_Battle Plans_
A LONG SILENCE settled on the office after Dave’s words had died away in
the echo. The room was as quiet as a church, yet there seemed to be a
sort of tingling vibration in the air. Dave felt it, and so did Freddy
Farmer. And so did Colonel Welsh, from the intent and set look on his
face. Presently he nervously cleared his throat and pressed his two
palms flat on the desk.
“And we’ve _got_ to carry on where Tracey left off!” he bit off,
tight-lipped. “We owe that much to his gallant memory. We owe it to
Uncle Sam. We owe it to ourselves. But--but there’s nothing to get our
hands on, nothing to get our teeth into. Tracey died without telling you
two a thing that we can use, or work on. It’s a cold trail, a dead end
street!”
Dave Dawson leaned back his head, and stared unseeing at the office
ceiling.
“Let’s draw a few word pictures,” he said more to himself than to the
others. “Let’s put it like this. While serving with the Ninety-Sixth
Attack Squadron, Tracey came on something hot. He couldn’t do anything
about it because of his Squadron duties. His actions would look funny,
and--his Intelligence identity wasn’t known to his C.O., was it, sir?”
“No, it wasn’t,” the senior officer replied quickly. “It--Hold
everything! Good Heavens, the death of Tracey must have done something
to my mind. There is one of his under-agents in Ninety-Six, a young
Second Lieutenant Marble. It was Tracey who got Marble into the service
about a year ago. Tracey trained him, and worked with him on a few
unimportant jobs. But I don’t believe Marble was in on the Seven-Eleven
business. That was strictly a confidential thing among handpicked
agents, all of them picked by myself.”
“Well, maybe it worked a little differently in this emergency,” Dave
murmured, and stared at the office ceiling again. “Let’s see. After
stumbling across something, Tracey requested you to see that he got a
bit of recall-leave. He left this Marble in charge--or at least with
some kind of instructions--and started north for the States. He got into
Mexico. Maybe the trail led him that way, or maybe it worked out quicker
that way. We may never know the reason. All we know is that he entered
the States through Texas, went on to Albuquerque, and--Just a minute!
Colonel, there’s an Air Corps Base at Albuquerque. Can you call them and
find out _how_ he arrived? I mean, was it in a Curtiss P-Forty such as
we found? Or did he arrive in some other kind of plane? Can you get
Albuquerque on the wire, and find out?”
“I can, and I will!” Colonel Welsh snapped, and scooped up one of the
phones.
Just seven minutes later he hung up and looked at Dawson.
“He arrived in Albuquerque in a Vultee attack ship, alone,” Colonel
Welsh said. “It was one of Ninety-Six’s planes. His papers were all in
order for having landed on Mexican fields for gas. His ship wasn’t
armed, so technically he didn’t fall under the internment law. Not that
Mexico would have enforced it. The plane wasn’t in such hot shape,
however, so he borrowed a P-Forty from the Albuquerque Base. So much for
that. Go on, Dawson. What are you leading up to?”
“I don’t know,” Dave replied. “Just sort of feeling around. Guessing at
a lot of things just to hear how they sound. But here’s one thing that
strikes me odd. And it may have a reason. You say, Colonel, that he
asked you to meet him here. Right?”
“Right,” the senior officer grunted.
“And you also say,” Dave went on, “that you could not contact him
direct. Right?”
“Right again,” Colonel Welsh said. “So what?”
“Well, why did he say to meet him _here_?” Dave asked softly. “Why not
fly directly to Washington to report to his senior officer? That’s not
strictly military--to wire your superior to meet you some place three
thousand miles away. So it was important. Important that he meet you
_here_. Why? I don’t know. Now the other item. Your not being able to
contact him direct. Why? Probably because he wasn’t around. Probably
because _he discovered that there was somebody on his trail_. That
somebody had found out from whoever visited Rigby today that Tracey was
flying up from Albuquerque. So--well, measures were taken so that he
would never arrive. Somebody at Albuquerque did something to Tracey’s
P-Forty oxygen tank so that actually he was gas poisoned and knocked
cold when he took the first sip as he flew at altitude over the
mountains. And--and, by the best of luck, Freddy’s sharp eyes spotted
his wrecked plane. Do those guesses sound a little reasonable to you,
sir? To you, Freddy?”
“It could be a mighty close to the truth account of what actually did
happen!” Colonel Welsh said softly to himself. “But it still doesn’t get
us anywhere. It still doesn’t give us anything to jump on.”
“I don’t agree with you there, sir,” Freddy Farmer spoke up quietly.
The senior Intelligence officer looked across the desk at him as though
he were a long lost brother with a precious family secret.
“Well, thank Heavens, you don’t!” he breathed. “Go ahead and tell me why
you don’t agree.”
The English born flying ace took a couple of seconds out to think up the
words he wanted to use.
“I believe I know what is in the back of Dawson’s mind,” he eventually
said. “We _have_ got something. It may prove to be nothing; to be
absolutely worthless. But we don’t know about that yet. I’m speaking of
this Second Lieutenant Marble with the Ninety-Sixth Squadron down in the
Canal Zone. Perhaps there is the chance that he can give us a lead on
what Tracey was working on. Is there any way you can contact him, sir?”
“Why, certainly!” Colonel Welsh replied quickly. “I can--”
“Contact him, nothing!” Dave cut in harshly. “I mean, not unless it is a
personal contact. But Freddy’s only come up with half the stuff I had in
mind. Right here in Frisco--right here in this room--we have a perfect
lead.”
Colonel Welsh sat up straight and quickly glared about the office as
though he expected it to fill suddenly with people.
“Here in this room?” he demanded, fixing Dave with his steady eyes.
“What in the world do you mean?”
“Not in the room, exactly,” Dave said with a faint grin, “but the man
who went out of the room. I mean, whoever it was that slugged Rigby and
stole your decoded message to him. He’s here. And it’s a cinch he’s been
keeping an eye on this place. So who says he won’t continue to keep an
eye on it? You follow me, sir?”
“Not exactly,” the senior officer grunted. “But you’re right when you
say he’s been keeping an eye on this place. I could name on the fingers
of one hand the men who know this is not strictly a Civilian Defense
office for this section of the city. And they’re all trustworthy. Yet
somebody else found out, either Seven-Eleven in person, or somebody in
his pay. Anyway, that’s the end of this place for Intelligence contact
work. I’ve got to dig up a new spot now, one that I hope will be
fool-proof. No, I mean spy proof, I guess.”
Dave frowned and gave a little shake of his head.
“Naturally, you know best, sir,” he said slowly, after a moment or two.
“As the saying goes, it’s not for the likes of me to tell you your
business. But--well--I mean--”
The Yank born air ace floundered to a stop, and a faint flush stole into
his face. Colonel Welsh stared at him for a moment, and then suddenly
chuckled softly.
“I seem to remember a couple of times when you weren’t so polite to your
senior officer, Dawson,” he said. “And _I_ was the senior officer. I
understand, but forget it, Dawson. All this is just between the three of
us. So give it to me right from the shoulder. What’s wrong with my
closing up this place as far as Intelligence work is concerned?”
“Everything, Colonel,” Dave told him bluntly. “Close up this place and
open another, and you’ll lose the only contact you have with the enemy
agent, _or agents_, working in Frisco. Of course you haven’t what you’d
call a real contact with him now. He’s just a man Rigby saw for a split
second before he got slammed on the head. But maybe we could make a real
contact with him.”
“What’s your idea on how to do it?” the Chief of all U.S. Intelligence
asked quietly. “And what would we gain by making a definite contact?”
Dave looked at him, and grinned faintly.
“Maybe this one is going to hurt, Colonel,” he said. “What made him come
here in the first place?”
The senior officer stiffened slightly, and looked puzzled.
“What’s that?” he echoed. “Aren’t you making it a little complicated,
Dawson?”
“Perhaps I am,” Dave said with a shrug. “Perhaps I am, because it’s not
very clear to me. Let’s put it this way. The object of our unknown
enemies was to put poor Tracey out of the way, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, of course!” Colonel Welsh replied sharply. “So what?”
“So this,” Dawson said evenly. “It was done. But it wasn’t done from
this end. At least, I’d bet my shirt on it. Tracey’s death was caused by
somebody _at Albuquerque_! So why did that slugger come to see Rigby?”
“To get my code message,” Colonel Welsh said. “I think that fact’s
obvious.”
Dave leaned forward and held the senior officer with his steady eyes.
“And what did your message say?” he demanded.
“I’ve already told you!” the other replied with a scowl. “I wired Rigby
in code that Tracey was on his way here to meet me.”
“I follow your line of reasoning, Dave!” Freddy Farmer broke in
excitedly. “He simply found out something he already knew!”
“Bright lad!” Dawson beamed at him. “Go to the basket and pick yourself
a nice red apple. You catch on quick, pal!”
“I do more than that, my little man!” the English youth shot back at
him. “That chap’s visit here had no connection at all with Tracey’s
death. Correct?”
“Now, wait a minute, you two!” Colonel Welsh shouted before Dave could
speak. “I’m supposed to be the expert on riddles, but, by Heaven, you’ve
got my brain tied up in knots. What in thunder are you talking about
anyway?”
“Why, that lad’s visit here, sir,” Dave replied with an innocent grin.
“Why he came here. This is just a wild guess, of course, but I think he
came here _hoping_ to find out _more_ from your wire.”
“Ah!” Colonel Welsh breathed as his face brightened. “I get it now, of
course. Just another bit of proof that I must be slipping in my old age.
Maybe I should resign from the Service. Anyway, I see what you mean. The
rat in Albuquerque found out about Tracey’s wire to me. He then
contacted his rat co-worker here in Frisco and told him to keep a keener
eye on this office, because I would undoubtedly be wiring instructions
here. Which I did. But, thunderation! What else did he expect me to say
in my wire to Rigby?”
“That’s anybody’s guess,” Dave said with a frown. “But somehow it spells
WORRY to me, in big letters.”
“Quite!” Freddy Farmer echoed, and gave an emphatic nod of his head.
Colonel Welsh flushed and threw up his hands.
“Confound it, there you go again!” he bit off. “Worry? What the blue
blazes has worry got to do with it?”
“Plenty!” Dave threw the word at him. “Worry that maybe you _did_ make
telephone or telegraph contact with Tracey before he left Albuquerque,
and that he gave you a good idea of why he wanted to see you here. So
maybe you wired certain instructions to Rigby. But you _didn’t_ wire any
such instructions to Rigby. So our rat friend learned nothing. So he’s
still in the dark about your knowing anything of poor Tracey’s secret.
So he must still be worrying.”
“I get it, I get it!” Colonel Welsh murmured softly.
“I spoke about maybe something hurting, awhile back,” Dave said, and
pointed a finger. “I meant that maybe your phones here are tapped. Maybe
this place is full of leaks. Well, there’s one way to find out, and
maybe get some results.”
Colonel Welsh just looked at him with raised eyebrows as Dave paused.
“So let’s put out a bit of bait, and see what we catch,” Dawson
continued. “Phone some cooked up message back to your Washington
office.”
“Such as?” Colonel Welsh grunted.
Dave didn’t reply at once. He sat frowning off into space and absently
tapping a fingernail against his top front teeth. Suddenly he took his
hand down and snapped his fingers, and flashed a grin at Freddy Farmer
before he gave his attention to the Colonel.
“Got it, I think!” he breathed excitedly. “Wire your office, in code of
course, that Tracey is dead, but _that his message got through_! And
that you are sending two of your agents to Albuquerque to begin
operations there!”
“What operations?” Colonel Welsh demanded.
Dave laughed and snapped his fingers again.
“That’s just _it_!” he cried. “That’s just what our rat friend will
wonder--and wonder plenty. So he’ll probably do something about it, and
you can nail him. If nothing else, that will put an end to the Number
One Man here in Frisco. And there’s just the chance that we may also
grab the lad--whoever he is--at the Albuquerque Base.”
“Yes, that’ll be something,” Colonel Welsh said grimly. “That will be a
lot, in fact. And your words aren’t riddles to me now. The two agents
who are supposed to be going to Albuquerque with information? They
wouldn’t be you two, by any chance, would they?”
“They’d be anybody else over our dead bodies!” Freddy Farmer spoke up.
“Quite. And I think that’s rather a clever idea. It coming from Dawson,
I’m no end surprised. He’s been reading books, I fancy, when I haven’t
been looking.”
“See that window, pal?” Dave said softly, and pointed.
“Certainly,” Freddy replied. “Why?”
“It only happens to be fourteen floors above the street!” Dave said
darkly. “And you’re not wearing your parachute now. Just keep that
little item in mind, sweetheart!”
“If I go, there’ll be _two_ of us!” the English youth snorted, and then
grinned.
“Okay, okay!” Colonel Welsh growled, though there was a smile at the
corners of his mouth. “Recess is over, children. Let’s get back to
serious things. And it is _mighty_ serious. We know what happened to
poor Tracey, and I wouldn’t want--”
The senior officer hesitated and gestured with one hand.
“Neither would we, sir,” Dave spoke up quietly. “But this isn’t any pink
tea. And Freddy and I have played plenty of long shot chances before. So
there’s no sense talking about the danger part. Now, here is my idea.
We’ll go to Albuquerque by air, of course. And don’t worry! We’ll keep
low enough so that we won’t have to sip oxygen at all. So that angle’s
out. And we’ll also give the plane a darn good going over before a
throttle is opened wide. On the way, we will keep our eyes open. And
every minute after that.”
“You could be attacked from the air,” Colonel Welsh said with a scowl.
“It’s happened before. And this time it might be odds that you two sky
scrappers couldn’t match.”[2]
“That’s one of the chances we take,” Freddy Farmer said gravely. “But
I’ve got an idea. Why not have another plane follow us--one piloted by
one of your agents, sir? Then if Dave and I bump into trouble, he can
give us a hand. Then, too, he might spot the chap hiking after us, scare
him off, and trail him back home. Then you’d have him, nice as can be.
And in his secret drome hide-out, no doubt.”
“Somebody else has been reading books on the sly, too!” Dave said with a
chuckle. “Pick yourself another apple, Freddy. That was tops for an
idea. Don’t you think so, sir?”
“Well, it would make me feel a lot better to work it that way,” the
Chief of U.S. Intelligence said. “And of course, I’ll arrange--and not
from _this_ office--for a couple of my men to keep an eye on you when
you arrive in Albuquerque. Then if somebody gets on your tail down there
my agents can close in and grab him. But--”
Colonel Welsh let the rest hang in mid air and sat chewing on his lower
lip in brooding silence.
“So what?” Freddy Farmer said. Then catching himself and blushing
slightly. “I mean, sir, what were you going to say?”
“Supposing we have all the luck in the world,” the senior officer said,
as though talking to himself. “Supposing we catch, the Axis rat at this
end, and at the Albuquerque end. What then? Notwithstanding what we read
in the papers lately, I don’t think we’ll be able to learn a lot from
our two prisoners. Most certainly, nothing that would make it possible
either to get our hands on this confounded Seven-Eleven, or to learn the
secret poor Tracey was never able to reveal. And that, of course, is our
real goal. That is, if it’s possible to have a goal in this mess.”
“Well, we’ve just been talking about this end of things, sir,” Dave
said. “Just a way to clear up a couple of puzzling details. When Freddy
and I reach Albuquerque, we certainly don’t intend to stop there.”
“What’s that again?” Colonel Welsh asked sharply.
“Quite!” Freddy Farmer echoed. “I don’t get the point of that one,
myself.”
Dave turned to him, and grinned.
“Ever see the Panama Canal, Freddy?” he asked.
“Eh?” the English youth ejaculated as his eyes flew open wide. “Why, no,
never. But I’ve always heard it’s quite a wonderful sight to see.”
“It’s more than that,” Dave said firmly. “You’ll get a big kick out of
seeing it, particularly from the air. You see the whole works that way,
from end to end. Oh, sure--”
“Just a minute, now!” Colonel Welsh cut in. “Why should you and Farmer
go to the Canal Zone? What in thunder do you--?”
The senior officer stopped short, clenched his teeth in a gesture of
self-exasperation, and whistled air between them.
“Of course, of course!” he grated. “What in thunder is the matter with
me today.”
“You get the idea, sir,” Dave said with a grin. “Second Lieutenant
Marble, of the Ninety-Sixth Attack Squadron, is in the Canal Zone. Can
you arrange with Army Air Corps H.Q. in Washington to have us assigned
for duty with the Ninety-Sixth?”
“I can do much better than that,” Colonel Welsh replied. “If you were
assigned strictly to the Squadron for active duty, your chances of
getting around--in the event you did get hold of something--might be a
bit limited. And that’s not even mentioning the suspicions you might
create. I’ll see that you are assigned to Ninety-Six, but for special
duty, we’ll say. It will appear that you’re making some kind of an
inspection trip on orders from Washington. That way you can come and go
as you please, and nobody will think anything of it.”
“Swell!” Dave breathed. “It couldn’t be better.”
“If, and when, you arrive in the Canal Zone,” Colonel Welsh said almost
in a tone of prayer.
“Oh, we jolly well will, sir!” Freddy Farmer spoke up. “Now that I’ve
the chance to see that wonderful feat of engineering, no blasted Axis
agents are going to stop me. At least, not if I can help it!”
“Atta boy, Freddy,” Dave chuckled. “We’ll give them the works, hey, kid?
Well, Colonel, I guess that’s about all, isn’t it? Isn’t now as good a
time as any to make that Washington call, and bait our little trap?”
The Chief of all U.S. Intelligence Services drummed his fingers on the
desk for a moment, and then nodded.
“Yes, I guess it is,” he grunted. “And I hope you’re right, Dawson. I
hope our friend did put a smooth one over on me, and that he tapped into
these things.”
And on saying that, the Colonel reached out a hand and pulled one of the
phones to him.
-----
Footnote 2:
“_Dave Dawson with the Pacific Fleet._”
------------------------------------------------------------------------