Dave Dawson at Casablanca

by Robert Sidney Bowen

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  _Midnight Raider_

  "What?" Colonel Welsh exploded as he looked from Dawson to Farmer, andback again. "What's this?"

  "Farmer, sir," Dave explained. "We made about six million guesses apieceas to what this was all about. One of his was that the President wasgoing to North Africa, or beyond, for a conference with Prime MinisterChurchill and Stalin."

  "Nobody heard you make that guess, did they?" the colonel asked,tight-lipped, as he fixed his eyes on young Farmer.

  "No, sir!" the English youth replied. "Nobody."

  "He's right, sir," Dawson spoke up quickly. "I remember when he madethat guess he spoke so low I could hardly hear him, and I was lyingright next to him. In case you're wondering, Colonel, it wasn't until wewere on our way back to the base that Colonel Baron von Steuben sluggedus. So it's certain he didn't hear Freddy."

  "Yes, of course you're right," the colonel said, and smiled at Farmer."So don't feel bad. It just gave me a start that you had hit the nail onthe head. You were partly wrong, though. Joseph Stalin will not be amongthose present this time."

  "And those envelopes, sir?" Dawson asked when the colonel fell silentand stared out the compartment window at the darkness of night sweepingby. "They are still very hush-hush stuff, as far as we're concerned?Could I ask if they contained information about the President's trip?"

  The senior officer turned from the window and looked straight at him.

  "You can, and I'll tell you," he said. "Each envelope contained theroute the President's plane is to fly, the exact time schedule, and thecodes to be used in case the aircraft runs into trouble, or danger, andall that sort of thing. In short, as I told you in Washington, the Naziswould give almost anything to get hold of one of those sealed envelopes.With that information in their possession, they could have delivered aterrible blow to the United Nations. Think of it! The death of thePresident and members of the American High Command! It would be likesetting our war effort back to the day of Pearl Harbor!"

  The horrible thought made Dawson shiver in spite of himself, and hethanked God that Freddy and he had destroyed their letters before vonSteuben had smashed them both to the ground. The President's death wouldhave been loss enough, but to have added the loss of the great leadersof our military, naval, and air forces would have been world shakingindeed.

  "And now, sir?" Dawson asked after several moments of silence. "Nowanother plan is to be carried out?"

  Colonel Welsh didn't answer for a moment. He stared down at his twohands folded on the edge of the little table, and the expression on histhin face seemed to show a reluctance to answer that question.Presently, though, he lifted his head and looked straight at the twoyouthful air aces.

  "We are now headed for Casablanca," he began quietly. "With the extratanks of fuel we have aboard, we can make it easily. If we reachCasablanca without any trouble, I will be as sure as a man can be thatthe enemy has not learned anything of the President's plan to fly therehimself. If we don't--"

  The Chief of all U. S. Intelligence let the rest trail off into thin airand made a little gesture with one hand. Dawson frowned and looked athim earnestly.

  "I don't think I get what you mean, sir," he said slowly.

  "And neither do I, sir," Freddy Farmer spoke up.

  For a moment the colonel held his lips pressed together in a thin, grimline, and a hard light glittered in his eyes.

  "In a thing like this," he said presently, "you can't afford to take_any_ chances. You've got to be dead sure; as dead sure of everything asit is humanly possible to be, from start to finish. I had utmostconfidence in your making the complete flight to Natal. And the way youtwo did handle yourselves, when the odds were actually all against you,proves that the confidence I had in you was justified. But in everythingthere is ever present the little item of fate. A tiny little somethingthat is beyond man's power to see in advance, or even to counteract whenit happens. For example, that technical sergeant at Bolling Field. Iwould have staked my life on that man. But, as things turned out, I wascompletely mistaken. And so with you two, or with each of my agents atthe stops you were to make. Because of something you couldn't guardagainst, or prevent before death came to you, the contents of one ofthose sealed envelopes might have fallen into enemy hands. What I meanis, one of the envelopes might have been opened, the contents read, andthen the envelopes resealed."

  "But, Colonel," Dawson protested, "one of us would--"

  "I know, I know," the colonel said, stopping him with a gesture of hishand. "But look at it this way. Suppose von Steuben had knocked you bothout while you still had the envelopes? Suppose he had opened one, readits contents, and resealed it so that you'd never have guessed? Whatthen? When you came to and found you still had the envelopes, you'dnever dream that they had been touched."

  "But I'd be plenty suspicious, sir!" Dawson interrupted. "I'd--"

  "Would you?" the colonel's quiet but firm voice stopped him again. "Butvon Steuben was no fool! What if he stole your money and Farmer's money,too? What then?"

  "I see what you mean, sir," Dawson said, and grinned sheepishly. "Wewould have thought we'd been victims of some holdup."

  "Exactly," the colonel agreed. "A crazy little twist of fate over whichyou had no control whatever. Yet the damage would have been done. So Ihad to do what I could to find out if there had been any crazy twist offate. In other words, each of those sealed envelopes contained theinformation, in code of course, that the _next_ bombing plane to passthrough would carry the President, and members of his party."

  Dawson blinked, and suddenly the truth hit him between the eyes.

  "What, sir?" he gasped. "You--you mean this B-25 is _supposed_ to becarrying the President?"

  "I mean just that!" the colonel confirmed grimly. "_If_ enemy agentshave learned what was in those envelopes, they will believe that thisbomber is carrying the President as a passenger. The President hasalready left Washington in secret, and it wouldn't take much checkingby enemy agents to find out that he isn't at the White House. Naturallythey'd believe he was aboard this plane."

  "Anything funny happen on your flight down, sir?" Freddy Farmer asked,as the senior officer paused for breath.

  "Nothing that I noticed," Colonel Welsh replied with a shake of hishead. "But just because things don't happen doesn't mean that they_won't_, in time. So, as I said, we won't know for sure until we arriveat Casablanca."

  "And maybe not even then," Dawson mumbled to himself.

  Colonel Welsh gave the Yank air ace a sharp look, and then nodded hishead.

  "That's right," he agreed. "And maybe not even then. Just another reasonwhy an Intelligence man gets gray hair so early in life. You never cantell about a job until it's all finished and you're working on another.Then it's the same thing all over again."

  The trio lapsed into silence, but not for long, because the questionthat had been plaguing Dawson just had to come out.

  "Supposing we make it to Casablanca okay," he said, "and you feel surethat the enemy hasn't learned a thing about the President's trip, whatthen? The sealed orders Farmer and I were to have delivered at the restof the stops are destroyed, and you say you collected the envelopes weleft at Miami and Puerto Rico. How will they know about the President'splane when it does come through?"

  "A good question, but I've got the answer, Dawson." The colonel smiledand pointed to a brief-case on his little table. "In there areduplicates of the orders, _without_ the part about the next bomberthrough being the President's plane. If we reach Casablanca safely,we'll turn around and head south for Liberia, cross the South Atlanticto Natal, and deliver one of those sealed envelopes to each of the stopsas we fly north to Washington. I've allowed sufficient time for us to dothat, in case that's the way it works out."

  "Well," Dawson remarked, and shifted to a more comfortable position onhis chair, "there's nothing like a two-way hop across--"

  But he never finished his sentence, because at that moment the pilot ofthe B-25 came back into th
e made-over bomb compartment and spoke toColonel Welsh.

  "A surface ship just ahead, sir, sending up distress flares," hereported. "Probably a merchantman with a torpedo in her plates. We'reabout three hundred and fifty out, due east of Barbados. Do you want meto radio the ship's position? You gave orders, you know, to maintainradio silence."

  "Sending up distress flares?" Colonel Welsh queried with a frown. "Whatgood does she think flares will do? The captain of any other ship nearby would be a fool to come close to her. The U-boat might still belurking around."

  "I know, sir," the pilot said. "Maybe she hears us and wants us to sendout her position because her radio shack is gone. Maybe she thinks we'rea flying boat on patrol."

  For some unknown reason a sudden eerie chill rippled across the back ofDawson's neck. He looked at Colonel Welsh and tried to convince himselfthat this was none of his business, but that eerie chill forced him toblurt out, "And it could be something _else_, sir! I mean, if we sendout the ship's position, our radio will reveal _our own_ position."

  The pilot of the bomber glared quickly at Dawson, and the corners of hismouth stiffened. "It isn't fun to be torpedoed at night," he saidquietly. "I lost a brother that way."

  Dawson flushed slightly, but he didn't drop his eyes before the other'sstare. Before he could say anything, though, Colonel Welsh addressed thepilot.

  "Circle her and continue to maintain radio silence, Captain," he said."Just before you pass her to port, drop a flare so that we can get agood look at her. If she seems in trouble, then maybe we'll do somethingfor her. Meantime, though, I want all members of the crew to go tobattle stations."

  The bomber pilot's eyes widened in surprise, but he had sense enough notto ask any questions. He nodded, glanced at Dawson, turned and wentforward to his compartment. Dawson waited until he was out of earshot,and then gave Colonel Welsh an apologetic smile.

  "I'm sorry, speaking out of turn like that, sir," he said. "I guess thecaptain must think I'm a little cracked."

  "Let him think so," the colonel remarked quietly. "All he knows is thathe's flying me to Casablanca for a meeting with my agents, and that it'sup to him and his crew to get me there. If he'd been through what youhave, he'd be the first to agree with you. Maybe the flare will tell ussomething. If it is a torpedoed ship, I think I will take a chance andhave her position radioed. Poor dev--"

  That was as far as the colonel got. The savage yammer of aerialmachine-gun fire interrupted him. An instant later they all heard a yellof pain from the pilot's compartment. Even before the echo had diedaway, the North American B-25 heeled over on one wing and started toslide off and down with both engines wide open.

  "The pilot's hit!" Dawson yelled, and lurched to his feet. "Pilot hitand his co-pilot, too, I guess. By what? How the heck--"

  Dawson didn't finish, either. At that instant the night outside waslighted with a brilliance like that of high noon. A terrific roar seemedto slam into the B-25 from all sides and spin her around until she wasas helpless as a dried leaf in a gale.