“Who are they?” Bill asked as he slumped onto a bench and put his head in his hands. “I'm tired. They wore me down and shot my controls in half.”
“They're fighting so-and-sos,” Red said. “They did the same thing to me. Whoever is running this show is smart. Things have been clicking perfectly for them. They forced me down, then forced me to fly my ship in here. They let me know that you would be at Unalaska, then gave me a chance to slip away and make contact with you. They knew you'd come to get me and then they could get you.”
Bill lifted his head as the motors of the five red-and-black ships roared. He watched their pilots whip them into the air with admiration in his eyes.
“They're going after the BT-4 now,” Red said.
“Why do they want it?” Bill asked.
“I don't know,” Red said. “I never found any information about young Reynolds. That story was a stall to get us up here.”
“I know that now,” Bill said. “But what's behind the whole thing? If they wanted my bomber why didn't they steal it down on Long Island without all these elaborate plans? Why——-”
A shadow loomed in the doorway and the man who stood there said, “Maybe I can help you out with that one.” He laughed. “I'm glad you arrived this morning, Barnes. It is going to make things a lot easier for me.”
“The pleasure,” Bill said with no little trepidation as he gazed into the eyes of Slip Ogden, “is entirely yours.” He knew without asking that this was the enemy he had been fighting in the dark. He knew that only such a man would be capable of the cold, ruthless efficiency with which he had been lured to the Aleutian Islands.
“I imagine it is,” Slip Ogden said. “You're younger, than I thought you would be—young to have such a reputation.”
Bill didn't answer him. He would have liked to have answered him by crashing his fist into his cool, insolent face.
“I wanted you up here with your bomber, Barnes,” Slip went on. “That's why I didn't get it on Long Island. You'd probably like to hear all about it.” He sat down. “But let me warn you first not to try to get rough. Two of my men are outside—Ugly Barillo and Lippy Freeman. You may have heard of them. They have quite a reputation, also. Not quite so savory as yours, but a reputation. Your friend here will testify that they are very handy with their fists.”
“Nuts!” Red said. “If you have anything to tell us, tell it!”
“In my own good time, my friend,” Ogden said and his cold eyes bored into Bed. “It might relieve your mind to know, Barnes,” he said, turning back to Bill, “that your young friend Sanders is safe. From the report I have he is a better combat pilot than you are. And that report comes from no less a person than Claw Lawson.”
“Claw Lawson!” Bill said. The image of an evil-faced man with a hook for a left hand flashed through his mind. He knew “Claw” Lawson as founder and leader of a nefarious squadron of fliers who would undertake anything criminal if it promised to pay enough money. “What has Claw Lawson to do with Sanders?”
“Claw was out scouting your ships when they got up this way,” Ogden said. “He ran into young Sanders alone over the Gulf and thought he would make' you one less. But Sanders out-fought him and forced him to peel off to get patched up. Sanders started to follow you, but had to turn back. He landed at Flat.”
“Thanks,” Bill said, and he meant it.
“But about your bomber, Barnes,” Ogden said. “You probably know that I was forced to get out of New York a few months ago. The way things turned out I had to stay out. So I had to find a new way to live.
“An item in a New York newspaper caught my eye and attracted my fancy. It told about all the gold that is being moved from the Orient to San Francisco these days. It mentioned that they did not let the authorities in San Francisco know of the day of arrival until a day or two before the ships arrived. It was thought that was because of all the war trouble in the Orient. It suggested an idea to me. It suggested that one of those ships could be robbed at sea, from the air. I used to be something of a flier myself, Barnes.”
He waited a moment, hoping Bill would ask him about his flying. But Bill did not open his lips.
“I got in touch with Claw Lawson and he said he thought it could be done,” Ogden went on. “But if we put men on one of the boats coming from the Orient to subdue the crew, what would we do with the gold after we had it? If we transferred it to a yacht or a tramp we might buy. United States destroyers would catch up to us. I thought about your bomber. I know a great deal about that bomber now, Barnes. I know it will carry nearly six million dollars in gold bullion. That is just about what these shipments come to.
“We figured we could take the gold off the boat from the Orient, load it on your bomber and then load it on a yacht a couple of thousand miles away, where no one would possibly look for us.”
“Why did you want Red Gleason up here?” Bill asked.
“I didn't,” Ogden said. “We tried to think of a way to get you up here with vour bomber. We planted a girl on Miss Reynolds as her secretary. We knew, impersonating Miss Reynolds, she could give you a plausible reason for coming up here with your men and your bomber. But you didn't fall for it. You sent Gleason. So we had to get him so you'd follow to rescue him.
“You see, Barnes, we had figured on your reputation for sticking your nose in other people's business. It worked; you came. There will be a steamer along on the Yokohama-San Francisco lane tomorrow. She is carrying a little under six million in gold. After we figure nearly a million for our expenses, we will have about five million left. That will keep us for a couple of years, and we won't be bothered by having G-men chasing us all over the world.”
“Why won't they chase you?” Red Gleason wanted to know.
“Why?” Ogden laughed. “Because they'll think Barnes and his men committed the little act of piracy. You're known to be up in this section. But no one knows why. After we've loaded the gold aboard a yacht that is waiting a couple of thousand miles from here, your bomber and your men will be brought back near the scene of the holdup, Barnes. Destroyers will find your men adrift in the bomber without supplies, fuel, or radio. The bomber will be identified as the plane that carried' away the gold. And your men will be in it, dead.”
“It won't work,”' Bill said. “What about the gold?”
“There will be a little of it left in the bomber,” Ogden said. “Just enough to make it incriminating. They won't know what happened to the rest of it. They will think your men threw it over-board when they found themselves in danger of sinking. A very neat little scheme, eh? Right from the beginning it has worked like a charm.”
“What about me?” Bill asked. “If they don't find me in the bomber, they'll think I've double-crossed my men and got the gold away in some manner.”
“You?” Ogden said thoughtfully. “Oh, yes. I didn't tell you that you will be found dead in your Silver Lancer. That will puzzle 'em still more, eh, Barnes?”
“Yes,” Bill said, “that ought to drive 'em crazy!”
He reached forward and grabbed at the lapels of Ogden's jacket with his left hand and lifted him until his toes barely touched the ground. As Ogden started to squawk out a name, Bill's right fist caught him full on the mouth. The blow lifted Ogden through the doorway and out on the rocky ground.
Lippy Freeman had a gun in his hand as he came through the door. But he didn't use it. He pointed it at Bill's stomach while curses surged from his lips and he gave Ugly Barillo instructions.
Bill didn't even look toward Ugly as Ugly crashed a leather-covered blackjack on the side of Bill's head. His knees folded and he crumpled in an inert mass. An instant later Red crashed down beside him.
IX—RELEASE
WHEN Bill opened his eyes, the walls of the dark little hut danced back and forth. He fought an almost over-whelming nausea for a few minutes and opened his eyes again. He tried to struggle up from the bunk on which he was lying and found that his wrists and ankles and body were securely tied to it. A v
ision of Slip Ogden's sneering face floated before him and he cursed aloud.
“Are you all right, 'Bill?” Red's voice said from the darkness across the hut.
“Yeah,” Bill said savagely. “I'm fine! I'd like to——”
“Forget it,” Red said. “We've got to figure a way out of here. You've been out for hours. The BT-4 is riding on the harbor with those six biplanes of Ogden's. I heard her come in. They got her. I'm sorry to have to greet you with that. I found out from the plug-ugly who slapped you on the head that they got her by some ruse without injuring Bev or any of the crew. They dropped 'em off on an uninhabited island between Andreanof and the Island of the Four Mountains until they are ready to go back and turn 'em adrift aboard the bomber.”
“What about Shorty and Sandy?” Bill asked.
“I couldn't find out anything about them,” Red said. “You better take it easy and try to rest. You took an awful clip on the head.”
“I don't know what the hell else I can do!” Bill said. “No one has ever made such a sucker of me before. I've been leading with my head ever since this thing started. I deserve to get it clipped. Are you tied to your bunk?”
“Yes,” Red said. “But I think they'll untie us before they leave.”
“Leave?” Bill said sharply.
“They're getting ready to meet that gold carrier from .the Orient in the morning,” Red said. “They'll pick her up about four hundred miles south of here.”
“A nicely planned job,” Bill said softly. “They have men aboard to seize her and stop her engines when they come in sight. They'll take the gold off, load it aboard the bomber and fly it down near Midway Island to stow it aboard their yacht. The yacht will carry fuel for the bomber. After they've taken off the gold, they'll head for the South Sea Islands and disappear and my bomber and the Lancer will be found on the scene of the crime. Very neat, very neat.”
“We've got to stop 'em somehow, Bill,” Red said.
“Yes, we've got to stop 'em if we don't want to die. But how?”
Throughout the rest of the day they could hear the twin Diesels in the BT-4 being tested and re-tested. They heard the motors in the noses of the little red-and-black fighters roar to life and subside—heard the voices of their pilots as they worked over them.
Long shadows fell across the doorway and then night settled down on the lonely little island before any one came near them. Slip Ogden and Lippy Freeman and Ugly Barillo came back to their prison to gloat.
Freeman and Barillo put trays of food on the floor and unfastened their bonds. Bill's eyes locked with Slip Ogden's for a moment and held. Then he shrugged his shoulders and tried to eat the food before him.
“I thought you were a lot smarter than you are, Barnes,” Ogden said. “Any one of a hundred things might have spoiled my little scheme. But you stuck your head right in the noose and pulled it tight. Without your kind co-operation I might have failed. Now that gold is practically in my pocket. Because of your help I'm not going to pay you for that punch in the mouth last night. I'll let the boys pay you when they come back to put you in your Lancer. You're going to enjoy that.”
“Get out of here!” Red Gleason stormed at him.
“Close your trap, punk,” Lippy Freeman snarled.
“Let him talk. Let him talk,” Ogden said. “I like his spirit. At least he has enough guts to talk back.”
For fifteen minutes he tried to goad Bill into making some move for which he could retaliate. But Bill refused to even answer him. He kept his eyes on his food and would not be baited.
When they had finished eating, they were tied up again.
Slip wished them a mocking good night.
Throughout that long, horrible night Bill Barnes tossed and turned as much as the ropes that tied him would permit, cursed himself and his throbbing head. Both he and Red tried to free themselves, but their efforts only added to the tightness of their bonds.
“They have some kind of slip nooses on us,” Red gasped. “The more we struggle the tighter they get.”
“As Ogden said,” Bill grated, “we stuck our head in the noose and pulled it tight. But we're not through yet. We've got to get one break before this tiling is over.”
They were dozing at dawn when they heard the engines of the BT-4 and the motors in the noses of the red-and-black fighters roar to life.
Bill came out of the horrible nightmare that had engulfed him with his body soaked with perspiration. He struggled frantically for a moment while the cacophony of roaring motors beat against his eardrums. It took every bit of will power he possessed to lie still.
“It can't be true!” he said to himself. “If they succeed in using my bomber, it will be irrefutable evidence that I was helping them.”
Even if he escaped with his life, it would really be the end of things for him, he thought. Ogden would be clever enough to call his men by the names of Bill's men. He would carry out the whole thing before the officers and crew of the gold-carrying vessel to give the illusion that he was Bill Barnes. They would swear on their lives when it was over that it was Bill and his men. Not even the things they had done in the past could offset the evidence against them if they lived. And if they died, the reputation they had worked so hard to build would die with them.
Despair such as Bill had never known before seized him. Instead of fighting on and on against any odds as long as there was life left in his body, he was ready to quit. For the first time in his life he knew that he was beaten. Sucking sounds that were closely akin to dry sobs came from his throat.
“Take it easy,” Red said.
They heard six single-motored ships roar down the harbor for a take-off. Then came the full-throated roar of the 1500 h.p. engines in the nacelles of the bomber as she raced into the dawn.
Then all was silence—except for the lapping of the waters on the shore as the morning light crept across the doorsill. They strained their ears for the sound of voices or something that would tell them whether or not they had been left entirely without a guard. The thought of the Lancer and the Snorter ' riding in the harbor gave them new hope and strength.
“Get your eyes accustomed to the light and then try to study the knots,” Bill said. “We've got to get free.”
“Where yuh goin', sweetheart?” the voice of Lippy Freeman said from the doorway. Bill twisted his head and saw the scowling, snarling faces of Ugly Barillo and Lippy Freeman beside him.
All sense of reason or control seemed to snap inside Red Gleason as he heard Freeman's voice. His battered face became the color of his flaming hair as he screamed at them.
“You dirty, yellow rats!” he shouted. “You——”
Then his voice trailed away as suddenly as it had started. He cocked his head on one side with his mouth open a little. He held that position for a matter of fifteen seconds before he let his head drop back. He looked over at Bill and there was a smile on his face.
“Do you hear it?” he asked.
Bill nodded his head and there was new life in his eyes. He watched the faces of Lippy Freeman and Ugly Barillo as they, too, heard the deep, resonant throb of the three thousand horses in the Barnes twin-Diesel over-head and the wail of its two three-bladed opposed props as it nosed downward.
Lippy and Ugly heard it and ran out in the open to gaze skyward as Shorty eased the Snorter out of its long dive, shallow dived once and skimmed above the Lancer on the little harbor.
“I wonder if they know how to handle “that antiaircraft gun they have here?” Bill said to Red.
“It's doubtful,” Red said. “Their education doesn't go beyond a Tommy gun, probably. It must be Shorty up there.”
“It isn't any one else,” Bill said, and there was a new lilt to his voice now.
Shorty Hassfurther saw the two forms that were Lippy Freeman and Ugly Barillo scurry across the rocky surface of the island toward the long, low building near the wireless masts. He brought the Snorter around on one wing and dipped down again as he saw them come out of th
e building with a machine gun and run toward some brush that grew down to the edge of the water. He zoomed upward, cut his gun and came down into the wind. As the Snorter's single, long float spanked the water, Lippy Freeman's finger clamped down on the trigger of the machine gun they had concealed in the underbrush. Lead and fire spurted out of the muzzle and drummed through the metal skin of the Snorter.
Shorty blasted his engine and kicked his water rudder so that the nose of the Snorter was pointed directly at that spot in the underbrush. His two powerful .50-caliber guns sputtered their answer to the gangsters' challenge. A scream that was like the wail of nothing human sounded above the chatter of his guns. He released the trip and waited for an answering burst of fire.
But none came. Lippy Freeman and Ugly Barillo had committed their last murder. They were curled up beside their machine gun where Shorty's bullets had found them.
“All right, kid,” Shorty said into his intercockpit telephone. “Take an automatic and get over the side and see what you can learn. I'll stay aboard so we can get away quick if we have to.”
Young Sandy Sanders slid out of the rear cockpit of the Snorter and dropped into three feet of water. He held an automatic above his head as his feet touched bottom. Shorty climbed into the rear cockpit and swung the .30-caliber machine gun around so that be could spray the shore line.
“Get down on the ground so I can fire over your head if I have to use this thing,” Shorty said.
The roar that came from the island as Sandy stepped out of the water brought him to a complete stop. He crouched forward with the automatic out in front of him while he stared toward the hut a hundred feet back from the beach.
“Hey! Sandy!” came Red Gleason's bull roar again.
Sandy ran, still half crouched with the automatic out in front of him, toward the shack. He knew he had heard Bed's voice, but he didn't know what he was walking into. The sound of Bill's voice quickened his step. He went in the door cautiously, half expecting to be greeted with a fusillade of shots. Instead Red Gleason's roar greeted him.
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