"Commander, I was forced to do this. I had to do it--to save the lives
of my people back in Prague. My daughter--"
"Yes," Curtis cut his protestations short. "I know about that!"
Androka fumbled inside his coat and pulled out a sheaf of papers and
blueprints. "Here, Curtis! These are the designs, the secret details of
manufacture, and the formulas for my inventions--the zone of silence,
the destroying rays that wrecked those bombers, and the gas. I'm giving
them to you. I'll never use them again--no matter what happens to those
I love. I swear it!"
Curtis took the papers and thrust them into an inner pocket. Then he
knelt and quickly completed his task of severing the strands of the
cable.
He pushed past the groveling form of Androka, and the still corpses
of the two sailors, climbed down the mast to the superstructure, and
headed for the wireless room.
The operator sat at his table, a cigarette drooping in the corner of
his mouth, half asleep.
Curtis clubbed him efficiently with the butt of his gun. The man
slumped forward with a groan and lay still. Curtis hauled him to one
side and then sat down to send:
"Come aboard U. S. Cruiser _Comerford_ at once. Ship in hands of Nazis,
in plot to steal the _Carethusia_. Commander Curtis speaking from the
_Comerford_. Lancaster, summon help--"
Curtis stopped and hurriedly cast aside the headphones. The sound of
heavy footsteps outside warned him of impending danger. He reached for
his gun, released the safety catch, and whirled about.
Men were crowding the doorway of the wireless room--men in whose
throats rumbled the angry cry of a baffled wolf pack, whose eyes
gleamed with the savage light of murder.
The wireless room was abruptly full of powder smoke, punctuated with
gun flashes, as he sprayed bullets at the doorway. The steel door
protected him; his attackers were exposed.
He saw that the crowd had given way before the figure of one man,
bolder than the rest--or perhaps more desperate--pushing forward, a
blazing automatic in his hand.
Curtis recognized the white, hard-lined face, the pale, cruel eyes,
set under shaggy blond brows, now blazing with a wild, half-insane
light--Nelson! Curtis was busy shoving in a new clip of ammunition--
A shot from Nelson's pistol went wild, shattered the lights, throwing
the wireless room into almost total darkness. His second bullet seared
Curtis' jaw, a burning, flesh-tearing wound. Another smashed into his
shoulder--high up.
Curtis felt sick as he felt lead splintering the bone. He fired--and
missed. His shoulder ached--He gritted his teeth, steadied his aim,
and let Nelson have it again.
In the faint light that came in at the entrance, he saw Nelson's white
face suddenly become a crimson mask. His body fell backward--outside.
Curtis dashed forward and slammed the steel door, bolting it, locking
himself in. A terrible wave of nausea rose up within him. The pain of
his wounded shoulder was like torturing knives turning in his flesh,
grinding against the shattered bones--
He felt his fingers relax on his gun, as his knees buckled under him,
and he sank to the floor.
The next thing Curtis knew, he was in a ship's cabin in bed, his
wounded shoulder incased in a comfortable surgical dressing. A
brown-skinned Filipino mess boy poked his head in and grinned in
friendly fashion. On his cap, Curtis read the lettering "U. S. S.
_Lexington_" and knew that he must have been taken on board the big
aircraft carrier.
The mess boy ducked out as quietly as he had looked in, and a few
minutes later, the _Lexington's_ commander entered.
"Congratulations!" he said cordially, after asking Curtis how he
felt. "Everything worked out perfectly. The new helicopter had its
first chance to demonstrate its efficiency and came through a hundred
percent. You were right also in your theory that the _Lexington's_
power cables, with their tremendous current-carrying capacity, would
shatter the rays into worthless junk. The power from our cables kicked
back on Androka's invention and smashed it!"
Curiosity prompted Curtis to ask a question. "What ... what became of
Androka? Did he--" He paused as he saw the gleam of horror in the other
man's eyes!
"Androka got panicked," the commander of the _Lexington_ said, "when he
saw that the _Comerford_ had been surrounded by the fighting vessels of
the British convoy, and he knew that both his inventions were wrecked.
I guess seeing Nelson dead softened him up, too."
"So what did Androka do?" Curtis asked. "Blow up the ship?"
The _Lexington's_ commander shook his head slowly. "No; he blew
_himself_ up--in his work-room--with some explosives he'd been
experimenting with!"
Curtis leaned back on his pillows. The excitement of listening to the
other's story had made him a little tense. He felt he needed to relax.