with These Hands (Ss) (2002) (30 page)

Some instinctive warning must have come to the crouching figure for even as Jim sprang, he saw the white blur of a face, then it melted into the darkness and was gone.

At the gun, nothing. In two steps, Jim was at the edge of the boat deck, his .45 poised and ready, but the afterdeck was empty. His eyes narrowed with thought, he retraced his steps to the cabin. Someone had been tampering with the guns, and that someone would not be satisfied with one attempt.

He stepped into the cabin, shedding his oilskins. He started to hang them up when a voice froze him immobile.

"I hope I'm not intruding ... ?"

Rayna Courcel sat at his desk smoking a cigarette. In slacks, he reflected, she was as seductive as in anything else. But then, her figure would give sex appeal to a shroud.

"Up early, aren't you?" he suggested. "What's on your mind? Don't you know it's four o'clock in the morning?"

"Of course. I wanted to ask a favor, and didn't want anyone to know ... I want to go ashore. I have to go ashore."

"Ashore?" Ponga Jim's face was bland. "Why?"

"Because," Rayna said quietly, "this ship is going to be blown up."

"That strikes me as reason enough," Jim said, unbuttoning his coat. "When does the big event come off?"

"Tomorrow or the following day... when you're somewhere in the Spermonde Archipelago."

"Is there a crystal ball in your cabin? Maybe you should read my palms...." He gave her a moment to understand his question.

"Oh, I know what I'm talking about, Captain. You have a spy on your ship. I was up on the lifeboat deck having a cigarette and I heard someone sending Morse code. I read Morse, learned it in the girl scouts...."

Mayo arched an eyebrow, "I'll bet you did."

"Are you going to let me finish? Good. The message was being sent ahead to a submarine ... that's all I got."

Ponga Jim leaned back in his chair. His dark blue woolen shirt was open at the neck, and just under the edge of his coat Rayna could see the butt of his .45.

"All right. You're a smart girl, aren't you?" Jim said. "If I put you ashore where will you go?"

"To Makassar. I have it all planned. I go to Makassar, and..."

"And we go ahead and be blown up," Jim chuckled.

"Lady, you please me. The only thing wrong with the setup, besides the fact that I don't like being blown up, is that we're not going to be anywhere close to Makassar tomorrow.

I'm not even going near Celebes."

Rayna Courcel's face turned a shade white.

"What do you mean?" she exclaimed sharply. "Your route takes you that way!"

"Honey," Ponga Jim stood up, running his fingers through his hair. "I'm tired. You may not need beauty sleep, but I do. And don't worry about being blown up.

Your spy may be trying to communicate but, in all likelihood, he has no idea where he is."

She started to speak, then bit her lip. At the door, she turned to face him, her hands behind her on the doorknob.

"I can't figure you out," she said, "but I'm afraid you're headed for a big surprise."

"Maybe," Ponga Jim said. "And maybe I won't be the only one."

Chapter
2

Bright morning sunlight sparkled on the sea when Ponga Jim Mayo went on deck. Tarn O'Neill and Ben Blue were leaning on the rail. Both were gunners taken on at Capetown.

"Better check those machine guns," Mayo said briefly.

"Beggin' your pardon, sir," Tarn said, "but my guns are always ready."

"O'Neill," Ponga Jim said shortly, "I'm not doubting you. But I never give an order without adequate reason.

Last night they were tampered with."

O'Neill's face flushed. "Thank you, Captain," he said.

He wheeled and was up the ladder in two jumps.

It was barely eight o'clock, but his three passengers were already at the table when Jim sat down. Eric Frazer, his third mate, was also there. With Millan splitting his time as artillery officer, Jim had shipped an additional third mate.

Frazer had come aboard in Zanzibar. He was short, powerful, and without expression. He had been, he said, a mate on a Danish vessel running to Rio, Para, and up the Amazon until the war put him on the beach.

The two men who, with Rayna Courcel, made up the passenger list were Brace Lamprey, an engineer, and Ross Mallory. Both were South Africans with interests in New Guinea. Now Jim was beginning to wonder if everyone was what they first seemed to be.

"When should we sight the Spermonde Islands?"

Lamprey asked casually, as Jim seated himself. "If I remember my East Indies, they are off the southwest corner of Celebes."

Rayna's hand tightened on her fork, but she did not look up.

"We'd be seeing them now," Jim said, "if we were going that way."

Mallory started violently, and stopped eating. He seemed about to speak when Lamprey interrupted.

"What do you mean, Captain?" he inquired. "Where are we going? Isn't that the route to Borneo?"

"Too many submarines that way," Jim said. "We're going north around Celebes."

Jim looked over at Frazer but the man was eating steadily, apparently ignoring the conversation.

Mallory straightened up. "See here, Captain!" he began angrily, "I don't propose to be dragged all over the ocean during a war. They are bombing the north coast of Celebes.

I demand to be set ashore at once!"

"At once?" Jim asked. "That would mean the closest possible point, wouldn't it. I expect we can manage without much trouble. We're not quite a mile from land now."

They all looked up, surprised. Rayna's eyes strayed to the porthole.

"Not quite a mile?" Mallory was startled. "Where!"

"Straight down," Jim said.

Lamprey laughed, but Mallory's face grew red and angry.

"That isn't funny, Captain!" he growled. "I demand you put me ashore immediately!"

"What's the matter," Jim asked innocently, "afraid you'll be blown up with the ship?"

In the sudden silence that followed, they could hear the sea against the hull. Only Frazer was undisturbed. He ate in silence. Ross Mallory's eyes were suddenly wary.

"What do you mean?" he demanded.

"Mean?" Jim shrugged. "Well, it's one of the things that happen when a Japanese sub fires a torpedo at you."

He got up and walked out on deck. Mallory knew something, he decided. He began to feel better. Ever since the trip began, he had the feeling of trouble brewing. It was getting on his nerves. Now, at least, the trouble was beginning to show itself.

The girl had heard someone sending Morse code, she thought that they were going to be torpedoed ... a spy who wanted to be torpedoed . . . that was a new one.

Ponga Jim had no doubt that there were men out there who would give their lives for their country or cause but he doubted that destroying the small shipment of planes aboard the Semiramis was worth the ultimate sacrifice.

Whatever was going on was something else ... something else entirely.

He was staring off over the sea, and had been watching a fleck in the sky for almost a minute before he realized it was a plane.

It was coming fast and low. The blunt arrows of bombs racked under its wings.

He yelled, and saw O'Neill swing his gun. The Mitsubishi swooped in but even as they saw it, the plane was turning.

The nose lifted into a climb, and was still climbing when O'Neill followed it with a long burst from the double fifties.

The range was extreme and the bullets had no effect. As men ran to the other guns the plane circled, just out of range.

Then, climbing at a terrific rate, the aircraft seemed to disappear into the cloudless blue sky.

Red Hanlon, the chief engineer, stood by No. 3 hatch rubbing his cauliflower ear.

"Skipper," he said, "that guy wasn't shooting."

"Just getting a look at us," Jim said dryly, "after all, he has friends aboard."

"What?" Mallory stopped. "Spies aboard here? What kind of ship is this, anyway?"

Ponga Jim ignored him. If they wanted the ship blown up, why not bomb or torpedo it? That job would have been simple for the plane they had just seen.

The only reason there could be for sparing the ship would be if there were enemy agents aboard who planned to leave the ship, and probably blow it up on leaving. But what was going on that had caused an agent to board his ship . .. and what was so important that the Japanese had sent out a plane to be sure of their location?

The Semiramis was on a course that would take her by the usual route through Makassar Strait. But he was just as sure that he no longer had any intention of going that way.

Jim turned and went up the ladder to the bridge. Frazer, immaculate in a white linen coat, turned to face him. He had been studying the horizon through his glasses.

"We're changing course," Jim said. He stepped into the wheelhouse where Tupa, an Alfur seaman, was at the wheel.

"Put her over to fifty," Mayo said. "And hold her there."

Frazer joined him. "Then you aren't going through the strait?" he asked.

"After being spotted like that," Jim said. "Not a chance.

We're going east. I may decide to put in at Buton."

Frazer hesitated, as though about to speak. Then he turned and walked back to the bridge.

Twice during the day, Ponga Jim changed course, but each time swung back to the neighborhood of fifty degrees.

Once, standing on the bridge, he saw Lamprey looking at the sun's position with a thoughtful expression. Obviously, the man had noted the changes of course. Rayna was watching the sky, too, but with an altogether different expression.

Millan stopped beside him on the deck after dinner. His face was troubled.

"You reckon we've got a spy aboard, Skipper? Should I search their cabins?"

"No," Jim told him, "whoever it is wouldn't have anything incriminating around. But today, we've changed course, so the spy will make an attempt to communicate within the next twenty-four hours, and my bet is within the next six. Then maybe something will break."

Yet it was not until an hour later that he remembered his conversation with Rayna.

She had heard Morse code being sent. .. but why from the lifeboat deck? It was nowhere near the Semiramis's radio room, which was occupied around the clock. Walking out to a spot on the bridge wing where he could see the spot where she stood, he realized she must have been standing just behind one of the ventilators!

Taking a flashlight from a drawer, Jim put on his faded khaki coat and picked up his cap. Silently, he stepped out on the lower bridge. There was no one in sight. He walked aft along the windward side of the main deck to avoid meeting anyone. His soft, woven-leather sandals made no noise on the steel deck. He halted in the shadows by the deckhouse. There was no sound but the rustle of water along the hull but somewhere out there were Japanese submarines, and the sleek, swift destroyers. North Borneo had fallen, Menado in Celebes had been shelled and bombed.

In a swift succession of raids, the Japanese had struck at Rabaul, in the Bismarcks, and at Sorong, a village on poles alongside the beach at Doom Island. Singapore had its back to the wall in a desperate, all-out battle for survival.

But closer another enemy waited, a more dangerous enemy because he was unknown. Yet an enemy who held in his hand not only the lives of those aboard, but the men for whom these planes and munitions were destined. And that enemy was here on this ship with them.

Ponga Jim moved past the crew's mess unseen, and entered the rope locker.

All was still, a haunting stillness that concealed some living presence. Yet he knew there was no one in the locker but himself, it was only that he was getting closer.

There was a smell of new hemp and tarred lines, of canvas and of turpentine.

Crawling around a pile of heavy line, he softly loosened the dogs and opened the door concealed there. He felt with his foot for the steel ladder, and like a wraith, glided down into the abysmal blackness of the hold.

Chapter
3

There the dark was something one could feel, something almost tangible. Ponga Jim hesitated, listening with every nerve in his body.

Down below, he could hear the sea much more plainly and he was conscious again, as he always was, of its dark power separated from him by only a thin partition of steel.

There was a faint smell of old cargoes, of copra, rubber, tea and coffee, of sago, nutmeg, and tobacco. He waited an instant in the darkness listening.

Then he heard it, the faint tinkle of metal on metal. He felt the hackles raise on the back of his neck, and he moved forward on cat feet, feeling his way by instinct through the racked torpedo bombers and cases of ammunition. In his mind he was trying to locate whoever was in the hold, to locate the man by putting himself in the man's place.

Suddenly, he remembered. What a fool he had been!