100 Fathoms Under Page 6

  He swung to the deck and tested his footing. The leg was a bit stiff, but he could walk all right. He slipped into his moccasins, and went out the cabin door, and turned toward the refrigerator room. There was no need for lights. He knew just where everything was.

  In the refrigerator room the tiny glow of the pilot light showed him the door handle. He swung it open, shivering in the sudden rush of icy air. The pilot light, which showed that the freezing unit was operating, gave enoughglow so that he could locate the apple barrel. He found a good-sized one and swung the door shut, silently so that he wouldn’t awaken anyone.

  The apple was too cold to bite into. He stood in the passageway and rubbed it between his hands, warming it.Turk Mallane, grouch though he might be, certainly knew how to stock a ship.

  He lifted the apple to take a bite and suddenly halted. There was a clatter from up forward, behind the door that led to the paint locker. Something had fallen. Curious, he walked over, silent in his moccasins, and threw the door open.

  A dark form hurtled forward and drove him violently against the metal door jamb. Rick let out a yell of surprised fright,then a grunt as powerful arms locked around hispajamaed waist. Before he could gather his wits and fight back, the unexpected assailant had his arms tied fast in a judo hold.

  Rick kicked out, and his moccasin drove into soft flesh. There was a grunt, then an elbow caught him under the chin and he saw stars. He squirmed, but the grip tightened painfully. He threw his weight forward, his legs driving, and gained a little room.

  Lights flashed on in the passageway and he caught a quick glimpse of Chahda, his hand on the switch, and Scotty, jumping headlong through the door.

  The man’s hands dropped from Rick’s arms as he whirled to meet Scotty’s charge. Then there was the unbelievable, incredible spectacle of Scotty flying through the air, to land with a stunning crash against the refrigerator!

  Rick rushed, his shoulder low, and took the man in the side. They catapulted into the passageway, and the stranger gave a catlike twist that brought Mm on top.

  Then Chahda stepped in, an iron meat hook in his hand. He brought it down sharply and the strangercol -lapsed in a heap on top of Rick.

  Rick pushed the inert form aside and got to his feet, a little dizzy. Scotty stood up at the same time, rubbing his head and with a look of dismayed surprise on his face.

  Chahda, still holding the hook-one that had been used to hang a side of beef in the refrigerator-bent and rolled the man over.

  Rick stared at the face, and somehow he wasn’t surprised.

  It was the Japanese with the broken nose!

  The passageway was full now, the scientists and the crew hurrying toward the sound of the fighting.

  “What is it?” Hartson Brant asked. “Are you all right, boys?”

  “We’re okay,” Rick answered.

  Zircon stared down at the unconscious man on the deck. “Rick,” he exclaimed, “isn’t that . . .”

  “Yes, sir,” Rick answered. “It’s the one we got the picture of.”

  Turk Mallane pushed his way to the fore and stared down at the Japanese.

  “Who found him?” he demanded.

  “I did,” Rick said. “I went to the reefer for an apple, and I heard a noise from the paint locker. I thought something had fallen, so I went to look-and he jumped me.”

  Scotty went into the paint locker room, turning on the lights. In a moment he returned.

  “I found where he was hiding,” he stated. “There’s a false wall in there. That’s why we

  missed him when we searched. I spotted it this time because he left the boards pulled out.”

  Professor Gordon had bent over the Japanese. “He’s coming to, I think. Someone gave him a hard belt.”

  “That was Chahda,” Rick said.

  The Japanese groaned and opened his eyes. Gordon moved back and he sat up.

  “On your feet,” Turk Mallane growled. He lifted the Japanese upright and let him lean against a bulkhead. “Now,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

  Ready, expressionless eyes flicked from face to face.

  “Talk,” Digger Sears threatened, “or we’ll bash you again.”

  “None of that,” Turk snapped. “Get back to the bridge, Digger. Come on, fellow. What are you doing here?”

  The man shrugged and said something in Japanese.

  “Perhaps he can’t speak English,” Rick suggested.

  “Possible,” Hartson Brant said, “but highly improbable. He just doesn’t want to speak.”

  Rick blurted suddenly, “Is your name Asamo?”

  There was a small flicker of intelligence deep in the man’s eyes,then he was impassive again. But Turk Mai-lane whirled and demanded, “What do you know . . . what makes you think his name is Asamo?”

  “Yes, Rick, what is this?” Hartson Brant asked.

  Rick explained about the scrap of paper they had found in their cabin.

  “Have you heard the name before?” Rick asked Turk.

  “It sounds familiar,” Turk admitted. “But that doesn’t mean anything. Many Japanese names sound alike. I think the important question is,how did he manage to remain hidden for so long?”

  “No one has been in the paint locker,” Scotty put in. “And that false bulkhead made a good hiding place. He could have gotten plenty of food by taking fruit and leftovers from the refrigerator.”

  Rick said, “The big question is whatis he doing aboard? What does he want?”

  No one had an answer to that.

  “Well, even if he is aboard without permission,” Hart-son Brant said, “we can’t leave him in thathole forever. We’ll lock him in at night and let him out with a guard in the daytime. I’d like to know what he is doing here, but if he won’t talk, we can’t make him.”

  “There’s no point in standing here,” Turk put in. “Ill see that he’s locked up for the night. Perhaps morning will throw some light on the deal.” He motioned to the Japanese.

  The man went sullenly. Rick and Scotty followed as Turk walked into the paint locker with him. As Scotty had said, one side of the locker had a false wall, the boards pulled out now. There was just room for a man to stretch out in there.

  Turk went through the man’s clothes swiftly and came up with a jackknife and a paper of matches. “He’s not armed,” he said.

  The door was normally unlocked, but it had a regular door lock. Turk produced a ring of keys and turned the bolt. “I don’t know as we’ve anything to fear from him. He can’t do anything to the ship without hurting himself in the bargain. But I’ll have the watch keep an eye on him.”

  In a few moments order was restored and the boys were in their bunks, the lights out.

  “He scared the starch out of me,” Rick admitted. “I didn’t expect to find anyone when I opened the door. Wonder why he jumped me like that?”

  “You startled him,” Scotty said. “He probably heard you go to the refrigerator,then he heard the door close and thought you’d gone back to your cabin. I imagine he was on his way to get a bite to eat. Then, when you suddenly opened the door, he jumped.”

  “He more scared than you, I bet,” Chahda added.

  “I’d like to meet that character on even terms.” Scotty didn’t sound happy. “He took me by surprise. I didn’t expect a judo expert.”

  Chahda chuckled. “For minute I think maybe Scotty is learning to fly like bird.”

  “That’s the meat-hook kid talking,” Rick laughed. “Seriously, what do you think he’s doing here?”

  Neither Scotty nor Chahda had any suggestions.

  “Maybe finding our friend will put a stop to whatever he had planned,” Rick said.

  “Maybe,” Scotty said pessimistically. “But don’t bet on it.

  “Watch out, Asamo,” Chahda reminded.

  “That’s another side to the puzzle,” Rick agreed. “What does it mean? Is it our new friend’s name? Did the scrap of paper get into our cabin by mistake, or was it a warning
?

  And who wrote it?”

  Scotty laughed, but there was no humor in it. “A lot ofquestions, and not a single answer.”

  “Tomorrow answers, maybe,” Chahda said.

  “I have a hunch,” Rick replied slowly, “that a lot of tomorrows will go by before we get the answers to all this.”

  CHAPTER VIII

  KwangaraIsland

  The Tarpon rode the long Pacific swells gently, her engines turning over just enough to give her rudder control.

  Rick strained his eyes to see through the darkness to where the high bulk of land made a deeper blackness against the sky.

  “It will be daylight soon,” Scotty said.

  The Spindrift party was gathered on the afterdeck of the trawler, waiting for the first glimmer of dawn to show them their destination. They had arrived off Kwangara in the late hours of night, and all hands had gotten dressed, too excited to sleep any longer.

  Otera appeared with glasses of fruit juice, which were gratefully accepted. He passed the juice around in silence,then hurried back to the galley. Questioning the cook had brought no results. Rick was sure he knew something, but fright sealed his lips.

  Nor had anyone else admitted knowledge of the stow-away, or his reason for being aboard.The Japanese himself was taking the whole thing very calmly. He had not spoken a word, nor did they expect him to. By day he had been permitted on deck, up in the bow where the steersman could keep an eye on him. At night he had been secured in the paint locker. Apparently entirely content, he had spent his days staring out to sea and enjoying the sunlight.

  Rick’s head was tired from trying to think of reasons for his presence. There was nothing he could do about it, except to keep his eyes open. By unspoken agreement, the entire Spindrift group was watchful, each seeking some solution to the puzzle. Scotty had taken his rifle from its storage place, and it was never far from his side.

  Turk Mallane came by and spoke cheerfully to the silent group.

  “Dawn in about fifteen minutes.What are the plans? We won’t get the Submobile into the water today, I’m thinking.”

  Hartson Brant answered him. “Not today, Captain. Well set up camp first thing, then mount the sound ball on the bow and see if we can’t locate the temple. If we succeed, we can make our first test dives tomorrow.”

  Bick pondered the change in Turk. As the trawler had neared Kwangara, the broad-shouldered captain had regained his good humor. Perhaps he was one of those men who turn irritable under stress and regain their usual poise when the crisis is over. Rick didn’t think that was the answer, however. Turk’s friendliness wasn’t genuine.

  As the first streaks of daylight turned the eastern sky pink, Otera came again with coffee and sandwiches. Rick leaned against the rail with the rest of the Spindrift party, and tried to pierce the darkness that still lay over Kwangara.

  Little by little, as the sky lightened, they made out details. They had been running back and forth a half mile away from a small island that seemed to be mostly a pyramid of rock thrusting out of the sea, a few trees around its base. That would be Little Kwangara.

  Beyond it, perhaps 2,000 yards farther on, was the high bulk of Kwangara itself. As full daylight came, Rick saw that it was a green-clad mountain that ended in a rocky cone.

  Kwangara had evidently been a volcano.

  From the bridge came a sharp order and the engines turned faster. Turk himself took the wheel as the trawler pointed its bow toward the larger island.

  Rick saw the white line of surf that marked the reef. He could see clearly now that they were heading for a spit of land that thrust out from Kwangara. Turk took them right up to the reef and through the passage as the leadsman sang out his depths. They dropped anchor in eight fathoms just 100 feet from the tip of the small peninsula.

  Behind the spit of land, the island rose sharply, covered with a seemingly impenetrable maze of trees and underbrush. From somewhere inland, a bird cry made a harsh welcome that only intensified the silence.

  The three scientists bent over their chart, and the boys joined them. The spit of land was clearly marked. It was one of three flat places. At the south end of the island was a plain where a native village, probably the only one, had been indicated. At the northwestern tip was another plain marked as marshland. Otherwise, the island was mountainous. The highest peak was marked as 1,200 feet.

  The crew was already busy lowering one of the two whaleboats. Turk joined the scientific party. “I know you’re anxious to get ashore. I’d like to go with you.”

  “Of course,” Hartson Brant said.

  Turk turned and gave orders to Digger Sears, who had followed him from the bridge.

  “Keep that stowaway locked up until we get back. And start rigging the bow platform for the sound gear.”

  It took only a moment to get aboard the whaleboat and cast off. Turk himself took oneoar, and Scotty the other. After a short pull the sand grated under them.

  From the beach the small peninsula rose very gradually for about 200 feet. Then the wall of the jungle began, its edge as clearly defined as though a giant’s knife had shorn the foliage.Scotty, rifle in hand, joined Rick in his examination of their new base. The spit of land was covered with knee-high grass, right up to the jungle’s edge.

  “Wonder why the jungle stops there?” Rick asked.

  Professor Gordon answered him. “There’s bedrock under us, with just a thin layer of soil.Too thin to support anything but grass. But look over here, boys.”

  They followed him to a table of stone. It was about three feet high, six feet long and four wide, obviously carved by hand from a huge piece of volcanic rock.

  “That’s the stone Dr. Warren told us about,” Rick said. “It’s the edge of what used to be the temple!” The sight of the stone excited him. It was the first tangible evidence of the presence of Alta-Yuan. He looked out to sea, past the trawler. The rest of the temple was out there, somewhere. . . .

  Scotty was still looking toward the jungle, bent forward a little, his head turned as though he strained to hear something.

  “Did you hear a noise?” Rick asked.

  “No,” Scotty said. His voice was hushed. “That’s just it. Listen, everyone.”

  The scientists stopped talking and silence pressed in on them. It was a living, uncanny silence, as though the whole island held its breath. Unaccountably, Rick shivered.

  “I don’t like it,” Scotty said. His voice was lost in the stillness. “A jungle is usually the noisiest place on earth.”

  “You’re right,” Professor Gordon agreed.“Full of birds and insects and small animals and all kinds of unexplained noises.”

  Chahda gave a visible shudder. “It is like the Towers of Silence inBombay , where Parsees bury the dead,” he whispered. “I think issmelling the same, too, like much death.”

  Rick nodded. There was a strange odor, of lush tropic growth and alien flowers, of decay and wet muskiness.

  “Nonsense,” Hobart Zircon boomed. “We’ll get ourselves into a fine state of nerves. It’s simply that we’re used to the bustle and noise aboard ship. Isn’t that right, Captain Mallane?”

  “Sure,” Turk agreed. “Your ears are still full of the engine noise. You got so used to it aboard ship that you’d no longer noticed. But ashore, it makes everything seem unnaturally quiet.”

  Rick looked at Scotty and saw him shrug. Scotty wasn’t convinced.

  Chahda, who had started prowling through the long grass near the table stone, suddenly called. “I found a thing!”

  The others hurried to his side, and Rick saw a fragment of carved, broken stone about six inches square.Before it was a small pile of fresh fruit, coconuts, and bits of carved wood. A stick, thrust into the ground, carried a small bit of white bark at its tip. A trampled path led through the grass from the pile to the jungle.

  “Natives,” Turk said in a tone of disgust.

  Before anyone could make a move to stop him, his foot had scattered the pile of fruit
.

  The scientists exclaimed, but Turk added hurriedly, “If you’re going to camp here, it’s best to discourage the beasts right off. You don’t want them around.”

  “But we do!” Gordon stated. “I’m curious to see what they’re like. I’ve even brought equipment for making cranial measurements.”

  “Yes,” Hartson Brant agreed. “Please let any native stuff alone, that we may find, Captain. We want them to be friendly.”

  Turk growled agreement.

  Rick missed Scotty. He turned and saw him near the edge of the jungle, his rifle held in the curve of his arm.

  “We’re being watched,” Scotty said quietly. “I felt it before, but I wasn’t sure until Turk kicked that stuff. Whoever is in there didn’t like it.”

  “How do you know?” Rick asked curiously.

  Scotty shrugged.“I just know, that’s all. I feel it.”

  “Also,” said Chahda, who had joined them.

  That was evidence enough for Rick. He had had experience before with Scotty’s well-developed intuition. Scotty had “jungle sense,” acquired during his service in the Marines. Chahda’s upbringing, living by his wits in the slums ofBombay , had given him the same extra perception.

  Watching the dense wall of jungle, Rick had the weird sensation of eyes watching his every move. Abruptly he turned away.

  The scientists, however, were too enrapt by their examination of the carved fragment Chahda had discovered to notice anything unusual.

  “It is evidently a portion of a head,” Gordon was saying as the boys rejoined them.

  “However, I’m not prepared to say what kind of head. It might be a lion, a dog, or a snake.”

  Turk Mallane demanded impatiently, “Well, do we get going? I’ll have your camping stuff brought ashore if you say the word, and you can have camp pitched bynoon .”

  “By all means,” Hartson Brant said.

  The next hours were busy ones. With all hands helping, the camp equipment was brought ashore and “CampSpindrift,” as Scotty named it, began to take shape.

  Rick found time to ask Scotty: “What do you think of us camping ashore likethis and leaving only Turk and company aboard ship-not to mention our Japanese pal?”