by John Blaine
CHAPTER II
Captain Turk Mallane
Rick paced the hotel lobby, walking back and forth in front of the couch where Scotty and Chahda sat. Now and then he went to the door and looked out, watching for Dr.
Warren’s stationwagon.“Relax ,” Scotty pleaded. “You’ll wear a groove in the rug-“
“They soon be here,” Chahda added.
“I can’t relax,” Rick said worriedly. “How do we know what’s going on? Those two men may be up to something serious.”
“Well, acting like a caged tiger won’t help,” Scotty said reasonably. “Sit down.”
The boys had returned to their cottage to find a note from Hartson Brant. The scientists had gone out with Dr. Warren and would return at seven for dinner.
Since then, Rick’s always active imagination had expanded the conversation he had
overheard into a definite warning of impending disaster. Had he known where the Tarpon was berthed, he would have hurried to the ship and conducted a personal search.
“If I’ve ever seen a hard character, it was that guy in the gray suit,” he stated. “He’s up to no good.”
“Sure,” Scotty soothed. “But don’t fret about it. Well take care of him.”
A carspattered gravel in the driveway and Rick was out the door like a shot. In spite of their professed calmness, Scotty and Chahda were right behind him. Dr. Warren’s station wagon was just pulling up to the door.
Rick saw that the car was full of men, but he paid no attention to them, hurrying to his father as soon as Hartson Brant got out of the front seat.
“Gosh, I’m glad you’re back, Dad! Something . . .” he stopped, seeing strangers getting out.
“Gentlemen,” Hartson Brant said, “I want you to meet the younger members of the party.” He introduced the boys to three members of the Pacific Ethnographic Society.
Then, as a fourth stranger followed Professor Gordon from the car, Rick’s breath stopped. It was the man in the gray suit
“Here’s someone you want to meet, Rick,” Gordon said. “Turk, this is Rick Brant. The two with him are Scotty and Chahda. Boys, meet Captain Turk Mallane, skipper of the Tarpon.”
Rick heard Scotty and Chahda gasp,then start chuckling behind him. He swallowed his embarrassment and shook hands with the swarthy man in the gray suit. He looked into piercing black eyes.
Mallane asked cordially, “I’ve seen you boys before, haven’t I?”
“This afternoon,” Rick agreed. “We were at the hotel beach.”
“I thought so,” Mallane nodded. “Digger Sears brought me some supply reports. He’s our mate. You’ll meet him tomorrow. He told me that we are almost fully provisioned, barring a few fresh things and Diesel oil, which arrives tomorrow. We can be on our way in a day or two, as far as the ship is concerned.”
“We should be able to leave on Saturday,” Hartson Brant said.
Professor Gordon led the way into the dining room. It was to be a semiformal dinner, given by the members of the Pacific Ethnographic Society in honor of the Spindrift party. The boys fell behind the scientists and Rick faced Scotty’s and Chahda’s wide grins.
“Cheer up,” Scotty jibed. “Jumping at conclusions is about the only exercise you get.”
“The captain and the other mans talked only of supplies,” Chahda said, grinning. “No bombs.Most too bad.”
“Well,” Rick said, “I’m glad you two weren’t worried.”
He was relieved to find that the two mysterious strangers hadn’t been mysterious at all, but members of the expedition. Other Spindrift experiments had run into unforeseen difficulties and he had become apprehensive about the slightest indications of trouble.
Maybe he had been right after all. Maybe this expedition was going to be as peaceful as aSpindriftIsland picnic.
At dinner, Rick was seated next to Turk Mallane. Across from them were Scotty and Chahda. The scientists, seated at the other end of the table, lost no time in getting into a technical discussion of Pacific natives. Turk and the boys tried to listen, but were soon lost in a maze of such scientific matters as the cephalic index, language roots, Mongoloid folds, and so on.
“Is making my head ache,” Chahda complained.“Such words!”
Tm baffled, too,” Scotty agreed.
“Well get Professor Gordon to give us some background dope,” Rick said. “His hobby is archeology. Hellbe the expert on this expedition.”
“Good thing there’s one expert,” Turk Mallane said, smiling. “Gordon tells me we’ll be searching for artifacts. I wouldn’t know an artifact if it bit me.”
“Neither would I,” Rick agreed. He was beginning to like Turk Mallane in spite of his first impression. He asked: “Were you the skipper of the trawler when Professor Gordon chartered her?”
“No, I came later,” Turk replied. “I was taking life easy and wasn’t particularly anxious to get back to work. Then I saw Gordon’s ad in theHonolulu Star Bulletin. He wanted a
qualified master mariner who knew the western Pacific, and one with experience in handling diving equipment. Well, that business about the diving equipment got me interested. I used to be a salvage diver, and before the war I was master of a salvage tug.
I answered the ad and met Gordon and he told me something about this machine you call the Submobile. Before I knew it, I was all excited about the expedition and getting a crew together.”
“Is the crew very big?” Scotty inquired.
“No.Just Digger Sears, three seamen, and a cook.”
“That doesn’t seem like enough men to run such a big boat,” Rick said. “Won’t you have to work pretty hard?”
“We’ll stand short watches, four hours on and four off,” Turk explained. “We’ve done it before, and I’m interested enough in the expedition to want to cut corners and save a little money.”
“Salvage diving must be exciting,” Scotty remarked.
“Like anything else. Sometimes it is, at other times it’s just a dull grind.” Turk smiled at the three eager faces around him. “Have you lads any idea what you’re getting into? Far as I can see, all hands are pretty casual about going down 600 or 700 feet, but it’s something to marvel at, I’ll tell youDo you know the formula for figuring water pressure?”
“It says in ‘Alm-in-ack,’” Chahda said, “one atmosphere pressurefor each thirty-three feet depth .”
“Right.And one atmosphere is 14.7 pounds per square inch. That’s a lot of pressure. It’s what kills divers, and it’s what has kept men from salvaging ships in water deeper than 300 feet. And here you are, calm as clams about going down twice that far.”
“Butmens are going deeper than 300feets ,” Chahda objected. “Record is 525feets .
Also divers once find ship at 400 feet. Then is scientists going away deep, like Sahib Dr.
Beebe and Sahib ProfessorPicard .”
Turk Mallane looked at Chahda with surprised admiration. “You have the facts right at your ringer tips, all right!”
“He reads The World Almanac” Rick explained. “He has more facts in his head than the sea has fish.”
“Well, let’s examine his facts,” Turk said companion-ably. “It’s true that a diver once went to 525 feet. He was in an armored shell, and he went down in a lake inBavaria .
And divers in similar armored shells found the treasure ship Egypt at 400 feet. But those armored shells were practically useless. The divers had to depend on mechanical arms for their salvage work, and the water pressure was so great it locked the arms. No, you can discount the armored suits. The only practical salvage work up to now has been done in flexible suits such as Navy divers wear, and the record dive in one of those is only a little more than 300 feet.”
“I’d hate to tear my pants at that depth,” Scotty said.
“And with good reason,” Turk agreed. “A tear in your suit at that depth would let the air escape and the sea would push in on you with a force of over 140 tons! Yes, that’s the figure. Take 2,100
square inches for the area of the human body and apply the formula.”
“The Submobile is stressed for even greater pressures than that,” Rick put in.
“So Gordon told me,” Turk nodded. “I merely mentioned the pressure figures to show you what a great thing it will be if this trip proves that salvage is possible down to 100
fathoms, or even more.”
Turk Mallane had put the venture in a new light. Rick had known about ocean pressures and pressure formulas, but not until the captain put them in terms of a diver in a flexible suit had he appreciated what pressure really meant.
“Suppose we can prove that salvage is possible, even at 100 fathoms,” Turk continued.
“Can you picture what you’ll have started?”
“Not understanding,” Chahda murmured apologetically.
“The greatest treasure hunt in the world!”Turk pointed out. “Think, lads. There are hundreds-no, thousands-of ships lying just below a diver’s reach.” He pointed a finger at Chahda. “Check your World Almanac on that. See the list in the Almanac of ships sunk in the last hundred years. And that’s only a part of them. There are galleons loaded with plate and bullion and pieces of eight and cross money and doubloons -ancient wealth to make your head spin!”
Turk’s voice had lifted in volume until all the scientists were listening. Rick looked at the captain and saw a strange glint in his black eyes. It was odd about Turk’s eyes. They were usually as expressionless as two marbles. Even when he laughed, the mirth never reached his eyes.
Rick remarked on the fact later, as the boys climbed into their beds.
“I noticed his eyes, too,” Scotty said thoughtfully. “Turk’s a hard customer, but I suppose salvage diving is no business for softies. I can’t decide whether I likeJrim or not.”
“Same here,” Rick agreed. He cautioned, “Keep your voices down. He might be taking a walk or something.” They had learned that Turk was staying at the hotel until sailing time. He had the cottage diagonally across the path from them.
Chahda spoke up. “What I think, Captain Turk tries hard to make us like him. That is why he is being nice tonight.”
The Hindu boy had put into words something that Rick had sensed during dinner-that Turk was going out of his way to be affable. “That’s nothing against him,” he pointed out. “In fact, it’s in his favor. If he wants to be friendly, we’ll meet him more than halfway.”
“Sure,” Scotty agreed. “Only I think I’ll wait until we’ve been at sea for a few days before I decide whether well ever be real buddies. There’s nothing like rough Weather to tell you what a guy is really like.”
And on that note they went to sleep.
CHAPTER III
The Man with the Broken Nose
Professor Gordon banged the screen door loudly and shouted, “Hit the deck Rise and shineIt’s a new day.”
Startled to rude wakefulness, Rick sat up and blinked in the sunlight that streamed through the windows. “What is it?”
“Roll out,” Gordon ordered cheerfully. “There’s just time for a quick swim and breakfast before we go to the docks.”
Scotty and Chahda sat up, their sleepiness gone at the reminder that today would see the entire party united with their equipment.
In a moment they were out of their pajamas and into bathing trunks, racing for the water front. As they passed TurkMallane’s cottage, the captain called a greeting.
Rick went headlong into the water and headed out into the sea with a powerful crawl stroke. He felt like a million this morning. In a little while they would meet Hobart Zircon,take the equipment from the Aloha, and start getting it ready for the trip to Kwangara. Today they would have a chance to see the Tarpon, too, and get acquainted with their new home.
Refreshed and fully awake after their swim, the boys hurried back to their cottage, showered, and dressed. Then they joined the scientists at breakfast. Turk Mai-lane had already eaten and was on his way to the trawler.
Breakfast was hurried, because the SS Aloha was due to dock early. Professor Gordon had already made arrangements with the port officials for immediate unloading and had ordered a trailer truck to transport the equipment.
By the time Dr. Warren had picked them up in his station wagon and taken them to the dock, the great white bulk of the steamship was in sight and tugs were warping her into the berth.
The scientists and the boys watched as the gangway was lowered and passengers started coming off. A band had materialized and was giving out lustily with Aloha Oe . Flower women, almost hidden under fragrant flower leis, were everywhere.
Rick watched for Professor Hobart Zircon and saw him come down the gangway.
The big scientist’s voice rose above the noise. “Well a most imposing reception committee Greetings, my friends.”
Everything about Professor Zircon was big, from his voice to his massive frame. He radiated energy and good spirits as he shook hands all around, greeting Rick, Scotty, and Chahda with the warmth of an old trail comrade. Then he got right down to business.
“Everything is arranged. We can unload at once, if the port officials are agreeable.
You’ve seen them?And how about a truck?”
“All arranged,” Hartson Brant told him. “Suppose you and I go aboard,Hobart ? I’ll stand by the winch operator while you take charge in the hold. Gordon will see that the load is distributed properly on the truck. Rick and Scotty can help him. Chahda, take
Professor Zircon’s baggage checks, please, and see that his personal luggage is put aboard the truck.”
“Is there something I can do?” Dr. Warren asked.
“Yes, Paul. Would you take these duplicate manifests and check off the crates as they are loaded on the truck?” Hartson Brant handed Dr. Warren the lists.
“Did you see the truck outside?” Gordon asked Rick. “Yes? Then direct the driver, if you will. We’ll want the trailer platform right under the forward deck and parallel with the edge of the dock.”
The platform trailer looked big enough to carry a house, but the Hawaiian driver swung it into place with effortless skill as Rick directed him. On the deck of the Aloha, the cargo hatch was already off and the winch operator was standing by, Hartson Brant at his side.
Almost at once the big wooden crates began to arrive, swinging down from the deck in cargo nets. Rick, Scotty, and Professor Gordon pushed them into place on the forward end of the platform. There was a short breathing spell,then four smaller boxes arrived.
Rick saw by their markings that they contained personal equipment and stuff for campingThe cargo net arrived with three round objects wrapped in heavy burlap. Rick identified those as cables, one for the salvage arms of the Submobile, the other for electric power.
“That’s all,” Dr. Warren announced, consulting his lists.“Now for the Submobile.”
Rick watched,his head tilted back until his neck creaked. Up on deck, the winch turned slowly, the creaking of the metal blocks showing an increased strain on it. Little by little a silvery mound like the back of a small whale came into sight. The Submobile was lifted clear of the deck and dangled in mid-air.
The Submobile was imposing. It had the shape of a small dirigible, ten feet long and six feet at its greatest diameter. Steel plates concealed and protected the fused-quartz observation ports and the places where the Sonoscope, the extension arms, the propellers and other equipment would be attached to the blunt nose. It was bolted into a steel framework cradle that gave it a solid resting place when it sat on deck or on the sea bottom.
The winch operator swung the Submobile over the side and began to lower it by inches while Professor Gordon ran anxiously from one place to another, sighting to see if it would land properly. Rick noted that a crowd had gathered. He heard the buzz
ofspecuktion .
“Midget submarine,” one man suggested.
“Naw.It’s a new kind of buoy.”
Rick saw that the Submobile was going to land just right. He marveled at th
e skill of the winch operator and moved back against a wall for a clearer view of the ship’s deck.
The Submobile descended an inch at a time and settled into place with feather lightness.
Rick started to wave at his father, but a commotion a few feet away distracted him. He turned to see what all the noise was about.
A dock worker, who held a big packing case, was arguing with a Japanese standing in a doorway.
“Come out o’ there,” the dock worker shouted. “Blast it, can’t you read? ‘No Loitering in This Doorway.’ Now come out. This is a busy spot, and I got to get inside before I drop this thing.”
The Japanese started to move away,then he saw Rick and hastily drew back. The angry dock worker put down the case heheld, reached in with a brawny arm and pulled. The Japanese came out of the doorway like a cork out of a bottle. He cast a swift look at Rick,then scuttled out through the gateway.
Rick watched him, puzzled. He walked up to the dock worker. “What was he doing?”
“The Jap?Juststandin ’ in the way.He wasblockin ’ traffic.”
“Funny he didn’t want to move,” Rick said.
“Yeah.Looked like he wanted to hide.Queer jokers, theseJaps . Never know what they’ll do.” The dock worker picked up his case and carried it into the warehouse as Rick held the door for him.
From what had the Jap been hiding?Or from whom? Rick had the uncomfortable feeling that he had been the one from whom the Japanese hid. He remembered how the fellow had ducked back into the doorway at sight of him. Why should he act like that? There was nothing wrong with watching the Submobile. Plenty of others were doing it.
But he was sure of one thing: He wouldn’t forget the man’s face. At some time in the past a sharp edge, perhaps of a Samurai sword, had struck the Jap’s nose on the bridge,
breaking it and leaving a bluish scar.
The others were already at work lashing the load of crates to the trailer. Heavy ropes were passed over the Submobile, through the steel lift ring at the top, then under the trailer platform. Its own weight would keep it in place, but the Spindrift scientists had learned to take extra precautions.