Ken Holt - Mystery Of Green Flame Part 17

"Ready?" Phillips asked.

Again Sandy signaled Yes.

"All right," Phillips said. "Here goes. Send a single dash after every letter-I'll give you time-so that our direction finders can keep looking for you. The code for the letter A is dot-dash."

Ken wrote it down and Sandy sent the requested dash signal.

"B is dash three dots."

Less than three minutes later Phillips was saying, "That's it. Got them all?"

Ken said, "Check" to Sandy, and Sandy tapped out a Yes.

"Right," Phillips said. His voice sounded taut. "Then tell us where you are. But keep sending dashes until you're ready to transmit."

Sandy's weary finger started a steady slow series of buzzes, while Ken hurried to his side, the flashlight in his hand.

"It ought to be enough to say just 'private hospital,'" Ken said quickly. "I'll give it to you letter by letter."

Sandy broke off the monotonous buzzes and began to send the dots and dashes that Ken recited, pausing long enough between each letter so that there could be no possible confusion.

When the fifteen letters were completed, Phillips' startled voice came through the loud-speaker: "The private hospital here in Rio Claro?"

Sandy tapped out the two dots for Yes.

A blur of voices sounded through the speaker. The boys strained to listen and heard several staccato sylla- DESPERATE ERROR 193.

bles in Gonzalez' accented English. Phillips was obviously conferring with him.

"Are you being held in the main building of the hospital?" Phillips asked finally.

Sandy buzzed a sharp single dot for No.

"In the clinic building near the road?" Gonzalez was apparently relaying to Phillips the layout of the hospital. But before the boys could answer that question, Phillips changed his mind. "No-that method's too slow. Can you give us your exact location?"

Sandy tapped out a Yes, waited an instant, and then transmitted, at Ken's dictation, two more words: underground garage.

Again there was a blur of talk over the receiver, and then Phillips said, "Right! We're on our way! We'll be there in five minutes. Keep your chins up!"

Ken and Sandy both slumped back on their heels and stared at each other. Wide foolish grins replaced the expressions of tense anxiety that they had both been wearing for what felt like weeks. Ken reached out and drew Roberto close.

"It's all right," he said. His voice was slightly unsteady. "It's all right, Roberto. The police are coming. They'll be here in a few minutes and then we'll be out of this place."

"That is good." Roberto's chin was trembling again.

It was a moment before they realized that the slight noise somewhere in the background of their enormous relief was a light tapping at the door. By the time they recognized its significance, the gentle voice of Gosset was speaking again through the wooden barrier.

"Very clever," it said. "But not quite clever enough, of course. Naturally we were receiving your signals, and the answers of your friends. You didn't think of that?"

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He waited, laughing softly. "I thought not. And you underestimated me in another way too. You thought I would be so foolish as to hide you on the hospital grounds. Tut-tut, you might have given me more credit than that! It was elementary to transfer you to another location while you were unconscious."

Ken's mind could scarcely absorb the staggering news. They were not in the underground garage on the hospital grounds! That meant that their message to Phillips had been useless-had been worse than useless.

"In fact," Cosset was continuing cheerfully, "your friends will find nothing whatever to interest them when they reach the hospital. Even our latest patient, Mr. Baron, has been moved. We regretted the necessity, but your stupid blundering made it imperative. And now, unfortunately-it's really most inconvenient-we shall have to speed up our plans so far as you are concerned. We shall have to put you out of our way immediately- and permanently, I need not add."

"You want me to shoot through the door?" Joe's voice, asking the question, sounded eager.

"You always were a fool, Joe," Gosset told him gently. "Can you shoot blindly through three inches of oak and expect to do any damage? Of course not. Use the ax- quickly!"

The heavy thud of a sharp blade biting into timber put a period to Cosset's command. Incongruously, at the same moment, the Rio Claro radio station resumed its interrupted program, and the strains of a lively folk dance filled the air.

CHAPTER XVI.

FIGHTING FIRE WITH FIRE.

THE SOUND of the ax's blow brought Ken and Sandy both out of the paralysis that had held them rigid during Gosset's speech. They spoke simultaneously, as they faced each other above the makeshift transmitter over which they had unwittingly flashed false information to the only men who could save them now.

"How can we-?" Sandy began.

"Send out the S O S again!" Ken said.

Sandy's fingers fumbled toward the wires and a moment later the long and short buzzes of the distress signal, sparking their way out into s.p.a.ce, echoed noisily as crackling interruptions to the merry music flowing from the car's radio loud-speaker. The second blow of the ax thudded heavily.

On the final buzz of the second SOS signal the music broke off abruptly. The voice of the young police officer, Pedro Montez, took its place.

"Holt and Allen!" it said sharply. "This is Pedro Montez, standing by here. Have received your signal. Please explain."

Ken's mind had been working furiously. He was ready with the first message for Sandy to relay. Swiftly he 195.

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dictated the dots and dashes that spelled out: not at hospital.

The blows of the ax were falling rhythmically now.

When they heard the voice of Montez again, it was harsh with amazement. "You are not at the hospitall" Then, as if Montez mistrusted his own understanding of the signals, he added, "This is your message?"

Sandy tapped out the two brief dots for Yes.

"Then where are you?" Montez demanded. But immediately, as if realizing that this question might waste time, he said, "Never mind. Answer this question: Do you know where you are?"

The wires under Sandy's hand touched once for No.

There was a brief pause. Then Montez said decisively, "I will transmit your message immediately to Phillips and Gonzalez. Also to our planes. They will resume trying to locate your transmitter. Continue to send the SOS signal to guide them. I will stand by here. Maintain contact."

Just as his voice fell silent the air was rent with a loud-splitting sound. Sandy's fingers faltered at their task. The bright edge of an ax glittered on the inner surface of the right-hand door. It was approximately at eye level, and in the center of the big panel, inside the heavy framework that gave the door extra thickness around its edges. It stayed there a moment, like a tiny streak of lightning in a dark sky, and then it disappeared. The ax had been pulled free, ready for the next blow.

In the three-second tick of time, before it thudded home again, Ken held out his hand, palm forward, to halt Sandy's transmitting. And in the silence he heard it-the drone of a plane somewhere overhead.

The ax struck the timber with a sharp crack, but Ken FIGHTING FIRE WITH FIRE 197.

scarcely noticed. He was consulting the sheet of copy paper on which he had scribbled down the international code signals. "Send this," he told Sandy urgently. And he dictated the dots and dashes that spelled out: plane overhead.

Montez answered almost immediately. "Received your message: Plane overhead. Am relaying. Keep transmitting."

The axhead appeared again. This time a long sliver of wood, perhaps an inch wide and more than six feet long, splintered away from the door at the force of the impact. It fell onto the hood of the convertible, remaining attached to the timber of the door only at its lower end, as if on a hinge. A shaft of bright sunlight came with it, and in the narrow opening the boys could clearly see the glint of the ax blade as it was jerked free and withdrawn.

Cosset's henchman had made the first successful breach in the wooden wall that separated him from his victims.

Ken's mind was racing. Montez knew now that a plane was above the place where they were being held. But if several planes were taking part in the search, would it be clear immediately which one was directly above the boys' prison? And did that one plane have a direction finder accurate enough to pinpoint the place?

Another sliver of wood splintered inward, alongside the first, creating a gap nearly three inches wide. But almost immediately the broader beam of light was partially blocked. Ken realized that a body was being pressed against the outside of the opening. The pale oval of a face told him that Gosset or one of his men was peering into the prison, finding the exact location of its unarmed defenders. Then the body moved away.

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Suddenly Ken knew what would replace it. He lunged across the floor to the pile of bricks alongside the convertible and grabbed one in his right hand. He stood erect and waiting, his arm up and back.

In the background of his consciousness he heard Sandy's signals buzzing their steady pattern. It was impossible to tell whether there was a plane throbbing above them now or not.

Ken stiffened. He was seeing what he had expected to see-the muzzle of an automatic thrust through the gap in the door, aimed directly at Sandy's crouched body.

"Get down!" Ken shouted. And in the same instant he hurled the brick.

It struck the gun just as it went off. The muzzle tilted high and disappeared from sight as the bullet thudded dully into one of the planks that formed the roof. Bits of whitewash drifted down from the ceiling like snow.

Sandy's signals had stopped. His pale face stared toward the door. Roberto, nearby, was a small frozen statue of fright.

"Keep sending!" Ken snapped at Sandy. "Roberto," he added, "hand me more bricks. Quickly!"

Sandy's hand was shaking. It was a moment before he could bring the two tiny points of wire in contact. He paused after two ragged buzzes and started over, more steadily.

Roberto was running across the floor, instinctively crouched low like a frightened puppy. But he found the bricks and handed two up to Ken, one for each hand. Ken kept his eye fixed steadily on the bright sunlit gap in the door.

Several voices rose outside, mingled in argument. Gosset's finally drowned out the others, although for a FIGHTING FIRE WITH FIRE 199.

moment Ken didn't recognize the suddenly thin high-pitched tone. Cosset's inhuman gentleness had vanished. It had been replaced by an equally inhuman rage.

"Then make the hole bigger! You helpless idiot!" It was almost a scream.

"Not me. I'm getting out of here-now!" It was Joe who answered. "As long as that plane's gone away, I think we should-"

A shot rang out. "Next time I won't be playing, Joe," Cosset told him. "Get back here and stay here. n.o.body's leaving until we get rid of those kids! Al, you take the ax!"

Again the glinting axhead flashed into view and thudded into the wood.

"Did you hear that?" Sandy's hand had fallen to his side. "The plane's gone!" The tone of his voice, as well as his motionless fingers, announced his hopelessness. "We're sunk!"

As if to confirm his statement another jagged piece of wood crashed forward out of the door. In the newly enlarged opening Al's contorted face showed clearly.

Instantaneously Ken hurled another brick. It zoomed unerringly through the aperture. The face jerked rearward and disappeared. Al's voice rose in a bellow of rage.

"Sandy, keep sending!" Ken shifted another brick to his right hand and reached his left for the one Roberto held ready. The small boy's eyes were as round as marbles. Ken didn't dare look down at him, for fear of betraying his thoughts. His mind told him that Sandy was right-that they were fighting a pitifully losing battle. But he refused to face what must be the inevitable outcome, the grim fate that Cosset had planned for him and his friend and young Roberto.

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"Keep sending!" he repeated. "How can they find us if we don't keep transmitting?"

"But they'll never-"

Ken cut him off. "Keep sending. And I've got another idea, too. Roberto, can you throw these bricks?"

"Not so hard as you," Roberto answered in a small voice.

"Never mind. It doesn't have to be hard-it isn't far to the door if you stand here." With a hand on Roberto's shoulder he turned the little figure so that it faced the door. Then he grabbed his list of code signals out of his pocket and knelt down by Sandy. "Now send this," he said.

Sandy glanced at him out of haggard eyes, but he didn't argue. Automatically he sent out the thirteen signals that Ken dictated.

Ken jumped to his feet as he finished, pulling off his shirt and ripping a sleeve out of it as he did so.

"What was the message?" Sandy asked. "And what-"

"Holt and Allen!" The radio, long silent except for the rasp of Sandy's spark signals, erupted into sudden life. "Is this your message: Watch for smoke?"

"Smoke!" Sandy gasped.

"That's right," Ken snapped back. "Answer Yes."

After a brief startled interval Sandy tapped out the two sparks.

Ken was standing beside the convertible, opening the gas-tank cap.

"Right!" Pedro Montez almost shouted the word. "We will watch! Am alerting the planes immediately!"

Ken jerked the gas-tank cap free and frantically stuffed into the small opening the sleeve he had torn from his shirt. He left the cloth dangling in the gasoline as he raced to Sandy's side to pick up the jackknife.

In the enlarged opening Al's contorted face showed clearly.

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With it in his hand he ran to the old Ford and began hacking away at its ancient tires. Flakes of aged, brittle rubber came away at every slash of the blade. When he had a small pile of them he gathered them up in both hands and ran to place them on the hearth of the forge.