“Well, maybe Joe was right, and every word he told me the truth. Still, it was pretty hard to believe that the Japs would let him see any such plans as those. I guess I riled poor Joe just a little by not getting all excited. Anyway, he promised that he’d get me one of those charts on the trip back to Japan, and give it to me the next time he came to Oahu.”
“Gee!” Red exclaimed. “And is that what I took out of his hand?”
“No,” the Colonel replied and took out the folded section of paper. “This is part of a map Joe made himself. It’s probably a copy of one he saw. See here? This is the eastern shoreline of Oahu from the Naval Air Station at Kaneohe up to Kahuku Point. And see these little arrows that point at various parts of the shore? Well, according to Joe’s Japanese notes here, they mark the spots where the Japs are going to put troops ashore. But here is the mark that really means something. Right here, just south of Waikane. Here, Joe has written, a Jap sub is going to pick up Harada and himself on December seventh.”
“The seventh?” Red got out in a burst of wild excitement. “Hell! That’s today!”
“Yes,” Colonel Stacey said quietly. “But no Jap submarine will pick up Joe now. And ten to one Harada has changed his plans about meeting that Jap sub...if there’s supposed to be one there.”
“Gosh!” Red breathed. “Too bad we don’t have the rest of that map. I bet it would tell us a whole lot more.”
“Check!” Major Nichols broke his long silence. “I’d give my right arm for a look at the Pearl Harbor part. And I’ll bet my shirt that if there are dates, they’re not over a week from today’s date. Harada has all his dirty work finished, whatever it was, and he’s clearing out before the balloon goes up, if you ask me.”
“I won’t take that bet because I think you’re right, Jim,” Colonel Stacey grunted and snapped the dead man’s torn map with his thumbnail. “And I certainly hope that High Command puts the Islands on Alert Three, and pronto, too. I have a horrible feeling that big things are close. Awful darn close.”
Red Randall’s heart was pounding wildly against his ribs now. And the blood was surging through his veins. He had a vague idea of what the Colonel and the Major wanted him to do. And he could hardly wait for them to tell him. War with Japan just around the corner, sure as shooting! And here he was going to take a part in it today. Supposing he did spot that Jap submarine? And, of course, that’s what the Colonel had in mind for him to do. What a story he’d have to tell his Dad. And the gang at the Flying Club, too. Boy, oh, boy! Maybe he’d even...
“Well, I’d better finish up because we’ve all got to get going in a hurry,” Colonel Stacey’s voice broke into Red’s merry-go-round of excited thoughts. “Briefly, Joe said that he and Harada were to remain on Oahu three more days. Then he said they were to go back to Japan. He didn’t know how or from what point they’d leave. But he said he’d try to get word to me. It was then I told him that he was crazy to go back to Japan, even though he expected to return to Hawaii later. I told him to try to learn why Harada wanted to get in strong with his relatives, and tip me off so that I could clamp down on the whole business. He argued that he might not find out this trip. And he was dead set on getting one of those attack maps for me. Well, we argued back and forth, but he finally got me to agree to sit tight until I heard from him. I never did, until now. The day after Joe visited my office I told myself I was a fool, so I broke my word to him. I went looking for him.”
“And...and he was gone?” Red asked in a tight voice when the Colonel lapsed into frowning silence.
“That’s right,” the senior officer muttered. “Gone, and Harada with him. His cousin told me they left that night when Joe got back. Harada could limp about. He had Joe walk down to the beach with him. They never came back. I went to some other relatives of Joe’s, but he hadn’t been there. They hadn’t seen him in years.”
“Maybe Harada got suspicious of Joe and cleared out fast,” put in Red.
“Maybe, but I doubt it,” Colonel Stacey replied. “I think if Harada had become suspicious of him, Joe’s dead body would have floated in with the tide in a day or so. No, I have a hunch that Harada and Joe went back to Japan. Or maybe to one of the Jap mandated islands in the Carolines. What happened and why, we’ll probably never know. I’m going up to Kahuku Point right now and see Joe’s cousin, and learn what I can, if anything. And I don’t think it will be anything. My hunch is that Joe came back sometime last night, ditched Harada as soon as he could, and hurried down to get in touch with me.”
“And Harada caught up with him, worse luck!” Major Nichols interrupted in a heavy voice. “Another ten minutes and we’d probably have bumped into him on the road here.”
“Or I might even have given him a ride back in Dad’s car!” Red said in an awed voice. “Jeepers!”
“And ten thousand other things might have happened but didn’t!” Colonel Stacey said harshly. “So why think about it? There are things to do. And that brings me down to the point of all this, Randall. Do you think, you can manage to stay in the air most of the day? I mean, have you a plane of your own?
“No,” Red replied, “but don’t worry. I’ll take one of the Club’s planes and just not come back until I’ve spotted that Jap submarine. That’s what you want me to do, isn’t it?”
“Very much,” Colonel Stacey said with a short laugh. “But take it easy, son! You probably won’t see hide nor hair of any Jap sub. So don’t go off half-cocked. Your chances of seeing anything like a Jap sub off Waikane are about one in a thousand. No, I’d better make that one in a million. However, there’s just a chance that you may see something interesting, so that’s why I’m enlisting your help. Maybe it would be better to ask Kaneohe Air Station to keep one of their Catalinas or PBY’s in the air all day, but I don’t think any Jap sub would try to run in close with a Navy or Army plane about. However, they might not worry much about a civilian cloud hopper. And you could stick in the air most of the day by landing for gas at the civilian field at Waikane.”
“Sure, I’ve often landed there!” Red put in eagerly. “But, look, sir! What if I do see a Jap sub sneaking in, or something? The Club’s planes don t have radios.”
“Can you loop, Red?” Colonel Stacey asked.
The youngster gave him a scornful glance. “Loop?” he echoed. “Heck, yes! Who can’t? There’s nothing to it.”
“My error,” the Colonel chuckled. “Well, if you see anything—a Jap sub, or any sub, or figures on the beach, or strange marks on the shore—anything that doesn’t look just right to you, then start looping. One of my men will be at the Kaneohe Air Station and he’ll have you in his glasses every minute you’re in the air. And if you start looping he’ll get up there in a hurry. So will a couple of patrol boats, and so will I. When you see a patrol boat or an Army plane headed your way from the south or east, skip back to Waikane Field and land. I’ll probably be waiting for you. Very well, then, got it all straight?”
“Right on the old beam, sir!” Red grinned at him. “You can count on me to be all eyes, sir.”
“I’m sure of it, Red,” the Colonel said and returned the grin: “You’re just like your Dad. But don’t get too excited, Red. You may just waste a lot of gas and oil—which, of course, I’ll pay for. But just don’t let things run away with you, see? You may be the most disappointed man on Oahu about sundown. This is just a wild shot in the dark; it’s just that I’ve got to try anything once, crazy or not. And, Red...”
“I can guess the next, and don’t worry about that either, sir,” Red spoke up quickly. “I promise on my word of honor, Colonel, not to so much as breathe a word of what you’ve told me to a single soul. Not even to Dad, until you give me the okay. No, sir, don’t worry. I’m not going to have any of the kids at the Club horning in on this thing! This is strictly me. Solo, and how!”
“Fair enough, and thanks, Red,” the Colonel smiled and gave him a pat on the knee. “There’s one nice thing about this dawn, anyway. I’ve made your a
cquaintance. And you’re all there, Red. I mean it. Well, let’s get going. Good hunting, Red. And I’ll drop in on you and your Dad tonight, anyway.”
“Swell!” Red said as the two officers slid out of the car. “And I hope you’ll drop in, too, Major!” he called out.
“Just try and keep me away, Red,” Major Nichols laughed back over his shoulder. “What the Colonel said goes for me, too. You’re all right, son. Be seeing you, Red.”
Five minutes later Red was tearing along the road to the John Rogers Airport. His heart leaped and thumped in wild, turbulent excitement. And his head was floating high up in the clouds.
But even higher up than the clouds, the Gods of War and Death and Suffering nudged each other and chuckled with fiendish glee. They knew that the hour was near. They knew that the hand clutching the bloody dagger was poised. And they knew that the finger of fate was already pointing straight at the brave-hearted, clear-eyed, redheaded young man behind the wheel of that 1938 Ford coupé speeding along the road to John Rogers Airport!
Chapter Six – Danger From the East
HEAVY DOUBLE WIRE gates, supported on thick square-sided cement posts, formed the entrance to John Rogers Airport, and it is perhaps just as well that the gates were swung wide open when Red Randall shot the Ford coupé through and headed for the parking space off to the right. As it was, he missed the right-hard gate by no more than a quarter of an inch, and the gate tender let out a bellow of disapproval as the young redhead shot by.
Randall heard him, but he did not bother to turn his head, much less slow down and come to a stop. Wild, happy thoughts were mounting higher and higher in his head, and he had but one desire in the world right then. That was to take off in his pet Ranger-powered Fairchild and high-tail it up to the Waikane section. In the back of his mind he was half remembering Colonel Stacey’s remark that there was just about one chance in a million that anything would result from this very special job assigned him, but in his excitement he chose to forget how long the odds were against him.
Maybe yes and maybe no, but somehow he had the feeling, the certain hunch, that it would be yes. For argument’s sake he told himself that he was no fortuneteller, no crystal ball gazer, nor even able to read the events of the future from the stars. No, he was just a red-blooded American, full of pep and ginger and ready and eager to tackle any kind of a job that even had the faintest hint of excitement and adventure.
Just an average American, but he was possessed of that sixth sense, which, for the want of a better word, science calls premonition. In other words, a mental forewarning of events yet to occur, and which usually turn out to be bad. Nevertheless he felt deep down inside that something was going to happen. Something big and, what’s more, he would be in the middle of it. Maybe he would like it, and maybe he wouldn’t. He did not bother to figure it one way or the other. All he cared about was to get that Number Eight Fairchild off the ground and get going.
And so, the gate tender’s yell fell on more or less deaf ears, as Red streaked into a parking space, switched off the engine, yanked out the ignition key, and vaulted over the coupé’s door in what was practically a continuation of an original movement. No sooner had his feet struck the hard-packed ground than he was running over to the little field office between the two large stone and concrete hangars.
He dashed inside to find it empty, but that did not bother him in the least. He crossed the room to the flight board and picked up the piece of chalk to mark up his approximate take-off time beside Plane Number Eight. His hand froze in mid-air, however, and his eyes popped unbelieving. His name was missing from the space beside Number Eight where he had marked it last evening. It had been rubbed out, and in its place, chalked in firm capital letters, was... JOYCE. And after the name was the take-off time...6:31 A.M.
For a couple of long seconds he stared at the flight board, and then he impulsively glanced at his wrist watch. Its hands told him that it was exactly six-thirty-two. And at that same instant he heard the familiar sound of a Ranger engine letting go full blast. With a yell of anger, Red leaped wildly out the door and looked out across the field. And there he saw it! Fairchild Number Eight with its tail up and scooting along the runway. And he also saw the bit of white scarf trailing back in the prop-wash from the neck of the helmeted figure in the pit.
“Joyce, you bum!” he shouted. “Wouldn’t even wait a couple of minutes for a guy! I bet you even saw me driving up and swiped my plane just to be funny. Well, you just wait! I’ll...”
He cut the rest off short as the horrible truth suddenly dawned upon him. It came like a blow between the eyes, and for a second he refused to believe it. But it was true! All the planes the club owned—all five of them—were in the air. He had only to lift his eyes to see four of them tooting around in figure eights and loops high over the field. And he had only to lower his gaze to see Number Eight just clearing the runway and nosing upward.
Hot tears of rage smarted his eyes, and he had to grit his teeth and swallow hard. And then he saw Johnny Regan, the Club’s instructor when he was not flying for Hawaiian Airways. Regan was over at Number One hangar, and Red hot-footed it over there and grabbed hold of the instructor’s arm.
“Hey, I was down for Number Eight, Mr. Regan!” he cried. “I was only a couple of minutes late, but Joyce rubbed out my name and took her up instead!”
“Well, don’t get into a sweat about it, Randall,” Regan said with a grin. “He won’t be up in Eight long. He had signed for Six but he was late, too. So I let Billy Carstairs have Six. And since you were late, Joyce took Eight. He’ll come down when Carstairs comes down, and then you can have Eight.”
“But I’ve got to have a plane now!” Red cried. “I mean, I’ve got to have one this very minute!”
“Well, it looks like you’re out of luck,” the instructor said quietly. “What’s all the rush? Carstairs will be down in ten or fifteen minutes. Besides, you put your name down for the whole morning. So what’s ten or fifteen minutes off this end?”
“It could mean a lot!” Red said impulsively, glancing about the field almost as though he hoped to see a sixth and spare plane materialize out of the ground. “I mean, I want to get into the air right now. I...a storm or something might come up!”
It had almost been on the tip of his tongue to explain why he wanted Number Eight so desperately, but he checked himself just in time. Johnny Regan gave him a queer look, then shrugged and walked away.
“Well, you’ll just have to wait, Randall,” he called back over his shoulder. “You should have set your alarm clock earlier. You kids give me a...”
But Red wasn’t listening to Johnny Regan’s comment. He was staring at Jimmy Joyce who was beginning to get really fancy with Number Eight up around five thousand feet or so. And, just in case such a miracle might come to pass, Randall tried with his staring eyes to convey a message to Joyce to cut out the show-off stuff and come back down onto the ground.
The eye miracle, however, did not work. It just didn’t work. The impatient young flier kept looking at his wrist watch as the hands slowly moved closer and closer to seven o’clock. Finally, when his watch did say seven o’clock, and Jimmy Joyce continued to twist and skate around in the dawn-flooded Oahu sky, a sudden and terrible thought came to Red. Maybe Kato Harada had already boarded a Jap submarine off Waikane, and was now out to sea, and deep, deep down under it? As far as he knew, no time for the meeting between the Jap spy and the Jap sub had been noted on the torn map taken from the dead fingers of Joe Haleohano. Suddenly he wished very much that he had asked Colonel Stacey if the meeting time had been noted. Yet, on second thought, he felt rather sure that it had not, because the Colonel would certainly have mentioned it. And sure! The Colonel had told him that it might be an all-day job.
“Heck, yes!” he grunted aloud. “That means it’s certain that the Colonel didn’t notice any meeting time. But darn it! That Harada could be at Waikane by now, if he kept running the way he was when I last saw him. Aw, Jo
yce! Please, for the love of Mike! Be a good guy, and come down and land, will you?”
Of course it was plain coincidence, and not a miracle, but it seemed like a miracle to Red as, when the last pleading word left his lips, Jimmy Joyce stopped stunting and put Number Eight into a long easy glide downward toward the landing end of the field. Ten thousand years seemed to drag by as Randall watched, but it was really only a matter of a minute or two before Joyce had Number Eight on the ground and was trundling in toward the hangar apron.
Red did not wait for the plane to stop taxiing. He yelled for one of the Club mechanics to bring over the gas dolly, ran over to the spot where Joyce would come to a stop, and made violent motions with his hands for Joyce to hurry it up, and get out of the plane. Young Joyce took his own sweet time, however, and he gave Red a half-angry, half-hurt look when he finally climbed down onto the ground.
“What are you getting so riled about, Randall?” he demanded. “You were late, and I took the plane. So what? Maybe I was a sucker for bringing it down when I saw you waiting, for all the thanks you’re giving me. What’s eating you, anyway?”
“Nothing, nothing,” Red said and pulled on his helmet with impatient movements of his hand. “Thanks for coming down, Joyce. Thanks a million. Now scram, will you? I’m in a hurry.”
Joyce was blocking the way to the cockpit and did not move. He frowned and looked hard at Randall.
“What’s going on?” he demanded. “What’s all the rush? On second thought, maybe I’ll take this crate up again. You were late, so it’s still mine until Carstairs comes down with Number Six. And...”
“Oh, no you won’t!” Red shouted. In a quick motion he shoved Joyce to one side and vaulted into the rear pit. “I signed for this ship, and I’m taking it now!”
Joyce stumbled but saved himself by quickly grabbing onto the leading edge of the wing. He twisted around and his face was white and strained with anger.
Red Randall at Pearl Harbor Page 4
