Red Randall at Pearl Harbor

by R. Sidney Bowen

  And Red also remembered something else that started his heart pumping again. The face of the shadowy figure—he was dead certain that it had been the face of a Japanese. Not that of a Hawaiian, nor a Chinese, nor a Yank, nor any other nationality that lived on the Islands. It had been the face of a Japanese. And, what’s more...

  But that’s as far as he got with the thought. Sound for the second time came to him from the heavy growth on the left side of the road. But it was a slightly different sound this time. The first had been a high-pitched and blood-curdling cry; now it was a low-drawn-out half moan and half wail. Never in his life had Red heard such a sound before, yet he instantly knew that it had come from the lips of a dying man. How he knew that he did not stop to consider. Nor did he stop to give a thought to his impulsive movements as he turned off the road and plunged straight into the heavy growth. Somebody was hurt, hurt bad, and instinct was sending him to the rescue.

  It was two full minutes, however, before he reached the object of his search. The light was still not so good, and in the heavy undergrowth it was ten times worse. As a matter of fact, if he had not tripped and fallen, he might not have found it at all. It was not a tree root that had caught his toe. It was one of the legs of a limp, motionless figure which lay sprawling on the ground.

  Bouncing up on hands and knees as quickly as he could, Red Randall looked at the silent figure before him. He was staring at a native Hawaiian of middle age. The man was ageless now, because he was dead. He had been brutally stabbed in half a dozen different places, and the last of his life’s blood was now seeping down into the soft earth. Twice before in his life Red Randall had seen a dead man, and this third time brought no new sensations. The same watery weakness left him powerless to move. And so he knelt there staring for a full minute before he could get to his feet.

  “God!” he said in a hoarse whisper. “He’s dead! And...and it must have been that Jap I saw who did it. Hell! Supposing he’d swung that long knife on me?”

  This sudden, unnerving thought brought young Randall up sharply. But as before, he quickly gained control of himself, grimly steeled himself to the horrible sight on the ground before him, and forced himself to make a deliberate inspection of the dead man. So, it was not until then that he discovered that there was something clutched tightly in the dead man’s right hand. He squinted at it hard, and it looked to him like a twisted bit of paper. Perhaps he should have let it alone, left it for the Island Police. But he never even thought of that. Quickly he bent over the clutched fist and pried the fingers apart and released the twisted bit of paper.

  Red smoothed out the piece of paper. It was about four inches by five inches. It was torn down one side and contained a jumble of figures and scribbling, of which it was hard to make out either head or tail. To Red it looked like a drawing of a map. Yet, on the other hand, it could just as easily have been the doodling marks on somebody’s telephone pad. Anyway, it certainly made no sense to him, even though he spent a good five minutes studying it. Suddenly he shook himself.

  “Hell! What am I doing here?” he asked himself. “This man’s been murdered, and somebody should get the police. He…” His thoughts took an even more sinister turn. What if that man who had clipped him and ran was a Japanese spy? Maybe this was part of a secret map, or something, and he was just standing here!”

  And right then and there it suddenly dawned on his excited brain that maybe the “Japanese spy” would miss the half of the “secret map” and come back looking for it! Shifting his feet into high gear from a standing start, Red Randall shot through the heavy growth to the road in about one one-hundredth of the time it had taken him to come in. When he reached the road he did not stop to look to right or left. Hardly realizing that he was doing so, he spun to his right and pounded back along the road to where he had left his Dad’s car. And it was not until he had the door open and was sliding in behind the wheel that he remembered about the car.

  “Oh, yeah!” he groaned. “This thing’s on the blink. And the nearest phone, I guess, is at the airport. Darn this mess of junk!”

  He started to slide out again, but on impulse checked himself, turned the ignition key, and stepped on the starter. The engine caught at once and clicked as sweetly as could be on all eight cylinders.

  “Well, what do you know!” he cried in happy astonishment. “I must be an expert mechanic, and don’t know it. I wonder what I did to the darn thing, anyway?”

  Wondering about it, Red slipped the car into gear and started to shoot out into the middle of the road. But at that instant there came the earsplitting blast of a car horn right behind him, and its echo was the screaming of brakes applied in haste and the sound of locked wheels skidding along the road. He slammed on his own brakes at once, and tried to swallow his heart back into place as he turned his head and looked at the front end of an Army jeep not three feet away from his left front fender. Just three feet more and it would certainly have been just too bad.

  “What’s the matter with you, son? Haven’t you got eyes and ears? Or is this your private road?”

  With an effort Red lifted his gaze to the front seat of the jeep. There were two officers there, two Army Air Corps officers. One was a Colonel, and the other a Major. Both had a pair of jet-black eyes that could look right through the side of a battle ship at five hundred yards.

  “Gosh, I’m sorry, sir!” Red finally managed to blurt out. “I was in a hurry, and I guess I didn’t look. My car was stuck, and... And I mean something terrible’s happened! There’s a dead man over there off the road. A Jap killed him. With a knife. I saw it. And I was just going for help, and...”

  “Hold it, hold it!” the Air Corps Colonel barked at him, and leaped lightly out of the jeep and came to the side of Red’s car. “Now, what’s all this, sonny? A man dead? Where? You... Wait a minute! What’s that blood doing on your shirt? Get out of the car, son!”

  Red glanced down at the front of his shirt, blinked, and clenched his teeth hard. There was a smear of blood on his shirt a good four inches long and some two inches wide. He stared at it dumb-eyed for a moment, then impulsively touched it with a finger. It was still damp.

  “God!” he managed to say. “The front of my shirt must have brushed against him. It must have!”

  “Get out of the car, and let us have a good look at you.”

  The faint sound of steel in the voice made Red’s heart loop in his chest. He slid out of the car and looked up into the Colonel’s expressionless face. The Air Corps Major had joined his superior officer, and both of them eyed young Randall in studied silence.

  “Wait!” Red gasped when he was able to find his tongue. “Colonel! You...you don’t think I killed him, do you? Sir, I’m the one who found him, and...”

  “Now, just hold on, son,” the Colonel interrupted in a not too harsh voice. “Let’s try and get this straight. Take your time and begin at the beginning. Let’s start with your name.”

  “Randall, sir,” Red replied. “My father’s Colonel Randall over at Hickam. He’s...”

  “Oh, Colonel Randall, eh?” the other cut in, and a lot of the cold stiffness immediately left his face. “So you’re Colonel Randall’s son. Robert Randall, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, that’s right, sir,” Red said, and found he could breathe without choking. “Everybody calls me Red. You know my father, sir?”

  “Very well,” the Colonel replied. “A very good friend of mine. But to get back to this dead man business, Red, just what is it all about? Put it in as few words as possible, but try not to get them all twisted up.”

  Red took a deep breath and then related the high spots of his recent experience. The two Air Corps officers listened in frowning silence. By the time he was finished Red was able to spot a glint of worry and anger that had come into their eyes. When neither of them spoke, a sudden new fear struck at young Randall.

  “I did wrong, sir?” he blurted out. “What should I have done?”

  “You’re sure that man with
the knife had a jagged scar on the left side of his face?” the Colonel suddenly asked him. “You’re positive?”

  “Well, I’d bet anything, sir,” Red instantly replied. “And he looked like a Jap, too, or I never saw one!”

  “Well, remember this day as long as you live!” the senior officer said with a grim note in his voice. “Because you’ll never come any closer to being killed than you did today.”

  The Colonel took his eyes off Red’s face and looked at the Major.

  “Kato Harada, as sure as the Lord made little apples!” he said with a groan in his voice. “And I’m afraid we don’t even have to guess the rest, eh?”

  The Air Corps Major made a wry face and stuck both thumbs downward.

  “I’m afraid not,” he said with a shake of his head. “We’re out of luck again. It’s getting to be a habit.”

  The Colonel grunted but said nothing. Red held his silence for maybe six seconds and then popped the question that was hovering on the tip of his tongue.

  “Who’s Kato Harada, sir?” he asked. “A Jap?”

  But the Colonel did not seem to hear. For a moment he stood stiff and straight, staring bleak-eyed at nothing at all. Then suddenly he shook himself and looked at Red.

  “I guess you’d better take us to the dead man, son,” he said quietly.

  Chapter Three – A Piece of Paper

  AS RED LED the way back along the, road and then off to the left through the heavy growth, one million and one questions whirled around in his mind and then tried to pop out of his mouth. With an effort, though, he managed to hold them in check, for he was pretty sure that not one of them would be answered. The worry and anger in the eyes of the Colonel and Major were even more pronounced now. A blind man could see that what Red had told them had hit home hard for some reason or another. Kato Harada? Who the devil was he? Maybe a Japanese spy, or something. And what had the Colonel meant when he said to the Major, “And I’m afraid we don’t even have to guess the rest, eh?” The rest of what? And what did the Major mean by “We’re out of luck again?”

  Questions and more questions. And not a single one with an answer. But Red continued to hold his tongue and presently he burst through the last patch of brush and came to a halt beside the body. The Colonel and the Major stepped past him and stood frowning down at the dead man. Red stole a look at the Colonel’s face. What he saw there made him hope that he would never find himself on the opposite side of the fence from that grim and angry man.

  “It’s Joe Haleohano, right enough, poor devil!” the Colonel suddenly broke the silence in a low voice that shook with suppressed rage. “It makes me feel like a murderer. I told him it was a mad, insane idea. But he felt so sure, so cocksure. Search him, will you, Jim? Maybe...maybe there’s something, but I doubt it.”

  As the Major dropped to his knees and began a slow and thorough search of the dead man’s clothing, the Colonel turned away and walked off through the brush a few paces.

  Red Randall stood where he was, watching the Major complete his search of the dead man’s ragged clothing. Unconsciously he slipped his right hand into his right jacket pocket. His fingers touched a folded four-by-five-inch sheet of paper. He almost jumped as he remembered what it was.

  Holy smoke, yes! The piece of paper he had pried from the dead man’s clenched fist. How could he have forgotten to mention it in his brief account to the Colonel? But he had. And, doggone it, why not? The Colonel had ordered him to make his story short and sweet. Who wouldn’t be all confused after so much had happened so fast? And not to mention a thing about that bump on his head that was starting to kick up again. Gosh, yes, he...

  “What’s the matter, Randall? Something bothering you, son?”

  Red cut his last thought in half and looked up to see the Colonel standing not three feet in front of him. The senior officer’s eyes were fixed on him hard, and he noted a puzzled glint in their depths. He had the feeling that the Major was watching him, too, but he could not take his eyes from the Colonel’s face. He felt his neck and his cheeks get hot, and he seemed to have five tongues in his mouth when he began to talk.

  “I...I forgot something,” he stammered. Then in an angry rush of words, “But, darn it! You didn’t give me time to tell you, sir. Here! I took this out of his fist, but I don’t know what it means. I was going to give it to the police. It looks like a lot of Greek to me.”

  Shoulders square, and chin stuck out just a little, as though he expected the Colonel to give him an argument, Red pulled the folded bit of paper from his pocket and handed it over. The Colonel took it, frowned, then smoothed it out and looked at it. Instantly his whole body stiffened, and he made faint sounds in his throat.

  “Not Greek, Japanese!” he said as though talking to himself. Then fixing his black eyes on Red, he said sharply, “Sure this is all, Randall? Sure there’s no more? Sure you didn’t forget something else? Speak up, youngster! We haven’t got all day!”

  A flash of anger stabbed through Red Randall, and he suddenly forgot that a Colonel and a Major were in front of him. For a brief moment they were just a couple of strangers who were trying to jump down his throat for something that was not his fault at all. He took a step forward.

  “I’m sorry I forgot that paper, sir,” he burst out in a rush of words. “But I’m no criminal, sir. I... I...”

  Like the sun coming out from behind dark clouds, the Colonel’s face suddenly lightened, and he grinned.

  “No doubt about your being Colonel Jack Randall’s boy,” he said. “He doesn’t let people push him around, either. Sorry, son. I sort of slipped a cog that time. I’m Colonel Stacey, and this is Major Nichols. You’re quite right. It only...well, Red, you stumbled into something that may change history out here in the Pacific. And perhaps a lot of other places, too. We weren’t exactly expecting it, and it knocked the props from under us for a moment. I apologize. Shake on it, Red?”

  “Gosh, yes, sure!” Red exclaimed eagerly and gripped the extended hand. “And, I’m sorry, too, sir. And...well, for Pete’s sake, Colonel Stacey, don’t ever let Dad know I talked back to you that way, will you? He’d take me out to the woodshed and tan my hide. And he could do it, too!”

  “I’m sure he could,” the Colonel said with a laugh. “Your father has what it takes for a whole lot of things. Very well, Red. And now let’s get back to things. Maybe it would be better if you told it all over again. In detail this time. Try to remember every little thing whether it seems important to you or not. All right, son, let’s have it. And take your time this time.”

  And Red did a very thorough job of it, too. He took his time and related every single thing that had happened to him, even the wild and crazy thoughts that had passed through his mind. But when he had finished he could see by their faces that he had not been able to help any. Gone was the grin from Colonel Stacey’s face. The scowl was back, and so was the worry and anger in his eyes. Even more so than before. The Major, too, seemed to be in the depths of puzzled and angry despair.

  Red waited a couple of moments for one of them to speak, and when neither did, he decided to try to learn a few things for himself.

  “I guess it’s none of my business, sir,” he began slowly, “but couldn’t you tell me something of what this is all about? Just an idea, or something? After all, I did get a pretty good crack on the dome out of it. I mean...well, couldn’t you tell me a little something? I’m about ready to explode, wondering what it’s all about. Was that Kato Harada guy really a Jap spy?”

  “He was more than a spy,” the Colonel, muttered more or less to himself. “He was, and is, a one-man intelligence service. And a son of a son of Satan to boot! He...”

  The officer let his voice trail off into silence and stood staring down at the piece of paper in his hand. Major Nichols looked at it over his shoulder. After a moment the Colonel folded the paper and slipped it into his pocket.

  “Well, that’s that, Jim,” he said to Major Nichols. “The end of it, I’m afraid
. Harada’s back. Right her on Oahu. But that clever rat could hide out from us for a hundred years.”

  The Colonel paused and looked down at the dead man. His lips moved, and Red was just barely able to catch the words.

  “So long, Joe,” he said. “You did your best...and almost made it. I blame myself, Joe. I was a plain fool to let you try it. We won’t forget you, Joe. Not ever, fellow.”

  The senior officer sighed heavily, then looked at Red as though he didn’t even exist. Then suddenly Colonel Stacey’s eyes blinked, lighted up, and he shot out a pointing finger at Red Randall’s left jacket pocket.

  “Those your helmet and goggles, son?” he asked. “You on your way to John Rogers Airport?”

  “Yes, sir,” Red replied. “I’m going to get in some practice on the Around the Island course for the Air Meet next week. Sure, I’m a pilot. Why?”

  All the eagerness of his whole life was in that last word spoken by young Randall. The Colonel seemed to ignore it for a moment. A bitter look came into his eyes and the corners of his mouth went down. He glanced at Major Nichols and gave a little shake of his head.

  “Isn’t that just like us?” he grunted. “Business and fun as usual, while we sit on a keg of TNT and watch the fuse burn. But why not, I suppose. What else?”

  “Then it’s true, sir?” Red gasped and half reached a hand for the Colonel’s sleeve. “You mean things are going to pop with the Japs?”

  “Speaking for myself, I don’t know anything!” the Colonel replied with marked bitterness in his voice. “But the signs are plain enough for anybody to read. Skip it, though, son. You go on out to the airport and have yourself some nice flying. The Major and I will take care of things here. And, Red?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Mum is the word on all this!” the Colonel said. “Do you understand? Just try and forget it ever happened, and don’t tell a soul. Not even your Dad. I mean that, Red!”