by Robb White
At last he could see the dark shape of the schooner. He swam under it, seeing the still moving hose and life line with a phone wire taped to it at intervals.
Being careful to stay exactly under the boat. Bill came up fast* When his hands touched the wooden bottom, he stopped and lay flat up against the boat, looking around.
Not far away was what he was looking for. A brass flange was screwed around the water intake of the diesel.
Bill thought about the things on his belt—shark chaser, the crowbar, a knife, the torch and batteries, an adjustable wrench, and a pair of screw drivers. None of those would do the job. Bill, furious, looked around in the empty water. Any old piece of rag would do it, or
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the page of a newspaper. And he had nothing but hardware.
Then he remembered the pair of gloves in the pocket on the leg of the rubber suit. He got out one of the rubber gloves and looked at it.
Then, moving carefully so as not to bump anything against the hull he got up to the intake pipe. Holding his hand a little way away from it he felt no suction, although he could hear a motor running somewhere on the boat. Must be the air-compressor motor, he reasoned. A separate outfit.
Balling up the glove he put it into the diesel's intake pipe. Then, with the longest screw driver, he shoved it on in and, leaving the screw driver in there, pushed the other glove in on top of it. Now, if the water intake pipe had a bend in it, which he was sure it did, the screw driver would keep the second glove from being sucked on around the bend and into the water jacket where it might do no damage.
To John he said, ''Going down now.*'
John sounded puzzled. 'Where you been?''
'Tm over here under the schooner. Just got through plugging up the water intake line of the diesel. The
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next time she runs it's going to be hot, brother, hot/'
Dropping straight down under the boat until he was sure he could not be seen, he then swam over and caught Sweiner's hose line and went on down it, watching all the time for the diver on the other end of it.
On the bottom Bill discovered that the man had already reached the wrecked ship. He could see a powerful light moving over there.
Bill circled far around the ship and approached it from the other side.
Surprisingly, the diver wasn't making as much progress as Bill had supposed. Then Bill realized that the hose and line were slowing the man down now. That ship was a mess of sharp steel edges and sheared metal so the man would have to be extremely careful not only with the pressure suit he was wearing but with the rubber hose.
Bill stood for a while close up against the ship and listened to the other man moving around inside, his heavy lead shoes thudding dully on the metal.
Bill knew, at last, that he was going to follow the man. The idea of it brought a sick fear up in him and
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he felt a clammy sweat beginning to break out all over his body. He hated the idea of being in that ship with the other man. It was a trap and it had already trapped a lot of other men. Their bones were lying there to tell you so.
But he had to do it.
"John?'* he called.
'Teah.^'
"How're things up there?*'
"No change. Where are you?''
"I'm at the ship now. The other guy's wandering around inside her."
"So far no sight of Sweiner. Must be that's him down there."
"Okay. I'm going to cut loose the line and phone now, John."
John's voice was suddenly scared. "What for, Bill?"
"I don't want to have to bother with it. I want to be able to go anywhere in here without the line tangling me up."
"Are you going—in there? With him?''
"That's right. I'm cutting loose now, Johnny. But keep listening for me to cut back on again."
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'^BiU! Bi . . r
Bill pulled the wire out of the plug, and untied the line. He watched them drift until they were hanging down straight under the Venture,
He was really alone now, he thought. Alone, except for the man walking with his lead shoes inside the ship.
Knowing the way now. Bill climbed swiftly, but was always careful not to let the tanks on his back clank against anything.
The man had reached the upper deck by the time Bill got up out of the torpedo hole. Ahead of him now the big light was a blue blaze.
Bill, stepping into one of the crew's cabins, stood out of sight and watched, only his head past the door-jamb.
The man was going the same way he had gone. Soon he would come to the jagged end. He'd be blocked exactly the way Bill had been blocked.
Unless the money was down here on this deck. Bill thought, that man is going to have to come all the way back and, as he had done, climb the ladder to reach the officers' cabins above.
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The blaze of the Hght dimmed as the man went on, steadily, not stopping at any of the doors.
Bill glanced down and saw the thick, red, heavy hose sliding in the ooze on the floor.
For a moment he watched it, fascinated by it.
He felt cold and still inside as, slowly, he raised his hands and looked at them.
He could reach behind him to the sheath on his belt. He could draw the knife and, stooping a litde, strike the point down through the red rubber hose. Then draw it out again and put the knife back in the sheath.
He could kill a man that easily.
He could kill a man who would, if he ever had as good a chance, surely kill him.
The man would be almost to the end of the corridor now. Bill guessed.
He stepped carefully over the slowly moving hose and went away.
In a direct conflict. Bill thought slowly, if it was a case of kill him or be killed, I could do it. I can^t do it any other way.
Somehow, the knowledge that he had let the man live seemed to help Bill. It drove down some of the
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fear, made a wall against a panic he could feel trying to get inside him.
Now he could think more clearly.
He made his way to the superstructure deck and was again in the wider corridor with its officers' staterooms.
This, too, was a dead end. A trap. But, he decided, it was better now to be ahead of the man.
Afraid to use his torch. Bill went slowly toward the ragged hole of blue gloom at the end of the corridor. As he passed, he touched again the knob of the closed door. He wondered what the barracuda was doing in there now as he went on past the Passenger room and reached the end.
The explosion had blown the bridge completely off the ship, leaving twisted flanges of steel plate. Bill got behind one of these and felt with his hands for a place to stand.
Now, by raising his head a little, he could look over the flange and into the empty corridor. Just above his head more twisted metal would hide the exhaust bubbles from his mask.
Bill found also that he could look through the open door of the stateroom. He could see a corner of the
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desk, he thought, and a dark shape which must be the safe.
T^lmost hke a weird sunrise, Hght began to glow at the other end of the corridor—a bluish, weird, and ghostly light—growing steadily stronger.
Bill crouched a little, just his eyes above the flange of metal.
Then there was nothing but light, the bright central source of it moving.
Then the source swung around, the light in the corridor dimmed, and Bill could make out the figure of a man moving.
Finally Bill could see what he was doing. He was carefully pulling the hose up and coiling it on the floor of the corridor.
Then the light swung toward him again and he could hear the muffled clunk clunk of the lead shoes.
As the light came closer Bill could see the diver behind it, shadowy at first, then getting clearer.
The man shone the light up and around, but kept coming steadily
, apparently not interested in any of the other staterooms.
At last, at the open door of the stateroom where the
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safe was, the man stopped and shone the Hght up at the brass plate over the door.
Then, with the Hght turned that way. Bill saw the face inside the helmet.
Dead white, hairless, lipless. It was Sweiner.
Sweiner walked straight into the room, straight to the desk. The light made everything bright now, a bright, pretty pale blue.
Sweiner stood a moment at the desk, one hand down on it. Then he went to the safe and bent down to the knob. As Bill had done, he swung the door open and, for a few moments, looked inside the empty safe.
Straightening up again, he stood in the middle of the room. He seemed to Bill to be puzzled, or confused. He swung the light slowly, playing it over the beds, the chairs, and lockers.
Then, suddenly. Bill went cold all over.
Now, he thought, it's coming. Coming to John and Sticks.
Sweiner had come into the room and gone directly to the desk and put his hand on it. He had expected the money to be there. That's where he had left it when the sub surfaced.
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Not finding it, Sweiner had stood a little while, thinking back and wondering if he had been mistaken. Maybe he had not taken it out of the safe. But the safe was empty.
The money was gone.
There was only one thing Sweiner would think: that he. Bill Grant, had already gotten it.
Thinking that, Sweiner would start working them over to get it back. There would be no way to convince him that, actually, they had not found it either.
It was going to be terrible. Slow, and long, and terrible all the way. With torture Bill was sure that Sweiner could beat out of them anything they knew. But where the money was was something they did not know.
Sweiner, still apparently trying to recall exactly what had happened that day long ago, now went to the locker and wrenched the doors open; but found nothing. He went to the desk and, with a wrecking bar, broke the locks. He found nothing.
He turned then, swinging the light, and started out of the room.
As the light swung Bill saw something.
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Up against the ceiling of the room there were two shapes. Two rectangular things about a foot long by six inches square.
For a moment longer the light shone on them as Sweiner moved on toward the door.
The two things moved.
Bill saw them move.
Cnapter 9
BILL GRANT KNEW THAT HE WOULD NEVER FORGET
how foolish he felt as he stood pressed against the twisted steel and looked at the two packages moving against the ceiling of the stateroom.
Sweiner's walking in the heavy pressure suit was stirring currents of water in the room. These were moving the packages, sliding them a little along the ceiling.
Bill, ashamed, saw it all so clearly now. The money, the maps—everything the Nazi spies had planned to bring ashore with them—would not only be wrapped and waterproofed but they would, also, be made un-sinkable.
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It was so simple, so logical, and he had never thought of it before.
So there, floating against the ceiling of the room, was what he had come for.
And, standing in the door of the room now, was Adolph Sweiner.
Bill watched him, seeing his face through the thick glass face plate.
Now, Bill told himself, thinh YouVe been stupid long enough. If you want even a chance of getting out of this alive—and getting John and Sticks out too— start thinking.
Bill pushed the fear away from him, holding it away as though with his hands. He walled off the panic and swept everything out of his mind except Sweiner.
Sweiner would never think of looking up at the ceiling now, because he was convinced that the money had been found and taken out by Grant on the Venture.
So, as long as that money floated up there, there wasn't a chance in the world that Sweiner would stop torturing them until, at last, they died from it—all three of them.
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He had to get that money out of there.
How?
Things, unclouded with fear now, seemed simpler. Just wait until Sweiner started back up. With the hose to keep clear it would take him a long time even to get out of the ship. Then, with a pressure suit, he*d have to go up in stages.
Bill had plenty of time!
He'd just wait there until Sweiner was clear. Then step into the stateroom, pull the two packages down, tie them to his belt, and go up to the Venture.
That was step one and. Bill thought, while Fm waiting I can think about what happens in step two.
And then, suddenly. Bill had no time left at all.
Sweiner, always moving very slowly in the heavy gear, was walking across the corridor.
Every step he took robbed Bill of all that time he thought he would have, cutting it down until now there were only a few seconds left.
Sweiner shone the light up on the brass plate, swung it down to the knob of the closed door.
It had been a long time since Sweiner had been in this ship and he had been burned and blown off of it.
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Now, Bill knew, watching him, he was still trying to remember.
Sweiner was thinking—and Bill knew it—that maybe he had gone into the wrong stateroom. Maybe the money was over here.
But, there was no money in there. Only death waiting behind the closed door.
The barracuda had learned not to strike the steel door. Sweiner would swing that open without damage.
Then the fish would strike him as he stepped into the room.
There would be an explosion of air as the teeth went through the rubber suit, an explosion of bubbles turning red soon.
Sweiner reached up and rubbed the brass plate with his gloved hand.
The thing went fast through Bill's mind and was gone. To let Sweiner open the door was murder. You could think all the way around it, but there it stood— murder.
And Bill couldn't do it, no more than he could cut the air hose when he had the chance.
Was it time now to let Sweiner know that he was
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not the only human in that ship? Was it time now to let him know that he had a fight on his hands down there?
Bill made up his mind fast.
Grabbing the cake of shark chaser, he ripped off the wrapping. Breaking off a piece he dropped it over the flange and saw it fall down to the floor. In a moment a stream of black dye was rising from it.
Sweiner swung the light again to the doorknob and started reaching for it.
Behind the flange Bill waved his hands, pushing water across the stream of dye.
A tendril of it floated past Sweiner's face plate.
Bill saw him turn his head inside the helmet, then pulling his hand back to his belt, turn and swing the light down to the floor.
The small, black cake lay innocently on the deck, the dye pouring up from it.
Bill, watching Sweiner's face, saw the lipless mouth drop open showing ruined teeth. The pale, lashless eyes stared in horror at the little black cake. Then Sweiner, almost stumbling, backed away from it and began to swing the light wildly around.
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Now, Bill thought, it is time.
The corridor was filling up now, the dye filling it so that Sweiner's light was becoming just a confused glow.
Behind the flange Bill stripped off the belt, stepped out of the weights. Everything with weight that he could get rid of came off until he had to hold himself down with his hands.
The last to go were the torch and batteries and then he was ready.
He pulled himself around the flange and let himself float up until he was against the ceiling of the corridor.
There, swimming with flat strokes with one hand, he moved until his other hand found the door opening.
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p; He could tell by the light that he was close to Sweiner but, until he had the money, Sweiner must not touch him.
Bill pulled himself down through the door opening and rose again to the ceiling.
Swimming with his feet only, his hands out ahead of him, he went along the ceiling.
In here it was pitch dark, but in a moment he had found both packages. He stuffed one into each of the
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big pouches on the legs of the rubber suit and buttoned them in. /
Then, being careful not to let the tanks hit anything, he started back through the door.
Out here the dye was clearing. The light was a clearer blur.
Bill got through the door and back up against the ceiling. Just below him now he could see the outline of Sweiner*s helmet lit by the swinging light.
With all his strength, Bill swam, going fast over Sweiner and on down the corridor. /
He knew that step two was coming up but for a moment he didn't think about it.
He had the money and he was clear of Sweiner—for ^Jittle while, at least.
Then Bill thought again of the closed door.
Soon all the dye would be gone, the blue gloom back. There would be no trace of the cake, no trace of danger.
Wouldn't Sweiner slowly come to the conclusion that the dye had come from something in the ship? When nothing attacked him, wouldn't he think, again, that he was alone and safe down there?
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And, if he did, wouldn't he go ahead now and open that door? Go ahead looking for the money?
The fact that he might was enough.
Somehow Bill must let him know. Must stop him from ever opening the door.
At the ladder Bill stopped, pulling himself down.
He couldn't face Sweiner now—that would be suicide. So how to make him stop looking for the money?
He had the answer in his hand. A jagged piece of the ladder, almost torn completely off.
J^illtwisted it the rest of the way and, carrying it, he went back a little way down the corridor.