Secret sea; (27 page)

The blue, sparkling water was being sliced

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open in a wide, foaming, white V. Where it curled up forward it was still blue and so smooth that it looked like cut glass. Then it hissed over and flowed downward along the sleek steel hull and boiled out into the V as the wake current poured up into the hull wash.

Pete turned also and looked. He had always thought that the cans were the prettiest things afloat, and as he looked at this one, tears began to burn in his eyes.

From the destroyer escort the last notes of the bugle, the last clanging of the gongs died and the ship stood at General Quarters. With the men at their battle stations, all guns manned, the torpedo tubes swung outboard, the DE didn't take off a knot as it swept down on the anchored Indra and the black sloop to port of her.

Pete heard the order to the helmsman—'Tut her hard over"—and he watched the DE heel until her scupper was almost awash and then come up again, all engines going astern. She slid smoothly alongside the Indra and Wild Bill Williams's famihar voice called, "Hiya, Pete.> What's cookin'?"

*'Can you come aboard?" Pete called. "Be right with you."

Weber said something in German, and one of the men turned Mike loose and began to untie the the painter of the dinghy. The other man cradled

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the burp under his arm and handed Weber the P-38.

Weber held the pistol down low, close to Pete's stomach. *'We are going now," he said in a low voice. "Tell your friend to let us go without any trouble, Martin, or I will shoot you and the kid. I mean this."

And then Bill's pleasant, slow voice from the DE towering above the Indra said, "Tell that skinny guy to put away the gun. Before I drop something on him."

Weber looked up toward the side of the DE. He looked straight into the muzzle of a machine gun. A sailor, stripped to the waist, was looking down at Weber through the ring sight.

Weber put the P-38 on the bloody chart and stepped back. He was smiling a little as he said, "Now we must go through this all over again."

Pete shook his head. "This fixes your clock, Weber."

"No. The Spanish ship is still there, my friend."

"That's right," Pete said, "but there's nothing in her—now."

"I will be waiting for you to come back."

"Why not come along with me?"

Then Williams swarmed up the side of the Indra. Under the salty cap he was wearing his face had a set, hard expression. Pete had seen it before on that day when Wild Bill had helped fire the last shot from the sinking Hoel. He

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looked slowly around the cockpit and then turned to Pete.

'*What kind of party is this? Hiya, Pete. What's been going on? Who's the little squirt?" he asked, glancing at Mike.

"Look who's talking," Mike said. "I got your SOS and I thought you were kidding, but I didn't have anything else to do so I slid on down here. But it doesn't look much like kidding, does it? ... So you're Weber? . . . What's he done to your hands, Pete? And the squirt's? Saaa-ay, what goes on around here, anyway?" he demanded of Weber.

"Yeah," Pete said, out of his broken mouth, "this is Weber. A very nosy character. And he plays—rough."

Bill turned and looked Weber up and down. "You been kicking my pal around?" he asked slowly.

"I am a citizen of the United States," Weber said.

"Good. The authorities frown on us beating up our late enemies." Williams stooped and picked up the bloody rope which had bound Pete's wrists. He looked at it, dropped it, and looked at Pete's helpless hands.

"Been up to dirty work, haven't you?" he demanded of Weber. "Japoon stuff. . . . Pete, I hate to deprive you of the pleasure but I am going to place my fist upon your friend."

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"Help yourself," Pete said.

"One for me," Mike said.

"Are you not an officer in the Navy?" Weber asked.

"Sure am. And Fm going to be mighty undignified in about a minute." Williams unpinned the tarnished gold oak leaves from the tabs of his shirt. He took off the beat-up, salty cap and then took off the heavy Annapolis ring. Then he held his forefinger under Weber's nose and crooked it.

"Come along," he said. "And take off that fancy hat."

Weber shook his head.

Williams snapped, "Get forward or Fll beat you down right in front of your friends." Then he pushed Weber with his open hand.

Weber struck with the speed of a snake. Blood spurted out of Wild Bill's nose as he crashed back against the wheelbox.

An angry muttering came down from the men lining the rail of the DE.

Williams scooped the blood off with his hand and straightened.

Mike said, "Hit him again, shorty—with your nose."

Williams grinned at Mike. Then he leaped without, apparently, looking at Weber. Pete backed out of the way and shoved the chart board into the case.

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Wild Bill beat Weber up out of the cockpit, aft along the narrow walk, and at last knocked him under the gallows frame and into the water. Then he pulled a huge red handkerchief out of his hip pocket and wiped his nose.

"Fish him out," he said to the crew of the lifeboat.

On the DE there was a low, dignified cheer.

"Now, Pete," Bill said, putting his cap back on, "let's get you and the mighty midget into sick bay. You look pretty beat up. And then tell me all about it."

Pete shook his head. "Can you talk to FBI in Miami?"

"Boy, I got a new juke box aboard that can talk to anybody. But don't worry about Skinny there. Til take care of him."

"I refuse to go aboard your ship," Weber said.

"Listen to him!" Bill snorted. "Get aboard. You're a sick man. My first duty is to save your ugly Hfe."

"This is against international law," Weber said. "I will report you."

"Aw, shut up," Williams said.

Aboard the DE Pete, Mike, and Wild Bill sat in the captain's cabin. Pete and Mike had rolls of white bandage from shoulder to finger tips.

"Let's get everything squared away, Pete. First, we'll dig up that gold out of the lagoon. You're

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not kidding me about that, are you? Next, if the FBI wants Weber, we'll tow that black job to Miami. Third, we'll leave the Indra here and you can send down for her. Fourth, if nobody wants Weber, we'll leave him here. Is that right?"

Pete nodded.

Williams started to say something when the communications officer came in. "FBI doesn't want him," the officer said, "but the Treasury boys do. Apparently he owes Uncle Sam a wad of cabbage."

"Do they want me to bring him?"

"If you please. Captain."

"Okay. Let's go get that cockeyed calendar, Pete."

The DE was sliding toward Miami, the black sloop being towed astern by a thousand-foot wire. Williams had taken the dinghy away from Weber and had posted a man astern on the DE to report if anybody went overboard and tried to swim for it. The main searchlight battery was trained aft to floodlight the sloop during the night run.

Pete and Williams on the bridge watched the mast of the sloop waving. "Stop worrying about your skinny chum," Williams said. "He's not going to jump overboard because we're not going to be within fifty miles of land for a long time. When we get up close to Florida, I'll take him

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aboard. But I don't want him stinking up my ship any longer than necessary."

Pete looked down on the main deck. In an area marked off by ropes were the dripping, sandy, ugly crates and boxes with the golden Wheel of Years piled on top. A sailor with a carbine walked slowly around and around the ropes. Occasionally a working party under an old chief petty officer would come topside, pick up one of the crates, and carry it below to the metalsmith's shop.

"Where was the Santa Ybel, Pete?"

Pete glanced across the compass at the two islands fading astern. "Right about here. Bill. And she isn't *was.' She's still down there."

"Let's go below and see what the metalsmith has got to say. I'll bet you a duck dinner it isn't gold."

Pete held out his bandaged hand. "I'll take that."

In the metalsmith's shop the old chief turned around as Williams' and Pete came in. "Captain," he said, "did you ever see anything as pretty?" Then he picked up a life-sized statue of a hummingbird. In the hard electric light it shone warm and polished.

"See the feathers marked out and the little beak?" the chief said. "There's a whole box full of nothing but birds and we haven't found any two of 'em alike." He pointed to a shelf lined with big and little golden birds.

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"What are they made out of, Chief?" WiUiams asked.

"Captain, they ain't brass."

"Tell me right, Chief. I've got a duck dinner up that it isn't gold."

The chief grinned at Pete. "I hope you enjoy the dinner. The captain doesn't give 'em away very often."

Pete picked up the little hummingbird between his two bandaged paws. "Here," he said, holding it out toward Williams.

Wild Bill stared at him.

"Here!" Pete said. "Before I drop it."

Williams cupped his hands.

"Take it. Your dad won't need 'em all. By the way, have you heard anything from him?"

"I forgot. He sent a message saying he and the staffs from six museums and the aquarium would be waiting on the dock."

"They'd better have a pocketful of money," Pete said. "Mike wants a red bicycle."

"What a character!" Williams said, laughing. "I'll bet he's down in the CPO mess right now."

That's where Mike was, with three chiefs helping him eat a lobster dinner while he entertained them with the story of the Santa YbeL

"When you get through, you might wander aft to the metalsmith's shop and take a look, Mike," Pete said.

"I showed 'em how to clean the stuff," Mike

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said. "Boy, aren't those little birds pretty? How's about me keeping one of 'em, Mac?" Mike thanked the chief petty officers and went with Pete as he and Williams started topside.

"Take your choice," Pete said. "They're as much yours as mine."

"Think of all the people who'll come to look at 'em in the museum, Pete. You guess they'll know how they got in there?"

"Sure. We'll make the museum put up a sign.

Tound by Mike ' What's your last name,

anyway?"

"What's it to you, Mac?" Mike asked. For a moment he glared at Pete, then he looked away. "Never had any. Not that I know of," he said softly.

"Try *Martin.' Just for size," Pete said.

They were almost topside when the explosion came. The shock of it threw Pete heavily against the bulkhead, hurting his arm, and then they heard the dull ca-rump and the echoing roar.

Williams went up the ladder three at a time and burst out on deck. People were getting to their feet again, one man was groaning in the scupper with a nasty cut on his head, the sentry was looking for his carbine.

Aft the tow wire, frayed into a whisk broom at the end, snaked back and forth in the water.

The black sloop was gone. Where it had been there were splinters of it floating and a sail, gray

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with water, slowly sank. A ring of oil began to spread, iridescent in the sunlight.

WilHams climbed to the bridge with Pete behind him.

"Get the wire in. , . . Hard left rudder. . . . Stand by the starboard lifeboat.'* Then Williams looked at Pete.

The DE circled the growing ring of oil and at last cut through it. There was nothing left of the sloop bigger than the blade of an oar.

"Weber must have been scared to death of the people in Miami waiting for him," Pete said.

"They must have wanted him for more than income tax."

Pete nodded. "When I first asked about him, I got a very guarded answer from ONI."

"Well . . . Put her back on course. . . . Secure

on the lifeboat All engines ahead standard. .. .

Quartermaster, enter, *Tow exploded at 2011. Cause of explosion unknown. No personnel recovered. Tow wire reeled in. Search thorough and complete. Missing: Herman Weber, NOK and address unknown. Two others, male, adult, identity unknown,' "

Then he and Pete turned to the windows of the bridge and watched the sea grow dark as night came in.

^1 'M'.

No Bright Re J Bicycle

JL ete, his bandages not so conspicuous under the sleeves of his coat, waited in the hot sunshine for Mike, and when at last he came, Pete said, "You could have bought a dozen bicycles. What've you been doing?"

Mike was scowling. "The lunkhead said he didn't have any red bicycles. He didn't have any bicycles at all. He said maybe he could get me a tricycle, the meathead. . .. Where's the bus?"

NO BRIGHT RED BICYCLE

Pete pointed up the empty street and then looked at Mike. He looked all right, Pete decided. He had on shoes and there was some evidence of a crease left in his pants and his shirt was clean, although the combination of red, green, and purple squares wasn't what Pete would have picked out.

The bus came and they got aboard, finding a seat together in the back. Mike looked gloomily out the window, and as the bus left Miami and began to hurtle along, Mike pulled an immense roll of money out of his pants pocket and looked at it scornfully.