100 Fathoms Under

by John Blaine

  “No wonder you cooperated,” Rick said. “You wanted the dives to go off smoothly while you watched and learned how the equipment operated. You were so friendly you made me sick.”

  Turk chuckled. He was in high good humor, but his black eyes never left Rick and the blackjack was held ready for use.

  Rick closed his eyes. It was his fault. Hadn’t he had warning that something was afoot?

  But Turk’s cooperative friendliness had lulled him into a false security. Why hadn’t they kept better guard?

  “You can’t get away with it,” he stated finally. “When the expedition fails to return on schedule, Dr. Warren will have the Navy look for us.”

  “They’ll find us,” Turk said. “But they won’t find you.And why? You’ll be on Kwangara, my boy.”

  The Submobile broke clear of the water and swung inboard to settle lightly on the deck.

  Turk took a firmer grip on the blackjack. “Don’t be foolish enough to try anything.”

  “I won’t,” Rick said dully. He knew he didn’t have a chance.

  The hatch swung open and Digger’s grinning face looked in.

  “Out you go,” Turk ordered.

  Rick climbed to the deck and looked around. There was no sign of his friends, but the

  Japanese was standing in the galley door-and he was holding Scotty’s rifle!

  He submitted while one of the sailors lashed his hands behind him, then Digger shoved him toward the galley. Rick almost fell over something that looked like a heavy pipe set in a metal plate. It was held upright by two legs.

  “Keepmovin ’,” Digger snapped and gave Rick another push. The Jap stepped aside as he went headlong through the galley door.

  Scotty and Zircon looked up at him. Otera was huddled in a corner, his bushy hair dark with blood.

  “What happened?” Rick asked despairingly. He saw that Scotty had a welt over one eye.

  “We had no warning,” Zircon said heavily. “Digger Sears handed me the phone, and while I was putting the mouthpiece around my neck, he thrust a pistol into my ribs.”

  “I made a jump for my rifle,” Scotty said. “One of the sailors threw a wrench. It caught me a glancing blow over the eye. By the time I got back to my feet, he was covering me with my own gun.”

  “Otera came running out of the galley with a knife,” Zircon continued. “The sailor in the pilothouse stepped out behind him and struck him with a length of pipe. He hasn’t stirred since.”

  The sudden throb of the Diesel engines told them that the trawler was under way.

  Rick explained briefly what Turk had told him.

  “So that’s it,” Scotty said. “I saw the mortar. They have shells, too. But what do they intend doing with it?”

  “We’ll know shortly,” Zircon said.

  The Japanese looked in at them and spoke in perfect English. “Make no noise, my friends, or I’ll be forced to shoot.”

  “Stand outside, you yellow ape,” Scotty growled. “We don’t want to look at you.”

  The Japanese walked over to the bound boy and deliberately kicked him in the ribs.

  Scotty turned white, but he made no sound.

  “You’ll be sorry for that,” Rick stated hotly.

  Turk appeared in the doorway just as the anchor chain rattled out.“On your feet.”

  Out on deck, Digger had opened a box and was taking out what looked like miniature bombs. Turk pointed to them. “You see those? One peep out of any of you and we’ll drop a few among your friends on shore. We’re untying your hands, but I’ll be right behind you with this.” He held up a pistol.

  They were herded into the boat under Turk’s watchful eyes. He had been careful to bring the boat to the side of the trawler away from the camp. The people ashore couldn’t see what was going on.

  Two sailors brought Otera out and placed him in the bottom of the boat,then Turk’s pistol urged Scotty, Zircon, and Rick into the boat. Turk motioned to the sailors.“Row, you two.”

  Turk had planned well. As the boat rounded the trawler, Hartson Brant, Professor Gordon, and Chahda waved and walked down to the beach to meet them. Before they realized anything was wrong, they were covered by Turk’s pistol.

  The two sailors ran past the astonished scientists and began to search the camp methodically. Hartson Brant, Gordon, and Chahda asked questions and were ordered to be still. The Spindrift party stood silently until the sailors finished and reported no weapons in camp.

  “All right,” Turk said. “Stand quietly, all of you. Digger has orders to drop a couple of mortar shells around your ears if you make any funny moves.” He backed to the nearest boat and got in, followed by a sailor. The other took the second boat. In a moment they were headed back to the ship while the boys and the scientists watched helplessly. Then Gordon dropped to his knees beside Otera and lifted the cook’s wrist.

  “His pulse is strong,” he said. “Rick, get the first-aid kit.

  While Gordon bandaged Otera, the three who had been aboard ship told their stories.

  “Now we have answers to many questions,” Chahda said. “But itdo us no goods.”

  “No,” Hartson Brant agreed. “No good at all.”

  Rick sat down on the ground and stared out to the trawler. They were in a bad spot, trapped on a tiny spit of land with Turk and his crew in front of them, and, behind them, a jungle that was ominously silent.

  CHAPTER XIV

  MutinyAboard the “Tarpon”

  Rick went into the dark tent and bent over Otera. The cook was sleeping quietly. Rick tucked in the mosquito netting again, then looked over at Scotty’s bunk. He was sound asleep, his face peaceful in the reflected glow of the flashlight.

  Outside the tent, Chahda was sitting, wrapped in his blanket because the night was cool.

  “They’re both sleeping,” Rick said. “Scotty could sleep through anything, I’ll bet. He looks as though he didn’t have a care in the world.”

  Chahda chuckled. “Scotty got good nerve. I guess maybe he learn how to sleep when he is a Marine.”

  Rick looked at the luminous dial of his watch. It was close tofour o’clock . They had split the night into watches, two at a time. He and Chahda had drawn the late one.

  Off the end of the peninsula, the trawler rode at anchor. An occasional glimpse of a flashlight told them that Turk’s men were on watch. On the other side of the camp, the black wall of jungle was quiet. Once in a while Rick looked at it, feeling as though countless eyes were watching him. Chahda had said that the natives were watching, but they had made no move.

  “We’re right in the middle,” Rick said.“Turk on one side and unfriendly natives on the other. Why do you suppose the natives come and go the way they’ve been doing?

  They’re watching most of the time, but now and then they go away and the jungle seems to wake up.”

  “I think sometimes the chief is calling them together in the village to make talk,”

  Chahda explained. “They all go see what he says,then they come back-those who watch.

  While they are near, the other people of this jungle, the birds and small animals, is being quiet likemouses , because they are afraid.”

  “Funny they haven’t come back to see the dragon,” Rick mused.

  “True,” Chahda agreed. “Maybe theynot liking to have us near the dragon. They think we go away soon,then the dragon is theirs.”

  The dragon god had been gleaming on its pedestal in the faint moonlight, but now the sky was growing cloudy, and the darkened camp lost even the uncertain moonlight.

  Rick pulled his blanket up over his shoulders. They were only a few degrees north of the Equator, but the nights were chilly and damp.

  “It’s the waiting that bothers me,” Rick said after a moment. “I keep looking from the jungle to the ship, waiting for something to happen.”

  “Something happen soon,” Chahda said quietly. “More nativesis come.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Pretty sure.We just
sit. Soon we find out what they want.”

  Rick was conscious of many eyes watching from the jungle as the minutes ticked away.

  He tried turning his back on the thick foliage, but that was worse. He felt better when he faced the watching eyes. It was growing lighter now, but daybreak was hidden behind massed clouds. By degrees he began to see details of the jungle. He could make out the white handkerchief strips and the trees behind them.

  Then, with shocking suddenness, there was a crashing shout from the jungle! Rick leaped to his feet, Chahda beside him. Again the shout, from a hundred throats I Something flew out of the foliage, circled high in the air and thudded to the ground before the tents.

  The others were out of the tents almost instantly, waiting in silence for what might happen next. A bird cry broke the stillness, to be followed by another.

  “They’ve gone,” Scotty said. “What hit the ground out here?”

  “I don’t know.” Rick was already walking toward the spot, his flashlight beam cutting the gloomydawnlight . It came to rest on a carved club.

  “Here it is,” he called.

  Gordon examined it and picked it up by the haft. It was a vicious-looking thing, a thin

  handle growing into a diamond-shaped head studded with shark’s teeth. From the end dangled a tuft of hair. The entire head of the war club gleamed sticky red in the flashlight beam.

  “Blood,” Gordon said.“Probably chicken or goat blood.” He looked around at the circle of faces. “We’ve been warned again, and by the nature of the warning, I’d say they mean business this time!”

  “We’d be willing to leave,” Scotty said.“If we could. Well, it’s daylight. What do we do about breakfast?”

  The mention of breakfast broke the atmosphere of tension the finding of the bloody club had caused. Rick thought that Scotty had known that it would. He grinned at his friend.

  “Come earthquake, piracy, revolution, or hurricane, that stomach of yours never stops hoping, does it?”

  “It never has,” Scotty returned. “Come on, let’s break out that case of rations and see what gives.”

  The rations provided canned bacon and eggs, powdered coffee and hard biscuits, with other food for later meals. The water bag was nearly empty, but there was enough for coffee and for drinking during the day. They could wash in salt water.

  As they drank the last of the coffee, the trawler stirred into life. The anchor came up and it moved out through the reef passage.

  “Bet I know where they go,” Chahda offered.

  Scotty grinned. “It doesn’t take a Hindu mystic to guess that. They’re heading for the Asamo.”

  “Doubtless,” Hartson Brant agreed.

  Rick went with Gordon to see how Otera was getting along. The cook had regained consciousness the night before, but Gordon had given him a sedative to keep him quiet, fearing that he might have a bad concussion.

  Otera woke as they changed his bandage. He tried to feel the cut on his head, but Rick held his hands. The cook poured forth a stream of beche-de-mer.

  “Disfellasavvy,” Gordon told him. To Rick, he said, “He wanted to warn us about Turk, but he didn’t dare. They had threatened to kill him. He did warn us once, but we paid no

  attention.”

  “The note,” Rick exclaimed. “Watch out Asamo!’ Was that it?”

  Gordon questioned Otera,then nodded. “Yes. He doesn’t write very much, naturally. He got the spelling of Asamo from a chart Turk had. He saw it when he served dinner in Turk’s cabin one day.”

  By the time they had finished ministering to Otera, the trawler had reached a point over the sunken ship. During the morning they watched the Submobile lowered twice, but they couldn’t see whether or not it brought up anything.

  “I wish I knew what Turk was planning for us,” Rick complained. “This waiting is getting me down.”

  “He brought that mortar along for something,” Scotty said.

  “Obviously,” Zircon replied. “Scotty, I know almost nothing about mortars. How do they work?”

  “You saw the thing,” Scotty began. “It looked like a big pipe set on a base plate and supported by two legs. Well, that’s about all there is to it. The thing can be aimed by changing the elevation of the barrel. There’s a firing table that tells you just how far a shell will travel at each angle of adjustment. The shells are miniature bombs, and they have a propelling charge in the base. There’s a firing pin in the bottom of the barrel. You drop the shell in. The firing pin strikes the propelling charge and shoots it out. It explodes when it lands.”

  “Doesn’t sound very accurate,” Hartson Brant said.

  “It is, though. I’ve seen Marinemortarmen drop shells into targets the size of pickle barrels at 1,000 yards.”

  Rick whistled. “That’s shooting! Where do you suppose they got it?”

  “That one is of Japanese make,” Scotty said. “It’s probably a war souvenir of Digger’s.”

  It wasn’t until after lunch that the natives returned. Scotty, watching the jungle closely, said, “I think there are only two of them. Chances are,the rest are cooking up some kind of mischief.”

  “I’d like to know what it is,” Rick told him.

  Scotty gave a wry grin. “Don’t be impatient. Well find out.”

  Chahda pointed at the trawler. “They dive some more.”

  “Not wasting any time,” Gordon commented. “I wonder if they’ve foundanything? ”

  “It’s possible,” Hartson Brant replied. “The equipment is certainly easy to operate. It was designed that way. Mallane will have no trouble unless something breaks down.”

  “Or unless a storm comes up,” Rick added, looking at the cloudy sky.

  The Submobile made two dives as they watched, then, late in the afternoon, the trawler came across the strait and through the reef. As the Spindrift party walked down to the shore, a boat was put over the side. One of the sailors took the oars, and Turk, Digger, and Hashimo got in. Two five-gallon cans were handed down to them, then the boat made for the shore, coming to a stop a few yards from the Spindrift group.

  The Japanese had Scotty’s rifle. Rick saw his friend’s eyes harden as Scotty watched.

  Digger had a pistol. Turk stood up and hailed them.

  “We’ve come to bargain.”

  “What do you want?” Hartson Brant asked coldly.

  “We know you’re short of water. We’ll trade ten gallons for instructions on planting explosive charges with the Submobile.”

  The Spindrift group huddled together like a football squad.

  “Give them some cockeyed information,” Scotty suggested.

  Zircon objected. “That would serve nothing. It would wreck the Submobile and perhaps do away with those in it, but it would not help us.”

  “True,” Hartson Brant agreed. “And we do need water. We gain that much by answering Mallane and we lose nothing.”

  There was general agreement.

  “All right,” Hartson Brant told Turk. “We’ll trade. Bring the water ashore.”

  Turk motioned them to the side of the camp away from the water bag. “Stand over there. Don’t try anything or you’ll get shot.”

  They obeyed, and watched the sailor lug the cans over and pour them into the water bag. Then Turk stepped ashore and walked over to them, stopping ten feet away.

  “All right.There’s your water. Now talk.”

  “The charges are all prepared,” Hartson Brant said. “They’re marked according to the size of the explosive charge in them. There are hooks on them for attaching them under water. On the side of the charge is a waterproof switch marked ‘safe’ and ‘explode/

  Clamp the charge in one of the extension arms, then throw the switch to ‘explode.’ Be sure the sound gear is turned off. Take it down, attach the charge by the hooks, then release the extension arm clamp and come to the surface. Turn on the sound gear and the charge will explode. The sound impulses activate a tuning fork by sympathetic vibration, and the vi
brating fork closes the circuit.”

  Turk asked suspiciously, “Won’t the Sonoscope set it off?”

  “No. The sound gear sends out impulses at 30,000 cycles per second. The Sonoscope operates at 50,000. The charges are set for the sound gear.”

  Turk nodded. “Thanks.” He turned to leave.

  Hartson Brant stopped him, calling, “Just a minute, Mallane. We want to know what you intend to do with us.”

  Turk laughed.“Nothing. We won’t lay a hand on you.”

  “You’ll never get away with this,” Zircon bellowed.

  “I’d better explain,” Turk said. “Just in case you think the law will ever catch up with us.” He motioned toward Hashimo, who was watching their every move, the rifle pointing toward them. “He gave us the idea. You see, he was on the Asamo when it went down, and he was one of the survivors. There were about forty of them. They swam ashore and took over the island. The natives were friendly enough, but they didn’t obey orders fast enough to suit theJaps , so the senior officer ordered his men to break the clay dragon god they worshiped. That was a piece of it you found here the first day.”

  “Go on,” Hartson Brant said coldly. “What has this to do with us?”

  “The natives were not pleased,” Turk continued.“Quite the opposite. They pounced on

  theJaps one night and massacred the lot of them, except for Hashimo, who is an excellent swimmer. He got to Little Kwangara and was waiting there when a Jap destroyer came looking for the Asamo. The destroyer took him off, but it was sunk nearNew Guinea , and Hashimo landed in prison camp, where Digger met him.”

  “So you intend letting the natives do your dirty work,” Gordon exclaimed. “Suppose they don’t?”

  “They will,” Turk said calmly. “Then we’ll finish getting up the treasure and sail back toHonolulu , and we’ll regretfully report that you were all massacred one night here in camp. The broken radiophone will alibi us for not reporting sooner. The Navy will send out a punitive expedition, of course, but we won’t mind. And you’ll be past caring.”

  The fiendish simplicity of the plan stunned the Spindrift party. They watched, speechless, as Turk went back to the boat. He would get away with it because there would be no reason to suspect his story. He had only to explain that the scientists preferred to camp ashore, and it had caused their deaths. An investigation would show nothing!