The setting sun was turning the waters of Paria Gulf between Trinidad and Venezuela to blood red as Dawson and Farmer strolled along a footpath that skirted a huge sugar plantation close to the San Fernando field. As neither had ever set foot on Trinidad before, the many and strange sights that met their wandering gaze took up all of their attention, and the thought that was in the back of each youth's mind was not given utterance for quite some time.
Presently, though, Dawson came to a full stop, took a deep breath, and squatted down on the ground.
"Let's rest and watch the sunset," he said. "It looks like it's going to be something. Besides, that's plenty enough walking for these aged bones."
"I was wondering if you were going to keep it up forever," Freddy Farmer grunted, and sank down beside him. "Good grief! It does get your legs when you're not used to it."
"Think of the poor infantry, and realize how lucky you are," Dawson chuckled. "After all, pal, you and I were flying last night, not sleeping."
"And don't I know it!" the other youth replied. "Can hardly keep my eyes open now. As a matter of fact, when we get back, I'm going to borrow a place from Major Parker to sleep until Colonel Welsh shows up. Blast it, Dave! I don't think I feel very friendly toward the colonel, just now. Heaven knows he's kept us in the dark once or twice in the past, but certainly nothing like this. I'm just about ready to explode with curiosity."
"Me, I'm almost beginning not to give a darn," Dawson said, and lazily stretched his arms over his head. "Too doggone much mystery and not an answer to a single question. Speaking of questions, Freddy—call me nuts,but I've got an awful funny feeling."
"About what, Dave?" the English youth asked quickly, and gave him a searching look.
"These darned sealed envelopes we're still carrying around," Dave replied. "The four we've still got, counting Major Parker's. In the colonel's message, he ordered us to destroy them if necessary. Well—well, outside of that dizzy U-boat thing, it's been just an airplane flight. Yet—darn it, Freddy—having these envelopes in my pocket is giving me the jim-jams!"
"Yes, I know what you mean," young Farmer admitted, and frowned. "I'm getting rather fed up with carrying them around, too. Silly, of course, but a couple of times I've felt as though somebody were watching every move I made."
Dawson started slightly and took a quick glance in all four directions, but he didn't see anyone, except some people near the San Fernando base over half a mile away. He looked at Freddy and grinned a little sheepishly.
"You have, kid?" he echoed. "Well, me too. I've been having exactly that kind of feeling, too. You know what I think about hunches!"
"Yes," the other replied. "And I also know that sometimes your hunches are worth giving serious consideration."
"Sometimes, he says" Dawson snorted. "Look, pal—Oh, skip it! Now about the four envelopes, Freddy, if you want my opinion on the matter, it's—let's dump the acid on them and be rid of the darn things. Maybe Colonel Welsh won't like it, but what the heck? He said,if necessary, and the funny feeling I've got right now, and have had ever since we got his message, makes me think itisnecessary! What do you think? Or am I going off half-cocked?"
Freddy Farmer didn't reply for a moment. He sat staring out over the Gulf of Paria that was now changing from blood red to midnight blue since the sun had gone down behind the headlands of Venezuela. Finally he reached a hand up inside his tunic and nodded abruptly.
"If you're going off half-cocked, then we both are, Dave," he said quietly. "I'm all for getting rid of them. If you alone had the funny feeling, I'd say no. But I've got a queer feeling, too. So—well, here go my two, anyway."
As young Farmer spoke, he took out his two sealed envelopes and dropped them on the ground. Then, moving back a bit, he unscrewed the cap of his little vial and poured the brownish-colored contents over the envelopes. There was a small flash of flame as the stuff came incontact with the envelopes which seemed to melt away into the ground, leaving nothing but a black smudge where they had been.
"Boy, does that do the trick!" Dawson breathed, and dropped his two sealed envelopes on the spot where Freddy's two had been. "Drop that vial, Freddy, and kick dirt over it. Just a smell of that stuff would most likely take the soles off your shoes. Okay, here go mine, too."
A few seconds later there was another dark smudge on the ground, and not so much as a shred of any of the sealed envelopes, or their contents. Both Dawson and Freddy dropped their empty vials, kicked dirt over them, and stamped the little mounds flat. Then, as if by mutual agreement, they relaxed and heaved deep sighs of relief.
"Maybe I was wrong," Dawson said thoughtfully. "Maybe Colonel Welsh will hit the roof when we tell him. Just the same, though, I feel a hundred per cent better."
"Quite!" Freddy Farmer murmured, but with emphasis. "I feel as though a terrific weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I swear, Dave, I haven't got a strong enough heart to stand much of this sort of thing. Frankly, this is the first contented breath I've taken sincewe left Washington."
"Yeah, I know," Dawson agreed. "The colonel certainly did pour on the old caution stuff this time. So I guess it was—or still is—something pretty doggone important. But there I go again, wondering what it's all about. I sure wish the colonel would hurry up and get here!"
"Know something, Dave?" Freddy asked after a couple of moments of silence between them.
"Knowsomething?" Dave groaned, and rolled over on his stomach. "Maybe you haven't been listening to me, pal.Idon't know from nothing. Do you?"
"Not exactly," Freddy replied. "Just the old guessing game again. I am guessing, though, that somebody found out about those sealed envelopes. Also, they found out that you and I were acting as the messenger boys. Also, they arranged that balmy life-raft and U-boat business this afternoon. And also, Colonel Welsh is a very worried man, right at the moment."
"All of which means nothing," Dawson added, "and will continue to mean nothing until the colonel gets here, and explains.Ifhe does."
"Most naturally!" Freddy said with a slight edge to his voice. "I've been doing some extrathinking about this thing, in case you don't realize it."
"Well, go right ahead and think yourself black, blue, and sky-pink in the face, if it makes you happy, little man," Dawson said with a laugh, "but you still won't know from beans until the colonel gets here. And if he—"
"I know,I know!" Freddy interrupted with an impatient gesture of his hand. "Save your breath, old thing. However, you might give this a bit of thought, if your brain can stand the strain. We've been flying part of the air transport route to North Africa."
"No kidding?" Dawson said with a mock gasp. "Why, I always thought the air transport route to North Africa was by way of Salt Lake City and Alaska!"
"Very,veryfunny!" Freddy snapped. "If I'm not boring you, Major Parker said he was sent down here to keep an eye out for sabotage. He also said nothing has happened in all the time he's been here. Colonel Welsh admitted that his special agents were acting as C.O. of the points where we've stopped and were going to stop. Why, Dave?Whyshould Intelligence have a sudden interest in this air route to North Africa?"
Dawson started to make another wisecrack, but the deadly serious look on young Farmer's face stopped him. He gave the question a moment or two of thought and then shook his head.
"I don't know, Freddy," he replied. "I really don't know. You can search me. If it isn't because of possible sabotage, then what?"
"I guess I've asked myself that question a thousand times," the English-born air ace said slowly. "I can think up but one answer that might make sense. This is it. All these arrangements are being made to make absolutely sure nothing will happen to something very special that is soon to be flown to North Africa."
"Such as?" Dawson prompted.
Freddy seemed to hesitate for a long time. Then he shrugged, and made a little gesture with his hands, palms upward.
"Blessed if I know, or can guess," he said. "However, I feel absolutely sure that all this business is taking place because something highly important is to be flown to North Africa."
"I don't think I agree with you there, Freddy," Dawson stated with a frown. "This is one of the Air Transport Command routes to North Africa, but if something special was tobe flown across, the plane carrying it certainly wouldn't land at all these points. Heck, Freddy! Air Transport Command has lots of planes that could make the run down here to Trinidad non-stop, and hop from here to Natal the same way."
"Oh, quite," Freddy Farmer agreed, and waved his hand as though brushing aside the undisputed point. "Non-stop all the way to Natal, if you want to make an issue of it. However, the points in between are being given just as much attention. Presumably this is being donein the event of trouble and a forced landing; emergency fields, so to speak, all along the route the plane, orplanes, will fly."
"Okay, okay, Master Mind!" Dawson laughed, and threw up his hands. "Maybe you've got something there. And if you have, it means that what we've been delivering, and what we just destroyed, are instructions in case your mysterious cavalcade of the air happens to sit down on one of the fields. Okay, that's that, then. Now all you have left to figure out iswhythis mysterious flight?"
Freddy Farmer nodded but made no reply. He sat watching the swiftly approaching shadows of night. Glancing at his face, Dawson saw that the English youth had something very absorbing on his mind. When young Farmer continued to maintain silence, Dawson's curiosity got the best of him.
"Okay, out with it," he said. "What's the heavy thought that's weighing down your brain at the moment?"
"A very definitely insane one," Freddy Farmer replied, with a little apologetic smile. "But taking it all and all, I'm blessed if I can think of anything better."
"Thanks," Dawson said sarcastically, and rolled over on his side. "That makes everything clear as mud. What do you want me to do—get up on my hind legs and beg?"
If Freddy Farmer heard the remark, he ignored it. He turned to Dawson and held up one hand with the fingers stiff and extended upward. Then he started counting them off with the forefinger of the other hand.
"One: Two F.B.I. chaps followed us all over New York," he said. "Two: Colonel Welsh told us that a list of names compiled by the War Department had been turned over to the F.B.I., and that it had the approval of the President, the Secret Service, the Army, Navy, and Air Forces.Three: The colonel refused to give us so much as a hint as to what's behind this flightof ours.Four: He told us to guard those sealed envelopes with our lives.Five: He said that one of his agents was in secret command of every point where we were to stop.Six: The route is the Air Transport route to North Africa.Seven: The colonel said that the sealed envelopes contained the most important secret of the war so far. Andeight: He said that he would have another special mission for us when we met in Natal."
"Andnine?" Dawson queried when young Farmer stopped talking and lapsed into brooding silence.
The English youth hesitated, chewed on his lower lip for a moment, and then leaned over toward Dave and whispered, "Nine, is that all these arrangements are being made because—because President Roosevelt and the Yank High Command are being flown to North Africa, and perhaps beyond, for a war conference with Prime Minister Churchill, Premier Joseph Stalin, and their High Command Staffs. And there you have whatIthink!"
Dawson whistled softly, sat up straight, and stared hard at his flying mate and dearest friend.
"AndIthink you are strictly nuts, Freddy!" he said. But scarcely had he spoken the wordswhen he frowned and gave a little twist of his head. "Jeepers, I wonder!" he mumbled.
"Yes, no doubt I am quite nuts," Freddy agreed, and got up on his feet. "Personally, I can't think up a better guess. It's started my brain swimming, though. So what say we start on back, eh? Don't want to miss evening mess, you know."
"What a guy!What a guy!" Dawson groaned, and stood up. "Here in one breath he has perhaps figured out the biggest secret in the war so far, and in the next breath he's sounding off about that stomach of his. Did I mention a moment ago that I think youarenuts? If I didn't, then consider it said right now!"
"The difference between us, old thing!" Freddy Farmer explained with an airy wave of his hand as he started back along the path. "The food you eat helps your body. The food I eat helps my bodyandmy brain. If you'd only eat more, maybe some of the nourishment would have a chance to get up that high! I say! I didn't half realize that it was this dark."
"Yeah," Dawson agreed as he stumbled over a root. "A good thing that talking box of yours ran out of words, or Major Parker would have to send out a searching party. I—Hey, Freddy!What's the matter?"
Dawson shouted the last because young Farmer, some ten or fifteen feet ahead of him in the gloom, had suddenly buckled at the knees and had fallen slowly to the ground. Dave leaped forward toward his prostrate pal and had started to kneel down beside him when suddenly there was a rustling sound in the sugar cane to his right. He turned his head and caught a fleeting glimpse of bare feet and trousers. Then the Trinidad sky seemed to fall on top of his head with a thunderous roar of sound, and a great shower of red, yellow, orange and purple sparks.
"Hey! What—"
From a million miles away he heard the hoarse whisper of his own voice. Then the hands of an invisible giant seemed to grab hold of him, lift him high, and fling him spinning head over heels out across a world composed of booming sound and flashing light.
A death-like stillness was everywhere. In that total absence of sound, Dawson was aware of a throbbing, pounding pain in his head that made him feel as though somebody were chopping it apart. Silence, darkness, and somebody chopping his head to pieces. These three things Dawson's sluggish brain could grasp, or at least grasp for a moment at a time. All else, though, was just a great big blank. He didn't know where he was, or what had happened. He scarcely remembered who he was.
Suddenly a prickly pain all over his face seemed to speed up the functioning of his brain.That, and the dull realization that he could barely breathe because something was clamped hard against his nose and mouth. Realization, yes; but there was not yet enough strength in his body to do anything about it. For that matter, he felt as if he had no body. He was aware of nothing but the pain in his head. Maybe his body was gone, and only his head was living on. Did such things happen? Was it possible for—
"Dave! Dave, old man! Oh—Dave!"
Sound? Yes, that was the sound of a voice! But whose voice? Dave couldn't see anything because of the darkness, shattered every now and then by pin-points of glittering light, like falling stars in the night heavens. He—The thought dribbled away as a sense feeling returned to his "absent" body. He suddenly realized that he was being picked up, or rolled over on his back. The prickly pain left his face at once. In the next instant he knew that his eyes were open, because he was conscious of many shadows. The shadows moved, but no objects were clearly outlined.
"Dave! Dave, old thing! Can you hear me?"
An arm was about his shoulders, and a hand was brushing his face. The brushing seemed to remove every trace of the prickly pain. It alsoseemed to cause the shadows to stop moving and gradually take on shape and outline. He know he was looking at treetops outlined against a pale grey sky that grew darker and darker as he looked at it. A head came into view. He saw wide, fear-filled eyes and lips that moved but made no sound, save dry sobs. Suddenly, as though a button had been pressed inside his head, his sluggish brain started to speed up, and in a flash complete consciousness returned. Memory too, came flooding back like waters pouring through a broken dam.
"Freddy!" he heard himself gasp. "You—you okay, Freddy?"
The arm about his shoulders tightened, and Freddy's choking voice answered, "Thank goodness, Dave! I thought—I could hardly feel your heart beat. You can thank God for your helmet, and I for mine, too. Our heads would have been caved in but for them. No, Dave! Don't try to sit up. You got it worse than I, or maybe my head is harder."
"I'll feel better sitting up, Freddy," Dawson mumbled, and sat up in spite of Farmer's plea for him to lie still.
For the first couple of seconds, though, it didn't help at all. The throbbing pain doubledin intensity, and he thought his head was going to fly off his shoulders. After the first couple of seconds the throbbing pain died down, and he could feel new strength surging through his body. It was then that he took a good look at Freddy Farmer, let out a little startled cry, and impulsively reached out a hand.
"Jeepers, Freddy!" he gasped. "You look like you've been through a meat grinder, and—Holy smokes! Look at me, will you? I look even worse. My tunic's in ribbons, and—"
Dawson stopped talking and stared wide-eyed at young Farmer. The English-born air ace returned his look and nodded slowly as he wet his lips with his tongue.
"Quite, Dave," he said in a strained voice. "Some dirty beggar chopped us down and searched us from head to foot for something hedidn'tfind."
An icy chill swept through Dawson, and he swallowed hard. It was a second or two before he could speak.
"Those sealed envelopes, I bet!" he whispered. "We got rid of them just 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? MajorParker 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 themovement 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 repliedtruthfully. "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.
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 theirtorn 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 roundup 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, butnotime to grab yourmoney. That is, if itwasrobbery."
"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 businessisn'tmy 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 fairfor 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 glanceat 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 MajorParker'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 nightsky. 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 hedidget 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 fiveminutes 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.
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 colonelordered. 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 ColonelWelsh'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 fora native's, and I was suddenly struck by the hunch that he was—No, Imusthave been wrong!"
"Never mind what you must have been!" Colonel Welsh said sharply. "Finish what you were going to say! You had the hunch that he was—"
Dawson hesitated a second and then took the plunge. "That he was a German, sir!"
A moment of tingling silence settled over the made-over bomb compartment. Then Colonel Welsh broke it with an order to Major Parker.
"Come with me and show me this dead man, Parker," he said. "Dawson, you and Farmer wait right here for me."
Three seconds later the colonel and the major had climbed out of the bomber, leaving Dawson and Farmer to twiddle their fingers.
"I am going stark, raving mad!" young Farmer suddenly exploded in a low, vibrant voice. "If I don't find out something soon, I don't know what I'll do!"
"I'll join you in a throat-cutting act, pal!" Dawson said, and sighed heavily. "If this isn't the most mixed-up business we ever got into, then I don't know what! The colonel's been here half an hour, and we don't even know why hecame down here in the first place. We can thank the gods for one thing, anyway."
"What's that?"
"That Colonel Welsh was relieved and not burnt up when I told him we had destroyed those envelopes," Dawson replied. "Envelopes! Phew! I'll be seeing those darn things in my dreams for the rest of my life. Gosh! One would think they contained the complete plans of Allied High Command for the invasion of the European Continent, or something!"
"Maybe they did," Freddy Farmer said with a shrug and a sigh. "Maybe they did."
With that the pair lapsed into brooding silence. Each was perfectly content to remain silent, because words were just a waste of breath now. They had talked themselves black and blue in the face as to the what and the why of this crazy business. For all their talking, they were right back where they had started in regard to anything concrete and definite. Why talk about it any more? It was far, far better to go quietly nuts waiting for Colonel Welsh to return and throw a little light on the subject.
They sat and waited for a good fifteen minutes, mulling over their own thoughts and listening absently to the even murmur of the idlingWright-Cyclone engines that powered the North American B-25.
At the end of that fifteen minutes, however, the colonel returned. To Dawson's relief and pleasure, he saw that a lot of the worry had left the Intelligence officer's face. In fact, there was an almost happy look in his eyes. He came straight into the bomb compartment, seated himself at his little table, and took the inter-com phone mike off the wall hook at his side.
"Take off, Captain," he spoke into it. "Fly north for twenty minutes and then take up the course I gave you. Eh? Right!"
The colonel put the inter-com mike back on the hook, looked at Dawson, and smiled faintly.
"Thank heaven for your hunch," he said. "You were absolutely right. He was a German."
"A spy, sir?" Dave blurted out before he could check himself.
"Naturally," the colonel replied. "Just about the best in the Nazis' gang. Colonel Baron Franz von Steuben is his name. Or was. Frankly, we've been after him for a long time. The world is well rid of his kind. What's the matter, Dawson?"
"Major Parker, sir," Dawson replied, and reddened slightly. "I hope he didn't think thatI—"
"Not a bit of it!" the colonel interrupted quickly. "The major admires you for your hunch. He'd be the last one in the world who would want you to keep it to yourself. As a matter of fact, he suspected that you might feel embarrassed and asked me to give you his compliments and to say he was sorry he couldn't go along with you."
"To where, sir?" Freddy Farmer fairly shouted. And then he blushed so flamingly that both Dawson and the colonel had to laugh.
"That's all right, Farmer," the Intelligence officer said, still chuckling. "Don't blame you at all. I can see it in both your faces that you're practically ready to blow up with questions. Well, things have happened that I didn't want to happen, so I guess it's time for me to do a little explaining. Do you remember that technical sergeant in the hangar at Bolling Field?"
The two air aces nodded.
"He's dead," Colonel Welsh stated grimly. "He, too, was a Nazi spy. And working right under my very nose, which doesn't makemefeel very proud. Shortly after your take-off, one of the mechanics who helped to roll out your plane came to me with the information that the technical sergeant had been standing right outside that office while I was giving you your instructions. I can tell you that that was the closest I ever came to having a case of heart failure. I got to work at once checking up on that technical sergeant. I won't bother you with the details, but we caught him cold. Complete with a powerful short-wave sending set, and all the rest of it. That wasafterhe had had time to do his dirty work,if any. I know, now, what that dirty work was, of course. Your experiences, and Major Parker's, made the picture clear. He simply flashed word to other agents to get you two by hook or by crook. He knew your course, and he knew what you carried, though I'm still positive that he didn't know the contents of those sealed envelopes.
"Anyway, word was flashed along the network of Nazi spies on this side of the Atlantic and to that U-boat lurking in the Caribbean. Heavens! That was a daring stunt those devils tried."
"I'm still shaking at how close it came to being successful!" Dawson spoke up in a strained voice as the colonel paused.
"Amen, and let's not think of that any more," the Intelligence officer added almost fervently. "As soon as I learned the truth, I flashed you amessage to halt the flight and wait for me. I was too late at Puerto Rico. I also took off in this plane at once to get down here and contact you. I stopped at Puerto Rico, and Miami, too, and collected the two sealed envelopes you had already delivered. Then I came on here and found out that you two had used your heads. Just in time, too, thank goodness. That you beat Colonel Baron Franz von Steuben to the punch is something you can congratulate yourselves on for the rest of your lives. If I had even dreamed that devil was down here, I would have had nineteen different kinds of cat fits. But all's well that ends well. And, although we've got to change our plans, we're still a couple of jumps up on the Nazis."
Colonel Welsh paused for breath and to take out his handkerchief and wipe imaginary beads of sweat from his forehead. Both Dawson and Farmer sat on the edges of their seats waiting for him to continue, but after a moment or two of silence Dawson couldn't stand it any longer.
"Can't you tell us a little about all this, Colonel? Just a little that might help us—well, in case we got into another jam? Or are we on our way back to Washington now? Is the job finished as far as Freddy and I are concerned?"
"No, we are not heading back to Washington," Colonel Welsh answered quietly. "As for you and Farmer, the job is just beginning. Well, you've earned the right to know. Since I was going to explain at Natal anyway, I might as well explain now. You recall all that F.B.I. business in New York? Remember my telling you of that list of names turned over to the F.B.I. for checking?"
"Could we forget, sir?" Dawson chuckled. "Freddy and I have been going nuts trying to add two and two. We got a zero every time, and I don't mean a Jap Zero, either."
"Well, all that was simply a check and double-check, you might say," Colonel Welsh said as his face became grave. "Every name on that approved list was to be connected in some way with—"
The colonel paused and ran his tongue across his lower lip.
"Every man on that list," he began again, "is to have something to do with a proposed trip by President Roosevelt to a war conference with Prime Minister Winston Churchill at Casablanca in Morocco, North Africa!"
A moment of silence hung over the trio as the colonel finished speaking. Then Dawson gave alittle laugh and looked at Freddy Farmer. "Pick up the marbles, Master Mind!" he said. "Pick them all up. You win!"