Brendan's Marsh
Rick stared out the window at the gathering dusk. "I'd like to know
what's taking Jerry so long with those pictures," he grumbled. "He
should have been here an hour ago."
Scotty had been trying to read a book. He gave it up as a bad job and
joined Rick at the window. "Maybe he stopped for dinner," he said.
"I'll put ground glass in his cake next time he comes to dinner if he
has," Rick threatened.
Jerry had phoned before leaving for New York earlier in the day. After
consultation with Duke, they had agreed that Jerry would bring the
pictures directly to the island, and that Rick and Scotty would leave
the boat at the landing for him to use.
The editor was as anxious as any of them to see the pictures, but, as
he pointed out, there was no longer any special haste, and he
preferred not to have both himself and Jerry away from the paper at
the same time, especially in the very early or very late evening when
the wire service newscasts were coming in.
Rick had agreed. He planned to project the film, choose the single
frames that would be the most useful, rephotograph them, and make
enlargements for Duke and Captain Douglas. The rephotographing was
done with a special, inexpensive device that could be purchased at any
photo supply store.
Scotty opened the window wider and stuck his head out. "Thought I
heard something."
Rick looked at his watch. It was shortly after eight. "Let's take the
glasses and walk out to the north side," he said. "It won't be
completely dark until around nine, and we'll be able to see him
coming."
"Wait a minute." Scotty held up his hand. "There. I thought I heard
something. He's coming now. I recognize the launch motor."
Rick started for the door, then he hesitated. "You go meet him. I'll
get the projector set up in the library."
He ran down the stairs and called, "Mother. Dad. Jerry's coming with
the pictures." Then he hurried into the library, took his folding
screen from the closet and set it up. He got the projector from its
case, plugged it in, using his father's desk as a table, and put on
the take-up reel. He finished focusing just as Scotty and Jerry burst
into the room. Mr. and Mrs. Brant were right behind them.
"Got a clogged gas line," Jerry explained breathlessly. "I finally got
a man to push me to the nearest gas station. We took the gas line off
at the carburetor and blew it out with compressed air. I didn't dare
take time to find out what had clogged it, because I knew you'd lynch
me."
"You're forgiven," Rick said. He had already taken the film from
Jerry and was threading it through the projector gate. He inserted the
loose end in the take-up reel and motioned to Scotty. "Here we go."
Scotty snapped out the light and Rick started the projector. White
leader ran through the gate, then suddenly, clear as day, there were
two ships below, their center sections brightly illuminated and the
rest fading out slightly toward what had been the edges of the
infrared beam.
"Excellent, Rick," Hartson Brant said. "Good work, son! That's much
better than I had hoped."
"Same here, Dad," Rick said, eyes on the screen. The ships appeared to
be whirling slowly, the result of his having taken the picture while
circling in a tight bank. He could see the men on the decks clearly,
and even thought he recognized Brad Marbek. Then, as the angle
changed, he saw Marbek clearly, waving his arm.
"What flag is that?" Scotty asked suddenly. "There, on the stern of
the freighter."
The flag was limp because there had been no breeze to speak of, but
part of the design was clear. "I have it," Hartson Brant exclaimed.
"That ship is of Caribbean registry." He named the country, then said,
"Look for the name of the ship."
But the angle was wrong for that. The name was not within the camera's
view, on either stern or bow.
The film was running out rapidly now. Rick watched the cargo net swing
over, full of wooden cases, and drop on the deck of the freighter. For
a moment it didn't register, then he yelled. "Hey! Ohmigolly! Did you
see that?" He threw the reverse switch and the film ran backward. The
net lifted from the deck of the freighter and swung toward the
_Albatross_. Then he ran it forward again and watched the load settle
to the freighter's deck.
Scotty yelled, too. "What a pair of chuckleheads! Rick, no wonder we
didn't find anything on the _Albatross_ and neither did Captain
Douglas! They're smuggling stuff _out!_ Not in!"
The Plimsoll mark! The _Albatross_ had been heavily loaded because
Brad Marbek had _taken on the load at Creek House he would deliver
later to the freighter_.
That was why no ships had been listed in the New York paper as being
in the right area at the right time. They had looked for arrival
times, not sailing times.
That was why the cache of cases was no longer in the marsh behind
Creek House. These pictures were of those cases being loaded on the
freighter!
The picture ran through and white light flashed on the screen. Scotty
snapped the lights on.
"We've got to get these pictures to Captain Douglas," Rick exclaimed.
"I'll hurry and rephotograph them right away. It will only take a
moment."
He hastily rewound the film while Scotty ran ahead to the photo lab.
Hartson Brant said, "Ed will be glad to get those, Rick. But don't get
your hopes too high. The pictures don't show any contraband in those
cases, and that's what you'll need."
"I know, Dad," Rick replied. "But at least we know now why we've
always been wrong. We were backwards!"
He hurriedly excused himself, then he and Jerry hurried after Scotty.
Scotty already had loaded the rephotographing camera with film and
screwed a photo flood bulb into a convenient receptacle. It took Rick
only ten minutes to select the frames he wanted to rephotograph and
finish the operation. Then he gave the rephotographing camera to
Scotty who wound the film all the way through and took it out.
"Let's develop it," he said, and reached for the shelf to take down a
small developing tank.
"Wait!" An idea struck Rick. "How do we know Brad isn't going to load
again tonight? Remember the Kelsos have only a few more days at Creek
House."
Jerry snapped his fingers. "That's right! And I'll bet they're
gloating over hoodwinking the State Police, too. They wouldn't be
afraid to ship _out_ another load, particularly since they know
they're suspected of smuggling stuff _in_ and it might be their last
chance."
"We can't risk it," Rick said decisively. "We'll take this film to
Whiteside and have the photographer at the paper develop it. How about
that, Jerry?" The reporter nodded agreement and he continued, "While
it's being developed, we can go through the New York papers again and
find out if a ship of Caribbean registry is sailing. About midnight
would be right for a sailing time."
Scotty reached for the light. "We'd better hurry." He snapped it out
and led the way through the door. He and Jerry went directly to the
boat landing while Rick ran upstairs and picked up his infrared
camera, just in case. If the police raided Creek House tonight, he
intended to be on hand.
Scotty had chosen the fast speedboat and already had the engine
turning over. Rick jumped aboard and they roared toward Whiteside. At
the dock they transferred to Jerry's car and sped through the streets
to the newspaper office. Duke Barrows had just finished with the early
newscast and, taking advantage of the lull, had gone home for dinner;
he would return in about an hour, the photographer said. He was the
only man in the office. Jerry gave him the roll of film on which Rick
had rephotographed the critical scenes from the movie and asked for
two enlargements of each.
"It's urgent," he said. "Duke will want to see these when he gets
back."
"He'll have 'em." The photographer headed for the darkroom.
Rick and Scotty didn't wait any longer. They took the file of New York
papers from the rack and hurriedly leafed through them to the proper
dates.
"Here's one!" Rick found a pencil and jotted down the name of the ship
and its owner. The next date disclosed a ship of the same registry and
owner, but with a different name. They worked rapidly and it took only
a few minutes now that they knew what to look for, and presently they
had the job completed. Jerry, who had been phoning Duke, joined them
and looked over Rick's shoulder as he read aloud.
"All the same company and registry. It's the Compania Maritima Caribe
y Atlantica." He stumbled a little over the Spanish name. This was
good evidence. He looked at his friends, eyes shining. "Now for
today's paper. Got it Jerry?"
The reporter found it on Duke's desk and they spread it out on a
table. Three heads bent over it. There was no ship of that company and
registry listed as sailing tonight. Then Scotty spotted a separate
listing of ships now loading.
"Got one! But it's scheduled to sail night after tomorrow. And look!
It's the same ship that was here two weeks ago!"
Rick sat down at Jerry's desk. He still couldn't escape the feeling of
urgency. He had played his hunches before and he did so now. He leaned
over and picked up a copy of the New York phone directory. With the
others watching curiously, he leafed through it, found the right page
and ran his finger down it until he had the number, then he picked up
Jerry's phone and called it.
While the operator made the connection, he held his hand over the
mouthpiece. "A hunch. The shipping offices are closed now, but the
Port Director at New York will know."
A female voice said, "Port of New York Authority."
"Information on ship sailings, please," Rick requested.
The operator rang an extension and a male voice answered.
"I know you don't usually bother with information of this kind," Rick
said, "but this is the Whiteside _Morning Record_ and we need it for
tomorrow's edition. I'd like to know if there is any correction on the
sailing date of this ship." He read off the name and company and the
pier number.
"Just a minute, Whiteside. I'll be glad to look it up."
Rick waited tensely.
"Here it is. That ship was supposed to sail Friday night, but the
sailing has been moved up. She leaves tonight at midnight."
"Thanks," Rick said. "Thanks!" He hung up and turned to his friends.
"Tonight's the night! I had a hunch something was up. Of course Brad
and the Kelsos would have the sailing moved up, because they're
frightened. I'll bet tonight will be their last load, then the Kelsos
will clear out and Brad will go back to just fishing."
"Tonight or never," Scotty echoed. "What do we do now?"
"Call Captain Douglas." Rick picked up the phone again and asked for
State Police headquarters. There was a little delay while the officer
was called to the phone, then Rick quickly outlined their findings
from the movie film and the New York paper. "If we get down there, we
can catch them in the act of loading," he said. "How about it,
Captain?"
Captain Douglas hesitated. "I hate to stick my neck out again after
last night, but this looks like a sure thing. We'll need a search
warrant, Rick, and it will take a little time to rout out a judge. And
I'll have to see the pictures first. We have to show cause when we get
a warrant, you know, and the judge will be a little reluctant after
last night."
"The pictures are being printed now," Rick told him. "You can have
them in a little while."
"Right. I'll round up the men I need and bring them with me. And I'll
get the judge on the phone and ask him to make out the warrant and
promise to show him the evidence when I pick it up."
"How long will it take?" Rick asked.
"We'll be on our way in an hour. I'll get going right now."
The captain hung up. Rick looked at his watch and then at the rapidly
fading light outside. "They won't be in time," he said desperately.
"If they rush the loading, they can have the _Albatross_ out of there.
Then what happens? They'll have to get another warrant to search the
trawler at the pier, and there won't be any evidence to tie the cargo
up with the Kelsos!"
Scotty held up the infrared camera. "Unless we get it," he said.
Rick's eyes widened. Go back to Creek House? But even as he shuddered
at the thought of what would happen to them if they were caught again,
he knew there was no other way.
"Jerry," he said crisply, "we're going on ahead. Run us down to the
dock and we'll get started. Then you come back here and wait for
Captain Douglas and Duke. Give them the pictures and this dope from
the shipping news, and for the love of Rick and Scotty, tell them to
step on it when they start for Seaford!"
Jerry protested halfheartedly as they sped to the dock, but they
convinced him it would be better for him to wait and impress on the
others the need for speed. He dropped them at the speedboat with a
plea to be careful, then headed back to the office.
Scotty got behind the wheel while Rick cast off and they roared out to
sea with the throttle wide open. The speedboat climbed to the step and
planed along like a racer, leaving a foaming wake. Then, as they
passed Spindrift Island and met rougher water, it began to bounce
from one wave crest to the next. Spray swirled over the windshield and
into the boat. Scotty started the wipers. Rick crouched down under the
dashboard and rechecked his camera, trying out the infrared dynamo and
the camera motor. Just to be on the safe side, he had brought the
camera case, which contained the extra film and a tripod. Now he got
the tripod ready but waited to see what would happen before he placed
the camera on it.
He sat back in the seat, satisfied that everything was in readiness,
and looked around him. Suddenly he stiffened. There were ship running
lights on the horizon. The trawler fleet was returning to Seaford, and
Brad Marbek would be among them! He leaned over and switched out their
own running lights.
Scotty glanced around, saw the masthead lights, and nodded his
understanding.
"Better make a plan," he suggested. "What do we do when we get there?"
"Stick our heads into the lion's mouth," Rick replied unhappily. "I
hate to try getting into the Creek House grounds again after last
time!"
"Do we have to? How about watching from the boat?"
"We couldn't get near enough without being seen. Wait! We could at
that!" Rick struggled to remember details of the photo they had taken
showing the marsh opposite Creek House. "We could go into the marsh.
Remember that inlet nearest the creek? That branched off in the right
direction. There are emergency oars in this and we could use them as
poles and shove our way in. We might get close enough."
"And if we don't, we can wade the rest of the way." Scotty leaned over
and wiped mist from the windshield. "Good idea." He laughed, without
mirth. "Brad and the two redheads would have a fine time chasing us
through the swamp. Here's one pigeon they'd never catch."
"Make it two pigeons," Rick corrected.
They were making good time, even though the slapping of the speedboat
over the rough water was giving them a bad jouncing. They roared past
the last group of summer cottages before Brendan's Marsh, leaving a
wake that set the boats anchored near the shore to rocking.
At Rick's suggestion, Scotty throttled down as they swept along the
edge of the marsh. The noise of the wide-open engine might be heard at
Creek House and arouse suspicion. Then, as Smugglers' Light neared and
they knew they were getting close, Scotty throttled down still more.
Rick unlashed the pair of oars from their position along the gunwale
and got them ready. It was fully dark now and difficult to see,
although the moon was rising.
Scotty leaned over and cut the ignition. "Don't dare to use the engine
any nearer than this," he said, his voice low.
Rick saw that they were perilously near the creek mouth. He turned to
look at the incoming trawlers and saw the nearest one almost abeam of
them a quarter mile out. "Watch for that inlet," he whispered. "And
let's get into the next seat back. The windshield will interfere if we
try to paddle from here." He hadn't rigged the oarlocks, knowing they
would be unable to row in the narrow inlet. They would have to use
the oars as paddles.
They climbed over the seat back and each took an oar, kneeling like
canoeists. Rick was on the inland side, and he saw the inlet mouth
first. "Here," he whispered, and backed water with his oar. The bow of
the boat swung around.
Rushes and marsh grass scraped past them. The lights of Creek House
were still invisible. Rick strained his eyes to see; it was almost
inky black in the tall rushes. Then Scotty reached out and felt with
his oar.
"Left turn," he whispered. He had found the inlet branch that led
toward the hotel. Now he backed water, trying not to splash, while
Rick poled ahead. The boat swung into the narrow channel, reeds
touching it on both sides and making a hissing noise as they
progressed.
"Only a few feet of water," Rick said softly. "And mud at the bottom."
Each time he lifted his oar he felt the weight of a ball of muck on
the end.
The boat slid gently to a stop. Both boys put their weight on the
oars, but it moved only two feet ahead then stopped once more. They
put their heads together and discussed it in a low whisper because
they were near the creek.
"We're aground," Scotty said.
"Guess we get out and walk," Rick returned. "Better take our shoes and
socks off. It will be muddy."
"We'll be lucky if we don't sink in up to our necks."
Scotty took his arm suddenly. Rick started to ask what was the matter,
then he heard it, too. The cough of a Diesel engine exhaust and the
clanking of gear told him that a ship was nearing. A shiver ran
through him. Brad Marbek, coming in to load!
"Let's step on it, he whispered. He sat down and removed his shoes and
socks, then climbed up on the gunwale and walked forward, brushing
against the rushes but trying not to make too much noise. He took his
oar and shoved straight down from the bow. There was about a foot of
water, then another eighteen inches of mud before the bottom firmed.
It would be hard going. He started back, but Scotty came to meet him,
carrying the camera and power pack.
"The tripod," Rick requested in a low whisper. "If the ground is so
soft I can't get a firm stance, I'll need it."
Scotty handed him the equipment, then went back and got the tripod.
Rick screwed the camera into place with a few turns of the tripod nut.
Scotty disconnected the power cord that led from the power pack to the
camera and coiled it up. They could reconnect it when they needed it.
Meanwhile, it would interfere with their progress. He slung the power
pack over his shoulder.
Rick put the camera and tripod on the deck, then turned his back to
the creek and lowered himself. The water was cold and the muck seemed
to reach up for him. He felt firmer ground under his toes and let
himself go, then held his hands within reach of the boat as he
continued to sink. He was up to his thighs when the ground finally
held. He reached up and took the camera, holding it high in the air,
and started forward.
Each step was an effort. He had to lift his leg high before each step,
and the mud clung. Behind him, he heard the sucking, splashing, of
Scotty's progress.
Then the ground began to get firmer until at last there was only a
thin film of water and about a foot of mud. The lights of Creek House
could be seen through the rushes now. He held up his hand as a warning
to Scotty. They were close to the bank. In a moment he parted the
reeds and looked through. Scotty moved to his side. The _Albatross_
was tying up at Creek House pier, and Brad Marbek was just leaping to
the dock where the Kelsos waited. But the boys were too far down
toward the creek mouth. They would have to move along the bank. Rick
gave Scotty a little push in that direction and Scotty understood. He
went back into the marsh a few feet, then led the way.
It was easier going, but still far from pleasant. The muck gave every
step a slurping sound, and it clung in gobs. Then the vantage point
Scotty selected was reached, directly opposite the pier. They parted
the rushes slightly and looked out.
The crew of the _Albatross_ was climbing down under the pier. As the
boys watched, they poled out a shallow-draft, broad-beamed rowboat
about fifteen feet long. It was the barge on which the contraband had
waited in the swamp.
Rick put his lips to Scotty's ear. "Wonder why Captain Douglas didn't
see that?"
"He probably did. It wouldn't mean anything with the cargo gone."
Sensible, Rick thought. There would have been no occasion for the
captain to mention it. He searched for a bit of firmer ground on which
to rest the camera and found it. He began to worry about the hum of
the dynamo. Would it be heard when they turned it on? And the
filament of the infrared searchlight would be visible, too, against
the dark background of the marsh. Did they dare try it?
The crew of the _Albatross_ was in the flatboat--it scarcely could be
called a rowboat--already heading upstream. The Kelsos and Marbek
walked toward the house.
Good! That would give them a chance to try the camera. Rick waited
impatiently until the boat rounded the turn leading to Salt Creek
Bridge, then he sighted in on the _Albatross_, checked his settings,
and started both the camera and infrared light. The dynamo and camera
motor hummed quietly. He breathed a sigh of relief. Surely that much
sound would blend imperceptibly with the normal night noises. Peepers
in the fresher water upstream made more noise than that. He walked
ahead of the camera and peered into the infrared searchlight. If
anyone looked real closely, they might see it. He hoped the men on the
opposite shore would be too busy to glance his way.
He switched off the mechanism and settled down to wait. His trousers
were wet and heavy with mud, and his legs and feet were chilled.
Mosquitoes whined around his head and little gnats settled down for a
meal on his exposed neck and head. He began to wonder if it was worth
it.
Carrots Kelso came out of the house, and he had his rifle. The boys
watched as he disappeared behind the hotel, taking up his position as
guard.
Each minute had lead in its shoes. Why didn't the boat return? And
then, suddenly, it was rounding the bend! Rick moved behind the camera
and loosened the pan-head. He swung the lens upstream. Scotty parted
the rushes for him and he began to shoot. Infrared illuminated the
boat clearly. He saw the faces of the crew, saw the cases stacked from
stem to stem and even read their labels. Hummer sewing machines. He
didn't believe for a moment that there were really sewing machines in
them, but he couldn't guess their actual content.
He stopped shooting and rewound the camera while Scotty cranked the
dynamo spring, then he took another brief sequence, stopped, and
waited. No more now until they actually reached the dock and started
to transfer the stuff.
Red Kelso and Brad Marbek came out of the hotel and he started
shooting again, then he switched to a telephoto lens and took a
close-up of their faces as they watched the boat draw near.
Carrots appeared around the front of the hotel and Rick got him, too,
before he vanished again, patrolling the grounds.
The boat touched the dock. A crewman leaped to the place where Kelso
and Marbek stood. There was conversation with much gesturing and
pointing into the boat. Then the crewman jumped down again and
motioned to one of his fellows. Rick started shooting. Clearly, as
though it were day, he saw the two bend over something in the bow.
They heaved upright and a chill shot through him. A man, bound and
gagged! Then they turned the man over to hand him up to the dock and
Rick's teeth clamped on his lip so hard that he groaned.
It was Jerry Webster!