Rick Brant 6 The Phantom Shark

by John Blaine

“Line up with them.” He gestured with his gun.

  Rick and Chahda did so.

  “We came because we heard you were kidnaped ,”

  Rick said. “We couldn’t leave a fellow American in a jam.”

  Jerrold stared at him keenly. “I believe you, kid,” he said finally. “I didn’t know what you were doing, so I couldn’t take a chance. That’s why I slugged you.”

  “You?”It was Rick’s turn to stare. “Then you weren’t kidnaped ?”

  “No. I was knocked out by the Phantom Shark, and my strongbox was taken. I came to before the driver did, and I started out for town, hoping to find out where the Phantom Shark had gone.” His mouth thinned. “No one robs Walt Jerrold and gets away with it.”

  He gestured toward Nondo. “I spotted him walking through the streets of Paita at dawn that morning, and I followed him. He led me here. I’ve been in the jungle ever since, waiting for his boss to show up. I knew he wasn’t the Phantom, because of that night on the beach. But I figured he belonged to the Phantom, and I wanted that dirty crook bad enough to lie in the jungle and live on wild mangoes and palm cabbage until he showed up. Now we’ve got two of them, and one of them has to be the Phantom Shark.”

  The change in events had caught Rick by surprise. He looked at Van der Klaffens and Kenwood and a Page 91

  sudden idea struck him. Why did the Phantom Shark have to be one man? Why not two? It would make a wonderful cover up. If they took turns being the Phantom Shark, no one would ever suspect. Hadn’t he decided it could be neither of them? But that was without taking into consideration that they might work together.

  There was only one thing wrong. He couldn’t imagine either of the two being thieves or murderers. It didn’t fit. They were tough men; they had to be to exist in the island trade. But he thought they were basically decent.

  “It wasn’t either of them,” he said flatly. “Nondo is your boy. He figured on getting away with your money and pearls and casting the blame on the Phantom Shark. Why not? No one has ever seen the Shark.”

  Jerrold grinned mirthlessly. “The Shark kills to get pearls. Why shouldn’t he take them away from his customers?”

  “Bad business,” Rick explained. “The only market he has is rich men who aren’t too particular whether or not they buy stolen goods, or maybe small pearl buyers he can force into buying. If word ever got around that he robs his customers, rich people would be afraid to deal with him.”

  Jerrold frowned. “Keep talking, kid. You’re making sense.”

  “Other thing,” Chahda put in. “When these men hear you are missing, they get excited and rush right out here. I sure they know nothing before we tell them.”

  “ Chahda’sright. I thought it was crazy when I first heard you were missing,” Rick went on. “It didn’t sound like the Phantom Shark. It never occurred to me that you might have hidden yourself. But now it makes sense. Nondo was the one who held you up. He was double-crossing the Phantom Shark. He tried it once before, at Anse Vata . He was figuring on slugging you and taking away what pearls you had just bought. I’ll bet on it!”

  Van der Klaffens started. He turned on the half-caste. “Were you at Anse Vata ? You dirty scum!” He lifted his arm, as though to strike Nondo, but the man moved like a streak. His shoulder caught the Dutchman in the armpit and sent him hurtling directly into Jerrold. The big man staggered, and in that moment Nondo was on him, wrenching the gun from his hand.

  Rick, Kenwood, and Chahda started forward, but Nondo was quicker. With one bound he went headlong through the window, rolled like an acrobat, and was on his feet, running.

  Scotty moved slowly through the jungle, careful not to let a sound betray his presence. Suddenly he froze. A few yards ahead, leaning against a tree and smoking a cigarette was a Kanaka. Scotty had never seen the man before; he couldn’t know it was Gelima, Kenwood’s driver.

  The boy sank back into the brush and considered his next move. He could go around the Kanaka, or he could sneak up and put him temporarily out of the picture with a judo punch.

  He never had the chance to decide. From somewhere ahead, Rick let out a yell. “He’s getting away!”

  The Kanaka whirled, dropped his cigarette, and started off at a run. Scotty moved cautiously behind him. In a moment he saw a man sprinting down the path. The Kanaka said something in pidgin French and the newcomer answered, slowing to a walk. Only then did Scotty see the pistol in his hand.

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  The newcomer walked up to the Kanaka, and Scotty saw his face. It was the half-caste clerk! He came close to the Kanaka, smiled, then with the speed of a striking rattler he brought the barrel of his pistol sharply against the Kanaka’s temple. The man crumpled without a sound.

  Someone shouted, “He went toward the boathouse!”

  Scotty didn’t know the score, but he knew that somehow the clerk was running away from Rick. He waited until the man was almost abreast of him, then launched himself in a vicious tackle. His shoulder smashed into the man’s thighs and he went down with a crash, but as he dropped, he swung the gun in his hand. The barrel raked across Scotty’s head, sending a wave of agony through him. For an instant he relaxed his grip, then the gun descended again across the muscles of his right arm, completely paralyzing it.

  The half-caste jerked away and ran.

  Scotty watched helplessly as Nondo paused at the edge of the clearing and dug frantically in the earth.

  There were now several voices besides Rick’s shouting. He fought against losing consciousness. Now the half-caste clerk was lifting a metal box out of its shallow hiding place. Tucking it under one arm, and whirling to fire a shot in the direction of his nearest pursuer, he ran with desperate strides in the direction of the boat-house.

  And now he was conscious that Rick and Chahda were bending over him and were lifting him to his feet.

  Van der Klaffens bent over the huddled form of the driver. Kenwood and Jerrold started to go past.

  “Which way did Nondo go?” bellowed Jerrold.

  “The boathouse,” replied Scotty weakly.

  “He’s gone to get the Shark!” Kenwood exclaimed. He ran to the edge of the forest and looked down into the water.

  Rick followed, not knowing what the Aussie had meant. Jerrold and the others crowded around.

  An instant later the doors of the boathouse swung open. A huge, silver thing almost twenty feet long flashed out. Rick gasped. It was a sharklA shark of metal! It sped along the surface of the water, then it dived smoothly with a swirl of foam and disappeared.

  CHAPTER XIX

  The Phantom Shark

  Kenwood took instant command. “Van,” he barked.“The south entrance! Quick! Where’s Gelima?”

  The driver appeared, holding one hand to his bleeding temple.

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  “Gelima, get to the village.”

  Gelima looked dazed.

  Kenwood switched to pidgin French. Gelima’s face cleared and he started off at a dead run, in the direction from which Scotty had come.

  “He can’t get far,” Kenwood said crisply. “The reef has only two openings. Van can pick up some Kanaka boys and block the south entrance with a couple of logs. It’s only eight feet wide. The people in the village can block the north entrance by sinking their canoes in it. He’ll be trapped. Jerrold, take Van’s car. It’s faster. Get to Paita . There’s a phone in the food store. CallNoumea and get the American Consul. Ask him to hurry down to the dock and deputize the skipper of the Tarpon. Tell him it’s a matter of life and death. Say they’re to come to the north entrance of Port Laguerre. It’s on their charts.

  Tell them to break out a trawl. We’ll get that ruddy bloke and we’ll get him good!”

  “Call Le Bagnard first,” Rick said quickly. “Ask for the American with the beard. That’s Dr. Warren.”

  “I go with him,” Chahda said. He ran for the car, the big American following.

  Rick stared out to where the craft had vanished. Beyond, a quarter
mile away, he could see the foam where breakers shattered on the reef.

  “I knew he was a bad ‘un,” Kenwood said. “I should have wrung his neck long ago.”

  “That’s your craft, isn’t it?” Rick asked.

  “Right.”

  Rick nodded.“You and Van der Klaffens together. You’re the Phantom Shark. And you’ve been pulling a fast one on people for years.”

  He was remembering a lot of things. The tales of horror about the Phantom Shark had come from Kenwood and Van der Klaffens themselves. It was all a deliberate myth which they had spread.

  “That was your schooner we saw at Nanatiki, wasn’t it?” Rick went on. “You were collecting pearls.

  But how did you make it look like a ketch? Jack, the mate of the Tarpon, isn’t easy to fool.”

  Kenwood grinned. “It might be possible for a man to run up a spare gaff and lash it to one mast so the rigging wouldn’t look the same, especially if he expected visitors.”

  “He might expect visitors,” Scotty said, “if he thought his plan to damage the Tarpon might fail. The cables were cut, all right, but the trawler didn’t back over the steel shore boat.”

  Kenwood changed the subject. “Let’s hike up to the village. I want to be sure the Kanakas have the reef passage blocked so he can’t slip through.”

  “How long can the thing stay down?” Rick asked.

  “Several hours.There’s air-refreshing chemical inside, and a bottle of oxygen. I’m betting Nondo plans tolay on the bottom until dark. Then he could surface, open the hatch, and swim away. He’s like a fish in the water.”

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  “Mr. Kenwood, you admitted that metal shark is yours,” Rick said. “How about telling us how it works?

  We saw it once at Nanatiki.”

  “I know it,” Kenwood said, grinning. “I was in it. I surfaced to take a look, and there you were, lined up on the beach. So down I went again. Anyway, I’m kind of proud of the Shark. It’s my own, from stem to stern.Made with my own hands.”

  The Australian had been inland onGuadalcanal in the Solomons , trading with the natives when he had come across the wreckage of an airplane. It was an old P-40, its nose painted to resemble a shark with open mouth. He examined it and found that the fuselage was intact. Evidently the engine and wings had been removed, possibly because of a ground loop or some other operational accident.

  The idea sprung into being as he examined the wreck. Near Henderson Field, he found a dump, full of the wreckage of planes. It was overgrown with weeds, a forgotten part of the war forGuadalcanal .

  Planes shot down in dogfights over the field, other planes shot to pieces on the ground, and still others lost in accidents had contributed to the pile. He chose the best and biggest pieces of aluminum and had them hauled, with the P-40 fuselage, out to his ship.

  A letter to a friend inAustralia had brought the parts and the tools he needed. The first step was to seal the fuselage, first by riveting aluminum sheets over all openings, and then by the liberal use of caulking materials and plastic paint. He built a deck of aluminum inside the fuselage and made it watertight, then he added a hatch, sealed with a rubber gasket, and a nose of molded plastic.

  The compartment under the deck was left open, and the portion near the tail drilled with holes. Thus, above the deck, the craft was watertight. Underneath, the sea was free to run in and out. He had contrived claws operated from the watertight compartment, and so set that they could rake material into the open bottom part.

  He put a junk rudder on top as a stabilizer. He added horizontal stabilizers that worked like a plane’s ailerons, from inside the ship. Finally, he used an English-made electric motor that ran from an ordinary automobile battery and geared it to a small ship’s propeller. The addition of a simple rudder, and the craft was ready- except for one thing. It floated on top of the water.

  By experiment, he found the amount of lead needed to balance its buoyancy, and arranged it so that it would just float. A push would send it under the water.

  And that push was given by the propeller. When the screw turned over and the horizontal stabilizers were properly set, the craft went to the bottom without trouble. It handled easily, and it could turn with amazing speed and grace. Shut off the motor and the craft would rise to the surface very easily when the bottom compartment was empty, very slowly and sluggishly when loaded with shell.

  Down to thirty fathoms it worked like a charm. Below that the pressure was too great and the craft leaked dangerously. The device was carried in the Kookaburra’s hold, except when in ports where strangers were apt to go aboard. In such places, likeNoumea , the Shark was dropped over while outside the harbor and taken to a hiding place.

  Rick was enthralled. It was clever, and practical. To collect pearl shell, the craft could crawl along the bottom, even holding itself down with the claws, its motor shut off. While one claw held, the other could break pearl oysters loose from their rocks and push them back into the open mouth of the bottom compartment. The aircraft construction could withstand pressure, and it wouldn’t bother the man inside.

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  They reached the village and found it deserted. Everyone was at the water front. As they walked down to the water they could see the villagers in canoes, clustered around one spot. At the sight of them, a canoe broke away and paddled to shore. Gelima was in it, with two Kanakas.

  Gelima reported in the dialect. Kenwood translated.

  “They have sunk four canoes and loaded them with rocks, and they have spread all the fishing nets in the village. He can’t get through here, and Van wouldn’t let him through the other end.”

  “Do these people know about the Phantom Shark?” Rick asked curiously.

  Kenwood smiled. “They know me, whichis even better.”

  The sound of a racing motor made them turn. Van der Klaffens’ car was speeding toward them, a cloud of dust marking its passing. It roared into the village and skidded to a stop near them. Jerrold and Chahda got out.

  “They coming,” Chahda said excitedly. “Anything happen?”

  “Not a thing,” said Scotty.

  Jerrold explained, “We caught them at the restaurant just as they were ready to leave. The United States Consul already was there. Dr. Warren is anxious to cooperate. They’re coming at top speed. Any idea how long it will take them?”

  “That craft should do about fourteen knots wide open,” Kenwood said. “And it’s about eight miles by water. Say forty minutes at the outside.”

  Rick looked at his watch. An incredible number of things had happened since they first stepped ashore.

  Hours should have passed. But his watch told him it was only a few minutes afterhalf past two ! At first he shook the watch to see if it were running, but Scotty’s and Jerrold’s said the same thing. Then, as he figured back, he realized that it hadn’t beennoon when they left Le Bagnard .

  Just to have something to talk about, Rick asked, “Were all your pearls and money in the box?”

  Jerrold scowled. “I thought he had my strongbox in the house. I don’t know when he had time to bury it.

  That’s why I’ve been watching the house for his boss to show up. I wasn’t going to let the Shark get away with it.”

  “Don’t blame you,” Kenwood said. “When Van turned on Nondo, the rat must have figured the jig was up for fair. He knew that with Van and me on his trail, he didn’t have a chance.”

  Jerrold looked keenly at the Australian.“You and Van, eh?”

  Kenwood shrugged.

  A concerted shout from the reef brought all of them to the edge of the water. The Tarpon, running outside the reef, was pushing toward them at top speed.

  “Let’s get a canoe,” Rick said excitedly. “We want to go out to meet them.”

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  Kenwood let out a piercing whistle. In a moment a big canoe broke away and came in to shore. Rick, Scotty, Kenwood, Chahda, and Jerrold got in.

  Paddles dipped. The canoe moved out to the
reef to meet the incoming Tarpon. Kenwood gave instructions to the stern paddler , then translated for the boys’ benefit.“Told him to have his men clear the channel just long enough forWarren’s trawler to enter, then to close it again.”

  As they passed the break in the reef, Rick looked down. Loaded canoes on the bottom anchored an impenetrable mass of nets. There must be more than a dozen nets all spread together, he thought. “How deep is it?” he asked.

  “About twenty feet,” Kenwood answered. “The trawler will make it without scraping the canoes.”

  The canoe passed over the channel and went to meet the Tarpon as it throttled down. As the group climbed aboard, the entire crew of scientists and sailors met them, all asking questions at once.

  Rick introduced Jerrold to Dr. Warren and to Skipper Tom Bishop. The boyish-looking United States Consul shook hands with the florid-faced businessman. “What kind of a scrape are you in this time, Mr.

  Jerrold?”

  “A matter of robbery,” growled Jerrold.

  “I think Mr. Kenwood had better assume charge,” Dr. Warren said. “He evidently knows these waters.”

  Kenwood nodded. “First, let’s get through the reef. Got a trawl rigged? If I guess right, he’ll be lying on the bottom, probably holding down with the claws. Chances are you’ll tear the net some, but I don’t think he can hold against the drag.”

  “Right.We won’t worry about the net. What first?”

  “First we have to locate him. The lagoon isn’t wide. Go up the middle of it and we’ll keep an eye peeled. Greatest depth is only about six fathoms. It’s clear, so we should be able to see him.”

  “Right.”Tom Bishop took command. Jack Pualani went into the wheelhouse.

  The native chieftain signaled that the passage was clear and the Tarpon drifted through it. Instantly the nets were swung into position again.

  All hands, except those needed in the ship’s operation, lined the rails. Jack steered a course straight down the center of the reef-locked water.

  Rick strained to see, but there was no sign of a metal shark.If there had been, he would have seen it, because the bottom was clearly visible in the limpid water. Once they passed a real shark, a fish about six feet long.