The Military Megapack

by Harry Harrison

  Before a newspaper office he glanced at the bulletin-board. The troop-train had plunged through a bridge that had had a span blown out a few minutes before, a message stated. Young men in the khaki of their country had met death there, and others had suffered injuries.

  “Like to get my hands on the throat of the fiend that did that!” an aged man near Jimmie was muttering. “They don’t give the boys a chance! It’s worse than shootin’ them from the dark! Why don’t the government do something?”

  That was the key-note—the government should do something about it. The public trusted the government. No matter how difficult the task, the public expected the government to protect its soldiers from such fiendish work as this. And Jimmie Brooks was a part of the government!

  He glanced over the other bulletins, and then went on down the street. He boarded a trolley-car and set on the rear end in the semidarkness and smoked. The car carried him through the retail district, through the residence section, and out along the broad river.

  He could see lights twinkling on moored ships. He saw river packets going toward the city. Now and then, as the car stopped at way stations, he could hear the wash of the water upon the shore. And always he heard the old man’s question: “Why don’t the government do something?”

  He left the car at the proper station and walked down toward the river. Heavy clouds obscured the moon and stars; and a drizzle of rain was falling. It was a perfect night, Brooks thought, for plots and plotters.

  He used his electric torch when he reached the edge of the water, and presently discovered an old skiff pulled up on the ground. Two splintered oars were near it, wedged between two rocks. That suited Jimmie Brooks perfectly; he didn’t want to attract attention by communicating with some fisherman and renting a boat. Jimmie Brooks seized the craft.

  Slowly and carefully he rowed across the turbulent river, flinching now and then because the rusty oar-locks squeaked, stopping now and then to listen. He reached the island, and landed a couple of hundred yards above the old cabin, pulled the boat out of the water, and hid it among the tall weeds that lined the shore. Then he crept through the weeds and thick brush, and made his way toward the distant shack.

  III

  In former days a path had run from the cabin to a tiny dock, but now the path was almost overgrown with weeds and brush. The dock was still there, but half the boards in its flooring had rotted away.

  Brooks investigated the path carefully, and decided that it had been used recently. He listened for a time in the vicinity of the cabin, and, convinced that no one was there, entered and flashed the torch. The cabin had been swept and the walls partially cleaned. In one corner of it was an old table, and a couple of boxes that were used as chairs. The cabin, it was evident, had been used within the last few days.

  Brooks was not certain that those who visited Seven Mile Island this night would go to the cabin. So he made his way down to the river again and prepared to hide in the brush near the dock in case any one came. It was only eleven o’clock; he had an hour to wait.

  To his ears came the faint squeaking of oar-locks. Nearer came the sound, until Brooks was assured that a boat was approaching the island. Crouching in the brush, he waited, wishing that the moon would come from behind the clouds to shed some light on the river. He had only the sound of the squeaking oar-locks by which to tell in what direction the boat was being moved.

  Across the river a trolley car rounded a curve. For an instant its headlight was reflected on the surface of the water, making a path of brilliance toward the island, cresting the tiny waves with golden light. In this glow, for just a moment, Brooks saw a rowboat. A girl was at the oars.

  Then the light was whirled away, and the surface of the stream was in darkness again. The squeaking of the oar-locks had stopped. Brooks imagined that the girl at the oars had been frightened when the streak of light revealed her.

  Presently he heard the squeaking again and he could make out that the boat was being rowed slowly toward the island. It did not approach the little dock. Thirty yards to one side it was landed and drawn up on the beach. Brooks was within twenty feet of the girl when she left the edge of the water and started through the weeds toward the cabin.

  He had guessed that the girl was Betty Burns, Hamlin’s secretary. He wondered at her being mixed up in such a business, and told himself that promised reward supplied the answer. The girl had worked hard; she had a mother and brother to support. Perhaps Hamlin, or somebody else, had whispered that money could be obtained easily, and that it would purchase many things that had been denied her.

  Brooks liked to think that the girl did not realize just what she was doing, or that she was an innocent girl in the hands of scoundrels. But she was there, at almost midnight, and alone. Brooks decided to watch, her for a time before making his presence known.

  She made little noise as she walked slowly toward the cabin, and Jimmie Brooks made less. She found the path in time, and followed that, stopping now and then as though to listen. Once she flashed a pocket-torch, and Brooks was almost discovered.

  He expected her to enter the cabin, and wait for the person who was to come at midnight, and he was somewhat surprised when she went to one side of it and crouched down in the brush. Her attitude told Jimmie Brooks that, like himself, she was there to watch and overhear—for what purpose, he could not guess.

  She made not a particle of noise now, and Brooks was afraid to leave her then and return to the dock, afraid that his departure would not be silent, and that she would become aware of his presence. For almost half an hour they remained within thirty feet of each other, neither moving.

  Then there came from the river the soft purring of a motor-boat. The purring stopped; and a little later a man slipped up the pathway. He went directly to the cabin, flashed a torch, and then lighted a candle.

  “He’s got his nerve with him!” Brooks growled to himself. “I wish that girl would make a move. I want to get nearer and take a look at the latest arrival.”

  His wish was granted immediately. The girl stole out to the path and hurried along it. Jimmie Brooks could not see her, but he could bear her light footsteps. He did not know just what to expect. Perhaps, after all, Miss Betty Burns had a rendezvous with the man in the cabin, and had been awaiting his arrival in the brush as a matter of precaution.

  But the girl did not enter the cabin. Brooks saw her walk through the faint streak of light the candle made and approach one of the open windows. She peered inside, and Brooks got a fleeting view of her face. It was Betty Burns. And after she had glanced through the window, she stepped back to the brush and crouched at the edge of it again.

  Brooks crept forward silently and attained a position where he could look through the doorway and into the cabin. The man sitting on one of the boxes beside the table was Hamlin, the traffic manager. One glance Brooks gave him and then slipped away again. Experience told him there would be no satisfactory result if he invaded that cabin now and demanded what Hamlin was doing there. He had no conclusive evidence, merely a mass of conjectures. And such an action would probably mean that the man for whom the flashing light message had been intended would scent trouble and fail to appear. It was Brooks’s part to wait and observe.

  In the brush again he made his way silently, and foot by foot, toward Betty Burns. There was some wind now, and the brush and trees rattled considerably, enough to cover the sounds of his approach. When he was so close that he could hear her breathing, he stopped. He could see nothing, but he sensed that he could touch her by extending an arm at its full length.

  He listened for the sound of another boat’s approach, but heard nothing. Over across the river, some clock struck the hour of twelve, and Jimmie Brooks counted the soft strokes. Then he heard a man’s steps on the twigs which covered the path.

  The latest arrival went directly to the cabin and stopped at the door. Brooks saw him plainly; he was Professor Kenderdine, who had a suite of rooms above the little café.


  “Fool!” he heard Kenderdine hiss, “Why the light?”

  “Oh, I say, Kenderdine—”

  “And no names! Must you always be a fool?”

  “I’m new at this business,” Hamlin said.

  “A baby could tell that, my friend.”

  “And I don’t like it!”

  “But you like the money, eh? You play at buying stock and being a lamb, and your wife goes into society, and your railroad salary will not stretch, eh? And so, when a certain old professor comes along and offers some easy money—”

  “No need to go into details!” Hamlin snapped. “Let’s get down to business.”

  “You must be careful how you flash word for me to meet you here,” Kenderdine said. “I was half-minded not to come tonight. We cannot risk a meeting every few minutes. It is money, I suppose?”

  “Yes.”

  “You have it coming to you, of course, and I stand ready to pay it. But we must be careful, my friend. There is not a breath of suspicion now blowing upon either of us. If that breath comes—puff! Jail—or worse!”

  “Well, don’t talk about it!”

  “It is not a pleasant prospect, eh? Remember that—and use some precautions. Have you some more information for me this evening—some that you did not flash from the little drug-store window-lamp?”

  “Yes. Three sections start Tuesday, the first at noon, one at one and one at two o’clock.”

  “Um! Noon, eh? That will mean that we must do our work some miles from here.”

  “I’ll let you know if the trains are to be held up during the afternoon. There may be some change in plans. The government men are frantic.”

  “Do you dislike this work, my friend?” Kenderdine asked.

  “Do you?” Hamlin countered.

  “Ah! I am working for my country; you are working against yours! There is a world of difference.”

  “In other words, you may buy me, but you do not respect me.”

  “Can one respect a traitor?”

  “You are but a spy!”

  “Which is much better than being a traitor, though death is the lot of both—if caught. But such talk gets us nowhere, sir. Each of us has his aims and must deal with his own conscience. You want money? Very good! I have another five thousand with me to-night.”

  “Can’t you make it ten?”

  “I fancy not, my friend.”

  “I have expenses, you know. A part of mine goes to—er—our friend who makes the flash-lamp possible.”

  “That is your business,” Kenderdine said. “It was a part of our bargain that you find a safe way to convey the information to me.”

  “And how do you pass it on?” Hamlin asked. “That is what surprises me. One of those trains started early in the morning and was wrecked at night five hundred miles away. And you don’t dare use the telegraph!”

  “I have little ways of my own, and clever men to help me. It pays to be clever, my friend. And before we go further, I must be assured of your own cleverness. I cannot afford to have suspicion attach to me through some careless act of yours. This little matter is but one of many I have in hand for my country. I am too valuable to be—er—put out of the way by your government.”

  “I guess I am clever enough.” Hamlin snarled. “I’m not liable to make a mistake, when it would mean disaster to me as well as to you. Give me the five thousand and let me get back to the city.”

  “Very well!”

  Kenderdine took a packet from his pocket and placed it in Hamlin’s hands.

  “Try to think of some better way of getting the money,” Kenderdine said. “This is too risky. We might meet here two times with safety, and the third time might be disastrous.”

  Brooks watched Hamlin put the packet of money into an inside pocket and button his coat. He knew that Betty Burns was still within a few feet of him, and wondered what her share in this was to be. And then he heard the brush crack and knew that she had moved.

  Had he known the truth then he would have made an effort to stop her, but he did not know. The girl sprang to her feet before him and darted to the door of the cabin. Brooks, from the middle of the path, saw her stop in the doorway, and heard the exclamations of the men she faced.

  “So this is the way of it!” Brooks heard her say.

  IV

  Kenderdine was the first of the men to speak. “Who is this girl?” he demanded of Hamlin.

  “She—she is Miss Burns.”

  “The one to whom the cards have been sent?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what does her presence here mean?”

  “I—I do not know,” Hamlin gasped.

  Kenderdine faced the girl.

  “What are you doing here, young lady?” he demanded. “It is rather peculiar, is it not, for you to be in such a place after midnight?”

  “Perhaps,” she assented. “And is not what you are doing peculiar?”

  “I fail to understand this situation,” Kenderdine said, looking at Hamlin once more.

  “The girl does not know,” the traffic manager said in a low tone.

  “Ah! Is that so, or is it possible you two are attempting what you Americans call the double-cross? I presume the young lady is after money, too? You Americans appear to have an abnormal appetite for money.”

  ‘But I do know!” Betty Burns cried. “I know that I have been made a tool by scoundrels. I know the horrible things you have been doing.”

  “Quiet, I beg of you!” Kenderdine commanded.

  But his command fell upon deaf ears. Standing in the doorway, Betty Burns made a picture of defiance, with the candlelight playing over her pretty face, which now expressed anger and determination.

  “I know you for spy and traitor!” she said. “I know that Mr. Hamlin has done the worst thing a man can do—he has been a foe to his own country, and has helped send brave men to death. Oh, I know it all now!”

  “Do you, then, know so much?” Kenderdine sneered.

  “It seemed very simple when Mr. Hamlin spoke to me about it first. I would be working for my country, he said. Because of enemy spies, the news regarding the movement of troop-trains had to be carried in unusual ways. Only a few persons knew the truth, he said. And because I was his trusted private secretary. I was to help.”

  “And you did!” insinuated Kenderdine.

  “I was merely to wear red and white carnations,” she went on. “On certain days I would receive a card through the mail. It would have the words ‘Red and White’ printed on it, and below and above them a row of letters. On some days the letters would be ‘C,’ and on others ‘M.’ If the letter was ‘C’ I was to wear the carnations on my left lapel, if ‘M,’ on the right. And I had merely to go into a certain drug-store just after the noon hour and make a purchase, being sure to remain in the store for five or ten minutes. That was all. In some mysterious way a certain message would be forwarded.”

  “Very pretty!” Kenderdine commented.

  “And I did it!” the girl went on. “I thought I was serving my country, helping protect our troops—and I was helping slay them! And my own big brother is in the army! He has been in the army for years—dear black sheep of the family that he is! He never sent us money, though I suppose he had little enough to spare. And we used to think he didn’t amount to much. But since the war came we have been proud of him. He is in the army, a regular.”

  “Interesting!” Kenderdine sneered.

  “How can you talk like that? Do you realize what you have been doing? A hundred men to-day, the papers say! And I have been helping!

  “I began to grow suspicious. It seemed that every troop-train the road handled was wrecked. And Mr. Hamlin began acting peculiarly. I—I watched him. To-night I followed him. I saw him go to that drug-store. I waited for him to come out. And while I was waiting I noticed the red and white light in the window. I suppose I’d never have noticed it except for the red and white cards and carnations. I saw that it was flashing peculiarly. The rest was easy!” />
  “Easy?” Hamlin cried.

  “My brother is in the signal corps—where my younger brother will be when he is old enough. I know both the Continental and Morse codes. I learned them from my brother once when he had a furlough and came home. And I kept brushed up on them after I began working for the railroad, Mr. Hamlin is responsible for that. When he engaged me he told me that I should interest myself in everything pertaining to railroading, if I wished to be advanced. So it didn’t take me long to guess that the ‘C’ on the card meant Continental, and ‘M’ meant Morse, and that sometimes one code would be used and sometimes the other, as a matter of precaution.”

  “Ah!” said Kenderdine, and glanced at Hamlin.

  “And I read the red and white dashes, and found that there was to be a meeting here to¬night I read, too, while information was sent, that a train would be moved early in the morning. I knew what that meant—another wreck, more soldiers maimed and killed. And so I came here—”

  “To get money?” Kenderdine insinuated.

  “Money? You think I would take money?” she cried. “I came to learn the truth. And I have heard some, and guessed some. You mailed cards to me, and I wore carnations accordingly. I went into that drug-store, and somebody watching for me there knew whether to use Continental or Morse that night. I knew Mr. Hamlin could use the code, of course—he was a telegrapher once. And there must be somebody else, for some of those messages were sent from the store window when Mr. Hamlin was not at the store. I can guess that he telephoned the information to somebody there. He didn’t dare go too often himself. You all were so very careful to protect yourselves. And you made me your tool!”

  “Well, what is to be the outcome?” Kenderdine asked “Let us have done with heroics and get down to business.”

  “She knows—she’ll tell!” Hamlin gasped. His face was ashen, his hands trembling. “We’ll go to jail!”

  “To a firing squad, more than likely,” Kenderdine admitted. “That is—if the knowledge is allowed to get out.”

  “You—what do you mean?” Hamlin asked.