CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

_Eagle Lightning_

THE TROPICAL sun was still a way above the western lip of the world, but because of the canopy of dense trees and other growth that covered the island the light on the ground was pale and silverish, and long slender shadows crisscrossed each other. Slumped down on the rough wood floor beside Freddy Farmer, Dave closed his eyes tight for the umpty-umpth time, and searched his tortured brain for a possible way out of this tightest of all traps that had ever caught him between its jaws.

But once again his aching brain was unable to conjure up anything that wouldn’t result in practically instant death. It was just no use, it seemed, even to try to think, for the stone wall was ever there in his brain. On the other hand, though, it was impossible not to think, and so the countless soul-stabbing thoughts went around and around in a vicious circle.

Hardly realizing that he was doing so, he went back in memory and retraced every step of this mad, fruitless journey that had begun in Colonel Welsh’s office in San Francisco. What had happened to the agent who was supposed to follow Freddy and him to Albuquerque? Had he perhaps had engine trouble, and been unable to get off in time? And had it been accidental trouble? But why wonder about that small item? What good would it do him now to know? None at all. But he hoped Colonel Welsh’s agent came out of it all right.

And that fake message the Colonel had sent to Washington as a means of baiting the trap for whoever had tapped the phone lines. Had it worried those listening in? He thought it had. And he was certain that Captain Karl von Stutgardt was still worried. That was one thing Colonel Welsh had figured wrong, however. Seven-Eleven _had_ been in the States all that time. And how bitter to realize now that he had been the pilot of that Taylor Cub! If Freddy and he had only known! What a terrible menace to the civilized world they could have removed right then and there. But why think of that now, either?

And that supposedly Second Lieutenant Miller who had served as check-in officer at Albuquerque! He had fired at Freddy from that rifle range. He had that Sergeant take over his post and slipped over there. And it had been Miller, of course, who had hidden that pencil incendiary bomb aboard the Flying Fortress. Easy for him to have done that, for he had the run of the Base. Nobody would have wondered about the movements of a check-in officer. Second Lieutenant Miller? More likely it was _Oberleutnant Meuller_, of the Nazi Luftwaffe!

And now this place! A secret base of the most hated nation in the history of the world. A secret base within easy striking distance of the Panama Canal. How simple it all would be for von Stutgardt and his nine other vultures. Their planes would of course be taken for Ninety-Six aircraft returning from patrol. Then before anybody realized the truth of things, these devil men would strike. Their bombs and their aerial torpedoes would go hurtling down, and in one blinding flash every lock from Colon to Balboa would be destroyed, and the Canal put out of use for months and months to come--and maybe for all time!

Dave groaned in spite of himself and hitched up on one elbow. He stared at the two armed guards, and they stared back unwinkingly at him. Just looking at them made him see red, and caused a wild, completely insane recklessness to steal through his body. He forced himself to look the other way. He twisted around a bit and absently stared at the back of the hut. There were two windows, but only the frames. Neither glass nor netting had been put in as yet. Beyond the windows he could see the tangle of untouched tropical growth. It was bathed in weird light and grotesque shadows. He stared at it, and the reckless spirit within him grew stronger and started his heart to thumping against his ribs.

He glanced at Freddy, but the English youth sat with his arms folded on his knees, and his bent head resting on his folded arms. He might be asleep, but Dave knew that wasn’t so. Freddy was simply sitting there suffering the tortures of the doomed, too. Dave took a deep breath and then slowly got up onto his feet.

“Got to stretch my legs,” he said. “They feel ready to snap off any second.”

He spoke the words with a smile, but he was watching the two guards closely out of the corner of one eye. They stiffened to the alert as he stood up, and he could almost see their hands tighten on their sub-machine guns. But he paid them no visible attention, however. He stretched both hands above his head, and yawned loudly. His heart was well up in his throat by now. Were the guards going to do something, or weren’t they? He looked down at Freddy again, shrugged for the benefit of the ever watching guards, and then jammed his hands in his pockets and started to saunter about the limited amount of floor space. He walked with his head bent and his eyes fixed on the floor boards, as though he were fed up with everything, and just didn’t care a hoot what happened next.

As a matter of fact, though, he kept darting glances in all directions, particularly out the two rear windows. He saw then for sure that there was nothing but heavy jungle growth to the rear of the hut. And because of the heavy growth the shadows out there were deepening more and more by the minute. His heartbeat was hitting full speed when presently he sauntered back to Freddy and slumped down on the floor.

“You’re a lazy bum, pal!” he said with a laugh. “Why don’t you stretch your legs? Just sitting there moping won’t change a thing. The party’s all over as far as we’re concerned.”

Freddy lifted his head and shot him a hard glance. Dave slowly winked the eye that the watching guards couldn’t see. Then, leaning forward, he balanced both elbows on his knees and put his two hands up to his face with the fingers spread apart. He could look out between the spread fingers, but his two palms completely concealed his mouth. He stared vacantly off into space for a long time, until he saw the guards relax a bit, though they did not remove their steadfast, unwinking gaze.

“There’s just one play we can make, Freddy,” he then whispered into his two palms held in front of his mouth. “Just one play. It may fall flat and get us nailed deader than frozen fish. But, Freddy, we’ve just got to do _something_! We just can’t sit here and let von Stutgardt dish it out at dawn! Right?”

He heard Freddy groan and roll over on his stomach. The English youth’s movement brought his head close to Dave’s knees. Freddy rested his forehead on his two palms so that he was looking down between his forearms at the floor boards.

“Right!” Dave presently heard the faint whisper. “I’m willing to try anything, and blast the cost to us. I’ll even charge those two blighters out there, if you think that’s best. But have you any idea, Dave? Anything that offers a little bit of a chance?”

“Just an idea, that’s about all,” Dave breathed into his palms. “And we’ve got to play it soon, while they’re still keeping us here. When it gets dark they’ll probably truss us up for the business at dawn. Freddy! The two rear windows. We’ve got to dive through them before those guards can pull their triggers. We can try it, this way.”

Dave paused and took away one of his hands to scratch the top of his head. He yawned and stretched both arms, and then braced his spread fingers against the upper part of his face again. The guards still watched him, but there was no suspicion or uneasiness in their pig-like eyes.

“This way, Freddy,” he whispered again. “We get up to stretch our legs. I tried it, and the guards didn’t seem to mind. We act tired and fed up, and not caring what happens next. We slouch around for a good ten minutes, enough time to get the guards used to us moving around. Then when you’re in front of one window, and I’m in front of the other, I’ll sneeze. That’ll be the go signal. Freddy. When I sneeze, we both dive head first through a window in nothing flat. Got that?”

“Got it.” The two words just barely reached Dave’s ears. “And then what?”

“Then it’s up to you, pal,” Dave breathed. “That radio hut, I mean. Our first hope is to radio to Colon and get bombers out here on the jump. You know the usual SOS signal. Get word to Colon Base. And maybe some Navy ships close by will pick it up, too. Now, I’ll cover for you so that you can sneak around back and get into that radio hut. As soon as we land outside the window I’ll turn sharp left and make a lot of noise getting away. You hug the ground until they’re in full flight after me. And then--then do your stuff, Freddy. And good luck to you. Okay?”

“Definitely not!” came the instant reply. “I’ll do the covering up--if we escape the guards’ bullets. The radio idea was yours in the first place. Besides, I can’t operate those gadgets the way you can. No, Dave! You work the SOS business. I’ll draw the blighters away from you. No arguments, please. I honestly can do that best, Dave. I’d stand a much better chance of throwing them off and circling back to joining you than you would. You know that’s true, too.”

Dave didn’t reply for a moment. He realized full well that Freddy Farmer did speak the truth. He knew it from experience in the past. English though he was, Freddy Farmer was almost the equal of an American Indian scout when it came to moving about in woods and heavy undergrowth. His movements were those of a shadow, and twice as silent. Yes, Freddy could do better drawing off the pursuers. And, too, he wasn’t so hot at the radio business, particularly a key wireless. But drawing off the pursuers was the most dangerous job. He stood about one chance in a hundred of not being spotted and brought to earth by gun fire. Still--

“It must be that way, Dave!” came the whisper. “I insist! We’ve got to do it my way. Blast it, Dave! It’s the only way possible. This is no time to think of each other. Don’t you see?”

Dave bit his lips, but the absolute truth of Freddy’s words was too much for him. After all, what mattered most was the fate of the Panama Canal.

“Okay,” he finally said. “But if anything happens to you, pal, I’ll--”

He couldn’t finish. Then he felt Freddy’s head pressing lightly against his left knee, and he knew that Freddy understood without being told. Dave swallowed hard and wondered if the guards could see tears showing in his eyes. For a crazy moment he was tempted to call it all off. Perhaps there was some other way out. Perhaps at dawn he could add to von Stutgardt’s obvious worries, and get the Nazi to postpone striking his terrible blow. Maybe that crack about X-62 could be used again. Of course, Dave didn’t know of anybody who was known as X-62. But mentioning that, as von Stutgardt herded them up from the beach, had made worried lights flash in the Nazi’s eyes. The Nazi didn’t know the truth about X-62, and maybe--just maybe--

Dave let the rest slide as Freddy Farmer groaned again and rolled over on his back, and then up to a sitting position.

“Did stretching your legs help any?” the English youth asked in a loud voice. “Very well, I’ll try it. But, frankly, I think it’s silly to worry about our health now. It’s all over for us. We two are finished, blast it!”

Freddy spoke the last in distinct German, and openly glared at the two guards. If they didn’t understand the English words they most certainly understood the German words, and Freddy’s glare. They both grinned wolfishly and nodded their heads slightly. Freddy glared at them for a bit longer, then coldly turned his back on them and started slouching about the hut floor. Dave glanced at the guards, saw them chuckling in amusement at Freddy’s obvious discomfort of body and mind, and hoped he could put on as good an act as his pal.

He remained where he was for a couple of minutes, a perfect picture of dejected defeat and misery. Then he sighed and got slowly up on his own feet. But he didn’t start walking immediately. He just stood there a moment absently rubbing his two hands up and down the sides of his face, and staring sad-eyed out past the guards. When he could tell that they were no more on the alert than usual, he stopped rubbing his face, jammed his hands in his pockets, grunted, and started shuffling about the place in a circle.

One minute--two minutes--three minutes ticked slowly by, and it was all that Dave could do to stop from screaming at the top of his voice. Every nerve and muscle in him was drawn tight, close to the snapping point. Each second had seemed an hour longer, and each minute a whole eternity. With every step he took he was seized with the wild desire to sneeze the signal and dive headlong through one of the windows. Anything, _anything_ to break this torturing suspense. Anything so long as it meant action. That was all he craved, now, and nuts to the results.

He maintained a steely grip on himself, however. Three minutes weren’t half enough to soothe away any sneaking suspicions that the two guards might have. Every time he snapped a glance their way from up under his brows he saw that they were tensed and watching Freddy and him as two cats might watch a couple of mice. Not time, yet, for the do or die effort. Not until the guards got used to their shuffling around and relaxed a little. They were still on the alert too much. Their trigger fingers were still too itchy and ready.

Four minutes--five--six--seven! When had he started this slouching around to get exercise? Had it been yesterday, or last week, or last year? He didn’t dare look at Freddy for fear the guards would see his look and take it for some kind of a signal. It was only seven minutes. _Only_ seven? That was all the minutes there were in the world, wasn’t it?

Eight minutes--nine! Praise be to Allah! The guards were relaxing a little. One of them had shifted his feet to a more comfortable stance. And his sub-machine gun was pointing a little more toward the ground. The other guard, too, was seemingly getting just a little bored with the prisoner parade. He let go of his gun with one hand to slap at a fly buzzing around his face. It was making him wink for the first time.

Ten minutes--eleven! Dave saw Freddy close to one of the windows--real close. He took a quick side step that took him to within two feet of his window. He shot a quick glance at the two guards--and sneezed!

In the next couple of seconds a hundred different things seemed to happen at the same time. His whole body seemed to explode like many firecrackers as his coiled spring muscles let go, and his feet left the floor and he dived headlong through the window. He misjudged the opening by a hair and felt sharp pain as his shoulder cracked against the jamb. He caught a flash glimpse of Freddy going out the other window like a flying fish above the crest of a wave. Then there was a roaring blast of noise in back of him. It was as though the three-sided hut were crashing down about his ears. And his head was suddenly filled with the whistle and zinging of many unseen bullets. Slivers of wood flew past him, and then--and then he was landing like a cat on all fours on the ground below the window, and heavy tropical growth was clutching out at him.

For a brief instant there was no air in his lungs, and there were dancing lights before his eyes. Then somebody grabbed his arm. It was Freddy Farmer, and the English youth’s voice was in his ears.

“Good luck, old man! I’ll take care of the blighters!”

And in the next flash second Freddy Farmer was gone. He wasn’t there any more. There was just heavy tangy-smelling tropical island undergrowth. And from a good distance away came the calling voice.

“Over here, Dave! Run! There’s a path...!”

The last was drowned out by the thunderous roar of gunfire--gunfire that seemed to come right out of the top of Dave’s head!