"It was mostly Farmer, sir!" he said. "I usually went along just for the ride."

"Rot!" Freddy snorted, red-faced. "More often than not it was I who blundered us right up a tree, and you got us out of the mess. Stop being modest, my lad. You're in your own country, you know."

"I'm pretty sure it was fifty-fifty," Colonel Welsh settled the argument with a chuckle. "Anyway, you're the two lads I need, and here you are. When Sir John and I reached an agreement about you, he simply started the ball rolling, and without your knowing it you were released from the R.A.F., and sent over to me. Right now you haven't any rank, and you don't belong to any branch of service of any country. What do you think of that?"

Dave gulped and gave a little confused shake of his head.

"What do I think of it?" he echoed. "I—well—well, it sounds as if we were headed for a firing squad, or something."

"Good grief, yes!" Freddy Farmer said in a hushed tone. "At least that!"

"Well, you can relax; there's no firing squad," Colonel Welsh chuckled. Then as his chuckle died, and his face became grim: "At least not a United Nations firing squad. But let's not think of it as even a remote possibility. I mean, some Axis crowd putting you against a wall. Now, here's the reason I had you sent over to me, and the plan I have in mind."

The chief of all U. S. Intelligence paused, and frowned off into space for a moment as though deliberately choosing the words he would speak next. Finally he brought his gaze back to Dave's and Freddy's faces.

"There are over one hundred and thirty million people in this country," he began slowly. "Over one hundred and thirty million men, women, and children, who have the Constitutional right to be regarded as loyal Americans—until proved otherwise. That for the moment is my biggest, and toughest task: to find out who in our Army and Navy isn't a loyal American. In short, to find out who is working for Berlin, and Rome, and Tokio, instead of for Washington and Uncle Sam."

The Colonel paused, clenched one fist, and a hard agate look came into his dreamy eyes.

"And we're starting off by not kidding ourselves about a single thing," he said. "We know perfectly well that Hitler has some of his spies planted right in our armed forces. Some are buck privates; some are seamen, third class; and others hold commissions. It's not been made known, and I hope it never will be, but only the other day we nailed a Nazi spy who had actually graduated from West Point. So we're not starting off on this gigantic spy hunt by kidding ourselves that the Axis rats are all civilians living near munitions factories, or camps, and that they only go slinking around corners, and down dark alleys. No, none of that! We're going after this job just as though some of them were in the White House, and in the Army and Navy Departments!"

The Colonel paused again for breath and to make a little explanatory gesture with his hands.

"Don't misunderstand me," he continued presently. "Our idea isn't to pull any of this Himmler stuff. I mean, fill the service branches with Gestapo spies ready to cut some poor devil's throat because he gripes at the way Hitler runs things. That isn't our idea at all. We're simply going to try and ferret out the rats Hitler put in our Army and our Navy. Now before you throw a fit wondering how just the two of you could possibly handle a job that size, let me say that you're only going to be given part of the job to do, a little at a time. And your first assignment will be with the Pacific Fleet."

The chief of U. S. Intelligence emphasized the last with a nod, and then fell silent. Dave looked at the man, chewed his lower lip for a moment, then started to speak, but thought better of it and closed his mouth.

"Go ahead, say it, Dawson," the Colonel encouraged. "I'm not through yet, just pausing for breath. Go ahead. What's on your mind?"

"I guess my mind's sort of spinning, but hard, if you want the truth," Dave said. "Things are coming at me sort of in bunches. Naturally, Farmer and I are eager and willing to take a good crack at any job handed out to us. But—well, maybe Sir John blew us up to you too much. I mean, we've done some Intelligence work on the other side, sure. And we were lucky. But I don't rate us as experts. At least, I certainly don't rate myself as an expert. I should think you'd have dozens of men right in your own command who could do that sort of a job a darn sight better than we could."

"Quite! And definitely so!" Freddy Farmer echoed, and shifted nervously in his chair.

"Maybe," Colonel Welsh grunted. "Maybe not. The point is, I think not. Certainly I've got some good men under my command. Mighty fine agents, as far as that goes. But you two have something that unfortunately they all lack. That's youth. Then there is another item, and it's probably the most important item of all: the matter of whether or not Axis agents know who they are. One of the inside stories of Pearl Harbor, that may come out some day, is that Jap agents and Fifth Columnists knew several of our Intelligence agents stationed in the Islands. That's no reflection on our agents. The Japs just knew who they were, that's all—and walked easy.

"But your youth is important, too. Don't get sore, but looking at you two, no one would suspect you were connected with Intelligence. Frankly, you look like a couple of red-blooded kids who skipped away and joined up before your parents could stop you. Holy smoke! Just sitting here looking at you for the first time, it's mighty hard to realize that you two youngsters pulled off all those wonderful stunts on the other side. No, you can stop right there with that kind of an argument. You're just the two I need for a job with the Pacific Fleet. I'm completely convinced, and satisfied."

Dave gave a little laugh and shrug.

"Then I guess that's that," he said. "We're all for it, if you really want us. What next? What exactly do you want us to do?"

"I could say, the impossible, and I don't think I'd be very far wrong," Colonel Welsh said gravely. "However, I'm going to hope for the best—even believe in miracles, if I have to. And if there ever was a miracle pulled off, it was that little stunt of yours in Belgium just after the Dunkirk business."[2]

The Intelligence chief paused to nod for emphasis. Then he looked across the huge desk at Captain Lamb.

"Fish out that X-Four-Six-B case photo, will you?" he said. "I think as a starter it would be good for Dawson and Farmer to have a good look at it."

CHAPTER FOUR
Death In The Pacific

The redheaded Captain nodded, and got up and walked over to the row of files. Dave watched him and got a big kick as the officer jabbed one of a row of buttons and then went back a step. There was a series of clicks, then the file drawer slid noiselessly open, and a folder inside popped up to Captain Lamb's outstretched hand. The instant he pulled it out there were more clicks and the door slid silently shut again.

"Good grief, magic!" Freddy Farmer gasped. "Just as though there were a bloke inside waiting to hand it to him."

"Just about that, yes," Colonel Welsh chuckled. "Now if we can only work out some way for the file folders simply to tell us what they contain, then we'll have something. That would save a lot of time."

"But what would you do with all the time you saved?" Freddy asked innocently.

Colonel Welsh looked at Dave and winked.

"Figure up something that would save us more time, I guess," he said. "We Americans are all crazy, you know. Ah, thanks, Lamb."

The Intelligence chief took the folder the redheaded captain handed him, and thumbed through it for a moment. Then