said placidly. "The attack was to learn what you would say on the
impulse of the moment. _And in what language!_ There was once a man who
came to see me with a promise of great wealth for me ... if I would
reveal a little of the many things I know. He, too, presented himself
as a German and a loyal follower of Herr Hitler. But I am not the one
to be taken in that easy. I sent him, also, to visit Agiz Ammarir. He
too, was attacked on the way. He opened his mouth, and in so doing
sealed his doom, for he _cried out in English_. He was, of course, a
British Secret Service agent. I have never seen him since. I suppose
the poor fellow died from the shock of the attack."
The Devil's Den owner gave a little shrug and wave of his hand. Dave
stared at him with admiration in his eyes, but the look was forced, for
in his heart Dave felt only loathing, disgust, and cold anger for the
man. So that was how Air Vice Marshal Bostworth's agent disappeared?
God bless Freddy Farmer for his sudden hunch about thinking as well as
acting as a German. If it hadn't been for Freddy he might have let go
a few choice words in English, himself. And then he and Freddy would
have mysteriously disappeared. A deadly snake if one ever crawled.
That indeed was Serrangi, of the Devil's Den. Deadly, and clever, too.
He knew what had happened to Bostworth's agent all right. Ten to one
he had killed the man with his own hand when the attacker had reported
that English had been cried out. But Serrangi was clever enough not to
admit as much. No, not even to a pair who seemingly had proved they
were a couple of Adolf Hitler's own paid killers.
"And so, it was only good sense for me to test you two in the same
manner," Serrangi's voice broke into Dave's thoughts. "Of course I felt
certain of you, but it was best to make sure. So, enough of this kind
of talk. Let us speak of other things. The flight that must be made to
the north for one thing. But first, have you two flown in this part of
the world?"
Dave was tempted to lie, but on second thought decided that for once
the truth might serve them better.
"No," he said just as Freddy started shaking his head. "We have done
all our flying in Europe. But why is it important we have experience
flying here in the Far East?"
"It is not important," Serrangi said. "It might perhaps be a bit
helpful if you knew some of the country out here. That, however, is
only a matter of opinion. I do not fly, but I suppose that flying is
much the same in any part of the world?"
"Depends on the pilot," Freddy Farmer spoke up, and let it go at that.
"Of course," Serrangi grunted, and drew a roll of paper from inside his
jacket. "Here," he continued, "is a map of this part of the world. As
you will see it is well marked, and contains much data that one would
not find on other maps of the same section of the world. Here, have a
good look at it."
Serrangi unrolled a fair sized map and handed it to Dave. The American
R.A.F. Flight Lieutenant took it in hands difficult to keep from
trembling. Then he swiveled around a bit in his chair, and held it
so that Freddy could look at it too. They did that little thing
together and within two split seconds their hearts were hammering
with suppressed excitement, to say nothing of amazement. The map
was of the entire Malay Peninsula, Thailand, Burma, and a part of
China as far north as Chungking. It was indeed a fine map. It was a
perfect map for a pilot, because it contained countless little bits
of information a pilot would like to know when flying over any of the
territory. In fact, the information had been jotted down by some one
who was obviously a pilot. And when Dave peered hard at the countless
little margin notes and signs a cold lump of lead seemed to form in
his stomach, and there was a great sickness in his brain. Beyond all
question the person who had made the notes and signs was expertly
acquainted with the way in which R.A.F. navigation maps are marked. In
short, no less than an R.A.F. pilot had prepared this map he and Freddy
Farmer stared at.
"It was a pilot who made this map, was it not?" Freddy Farmer suddenly
shot out the question.
Serrangi beamed and looked very pleased.
"So you _are_ pilots, so?" he murmured. "That was not just Nazi
boasting to get you to give me work? Fine! Yes, it was made by a pilot.
One of your own kind in England's flying service, it may interest you
to know. He has been of great value to your Fuehrer out here. He will
be a great hero when he returns to your homeland."
"Perhaps we know him," Dave murmured in a half interested sort of way.
The lead didn't draw Serrangi out any, however. The Devil's Den owner
shrugged and made a little gesture with his half smoked cigarette.
"It is possible," he grunted. "But we do not speak names out here. Have
you not noticed I have not even asked your names? I do not care to know
them. Then nothing can make me reveal them to anybody else, you see?
Who a man is, is nothing. What he can do, and does, is everything. A
name is but another unnecessary detail you have to keep alive in your
brain. Too many details is a bad thing. But, yes, that is a pilot's
map. You think you could fly by it?"
"Why not?" Dave echoed.
"It is clear enough for a blind man to read," Freddy Farmer added.
"Where do you want us to fly?"
Serrangi smiled and lifted both hands palms showing outward in a slow
down and stop gesture.
"Let us obtain the plane first," he said.
The words fell like thunderbolts on Dave and Freddy. They stared at him
out of incredulous eyes.
"You mean, you have no plane?" Dave eventually demanded.
"And where would I keep a plane here on Singapore Island!" the other
snarled at him. "Of course I have no plane! Did I not say that there
was more than a little risk attached to this highly important task?"
"But if we are to fly a plane?" Freddy Farmer said, and then let a
perfect expression of Teutonic dumbness of his face say the rest.
"Steal one from the British!" Serrangi snapped at him. "It has been
done before, and it can be done again. And, of course, you would steal
one that is fully armed and contains sufficient fuel for a long flight."
Dave tapped the map with a finger.
"To Chungking?" he asked.
Serrangi thought that was very funny, and laughed shrilly.
"No, not to Chungking!" he finally cried and wiped his eyes with the
back of his hand. "It is the Japanese with whom we work, not the
Chinese. No, the end of the flight will be to the point that is marked
there on the map near Lashio, in Burma."
Dave and Freddy glanced down quickly at the map. A little Burmese
mountain village called Raja, just east of Lashio, was marked with a
red circled black cross. Dave heard Freddy catch his breath, and he
started inwardly with excitement, himself, because at Lashio was the
beginning of the famous Burma Road, fighting China's lifeline. Her one
remaining supply route contact with the outside world. And the whole
world knew that the one thing the little brown rats of the bucktoothed
Jap emperor on his white horse wanted to do most was cut the Burma
Road. Once they did that they could starve the gallant Chinese into an
armistice in short order. And once China had fallen, hordes upon hordes
of Japanese lice could be sent elsewhere for more conquests.
For two long minutes Dave stared down at the map, then he slowly raised
his eyes to Serrangi's face and smiled slyly.
"So, the Burma Road, ja?" he muttered. "_Herr_ Hitler will be most
pleased. It will open a way into India, perhaps."
The Devil's Den owner snorted and waved the statement aside as though
it were small time stuff.
"The small beginning of many things," he said. "When the guns and air
bombs of Nippon start thundering on the given day half the Eastern
world will not live to learn what happened! But, at Raja is the
beginning of everything. At Raja the signal will be given. I have
arranged everything here at Singapore. We cannot possibly fail if those
at Raja do their part. The British! They are so sure of themselves.
Such great confidence in their mighty navy! Well, the time has come to
teach the British Lion that others have learned the trick of gaining
power. But I do not need to tell you about England. Your Fuehrer knows
all about England, and how to handle her."
Dave was sorely tempted to shout, "Sure! Like his cockeyed Luftwaffe
tried to handle her last September, hey?" but of course he breathed
not a word. Instead he nodded his head and looked very wise and self
satisfied ... and waited, seething inside with anger.
"For weeks," Serrangi went on, "I have been maintaining contact with
the secret Japanese headquarters at Raja, by airplane, and radio. No,
the plane has not been mine. My friend serving with the Royal Air
Force here at Singapore, but with a prayer for England's complete
defeat in his heart. He has taken the information I have given him and
flown with it far out to sea when on what you call, solo patrol. At a
certain rendezvous he has contacted a Japanese submarine and dropped
the information to the water. From the submarine the information has
been radioed to Tokio, and from there southward to Raja. But I dare not
trust that method any longer."
"You don't trust this ... this R.A.F. pilot?" Dave asked as the other
paused.
"No, not him," Serrangi said with a laugh. "He would not dare! I hold
his life between my thumb and forefinger as I might hold a wingless
fly. It is the British I do not trust. They know that trouble is coming
from Japan. They don't know when, and I do not believe there is an
Englishman in all Singapore who so much as dreams _how close_ that time
is! Nevertheless they have become very much more on the alert. From
one hour to the next I am not sure if my flying friend will be caught,
or continue to work unhindered. And the British are watching the seas
with eyes of eagles, these days. They might sink the very submarine to
which my flying friend had dropped the vital information. And there is
but one more set of information figures to send to Raja. They cover
everything here in the Far East. I cannot run the risk that they might
become lost."
"So we are to steal a plane and fly them to Raja?" Freddy Farmer spoke
up as the Sumatran fell silent. "Is that what we are to do?"
"That is what you are to do!" Serrangi said with a short nod. "You will
steal a plane and escape to Raja. When you arrive you will be treated
as great heroes. I can assure you of that. Any honor you desire will be
yours. And I ... I will have triple the wealth of any man in Singapore
for my reward."
"It can be done," Dave grunted. Then giving the Devil's Den owner a
keen look. "One thing, though. My Fuehrer's teaching compels me to make
sure of all things. You say you cannot run the risk of the information
becoming lost. Supposing we fail to steal a plane? Supposing we are
caught? What then, eh?"
Serrangi smiled, and indeed it was the smile of Satan's own son.
"I should have added, _and not know it_," the Sumatran said. "If you
fail and are caught, I shall know it almost at the same instant. Then I
shall have to find another way."
"But the information!" Freddy Farmer cried in true German bewilderment.
"What if it falls into the hands of the British?"
"The very least of my worries, for it is no worry at all," Serrangi
replied promptly. "It would do them no good. It would give them
headaches, and it would probably drive them mad in the end. But they
would never be able to decipher what it meant. That, my two friends, is
why Serrangi holds the position he does. No man alive can read my code
without the key. And only _one_ other man knows the key at a time!"
Dave frowned, started to ask what that meant, and then the truth of the
statement hit him right between the eyes. To be given Serrangi's code
key was to be handed your death warrant. When you had served his evil
purpose, no matter what it might be, you died ... and the next man in
Serrangi's death and blood dealings was given the key.
"The one who knows the key now is at Raja?" Dave grunted.
"That is so," the Sumatran said. "And one of the Japanese Emperor's
most trusted generals. To him I gave it personally. And I know the
thoughts that fill your mind, now. When I have closed my work, my
business, with him? Perhaps, and perhaps not. When the Japanese take
Singapore there must be some one to govern and rule. Perhaps I will
tire of operating the Devil's Den. Who knows ... but myself? But enough
of this talk. Our work is not yet done."
Serrangi gave a wave of his hand to dismiss the loose talk, and for a
moment frowned at the thread of grey smoke that spiralled upward from
his cigarette. Then suddenly he nodded as though he had made up his
mind on something.
"There are many Royal Air Force fields here in Singapore," he grunted.
"Perhaps, though, it would be best to steal your plane from the
Municipal Airport which the Government has taken over. I happen to know
that it is not so well guarded as the others."
"What about the planes there?" Dave asked in a voice he had to fight to
keep steady. "We would want nothing bigger than a two seater. To steal
a bomber would be impossible. Too much to do before taking it off."
"There is no need to worry!" Serrangi said a bit sharply. "There are
planes of all types at the Municipal Airport. And the fools ... they
keep them all lined up in rows, as though they had them on display for
sale. I do not feel that you will have much difficulty. True, there
are armed guards about the field. But you two have heard the sound of
rifles and machine guns shooting at you before now, eh?"
"More often than not," Dave said as the cold lumps of lead started
rolling around in his stomach. "But when do we steal this plane? When
do we make the flight? And...?"
Dave stopped as Serrangi whipped up one hand in a curt signal to shut
up.
"If you will stop that chatter of the jungle monkeys, I will give you
complete instructions!" the Sumatran grated. "First, the attempt should
be made just before dawn, during the darkest hour of the night. Second,
you will receive a certain amount of assistance from my men. They will
do what they can to attract the attention of the field guards while you
steal the plane. Third, be sure you steal an airplane that is well
marked with R.A.F. insignia."
"Why not any plane?" Freddy Farmer wanted to know as Serrangi paused
for breath.
"For very good reasons!" came the curt reply. "All civilian flying has
been stopped between here and Burma. If you stole a civilian plane your
position would be immediately reported by any official who sighted you.
Also, you would get into trouble if you came upon British Air Force
planes on patrol. Flying an R.A.F. plane, however, would not attract
their attention. Now, of course, when you once get into the air you
are to head in the _opposite_ direction to your real objective. You
will fly south toward Java until you have reached an altitude where you
cannot be seen from below. You will then double back and fly up the
middle of the South China Sea until you have reached the southern tip
of French Indo-China. Then follow the coast northwest to Thailand, and
then north to your destination."
The Sumatran stopped short, leaned forward and touched a bony finger to
the map Dave and Freddy held between them.
"Study that map, and learn it well," he said. "The course is well
marked on it. A course that should take you safely past all spots of
possible trouble. Study also the markings of the terrain about Raja.
If you have never been to Raja, it is a village of perhaps twenty
bamboo huts. It is completely surrounded by wild country where no white
man could survive for long. I have been told that from an airplane you
cannot see a patch of ground level enough for a man to lie down on.
High mountains, deep valleys, and jungle filled gorges. But there _is_
flat ground there. An area big enough for five hundred airplanes to
use. The Japanese have made it so, in secret. But you would never be
able to find the place in a hundred years ... without this map. See
where the mountain range coming down from the north meets the one that
extends straight across Burma? See the blue mark made on the map? That
is the spot where you will land when you have given your signal, and
have received a signal in return."
"Signals?" Dave prompted as Serrangi paused again.
"Certainly," the Sumatran replied and flung him a scornful look. "You
will circle the spot five times ... no more and no less ... to let
General Kashomia know that you come from me. You will circle around
at six thousand feet exactly. A red flare will be your order to come
lower. Other flares will be fired to show you where to land on the
hidden field. You will be escorted straight to General Kashomia when
you have landed, and your plane has stopped. But, mark you well! Do
just as I am directing you; do not make any mistakes when you reach
this spot. Guns will be trained on you, and at General Kashomia's
orders they could shoot you and your plane into small pieces in the
matter of split seconds. Now, you have further questions before we get
under way?"
"Get under way?" Freddy Farmer echoed sharply. "You mean now, this
night?"
"And why not?" Serrangi demanded suspiciously. "The sooner you deliver
my report to General Kashomia, the sooner the blow can be struck. Yes,
tonight! Within two hours I shall see that you are taken as close to
the Municipal Airport as is possible. It will then be the darkest hour,
and the risk of being caught will be less. But, you object?"
"Of course not!" Dave spoke up quickly before Freddy could say
anything. "But there is one thing that makes me very curious. This
friend of yours who is a pilot and wears the uniform of the Royal Air
Force. It is a great honor for whoever makes this flight. I am curious
why your friend ... who has obviously spent so much time making this
map ... does not desire the honor."
"He does," Serrangi replied with a sly grin. "He would give most
anything for me to send him to Raja. But I cannot do that. His place is
here. There is a great work for him to do. He...."
The Sumatran paused to chuckle, and then leaned forward in a
confidential attitude.
"I will suggest a request you make to General Kashomia as part of your
reward," he said. "Ask that you be allowed to fly in one of his bombing
planes on the day the blow falls. When you come over Singapore you
will see a sight no man may ever see again. The approach of the first
Japanese bomber will be the signal for my R.A.F. friend. Everything
is planned. His hand will push a cleverly hidden detonating plunger
and the buried fuel stores here on Singapore Island, the ammunition
stores, the hidden water reservoirs, and many other things will explode
in one blinding flash that will make Singapore shake from one end of
the Island to the other. Yes, from the very hangars of R.A.F. Base my
friend will push the plunger that will.... But why try to describe the
sight it will be? There are not enough words. However, I suggest that
you request General Kashomia to let you view the sight from a Japanese
bomber in the air. It will be something you will never forget.
Something to tell your Fuehrer when you return to Germany in triumph.
And now, get what rest you can, and study well that map. Meanwhile
I will fetch you food and drink to sustain your strength during the
journey ahead."
Dave just nodded as the Sumatran glanced questioningly at him and rose
to his feet. Words he might say gagged in his throat. His head whirled
in an invisible mass of white flame, and every ounce of blood seemed
to drain from his body. The words that had passed from Serrangi's lips
during the last half hour, or so, were so stunning, so brain numbing
that he could hardly force thoughts to register. It was like something
he might be reading out of a book thriller. Not something that was to
happen in real life. It couldn't be ... but it was. Doom, terrible
certain doom, hovered over Britain's mighty armed outpost of Singapore.
Hovered above it to come crashing down when a certain Japanese general
at Raja, in Burma, gave the signal.
"It can't happen!" Dave said fiercely to himself as Serrangi glided
past him toward the rear of the rug shop. "Dear God, please, it mustn't
happen!"
CHAPTER TWELVE
_Wings of Chaos_
Dave pressed himself flat to the ground, and dug his fingers into the
soft earth as though to prevent some invisible force from catching him
up and tossing him off into space. All about was pitch darkness save
for a few hangar lights on the far side of Singapore's R.A.F. Base.
High overhead billions and billions of stars winked solemnly down on a
world seemingly gone stark raving mad with war. In the distance there
was sound, but it was so jumbled and so indistinct that it had no
meaning for listening ears. For a brief instant Dave closed his eyes
tight and pressed his face hard against the warm ground. Then he raised
his head and turned it toward Freddy Farmer who hugged the ground right
at his side.
"You're fully awake, aren't you, Freddy?" he whispered. "This wouldn't
be any cockeyed nightmare I'm going through, would it?"
"A blasted fine chance of that!" the English youth replied with a
groan. "I'm trying to make up my mind whether we're completely balmy,
or just off our toppers. This is a mad business, Dave! Insane!"
"You're not telling me a thing!" Dawson breathed and squinted across
the night blackened R.A.F. Base at the faint hangar lights. "But the
heck of it is, we walked right into it, and we can't walk right out
again!"
"If we could only get to the Raffles Hotel, and contact that agent
of Bostworth's, and get some word to him!" Freddy Farmer said with a
bitter sigh.
"I know," Dave grunted. "But Serrangi is no dummy no matter how you
look at it. We haven't been out of his sight since we walked into
the rug shop almost three hours ago. I had hoped he was going to let
us come out here on our own. Maybe then we could have slipped by the
Raffles and gotten some word to Bostworth. Nix, though! Serrangi came
out with us in that Nineteen-Six jallopy, and showed us the path
through the brush up to the edge of the field, here. And a funny
sensation in the middle of my back tells me that he's back there a ways
_still_ keeping an eye on us. We sure picked something this time, pal.
We picked a pip, and I ain't kidding."
"But if only Bostworth knew...!" Freddy began and let the rest trail
off.
"Knew what?" Dave murmured. "That's the point! What could we really
tell him that would make sense? Darn little, pal. Less than that, in
fact. Serrangi tells us that at a given signal some rat at R.A.F.
Base is going to blow lots of things sky high. He tells us that a Jap
General has a hidden field with plenty planes up near Raja, in Burma.
At the right time the Jap is going to blow the whistle, and things are
supposed to pop in lots of places. And in my pocket I've got what looks
like a pencil, only it's rolled up code data Serrangi gave us to give
to General Kashomia. There you are."
"Well?" Freddy Farmer grunted. "Isn't that a lot?"
"It's nothing when you pick it apart," Dave said. "Figure it out. We
don't know who the R.A.F. rat is, and Bostworth doesn't. Maybe there is
a Jap general up at Raja with flocks of planes. So what? Is Bostworth
going to send R.A.F. planes up there on our say-so to blast them out?
Declare war on Japan, just like that? Fat chance! The British don't do
things that way. Also, we don't know where the hidden field really is
until we see the flare signals the Japs are to send up. Yeah! Burmese
would get kind of sore if the British flew all over their country
dumping bombs, trying to blast somebody they _think_ is there. And
here's a point, too. We don't know the striking date. It may be right
after we get there ... and whether we get there, or not! Chances are,
by the time Bostworth could induce Far East High Command to swing into
action the Japs might be swinging their sneak haymaker. And this code
data I've got in my pocket. Think Serrangi would have trusted us with
it _if_ there was even the slimmest chance that British Intelligence
could break the code in time. Nuts! So what have we got?"
"You're right!" Freddy Farmer groaned. "Blasted little. Really nothing,
when you come to look at it. But I hate to think of turning over that
code data to General Kashomia! No doubt it's complete information of
our strength, and such, here in the Far East. Probably high military
secrets we've guarded for years."