  Darkness had spread over the airfield by the time Biff and Jack Hudson reached the “Explorations” plane. It was a twin-engine Cessna, a five-passenger, capable of a speed of 250 miles per hour. “Hop in, Biff,” Jack said. “Be my co-pilot.” Jack stowed Biff’s gear, and took his place in the pilot’s seat. As quick to action as Hudson was, he was also a sober, careful pilot. He warmed up the plane’s motors. He tested the wing flaps. He made a thorough instrument check. Then he called the tower for take-off instructions. The plane moved to its assigned runway. Once more Jack revved up his engines. Then, the brakes released, the plane started rolling down the runway. Once it was air-borne, Jack put the plane in a steep climb, made a wide circle over the city of Rangoon, then headed north, following the Irrawaddy River. “How long before we get there?” Biff asked. “About four hours. If we don’t hit any weather. Unhao’s about fifty miles north of Myitkyina. ’Bout eleven hundred miles from here.” “How big’s Unhao. Is it much of a place?” Biff asked. Jack grinned. “Take a look back at Rangoon. That’s the last civilization you’re going to see for a while.” The plane sped through the night. As the moon rose out of the South China Sea, its light turned the Irrawaddy River, thousands of feet below, into a slender silvery ribbon, reflecting the moon’s rays like a long sliver of mirror. Jack Hudson put the plane on automatic pilot. He reached behind him and brought out two boxes. He handed one to Biff. “Hungry?” Biff hadn’t thought about eating. But now, he realized he was ravenous. “I’ll say I am. Thanks a lot.” He practically tore open the box and chomped on the sandwiches with an appetite that made Jack wonder when the boy had last eaten. Just before midnight, Hudson switched on the plane’s radio transmitter and called the landing strip at Unhao. “Keep your eyes dead ahead for the next few minutes,” he told Biff. “I always get a thrill out of it.” Biff did as he was told. He peered intently through the windshield into the night. Clouds had obscured the moon, and all was darkness. Not a light could be seen anywhere. Suddenly, as if by magic, the letter “X” blazed out of the jungle, twenty miles ahead. It was so startling that Biff gasped in amazement. “Our landing field. I told them we’d be in in about ten minutes and to turn on the lights. We have two runways. One from southwest to northeast. The other from southeast to northwest. They bisect in the center, forming a perfect ‘X.’ I think it’s a wonderful sight.” “It sure is,” Biff replied. For the next few minutes, Jack’s entire attention was devoted to the landing. The plane swooped out of the dark, flashed over the landing field, circled and entered its final glide path. Biff felt the lurch which told him they had touched down. Jack taxied the plane toward the hangars. “Well, here we are,” he said to Biff. “Welcome to Unhao.” Despite the excitement of landing in this strange isolated spot in Upper Burma, Biff couldn’t hold back a yawn. He was just plain, dog-tired. It had been four nights since he had slept in a bed. Oh, he had slept. But sleeping in a sitting position, he told himself, would never replace the good, old stretch-out type of snooze. Native servants swarmed around the plane. Biff and his gear were deposited in a jeep standing by. Jack hopped behind the wheel. The jeep, with natives clinging to every possible foot and hand-hold, headed through the night toward Headquarters House, a quarter of a mile away. Headquarters House was a combination office, communications center, and living quarters for the staff of Explorations Unlimited. Sleeping rooms, resembling those of Bachelor Officers’ Quarters on an army post, filled one ell of the building. Into one of these went Biff. Moments after his head hit the pillow, he was in a deep sleep, in spite of the murky heat that was unrelieved by the lateness of the night. Around five o’clock in the morning, as dawn was transforming the night-blackened jungle into a greenish maze, Biff was awakened by the sound of running feet passing his door. These were followed by others. The whole building seemed to spring to life. Something was up. Biff jumped out of bed. First he went to the window. Looking out, he saw a tremendous animal faintly outlined in the morning mists not more than thirty feet away. Just as he was about to call out, he saw the floppy ears and the swaying trunk of the animal raise toward the sky, and let go with a trumpeting that rattled the windows. Biff had to smile at himself. What was an elephant doing wandering around loose at that time of the morning? “Some difference from home,” he thought. Biff dressed quickly. He hurried down the hallway toward the center of Headquarters House. Sounds of activity came from the communications center. He paused in the doorway. Jack Hudson and two other men were bunched together around a short-wave receiver. Static crackled throughout the room. One of the men picked up a hand microphone. “This is H H One, calling. This is Happy Harry One calling X 0369. Come in X 0369. Repeat: Come in X 0369. We were beginning to read you. Acknowledge. Do you read us?” His answer was a roar of static. Jack Hudson shook his head. His concern and the intense looks on the faces of the other men told Biff they were troubled. “Was it Keene, Mike?” Jack demanded. “Was it Charlie?” Biff heard Jack’s question, and he felt a sudden pang of fear. The radio operator, Mike Dawson, shook his head. “I can’t say for sure. I think it must have been. But the voice was so faint. And the static—” “Could you make out anything? Any of the words?” Jack’s voice was insistent. Mike shook his head worriedly. “The sender didn’t identify. I did think I caught some of the words, but I can’t say for sure—” “Well, what were they, man? What were they?” “I—I thought he said, ‘They’re coming for me.... My position is lati—’ And right then transmission broke off completely. That’s when I buzzed your rooms. I’ve been working this mike ever since. And getting nothing. But nothing.” Biff stepped into the room. He crossed to the three men. “Was that my uncle you were talking about?” Mike and the other man looked at Jack Hudson. It was obvious that they wouldn’t speak unless he gave them the go-ahead. Jack looked at Biff. He didn’t reply at once. Then, having reached his decision, he answered. “Yes, Biff. I’m afraid it was.” “Afraid?” Biff felt a tingle of fear race up his spine. “What do you mean? Is my uncle in danger?” Jack Hudson’s shoulders sagged. He shook his head as if trying to rid himself of unpleasant thoughts. “Come along, Biff. I’ll tell you about it over some coffee.” At the door, he turned back. “Keep trying, Mike. You might raise him. And if you do—” “I’ll buzz you fast.” In the mess hall, the servants had already set the breakfast table. Two of them padded about the room silently on their bare feet. Biff sat down to a plate containing an oval-shaped, reddish fruit, streaked with white. “It’s the fruit of the durian tree. Try it. We think it’s delicious. If you don’t like it, though, there’s fresh pineapple or guava.” The taste was like nothing Biff had ever eaten before. He didn’t know whether he liked it or not. And he didn’t care. There were more important things than breakfast fruit right now. “Tell me about Uncle Charlie.” Jack sipped some coffee. “I’ll tell you what I can, Biff. It won’t be much. I don’t know it all myself. I know where he went, and I think I know why. The why is what I can’t tell you.” “Was there danger in this trip of Uncle Charlie’s?” “Danger? Perhaps. Always dangerous crossing the border. But Charlie should have been able to handle it.” Biff felt his heart pound. “Your uncle left here exactly eight days ago. He left early in the morning. He needed the cover of night to fly across the border.” “The border? What border?” Biff asked. “The border into Red China. That border’s closed, you know, especially to Americans.” Jack paused to light a cigarette. “He took off in a light, four-place plane. It’s the type plane that Charlie could land or take off in on a dime. It carried extra fuel tanks.” “How long did he expect to be gone?” “He didn’t know for certain. Not more than four or five days, he said.” Four or five days, Biff thought. And eight days had passed. “We’ve been expecting him, Watching for him. I’ve flown from dawn to daylight myself the last three days, hoping to spot him or his plane, if he was forced down. Nothing. He didn’t break radio silence once from the time he left.” “Until this morning,” Biff cut in. “Yes. Until this morning. If that was Charlie.” “Have you any idea where he was going in China?” Jack shook his head. “Not exactly. With the extra tanks, he had fuel for about twelve hundred miles. So, since he had to return, he must have expected to find what he was looking for not more than five hundred miles inside China.” “And you can’t tell me your ideas of what his search was for?” Jack hesitated. “All I could tell you would be the results of my own speculations. Your uncle was at Cape Canaveral, as you know, and he must know a lot about guided missiles. He was one of the Navy’s top young officers. Well—put your thinking cap on. Maybe between us we can come up with something.” Biff thought hard. There were many parts to this puzzle. He thought he himself was probably one of them. But fitting them together into an answer—that would take more than minutes, hours, or even days to do. Too many important parts of the puzzle were still missing. Biff thought that perhaps now he should fill Jack in on his own small mystery. His hand went to his key chain and touched the jade ring. He made a decision. He wouldn’t mention the ring. He would only tell Jack about what had happened when he arrived at the Rangoon airport. Quickly he told Jack the story. As he poured it out rapidly, Jack’s look of worried concern deepened. “There must be some connection. Charlie disappears, and you’re almost kidnaped. Describe the man again.” Biff sketched the three men in as best he could. “I only saw the one called Nam Pulang closely. He said he was the Number One man here at Explorations.” “Never heard of him. Was he Chinese, or Burmese?” “I’d say Chinese,” Biff answered. “Although I don’t really know how Burmese look.” Jack was thoughtful. “But Jack,” Biff said, “we’re not just going to sit here, are we? Can’t we do something? Can’t we go into China and find Uncle Charlie?” “Go into China? Impossible. You get any such idea out of your head.” That idea, though, was very much in Biff’s head. The idea had been growing from the moment he first heard of his uncle’s disappearance. “I mean that,” Jack said. “You have no idea of the difficulty in crossing the border. It’s patroled night and day. And the border guards shoot to kill.” Man and boy sat in silence, both deep in thought. The silence was suddenly broken. A native boy about Biff’s age, but smaller, came running into the room. “Sahib Jack! Come on run! Come on run! Quick! Quick!” He ran out of the room. Biff and Jack were at his heels. |
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