Bomb Away
For several moments Biff and Li remained absolutely quiet and
motionless. They knew someone was on the boat. But what was he doing?
“Could he be one of the men bringing supplies to the boat?” Li whispered
at last.
Biff shook his head. “No. I don’t think so. You’d see activity on the
deck, too, and a truck somewhere nearby. No, we’ve got to investigate
what that character is doing.”
“I’ve got an idea, Biff.”
“Let’s have it, Li.”
“Well, look, you know how well I can swim under water. Suppose I slip
into the water on this side of the wharf. Then I’ll swim under it, and I
can come up right beside the boat. I’ll move along from porthole to
porthole and see if I can find out what’s going on in the boat.”
“Sounds okay to me. Good thing we changed into shorts. Be careful not to
make any noise.”
“Me, Biff? I’ll be as quiet as a fish.”
He was, too. There wasn’t even the faintest “ker-plop” as Li lowered
himself over the edge of the dock and sank into the water.
Biff waited tensely. From behind his stack of pineapple crates, he could
get a good view of the starboard side of the yawl. He could see right to
the water line and the four portholes just above it.
Moments became minutes, and it seemed to Biff that the minutes were
stretching out much too long. Had Li met some obstruction beneath the
dock? Biff’s worry was increasing. Finally, he noticed a circle of
lightly rippling water near the bow of the boat. In the center of the
circle, he could just spot Li’s head.
He watched as his friend slowly raised himself by the boat’s starboard
gunnel until his head was even with the porthole. Noiselessly, Li
dropped back into the water and took two strokes toward the stern. Now
he peered into the second porthole. He repeated the process at the third
porthole and moved on to the fourth. The fourth must be the one, Biff
figured, that was in the small compartment where the yawl’s auxiliary
engine was located.
Li took a longer time at this porthole. Biff watched him intently
through the growing darkness. A slight movement on the boat caused him
to raise his eyes. He gasped.
Directly over Li stood a man with a small nail keg raised over his head.
He was ready to smash it down on Li’s head.
“Li! Look out! Duck!”
The Hawaiian boy submerged just as the keg struck the water at the exact
spot where his head had been.
“Jeepers,” Biff thought, “I hope Li got far enough under.”
The keg hurler was running along the deck toward the boat’s bow. Here he
could leap on the dock and make his getaway.
Biff went into action. He jumped from behind the crates, reached the
boat in six fast strides, and leaped aboard just as the prowler reached
the bow.
Biff grabbed at the man. His arms encircled him, and Biff in turn felt
the man’s arms squeeze him in a bearlike hug. Biff exerted every ounce
of his strength, trying to force the man over backward, trying to free
himself of the man’s crushing grip.
He heard a noise from directly behind the man. Looking over his
shoulder, Biff saw the dripping figure of Li scramble aboard. Li didn’t
hesitate. He threw himself at the man, striking him just at the knees
from the rear. “Clipping,” flashed through Biff’s mind. Unfair in
football, but in a fight like this there’d be no fifteen-yard penalty.
The impact of Li’s body forced the man to release his grip. As he did,
Biff stepped backward. His feet became entangled in a coil of rope. He
lost his balance, toppling backward. His feet hit the raised gunnel, and
the next moment he was flying through the air. He felt himself falling,
a sickening feeling, as if he were falling from a great height. He
wasn’t, though. He was falling from the bow, six feet to the water. But
he was falling backward and had no time sense of the distance.
He hit the water with a splash. His broad back smacked the water with
the noise of a loud handclap. Biff could feel his back sting from the
impact.
He turned over and looked up. There was the bow of the boat, directly
overhead. There was Li, looking down at him.
“You all right, Biff?” There was a strange sound in Li’s voice. For a
moment, Biff was angered. The strange sound was Li trying to hold back
his laughter. Biff’s sense of humor came to his rescue. He must have
been a funny sight, thrashing around in the water on his back like a
beached porpoise.
“Yep. I’m all right,” he called. “I’ll swim to midships. You can give me
a hand up.”
Once back aboard, Biff’s first concern was about the prowler.
“Oh, him,” Li said. “When you made your backward bellywhopper, that guy
took off. He raced down the dock. He’s long gone by now.”
Biff rubbed the small of his back with his left hand. “That hurt. And
here you are laughing at me.”
“You were funny, Biff,” Li laughed. “And that sting won’t last long.”
“Guess you’re right. Hey, let’s see if we can find out what our visitor
was doing on board.”
First the boys explored the deck of the boat. They opened the sail-chest
and inspected the sails. They hadn’t been touched. They carefully
examined the yawl’s rigging. Both knew that an important rope could be
cut just far enough through so that it would hold in a mild wind, then
snap in a heavy one, just when it was most badly needed. No evidence of
any tampering with the rigging.
“Let’s go below. That’s where the prowler was when we got here. He must
have been doing his dirty work down there,” Biff said.
A careful search of the cabins, each with two berths, revealed nothing.
“Hey, look at this!” Li called. He was in the engine compartment, a
small space between the forward cabin and the galley. “Doesn’t it look
to you as if this has been moved recently?”
Li pointed to the wooden cover which housed the engine. It was sitting
slightly askew.
“We’ll take a look underneath.” Biff took one side of the housing, Li
the other.
“Careful now. Heave gently.”
They removed the housing.
“Must be a flashlight around here somewhere. Have to have one if we’re
going to find anything.”
Li found one in the tool chest.
Biff took it and directed its beam of light on the top of the engine.
“Nice little engine. A four-cylinder Indian Marine. Ought to shove us
along around eight or ten knots.”
He placed the light’s beam over the engine, inch by inch. Suddenly he
brought the light’s rays to a fixed spot. Biff bent low.
“Never saw anything like this on one of these engines. Take a look, Li.”
Li bent down beside Biff.
The boys were looking at a crudely made object, resembling a small tin
can. It was roughly attached just below the engine’s carburetor.
“Let’s get out of here,” Biff said, swallowing. His throat had become
dry and tight. “That thing’s a bomb—a homemade bomb.”
Li was already heading back to the cockpit.
“Alloo there! Ship ahoy!” came a cry from the dock.
Biff and Li burst on deck just as his father and Mr. Mahenili started to
step aboard.
“Stay back, Dad! Stay back! There’s a bomb on the boat!” Biff yelled.
Breathlessly, the boys told their fathers of spotting the prowler on
board, of the brief tussle, and the results of their investigation.
“It’s a good thing we came down,” Tom Brewster said. “You were late. We
thought you might have run up against something.”
“We sure did, Dad,” Biff assured him.
“I’ll have to investigate. Can you tell me exactly where this thing you
think is a bomb is located?”
“You’re not going on board, are you, Dad?” Biff asked, his voice filled
with anxiety.
“I think it will be all right. I have an idea that bomb isn’t intended
to go off while the boat’s still in harbor.”
“But, Dad, it might,” Biff protested.
“Biff, I’ve handled dynamite and other types of explosives in my work. I
was also in the bomb demolition service in the army. I can handle it.
You stay back, though, all of you, until I give you an all-clear. Now
just where is this thing you found?”
“Directly under the carburetor,” Biff replied.
“Here, you’ll need this.” He handed his father the flashlight.
They watched Mr. Brewster’s head disappear as he moved down the steps
from the cockpit to the first cabin.
“I think we’d better follow your father’s orders, boys,” Hank Mahenili
said. “We’ll put a little distance between us and the boat—just in
case.”
The three moved an anchor rope’s length from the stem of the boat.
The minutes went by. The waiting became almost unbearable. Biff couldn’t
control the feeling of fear gnawing at the pit of his stomach. Any
moment, he expected to hear the dull thud of an explosion. He expected
to see the boat burst open, sending wood and debris flying through the
air.
Minutes ticked on. Each one seemed an hour to Biff. At last, he saw his
father emerge from the cockpit.
“I’ve got it. It’s all right.”
Biff ran to where his father stood. It may have been all right, but Biff
could tell by the beads of perspiration standing out on his father’s
forehead and by his soaked shirt, that it had been a ticklish job.
“It’s a bomb, all right. Perez Soto is playing for keeps,” Mr. Brewster
said grimly. He wiped his forehead. “It’s a simple thing, really. Anyone
with Perez Soto’s experience, or mine, for that matter, could make it.”
“But when was it set to go off?” Biff asked.
“That would depend on when and how long we used the auxiliary engine.
See this timer?”
The three leaned forward for a closer look, peering warily at the
infernal machine Biff’s father held in his hand.
“This timer, which is hooked up to the detonator, is fixed so it starts
in motion when the engine is started. It cuts out when the engine is
out. Very clever, actually, even though it is simple.”
“When would the timer fire the charge?” Biff asked.
“I’d judge after about an hour, perhaps two—no more—after the engine had
been running.”
“We’d be out in the middle of the ocean by then.” Biff looked at Li and
Mr. Mahenili. Both shook their heads.
“Worse than that, Biff, if I’ve got it figured right.”
“How, Dad?”
“Well, Perez Soto would know that we’d use the engine to get us out of
the harbor. Maybe a twenty-minute run. Then we’d go to sail. And we’d
use sail every minute we could. But then—this is the really devilish
clever part of his plan.” Mr. Brewster paused. He turned to Li’s father.
“Didn’t you tell me that there are some dangerous reefs off Ka Lae?”
“You bet there are,” Mr. Mahenili said. “And the water’s shark-infested,
too.”
“Well, to search the coast along there for Huntington’s sunken sloop,
we’d have to use the engine. Couldn’t take a chance with sail on those
ragged coral reefs.”
“I’m beginning to catch on, Dad,” Biff said soberly.
“I expected you would.”
“We’d have to use the engine, as you said. And right in the midst of
those reefs, and those sharks, _bang_! The boat would have blown up—”
“And that would have been the end of us,” Thomas Brewster said quietly.
He tossed the deactivated bomb overboard.
“Rest in pieces,” Biff said fervently.