"Why wouldn't it be pineapple juice?" Freddy Farmer murmured as he drank from the other cup. "We're in the Hawaiian Islands, aren't we? And I suppose this other stuff is what they call poi, what?"
"Search me," Dawson said with a shrug, "It's not bad, but I'd rather have a nice juicy steak with French fries, and ..."
"Dave, stop!" Freddy Farmer groaned, and made an anguished grimace. "That's definitely torture to me, and you know it. Besides, you're not thinking of that sort of thing at all. I wish we could get these two beggars to talk. I fancy they look a bit frightened to me."
"Check," Dave said, and looked at the two brown men, who stood there like a couple of wooden Indians. "And mostly too frightened to talk. I think ..."
Dawson didn't continue to say what he thought. The air outside wherever they were suddenly became filled with the roar of many planes. He judged that there were a good fifty or more planes up there in the sky. He impulsively threw back his head and stared up at the high window. The light seeping down through was considerably less pale than it had been before, but the glass was still too dirty and covered with cobwebs for him to see the sky above.
"Yank planes," he said, lowering his gaze to the two brown men. "I wonder if it's the welcome escort for the carrier force. I ... Oh-oh! Take a look, Freddy! Our brown friends are scared of planes, too."
And it was seemingly true. The two brown men were virtually cringing back, and their jet black eyes were flitting from their prisoners to the high window, and back again. Their actions suddenly filled Dawson's brain with a mad idea.
"Bombs!" he suddenly shouted at the top of his voice. "Get out of here,everybody!"
The two brown men jumped as though they had been shot, and their faces turned a milky chocolate with fear. They both shivered violently, and then one, the taller of the two, gasped something in a tongue Dawson had never heard. Both of them spun around and leaped frantically toward the door. They jerked open the door and went through it like a couple of brown streaks of lightning.
Wild hope leaped up in Dawson, but it lived for no more than three or four seconds. From beyond the open door came snarls like those of a trapped and wounded tiger. Almost instantly the snarls were followed by the unmistakable thuds of something crashing against human flesh. Back into the room came the two brown men, like a couple of acrobats doing back flips. They both hit the floor and went slithering across it to bang up against the opposite wall. In a crazy, abstract sort of way Dawson noticed that the one holding the gun still clung to it.
Then Dawson took his eyes off the two and looked toward the door opening. The door had been flung wide, and standing framed in it was a giant figure. A death giant, no less, for he was unmistakably Japanese. He was positively huge, but he was Jap from the top of his close-shaven head all the way down to his splayed-toed feet. A savage leer twisted his thick lips back over his buck teeth. And in the slits that were his eyes was a fiendish gleam that made Dawson swallow in spite of himself, and his icy heart start downward like an express elevator.
For a long moment the two air aces locked eyes with the giant figure. And then the Jap's shoulders shook with silent mirth.
"Yes, it is very amusing to scare chickens, and watch them flee," he said in halting English, and threw a look of scorn at the two brown men cringing on the floor over by the far wall. "But we Japanese are not chickens. We are masters. All others are the chickens. We ... do this!"
The Jap suddenly spit out the last, and with his big yellowish brown hands he went through the motions of slapping a chicken down on the block and chopping off its head. Freddy Farmer gasped in spite of himself. The Jap heard him, burned him with his eyes, and once again his huge shoulders shook with silent mirth.
"You do not like to lose your head and neck, Captain Farmer?" he said, and almost pleasantly, too. "Then you were a fool to come to Oahu. But you are a fool in many things. Both of you are fools! You will both agree, as youdie!"
Fifteen long seconds passed before the huge Jap spoke again. He stood there motionless in the doorway, leering at them as though waiting for them to speak. But Dawson and Freddy Farmer returned his stare as best their twanging nerves would permit, and remained silent. The Jap grew tired of the silence, and grew annoyed. He came a step or two into the room and stood straddle-legged, with bunched fists on hips, and arms akimbo.
"Well?" he suddenly thundered. "You would like to make me think that you are not afraid? That you are not chickens, too?"
For a moment Dawson continued to regard him silently, but on impulse he changed his mind.
"That's right," he said. "We're not afraid to die. We don't want to die, but we're not afraid to. The job is done. That's all that mattered. We knew the chances we took, and ..."
Dawson paused almost dramatically, and then shrugged a little.
"And our luck has simply run out," he went on a moment later. "But the job is done. That is, the part we had to do. Just stick your nose outside this place, if you don't think so! Honolulu isn't such a terribly big place, you know. And ... well, thanks for the meal here. Mind if I finish it before you have your fun?"
It took every ounce of will-power and self-control that Dave Dawson ever possessed to fling a questioning look at the Jap, and then calmly turn and start eating. His insides were on fire with fear. He could feel cold drops of sweat running down his back, and oozing from his armpits. He wanted to shout wild things at the top of his voice. He wanted to try and lunge up on his bound feet, and throw himself barehanded at this killer giant, and get it over with as quickly as possible. But there was that in him which forced him to play his part. Win, lose, or draw, he had to play his part, because common sense told him that was all that he could do, and maintain a fighting chance for his life. And a fighting chance for Freddy Farmer's life, too.
"There's lots left, Freddy," he said calmly, and grinned stiffly at his pal. "Go on, dig in, boy. Eat while you can."
Young Farmer's frozen face relaxed, and even lighted up. The English-born air ace returned his grin, and nodded.
"Oh yes, quite, Dave," he said, "Might as well eat. The job's done, anyway. Wonder what time it is? They must all be in position now."
Both air aces sensed rather than saw the swift, tigerish movement of the big Jap leaping forward. A brown foot caught their tray of food and sent it skimming across the floor to crash up against the wall in back of them and shower uneaten food all over the place. Then the Jap backed up, virtually foaming at the mouth, and glared at them out of eyes that held all the devilish hate in the world.
"Fools, swine, pigs, dogs of dogs!" he screamed furiously. "I will teach you to sing a different tune. I will teach you many things before you die!"
The Jap nodded his head violently, spat at them, and spun around to hurl a strange tongue at the two brown men still cringing on the floor over by the wall. Dawson tried to catch just one of the words that the big Jap flung off his lips, but he failed utterly. The Jap spoke a language, or at least a dialect, that he had never in his life heard before.
The two brown men heard it, and understood it, however. Their prominent-boned faces still alive with fear, they got quickly to their feet, and went over to Dawson and Freddy Farmer, flung them flat on their faces and bound their wrists behind their backs once more. This time, though, they did not attach the end of the ropes to those about the ankles. And Dawson held his breath in fear that they would realize it and promptly do so. But they didn't. They straightened up, and then at a snarling sound from the big Jap ducked quickly out of the room like a couple of terrified brown rabbits.
The big Jap himself started to leave; then he hesitated on the threshold and turned his huge close-shaven head to glare back at them.
"Consider well what I have spoken, dog of dogs!" he boomed. "And prepare to die ten thousand times ten thousand times."
And with that he went out the doorway and yanked the door shut with a crash that made the whole room vibrate like a violin string.
"Cute little guy, isn't it!" Dawson presently broke the quivering silence. "Too bad his folks didn't drown him at birth!"
"Too bad for us, too," Freddy Farmer said soberly. "Frankly, I don't like the looks of things, Dave. I mean ... well, it's all so blastedly mixed up, if you get what I mean?"
"Yeah," Dawson grunted. "But we're still alive, so that's something."
"That's just the point!" Freddy said quickly. "Wearestill alive. But why? That beggar was mad enough to eat us alive. I was certain he was going at least to kick us in the stomach, just as Japrats love to do so much. But the rotter didn't do a thing, except curse at us!"
"I know, and it doesn't seem to make sense," Dawson said slowly, and frowned. "But maybe it does at that. Maybe his nibs isn't the big shot around here. Maybe the way we shot off our mouths threw him out of gear. Maybe he didn't dare go to town on us without the big boy's okay."
"Let's say that that's right," young Farmer grunted. "Then what does this big boy want with us? In short, Dave, what earthly use are we to anybody, trussed up here as we are?"
"If that's the sixty-four dollar question, then I lose all I've built up," Dave groaned. "I don't know, Freddy. I don't know from nothing about this crazy mess. The only thing we can do is wait and see what happens."
"Yes, I'm afraid so," Freddy said with a heavy sigh. Then with an angry groan, "The dirty blighter, kicking all that nice food away!"
That Freddy Farmer could even think of his stomach at such a time made Dawson chuckle in spite of the torturing thoughts that stabbed their way through his confused brain. Then they both lapsed into silence, and continually shifted this way and that in a desperate effort to relieve the numbing pains that crawled up their arms and legs. Neither of them succeeded, and presently they both lay motionless, silently enduring their pains, and staring blank-eyed at each other as the gloom of death seeped in to flood their throbbing brains.
After a while fatigue rubbed out the numbing pains with sleep, and the next thing either of them realized the big Jap was back in the room and kicking them into wakefulness.
"Wake up, dogs of dogs!" he bellowed. "Wake up, fools!"
Hot angry words rose to Dawson's lips as he instinctively tried to turn his body away from the kicking foot, but the words went unspoken when he saw that the big Jap was not alone. Another Jap, about half the other's size, was also present. He was impeccably dressed in American clothes. From the top of his finely woven panama to the soles of his brown and white sport shoes he looked as though he had just stepped off Fifth Avenue, New York. Perhaps the most startling thing of all about the man was that he was rather good-looking. His face bore the tell-tale contours of a Jap, yes, but his teeth were not so much on the elephant tusk side. And they were the whitest teeth that Dawson had ever seen. Added to that, the Jap wore a warm friendly smile, with just a hint of amusement.
"Enough, Kato," he said in a pleasant voice, yet which contained a ring of steel. "Our little American guests are fully awake new. There is no necessity to be cruel always, Kato. Release their hands and feet."
The big Jap stopped kicking and turned around to gape wide-eyed at the small Jap, and shake his head. The well dressed one smiled into his big flat face, but pin-points of blue light seemed to appear in his eyes.
"Free them, Kato," he said softly. "I have so spoken. If then you are afraid, stand in back of them and keep your eyes on their movements. You have searched them, Kato?"
"Yes, Honored One," Kato replied, as though he were addressing the two-for-a-nickel Emperor himself. "They carry no papers but their own. Nothing else. Their papers I have already given to you."
"Then release them, Kato," the little Jap repeated, and with lazy, nonchalant movements he drew a cigarette and a long silver-banded ivory holder from his pocket. He placed the cigarette in the holder, drew a gold lighter from his pocket and snapped it into flame. Every one of his movements was smooth and effortless, as though he were completely relaxed and enjoying himself at some cocktail party, or in some expensive and exclusive club.
The big Jap looked at him again, and then without another word freed Dawson and Freddy Farmer of their ropes. He was none too gentle about it, but both air aces were too taken up with the immaculately dressed man to feel the pain much. When they were free they got slowly to their feet, stamped the circulation back into them, and then stood there eyeing the small Jap. Kato glided around behind them out of sight, but both could smell his foul breath against the backs of their necks.
The so called Honored One smoked his cigarette and studied them in polite silence for a moment, and then effortlessly took his one quarter smoked cigarette from the holder and tossed it onto the floor away from him.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Captains Dawson and Farmer," he said. Then with a flashing smile, he added, "But I fear that neither of you share the same pleasure?"
There was only one reply to that question and neither Dawson nor Freddy Farmer bothered. They simply stood there and waited for him to continue.
"My pardon," he said, and made a little snapping motion with the fingers of his right hand. "I have neglected to introduce myself. I am Mr. Yammanato. Of course you have never heard of me, so I will not boast by saying that you probably have. In both your countries, though, they will hear much of Yammanato, before many seasons have passed."
The little Jap paused, but Dawson and Freddy Farmer continued to give him the studied, silent treatment. It did not seem to matter to him much. He raised one eyebrow in polite question, and then gave a little shrug of his narrow shoulders.
"I am sorry," he said, with just the faintest semblance of a bow. "Of course your only interest in me is why I am here. I will tell you. It is interest in your remarks to that one, Kato, who stands behind you ... and is most eager to take your lives. You told him your job was completed. I am amused, but a little puzzled, too. We three know that your—er—job, was to identify a certain Navy ensign. But you didnotidentify him. We did not permit you to do that. So there must have been some other job you spoke of to Kato? I should like to have you tell me what it was."
"You probably would, Yammanato," Dawson said evenly. Then with a tight smile, and a shake of his head, "But we're not telling you, and you know it!"
The little Jap did not get angry. Not even the light in his eyes changed. He simply smiled and made a waving motion of one hand as though to indicate that the little joke was on him this time.
"I do not expect you to tell me, voluntarily," he said. "I simply asked, just in case, let us say. To be perfectly frank, I really am not so terribly interested in this mysterious job. Rather, merely curious. Neither of you has been out of our sight since the moment you landed your Flying Fortress on Hickam Field. Several times we could have killed you, and with little effort. But we did not consider such measures necessary. It was obvious that you had not overheard as much as was at first feared. However, it would be foolish to let you be free when the carrier task force arrived, and so ..."
Yammanato paused and smiled slowly.
"And so, thoughtless as you Americans are continually, you gave us an excellent chance to kidnap you," he went on. "To kidnap you, and hold you until the carrier force had come and gone, as it has."
The last made Dawson gasp, and sort of bend over as though the little Jap had kicked him in the stomach.
"Gone?" he blurted out. "The carrier force has ... hassailed?"
"But of course!" the Jap replied, and looked at him in surprise. "Did you...? But naturally. I am being stupid. I am forgetting that only this morning you awoke from the drugs. I am sorry that I assumed that you knew and understood. The carrier force has been at sea, now, for two days."
Dawson's throat contracted so that he could hardly breathe. He gaped at the Jap in dumbfounded disbelief.
"Two days!" he heard Freddy Farmer choke out. "What day is today?"
"Friday, the thirteenth of the month," Yammanato replied. "And Friday, the thirteenth, is supposed to be an unlucky day in your country, is it not?"
"Friday, Friday?" Freddy Farmer mumbled over and over to himself. "Why ... why, it was Monday night when we were at the Kahuku Point beach. I can't believe it. It's a blasted lie!"
"It is the truth, Captain Farmer," the Jap corrected him smoothly. "I am sorry that I cannot permit you to go outside and confirm it by asking anybody you might meet on the street. You will just have to take my word for it. ItisFriday, the thirteenth, and the American carrier force has been at sea for two days. Its destination is, of course, a matter of mystery to us. But of course it will not remain a mystery to us for very long. I ... You are sick, Captain Dawson? Kato! Get that chair for Captain Dawson. He is ill, or perhaps something I have said has upset him."
Dave wasn't even listening. He probably couldn't have, even if he wanted to. All the bombs and guns in the world were going off in his brain. His insides felt as though they had shriveled up into nothing, and as if every drop of blood in his veins were trickling out through the end of his toes. The carrier force had come and gone? That Nazi rat spy had not been caught, and he was now aboard one of the carriers? He made his contact with the man in Honolulu, who was obviously this Yammanato, and had obtained other information to be taken to Admiral Shimoda at Truk? As well as the water flares? But it couldn't be! It was impossible! Yammanato was lying. Freddy and he couldn't have been out cold from drugs from Monday night until Friday. That was crazy, screwy, and downright impossible.
"It is true, Captain Dawson, I am sorry for your sake, to say," the quiet voice of Yammanato filtered through his spinning and roaring thoughts. "And here is your proof. I didn't think of it until just this moment. Stupid of me. I fear I have just been living amongst you Americans too long. I am becoming forgetful. But here, Captain Dawson. See for yourself."
The little Jap had pulled a folded copy of theHawaiian Heraldfrom his pocket, and was holding it up for them both to see. The big black headlines were just so many blurs to Dawson. His eyes flew to the date in small type, and all the life seemed to flow out of him.
It was Friday, the thirteenth of the month!
"Well?" the quiet voice of Yammanato came to him, after a period of time which seemed to be no less than a hundred years. "Do you believe me, now? Or do you think I printed this myself for a little joke?"
Dawson didn't say a thing, and neither did Freddy Farmer. It is doubtful if at that moment either of them could have spoken a word, even at the cost of their lives. The blackest and most inexcusable failure possible was theirs. It was complete and utter defeat for them. Every single step they had taken had been a step downhill toward failure and disgrace. They had failed Vice-Admiral Carter, and they had failed Vice-Admiral Stone, and Commander Drake. And they had failed themselves. From the very moment the lightning had struck them as they crouched outside that shack near San Diego they had not done one single thing that wasn't the wrong thing to do. Twice doom had reached for them, and missed. But not the third time. It was all over now. They had failed. To the end of their days they would not be able to hold their heads up among men. It would be far better if ...
"Good fortune is a fickle woman, Captain Dawson," Yammanato spoke again, as Dawson caught himself swaying like a drunken man. "She belongs to no one, for always. Even I have suffered from her fickle ways at times. But in your case you were doomed to lose. You were mere boys trying to beat men. To beat men who will one day become masters of the entire world. So do not let your sorrow and anger at yourself rob you of your desire to live. It was inevitable, this thing. You two were but two pawns to be taken and removed from the game. We Japanese have made this thing happen to others before, and we will make it happen to still more in the future."
The pitch-black mood still engulfed Dawson, but he forced himself to rally his thoughts, and to regain control of them. He looked at Yammanato and regarded him, flint-eyed.
"Taking a couple of tricks isn't winning the whole game, Yammanato," he said with an effort. "Okay, we didn't catch that spy aboard the carrier, and the force has sailed. You forget the other thing. The other job we did accomplish!"
The little Jap just looked at him and smiled pleasantly.
"How many times, Captain Dawson?" he asked with arched eyebrows.
"How many times, what?" Dawson retorted.
"How many times has the famous American tendency to bluff been successful with you?" the Jap shot right back at him. "Another job? Well, somehow I find myself not even curious any more, Captain Dawson. Simply talking with you has satisfied me completely. There was no other job, and we all know that now."
"No?" Dawson flung at him. "That's a horse on you, Yammanato! If nothing was bothering you, Farmer and I wouldn't be alive now. It's not the Japrat way to let their prisoners go on living for nothing. It won't work, Yammanato. And I do meanyourbluff!"
The little Jap continued to smile, and then suddenly he looked almost sad and a little reproachful.
"I am afraid you have absorbed too much American propaganda," he said softly. "Not all Japanese are alike in the matter of waging war ... and winning. There are many like I am. The thrill of the battle is not death for my enemies. It is the defeat and the complete humiliation of the enemy that pleases me most. Why have you not long since been dead? I will gladly tell you, Captains Dawson and Farmer. Because killing you would not bring me half the joy or the satisfaction of letting you live to return to Vice-Admiral Stone, and Commander Drake, as two items of proof that their stupidity is no less than your own. Your deaths would mean nothing to me because I have nothing against you as individuals. You are, as I have said, merely two pawns that I have won, and which it pleases me to return to the loser ... for what you are worth. No, I have no desire at all to kill you. In a week, or two weeks, or perhaps longer, you will be drugged again and returned to the very spot where we captured you. I will have left the Islands by then. Of course, if when you again awake from the drugs, you wish to take your own lives, that is something that will be out of my hands. But I have a feeling that you will not do that. You Americans appear to have one admirable quality, stupid as it is. You find it difficult to realize when you are defeated."
The Jap stopped talking, smiled broadly, and made a little gesture with his hands, palms upward.
"And now I must leave you," he said. "No, you are not to be tied up again. Kato is a little over-zealous on some things. You are free to move about this room as you wish. Blankets will be given you to sleep on. There is already some furniture here. Make what use of it you like. I am sure you will have no complaint about the food we will give you. No, your confinement will not be too severe a hardship in a physical sense. And one more thing. If you are overcome with the desire to escape from this room, you are quite welcome to try. Kato! Come with me."
Yammanato raised his voice slightly on the last, and then calmly turned his back on the two air aces and walked toward the door. Wild madness seized hold of Dawson and he was tempted to fling himself at the little Jap. But he had just enough cold, hard common sense left not to make the slightest move in that direction. Kato was sidling around them, his jet black eyes glittering and alert. And Dawson knew that the giant son of Nippon had the power in either hand to snuff out his life with a single blow. So he stood stock-still and inwardly prayed that Freddy Farmer would do the same. And Freddy did.
As he reached the door Yammanato turned and looked back at them inquiringly.
"There is something else," he said. "Or maybe there isn't. Have either of you a reasonable request to make? Say, something that might add to the comfort of your visit? After all, you can expect to be my guests for a considerable length of time."
Dawson started to shake his head, and hot, blistering words rose up in his throat. But at that very instant the glimmer of an insane hope winked in his brain.
"Yes, I've a request, Yammanato," he said, and pointed upward. "The stink in this place would suffocate me in a day. How about opening that skylight and letting some fresh air into the place?"
The small Jap's eyes flew to the window, and Dawson could tell he was gauging its height. Suddenly he lowered his eyes to Dawson's face and smiled and nodded.
"Certainly, Captain Dawson," he said. "I will have Kato open it at once. Even by piling up the furniture I do not think you could reach it. But if you can ... my very best wishes, Captain. It is sixty feet from that skylight to the ground, and nothing but sheer wall. Nor does that let out on any roof. It is simply an opening in the side of the building. For ventilation, of course. Kato! Open that skylight."
The big Japanese hesitated while the shadow of a scowl passed across his face, and then he went over to the side wall and unhooked the pair of lines that controlled the skylight. He pulled down on one hard and the hinged window opened with a rusty squeak. Then he yanked viciously on both lines and they parted in a shower of dust high up by the skylight. Rolling up the lines that dropped to the floor, the big Jap stuffed them in his pocket and glared at Dawson and Freddy Farmer. Yammanato laughed softly.
"I'm afraid that Kato has more confidence in your ability to escape, Captains, than I have," he said. "But now if it rains you will probably get wet."
"We won't mind," Dawson said with a stiff grin. "And thanks for the fresh air, Yammanato. It's certainly needed around here."
The polished Jap gave him a brief smile, a longer searching look, and then nodded and went outside with Kato at his heels. The big brute of a Jap jerked the door shut with a bang, and the two air aces heard both the key twisting in the lock, and a bolt ramming home. Then all was silent again.
But not quite completely silent. There were faint, new sounds that came to their ears as the two youths stood there in their room prison. Sounds that came down through the skylight high above their heads. The faint murmurs and whispers of a city of some one hundred and thirty-five thousand population. The sounds of Honolulu. They both listened to the sounds for a moment, and then looked at each other.
"Too bad we didn't go down in flames in that Fortress!" young Farmer broke the silence between them bitterly. "What a blasted mess we've made of everything. Gosh! I was never so disgusted with anybody as I am with myself right now!"
"Yeah," Dawson mumbled with a grimace. "I'm sure not in love with me, that's a cinch. The carrier force already two days at sea, and that Nazi rat still aboard one of the ships! When he proved that to us it hit me as hard as hearing that we'd lost the war."
Freddy Farmer gloomily agreed with a silent nod, and not words. Dawson bit his lower lip in meditation, balled one clenched fist into the palm of the other hand, and cast furtive glances at young Farmer out of the corner of an eye.
"Are you game, Freddy?" he presently asked in a low voice.
The English-born air ace jerked his head around and looked at him puzzled.
"Game for what?" he demanded. "What do you mean?"
"Taking our chances on getting out of here," Dawson said. "Everything looks like it's been sunk to the bottom. Heaven knows but what that Nazi rat has tossed half a dozen water flares over the side by now. But ... well, until I'm dead and gone I'll never give up trying, at least. No matter how much of a fool I've made of myself to date. Besides, there's always the chance that something luckyfor usmight happen."
Freddy Farmer made an angry gesture with his hands as Dawson paused.
"If you've got something to say, Dave, for heaven's sake then say it!" he bit off. "What are you working up to, I'd like to know? What do you mean, take our chances on getting out of here? You know perfectly well I'd risk anything to get out of this hole. But how? It's impossible! We even haven't a gun between us to shoot the lock and bolt off that door. And even if he was lying about the window being sixty feet from the ground, how are we going to get up there? Fly?"
"Close that trap of yours, and keep your shirt on, and you'll find out!" Dawson said sharply, but placed his arm on Freddy's shoulder. "I've got a key, see? This. Don't even know how it got into my pocket. Felt it in the lining as Yammanato was leaving. That's why I asked for him to raise the window. Look."
As Dawson spoke he pulled a match from his pocket and held it up. Wild hope had blossomed on Freddy Farmer's face, but it faded out in a flash as he stared at the match. He switched agonized eyes to Dawson's face.
"Don't, Dave, please!" he said in a voice that was close to breaking. "This isn't the time for leg pulling, or any of your funny gags. Please, old man! It only makes me feel worse, and ..."
"Stop it, will you?" Dawson barked. "Sweet tripe! Do you think I'm wasting time kidding,now! Don't be a dope. This little matchisa hope for us ... I hope. Now, give me a hand lifting the table and stuff, that's here, over by the door. First thing is to block them off from getting in. No, save the questions. Just give me a hand, Freddy. And I'm not crazy, so help me!"
Freddy Farmer closed his mouth with an effort, and together they lifted a heavy table, two chairs, and a bamboo chest affair, across the room and wedged them as best they could against the door.
"Okay," Dawson said when that was done. "Peel off your tunic and shirt and tear them into strips. I'm going to do the same just as soon as I get old rags and papers over there in the corner."
But Freddy Farmer didn't move. He simply stood rooted in his tracks and stared at Dawson as though he believed his pal had suddenly gone stark, raving mad. He was still standing there rooted in his tracks when Dawson returned with an armful of filthy rags and old papers that he had gathered up from the corner of the room. He placed them in a pile close to the side wall and directly under the skylight. Then he straightened up and took off his own tunic and shirt, and started ripping them down the seams.
"Get yours off, Freddy!" he said. "Get them off fast. Don't you get the idea of the match, now?"
"No, I do not!" young Farmer replied, and fumbled with his buttons. "Unless you intend to set the house on fire?"
"No, just this pile of rags, cloth, and old papers," Dawson said, and motioned for Freddy to toss him his tunic. "And unless I miss my guess it will make plenty of smoke."
"Smoke?" Freddy fairly gagged. "Good grief, why?"
Dawson looked at him, and smiled.
"Boy, you sure are slow on the uptake today, pal," he said and pointed a finger upward. "That skylight. It's a natural for a chimney. If we can make enough smoke it will go pouring out of there. Maybe we'll even have to break up some of those chairs and toss the pieces on the fire. But we want lots of smoke to go pouring out of that skylight for people to see."
"Why, bless me!" Freddy Farmer ejaculated. "It'll ..."
"Absolutely, my friend," Dawson said grimly. "Somebody's going to see the smoke, think the place is on fire, and pull in the alarm. And if we can keep enough smoke pouring out it's going to be plenty embarrassing for Mr. Yammanato when the fire department, and the police, start banging on his front door. In fact I hope it gives him, and every one of the rats in this place, a permanent case of heart failure. Anyway, it'll be an out for us, at least."
"Boy, the things you can think up!" Freddy Farmer cried softly as he practically tore his shirt from his back. "I always said you had the brains of a dozen people."
"Well, you've said it once, just now, anyway," Dawson grinned, and tossed Farmer's ripped tunic on the pile. "But let's say a silent prayer that that skylight doesn't act as a down-draft. Okay, Freddy, toss the rest of it on. I'm going to set her alight."
"Just a minute!" young Farmer stopped him. And then after he had closed his eyes tight for a moment, and had opened them, and nodded, he said soberly. "Right-o, Dave. Strike the match, and start the stuff burning."
Yellow throat-stinging smoke curled and swirled about the room where Dawson and Freddy Farmer were held prisoners by Yammanato. It stung their eyes, too, and half blinded them. It hung like a thick blanket of acid not more than three feet from the floor. For some ten minutes now, the two air aces had hugged the floor to keep under the smelly stuff and waited for an up-draft to take the smoke upward and out through the skylight.
"I guess you went wrong on this one, Dave," Freddy gasped. "This stuff is heavier than water, and it will never rise."
"It's got to, it's got to, Freddy!" Dawson said grimly. "It's our only hope of getting out of this place. And of maybe getting the rats here in this nest caught."
"Small chance of that, I fancy," Freddy said with a groan. "But even if the police and the fire department do come busting in here and free us, then what? The way we've messed up this job, it will certainly take something to face Vice-Admiral Stone and Commander Drake. They certainly won't love us for this business, I can tell you!"
"Maybe not, but we'll just have to take our medicine, Freddy," Dawson replied. "But the big idea right now is to getoutof here. You know there's always a chance that we may be able to do something. After all, the carrier force is only two days at sea. It's going to take longer than two days for them to get within flight range of Truk. At least, near enough for that Nazi rat to skip off and get going. I ... doggone, I could cut my throat for the way things have turned out. After all the tight places we've been in, and wiggled out of them, to be caught cold like this. Boy, do I feel lower than a heel!"
Freddy Farmer didn't reply for a moment. He moved a bit closer to Dawson on the floor, and then reached out a hand and touched his flying pal on the arm.
"We'll get out, Dave," he said quietly. "We've got to, old chap. And you and I aren't licked until we're dead and buried six feet under, as you would say."
Dawson looked at him, and some of the telling strain went out of his smoke-streaked face. He grinned and winked knowingly at Freddy.
"Now you're talking, kid," he said. "For a moment there I was afraid that you had given up the ship for keeps. But you were just fooling me, and I should have known better. Sure we'll get out, and we'll still win somehow. You just wait and see."
As Dawson finished the last he got slowly up on his hands and knees, and crawled over toward the wall on his right. He was playing a hunch, and his hunch proved to be correct. There was a draft of air over on that side that was lifting the yellow smoke upward. As a matter of fact the smoke was beginning to pour out through the skylight.
"Give the gentleman a cigar; it's working, Freddy!" he cried out in a low voice. "Crawl over here and see for yourself. It's working, Freddy."
A few seconds later young Farmer was by his side and peering upward out of smoke-reddened eyes. He gasped happily, and instantly crossed all the fingers of his two hands.
"For luck, Dave!" he breathed. "This and a prayer that they will see it outside. I mean, that there aren't tall buildings around here that will hide it off from those in the street. Gosh! Dave! Look at that stuff pour out. I never knew that just a bundle of clothes and things could throw off so much smoke!"
"One of the very special Dawson fires, kid!" Dave said to him. "And if that amount of smoke going out that skylight doesn't attract plenty of attention, then I'm a Chinese uncle."
"Whatever that means," Freddy Farmer said with a chuckle. "Anyway, all we can do now is wait. As though we haven't been doing that little thing for years and years it seems. I ..."
Freddy cut off the rest as Dawson suddenly grabbed his arm and gave a shake of his head to be quiet, and listen. Breath virtually locked in their lungs, the two air aces stood perfectly motionless and strained their ears. A few seconds later they were rewarded by the sound of footsteps racing up a flight of stairs beyond their locked and barred door. And almost at the same time there came wild, high-pitched chatter in a language that neither of them understood.
"This is it, Freddy!" Dawson whispered in young Farmer's ear. "Sounds to me like those are the two rats who brought us our food."
"Sounds like them to me, too," Freddy replied. Then, pulling on Dawson's arm, he added quickly, "Better stand well out of line with that door, Dave. When the blighters find that they can't get in they may try to shoot their way in."
"Yeah, you've got something there," Dawson said.
But that was all he had the chance to say. The door was being tried now, violently. And it definitely sounded as if whoever was outside were having a fit because the door could not be opened. And then came halting words spoken in English through the door.
"Open, please, yes. There is fire and smoke in there. Open, please, and we will put out fire, yes!"
Dawson and Freddy Farmer simply looked at each other, and winked. Neither of them spoke a word, but each could tell that the other had exactly the same thought. In short, that the next few minutes could well mean success or failure for their hopes. There was not much smoke going up from the burning clothes and papers now. The fire had spent itself, and if help in the form of the Honolulu fire and police departments did not come soon, their mad play for freedom would have been all in vain.
And then suddenly from beyond the door a voice spoke that made the hair crawl on the backs of their necks, and made each wish with all his heart and soul that he had been armed. It was the voice of Yammanato, and it was not soft and quiet and polished now. It was high-pitched, even a little off key, and ringing with fiendish frenzy.
"Open at once or I will kill you through the door. Your trick has failed, do you hear me? It has failed, and if you do not wish to die a thousand deaths then open this door at once. Do you hear me? Do you hear me?"
Fists, and more than one pair of fists, pounded violently on the door. The door squeaked and groaned a little but it did not budge a fraction of an inch. The furniture that the two air aces had piled up in front of it was made of heavy stuff and held the door fast.
"Open! Open this door at once! I have a gun. I am going to shoot!"
It was the man called Yammanato who screamed the words, and almost before their shrilling was lost to the echo there came the muffled sound of two shots, and bullets tore through the heavy paneling in the door to lodge harmlessly in the bamboo chest.
"You see?" Yammanato screamed, seeming to beat the butt of his gun against the door. "I have a gun, and I will shoot you. No matter where you stand I will be able to hit you. Kato is coming and he is strong enough to break down this door. I tell you, your trick has failed. Be not fools any longer, or it will go that much harder with you. Do you hear me in there? Do you hear me?"
Freddy acted as though he were going to fling some kind of a taunt through the door, but Dawson cut him off with a curt shake of his head, and then put his lips to young Farmer's ear.
"Don't ask for it, Freddy!" he breathed. "He might be able to place the sound of your voice, and plug us at that. Just keep mum. If we don't get a break pretty soon, then ..."
Dawson didn't finish the last. Rather he finished it with a soft groan and turned his head so that Freddy would not see the look he knew must be showing in his eyes. The sands of time were running dangerously low now. Was fate mocking their crazy efforts? Was this house where they were prisoners so situated that nobody outside would see that yellow smoke pouring from the skylight? Was this house set alone out on the outskirts of Honolulu? Had their desperate attempt failed after all, and in a few moments would that giant, Kato, smash down the door with his massive shoulders? Would...?
The last thought was never completed in Dawson's brain. At that moment from beyond the door some place came a cry of alarm, and the sound of feet running furiously up the stairs. Then the speaking voice came closer and Dawson could tell that it was Kato shrilling something rapidly in Japanese.
And then ... and then a voice roared and Dawson's heart leaped with pure joy. It was a good old American voice and it seemed to boom right through the barred door.
"Hey you, what's going on here!" it thundered. "Your place is on fire. What's in that room?"
"It is nothing, Captain," came Yammanato's voice, very sweet and whining. "It was a cigarette that burned one of my jackets. It is all right, now, Captain. But thank you for coming to our aid."
"Oh, yeah?" said the booming voice. "Well, I'm not a captain, just a sergeant. And don't tell me that a cigarette made that much smoke. What's your name anyway? What's ... Yeah, up here, Mike! Come on up and bring those two guys with you. This looks screwy to me!"
"Coming, Sergeant!" cried out a second born-in-the-U.S.A. voice. "Hey, these guys look Jap to me!"
"But that is silly!" the whining voice of Yammanato was heard to protest. "We are all native Hawaiians. My name is Komo. I own the little souvenir shop down the street. Why, I have never been in Japan in my life. You are mistaken, Sergeant. We are loyal Hawaiians. And it is true. I was smoking a cigarette and put it down to go out of the room for a minute. It fell out of the ash tray and onto a jacket that was on the arm of a chair. It is really nothing. No harm at all, save a hole in my jacket. And it was my favorite jacket, too."
And that was as long as Dawson and Freddy Farmer decided to wait. There were two Yank soldiers out there. Probably a couple of members of the military patrol in that part of Honolulu. Anyway, they were undoubtedly armed, and besides, the time to act had arrived at last. Dawson looked at Freddy Farmer, and they both nodded.
"Hold them, Sergeant!" Dave yelled at the top of his voice, and started heaving the furniture that blocked the door to one side. "That rat is lying in his teeth. He's a Jap, and so are the others. We're a couple of Air Forces officers held prisoner in here. We started the fire to bring help. Hold them, Sergeant; we're coming out."
"Hey, what goes on?" came the booming voice.
But at that moment neither Dave nor Freddy wasted any breath replying. Both were straining every ounce of their strength to push the furniture aside and get at the door. It seemed to take them years to do it, and they heard sounds and yells outside. They still paid no attention. And then finally the last of the furniture was out of the way. Dawson grabbed the door knob, turned and yanked the door open. Two big husky members of the military police stood outside blinking at him in dumbfounded surprise. In one corner of the landing the two little brown men cringed. But Yammanato and Kato had obviously ducked past the two soldiers and were racing down a flight of stairs at top speed. Dawson took it all in at a glance, and yelled at the blinking sergeant.
"Stop them!" he cried. "They're Jap spies. Stop them even if you have to shoot!"
The sergeant still gaped blankly, but the private first class who was with him seemed to collect his wits. He spun around and made a grab for Kato.
"Hey you, hold on there!" he barked.
But the giant Jap had no intention of doing that. As he went down the stairs he shot out a huge fist. It caught the American soldier square on the chin and knocked him head over heels as though he were no more than a toy doll. But Kato did not take into consideration that Dawson was up on his toes, and fighting mad. As the soldier went toppling over the gun in his hand flew from his fingers. Dave dived and caught it before it struck the stair landing. He fell on his side but twisted around on the top of the stairs. A split second later the gun in his hand spat out flame and sound. Kato's head snapped forward as though he had been brained from behind by a baseball bat. His big feet lost their footing on the stairs. He stumbled and then went crashing forward to fall headlong down the last seven or eight steps like a slaughtered ox. Even before he crumpled in a heap halfway through an opened door that led out onto a sun-filled street, blood was pouring from the bullet wound in the back of his head, and he was stone dead.
In dying, however, Kato had saved the life of his master, Yammanato. That is to say, his falling body blocked the entire stairway so that Dawson was unable to shoot at Yammanato, who was a few steps ahead of the giant Jap. However, Dave did not waste any time cursing his luck. Scrambling to his feet, he went down the stairs in just three leaps, hurtled over the prostrate Kato and bolted out into the sunny street.
He spotted Yammanato not over thirty yards away racing headlong up the sidewalk on his right. To Dawson's surprise he didn't see any gun in the Jap spy's hand. Yammanato had either thrown it away, or had stuck it in his pocket when the two Yank soldiers had come running into the house. But even if the Jap had had a gun in either hand, it wouldn't have made any difference to Dawson. The tables were turned, now, and it was Dawson's time to do the talking.
"Stop, you Japrat!" he shouted, and raced up the sidewalk like a streak of lightning.
If the Jap heard the challenge he paid no attention. He increased his speed if anything, and Dawson suddenly saw that he was making for a narrow alley another fifty or sixty yards ahead.
"Stop, Yammanato!" Dave yelled. "Your last chance. Stop, or you get it!"
But Yammanato did not stop. That he heard Dawson was proved by the fact that he flung a single look back over his shoulder, and then raced full out for what he hoped would be the safety of the alley up ahead. He never reached that alley, though. He missed it by a good twenty yards. Dawson's single shot seemed to knock Yammanato's feet right out from under him, and spin his body in the air like a human top. The Jap hit the sidewalk on his face, and slowly rolled over onto his right side.
The instant the Jap went down, Dave slowed up and went ahead cautiously, his gun out in front of him on the alert for instant action. He had not forgotten the gun that the Jap had fired through the door of that smoke-filled prison room. And when he saw Yammanato slide his right hand inside his jacket he almost pulled the trigger of his gun again, but not quite. Perhaps he could not shoot a man sprawled on the ground, even though he were a filthy Japanese. Or perhaps it was for one of many other reasons. At any rate, he withheld his fire.
And then Yammanato's hand came out from inside his jacket, and it happened. For a brief instant the Hawaiian sun gleamed on the polished blade of a six-inch knife. Then the blade disappeared as the Jap plunged it with both hands to his heart.
"The stinker!" Dawson heard his own voice pant as he raced up to the Jap. "Takes his own life rather than face the music. Just an old Jap custom, I guess."
But Yammanato was not yet quite dead. He stared up at Dawson out of half closed eyes that gleamed with fiendish hate. And then suddenly his lips slid back over his teeth in a sort of wolfish grin, and faintly spoken words came out from between them.
"Good fortune is a fickle woman. I have so spoken."
And with that the Jap died. Dawson saw death steal over the Nip's face. The light in his eyes went out, he stopped breathing, and all that remained was the blood that had once given him life seeping out past the knife blade and staining his white silk shirt a deep red.
"If that was supposed to be an exit line, Yammanato," Dawson grunted down at the dead man, "it was very corny. Plenty corny."
And then as he straightened up, Freddy Farmer and the two soldiers came dashing up, and all three of them started talking at once.
"Hold everything, everybody!" Dave cried, and held up his two hands. "The rat's dead as a doornail, and now all of us have got things to do, but fast!"
Commander Drake, of U.S. Navy Intelligence, took off his cap and ran fingers through his hair, and gave a little shake of his head. He had just completed a minute inspection of the house where Dave Dawson and Freddy Farmer had been held prisoner, and now he stood with the two of them in the very prison room. The sergeant, who it seemed was named Ryan, and a whole squad of troops were standing guard on the building. The two still cringing brown men, who Commander Drake guessed were Koreans, were in the sergeant's custody. And the street out in front was now packed with the curious who had been drawn like flies to the scene. And incidentally, the bodies of Yammanato and Kato had been carted away from the public view.
"It's still like somebody telling me a crazy dream he had!" Commander Drake gasped, and jammed his cap back on his head. "I can still hardly believe it!"
"Well, it was real enough, sir," Dawson said with a grin. "There are a couple of witnesses right here to back up that statement. But as the old saying goes, truth is lots of times stranger than fiction."
"You're telling me!" Commander Drake said, and made a gesture with one hand that included the entire house. "This nest of the little yellow rats right here under my very eyes all this time. And it took you two to smoke them out. And I don't mean that as a pun. Why, heaven knows how much information they've collected in this very house, and then slipped out of the Islands to be used against us. Why, that radio down in the basement is just about as powerful as the naval radio at Kaneohe."
"I sure wish that Yammanato hadn't gone yellow and taken his life," Dawson said grimly. "That's why I shot him in the hip. To save him for you, I hoped."
"Well, don't let it make you feel too bad," Commander Drake said with a shake of his head. "There's one thing about a Jap, and I suppose we should give him some credit for it. I mean, when he doesn't want to talk there's nothing in the world that can make him talk. When you shot him he knew that he had failed, and would be in disgrace as long as he lived. So the only thing left for him to do was to take his life. Yammanato, he called himself, eh? Well, I'll bet a small sum of money that I won't find him listed under that name, or even listed as living here, when I look him up. Dawson, and you too, Farmer, do you realize what you've done for me? Why you've accomplished in a day what I haven't been able to do since the time of Pearl Harbor. Why, what there is here in this house may prove to be of inestimable value to the Navy, and to the Army, too. Those files in that room downstairs may have every Jap spy this side of Tokyo listed."
"I hope so, sir," Dawson murmured as he stared up at the smoke-smudged skylight. "But as far as I'm concerned it's a failure. Farmer and I missed the boat. And that is exactly what I mean."
"Quite," Freddy Farmer echoed gloomily. "If we hadn't been so utterly stupid as to let ourselves get captured that night, we might have identified that Nazi who is aboard one of the carriers. He might even have led us here, and the whole thing would have been cleared up very nicely. As Dawson says, it's a blasted failure for me, too. Good heaven! Just think of what may happen to that carrier force. You say you didn't gain an inkling of his identity, sir? Not one of the fighter pilots aboard the three carriers made any suspicious moves."
Commander Drake didn't reply for a moment or two. He frowned, pursed his lips, and balled one clenched fist into the palm of the other hand. Then he sighed, and shook his head.
"Not one blessed thing," he said sadly. "When you two seemed to have disappeared from the face of the Islands, I took the job in hand and personally checked every fighter pilot aboard. Not to anyone's knowledge aboard, of course. And I had what men I could spare check on fighter pilots' moves ashore for the day they were in port. Of course I didn't have enough men to assign one to each fighter pilot, but I doubt if I would have been any more successful.
"But the force sailed!" Dawson said with a groan. "Why? Couldn't you have got Vice-Admiral Stone to delay sailing? Or couldn't you have taken every fighter pilot off the carriers, and replaced them with others? I mean ... well, wasn't theresomethingthat could have been done, sir?"
Commander Drake shook his head, and sighed again.
"No," he said quietly. "The mission that force is on now has been planned for months. To hold it up would upset our entire plan of war in the Pacific. The carrier force simply had to sail on schedule. There wasn't anything else we could do but take the chance that that Nazi spy won't be able to get away with whatever he plans to accomplish."
"But why won't he, sir?" Freddy Farmer protested. "Nobody knows who he is!"
The Naval Intelligence officer gestured with his two hands, palms upward.
"You're right, nobody does, Farmer," he said. "But all the fighter squadron and division commanders were called before Vice-Admiral Stone before the force sailed. They were told the whole story and ordered to keep an eye on their pilots at all times. Because of one rat in their midst all the others have got to suffer for it. But that's the way it is. Also, certain other officers aboard the carriers were told the story, and they will keep a strict watch of the deck beginning with sundown. And another precaution has been taken, also. It's probably the one that will get us the best results, if there are to be any results."
"And what precaution is that, sir?" Dawson asked as the commander paused for breath.
The Naval Intelligence officer permitted a faint smile to light up his grave face for a moment.
"That was my contribution to the affair," he said. "A part of the destroyer escort will sail the same course but exactly four hours behind the carriers. You heard that Jap in San Diego tell the Nazi that the flares will burst into light some three to four hours after they have been in the water. Well, the destroyers will steam four hours behind the carriers, so their look-outs should certainly spot any flares, if there are any about."
"My compliments, sir," Dawson said with a smile. "That was a very good suggestion. It should work. And if you must know, it makes me feel a little better about the safety of that carrier force. But now I'd like to make a suggestion to you, sir, if you don't mind? Or to be exact, it's a request. Something I'd like to ask you to do."
The commander nodded and waved one hand.
"Then go ahead and ask it by all means, Dawson," he said. "What is it, anyway?"
Dawson hesitated a moment while a faint frown played across his brows.
"I feel a little better about the safety of the carrier force, sir," he said presently. "But I still feel that Farmer and I have failed in what we set out to do. So if you could arrange it, Commander, I'd like to ask you to arrange for us to see Vice-Admiral Stone. And as soon as possible, too, sir."
"That's just about the easiest thing for me to do, Dawson," the Navy officer said with a grin. "I got in touch with the vice-admiral fifteen minutes after your phone call brought me here on the run. I gave him most of the picture then, and he was very pleased. Naturally he'll want to congratulate you. I'll drive you to the Kaneohe Naval Air Base right away. That is, just as soon as I leave some instructions for the guards downstairs. I've a car right outside."
"Thank you, sir," Dave told him. "I'd be very grateful if you'd be kind enough to do that."
"Wait right here and consider it done," Commander Drake said, and moved toward the door. "I won't be five minutes."
"Now what, Dave?" Freddy Farmer asked as the Naval officer disappeared. "I certainly don't feel like seeing Vice-Admiral Stone. At least not right away. Even in spite of the luck we had in this Yammanato business, I couldn't look the vice-admiral in the eye and not feel that we hadn't let him down something frightful. And that's to say nothing of how we let down the officers and men in that carrier force."
"Yeah, I know what you mean, Freddy," Dawson said with a nod. "And I feel pretty much the same way. But I'm willing to face the look in the vice-admiral's eye if I can only get him to let us carry on with the unfinished business."
For a brief instant young Farmer stared at him as though he were slightly crazy.
"Unfinished business, Dave?" the English-born air ace presently gasped. "You mean that Nazi spy?"
"Certainly," Dave said. "What did you think I meant? As long as that guy and I are alive in the same world I'll not have a moment's peace of mind. Sure I meant him. And I still want to show him up for the sneaking skunk he is, hiding in a U.S. Navy uniform!"
"Well, naturally I want to do the same thing," young Farmer said quickly. "But I don't think I quite follow you. How in the world do you figure you can reach him? The carrier force is almost three days out from Pearl Harbor now."
Dawson opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment Commander Drake came back up the stairs.
"Let it ride, Freddy," he said in a low voice. "You'll hear me explain it to the vice-admiral. And maybe it would be bad luck if I spoke about it first to anybody else. Just cross your fingers and hope."
"I'll do both of those things, right enough," young Farmer replied. "But you had better make it pretty good, what you're going to say to the vice-admiral. He may be pleasant enough to us, but I fancy he won't fall all over himself with joy at seeing us again."
"Just do what I said!" Dave growled as he moved toward the door. "Just keep your fingers crossed, and hope, that's all."
A short time later Commander Drake ushered Dawson and Freddy Farmer into Vice-Admiral Stone's quarters. The base commandant seemed genuinely pleased to see them. In fact, he said so, and congratulated them on the Yammanato business.
"Commander Drake told me over the phone that there is enough stuff there to sink a ship," he said. "That's fine. Now maybe we can spend all our time thinking about the Japs away from Pearl Harbor, instead of those who are here, and about whom we know nothing. It was a good job, you two, and I thank the powers that be that you came out of the thing with your skins. I must admit that we worried more than a little about you when you did not return here to the base last Monday night."
The vice-admiral paused and suddenly turned full face to Dave Dawson, and gave him a searching look.
"I have a feeling that you have something on your mind, Captain Dawson," he said. "Am I right? And if so, then go ahead and speak. You have my full permission."
Dave hesitated and glanced sidewise at Freddy Farmer for a little moral support, but the English-born air ace was watching the vice-admiral.
"I'm no good at making speeches, sir," he said a moment later. "And I certainly won't take up your valuable time trying to make one. I only want to say this, sir. The job in so far as Farmer and I are concerned is not finished. We came out here to the Islands to identify him so that he could be put where he wouldn't give anybody any trouble. But we didn't do that, sir, and it was through our own fault. You warned us that we might be marked men, and we were dumb enough to forget your warning and walk right into something that only phenomenal luck got us out of. I suppose everybody makes mistakes, but only fools make the same mistake twice. And that's just what we did. Once outside that shack in San Diego, and once last Monday night up by Kahuku Point beach. In short, sir, I want, and I'm sure Farmer does, too, another chance to grab that Nazi spy with the carrier force."
"Well, for a man who says he can't make a speech, that one wasn't too bad, Captain Dawson," the vice-admiral said with a smile. "But aren't you forgetting that the carrier force has sailed? That it's almost three days out from Pearl Harbor?"
"No, sir," Dave replied instantly. "Naturally I haven't forgotten that. But ... well, look, sir. Technically, we are under your command right now. I was wondering if you couldn't order us to fly to the carrier force. Aboard one of the mail Catalina boats. A Cat-boat could reach the force quite some time before the force is within fighter plane range of Truk. That's true, isn't it, sir?"
"Absolutely," the senior Naval officer replied. "Truk is most certainly in the force's plans, but it is not steaming directly there. It will not be within a thousand miles of Truk for several days yet."
"Then there's still a chance, sir," Dawson said eagerly. "Couldn't you assign us as special observers of the mission for you? In that way we wouldn't be confined to just one of the carriers. We could fly on and off all three. That way we could get a good look at one time or another at every fighter pilot in the force. And ... well, as we once said, we'll know him the instant we set eyes on him. I know it may sound like a slightly mad suggestion, sir, but I sincerely hope that you will grant permission to carry it out."
"And I would like to express my sincere hope that you will grant it, too, sir," Freddy Farmer spoke up quietly. "Captain Dawson didn't tell me that he was going to make this request, but now that I've heard it, I am completely in favor of it, sir. We fell down on our job, sir, and we only want the chance to make up for our failure, if we possibly can."
The vice-admiral didn't say anything for several minutes. In fact, he didn't even look at either of them. He scowled silently at his fingers drumming on the top of the desk. When eventually he did lift his gaze and look at them he was still frowning.
"It is quite an unusual request," he said. "The Navy doesn't usually fight a war that way. After all you are Army pilots, so it would be most strange for you to act as observers for the Navy. Then, too, the moment the carrier force sailed from Pearl Harbor it was under the complete command of Vice-Admiral Macon, whose flagship is the Carrier Trenton. I have nothing to do with it at all. It is quite possible that Vice-Admiral Macon will maintain radio silence, save for ship to plane, throughout the entire voyage. A most unusual request, Captains Dawson and Farmer. Most unusual."
The vice-admiral frowned down at his drumming fingers again, and Dave Dawson had the sensation of his heart sliding down into his boot-tops with a thump. Then suddenly after a moment or two of complete and utter silence, the vice-admiral looked up from his desk with a grunt.
"However," he said quietly, "there are such things as extenuating circumstances. Exceptions that prove the rule, and so forth. That Nazi spy is on his way to Admiral Shimoda with valuable information we can ill afford to have fall into Japanese hands. Also,ifhe does slip away from the force he will naturally report on the force to Admiral Shimoda, and that could prove very disastrous for Vice-Admiral Macon's ships. So for those and other reasons, I am in favor ofeveryeffort being made to identify this man so that he can be put under arrest."
The senior Naval officer paused to clear his throat, but Dawson couldn't hold his tongue any longer.
"Then you will, sir?" he blurted out. "You will give us another chance?"
"That's right," the vice-admiral said, and tried not to smile. "There happens to be a Catalina with mail and some priority things leaving Kaneohe tonight. I will arrange for you to be on it. I will also give you a letter to Vice-Admiral Macon stating the reason you are joining the force, and what you wish to do. That is as far as I can go in the matter. I cannot order Vice-Admiral Macon to do anything. I can only ask him to co-operate with you in this matter, but I feel quite sure that he will. All right, then, Captains, your special request is granted. And, naturally, I wish you all the good luck and good hunting in the world."
"Thank you, sir, thank you," was all that Dawson could say, because suddenly he was too choked up to speak other words.
And it was the same with Freddy Farmer. One more chance! It was a time when mere words could mean everything, or nothing!