Dave Dawson at Casablanca Part 9

"Most naturally!" Freddy said with a slight edge to his voice. "I've been doing some extra thinking about this thing, in case you don't realize it."

"Well, go right ahead and think yourself black, blue, and sky-pink in the face, if it makes you happy, little man," Dawson said with a laugh, "but you still won't know from beans until the colonel gets here. And if he--"

"I know, _I know_!" Freddy interrupted with an impatient gesture of his hand. "Save your breath, old thing. However, you might give this a bit of thought, if your brain can stand the strain. We've been flying part of the air transport route to North Africa."

"No kidding?" Dawson said with a mock gasp. "Why, I always thought the air transport route to North Africa was by way of Salt Lake City and Alaska!"

"Very, _very_ funny!" Freddy snapped. "If I'm not boring you, Major Parker said he was sent down here to keep an eye out for sabotage. He also said nothing has happened in all the time he's been here. Colonel Welsh admitted that his special agents were acting as C.O. of the points where we've stopped and were going to stop. Why, Dave? _Why_ should Intelligence have a sudden interest in this air route to North Africa?"

Dawson started to make another wisecrack, but the deadly serious look on young Farmer's face stopped him. He gave the question a moment or two of thought and then shook his head.

"I don't know, Freddy," he replied. "I really don't know. You can search me. If it isn't because of possible sabotage, then what?"

"I guess I've asked myself that question a thousand times," the English-born air ace said slowly. "I can think up but one answer that might make sense. This is it. All these arrangements are being made to make absolutely sure nothing will happen to something very special that is soon to be flown to North Africa."

"Such as?" Dawson prompted.

Freddy seemed to hesitate for a long time. Then he shrugged, and made a little gesture with his hands, palms upward.

"Blessed if I know, or can guess," he said. "However, I feel absolutely sure that all this business is taking place because something highly important is to be flown to North Africa."

"I don't think I agree with you there, Freddy," Dawson stated with a frown. "This is one of the Air Transport Command routes to North Africa, but if something special was to be flown across, the plane carrying it certainly wouldn't land at all these points. Heck, Freddy! Air Transport Command has lots of planes that could make the run down here to Trinidad non-stop, and hop from here to Natal the same way."

"Oh, quite," Freddy Farmer agreed, and waved his hand as though brus.h.i.+ng aside the undisputed point. "Non-stop all the way to Natal, if you want to make an issue of it. However, the points in between are being given just as much attention. Presumably this is being done _in the event of trouble and a forced landing_; emergency fields, so to speak, all along the route the plane, or _planes_, will fly."

"Okay, okay, Master Mind!" Dawson laughed, and threw up his hands.

"Maybe you've got something there. And if you have, it means that what we've been delivering, and what we just destroyed, are instructions in case your mysterious cavalcade of the air happens to sit down on one of the fields. Okay, that's that, then. Now all you have left to figure out is _why_ this mysterious flight?"

Freddy Farmer nodded but made no reply. He sat watching the swiftly approaching shadows of night. Glancing at his face, Dawson saw that the English youth had something very absorbing on his mind. When young Farmer continued to maintain silence, Dawson's curiosity got the best of him.

"Okay, out with it," he said. "What's the heavy thought that's weighing down your brain at the moment?"

"A very definitely insane one," Freddy Farmer replied, with a little apologetic smile. "But taking it all and all, I'm blessed if I can think of anything better."

"Thanks," Dawson said sarcastically, and rolled over on his side. "That makes everything clear as mud. What do you want me to do--get up on my hind legs and beg?"

If Freddy Farmer heard the remark, he ignored it. He turned to Dawson and held up one hand with the fingers stiff and extended upward. Then he started counting them off with the forefinger of the other hand.

"_One_: Two F.B.I. chaps followed us all over New York," he said.

"_Two_: Colonel Welsh told us that a list of names compiled by the War Department had been turned over to the F.B.I., and that it had the approval of the President, the Secret Service, the Army, Navy, and Air Forces. _Three_: The colonel refused to give us so much as a hint as to what's behind this flight of ours. _Four_: He told us to guard those sealed envelopes with our lives. _Five_: He said that one of his agents was in secret command of every point where we were to stop. _Six_: The route is the Air Transport route to North Africa. _Seven_: The colonel said that the sealed envelopes contained the most important secret of the war so far. And _eight_: He said that he would have another special mission for us when we met in Natal."

"And _nine_?" Dawson queried when young Farmer stopped talking and lapsed into brooding silence.

The English youth hesitated, chewed on his lower lip for a moment, and then leaned over toward Dave and whispered, "_Nine_, is that all these arrangements are being made because--because President Roosevelt and the Yank High Command are being flown to North Africa, and perhaps beyond, for a war conference with Prime Minister Churchill, Premier Joseph Stalin, and their High Command Staffs. And there you have what _I_ think!"

Dawson whistled softly, sat up straight, and stared hard at his flying mate and dearest friend.

"And _I_ think you are strictly nuts, Freddy!" he said. But scarcely had he spoken the words when he frowned and gave a little twist of his head. "Jeepers, I wonder!" he mumbled.

"Yes, no doubt I am quite nuts," Freddy agreed, and got up on his feet.

"Personally, I can't think up a better guess. It's started my brain swimming, though. So what say we start on back, eh? Don't want to miss evening mess, you know."

"What a guy! _What a guy!_" Dawson groaned, and stood up. "Here in one breath he has perhaps figured out the biggest secret in the war so far, and in the next breath he's sounding off about that stomach of his. Did I mention a moment ago that I think you _are_ nuts? If I didn't, then consider it said right now!"

"The difference between us, old thing!" Freddy Farmer explained with an airy wave of his hand as he started back along the path. "The food you eat helps your body. The food I eat helps my body _and_ my brain. If you'd only eat more, maybe some of the nourishment would have a chance to get up that high! I say! I didn't half realize that it was this dark."

"Yeah," Dawson agreed as he stumbled over a root. "A good thing that talking box of yours ran out of words, or Major Parker would have to send out a searching party. I--Hey, Freddy! What's the matter?"

Dawson shouted the last because young Farmer, some ten or fifteen feet ahead of him in the gloom, had suddenly buckled at the knees and had fallen slowly to the ground. Dave leaped forward toward his prostrate pal and had started to kneel down beside him when suddenly there was a rustling sound in the sugar cane to his right. He turned his head and caught a fleeting glimpse of bare feet and trousers. Then the Trinidad sky seemed to fall on top of his head with a thunderous roar of sound, and a great shower of red, yellow, orange and purple sparks.

"Hey! What--"

From a million miles away he heard the hoa.r.s.e whisper of his own voice.

Then the hands of an invisible giant seemed to grab hold of him, lift him high, and fling him spinning head over heels out across a world composed of booming sound and flas.h.i.+ng light.

CHAPTER EIGHT

_Eagles Can Take It_

A death-like stillness was everywhere. In that total absence of sound, Dawson was aware of a throbbing, pounding pain in his head that made him feel as though somebody were chopping it apart. Silence, darkness, and somebody chopping his head to pieces. These three things Dawson's sluggish brain could grasp, or at least grasp for a moment at a time.

All else, though, was just a great big blank. He didn't know where he was, or what had happened. He scarcely remembered who he was.

Suddenly a p.r.i.c.kly pain all over his face seemed to speed up the functioning of his brain. That, and the dull realization that he could barely breathe because something was clamped hard against his nose and mouth. Realization, yes; but there was not yet enough strength in his body to do anything about it. For that matter, he felt as if he had no body. He was aware of nothing but the pain in his head. Maybe his body was gone, and only his head was living on. Did such things happen? Was it possible for--

"Dave! Dave, old man! Oh--_Dave_!"

Sound? Yes, that was the sound of a voice! But whose voice? Dave couldn't see anything because of the darkness, shattered every now and then by pin-points of glittering light, like falling stars in the night heavens. He--The thought dribbled away as a sense feeling returned to his "absent" body. He suddenly realized that he was being picked up, or rolled over on his back. The p.r.i.c.kly pain left his face at once. In the next instant he knew that his eyes were open, because he was conscious of many shadows. The shadows moved, but no objects were clearly outlined.

"Dave! Dave, old thing! Can you hear me?"

An arm was about his shoulders, and a hand was brus.h.i.+ng his face. The brus.h.i.+ng seemed to remove every trace of the p.r.i.c.kly pain. It also seemed to cause the shadows to stop moving and gradually take on shape and outline. He know he was looking at treetops outlined against a pale grey sky that grew darker and darker as he looked at it. A head came into view. He saw wide, fear-filled eyes and lips that moved but made no sound, save dry sobs. Suddenly, as though a b.u.t.ton had been pressed inside his head, his sluggish brain started to speed up, and in a flash complete consciousness returned. Memory too, came flooding back like waters pouring through a broken dam.

"Freddy!" he heard himself gasp. "You--you okay, Freddy?"

The arm about his shoulders tightened, and Freddy's choking voice answered, "Thank goodness, Dave! I thought--I could hardly feel your heart beat. You can thank G.o.d for your helmet, and I for mine, too. Our heads would have been caved in but for them. No, Dave! Don't try to sit up. You got it worse than I, or maybe my head is harder."

"I'll feel better sitting up, Freddy," Dawson mumbled, and sat up in spite of Farmer's plea for him to lie still.

For the first couple of seconds, though, it didn't help at all. The throbbing pain doubled in intensity, and he thought his head was going to fly off his shoulders. After the first couple of seconds the throbbing pain died down, and he could feel new strength surging through his body. It was then that he took a good look at Freddy Farmer, let out a little startled cry, and impulsively reached out a hand.

"Jeepers, Freddy!" he gasped. "You look like you've been through a meat grinder, and--Holy smokes! Look at me, will you? I look even worse. My tunic's in ribbons, and--"

Dawson stopped talking and stared wide-eyed at young Farmer. The English-born air ace returned his look and nodded slowly as he wet his lips with his tongue.

"Quite, Dave," he said in a strained voice. "Some dirty beggar chopped us down and searched us from head to foot for something he _didn't_ find."