CHAPTER THIRTEEN

_Invisible Fate_

THE NEW SUN had been up for a couple of hours and its pure golden rays played tag on the wings of the Vultee as the two seater attack craft droned steadily onward. Long ago Dave had tired of watching the deep blue Caribbean roll by beneath him. He had also tired of spotting the little groups of cays that stuck up out of the water here and there. An hour ago they had skirted the most eastern tip of Nicaragua, and now they were thundering straight down the world toward Panama. An hour at the most and they would be sliding down to a landing on the Air Corps Base at Colon, on the Caribbean side of the Canal.

An hour at the most. Dave sighed, pushed up his goggles and dug knuckles into his tired eyes. It had been a pretty monotonous trip. Just drilling along in the dark of night well off shore of the Central American countries, so that they wouldn’t be mistaken for enemy aircraft and get a few anti-aircraft shells tossed up at them. Just drilling along with nothing to break up the flight and make it more interesting. Of course, in his heart that was the last thing Dave wanted. Or Freddy Farmer, either, for that matter. Still, it was nice to imagine that it would help a little if a Messerschmitt or two should come streaking out of nowhere with all guns blazing. Nothing so soul-satisfying as smacking a couple of Nazis before breakfast.

Dave pulled the string on his crazy, rambling thoughts, and shifted his position in the seat.

“You still there, Freddy?” he called out. “Or was that air bump a ways back you jumping out?”

“It wasn’t,” Freddy replied. “But I’ll admit I’ve been toying with the thought. Too bad this isn’t a seaplane. Then we could at least land down there and have a swim.”

“And maybe a shark or two for company?” Dave laughed. “No thanks, pal. Those things can go a whole lot faster than I can. When it comes to swimming down there, I like it fine up here. Well, say something! Keep the conversation going before I fall asleep, and we _do_ land down there--in a heap.”

“Keep the conversation going yourself!” Freddy growled back at him. “I’m quite content just to listen to the sound of your voice. Though, of course, I’ve heard much better voices, not so much like pebbles rattling around in a tin can.”

“Bum!” Dave snorted. “For that I should keep my trap shut and let you go quietly screwy by yourself. But seeing it’s you, I won’t. What do you know about the Panama Canal, Freddy?”

“A fair amount, I fancy,” the English youth replied. “I studied geography in school, you know.”

“Oh!” Dave echoed. “Then you _did_ go to school? I’ve often wondered. Fine, then. Tell me this, student. Supposing you entered the Canal at the Colon end? Where would you be headed?”

“For the Pacific,” was the instant reply. “Or, to be exact, for the Bay of Panama.”

“Nuts to you!” Dave barked. “I mean, what direction?”

“What direction?” Freddy echoed. “The bloke must be mad, and completely off his topper. Why, west, of course!”

Dave twisted around in the seat and made a face.

“See?” he cried. “No brains, as I’ve always said. Or at least, what goes in there doesn’t stay for long. Stand in the corner for a while, my little man. Then take a good look at those map charts of yours back there.”

“Eh, what?” Freddy grunted.

“What I said,” Dave replied. “Take a gander at those map charts back there. Then come around front, here, and beg me to let you remain in the classroom.”

“Rot!” Freddy muttered. “You’re talking crazy rubbish, and I fancy--”

The English youth’s voice trailed off, and it became obvious that he was studying his map charts of the Canal and surrounding area. Dave took a quick look back to make sure, then turned front and waited for the explosion. It came at the end of perhaps twenty-five seconds.

“Good grief!” the words burst forth from the English youth’s lips. “Why--why, I always thought--!”

“You, and a few million other people!” Dave said with a laugh as Freddy stumbled. “The Panama Canal does _not_ run from east to west. It’s from west to east. Or if you want to get technical about it, the Canal runs from the northwest to the southeast. It’s the cockeyed bend in the Republic of Panama that makes it that way. Remember that little item, Freddy. It may help you to be the life of the party some day.”

“Thank you, no!” the English youth grunted. “But that certainly is amazing! I mean, it’s certainly something new I’ve learned.”

“Stick around,” Dave chuckled. “I’ll get you educated, if it kills me. But pass over one of those charts, will you? One you’re not using. I want to have a look at it myself.”

Freddy Farmer did as he was asked. Dave took the chart tacked to the board, rested it against the top of the joy stick and began to study it. Perhaps two minutes later a white light seemed to explode in his head. He let out a wild yell, lurched in the seat, and unconsciously sent the Vultee nosing down into a crazy power dive. Freddy Farmer’s voice in his ears was a scream.

“Dave, good grief! What’s happened? Are you all right? What’s the matter?”

Dave’s eyes were bulging out, and his heart was hammering furiously against his ribs as he recovered from the sudden dive and brought the Vultee back onto even keel.

“I knew it, I _knew_ it!” he choked out.

“Knew what?” Freddy cried angrily. “For Heaven’s sake, what’s got into you?”

“Another hunk of the mystery puzzle, Freddy!” Dave shouted as he twisted around in the seat. “Remember how I said we should both keep chewing over poor Tracey’s four words that sounded like Albuquerque? Well, that’s just what he meant, Freddy. But _not_ Albuquerque, New Mexico!”

“No?” the English youth cried breathlessly, and leaned way forward so that he could see the map chart Dave Dawson held in his hands. “Then what did he mean?”

“He said 'southern Albuquerque_s_'!” Dave cried. “Get it? _Plural!_ That’s what he meant--_right there_!”

As Dave spoke the last he touched a fingertip to a point on the map chart. It was a group of tiny islands about a hundred and twenty-five miles due east of the central east coast of Nicaragua. And right underneath the group of tiny dots was printed:

ALBUQUERQUE CAYS

Freddy had been holding his breath while he stared at the map chart, and when he let it out it was close to the whistle of a locomotive.

“Good grief, you’re right, of course, Dave!” he cried. “If he mentioned the words 'Cays,’ we must have missed it completely. But I’ll swear I didn’t hear any word that sounded like cays, did you?”

“No, he didn’t speak it,” Dave replied with a vigorous shake of his head. “He just said 'southern Albuquerques.’ And I’ll eat my shirt if those southernmost cays there aren’t what he was trying to get over to us.”

“I don’t think you’ll have to have that kind of a meal,” the English youth said with a grin. “I’m sure you’re right. But what about it? Those cays are quite a bit in back of us now. Think we should turn around and have a look?”

Dave glanced at the fuel gauges before he replied. He shook his head.

“No, I don’t think we’d better, Freddy,” he said. “It would mean shaving our gas supply too close for comfort. Now that we feel sure we’ve got our teeth into something, the last thing we want to do is sit down in the middle of the Caribbean. Nope! I think our best bet is to carry on to Colon and contact Second Lieutenant Marble. There’s just a chance he might give us a whole lot of dope on this. He--Now what’s the matter?”

Freddy was scowling out across the air space and absently shaking his head.

“Nothing, probably,” he said eventually. “But about this Marble--I’m afraid I have a very definite opinion about him, Dave. Call it a hunch, if you like.”

“I like,” Dave grunted. “So what’s the hunch? Tell me.”

“That Second Lieutenant Marble is going to turn out an awful big disappointment to us,” the English youth said. “I can’t suppress the feeling that we won’t learn a single thing from him. Why I feel this way, I haven’t the faintest idea. But I do, just the same.”

“Well, now that we’re letting down our hair, I might as well admit that I’m clamping down on my own hopes,” Dave said. “I figure it this way. If Marble was working hand in glove with Tracey on this business, I think Marble would have been sent north to contact Colonel Welsh, and not Tracey. If the thing was red hot, I can’t see him leaving the scene of action. But--but, darn it, maybe I’m just talking through my hat. Maybe this Tracey business and the southern Albuquerque Cays doesn’t add up to a single thing of importance.”

“Maybe it doesn’t,” Freddy grunted with a shrug. “Just the same, I think I’d be willing to bet my life that it does. Blast it, Dave! Too many attempts to wash us out were made, not to have this thing be at white heat.”

“Yes,” Dave said with a nod. “You’ve got something there, pal. You definitely have. Well, we shall see what we shall see. Right now we’re getting close to the edge of the air patrol area of the Canal Zone. We should be bumping into Army or Navy planes most any minute now.”

“Well, see that you don’t _actually_ bump into them,” Freddy added grimly, and settled back in his seat.

It was just exactly eleven minutes later when two U.S. Naval Aviation patrol amphibians came into Dave’s range of vision. He raised his hand to attract Freddy’s attention and then pointed at the two craft off the left wing and a few miles ahead.

“Yes, I saw them,” the English youth called out. “And as we’re arriving down here unannounced, I hope those blighters don’t do anything serious about it. I hope they don’t take us for a couple of Jap spies on our way to take pictures of the Canal.”

“If they do, I’ll never forgive them!” Dave said with a laugh.

Just the same his eyes narrowed slightly as the two amphibians broke wing tip formation and sheered away from each other so that they would come up on the Vultee, one on either side. And his heart wasn’t exactly beating peacefully in his breast, either. In fact, for a fleeting instant he wondered whether he had been wise to make this sneak flight down to the Canal Zone. Right! There was a very good chance that maybe the gunners aboard those patrolling amphibians might have itching trigger fingers.

So he decided to do something about it first. He banked the Vultee sharply so that he presented a broadside view to the oncoming amphibians, and also showed his Brownsville Base markings. Then he cut around back to present the other side, and stuck his hand up through his opened greenhouse and waved it in greeting.

Then followed a few anxious moments. The two amphibians came plowing onward. They swept past the Vultee one on each side, and Dave could almost feel the pairs of eyes aboard them boring out at him. He waved his hand again, and then throttled to give the two Navy aircraft plenty of time to bank around and come up on him from the rear.

“Unsociable blighters, aren’t they!” Freddy Farmer grunted. “Not a return wave of greeting from either of them.”

“You can’t blame them,” Dave defended them. “They’re on a job that doesn’t call for any kidding around. They have to play it close, and not stick their necks out. But I guess we’ve passed muster. They’re just going to ride herd on us the rest of the way to the Base.”

“Oh, quite!” Freddy growled. “And their guns aren’t pointed at the sun, either. Gives a chap a creepy feeling, as though he weren’t to be trusted.”

“There goes your conscience again!” Dawson laughed. “It’s your past coming up to slap you in the face, my boy. But don’t worry! They’ll wait until they get a good look at you on the ground, before they do anything drastic. Of course, when they do--well, it’s your face. But I’ll put in all the good words I can.”

“I just bet you would!” the English youth snapped. “Just enough to get me shot at sunrise. And--I say! There’s the Canal. My word! Isn’t that a wonderful sight? You can see both oceans at the same time.”

“Just the way Nature and Old Father Time arranged it so you could,” Dave murmured, and feasted his eyes on one of the most fascinating and thrilling air views in all the world: the Colon entrance of the Panama Canal, and the rest of the Canal clear across the Isthmus to the Balboa entrance on the Pacific side.

Some ten or fifteen minutes later he eased back the Vultee’s throttle and sent the plane sliding down to a landing on the surface of the huge Air Corps Base at Colon. The two amphibians circled about until his wheels had touched, and then they veered off out over the Caribbean to resume their watchful patrol. Freddy Farmer watched them go, and made a face.

“Thanks awfully for the company!” he growled as Dave taxied over toward the check-in office. “Delightful chaps, all of you.”

“Right!” Dave barked back at him. “Also, great guys with plenty of what it takes. Give me trouble and I’ll welcome help from Navy Aviation boys any day in the week. And so would you!”

“Of course; sorry,” Freddy said with a sheepish grin. “I just feel a bit touchy today. After all, I’ve been subjected to your flying for hours, you know. A frightful ordeal for even the most stout-hearted.”

“Coward!” Dave jeered at him. “You wouldn’t have dared say that when we were in the air, would you? But it is nice to get back on solid ground again. Sweet tripe! Look at the planes they’ve got down here! All types from everything to everything, what I mean. Well, get your papers ready, Freddy. They’ll want to know who we are, and why.”

That fact was indeed true. When Dave finally cut his engine and climbed down to stretch his stiffened legs, there was a questioning-eyed group of Air Corps high rankers gathered in front of the check-in office. Dave waited for Freddy and then walked over and saluted the highest rank smartly. He was a Brigadier General, and, of course, Dave knew that his name was Kirwood.

“Captains Dawson and Farmer, arriving from Brownsville Base, sir,” Dave said. “Here are our identification papers.”

“Glad to welcome you, Captains Dawson and Farmer,” the Brigadier said, though there was a distinct lack of warmth in his voice. “I was informed of your coming yesterday. I thought it was to be by ferry bomber, though. The bombers landed at France Field hours ago.”

“We stayed over in Brownsville, sir,” Dave explained truthfully. “Borrowed the Vultee.”

“I see,” the senior officer grunted, and took a moment out to examine the papers the two air aces handed him. When he glanced up there was a slightly brittle look in his eyes. “Down here on an inspection for Washington H.Q., eh?” he said pointedly. “Well, Gentlemen, I hope you’ll find everything in order.”

“I’m afraid you misunderstand, sir,” Dave said with a disarming smile. “But I’ll admit it’s not stated clearly in our papers. It’s not exactly an inspection trip, sir. A survey study, rather. There are plans of making some changes in the attack bomber school of instruction. Frankly, it’s our job to pick up all the pointers we can down here with active service squadrons, and make our report direct to Washington. We are simply seeking to learn a few things, sir.”

The Brigadier General’s suspicious stiffness floated away from his face. He seemed greatly relieved when he smiled.

“Well, I’ll admit that’s better,” he said. “I was afraid that you were just two more Staff officers to get in our hair, and then return to Washington with all kinds of darn fool ideas and suggestions.”

“Well, frankly, sir,” Dave said with a laugh, “if we were we wouldn’t be here. Both Farmer and myself would have chosen the guard house rather than an assignment like that. We--something the matter, sir?”

The last was caused by the Base Commandant staring hard at Dave’s tunic and then at Freddy’s. Presently he shook his head, and smiled.

“No, not a thing, Captain Dawson,” he said. “I just happened to notice that you both wear the decoration ribbon of the Distinguished Flying Cross. You saw service in the Royal Air Force?”[3]

“Yes, sir,” Dawson replied. “But of course, that was before Pearl Harbor. Well, it’s good to be down here, sir. I hope you won’t treat us any differently than you would any two replacements. After all, the main job for all of us is to win the war.”

“Don’t worry,” the General chuckled. “I don’t plan to extend you two any special privileges, though, of course, you are at liberty to come and go as you please.”

“I say, thanks very much, sir,” Freddy Farmer spoke up for the first time. Then, after a long moment’s hesitation, he suddenly blurted out, “I believe, sir, there’s a chap here I know. He is Second Lieutenant Marble. Does he happen to be about?”

A dark shadow passed across Brigadier General Kirwood’s face. A hard, bitter look came into his eyes, and he unconsciously clenched both his fists.

“He was, but no longer,” the senior officer said harshly. “Two days ago he took off on a check flight alone. Something haywire with his engine, I believe it was. We haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since. I am afraid he crashed into the water out there, and sank with his plane.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir!” Dave murmured as the blood seemed to drain right down out of his body. “I knew Marble slightly, myself. I’m sorry to hear that he is missing. But--well, maybe he force landed some place and will turn up alive and kicking in a day or so.”

“I sincerely hope that’s true,” the Brigadier said gravely. “But I doubt it. Marble is the eighth pilot we’ve lost on solo flights in the last month. It’s--it’s the most confounded thing I’ve ever come up against. I can’t understand it.”

Neither Dave nor Freddy said anything. They simply looked at each other silently. But the thought in their minds was identical. The most promising clue of all had been snatched from their grasp. It was a worthy foe that they battled, even though a dastardly one. A clever, cunning, ruthless foe who always seemed to strike first, and strike where it hurt the most.

Footnote 3:

“_Dave Dawson with the R.A.F._”