’d been blasted off a launching pad. His hands seized the
bar. Like a trapeze artist, he swung his body forward in a giant arc. At
the top of his swing, when his body was parallel to the ground, Biff
twisted his head, looking over his shoulder as his body started a swift
downward stroke. At the split second, he lashed out with his feet. One
foot struck the left knife-wielder square on the side of his head. The
man shot over the side of the jeep as if jerked by the hand of a giant.
Biff’s other foot struck the second knife-wielder full in his chest,
toppling him out the back of the jeep.
Now Biff was propelling himself into the backward arc of his swing.
Again his body came swiftly downward. He lashed at Nam, planting both
his feet solidly in the Oriental’s shoulders. Nam shot forward, his head
striking the windshield.
Biff swung his body sideways, and dropped to the ground. He ran back
toward the terminal building, nearly half a mile away. After a hundred
yards, he slowed to catch his breath. Turning, he looked back at the
jeep. There was no need to run. Nam still lay sprawled over the steering
wheel. One of the knife-bearers was out of sight, apparently still
sprawled on the ground on the other side of the jeep. The other guard
was just rising from behind the jeep. Biff saw him stagger, still not
fully recovered.
[Illustration: _He ran back toward the terminal building_]
There would be no more trouble with those three, Biff said to himself.
Not right away, at any rate. The boy continued toward the terminal
building at a rapid walk. He didn’t run, no need to, and if he did, he
might attract attention. He might be stopped. Explanations would be
demanded. The gate-keeper might come up and describe what had happened.
Biff needed time to think. What was his next move?
“Guess I’ll have to play it by ear,” he told himself, and what, he
wondered, had happened to Uncle Charlie? Had he been waylaid by those
same three?
Inside the teeming terminal building, Biff mingled with the constantly
moving crowds. He hoped he wouldn’t be noticeable, but there was little
chance of that. In his American clothes, gray slacks and open-necked
shirt, he was as noticeable as an Oriental dressed in mandarin clothes
would have been at the Indianapolis airport.
There was only one thing to do, Biff decided. Go to the airline check-in
counter and see if any message had been left him by his uncle. The boy
approached the counter cautiously. He wanted to look around before
identifying himself.
Biff sidled up to the counter. A tall, handsome man, about thirty years
old, was leaning over the counter, questioning the clerk intensely. He
was wearing white drill trousers and a white shirt open at the collar. A
well-shaped, close-cropped head topped a strong neck and broad
shoulders. He spoke to the clerk in a voice filled with authority.
Unless he was badly fooled again, Biff felt sure that this man was an
American, and there was something about him that the boy liked
immediately.
“Hold it,” Biff told himself. “Let’s not jump too fast this time.”
Standing behind the man, Biff saw him take out a worn wallet from his
hip pocket.
“Now you listen to me. I’m Jack Hudson. I’m a pilot for Explorations
Unlimited. Here, take a look at my papers. I’m here to meet a boy named
Biff Brewster, and I want to know where he is. Right now!”
The clerk leaned on the counter. He carefully inspected the list of
names on the paper in front of him.
“So sorry. No name like one you say on this list.”
“Is that your passenger manifest list?” the man, Jack Hudson, demanded.
The clerk nodded his head.
Without asking, without waiting, Hudson snatched the list from the man’s
hand.
“Here. You can’t do that!”
Hudson ignored the clerk. His eye ran down the list quickly.
“And just what do you think this name is?” Hudson held his index finger
beside one of the names.
“Oh, so sorry. I guess I no understand your talk.”
“Fat chance,” Hudson said angrily. “Now you just tell me where that boy
is.”
Biff had made up his mind. He couldn’t be mistaken in this man of
action.
“I think you’re looking for me, sir,” Biff said and placed his hand on
Jack Hudson’s arm.
Hudson swung around. He looked Biff up and down, slowly, carefully,
sizing him up, before answering.
“If I weren’t so glad to see you, I’d ask where the devil you’ve been.”
Then, seeing Biff’s face fall, Hudson smiled, a warm, immediately
friendly smile. “But the important thing is I’ve found you.”
“I guess it is mostly my fault that you’ve had trouble meeting me,” Biff
confessed. “I had a little mixup with—” He cut his sentence short.
Perhaps he had better wait until he got to know Jack Hudson better
before revealing all the mysterious happenings that had taken place from
that early hour in the morning four days ago, back in Indianapolis.
“Well, part of it’s my fault, too,” Jack said. “Or the weather’s. Coming
in from Unhao, I ran into a terrific headwind. Should have allowed for
it. These winds spring up all the time in these parts. I was late. But
come on now, we’ve got to clear you with customs and get your gear.”
Jack Hudson, with a forcefulness sharp enough to cut any red tape,
literally bulldozed Biff through a maze of inspections, checks, and
rechecks.
“I’m slipping,” he grinned at Biff when the boy had been cleared. “Took
me thirty-one minutes. My record’s twenty-nine. Come on. We’ve got to
make with the plane back to Unhao. Fast. Lots to be done.”
“That sure suits me. I’m anxious to see my uncle.”
“Hope he’s there when we get back.” A frown creased Jack’s face as he
spoke.
“He will be, won’t he? That’s what I was told, that the emergency came
up quickly and—” Biff ended his sentence feeling foolish. He suddenly
remembered who had told him the story.
“Emergency? I don’t know of any emergency. Your uncle wasn’t even in
Unhao today. It was arranged for me to pick you up before he left.”
“Before he left? What do you mean?” Biff was getting puzzled.
“Your uncle flew out of Unhao over a week ago.”