  Nam Palung meant business. There was no question about that. But Biff had no intention of yielding without a struggle. He would make his escape if at all possible. Right now, though, as his mind whirled trying to think his way out of this predicament, it would be best to do exactly as he had been told. Biff promised himself one thing. Once he was free of Nam Palung he, Biff Brewster, was going to give himself, Biff Brewster, one swift kick. He had been played for a sucker, a trusting, easy-to-take American, and he had filled the role perfectly. How, he now thought, could he have been so taken in? The jeep rolled across the field. Biff shot a sidelong glance at Nam Palung. The jeep moved at a steady pace, not fast enough to attract attention. It was headed toward a gate in the high wire fence surrounding the airfield through which service trucks passed. He noticed that the gate was blocked by an iron bar, raised to allow a vehicle to pass underneath it. When raised, the bar on its upright poles looked like a football goal post. As the jeep drew near and fell in line behind a truck and a small car, Biff noticed the bar was raised just sufficiently to allow about a foot’s clearance for the vehicle passing beneath. An idea came into Biff’s head. He turned to look over his shoulder at his knife-bearing guards. “Keep your head straight forward,” Nam ordered. “And no tricks as we pass the gateman.” Biff watched the truck ahead pass through. It slowed down without stopping as it passed under the raised bar. The bar was lowered to stop position after the truck’s tail-gate went through. Next came the smaller car, its roof much lower than the truck’s. Again the bar was raised, but this time, just high enough to accommodate the car, leaving about two feet between it and the car’s top. Now the jeep approached the bar barricade. The bar began rising slowly. Biff watched it, his heart in his mouth. “Don’t let them raise it too high,” he prayed. Biff leaned slightly forward, placing his weight on his firmly planted feet. He tensed his leg and thigh muscles until they felt like tightly coiled steel springs. The bar was about three feet higher than tall Nam’s head. Biff waited until the front of the jeep was directly under the bar. Then he leaped up as if he’d been blasted off a launching pad. His hands seized the bar. Like a trapeze artist, he swung his body forward in a giant arc. At the top of his swing, when his body was parallel to the ground, Biff twisted his head, looking over his shoulder as his body started a swift downward stroke. At the split second, he lashed out with his feet. One foot struck the left knife-wielder square on the side of his head. The man shot over the side of the jeep as if jerked by the hand of a giant. Biff’s other foot struck the second knife-wielder full in his chest, toppling him out the back of the jeep. Now Biff was propelling himself into the backward arc of his swing. Again his body came swiftly downward. He lashed at Nam, planting both his feet solidly in the Oriental’s shoulders. Nam shot forward, his head striking the windshield. Biff swung his body sideways, and dropped to the ground. He ran back toward the terminal building, nearly half a mile away. After a hundred yards, he slowed to catch his breath. Turning, he looked back at the jeep. There was no need to run. Nam still lay sprawled over the steering wheel. One of the knife-bearers was out of sight, apparently still sprawled on the ground on the other side of the jeep. The other guard was just rising from behind the jeep. Biff saw him stagger, still not fully recovered. He ran back toward the terminal building There would be no more trouble with those three, Biff said to himself. Not right away, at any rate. The boy continued toward the terminal building at a rapid walk. He didn’t run, no need to, and if he did, he might attract attention. He might be stopped. Explanations would be demanded. The gate-keeper might come up and describe what had happened. Biff needed time to think. What was his next move? “Guess I’ll have to play it by ear,” he told himself, and what, he wondered, had happened to Uncle Charlie? Had he been waylaid by those same three? Inside the teeming terminal building, Biff mingled with the constantly moving crowds. He hoped he wouldn’t be noticeable, but there was little chance of that. In his American clothes, gray slacks and open-necked shirt, he was as noticeable as an Oriental dressed in mandarin clothes would have been at the Indianapolis airport. There was only one thing to do, Biff decided. Go to the airline check-in counter and see if any message had been left him by his uncle. The boy approached the counter cautiously. He wanted to look around before identifying himself. Biff sidled up to the counter. A tall, handsome man, about thirty years old, was leaning over the counter, questioning the clerk intensely. He was wearing white drill trousers and a white shirt open at the collar. A well-shaped, close-cropped head topped a strong neck and broad shoulders. He spoke to the clerk in a voice filled with authority. Unless he was badly fooled again, Biff felt sure that this man was an American, and there was something about him that the boy liked immediately. “Hold it,” Biff told himself. “Let’s not jump too fast this time.” Standing behind the man, Biff saw him take out a worn wallet from his hip pocket. “Now you listen to me. I’m Jack Hudson. I’m a pilot for Explorations Unlimited. Here, take a look at my papers. I’m here to meet a boy named Biff Brewster, and I want to know where he is. Right now!” The clerk leaned on the counter. He carefully inspected the list of names on the paper in front of him. “So sorry. No name like one you say on this list.” “Is that your passenger manifest list?” the man, Jack Hudson, demanded. The clerk nodded his head. Without asking, without waiting, Hudson snatched the list from the man’s hand. “Here. You can’t do that!” Hudson ignored the clerk. His eye ran down the list quickly. “And just what do you think this name is?” Hudson held his index finger beside one of the names. “Oh, so sorry. I guess I no understand your talk.” “Fat chance,” Hudson said angrily. “Now you just tell me where that boy is.” Biff had made up his mind. He couldn’t be mistaken in this man of action. “I think you’re looking for me, sir,” Biff said and placed his hand on Jack Hudson’s arm. Hudson swung around. He looked Biff up and down, slowly, carefully, sizing him up, before answering. “If I weren’t so glad to see you, I’d ask where the devil you’ve been.” Then, seeing Biff’s face fall, Hudson smiled, a warm, immediately friendly smile. “But the important thing is I’ve found you.” “I guess it is mostly my fault that you’ve had trouble meeting me,” Biff confessed. “I had a little mixup with—” He cut his sentence short. Perhaps he had better wait until he got to know Jack Hudson better before revealing all the mysterious happenings that had taken place from that early hour in the morning four days ago, back in Indianapolis. “Well, part of it’s my fault, too,” Jack said. “Or the weather’s. Coming in from Unhao, I ran into a terrific headwind. Should have allowed for it. These winds spring up all the time in these parts. I was late. But come on now, we’ve got to clear you with customs and get your gear.” Jack Hudson, with a forcefulness sharp enough to cut any red tape, literally bulldozed Biff through a maze of inspections, checks, and rechecks. “I’m slipping,” he grinned at Biff when the boy had been cleared. “Took me thirty-one minutes. My record’s twenty-nine. Come on. We’ve got to make with the plane back to Unhao. Fast. Lots to be done.” “That sure suits me. I’m anxious to see my uncle.” “Hope he’s there when we get back.” A frown creased Jack’s face as he spoke. “He will be, won’t he? That’s what I was told, that the emergency came up quickly and—” Biff ended his sentence feeling foolish. He suddenly remembered who had told him the story. “Emergency? I don’t know of any emergency. Your uncle wasn’t even in Unhao today. It was arranged for me to pick you up before he left.” “Before he left? What do you mean?” Biff was getting puzzled. “Your uncle flew out of Unhao over a week ago.” |
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