Air Pirates of Krakatoa (Doc Vandal Adventures Book 2)

by Dave Robinson

  Doc waited patiently as the man crossed the airfield. The wetness under his arms showed how poorly the dark wool uniform he wore fit the climate in the Indies. The inspector wiped his brow with a sopping handkerchief just before he reached the group.

  “Purpose of your visit?” The inspector asked in English with a strong Flemish accent.

  “A death in the family. My cousin died in New York and I'm here to look after his affairs,” Doc explained.

  “I'm sorry to hear that, was it expected?”

  Doc shook his head. “Food poisoning, we were at dinner.”

  “Dreadful.” The inspector lifted his hat, revealing a bright red band across his forehead, and then settled it again. “However, I do have to see your papers.”

  “Of course.” Doc handed over their passports.

  The inspector flipped through Doc's and Vic's casually, then reached the Ponchartrains'. He took a look at Gus's picture in his passport, then at Gus, then back to Doc, his eyes wide. “Excuse me, but isn’t he a gorilla?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact I am a gorilla,” Gus said, his voice rumbling. “So is my wife. Is there a problem with our passports?”

  The inspector looked at Gus again, then at Doc, and finally swallowed. “It's just that I've never seen a gorilla with an American passport before.”

  “That's quite understandable,” Doc said. “I believe Gus and Kehla are the only two. Their passports are in order, though.”

  The inspector paused. “Yes, I suppose they are. I do need to inspect your aircraft, and any baggage you are bringing into the colony will also need to be inspected.”

  “Certainly.” Doc waved the man toward Flying Cloud's hatch. “I should mention that we will likely be staying at least two weeks. We were attacked on our way here, and will need new engine parts before we leave.”

  “Attacked? By what?”

  “Pursuit planes dropped from a flying wing; they caught us in Sunda Strait.” Although Doc's words were calm, the inspector's reaction was anything but. He swallowed as his skin went pale, then mopped his head again.

  “So what is the nature of your late cousin's business?” the inspector asked carefully.

  “Tea, I think,” Doc lied smoothly. “All I know was that he was in the beverage trade back home.”

  “Home is New York?” The inspector flipped through the passports. “You live in the Republic State Building?”

  Doc nodded. “Yes, it's all there.” He pulled out another sheaf of papers. “Here's the registration paperwork for the plane.”

  The inspector examined the papers. “Where's Mr. Chanter? I see his passport, but I don't see him.”

  “He's still in the plane.” Doc pointed to the gun blister, where Gilly waved.

  “Bring him down, please.” The inspector shuffled through the papers again. “I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to come to the customs office.” He looked up to the plane, straight at Gilly. “All of you.”

  Doc waved Gilly down while everyone grabbed their travel bags. He didn't see any baggage handlers, so he went to take Vic's bag, only to have her slap his hand away. “If you want to carry someone's bag, take Ming's.”

  Ming's bag was surprisingly heavy, considering how little she supposedly owned. The inspector led the way across the field, fanning himself with their paperwork. It was like being under a sun lamp or in a sauna, and Doc soon wished he had worn a hat. Sweat trickled into his eyes, forcing him to blink, though that only spread the salt across his entire eyeball. Vic looked back and winked; she was still wearing her pilot's cap.

  The customs office was relatively new, built in the Dutch colonial style, with plenty of shade and high ceilings where fans turned slowly. The inspector pointed them to a hard wooden bench and disappeared through a gate and then behind a frosted glass door. They were the only people in the room, which wasn't surprising since there were no scheduled airship flights today and they had beaten the weekly KLM flight from Amsterdam.

  The clock across the room ticked its steady rhythm as they waited for the inspector to return. Whatever the inspector was doing, he was taking his time. Doc tried to focus his attention behind the door, but there was too much background noise and he didn’t want to drop into a trance. The telephone rang a few times, but not even his hearing was good enough to make out what was said.

  After an hour or so, the door opened and a group of travelers came in. The inspector came out of the back, and with the help of a couple of assistants soon had them lined up in front of the counter. Most looked like rich Europeans, with a couple of obvious Americans. There was a young aristocratic couple, traveling with a manservant; two older women traveling together; one man who looked like a government or business representative; and finally a young man who looked very uncomfortable in his rumpled suit.

  The customs officials processed them quickly, with only a cursory inspection of their luggage. The young man had a brief discussion with the inspector, something about a tigress, and was told she was at the Dragon Club. Before the young man left, the inspector scribbled a note, telling him it would get him a good seat. He was the last one through.

  The inspector went back into the office after the young man had left. It was another fifteen minutes before three members of the Dutch Colonial Police came in, two constables who immediately stood by the door, and a very tall and thin higher-ranking officer who went straight through the anteroom and behind the frosted glass door.

  A few minutes later, one of the assistants came out and beckoned to Doc and Vic. “We need to see you two.”

  Once through the door they found themselves in a large and well-appointed office. The inspector sat behind a large mahogany desk, bare-headed for once. His nameplate read E. De Groot. The police officer occupied the one stuffed chair in front of the desk, set off to one side to give a good view of both Inspector De Groot behind the desk and the two hard chairs facing it. The walls were mostly bare, save for the obligatory photograph of the Queen, some framed papers, and a pair of flag stands.

  Doc held a chair for Vic, and then sat himself. The chair was warm, but even harder than it looked. He sat straight, and waited. They were eventually going to tell him what they wanted, why open the conversation. He glanced at Vic out of the corner of his eye; she was examining her nails like a bored debutante, which looked incongruous against her pilot's outfit. At least she wasn't wearing her cap.

  The one clock was behind Doc's head, but he could make it out by its reflection on the photograph of the Queen. De Groot shuffled papers on his desk, but it was obvious he was only trying to look busy. Meanwhile, the police officer shuffled from side to side in the armchair. It was big enough for the inspector, so the policeman looked almost like a child.

  Finally Inspector De Groot stopped shuffling the papers and flipped open Doc's passport. “Do you understand why I had you brought in here?”

  “No sir,” Doc replied. “I presume it has something to do with our papers. Perhaps you can explain?”

  De Groot humphed. “No, there is nothing wrong with your papers. However, we do have some other questions, which is why I asked Captain Van Heerwaarden to sit in.” The captain nodded. The inspector picked up a stack of telegraph forms. “According to these, when you left New York both you and Miss Frank here were material witnesses in the cases of at least three deaths in the week prior to your leaving the United States.

  “Then, when you arrived here, your aircraft showed signs of combat.” He paused, his face blank. “Given the piracy problems we have encountered in the last few months, I have to find the coincidence to be at least slightly suspicious. Especially since one of the deaths was that of a person with substantial business holdings here on Java, and who had suffered losses due to apparent acts of piracy in Netherlands East Indies waters.”

  He gathered all the papers into a neat pile, and then rose and carried them over to a safe in the corner. The safe was old-fashioned, but sturdy. The inspector opened the safe, shielding the combination with his
body, inserted the papers and then locked everything away, giving the dial one last spin as he turned back to Doc and Vic.

  “Therefore, I have no choice but to impound your aircraft and retain your passports pending further investigation. You are not under arrest, and are free to move about the colony. However, I must warn you that this could change subject to the results of the Captain's investigation. You may remove personal baggage from the plane, but it will then be moved to the Army Air Force side of the airfield and placed under guard.”

  Doc raised an eyebrow. “And how long do you foresee this investigation to take?”

  “That's up to Captain Van Heerwaarden; but I would expect at least a week or ten days. In the meantime, I would appreciate it if you would remain accessible for questioning.”

  “Does that mean we are free to go?” Vic asked, breaking her silence. “I would really appreciate a bath after being cooped up in an airplane for hours.” She raised her hand and examined her nails. “I'm sure you have more important things to do than talk to us.”

  “Yes, Inspector,” Doc added. “We've had a long flight, and I'm sure the ladies are exhausted.” Vic would get him for that remark later, but Doc wanted to get out of here before De Groot had any more brilliant ideas. For some reason, bureaucrats seemed to have a great deal of difficulty with the idea that Vic, or any other woman, was just as resilient as they thought they were. “Do you have any questions for us?”

  De Groot shook his head. “No, not at the moment.”

  Doc stuck out his hand. “Then, I will leave you and the captain to your investigations. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

  The inspector leaned forward and took Doc's hand over his desk. “The pleasure was mine, Doctor Vandal. I'm sure this will all blow over shortly, but for the moment we have to follow our regulations.”

  “I understand.” Doc shook the man's hand firmly. De Groot's grip was clammy, and he had the sour scent of fear. He was in someone's pocket, and that someone didn't want Doc digging around.

  Van Heerwaarden unfolded himself from his chair and rose to his full height; he was two or three inches taller than Doc's own six foot four. “We should have no trouble so long as you behave yourselves. My men will be watching you closely.” He did not offer his hand.

  Doc smiled anyway, and turned back to De Groot. “We can let ourselves out.”

  The inspector nodded and waved them out.

  #

  Four hours later, they were safely ensconced in the Hotel des Indes. Ming had arranged for four rooms on the same floor, and Doc had asked them all to meet in his sitting room. Gus and Kehla had taken over the couch, while Gilly leaned against the wall near the door. Vic had taken one corner of the love seat as soon as she arrived, and was quickly joined by Ming. Doc himself was seated in the armchair, a cold glass of tea in hand.

  Batavia was a lot hotter than New York at this time of year, and Vic was glad for the fan turning slowly above her head. This was nothing like Russia. The others seemed to agree with her about the temperatures; everyone had a cold drink, even Kehla, who normally hated anything with ice in it.

  “The question,” Doc began, “is where do we start? With the consortium or the pirates?”

  “Shouldn't we do something about the airplane first?” Kehla interjected. “For all we know they could arrest us at any time.”

  Doc shook his head. “No, I think that's just a way to keep us where they can see us.”

  “I would suggest the consortium,” Gus said, sitting with one arm wrapped around his bride. “We have already encountered the pirates, and until Flying Cloud is repaired and out of impound we are likely stuck here in Batavia.”

  “Why not the pirates?” Vic countered; the consortium meant boardrooms and dinner parties. Definitely not her cup of tea. “We may not have a working plane, but they may have people here. They need to have some way of picking their targets.”

  “I say we look around and figure it out tomorrow,” Gilly suggested. “No need to rush.”

  “Gilly's probably right,” Doc agreed. “We can see what there is to learn about both over the next couple of days, and decide then.”

  “That gives me time to see if any of my relatives know anything,” Ming said. “Somebody probably knows something.” She leaned back against Vic, who surprised herself by not moving back to give Ming a little more space.

  “We can hope,” Doc said. “By the way, do you know anything about someone called the 'Tigress'?”

  “I don't think you're her type.” Ming replied, looking Doc up and down. “The story is that she likes her men malleable.”

  “Malleable?” Vic said, twirling the ice in her Coke so it spun around the rim.

  “As in wrapped around her little finger,” Ming explained. “She's at the Dragon Club. The hottest name in town. There's hardly an important name in town that hasn't been linked with hers at one time or another.” Doc raised an eyebrow, and she shrugged.

  “I got the papers from Batavia delivered once a month.” Ming craned her neck to look back at Vic. “It gave me something to do between customers. You know, the people who came into my shop on purpose, because they actually wanted to buy something?”

  Vic blushed. “I didn't mean to…”

  Ming patted her hand. “I know you didn't; that's why you need someone to look after you.”

  Gilly stifled a grin, but not fast enough to stop Vic from glowering in his direction. He was having entirely too much fun at her expense lately. She was going to have to get him back later.

  “Anyway,” Doc said, “it looks like there's very little more we can do tonight, so let's sleep on our ideas and get together for breakfast tomorrow at seven.”

  Vic yawned. “Slave driver. I was going to have a nice long bath in the morning.”

  Ming wrinkled her nose. “Have a shower tonight.” She took another drink, and then looked at the others appraisingly. “Actually, everyone should have a cool shower tonight, you'll sleep better that way.”

  “And with that,” Doc said, “I think it's time for everyone to leave so I can take my own shower.”

  #

  Doc woke instantly the moment the door opened. Soft footsteps told him he was no longer alone. Trying not to make any sudden movements, he reached for the pistol he had put under his pillow. It was one of his own design, firing an expanding charge that mixed with air to knock the victim back without killing them. The footsteps stopped a few feet beyond the foot of the bed.

  “I know you're awake.” It was a man's voice, a native Cantonese speaker by the sound of it.

  Doc closed his hand around the pistol, and then pulled it out from behind the pillow. Holding it lightly, he slid sideways across the sheets to get out of the line of fire. He rolled off the bed to his feet in a single continuous motion, flicking the light switch on as he stood up.

  The visitor was a young man, Chinese or possibly Eurasian in appearance, between Ming and Vic in height. He was wearing dark brown clothes, and had both hands out in front of his body, empty. What surprised Doc the most was that he hadn't moved.

  “What do you want?” Doc asked, pointing his pistol at the floor between them.

  “I’m not here to hurt you, if that's the question,” the visitor replied in very formal tones. “I'm here as the representative of someone who would very much like to meet you, but cannot be seen to do so. Therefore, I have been asked to convey you to a suitable meeting place.”

  “And who might this person be?”

  “That is not a name I may utter here,” the visitor said firmly. “I have been asked to convey you to the meeting, and that is all I may do.”

  “I'll just tell the others that I'm leaving.” Doc walked over to the wardrobe, not letting go of his pistol.

  “Should you do so, I will leave and you will not attend this meeting. You may leave a note should you be concerned, but you may not inform anyone before the fact.”

  Doc shrugged. “Very well.”

  He didn't like the te
rms, but didn't have enough information to say no. There was more going on than met the eye, but he needed more information. It was like picking at a knot, he needed more time to get enough slack to start opening things up. Sure he could blow everything up, but without knowing all the pieces it wasn't worth the risk.

  Pulling a large pen from the desk, Doc reached for the hotel notepad and scribbled a quick note in green ink for Gus and Vic, letting them know he had left on purpose, and that he would be back as soon as he could. He ripped the note off the pad and put it on his pillow. The visitor waited patiently as Doc got dressed, tucking the pen into a vest pocket. Once dressed, Doc held up the pistol questioningly.

  “You won't need it, but you can take it if you feel safer.”

  Doc thought a moment, and then slipped the pistol back under the pillow, palming a couple of sleeping capsules as he did. Vic would probably tell him off for leaving the weapon, but he didn't get the feeling that this visitor wanted to harm him.

  Slipping the capsules into his cuff, he turned to see his visitor waiting patiently.

  “Ready to go?” It wasn't a question. The moment Doc was ready, the visitor turned and led the way out through the suite and into the night. He clearly knew the hotel very well, as he slipped along the veranda to the furthest stair.

  Doc followed, along the veranda and down the stair, then across the lawn to where a car was waiting. There was no moon, but Doc's eyes were sharp enough to make out the vehicle by starlight. It was an older Pierce-Arrow in excellent shape despite the tropical weather. Even late at night, it was warmer than Doc really felt comfortable. As they approached the car, Doc reached into his pocket and surreptitiously clicked the pen, activating its miniature radio and gyroscopic tracker.

  His visitor reached the car before Doc, and gestured him into the back. Doc slipped into the smooth leather seat, followed by his visitor. The moment the visitor closed the car door, the big straight eight up front rumbled into life.