CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The Plot Revealed

In his other hand the stranger carried a square electric lantern. He turned the powerful beam on Sandy and Jerry. “Did you have any trouble with them, Parker?”

“Not a bit,” Parker said. “The Steele boy suggested himself that we land here. And of course there was no trouble at all persuading him to fly out here with me.”

The boys looked from Parker to the other man in bewilderment. “Russ,” Sandy pleaded, “tell us what’s going on. Who is this guy?” He turned on the stranger belligerently. “Do you know where my father is?”

“My name is Kruger,” the man snapped. “And, yes, I do know where your father is. Now, turn around and march up those stairs.” He waved the pistol at them threateningly.

As the boys started up the stairs, the men fell behind and lowered their voices. “How do you like that!” Jerry declared. “Russ Parker is in with these characters.”

“I can hardly believe it,” Sandy said miserably. “Anyhow, at least I know Dad is okay—so far,” he amended.

“No conversation, please,” Kruger ordered sharply.

“Parker, you sneak,” Sandy said bitterly, “you won’t get away with this. The authorities know my dad and his friends are missing. And when we don’t show back at the airfield there’ll be even more search planes combing this area.”

The pilot began to laugh. “No one knows your father and the others are missing. No one at all. By now the hotel has received a telegram from Skagway saying that Professor Crowell and his party returned there on urgent business and that someone will pick up their luggage and pay their hotel bill.”

Sandy was confused. “But—but what about the people at the airport? You said there were search planes out looking for the missing plane.”

“There is no missing plane. Yesterday morning four men rented a plane. Last evening the plane returned—with four men. There was another crew on duty at the airport. They couldn’t suspect that the passengers were four _different_ men.”

Kruger seemed to enjoy the boys’ discomfort. “By the time the American authorities discover that any of you are missing you will be well out of reach in Siberia.”

“Across that narrow stretch of water we were talking about,” Parker taunted them. “The Bering Strait.”

The man with the gun took them through a series of tunnels that slanted up steeply through the mountainside. The ascent was severe, and every ten minutes or so they would stop to rest. When they emerged into the open again, Sandy saw that they were at the site of the main diggings. The terrain was pockmarked with shafts and tunnels. Rusty train tracks disappeared into the gloomy mine tunnels, and abandoned dump cars tilted up through the snow drifts about the entrances. Far below, the main building of the Kennecott mine squatted at the foot of the mountain; from this perspective it reminded Sandy of a miniature cardboard house sitting on a floor of cotton beneath a Christmas tree. They followed a path around a bend to the mouth of a huge tunnel. To one side of it a flaking, rusted cable car rocked gently from a metal cable that was equally rusted. It scraped and screeched monotonously at the slightest gust of wind.

“In here,” Kruger ordered. “This was one of the main shafts of the mine.”

They walked along the rail ties back about one hundred yards, where a rectangle of yellow light splashed into the corridor from a doorway in one wall of the tunnel. Kruger motioned them through the doorway into a big chamber that evidently had served as a locker room for the miners. Rotting wooden benches and tin lockers cluttered up the room, many of them overturned, all of them sagging. A large gasoline lantern burned on a long wooden table in the middle of the room. On either side of the table sat a strange man with a rifle across his knees. Across the table, seated all in a row on a bench, their hands and feet tied, were Dr. Steele, Professor Crowell, Lou Mayer and Tagish Charley.

“Dad!” Sandy burst out. “Am I glad to see you! Are you okay?”

Dr. Steele managed a strained smile. “I’m all right, Son. We all are. But I can’t say I’m glad to see you boys.” He turned to one of the men with the rifles. “Did you have to drag them into it, Strak? They’re only boys. They don’t even know what this is all about.”

The man he addressed, a short, intense fellow who moved with the quick, nervous motions of a squirrel, stood up and walked toward the new arrivals. He stopped in front of Sandy and stroked his prominent clean-shaven chin.

“So this is your son, Dr. Steele? A fine-looking lad.” He spoke careful, formal English. “I, too, regret that he and the other youth had to become involved. But we couldn’t take any chances. They would have notified the police that you were missing and....”

“Don’t be a fool!” Professor Crowell snapped. “The police will discover our absence soon enough.”

Strak smiled patiently. “I disagree. Secrecy has been the keynote of your project. Only a few people in both your governments—high officials—know your real purpose in coming to Alaska. By the time they discover you are missing, we will all be safely out of the country.”

“Of course, Dr. Steele, you could spare your son and his friend a lot of unnecessary hardship by co-operating with us,” Kruger said. “Just the answer to one simple question....”

“You’re wasting your time,” Dr. Steele said flatly.

“Have it your own way.” Strak sighed wearily. “You will tell us, you know. That is certain. Today, tomorrow, next week or six months from now. We can wait.”

Kruger pushed the boys toward the bench where the other hostages were seated. “Parker, help me tie these two up.”

When the boys were securely bound, Strak motioned Parker to follow him. “Come, Parker. Let us go outside. We have a few things to discuss in private.”

“You want Malik and me to stay here and guard the prisoners?” Kruger asked.

Strak hesitated a moment, then shook his head. “No, come along. You should all hear this.” He glanced at the prisoners. “I don’t think they’ll get loose.” He smiled. “And even if they did, where would they go? We’ll be up at the entrance—the only entrance.”

The four men left the room and their footsteps echoed off down the tunnel. In the dim light of the lantern Dr. Steele’s face was drawn and pale.

“I’ll never forgive myself, getting you boys mixed up in this,” he said. “Once I knew they were on to us, that we hadn’t deceived them into thinking this was an innocent geological expedition, I should have sent you back to California on the first plane.”

“Don’t blame yourself, Dad,” Sandy said quietly. “I wouldn’t have left you, knowing that you were in some kind of serious trouble.”

“That goes for me too, sir,” Jerry backed him up.

“What I don’t understand,” Sandy said, “is how they caught you.”

“We walked right into their hands,” Professor Crowell explained. “Parker knew we were coming up to the Kennecott mine and tipped them off. They flew up ahead of us, hid their plane in the trees and covered up the ski tracks. When we arrived they were waiting for us.”

“A whole gang of them,” Lou Mayer put in. “Seven of them, armed to the teeth. Four of them took our plane back to Cordova so the people at the airport wouldn’t report us missing.”

“I know,” Sandy said grimly. “They took care of the hotel too. By the time the authorities get suspicious it will be too late. The one called Kruger says we’ll be in Russia by then.”

Dr. Steele and Professor Crowell looked at each other hopelessly. “Unless we tell them what they want to know,” Dr. Steele said.

Sandy’s eyes were puzzled. “Just what are they after? I guess you can tell us now.”

Dr. Steele smiled wanly. “I guess we can.” He paused before he went on. “Although he’s better known as a geologist, Professor Crowell is one of Canada’s leading physicists. During World War Two he was assigned to rocket research work for the Canadian Army and continued to specialize in this field after the war.

“About six months ago an old Yukon prospector submitted an ore sample to a government assay office at Whitehorse. He said he had been prospecting on the Alaskan border and struck what he believed was a vein of gold. An analysis of the sample revealed traces of copper, but no gold. But much more important, it revealed strains of a rare element that the Canadian government was testing as a catalytic agent in top-secret experiments with a new solid rocket fuel.

“For years now rocket experts have acknowledged that solid fuels are more practical than liquid propellants—even more so for the big manned rocket ships of the future. The trouble is, up until now the solid fuels haven’t been too dependable. Professor Crowell believes this new element will solve the most serious drawbacks, but unhappily it’s about as rare as uranium. During the past few months there have been teams out searching for it all over the Dominion, without much success.

“Then, unexpectedly, this old prospector shows up with an ore sample laced liberally with it. The assay office at Whitehorse dispatched it to Ottawa immediately and Professor Crowell was consulted. It was his opinion that they were on to something big. A special agent flew up to Whitehorse to interview the prospector, but tragically—any way you look at it—the poor old man had passed away from pneumonia only a few days before the agent arrived.

“Now the big problem was to find out where the dead man had picked up the ore. All kinds of soil and rock analyses were made on it without any specific results. It was the professor’s guess that it came from somewhere in the vicinity of the Kennecott copper mine. There was copper in the sample, of course, and the old miner had mentioned vaguely at the assay office that he had discovered it somewhere ‘on the border.’ A layman couldn’t be expected to know exactly where the border lies; actually, he may have wandered well into Alaska.

“In any case, the Canadian government conferred with Washington, and it was decided to send a joint team up to Alaska composed of Professor Crowell, Lou Mayer and myself.” He glanced toward the doorway and added sourly, “We didn’t count on it ending up a three-nation team.”

“How did they find out?” Sandy wanted to know.

Dr. Steele shrugged. “They have the most efficient espionage system in the world. That we have to give them credit for.”

Sandy pursed his lips solemnly. “But they still don’t know what the element is?”

“Or how it’s employed in the manufacture of the rocket fuel,” Professor Crowell declared emphatically. “I’m the only one who can tell them that. And I’ll die first.”

“Watch it,” Jerry cautioned. “I think I hear them coming back.”

The sound of approaching footsteps reverberated hollowly through the mine. Strak appeared in the doorway alone. “Kruger and Malik have gone down the mountain to help Parker clear a runway,” he told them. “We’ll be taking off with a heavy load.”

Sandy made a quick mental count. “That plane will never get off the ground with ten of us.”

Strak smiled. “I agree. But there are only seven of us who will be making the trip.”

“What do you mean?” Dr. Steele demanded.

“Just that you and your son and Professor Crowell are the only ones who have any real value to us. The rest will remain here.”

Dr. Steele was shocked. “You can’t intend to leave them tied up in this mine? They’ll starve to death or die of exposure.”

Strak shrugged. “That’s a risk we will have to take. Perhaps in time they may be able to get loose. Perhaps they will make it back to civilization. Who can tell? The Indian seems to be a resourceful woodsman.” He walked over and stood in front of Tagish Charley. “Tell me, Doctor, he _is_ alive, isn’t he?”

Tagish Charley’s face betrayed no trace of emotion. He had not spoken a word since the boys’ arrival. All the while he had sat stiffly on the bench, hands behind him, eyes staring fixedly at the rock wall in front of him—as detached as any cigar-store Indian could be, or so it seemed to Sandy.

In sudden irritation Strak bent close to Charley, flashing his electric torch into his face. “You insolent Indian dog! You can speak, can’t you?”

Then, for the first time, Charley showed some sign of life. Slowly he lifted his eyes to Strak’s face and said solemnly, “Charley too busy to talk—until _now_!” As he shouted the last word, his two powerful arms whipped free from behind him and wrapped around his tormentor.

Strak tried desperately to bring up his rifle, but he was helpless in Charley’s grizzly-bear hug. The air whistled out of his lungs like a wheezing bellows, and there was the distinct snap of a rib cracking. He moaned softly and fainted. Charley let him drop to the floor.

“Atta boy, Charley!” Jerry said exultantly.

They all winced as the Indian held up his hands in the light. His wrists were raw and bleeding from rubbing at the rope. “Big spike in bench where I sit. Slow work, but at end I saw rope through.” He bent over Strak and removed a hunting knife from the man’s belt. Quickly he cut through the ropes that bound his own ankles. Then he went along the bench freeing the others.

“Come on!” Dr. Steele said, grabbing up Strak’s rifle from the ground. “No time to lose. The others will be coming back soon.” He led the way out of the room and down the tunnel to the entrance.

At the foot of the mountain beyond the abandoned mine building, they could see the plane sitting like a toy in the snow. The three enemy agents were bustling around it, mere specks at this distance.

“They’re still working on the runway,” Sandy observed.

“What do we do when they come back?” Jerry asked.

Lou Mayer indicated the rifle the doctor was holding. “We have one gun. We can make a fight of it at least.”

Dr. Steele was not enthusiastic. “All three of them are armed. I’m afraid it wouldn’t be much of a fight.” His voice was grim. “Some of us would be hurt—or killed.”

“Why couldn’t we rush down the hill when we see them start up?” Professor Crowell suggested. “They’d be inside, coming up through the shafts. By the time they got up here, we’d have quite a head start on them. If we get to that plane—”

Dr. Steele shook his head. “We’d never stand a chance without snowshoes, and they’re all down at the mine shed. They’d have a field day picking us off with their rifles while we flounder through those hip-deep drifts on the mountain.”

“Then we’ve got no choice,” Lou Mayer said gloomily. “We’ve got to make a stand here.”

“Wait a minute!” Sandy cried out, the bud of a wild inspiration forming in his mind. “Is there any chance _that_ thing still works?” The others followed his gaze upward to the old cable car creaking and rocking to the right of the entrance.

The professor sighed. “I’m afraid not. These cable cars were operated by power machinery down at the depot.”

“I know,” Sandy said. “But we’d be coasting downhill.”

There was a gleam of interest in Dr. Steele’s eyes. “That sounds logical. What do you say we have a look at it, Son? But keep down. We don’t want Kruger and the others to spot us against the snow.”

They slunk out of the shadow of the mine entrance, darting quickly behind the cover of the cable car. Dr. Steele climbed into the open cab and squinted up at the rigging. “Looks to me as if the only thing that’s restraining it is that safety lock,” he said.

Sandy disagreed. “What about the pulley cable? That must be anchored in the shed below. She won’t roll unless that’s free.”

Dr. Steele studied the arrangement of rollers and cables more closely. “You’re right,” he admitted. He pointed to the steel hook-eye at the back of the car where the pulley cable was attached. “The wire is pretty frayed back here. Possibly we could hack through it. I saw an old ax back in the cave.”

“It’s sure worth a try,” Sandy said. “How do you think that overhead cable will hold up when we start rolling downhill?”

“I’d say it’s in pretty good condition. They put a good coating of grease on all the machinery before they shut the mine down. They must have hoped to use it again, or possibly to sell it.”

Professor Crowell’s voice rang out urgently from the tunnel entrance. “Hurry up! Kruger and the others are starting back.”

Dr. Steele pulled Sandy down out of sight in the car. “We’ll stay here until they enter the shed.” He called over to Tagish Charley, “Charley, duck back into the mine and get a couple of those picks that are lying around.”

Peering over the rim of the cable car, Sandy watched the three men make their way on snowshoes back to the mine. As soon as they had disappeared into the shed, Dr. Steele shouted for the others. “Come on, we’ve got to work fast. Charley, over here with those picks, quickly!”

Lou Mayer, Professor Crowell and Jerry scrambled aboard the car while Dr. Steele gave instructions to Tagish Charley. “You work on the hook-eye and pulley, Charley. I’ll knock out the safety lock. The rest of you just pray.”

One solid blow tripped the safety lock, and the car moved forward about a foot until the taut cable stopped it. The cable itself was more of a problem. Sandy had the uncomfortable sensation that his leaping heart was trying to squirm out of his throat and escape from his body.

The tension was unbearable as Charley pounded away at the pulley with strong rhythmic strokes of the ax. At first it seemed impervious to the dull blade. Then, with relief, Sandy saw one strand snap with a musical twang. Charley swung harder, encouraged by this success, and another strand broke. Each strand that let go put additional stress on the remaining strands, making Charley’s task a little easier. The last two snapped together with a loud report.

The car shuddered and began to roll forward slowly. There was the nerve-shattering screech of metal against metal as the overhead rollers and the main cable protested violently at being used so rudely after twenty-one years of inactivity. Snow, rust and metal shavings cascaded down on the car’s occupants as it picked up momentum.

The boys let go with a tremendous cheer and Professor Crowell and Dr. Steele shook hands solemnly. Sandy glanced behind them at the rapidly diminishing tunnel entrance, but as yet there was no sign of Kruger and the other two enemy agents.

Fortunately the pitting of the cable and the rust and stiffness of the rollers reduced their acceleration sufficiently so that they crashed into the bumpers at the foot of the incline with only a moderate jolt. The cable car split the rotting wood on the bumper’s face, but the springs behind it cushioned the jolt.

Sandy extricated himself from the mass of scrambled limbs gingerly. “Everybody okay? No broken bones?”

There was a chorus of relieved okays.

Dr. Steele climbed out into the snow. “All right. Into the shed and on with those snowshoes.” Apprehensively, he looked up the mountain, but the enemy agents still had not appeared.

As Sandy strapped on the great clumsy snowshoes, he made a suggestion. “Let’s take the other four pairs with us. That will slow them up even more if they try to follow us.”

“Good idea,” Tagish Charley grunted. “But I got better one.” He picked up the ax he had carried with him from the cable car and began to attack the surplus snowshoes furiously. When he had demolished them, he straightened up and, to everyone’s amazement, grinned broadly. “They no go very far now.”

They were halfway to the plane when a distant gunshot came to them faintly through the thin, dry air. Turning, Sandy could make out three ant-like specks on the mountainside near the tunnel where they had been held prisoner.

“They’ve discovered we’re gone,” he said.

“And they’re shooting at us,” Jerry commented nervously.

“We’re not in much danger at this range,” Professor Crowell assured them. “Without telescopic sights, it would take a mighty lucky shot to hit anyone.”

Nevertheless, they were all greatly relieved when they were seated snugly in the cabin of the plane and Professor Crowell had the motors gunning smoothly. “Those fellows did a mighty fine job on this runway,” the professor said charitably. He advanced the throttle and the ship glided ahead smoothly. They cleared the trees at the far end of the clearing with plenty of room to spare and climbed in a sweeping curve that took them over the mountain. Far below on the snowy slope they could see the frustrated agents hopping about and shaking their fists in the air.