CHAPTER SIX

_Battle Plans_

A LONG SILENCE settled on the office after Dave’s words had died away in the echo. The room was as quiet as a church, yet there seemed to be a sort of tingling vibration in the air. Dave felt it, and so did Freddy Farmer. And so did Colonel Welsh, from the intent and set look on his face. Presently he nervously cleared his throat and pressed his two palms flat on the desk.

“And we’ve _got_ to carry on where Tracey left off!” he bit off, tight-lipped. “We owe that much to his gallant memory. We owe it to Uncle Sam. We owe it to ourselves. But--but there’s nothing to get our hands on, nothing to get our teeth into. Tracey died without telling you two a thing that we can use, or work on. It’s a cold trail, a dead end street!”

Dave Dawson leaned back his head, and stared unseeing at the office ceiling.

“Let’s draw a few word pictures,” he said more to himself than to the others. “Let’s put it like this. While serving with the Ninety-Sixth Attack Squadron, Tracey came on something hot. He couldn’t do anything about it because of his Squadron duties. His actions would look funny, and--his Intelligence identity wasn’t known to his C.O., was it, sir?”

“No, it wasn’t,” the senior officer replied quickly. “It--Hold everything! Good Heavens, the death of Tracey must have done something to my mind. There is one of his under-agents in Ninety-Six, a young Second Lieutenant Marble. It was Tracey who got Marble into the service about a year ago. Tracey trained him, and worked with him on a few unimportant jobs. But I don’t believe Marble was in on the Seven-Eleven business. That was strictly a confidential thing among handpicked agents, all of them picked by myself.”

“Well, maybe it worked a little differently in this emergency,” Dave murmured, and stared at the office ceiling again. “Let’s see. After stumbling across something, Tracey requested you to see that he got a bit of recall-leave. He left this Marble in charge--or at least with some kind of instructions--and started north for the States. He got into Mexico. Maybe the trail led him that way, or maybe it worked out quicker that way. We may never know the reason. All we know is that he entered the States through Texas, went on to Albuquerque, and--Just a minute! Colonel, there’s an Air Corps Base at Albuquerque. Can you call them and find out _how_ he arrived? I mean, was it in a Curtiss P-Forty such as we found? Or did he arrive in some other kind of plane? Can you get Albuquerque on the wire, and find out?”

“I can, and I will!” Colonel Welsh snapped, and scooped up one of the phones.

Just seven minutes later he hung up and looked at Dawson.

“He arrived in Albuquerque in a Vultee attack ship, alone,” Colonel Welsh said. “It was one of Ninety-Six’s planes. His papers were all in order for having landed on Mexican fields for gas. His ship wasn’t armed, so technically he didn’t fall under the internment law. Not that Mexico would have enforced it. The plane wasn’t in such hot shape, however, so he borrowed a P-Forty from the Albuquerque Base. So much for that. Go on, Dawson. What are you leading up to?”

“I don’t know,” Dave replied. “Just sort of feeling around. Guessing at a lot of things just to hear how they sound. But here’s one thing that strikes me odd. And it may have a reason. You say, Colonel, that he asked you to meet him here. Right?”

“Right,” the senior officer grunted.

“And you also say,” Dave went on, “that you could not contact him direct. Right?”

“Right again,” Colonel Welsh said. “So what?”

“Well, why did he say to meet him _here_?” Dave asked softly. “Why not fly directly to Washington to report to his senior officer? That’s not strictly military--to wire your superior to meet you some place three thousand miles away. So it was important. Important that he meet you _here_. Why? I don’t know. Now the other item. Your not being able to contact him direct. Why? Probably because he wasn’t around. Probably because _he discovered that there was somebody on his trail_. That somebody had found out from whoever visited Rigby today that Tracey was flying up from Albuquerque. So--well, measures were taken so that he would never arrive. Somebody at Albuquerque did something to Tracey’s P-Forty oxygen tank so that actually he was gas poisoned and knocked cold when he took the first sip as he flew at altitude over the mountains. And--and, by the best of luck, Freddy’s sharp eyes spotted his wrecked plane. Do those guesses sound a little reasonable to you, sir? To you, Freddy?”

“It could be a mighty close to the truth account of what actually did happen!” Colonel Welsh said softly to himself. “But it still doesn’t get us anywhere. It still doesn’t give us anything to jump on.”

“I don’t agree with you there, sir,” Freddy Farmer spoke up quietly.

The senior Intelligence officer looked across the desk at him as though he were a long lost brother with a precious family secret.

“Well, thank Heavens, you don’t!” he breathed. “Go ahead and tell me why you don’t agree.”

The English born flying ace took a couple of seconds out to think up the words he wanted to use.

“I believe I know what is in the back of Dawson’s mind,” he eventually said. “We _have_ got something. It may prove to be nothing; to be absolutely worthless. But we don’t know about that yet. I’m speaking of this Second Lieutenant Marble with the Ninety-Sixth Squadron down in the Canal Zone. Perhaps there is the chance that he can give us a lead on what Tracey was working on. Is there any way you can contact him, sir?”

“Why, certainly!” Colonel Welsh replied quickly. “I can--”

“Contact him, nothing!” Dave cut in harshly. “I mean, not unless it is a personal contact. But Freddy’s only come up with half the stuff I had in mind. Right here in Frisco--right here in this room--we have a perfect lead.”

Colonel Welsh sat up straight and quickly glared about the office as though he expected it to fill suddenly with people.

“Here in this room?” he demanded, fixing Dave with his steady eyes. “What in the world do you mean?”

“Not in the room, exactly,” Dave said with a faint grin, “but the man who went out of the room. I mean, whoever it was that slugged Rigby and stole your decoded message to him. He’s here. And it’s a cinch he’s been keeping an eye on this place. So who says he won’t continue to keep an eye on it? You follow me, sir?”

“Not exactly,” the senior officer grunted. “But you’re right when you say he’s been keeping an eye on this place. I could name on the fingers of one hand the men who know this is not strictly a Civilian Defense office for this section of the city. And they’re all trustworthy. Yet somebody else found out, either Seven-Eleven in person, or somebody in his pay. Anyway, that’s the end of this place for Intelligence contact work. I’ve got to dig up a new spot now, one that I hope will be fool-proof. No, I mean spy proof, I guess.”

Dave frowned and gave a little shake of his head.

“Naturally, you know best, sir,” he said slowly, after a moment or two. “As the saying goes, it’s not for the likes of me to tell you your business. But--well--I mean--”

The Yank born air ace floundered to a stop, and a faint flush stole into his face. Colonel Welsh stared at him for a moment, and then suddenly chuckled softly.

“I seem to remember a couple of times when you weren’t so polite to your senior officer, Dawson,” he said. “And _I_ was the senior officer. I understand, but forget it, Dawson. All this is just between the three of us. So give it to me right from the shoulder. What’s wrong with my closing up this place as far as Intelligence work is concerned?”

“Everything, Colonel,” Dave told him bluntly. “Close up this place and open another, and you’ll lose the only contact you have with the enemy agent, _or agents_, working in Frisco. Of course you haven’t what you’d call a real contact with him now. He’s just a man Rigby saw for a split second before he got slammed on the head. But maybe we could make a real contact with him.”

“What’s your idea on how to do it?” the Chief of all U.S. Intelligence asked quietly. “And what would we gain by making a definite contact?”

Dave looked at him, and grinned faintly.

“Maybe this one is going to hurt, Colonel,” he said. “What made him come here in the first place?”

The senior officer stiffened slightly, and looked puzzled.

“What’s that?” he echoed. “Aren’t you making it a little complicated, Dawson?”

“Perhaps I am,” Dave said with a shrug. “Perhaps I am, because it’s not very clear to me. Let’s put it this way. The object of our unknown enemies was to put poor Tracey out of the way, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, of course!” Colonel Welsh replied sharply. “So what?”

“So this,” Dawson said evenly. “It was done. But it wasn’t done from this end. At least, I’d bet my shirt on it. Tracey’s death was caused by somebody _at Albuquerque_! So why did that slugger come to see Rigby?”

“To get my code message,” Colonel Welsh said. “I think that fact’s obvious.”

Dave leaned forward and held the senior officer with his steady eyes.

“And what did your message say?” he demanded.

“I’ve already told you!” the other replied with a scowl. “I wired Rigby in code that Tracey was on his way here to meet me.”

“I follow your line of reasoning, Dave!” Freddy Farmer broke in excitedly. “He simply found out something he already knew!”

“Bright lad!” Dawson beamed at him. “Go to the basket and pick yourself a nice red apple. You catch on quick, pal!”

“I do more than that, my little man!” the English youth shot back at him. “That chap’s visit here had no connection at all with Tracey’s death. Correct?”

“Now, wait a minute, you two!” Colonel Welsh shouted before Dave could speak. “I’m supposed to be the expert on riddles, but, by Heaven, you’ve got my brain tied up in knots. What in thunder are you talking about anyway?”

“Why, that lad’s visit here, sir,” Dave replied with an innocent grin. “Why he came here. This is just a wild guess, of course, but I think he came here _hoping_ to find out _more_ from your wire.”

“Ah!” Colonel Welsh breathed as his face brightened. “I get it now, of course. Just another bit of proof that I must be slipping in my old age. Maybe I should resign from the Service. Anyway, I see what you mean. The rat in Albuquerque found out about Tracey’s wire to me. He then contacted his rat co-worker here in Frisco and told him to keep a keener eye on this office, because I would undoubtedly be wiring instructions here. Which I did. But, thunderation! What else did he expect me to say in my wire to Rigby?”

“That’s anybody’s guess,” Dave said with a frown. “But somehow it spells WORRY to me, in big letters.”

“Quite!” Freddy Farmer echoed, and gave an emphatic nod of his head.

Colonel Welsh flushed and threw up his hands.

“Confound it, there you go again!” he bit off. “Worry? What the blue blazes has worry got to do with it?”

“Plenty!” Dave threw the word at him. “Worry that maybe you _did_ make telephone or telegraph contact with Tracey before he left Albuquerque, and that he gave you a good idea of why he wanted to see you here. So maybe you wired certain instructions to Rigby. But you _didn’t_ wire any such instructions to Rigby. So our rat friend learned nothing. So he’s still in the dark about your knowing anything of poor Tracey’s secret. So he must still be worrying.”

“I get it, I get it!” Colonel Welsh murmured softly.

“I spoke about maybe something hurting, awhile back,” Dave said, and pointed a finger. “I meant that maybe your phones here are tapped. Maybe this place is full of leaks. Well, there’s one way to find out, and maybe get some results.”

Colonel Welsh just looked at him with raised eyebrows as Dave paused.

“So let’s put out a bit of bait, and see what we catch,” Dawson continued. “Phone some cooked up message back to your Washington office.”

“Such as?” Colonel Welsh grunted.

Dave didn’t reply at once. He sat frowning off into space and absently tapping a fingernail against his top front teeth. Suddenly he took his hand down and snapped his fingers, and flashed a grin at Freddy Farmer before he gave his attention to the Colonel.

“Got it, I think!” he breathed excitedly. “Wire your office, in code of course, that Tracey is dead, but _that his message got through_! And that you are sending two of your agents to Albuquerque to begin operations there!”

“What operations?” Colonel Welsh demanded.

Dave laughed and snapped his fingers again.

“That’s just _it_!” he cried. “That’s just what our rat friend will wonder--and wonder plenty. So he’ll probably do something about it, and you can nail him. If nothing else, that will put an end to the Number One Man here in Frisco. And there’s just the chance that we may also grab the lad--whoever he is--at the Albuquerque Base.”

“Yes, that’ll be something,” Colonel Welsh said grimly. “That will be a lot, in fact. And your words aren’t riddles to me now. The two agents who are supposed to be going to Albuquerque with information? They wouldn’t be you two, by any chance, would they?”

“They’d be anybody else over our dead bodies!” Freddy Farmer spoke up. “Quite. And I think that’s rather a clever idea. It coming from Dawson, I’m no end surprised. He’s been reading books, I fancy, when I haven’t been looking.”

“See that window, pal?” Dave said softly, and pointed.

“Certainly,” Freddy replied. “Why?”

“It only happens to be fourteen floors above the street!” Dave said darkly. “And you’re not wearing your parachute now. Just keep that little item in mind, sweetheart!”

“If I go, there’ll be _two_ of us!” the English youth snorted, and then grinned.

“Okay, okay!” Colonel Welsh growled, though there was a smile at the corners of his mouth. “Recess is over, children. Let’s get back to serious things. And it is _mighty_ serious. We know what happened to poor Tracey, and I wouldn’t want--”

The senior officer hesitated and gestured with one hand.

“Neither would we, sir,” Dave spoke up quietly. “But this isn’t any pink tea. And Freddy and I have played plenty of long shot chances before. So there’s no sense talking about the danger part. Now, here is my idea. We’ll go to Albuquerque by air, of course. And don’t worry! We’ll keep low enough so that we won’t have to sip oxygen at all. So that angle’s out. And we’ll also give the plane a darn good going over before a throttle is opened wide. On the way, we will keep our eyes open. And every minute after that.”

“You could be attacked from the air,” Colonel Welsh said with a scowl. “It’s happened before. And this time it might be odds that you two sky scrappers couldn’t match.”[2]

“That’s one of the chances we take,” Freddy Farmer said gravely. “But I’ve got an idea. Why not have another plane follow us--one piloted by one of your agents, sir? Then if Dave and I bump into trouble, he can give us a hand. Then, too, he might spot the chap hiking after us, scare him off, and trail him back home. Then you’d have him, nice as can be. And in his secret drome hide-out, no doubt.”

“Somebody else has been reading books on the sly, too!” Dave said with a chuckle. “Pick yourself another apple, Freddy. That was tops for an idea. Don’t you think so, sir?”

“Well, it would make me feel a lot better to work it that way,” the Chief of U.S. Intelligence said. “And of course, I’ll arrange--and not from _this_ office--for a couple of my men to keep an eye on you when you arrive in Albuquerque. Then if somebody gets on your tail down there my agents can close in and grab him. But--”

Colonel Welsh let the rest hang in mid air and sat chewing on his lower lip in brooding silence.

“So what?” Freddy Farmer said. Then catching himself and blushing slightly. “I mean, sir, what were you going to say?”

“Supposing we have all the luck in the world,” the senior officer said, as though talking to himself. “Supposing we catch, the Axis rat at this end, and at the Albuquerque end. What then? Notwithstanding what we read in the papers lately, I don’t think we’ll be able to learn a lot from our two prisoners. Most certainly, nothing that would make it possible either to get our hands on this confounded Seven-Eleven, or to learn the secret poor Tracey was never able to reveal. And that, of course, is our real goal. That is, if it’s possible to have a goal in this mess.”

“Well, we’ve just been talking about this end of things, sir,” Dave said. “Just a way to clear up a couple of puzzling details. When Freddy and I reach Albuquerque, we certainly don’t intend to stop there.”

“What’s that again?” Colonel Welsh asked sharply.

“Quite!” Freddy Farmer echoed. “I don’t get the point of that one, myself.”

Dave turned to him, and grinned.

“Ever see the Panama Canal, Freddy?” he asked.

“Eh?” the English youth ejaculated as his eyes flew open wide. “Why, no, never. But I’ve always heard it’s quite a wonderful sight to see.”

“It’s more than that,” Dave said firmly. “You’ll get a big kick out of seeing it, particularly from the air. You see the whole works that way, from end to end. Oh, sure--”

“Just a minute, now!” Colonel Welsh cut in. “Why should you and Farmer go to the Canal Zone? What in thunder do you--?”

The senior officer stopped short, clenched his teeth in a gesture of self-exasperation, and whistled air between them.

“Of course, of course!” he grated. “What in thunder is the matter with me today.”

“You get the idea, sir,” Dave said with a grin. “Second Lieutenant Marble, of the Ninety-Sixth Attack Squadron, is in the Canal Zone. Can you arrange with Army Air Corps H.Q. in Washington to have us assigned for duty with the Ninety-Sixth?”

“I can do much better than that,” Colonel Welsh replied. “If you were assigned strictly to the Squadron for active duty, your chances of getting around--in the event you did get hold of something--might be a bit limited. And that’s not even mentioning the suspicions you might create. I’ll see that you are assigned to Ninety-Six, but for special duty, we’ll say. It will appear that you’re making some kind of an inspection trip on orders from Washington. That way you can come and go as you please, and nobody will think anything of it.”

“Swell!” Dave breathed. “It couldn’t be better.”

“If, and when, you arrive in the Canal Zone,” Colonel Welsh said almost in a tone of prayer.

“Oh, we jolly well will, sir!” Freddy Farmer spoke up. “Now that I’ve the chance to see that wonderful feat of engineering, no blasted Axis agents are going to stop me. At least, not if I can help it!”

“Atta boy, Freddy,” Dave chuckled. “We’ll give them the works, hey, kid? Well, Colonel, I guess that’s about all, isn’t it? Isn’t now as good a time as any to make that Washington call, and bait our little trap?”

The Chief of all U.S. Intelligence Services drummed his fingers on the desk for a moment, and then nodded.

“Yes, I guess it is,” he grunted. “And I hope you’re right, Dawson. I hope our friend did put a smooth one over on me, and that he tapped into these things.”

And on saying that, the Colonel reached out a hand and pulled one of the phones to him.

Footnote 2:

“_Dave Dawson with the Pacific Fleet._”