bomb arc from the Sergeant's hand and plop down into the cockpit of
the Fairey Swordfish. True, the seaplane was a total loss. The engine
was a tangled mass of junk, and not worth salvage efforts. Besides,
the pontoon was filling fast, and it wouldn't be long before the craft
would be three quarters submerged and a menace to navigation in those
waters. Yes, it was best to blow it up and sink it below the surface
of the China Sea. Yet a plane had always been to Dave something that
was almost alive, and human. It always hurt a little bit to see one of
man's air creations destroyed. Yes, even when destruction was necessary.
And so as the time bomb plopped down into the cockpit Dave swallowed
hard, gave the doomed plane a quick little salute of honor, and then
faced the Sergeant again.
"Say, is Air Vice Marshal Bostworth at Singapore, Sergeant?" he asked.
"Boy, I've got the yen to tear a mile wide strip off him when we meet.
We've been floating around for over five hours. Did you know that? He
said that.... What's the matter?"
Dave stopped short and asked the last because the Sergeant had suddenly
stiffened and gone pale under the heavy tan on his face.
"Fancy you can speak to the Air Vice Marshal personally, sir," the
Sergeant said in a hoarse whisper. "He's just behind you, waiting in
the navigation compartment."
"He's _what_?" Dave gasped and felt his knees go rubbery and weak.
CHAPTER FIVE
_Official Explanations_
It was only the matter of a couple of seconds, but it seemed to Dave
Dawson that it was a hundred years before he could dig up strength
enough to turn around. When he did he saw the tall, thin faced figure
of Air Vice Marshal Bostworth seated in the navigator's chair not ten
feet from where he stood. The high ranking officer's eyes were slightly
narrowed, and there was a glittering chill in their depths that made
Dave wonder if he hadn't better just push open the Catalina's hull door
and jump out to the sharks. Maybe they would be easier on him.
"Come in, you two, and shut the door!" the senior officer suddenly
snapped. Then looking past the two rescued pilots, he added, "That's
all, Sergeant. Tell Flight Lieutenant Baker to take off and go to
maximum ceiling and cruise about until further orders. Hop to it, man!"
The Sergeant sprang into action, and so did Dave and Freddy. They
stepped quickly into the navigation room and closed the door behind
them. Dave gulped a couple of times and took the plunge.
"Sorry, sir, I guess I spoke out of turn," he said lamely. "It was
dumb."
Air Vice Marshal Bostworth gave him a look that could cut right through
steel.
"Very dumb, Flight Lieutenant, to use your native tongue!" he snapped.
Then wiping the anger from his face, and grinning, he said, "But, I
can't say I blame you. Would have been a bit put out, myself, if I'd
been in your place. However, it was something that couldn't be helped.
But sit down, sit down, you two. A spot of coffee, or tea, or rum, or
something? It must have been a bit of an ordeal for you."
"Nothing for me, sir," Freddy spoke up. "I'm quite all right, sir."
"Me, too," Dave said with a nod. "But, holy.... I mean, it was
certainly a surprise to learn that you were out here, sir. I thought
the Harkness' captain was kidding me at first. And as for what's
happened since he told us, well.... Well, we're both in a sweet flat
spin."
The senior officer started to speak but checked himself as there came
the faint _crump_ of the exploding time bomb above the roar of the
Catalina's engines as the pilot up forward took her off the water and
aloft. As though by mutual agreement all three in the navigation room
glanced down out of the porthole at the disc of frothy white water that
marked where the Fairey Swordfish had met her end.
"Well, that's one less plane England has," Air Vice Marshal Bostworth
said with a sad note in his voice.
"And I'd rather not meet up with Captain Standers for a while," Dave
grunted. "Darn that submarine! It...."
He cut himself off short as the Air Vice Marshal whirled around and
stared at him wide eyed.
"Submarine?" the senior officer echoed sharply. "What the devil are
you talking about? Weren't you shot down by plane? A plane with R.A.F.
markings? That's what I imagined."
"Plane?" Dave himself echoed. "Gosh, no! We saw some signals, and
wondered what...."
"Wait a minute," the Air Vice Marshal stopped him. "Perhaps you'd
better begin at the beginning, and tell me everything. Every little
detail, and don't leave out a thing. Start with when Captain Standers,
of the Harkness, summoned you to his quarters to give you my orders
for a two hour patrol."
Dave glanced at Freddy, but the English youth shook his head.
"You tell it, Dave," he said.
Dave shrugged, stared at his two hands for a moment to get things
arranged in his own mind, and then told detail for detail of their
movements and actions from the time they were summoned by the commander
of the Harkness, right up to when they scrambled aboard the patrol
Catalina. Air Vice Marshal Bostworth listened in silence, but the frown
on his face deepened as Dave talked along. And by the time the Yank
born R.A.F. ace had finished his little speech there was both anger
and worry glowing in the senior officer's eyes. Even when Dave finally
stopped talking he didn't say a thing for several long moments. He sat
puffing hard on a thin stemmed pipe he clutched between his teeth and
scowled darkly at the clouds of blue smoke that curled upward.
"Damnedest thing ever!" he finally muttered. "A Jap sub, eh? Of course
it was a Jap, right enough. We've suspected that they've been sneaking
close into these waters whenever they got the chance. But to come to
the surface and blast away at you chaps! Well.... Well, I'll be blessed
if that isn't a new one. Quite sure you couldn't make head nor tail
out of their heliograph signals, eh?"
"Quite, sir," Freddy said quietly.
"Not a single blink meant a thing," Dave said with a curt shake of his
head. "They certainly weren't any Morse letters or numbers that I ever
learned."
"A code of their own, no doubt," Air Vice Marshal Bostworth grunted.
"Well, before I start my little tale let me explain why you had to
float around so long. Only I and the Admiral commanding knew that I'd
radioed those orders to the Harkness, you see? I had expected to be
at the Air Base to meet you but I got tied up on an inspection tour
of some emergency fields on the Johore side, and didn't get back
until long after I expected to. It gave me a bit of a start, I can
tell you, not to find you waiting, and to see the Harkness riding at
anchor in the Strait. Went aboard at once and received another start
when I learned you had taken off. So I hurried ashore, routed out this
Catalina crew, and came hunting for you. Thank God, we got to you in
time!"
"We were beginning to feel less happy by the second, sir," Dave said
with an apologetic grin. "But one thing I can't figure is, why weren't
there patrol planes out? Why didn't some other plane pick us up long
before then? But we didn't see a single plane or surface ship during
the whole time. We.... Hey! England's not at war with Japan, is she?"
"Not a declared war by either side, anyway," Air Vice Marshal Bostworth
replied gravely. "However, we are watching each other like a couple of
strange cats. And if you want my opinion on the matter I think the Japs
are going to have a go at us inside of ten days at the most."
Dave stiffened slightly and glanced at the calendar hanging on the
compartment wall. It told him that today was the sixth of December,
Nineteen Hundred and Forty-One. He looked at Freddy and gave him a sly
wink, and then turned to the Air Vice Marshal.
"Then that's why you came out from England in a hurry, eh?" he
murmured. "The Japs are actually going to be saps, huh?"
The Air Intelligence officer smiled faintly at Dawson's remark, but
shook his head and raised a cautioning finger.
"That is the spirit, Dawson," he said, "but don't be carried away by
the belief that the Japs would ... would be push-overs, as they say in
your country. As a matter of fact, the one mistake we have made most in
this blasted war, and during the years leading up to it, too, has been
to underestimate the strength and ability of the enemy. The Japs may be
saps, as you say, but that won't stop them from attacking if they think
they hold the winning hand. And I'm afraid they do believe they hold
it."
"But they would be bashing their crazy heads against a stone wall!"
Freddy Farmer protested. "I mean if they dared to have a go at
Singapore. I've always been told that Singapore is every bit as
impregnable as Gibraltar."
"From sea attack, yes," Air Vice Marshal Bostworth said. "But from
the air? That is something else again. And as far as Singapore is
concerned, the greatest weakness in its defense is not on the Island at
all."
"Not on the Island, sir?" Dave Dawson echoed. "I don't think I get you."
"The water supply," the senior officer said. "It comes from Johore
on the mainland side of the Strait, and is piped over the causeway.
Blast Singapore's water supply and the lads on the Island would have a
pretty bad time of it. However, that's neither here nor there for the
moment. Dawson, you asked just a moment ago why didn't some other plane
pick you up before this one. I'll tell you. Because there weren't any
other planes in the air. I recalled all patrols early this morning, and
grounded all planes."
The Air Vice Marshal paused for a moment, and although a thousand
questions hovered on the boys' lips, they knew enough to hold their
tongues.
"It's hard to tell the story," Bostworth continued presently with a
frown, "because there are so many parts of it that we don't know a
thing about. In a nutshell, it's this. Everything we do out here is
known in detail in Berlin, Rome, and Tokio within a few hours. The
blighters couldn't be better informed if we broadcast every move we
make over the radio. They are finding out everything, worse luck. That
was why I was sent out here. To find the leak, or leaks, and plug
'em up. As you both know, the population of Singapore is as mixed in
nationalities as any other spot in the whole world. I'll wager that you
could find a man from every country in the world within the limits of
Singapore. Not only is it a great naval base of England's, it is also
one of the great trading ports of the world. And you can be very sure
that the city, itself, and the waterfront, is a thriving place for
spies, right now more than ever before."
The senior officer paused for breath and stared thoughtfully out one of
the portholes. The Catalina was still climbing steadily, but it had
not reached an altitude where it was necessary to reach for the small
portable oxygen kits fitted to the wall.
"I've been out here almost a week," the Air Intelligence officer
suddenly went on, "and what little I've discovered leads me to believe
that all information about our military preparations is leaving
Singapore by air. No, not radio. I mean by plane. By British plane."
"A dirty rat in the R.A.F., sir?" Dave gasped as though the very
thought of such a thing were a sacrilege.
"We've caught the type several times in the past," Air Vice Marshal
Bostworth said grimly. "Yes, to be perfectly frank with you. I've
checked and rechecked the service history of every single member of
Singapore R.A.F. personnel, from the Brass Hats right down to the
lowest grade aircraftsman, but a fine lot of good it's done me. I can't
find a single thing that even begins to look suspicious. Yet I'm sure
there are one or more Axis secret agents out here wearing the R.A.F.
uniform."
The senior officer stopped to raise a silencing hand as Dave started to
interrupt.
"I know that sounds crazy," he said. "I mean, that the spy is in the
R.A.F. out here. But here is my reason for thinking so. Rather, my
reasons for thinking so. I've made a few tests. I've let certain
bits of information become known, and then used a secret gadget
we've perfected that can pick up any kind of radio broadcast on any
wave-length within a radius of two hundred miles. And can do it while
nearby powerful stations are operating. But we didn't hear a single
broadcast of which we didn't know the code and couldn't decipher
easily. I've checked all ship movements, and all movements of troops
going over the causeway. And all civilians, too. However, all the
information I had purposely let slip reached the Berlin Government
in a very short time. That was reported to me by my own agents. So
I was sure all of the information left here by plane. It must have.
But.... But I must confess I didn't even dream they did it the way your
experience seems to prove they do it."
"Then that two hour patrol we were supposed to have made, and did
make?" Dave said with a puzzled frown. "You expected us to spot the spy
in his plane tearing off to pass on the information to somebody else?
But maybe we might not have given him a single glance. At least, not a
second glance."
Air Vice Marshal Bostworth shook his head and struck a match to fire up
his dead pipe.
"No, not exactly that," he said presently. "I let out a rather
valuable bit of information concerning coming reenforcements out here,
and then grounded all planes. Used the excuse of general overhaul and
inspection. At the same time I arranged for you chaps to buzz around
over the Strait. First, I wanted to see if our little spy friend would
risk it to fly off with his bit of information in the face of my
grounding order. If he did, we could jolly well radio you chaps his
direction and orders to head him off at all cost. Secondly, if the
blighter didn't try to sneak off ... which he didn't, blast him ... I
wanted you chaps out there to spot any plane of _any_ type that might
attempt to contact you in the air. In other words I was counting on
you chaps to help me get a line on the _other_ plane that I believed
was flying out each day from Japanese controlled Indo-China to contact
their man in our forces. I was hoping for a description of the plane,
what direction it came from, and so forth. I had thought up a little
stunt to pull.... But that's out, now. Our friend isn't contacting
another plane. He is, of course, contacting a submarine. A Jap sub, no
doubt, but I'll wager a thousand pounds it's commanded by a trained
Nazi. So you see, when you didn't show up, and I found you floating on
the water, I thought that you'd had a bit of a go with this supposedly
other plane, and come off second best. Good lord, though, that
submarine was bold as brass to surface and actually blaze away at you!
To me that means they're getting very cocky. And of course I'm speaking
of the Jap johnnies."
"Contacts a Jap tin can, huh, and probably drops his information by
signal buoy?" Dave murmured more to himself. "The sub slips on to sea
and radioes the stuff to its nearest base."
"Correct," Air Vice Marshal Bostworth said with a curt nod. "And from
that particular base it is relayed on to Tokio. And from Tokio it goes
to Berlin. And Hitler knows all about the very latest things we've
accomplished out here. And Tokio has another bit of information on what
she'll be up against when she attacks us."
"And she will, you feel sure, sir?" Freddy Farmer spoke for the first
time in many minutes.
"Unfortunately, there isn't the slightest doubt of it," the Air
Intelligence officer replied. "Yes, we expect war, rather, we expect an
attack, and very soon. We're getting ready for it just as fast as we
can. However, our forces are not strong, particularly in the air, and
what we've got to find out ... and it'll probably require a miracle to
find it out ... is just where, when, and how the Japs plan to strike.
I don't think it will be by sea. And I don't think it will be by land
down the Malay Peninsula _unless_ they are forced to. I have a feeling
they will attempt a quick knockout by air. That perhaps they'll have a
go at Hongkong and Singapore at the same time. I don't know. If only
I could catch the sly beggar who's getting out all the information, I
could put a plan to work that might get very good results that will tip
the Japs' hand as to just what they will try once they get the go-ahead
word from Berlin. But...."
The Air Vice Marshal sighed heavily and gave an angry shake of his head.
"But so long as the leak remains," he grated through clenched teeth,
"we're definitely in the soup. And heaven only knows what may come of
it. We haven't the fighting strength we need to beat off an all out
attack. And I'm very much afraid we're not going to get reenforcements
in time."
The Air Vice Marshal fell silent for a few moments, stared unseeing off
into space, and absently tapped the stem of his pipe against his strong
teeth. Eventually he grunted as though he had reached some kind of a
decision, and switched his gaze to the two R.A.F. youths.
"We've got to find out what the Japs, coached by the Nazis of course,
are planning," he said slowly. "I think there's a way we can do it.
True, it's about one chance in a thousand of succeeding. And.... Well,
the attempt could well possibly cost the lives of a couple of brave
chaps."
The Intelligence Officer emphasized the last with a faint gesture of
his hand, and for the next minute or so there was no sound in the
navigation compartment save the muffled roar of the engines outside.
Dave looked at Freddy, caught his grim nod, and turned to the Air Vice
Marshal.
"Well, I know a couple of fellows who would like to take a crack at it,
sir," he said in a quiet, steady voice.
CHAPTER SIX
_The Devil's Den_
The Air Ministry official looked at them, smiled and seemed to let
clamped air out of his lungs.
"I knew, of course, that you'd say that," he said. "But I was not
exaggerating when I said you might pay for your efforts with your
lives. Strictly speaking, it is not an Air Force job. I mean, there may
or may not be any flying attached to it. The task is very definitely
Intelligence work. Lord knows any one of us Intelligence chaps out here
in the Far East would be only too glad to have a go at it. However,
every British Intelligence Johnnie in these parts is well known to Axis
agents here. Just as we have a pretty good idea who is working against
us ... though we haven't yet laid them all by the heels."
The Air Vice Marshal paused and gave an angry shake of his head as
though he were getting himself all mixed up.
"I'd better tell what little I know," he said, "and perhaps between us
we can fill some of the holes with close guesses. Well, here goes. In
the city of Singapore, near the waterfront, there is a street called
Bukum Street. It is actually little more than an alley crowded on both
sides with rickety two story frame buildings with open store fronts
on the lower floors. They say that when you want to find Bukum Street
you don't bother to ask a native policeman. You simply stand still and
sniff. Then follow the most terrible smell of them all, and at its
source you will find Bukum Street.
"Halfway along the waterfront side of Bukum Street there is a little
spice and coffee shop very appropriately called the Devil's Den. It
is owned and operated by a man named Serrangi who looks as old as the
city itself. He is a Sumatran, as far as we can find out, but I fancy
he has a little of all the bloods of the Far East in his veins. He is a
hideous looking creature. Face terribly scarred, and he has a cast in
his right eye. But he is more diabolically clever than Satan, himself.
We know that he is a thief, that he would murder any one for you for
the price of a few pennies, and, that there is no intrigue brewing
in which he hasn't got at least the tip of his finger. But, to our
discredit, if you wish, the British Singapore authorities haven't been
able to catch him redhanded in a single thing. Personally, I think we
should throw the beggar in prison, and be done with it. Unfortunately,
though, the white man's laws do not operate that way. Also, Serrangi
has a tremendous influence with the native population. To punish
Serrangi without proof of guilt might stir up a beautiful native riot.
And so, we've only been able to watch and wait ... and hope. And to
date we're no better off than we were two years ago."
"Serrangi and his Devil's Den is the leak, sir?" murmured Freddy Farmer
as the senior officer paused for breath.
"We don't know," was the blunt reply. "You see, this business is so
confoundedly twisted up that anything might be possible. It might even
be possible that Serrangi is loyal to the Crown, though I'm sure I
would drop dead from the shock if such proof even came to my attention.
But I'm only telling you what we suspect, not what we know. And the
first item on our long list of suspicions is that all Axis spies
entering or leaving Singapore do so through the Devil's Den. In short
that Serrangi's place is ... you might say ... the clearing house for
information. A couple of months ago a known Nazi spy ... one high up in
the Gestapo by the way ... was picked up as he left the Devil's Den.
We found nothing of interest on his person, however. And we could not
prove that he had gone to Serrangi's for any other reason than to make
a few purchases. Also, not over two weeks ago one of our agents was
last seen entering Serrangi's. We never saw him again. We haven't even
found his body yet. And an authorized search of the Devil's Den brought
to light absolutely nothing!"
The Air Vice Marshal paused and clenched both fists in a helpless
gesture.
"Working in the East is so utterly different from working in the West!"
he said bitterly. "In England we could close up a place like the
Devil's Den, and burn it to the ground, if we thought it was necessary.
And toss the lot of them in prison, to boot. But you can't do that
sort of thing out here. Not unless you want to have native trouble on
your hands. Anyway, we feel certain that if we could learn even a few
of the secrets of Serrangi's place we would be able to profit as much
as though we had an extra dozen divisions of trained troops, together
with aircraft, and the like. Now, here is the part that concerns you.
And...."
The Intelligence Officer stopped talking abruptly and stared hard at
the two youths.
"This is entirely outside your line of duty," he said almost harshly.
"Just because I am telling you all this does not mean in the slightest
that you must agree to go through with the thing. You two are R.A.F.
pilots, and there's still plenty for you to do as such. I mean....
Well, that is...."
"Why not just tell us, sir?" Dave interrupted with an encouraging grin
as the senior officer fumbled for words. "If we get cold feet, or think
we'd flop the thing, we promise to tell you."
"Thanks, Dawson," the Air Vice Marshal said gravely. "Very well, then.
I want to get you two into Serrangi's place, by hook or by crook. No
one knows you have come to Singapore. I mean, the Harkness has arrived
but you weren't aboard. Of course, by now those damn Axis agents, that
have been virtually living in my pockets without my knowing it, must
know that two pilots took off from the Harkness before she reached
port; that their arrival at Singapore is long over-due, and that this
Catalina has gone out to try and find them. Well, this Catalina is
going to return to Singapore R.A.F. Base, her flight a failure. Yes, we
found the half submerged wreckage of the Harkness' plane. But, _no_
sign of the two who were in it. Examination of the wreckage showed that
the craft had obviously been shot down. How, we don't know. We are only
certain that the two pilots in her are dead. The sharks must have got
them."
Dave Dawson licked his lower lip and glanced sidewise at Freddy Farmer.
"Imagine how the shark that got you feels!" he chuckled.
"Is that so!" the English youth snapped. "Well, it's always been
difficult to tell from the look on your face whether you were dead or
alive. So you fit the part perfectly, my lad."
"Ouch!" Dave cried and winced. Then grinning at the Intelligence
officer he said, "Go ahead, sir. Don't mind us. It's the way we let off
steam, I guess."
"More should adopt the method," the Air Vice Marshal said firmly. "But
this business is far from a joke. It is far more serious than I can
tell you. To be very brutal about it, by this time tomorrow it's quite
possible that you and Farmer _may be_...."