A Disturbing Call
“I’ll get it! I’ll get it!”
It was the voice of eleven-year-old Monica Brewster.
“You always do,” grumbled her twin brother Ted. “I never do get to
answer the telephone. Not when _you’re_ in the house.”
Monica wasn’t listening. She was flying into the kitchen to answer the
steady ring before her mother could lift the phone from its cradle. Mr.
Brewster’s study was nearer, and there was a telephone in there, too.
But Monica knew that her father was in the study, talking to her older
brother Biff. She was sure the call was from her friend Betsy, because
Betsy generally called her about five o’clock in the afternoon. Monica
didn’t want her father interrupting her talk with Betts. Daddy didn’t
approve of long phone gabs.
Moments later, Monica came bursting through the living room. Her
excitement was at a pitch as high as her voice.
“Daddy! Daddy! The call’s from Honolulu! Someone’s calling you from
Honolulu!”
“Take it easy, sis, or you’ll explode.” Biff grinned as he saw the
eagerness on his sister’s flushed face.
Thomas Brewster picked up the telephone. He listened briefly, then
cupped his hand over the mouthpiece and spoke to his older son.
“Close the door, Biff. _Behind_ your sister.”
Biff got up from his chair and gently ushered Monica, protesting, out of
the study. When he turned back, he was startled to see that an
expression of worry clouded his father’s face.
“Yes, Johann, I agree.” Mr. Brewster gave the name its Germanic
pronunciation, “_Yohann_.”
Biff could only distinguish a mumble of words coming from nearly four
thousand miles away.
“Well, Johann, don’t you take any chances yourself,” Mr. Brewster
continued. “Wait until I get there.... Danger? There’s always danger
when the stakes are as high as those we’re playing for.... What!” Thomas
Brewster’s frown deepened. “Perez Soto? You say Perez Soto is there? I
don’t like that one little bit. The letter, though, you have that safely
hidden?”
Again the speaker at the other end took over the conversation. Biff
could hear only a scramble of sounds coming from the telephone. He saw
his father nod his head absently. His brows knitted into deeper thought.
“You think your room was searched?” he exclaimed. “Had you hidden the
letter?”
Biff watched his father intently. Mr. Brewster listened attentively to a
long reply. At last he said, “That’s bad, Johann. Very bad. We’ll have
to make the best of it, though. All right, Johann.... Yes, leaving here
tomorrow ... Northwest Airlines.... Take off from Seattle early the next
morning, Wednesday, at five A.M. Be in Hawaii about eight o’clock your
time.... You’re stopping at the Royal Poinciana, aren’t you?... Hello
... hello ... Johann?” Thomas Brewster waited a few moments. “Hello....”
Then he hung up and turned to Biff. “That’s funny. He didn’t answer.
Maybe we were cut off.”
“Maybe the three minutes were up,” Biff suggested with a smile.
“That’s not as funny as you think, my boy,” his father chuckled. “Dr.
Weber’s a peculiar man about some things having to do with money. A call
from Honolulu to Indianapolis means nothing to him. But if the operator
told him his three minutes were up, he’d hang up quickly. He obeys what
he thinks are the rules.”
Biff laughed. “Isn’t Dr. Weber the famous scientist? I’m sure I’ve heard
you speak of him.”
“That’s right, Biff. He’s a staff consultant for Ajax. I’ve worked with
him before.”
Biff nodded his head. “I thought so.”
Thomas Brewster was the chief field engineer for the Ajax Mining
Company, headquarters Indianapolis, Indiana. His job took him all over
the world, to many of the strangest and least known spots on the globe.
Whenever it was possible, he took sixteen-year-old Biff along.
“One of my reasons for going to Hawaii is to meet Dr. Weber,” Biff’s
father continued now.
“You mean the Engineers’ Conference isn’t the main reason?” Biff asked.
Thomas Brewster shook his head. “No. Oh, the meeting is important, all
right. But I doubt if I would have gone out there for that alone. Dr.
Weber wrote me over a month ago. Said he wanted to meet with me and Jim
Huntington. He said it was very important. But he didn’t go into
details. I imagine he didn’t want to put too much information on paper.
Afraid it might be seen by eyes other than my own.”
Biff was thinking. “It seems to me, Dad, that I’ve heard you mention
this Mr. Huntington before, too. Am I right?”
“Probably. I hadn’t heard from Huntington for a long, long time. But he
did some work for me in the past.”
“What’s going on, Dad? And what was all that about a letter?”
Thomas Brewster sighed. “Oh, the letter. Forget you _ever_ heard about
it. Dr. Weber told me Jim Huntington was lost at sea sailing up to
Hawaii from New Zealand. Got caught in a terrific storm, and his sloop
sank. He was able to send a radio signal of his position, but Weber said
a sea and air search has failed, so far, to discover any trace of
Huntington or his sloop.”
“Gee, that’s really too bad. Do you know why he wanted to see you and
Dr. Weber?” Biff asked.
“I have an idea. And if what I think is true, then Jim Huntington’s loss
is a very real one for the whole world.”
“I heard you mention there might be danger—” Biff stopped. A spark of
excitement flashed across his face. His blue eyes lighted up.
“Danger, Biff? Well, we’ve been in tight spots before. You, in China,
and with me in Brazil.” Tom Brewster paused, then said slowly, “There’s
always an element of danger in the work we do for Ajax.”
Biff, his face serious, nodded his head. He was thinking of Hawaii, our
fiftieth state. What danger could there be there?
The telephone operator at the Royal Poinciana Hotel on Waikiki Beach,
Honolulu, looked up as her luncheon relief came into her small room.
“Hi. Am I ever glad to see you! I’m just about starved. I’m on a diet.
Not for much longer, though. Hey, something funny’s going on. That old
gent in suite 210. Made a stateside call just now and didn’t hang up
when he finished. Imagine! He left the phone off the hook. I’ll tell a
bellboy to hop up there when I go out.”