in time. But, my gosh, Freddy! Who--"
Dawson let the thought go unspoken because it seemed so utterly
incredible.
"Yes, who?" Freddy Farmer echoed, and gave a little shrug of his
shoulders. "Somebody, that's certain. Gosh, he came close to killing us.
When I came to and saw you with your ripped tunic pulled up over your
head and your face pushed down into the dirt, I thought sure you were a
goner. Look, Dave, take off your helmet, if it doesn't hurt too much. I
want to see if it's more than just a bump. If your scalp's been cut, I
can patch it from this pocket Red Cross kit I carry."
But Dawson had already explored under his helmet with very gentle
fingertips. He had two bumps side by side, not over an inch above a
point where two such blows would undoubtedly have paralyzed him for
life, if not killed him instantly. As it was, there were just the two
bumps and no wet or caked blood.
"Just bumps, Freddy," he said, and forced a chuckle. "A couple of pips,
but you know me, Old Iron Head. How about you, though?"
"I'm lucky," Freddy said, and tried to match Dawson's forced gaiety.
"Just one lump, but I'm sure the old noggin will ache for months. We'd
better bear this in mind, Dave. We can't stand another of these
attacks."
"Says which?" Dawson mumbled.
"We couldn't possibly be that lucky twice," the English youth explained.
"Blast this whole business, though! I don't like things I don't
understand. I definitely don't!"
Dave Dawson didn't make any comment on that. He got slowly to his feet,
steeled himself while a dizziness swept through his head, and then began
a methodical search of his uniform pockets. Watching him, Freddy Farmer
waited until he had inspected their contents and had put them back.
"Anything missing, Dave?" he asked.
"Nothing, not even my money," Dawson replied with a note of grimness in
his voice. "So that proves it. Proves it wasn't a stick-up and plain
robbery. That we're both still alive and more or less kicking proves
murder wasn't the big idea, either. They were after something that we
didn't have any more. And--Sweet tripe, Freddy! That was over a couple
of hours ago. Look at the time, will you?"
As Dawson spoke he thrust out his wrist watch. Ferry Farmer didn't
glance at the radium-painted dial. He simply nodded.
"I know," he said. "I didn't enjoy our little nap at all. If you really
do feel up to it, Dave, what say we get on along back, what? Major
Parker may be wondering about us."
"Yeah," Dawson said, and stopped short. "Major Parker, Freddy?" he said
after a long pause. "He knows that code of the colonel's. He delivered
that message to us, but swears he read only the signature. And he is the
only one, outside of those two Air Transport Command pilots, that we've
spoken to here. But heck! I'm just plain nuts. It just couldn't be!"
"And I don't think it is, Dave," Freddy Farmer murmured. "I'd bet my
life it wasn't Major Parker. He--Half a minute, Dave! Here comes
somebody along the path! I can see two flashlights!"
"Me, too!" Dawson answered quickly. "I can--" He stopped as the silence
of night was suddenly broken with a loud hail.
"Hello-o-o-o-o! Dawson and Farmer! Where are you? Hello-o-o-o! Dawson
and Farmer-r-r-r!"
"That's Parker!" Dawson cried. "Out looking for us. Let's go, Freddy!"
Dawson took a couple of steps, then stopped and cupped his two hands to
his mouth.
"Hello-o-o there, Major!" he bellowed. "We're coming!"
As his call died away, he could tell by the movement of the beams of
light far back along the path that whoever held the flashlights was
coming on the run. He and Freddy walked toward the approaching lights,
and after a couple of minutes one of them was playing over him at close
quarters. Major Parker's dumbfounded comments were splitting the night
air.
"Good grief, what happened to you two? I waited mess for you, but when
you didn't show up I got worried for fear you'd got lost. Somebody said
they saw you heading up this path, so we came after you. Good grief!
What happened? Are you badly hurt?"
By "we," Major Parker meant himself and one of the field pilots, who was
carrying the other flashlight. On impulse Dawson gave the man, whose
name was Tracey, a searching look, but he saw only bewildered amazement
and sympathy in the sun-and-wind bronzed face.
"We don't exactly know, sir," Dawson answered the major. "We were
heading back to the base when suddenly the lights went out. Somebody
jumped us from the sugar cane. When we woke up, we were as you see us,
but nothing was missing."
"Nothing?" Major Parker asked sharply.
"Not a darn thing, sir!" Dawson replied truthfully. "I don't get it.
And I don't like it, either. Thanks, though, for coming after us."
Major Parker dismissed the last with a wave of his hand, and opened his
mouth as though to say something important. He seemed to change his mind
as he shot a quick glance at Tracey, because he gave a little shrug and
remarked, "Well, standing around here isn't helping anything. I'd better
get you two back so you can clean up. We've got some spare uniforms, and
it won't be hard to find your fit. Slugged, and not a thing missing,
huh? Well, that's a new one on me. Okay, let's get back--if you two
really aren't hurt badly?"
"Just a bump or two, sir," Dawson assured him. "Nothing to write home
about, at all."
"Quite," Freddy Farmer murmured. "Received worse than this in a crash or
two. We're quite all right, sir."
Major Parker paused, scowled, and shot them both a keen, searching look.
He said nothing, though; he just shrugged, turned around, and started
leading the way back along the path that skirted the sugar cane
plantation.
CHAPTER NINE
_Death Strikes_
Brows furrowed in deep thought, Major Parker slowly packed tobacco into
his pipe, put the stem between his teeth, and struck a match. As he
applied the flame to the bowl, he raised his eyes and watched Dave
Dawson and Freddy Farmer putting away their second meal as his guests.
This time, however, it was not in the Officers' Mess. The trio were in
the major's own quarters, and Dawson and Farmer looked none the worse
for their recent experience. Uniforms that fitted them perfectly had
been found, and it had been a matter of a couple of minutes to transfer
their insignia and incidentals from their torn and dirt-smeared
uniforms. As a matter of fact, anybody stepping inside the major's
quarters at the moment wouldn't have thought anything amiss. That is,
unless he noticed the fixed scowl on the major's face.
The major kept scowling until Dave and Freddy had fully satisfied their
craving stomachs. Then he poured coffee for the three of them and
offered cream and sugar. That done, he slipped a hand into his tunic
pocket, pulled out his copper disc and tossed it on the table.
"What else do I have to do to convince you two?" he asked quietly.
Dawson lowered his coffee cup and looked at the major in mild surprise.
"What's that, sir?" he asked.
Major Parker jabbed his pipe stem at the copper disc.
"That," he said, "is the only identification I can produce until Colonel
Welsh arrives at midnight. That isn't far off, of course, but you two
ran into some trouble tonight. Bad trouble, I'd say, and--Well, I'm
supposed to be in charge down here, which automatically makes me
responsible for your safety. I fell down on the job, it seems. In other
words, I'd like all the details so that I can start the wheels turning
to round up this mysterious trouble-maker."
Dawson smiled, gave a little twist of his head, and gestured with one
hand.
"That's just the trouble, sir," he said pleasantly. "There aren't any
details, except the unpleasant ones that we've already told you. We were
heading back here when we were suddenly jumped and knocked cold. Whoever
did the job tore our uniforms to ribbons searching us."
"And what do you suppose he was searching for?" Major Parker asked
shrewdly.
"I don't know, sir," Dawson said quietly, and looked straight at him.
"Whatever it was, he didn't find it, because neither of us lost a single
thing."
"That's quite right, sir," Freddy Farmer spoke up. "I just had a
thought, though. Perhaps robbery was the main idea, but something or
somebody scared the beggar off."
Major Parker made a face as though he suddenly had a bad taste in his
mouth, and sighed sadly.
"Look, Farmer, I'm all of thirty-three!" he said sarcastically, "I've
been around a little. Don't give me that kind of an explanation. It's
silly. Whoever it was had time to tear your uniforms to shreds, but _no_
time to grab your money. That is, if it _was_ robbery."
"Well, it was just a thought, sir," Freddy replied with a weak grin.
"Then let's skip it," the major suggested laughingly. Becoming serious,
he said, "Don't think I'm trying to bust in on secret stuff. What isn't
my business _isn't_ my business. I've been attached to Intelligence long
enough to learn that. I ask for details simply because a couple of funny
things have happened around here lately. About ten days ago one of the
field laborers, hired by the British, was found dead with a bullet in
his brain. It turned out to be a Luger bullet. Three days ago somebody
broke into my office and tried to go through my private files. At least,
that's the way it looked to me--though my hunch might be all wet. Tell
me this, if you can: Did either of you get a look at whoever slugged
you?"
"I didn't see a thing, or feel a thing, for that matter," Freddy Farmer
said with a shake of his head. "I was just walking along, and the next
instant I was out cold."
Dawson started to shake his head, when suddenly he remembered. "I saw
his feet and legs up to his knees! As a matter of fact, he was
barefooted, but he wore pants. That's all I saw. Just his bare feet and
his trouser legs up to his knees."
"Barefooted, eh?" Major Parker murmured. "That could well mean one of
the natives. There are certainly enough of them around here. Well, that
just makes this confounded business much more mysterious. I'll certainly
be mighty glad when Colonel Welsh arrives."
"I guess that goes for the three of us, sir," Dawson added with a smile.
"Yes, very much so," Freddy Farmer chimed in.
Then followed a few minutes of silence, while each was engrossed with
his own thoughts. Presently Major Parker sighed faintly, knocked the
coals from his pipe bowl into an ash tray, and got to his feet.
"I have to make a little nightly inspection tour about the place," he
said. "So, if you two will excuse me, I'll get on with the job. Don't go
away, though. I won't be long. I'll be back for another cup of coffee
with you. They certainly know how to make it down in this part of the
world."
"All right, sir, we'll wait," Dawson answered for Farmer and himself.
"Unless there's something we can do to help? Doesn't seem quite fair
for us to eat your food, take up your time, and not do any--"
"Forget it, Dawson," Parker interrupted. "I'm glad to have you here.
Well, be seeing you shortly."
With a nod and another wave of his hand, Major Parker went outside and
left the two youths looking at each other.
"I like Major Parker plenty," Dawson said after a while. "And it sure
makes me feel like a heel."
"What does?" the English-born air ace wanted to know. "The fact that you
like him?"
"Cut it out!" Dawson urged. "Of course not. I feel like a heel because I
can't come clean and tell him all that we know."
"It isn't very much, if you ask me," Freddy said with a shrug and a
gesture.
"I know, but just the same I wish I could tell him what little we do
know. I'm sure he knows that we're holding out on him. And like I said,
he's such a swell fellow. And not the least bit dumb, what I mean."
"Well, you can't be dumb and work for Colonel Welsh, I fancy," Freddy
murmured.
Dawson started to agree with him, but suddenly checked his words and
shot a quick glance at Freddy. The English-born air ace was toying with
his cup of coffee and didn't see the grin that tugged down the corners
of Dawson's mouth.
"Well, there is one exception," Dave said. "I could give you his name
with one hand tied behind my back."
"And so could I!" Freddy said without so much as glancing up from his
cup of coffee. "His name is Dawson! Thought you were being very smart,
little man, didn't you, what?"
"Okay, pass the cream!" Dave ordered. "I know when I'm licked. I--Hey!
You hear that?"
"Hear what?" young Farmer asked, and looked up quickly.
"I thought I heard a shout and a couple of shots from outside," Dave
told him. "You didn't hear anything at all, Freddy?"
"Not a blessed thing, except your confounded voice," Freddy told him.
That was all the English youth did say, because at that instant they
both clearly heard wild shouting and the savage yammer of machine-gun
fire. For about half a second they sat perfectly still. Then as one they
leaped to their feet, whirled, and raced out the door of Major Parker's
quarters. Outside, it was dark, and the sudden change blinded them both.
But only for a moment, and at the end of that moment they saw two or
three moving lights over at the southwest corner of the base, and
several figures running across the field toward those moving lights.
Impulsively, Dawson reached for his holstered service automatic and
broke into a run.
"Let's go, kid," he called back over his shoulder.
The last was unnecessary, because young Farmer was in motion, too, and
right there at his elbow. Together they ran across the field and reached
the small group gathered about three figures holding powerful
flashlights. The beams were being played on something on the ground, and
as Dawson took a look he gasped and instantly pushed his way forward. On
the ground, and just being helped up by a guard corporal, was Major
Parker. The officer, in spite of his leathery tan, looked very pale. And
there was a trickle of blood running down from a cut on his forehead
just over the left eye.
"Take it easy, sir; I'll get the ambulance," the guard corporal was
saying as Dawson reached the injured man. "And we'll get the guy that
did it, too."
"Don't bother about that, Corp," a voice said. "I saw him running after
the major fired, and me and little Betsy, here, knocked him out. He's
over there and not talking to anybody. He'll never talk again, not that
bird!"
Dawson had raised his head at the sound of the voice, and saw a
square-jawed American soldier not ten feet away. The soldier was holding
a sub-machine gun in the crook of one arm, and patting it affectionately
with his hand. He paused in his patting long enough to jerk a thumb to
his left. Dawson looked in that direction and started inwardly as he
made out the huddled figure of a dead man on the ground. The thing that
made him start was the fact that the dead man was barefooted. One
glance, and Dawson turned his attention to Major Parker, who was now on
his feet, gently pushing aside the guard corporal's efforts to keep
holding him.
"It's all right, Corporal, thanks," Major Parker said. "And I don't want
any ambulance. Somebody loan me a handkerchief until I can get a real
patch for this thing."
"I've a First Aid patch right here, sir," Freddy Farmer spoke up
quickly. "Here, let me put it on. There! I say, sir, what happened?"
The major tested the First Aid patch with his fingers and grinned a
trifle stiff-lipped at Dawson and Farmer.
"He seems to have gone in for numbers tonight," he said. "I was just
coming around the corner of the Non-Coms' mess over there, when I
thought I heard a sound behind me. I turned, but it was quite dark at
that spot, so I didn't see anything clearly. Just--well, just somebody
diving at me. I didn't bother to ask questions. I dropped and went for
my gun. That's what saved me a really nasty crack, I guess. It messed up
his aim, because he had to reach out farther. But I missed, too, when I
shot at him as we both fell to the ground. Singed him, though, because
he cried out. The crack he gave me made me see a few stars, so I missed
again as he jumped to his feet and started running. Private Marvin,
here, arrived on the scene just in time, and Private Marvin is the kind
who doesn't miss. Let's go take a look."
The whole group moved over to the dead man on the ground. The flashlight
beams were played on him. Somebody leaned down and turned the corpse
over on its back. The dead man was dressed in cheap native clothing, and
his skin was burned almost as black as the night sky. There was
something about the features, particularly the wide forehead, that
arrested Dawson's attention. As he leaned closer for a better look, he
caught sight of a corner of white showing beneath a tear in the dead
man's shirt. On impulse, Dawson reached down and pulled. Out came a
white envelope, and Dave's heart leaped up into his throat. He didn't
have to look inside the envelope to know what was there. Instantly he
recognized it as the letter of authority Colonel Welsh had given Farmer
and him to carry.
"Holy smokes!" he whispered to himself. "So he _did_ get something off
us. This! I'd forgotten all about this thing."
"What thing?" Major Parker asked sharply, and stepped close.
Dawson hesitated, but when he saw that the major and he were standing a
little apart from the others, he removed the letter of authority and
smoothed it out so the senior officer could read it. Major Parker did
just that.
"But you didn't give me any--" he began, and stopped short as Dawson
nudged him quickly.
"I know, sir," Dave said in a low voice. "We decided it best to destroy
them, after the message we got from Tiger. We did just that about five
minutes before your corpse there jumped us. He didn't find what he
wanted, but he did find this letter. No doubt he figured that we'd given
them to you, or, at least, that you had been given yours. He went after
you, and--" Dawson came to a halt and gave a little angry shake of his
head. "I seem to be doing fine, I don't think!" he grated after a
moment. "I guess you could almost say, sir, that I gave you that crack
on the head. I was responsible for it, anyway."
"No, that's not true, Dave!" Freddy Farmer spoke in his ear at that
moment. "I'm the thoughtless blighter. Don't you remember? I began
carrying that letter at Puerto Rico. I confess I had forgotten all about
the blasted thing."
Dawson looked hard at his pal and then shrugged.
"Okay, you or me, what does it matter?" he sighed. "The major should be
plenty sore at both of us."
"You can skip that, both of you," Major Parker spoke up instantly.
"After all, maybe it's a break in a way. The rat is dead, and that makes
one less of his breed to bother us. Ten to one he killed that field
laborer and searched my office. If so--"
The major let the rest slide, for at that moment all heard the roar of
an approaching aircraft. It was coming in fast from the north, and as
Dawson stared in that direction, he caught sight of the winking green
and red running lights. A couple of moments later, the field lights were
turned on to light the long runway. Shortly after that an American B-25
slid down to a nice landing, and went trundling over toward the
Administration Building. Dawson, glancing at his watch, saw that it was
exactly midnight.
CHAPTER TEN
_Invisible Eyes_
No sooner had the North American B-25 bomber braked to a full stop in
front of the Administration Building than the fuselage door swung open
and Colonel Welsh disembarked. The Intelligence officer's thin face was
deeply lined from worry and loss of sleep, but his eyes were sharp and
clear as he swept them over the group that had sprung to attention. When
his eyes came to Dawson and Farmer, a light of relief seeped into them,
and he gave a little nod of his head as a sign of recognition, and
perhaps approval.
"Get inside, you two, at once!" the colonel ordered. And then, as his
eyes picked out Major Parker, he added, "You, too, Parker. Everybody
else, back to your posts!"
With a million and one speculative thoughts dancing and racing about
inside their heads, Dawson and Farmer climbed up into the bomber, with
Major Parker at their heels. Once inside, they saw that the bomb
compartment had been fitted out as an aerial office. Instinctively they
headed that way. By the time they reached that compartment, Major Parker
had joined them. The senior officer wigwagged a finger to check any
questions that might be asked and waved the three of them to the little
seats fitted to either side of the fuselage. He seated himself behind a
small table bolted to the bomb compartment flooring and stared into
space as the B-25's engines were revved up a little, and the bomber
started to trundle forward.
Automatically, Dawson braced himself for a take-off, but the ship did
not leave the ground. The pilot trundled the bomber over toward one of
the hangars, braked it to a stop, and cut his engines. A moment later,
the field's ground crew was busy filling the aircraft's tanks. Still
Colonel Welsh sat staring into space without speaking a word. The
suspense, and the mystery of it all, were like butterflies in Dawson's
chest. Again and again he glanced at the colonel, hoping to catch the
senior officer's eyes, believing that if he did so the colonel might
give him some kind of a sign that would at least relieve the tension.
He had no luck, though. The colonel sat like a man of stone while the
B-25's fuel tanks were being filled to the brim. When they were filled,
the engines were started, and the bomber was trundled out to the
take-off end of the runway.
"A take-off sure, this time!" Dawson thought to himself. "I wonder where
we're headed? In fact, I'm wondering a whole lot of things right now.
Something has certainly happened, because the colonel looks in a bad
way. He looks about as bad as I felt a few hours ago."
But there was no take-off. When the bomber was swung around into the
wind, the engines were throttled to idling speed. Then and then only did
Colonel Welsh come out of his trance. He looked at Dawson and Farmer,
and reached out his hand.
"Give me the rest of those envelopes," he said.
Dawson shook his head and spoke quickly as a look of utter horror spread
over Colonel Welsh's face.
"We haven't got them, sir," he said. "Right after receiving your code
message, we decided it was best to destroy them, so we did."
Horror vanished from the Intelligence Chief's face and thankful relief
took its place.
"Good lads!" he said. "Now give me a detailed report of your flight from
Washington."
Dave Dawson glanced impulsively at Freddy Farmer, but the English-born
air ace shook his head and made a sign for Dave to do the talking. Dave
turned to Colonel Welsh and began to relate everything that had happened
from the Washington take-off to the moment of the colonel's arrival. He
didn't leave out a thing. However, in the event he might have missed
something, he shot a questioning look at Freddy Farmer when he had
finished.
"No, I can't think of a thing to add," the English youth said. "You've
covered everything, I'm sure."
During all the time Dawson was talking, Colonel Welsh sat leaning
forward slightly and listening as though his life depended upon every
word. Eventually he straightened up and looked at Major Parker.
"Have you anything to add?" he asked.
"Nothing, sir," the major replied. "Dawson covered my end of it all in
complete detail."
"You had never seen the dead man before, Parker?" the colonel then
asked.
"No, sir," Major Parker replied. Then, with a faint gesture, he added,
"I may have seen him, sir, in the course of my work, but the natives
here all look more or less alike."
Colonel Welsh grunted, scowled down at the little table in front of him,
and suddenly shot a sharp look at Dawson.
"Yes?" he asked. "You've got something on your mind, Dawson?"
Dave started slightly, because he did have something on his mind and was
debating if he should mention it. He could feel the red seeping up into
his face as he looked at Colonel Welsh.
"Just a hunch, sir," he said. "I'm probably all wrong. The dead man is
undoubtedly a native, as Major Parker says, but--"
"But what?" Colonel Welsh pressed as Dawson let the rest go unspoken.
"Well, his skin was dark like that of a native's, sir," Dave replied
after a quick apologetic look at Major Parker, "but there was something
about his features that sort of struck me as queer. The forehead looked
a little too wide for a native's, and I was suddenly struck by the
hunch that he was--No, I _must_ have been wrong!"