CHAPTER TWO

_Center Of The World_

As the giant Pan-American Clipper went sliding down toward the landing basin off LaGuardia Field, that question sounded again and again in Dave's brain like a tolling bell. But each time he could think of no answer that seemed reasonable or logical. And each time he groped for the answer, he mentally kicked himself for not having taken the bull by the horns and found out a few things when he had the chance.

That chance had come just a few days ago; two days after he and Freddy had returned from their special assignment in the Singapore area of the war. They hadn't been appointed to any squadron upon their arrival in London. Fact was, they had been given a week's leave to enjoy themselves in the war-torn but still very much chin-up city. They did have fun for two days. Then came the order to report to a certain room at the Air Ministry. It turned out to be the office of Air Vice-Marshal Stoneham, in charge of Active Service Personnel.

For the first few minutes the high ranking Air Ministry official had inquired about their health, how they liked being back in London, and a lot of other things that were of equal "value" in waging a winning war. Then suddenly he had informed them that they were leaving the next day for the United States. It was with great difficulty that they kept from toppling right out of their chairs. And while each struggled to catch his breath and gain control of his tongue, the Air Vice-Marshal had gone on to say that they would fly to Lisbon by British Airways, and from Lisbon to New York by Pan-American Clipper. Upon arriving at New York they would be met by a member of the British Embassy at Washington who would escort them to the Nation's Capital.

"So there you are, Flight Lieutenants," the Air Vice-Marshal had finished up with a smile while they still tried to get their feet back on the ground. "You can pick up traveling vouchers and what-not on the way out. Good luck, and happy landings, and all that sort of thing. Certainly wish I were going along with you. Wonderful country, America. Of course it isn't England, but it's still quite all right, no end."

Perhaps fifteen seconds after that, Dave and Freddy found themselves accepting travel vouchers and other papers from a junior officer. And another couple of minutes after that they found themselves out on the street and headed back toward their hotel. Gosh, yes! He should have asked a few questions of that Air Vice-Marshal when he had the chance. But that had been the trouble. He hadn't had the chance. Things had happened with such startling suddenness and rapidity that--well, _bingo_, he and Freddy were on the Clipper flying west.

"I wish I hadn't even said it!"

Dave snapped out of his old thought trance and glanced at Freddy Farmer.

"Wish you hadn't said what?" he demanded.

The English youth sighed, made a face, and gestured with one hand.

"That bit about us coming over here to instruct American fledglings," he said. "The more I think of it, the more I'm afraid that it just might be true. That would be terrible, Dave. Not that I don't want to do everything possible to help, you understand. But instruct? I'd be perfectly rotten at that game. I'm sure of it!"

"Me too!" Dawson groaned as his heart started sinking again. "And it would just be my luck to get some student who didn't know a flat spin from a three dollar hat. But I'm sure it can't be that. Heck! Let's look at the bright side. Maybe they've sent us over here to take charge of American war flying."

"Hardly!" Freddy said with a chuckle. "After all, the United Nations really are very keen to _win_ the war, you know. And with you--"

"Skip it!" Dave cut in. "I was only trying to make conversation."

"Don't bother," Freddy murmured, and looked out the window. "It's quite interesting enough to watch one of these big ladies come down and land. Phew! That LaGuardia Field is certainly a big place, isn't it?"

"Fair, just fair," Dave grunted. "It's really just one of our emergency fields, you know. Why, we've got airports over here that are so big that they serve breakfast at the start of the take-off and lunch when the transport passes over the far end of the field. And--"

"And glide from there to a landing on the next airport, eh?" Freddy Farmer grunted.

"You're learning too fast," Dave said with a grin. "I wonder who'll meet us."

"_I_ wonder if he'll be able to tell us anything!" Freddy added. "For two pennies I'd refuse to budge an inch until I'm told what this is all about."

"Do that and you'll _be told_!" Dave said with a chuckle. "But not the way you think, sweetheart. Ah, nice! A sweet landing, that one. These Clipper captains sure know their onions when it comes to over-water flying. Well, there's the dock, and customs shed. And I wonder who in that crowd is our welcoming committee. Gee! I hope we can spend a little while in New York so I can show you off to the natives."

"Never mind the natives," Freddy said as the huge Clipper was mushed through the water toward the landing dock. "I'll be perfectly content to see the sights."

"And I'm just the guy who can show them to you," Dave said. "Right from the Battery up to the Bronx Zoo. No. Nix on the Bronx Zoo. Can't take chances."

"Chances on what?" Freddy said as he walked into it with both eyes shut.

"The chances of coming out with the wrong baboon," Dave replied instantly.

Freddy Farmer swung but missed by a mile. Dave had caught up his bag and was out of his seat and heading forward. Five minutes later they had cleared customs and were standing on American soil. They stood there for a minute wondering if the party who was supposed to meet them had missed connections, and if they should go on into the Administration Building waiting room and kill time until he showed up. However, they had hardly started wondering when a neatly dressed man approached them with a smile. One look and you practically saw the map of England stamped on his ruddy face. He wore civilian clothes, but it was easy to see that he was more accustomed to a uniform.

"Flight Lieutenants Dawson and Farmer, eh?" he said, and extended his hand. Then, before they could do no more than nod: "I'm Captain Smith-Standers, attached to the military mission at Washington. The welcoming committee, and all that sort of thing. Have a nice trip, what?"

"A swell one, thanks, Captain," Dave said. "Sure seems good to get back. Of course, Farmer, here, was a little worried coming across. Not used to flying, you know. But we've got a million questions to ask you, Captain. And the first is--"

Dave stopped as the British officer shook his head and raised a restraining hand.

"Don't even bother to ask the first one, you chaps," he said with a laugh. "I'm blessed if I know what the answer is. I was simply ordered to pop up here and pop you two back to Washington. But I say, you mean you don't know why you're here, eh?"

"Quite!" Freddy spoke up. "We haven't the faintest idea. And I can tell you it's been driving us balmy wondering on the way across. Air Vice-Marshal Stoneham simply gave us our traveling vouchers and shooed us out of Air Ministry."

"Well, that's the way they do things these days," the Captain said with a shrug. "Very hush-hush, you know. But you'll find out everything presently, I fancy. I say, do you want something to eat before we push along? We've forty minutes or so before the plane leaves."

"Hey!" Dave yelped. "What do you mean, push along? Farmer, here, isn't going to have a look at New York?"

"Only from the air," the other said with a smile. "I'm to take you to Washington on the very next plane. Perhaps some other time, though. Let's get along, shall we?"

Dave looked at Freddy and shook his head sadly.

"We're either a couple of very important guys," he grunted, "or else somebody doesn't trust you on Fifth Avenue, even under my watchful eye."

"Or else it's to be a court martial, and I'm here as a witness _against_ you!" Freddy snapped. "Which I sincerely hope!"

"Well, you two can carry on with that rot aboard the plane," the Captain said. "Come along. But tell me, how are things in London? Marvelous place, America, but how I wish I were back there. Feel just like I'd run away from the home chaps. Have the Jerries really been letting London alone? The War Office communiques are so blasted uninforming, you know."

That started the two R.A.F. youths off, and by the time they woke up to realize they hadn't asked Captain Smith-Standers a single other question about their status, they had landed at Washington, and were on their way by car to the British Embassy. There they met the Ambassador, and even had lunch with him and his subordinates. It was a very wonderful luncheon, and the conversation was highly interesting to them both. They were treated almost like returning heroes--rather, visiting ones. However, not one word was dropped that gave them so much as an inkling as to why they were in Washington. And although they were both fairly exploding inside with questions, they had sense enough to keep their mouths shut, and wait.

They had to wait until late in the afternoon. Then Captain Smith-Standers escorted them out of the Embassy and into a waiting car. It whizzed them halfway across Washington to a building that was perhaps the most unimposing of all the heaps of Government marble and stone in the whole city. He got out of the car with them, and walked with them up the flight of stone steps as far as the door. There he stopped, and extended his hand.

"Well, I fancy we part for good now, chaps," he said, and smiled at them out of eyes that held just a trace of awe and admiration. "Been wonderful meeting you, and all that sort of thing. Good luck, and worlds of it to you both."

"Sure, thanks," Dave gulped. "And the same to you. But look--what's this place, anyway? And what do we do now? I've seen better jails than this."

"Quite!" Freddy Farmer breathed. "Did we do something wrong at the Embassy? I say, can't you tell us anything?"

"Sorry," the British captain said with a smile and a shake of his head. "Fact is, there isn't anything I could tell you. I've been here before, though, and it's no jail. Wish the devil I was in your shoes. Well, I must trot. Go inside. You're expected. And--and good luck!"

Captain Smith-Standers shook hands with them again, saluted, though he still wore civies, turned on his heel and went down the steps to the car. Dave and Freddy watched the car drive away, then turned and stared at each other.

"Have you ever been cockeyed drunk, Freddy?" Dave suddenly blurted out.

"No, never," the English youth replied. "Have you?"

"No," Dave grunted.

"Then why do you ask?" Freddy demanded.

"Just wondering," Dave murmured, and reached for the handle of the door. "Just wondering if it makes you feel the way I do now. In sixteen million pieces, and every doggone thing upside down. Well, I suppose this is our next move, eh?"

"Fancy it is," Freddy replied with a shrug and a frown. "So open the blasted door, and let's go in."