The new dawn sun was well up over the eastern rim of the world and was driving the shadows of night over the western lip in a hurry when Dave Dawson and Freddy Farmer sighted the flight of American patrol planes. They were Navy long-range Catalina flying boats and they were coming straight on toward the Flying Fortress.

"Nice!" Dawson grunted with a nod of his head. "That's something I was hoping that we'd see just about now. Asleep at the switch once, maybe, but not twice. Nope, not a chance."

"All of which sounds very interesting," Freddy Farmer murmured, and rubbed a dirty hand over his tired-looking face. "But do you mind explaining what you mean? I'm afraid I'm a little bit too done in this morning to bother making guesses. What about those Catboats, Dave?"

"That they're there, and coming toward us on a beeline," Dave replied with a nod toward the approaching flying boats. "It means that they are sure on the alert at Pearl Harbor, these days. Obviously they picked us up on radar, and radioed those patrol planes to come out for a look at us. In other words, there'll never be a second sneak attack on the Hawaiians."

"Oh, I see," Young Farmer grunted. "Yes, I guess you're right. I fancy that ... oh-oh. Half a minute, Dave. They're on the radio. I'll handle it, if you wish."

Dawson nodded and watched the three Catalinas move into line formation. The request for an identification signal was already sounding in his earphones.

"Sure, go ahead, kid," he said. "But watch your English accent. They might wonder, and start to get funny. And I don't want to play around any more. I want just to get my feet on firm, hard ground for a change."

Freddy Farmer made a face at him, and then put his lips to the radio mike.

"Fortress to Catalinas!" he barked. "Plane XFT, Captain Dawson in command. Request permission to proceed to destination Four-Seven-Six. Over!"

There was a moment of silence; then they both heard the reply.

"Patrol to XFT! Proceed to destination. Welcome. Did you have a nice trip? Over!"

Freddy Farmer glanced at Dawson out the corner of his eye, and grinned impishly.

"XFT to Patrol!" he called out. "A jolly fine trip, old tin of fruit. Top-hole, really, what? Really a bit of all right, I fancy, old bean! Off!"

Young Farmer started to switch off but at that instant came sharp words from the Catalinas.

"Patrol to XFT!" the voice crackled in their earphones. "Who is that talking? I thought you said Captain Dawson was in command."

Dave quickly shook his head as Freddy started to reply. He spoke into the radio mike, instead.

"Captain Dawson speaking, sir," he said. "And I am in command of this aircraft. That was an English refugee who gave you our identification. Name of Captain Farmer. Sorry he hasn't been able to master the language yet, sir. If you were to meet him, and see what he looks like, you'd understand."

Laughter burst out in the earphones, and thunderheads clouded up in Freddy Farmer's eyes. He glared at Dawson, but after a moment or two he smiled sheepishly.

"All right, all right," he said in a resigned voice. "I should have known that I couldn't top you blasted Yanks in such a situation. I'll not forget it, my lad, though. Just remember that!"

Dawson chuckled, and made a face. Then the two of them watched the three Catalinas swing gracefully away and go back onto their patrol course. Some twenty minutes later they picked up Diamond Head on the Island of Oahu, and shortly after that they were circling slowly over Hickam Field, waiting for permission to land.

"You know, Freddy," Dave murmured as he stared down at the huge military aviation base, "in a way the Japs almost did us a favor by pulling that sneak attack. Take a look down there. That's really something, now, isn't it? The very latest of everything. No long lines of planes, now, to make perfect strafing targets. Every single plane dispersed just as it should be. And look at those flak batteries, will you! Boy! A mosquito's life wouldn't be worth a thin dime around here, once those guns opened up."

"Yes, the chaps are certainly ready and prepared for anything and everything now," Freddy Farmer said softly, and let his gaze wander. "But what a blasted shame they had to be caught off guard that day. The one thing that amazes me, though, is the way you Yanks can dig in and clear up things. I declare you'd never guess, now, that such terrible damage had been done that way. It's positively amazing, really."

"Just an old American custom, Freddy," Dave said lightly. "When we really start to do a thing, we do it, trimmings and all. We don't kid around. We roll up our sleeves, and ..."

"I know, I know!" Freddy cried with a wave of his hand. "You Yanks are positively wonderful. That is, next to the British, of course. Now, there is a people who ..."

"And there is the signal to come on in!" Dawson interrupted. "And praise Allah for that! But tell me about the British people again sometime, will you, pal? Say about ninety-nine years from now, huh?"

"What a shame I haven't my usual strength this morning!" young Farmer growled. "If I had, you'd go down by 'chute, and I'd take this thing in."

Dave laughed, and then concentrated on circling into the wind and sliding the Flying Fortress down to a perfect landing on the strip ordered by the officer in the control tower. As soon as the huge craft came to a full stop both youths breathed deeply, and then grinned at each other.

"Feels good, doesn't it, Freddy, huh?" Dawson said.

"Don't think it ever felt so good before," young Farmer agreed instantly. "English-born I may be, but I'm afraid I'm definitely not a follower of the sea. I always feel much better when there is the ground underneath me."

"Well, it's there under us now, and both of us are stationary, praise be!" Dawson said. "And between you and me, if there wasn't anybody looking, I'd get down on my hands and knees and kiss it, I feel so good to be here. Frankly, this flight's one that I'd like to forget in a hurry. And that's no kidding, either."

"Definitely not!" young Farmer echoed. Then with a frown he said, "But that business last night still bothers me. Somehow, I just can't see how that Japrat we met at San Diego could possibly have had anything to do with it. Just sabotage, I think, and we happened to be the two unlucky ones who took this aircraft off the L.A. base field."

"Maybe," Dawson said with a shrug. "But until I get a better explanation I'm going to continue to pin it on that Japrat. Anyway, here we are, and that Japrat back at Dago is a forgotten issue, as far as I'm concerned. Now it's for that dirty Nazi in a Yank Naval Aviation uniform, the stinker."

"Quite," Freddy Farmer murmured. "And here comes the reception committee, or something. Looks like they don't trust you to taxi this thing in. The signal tower says for us to stay put. Just as well, too. You can mess up an airplane even on the ground, you know."

Dawson had a fitting crack to that remark, but he sighed and let it go unspoken. An Air Forces jeep had come rocketing out to the Flying Fortress, and braked to a stop just under the left wing. Dave half waved at the occupants of the jeep, three Air Forces officers and a Navy commander, and then slid out of his seat, and made his way aft to the belly exit of the plane.

A couple of minutes later they were facing the wide-eyed stares of the jeep's riders.

"I'm Captain Larkin, duty officer," one of the Air Forces officers said. "But, what happened to you two? You run into trouble? From here you look like you bumped into the whole Jap air force."

"We had a little trouble," Dawson said with a grin. "But ..."

That's as far as he got. The Navy commander gave a sharp shake of his head, and stepped forward.

"Sorry, Captain Larkin," he said with a pleasant smile, "but these two are to report to Vice-Admiral Stone at once. Any report is to be made to him."

Captain Larkin frowned, then shrugged and returned the other's smile.

"Yes, of course, Commander," he said. "I understand. But ... well, let it go. Welcome to Hickam, you two. If you get the chance, drop back over here and tell us what's new on the mainland, eh?"

"We'll do that, if we get the chance," Dawson assured him.

"Oh, quite," Freddy Farmer murmured.

And then the Navy commander took charge of them. He introduced himself as Commander Drake, and he talked pleasantly of everything save their flight to Oahu as he led them off the field and over to a waiting Navy car, with a rating at the wheel.

"Sorry to choke things off that way," he said as they climbed in. "But the vice-admiral's orders were that you were to talk to no one. Not even to me. So we'll get going, and then you can report all to the vice-admiral. And from the looks of you, I hope he permits me to remain and hear it."

"Where is the vice-admiral, sir?" Dawson asked as the Navy rating behind the wheel shifted the car into gear, and got it rolling.

"The Kaneohe Naval Air Station on Mokapu Point," the commander replied. "It's a few miles, but one of the prettiest drives on the Island. You'll see some of the real Hawaiian scenery."

They did. But reaction was catching up with Dave Dawson and Freddy Farmer. And fatigue, too. And so they were really too worn out from their harrowing experiences of the night to be able to pay proper attention to the gorgeous scenery that rolled by on either side of the car. As a matter of fact, Freddy Farmer fell sound asleep twice. And Dawson caught his own eyelids sagging a few times. Obviously Commander Drake noticed these signs, because when they rolled through the gates that opened onto the Kaneohe Naval Air Station, he ordered the rating at the wheel to drive them to his own quarters, instead of to the commandant's office.

And when they reached the commander's quarters they were treated to that special brand of thoughtfulness and courtesy for which the U.S. Navy is so famous. Commander Drake played the magician in the fullest meaning of the word. He produced warm baths for the two dead tired pilots, clean fresh uniforms for both of them, a pharmacist's mate to check their burns and fix them up, and last but not least as far as Freddy Farmer was concerned, a breakfast such as you probably wouldn't get even in the White House. And not once did he bother them with questions, or even act as though he couldn't keep his tongue still any longer. In short, by the time the Navy officer took them over to meet the station commandant he had made himself their friend for life, and they both felt as though they had just got up from a perfect night's sleep, instead of having just completed a nerve-racking twenty-four hundred and two mile flight.

"If you don't mind my saying so, sir," Dawson said as he breathed deep of the invigorating Hawaiian air, "you're a miracle man, if I ever met one. I was dreading trying to keep awake while I made my report to the vice-admiral, but now I feel like a million dollars. And not a cent under it."

"Quite, sir!" Freddy Farmer echoed instantly. "I only hope that some day Dawson and I will have the opportunity to do the same for you."

"Well, thanks, but I hope not," Commander Drake said with his pleasant laugh. "Of course, I'd love to be your guests at your air base some day. But definitely not in the condition you two were in. You sure gave me a start when you climbed down out of that Fortress. You gave all of us a start for that matter."

Dawson grinned, and then his grin faded as memory started to return.

"Well, it was sure one of the happiest landings I ever made, I can tell you that, sir," he said soberly.

"Amen," Freddy Farmer echoed just as soberly.

That ended the conversation between them, for they had reached Vice-Admiral Stone's office, and the station commandant had risen from behind his huge desk and was smiling his greeting while at the same time faint puzzlement played about in his steel blue eyes.

"Glad to meet you, Captains Dawson and Farmer," he said, and shook hands with them both. "Be seated, please. No, Commander, don't leave. I think you'd better listen in on this. You had some trouble, Captains?"

As the station commandant spoke the last he glanced down at the hands of the two air aces, and the strips of surgeon's plaster that showed white against the sun- and wind-bronzed skin.

"A little trouble, sir, yes," Dawson answered for both of them. Then, lifting his hands a little, "But luckily we came through it with no more than these, and a pretty ticklish few minutes."

"I'm glad of that," the vice-admiral replied. Then as he seated himself at the desk, he said, "But we'd better keep things in order. Naturally, I know something of what happened. I mean, over on the mainland. Vice-Admiral Carter radioed me in code. It would be better, though, for you two to tell it to me in your own words. Begin right at the beginning, and don't leave out anything, if you can possibly help it."

Twenty minutes later Vice-Admiral Stone and Commander Drake knew as much of what had happened as Dawson and Farmer knew themselves. Silence settled over the room, and all four frowned deep in thought.

"There's a question I'd like to ask, sir," Freddy Farmer spoke up. "Something that's been bothering me. Probably unimportant, but ... well, I'd like to ask it, if you don't mind, sir?"

"Of course I don't," came the instant reply. "Go right ahead, Captain Farmer. What is the question?"

"The business during the flight across, sir," the English-born air ace said. "Do you...? I mean, do you think it was just accidental sabotage? That is, as far as Dawson and I are concerned? Or do you really think that that Jap followed us north and was instrumental in having those time fire bombs put in the mail sacks?"

The frown that already knitted the vice-admiral's brows deepened and he did not answer for a moment or two.

"We will probably never learn one way or the other, Captain Farmer," he finally said slowly. "But my personal feeling is that the Jap is, or was, the skunk in the woodpile. The longer this war goes on the more amazed I become at the fiendish, devilish ingenuity of the Japs, once they put their minds to it. In countless things they are unquestionably the stupidest people on the face of the earth. But for devilish tricks that have to do with torture, maiming, and ruthless slaughter, they are the world's best. They could give lessons to the Nazi Gestapo and Secret Service any time. As a matter of fact, I wouldn't be at all surprised if the Nazi cunning in the matter of booby traps actually originated in Tokyo. So I'd say, yes, Captain Farmer. I'd say that mail sack business was definitely linked to that Jap spy."

"Thank you, sir, for your opinion," Freddy Farmer said with a smile. Then he added in a brittle voice, "I sincerely hope that I meet up with that blighter again. Under more favorable circumstances, of course."

"And I hope you do," the vice-admiral said with a grave nod. "But there is something you must keep in mind every minute of the time until your special mission is accomplished. It's that that spy is but one of many. Bluntly, you two are marked men. I don't mean to alarm you unnecessarily, but you both bumped into something that is of vital importance to the Japanese command in the western Pacific. You know that there is a dangerous Nazi spy, serving as a fighter pilot aboard one of our newest and most powerful carriers. We must accept the undoubted fact that the Jap at Dago, and that Nazi, now at sea, believe you two heard much of their conversation there in that shack. That the Nazi was not arrested when he went aboard his ship simply proved to them that you did not know his name. But remember this! The Jap in question obviously followed you to the Los Angeles base. Maybe he did put those time fire bombs in the mail sacks, hoping that you both would lose your lives en route to Hawaii. And maybe he didn't. But either way it doesn't make much difference. I mean, we have got to assume that the Jap knew you were heading for Hawaii, and why! In short, to identify this Nazi when his carrier arrives."

"But why does that make us marked men, now that we are here, and not back on the mainland, sir?" Freddy Farmer asked with a frown.

"I think I can answer that, Freddy," Dave Dawson spoke up with an apologetic glance at the senior naval officer. "Because of what Vice-Admiral Stone just told us. That our little Japrat is not the only Jap around. He may have spies of his own right here in the Hawaiians. And there's such a thing as short-wave radio, you know. To play it safe ... I mean, in case we did reach Hawaii, which we have, he might radio one of his pals to do what he wasn't able to do. And to do it before that Nazi carrier put in to Pearl. Isn't that what you had in mind, sir?"

"That is it, exactly, Captain Dawson," the vice-admiral said, giving him a nod of approval. "You two, and you two alone, can block this thing. So until the force puts into port, which will be the day after tomorrow, you are marked men. At least we have got to assume that such is the case, until we know better. And that brings us up to the matter of the carrier force arriving, and you identifying this Nazi for us ... if you can."

The senior officer paused and stared at them both a little hopefully. Dawson grinned and nodded.

"We'll spot him, sir," he said with all the assurance in the world in his voice. "We didn't get much of a look at him, and nothing that we saw of him stood out in a noticeable sort of way. But I know very well, sir, that I'll recognize him when I see him again."

"And so will I, sir," Freddy Farmer echoed with a confident nod. "It's just one of those things that a chap can't put into words. I mean, I couldn't for the life of me tell you why I'll be able to recognize him, but I know that I will."

"Well, you'll both certainly get all the chance in the world to do just that," Vice-Admiral Stone said.

"And it will be a happy moment when we see your men take him in charge, sir," Dawson said grimly. "I'll er—no, sir?"

Dave stumbled, and mumbled the last as he saw the station commandant shake his head.

"No, we're not going to do it that way," the Navy officer said. "Oh, we'll grab him in time, but not the very next moment after you point him out to us. You're forgetting that address over in Honolulu, whatever it is. You will point him out to us, but in such a way that he'll never suspect. We plan to let him leave ship unmolested. It is our plan to trail him to his destination, and ... well, the rest is obvious, isn't it? We'll catch the lot of them. Instead of catching just one Nazi spy, we'll clean out an entire nest of them that is still causing us concern here on Oahu, almost three years after Pearl Harbor."

As Vice-Admiral Stone spoke the last he glanced over at Commander Drake, and nodded. The junior officer returned the nod.

"Let us hope so, sir," he said quietly, but with a certain grimness in his voice. "Nothing I'd like better than to smoke them out into the open."

Vice-Admiral Stone saw the questioning looks that came to Dawson's and Farmer's faces, and he hastened to explain.

"Commander Drake is chief of Naval Aviation Intelligence, here on Oahu," he said. "During the last few months a couple of things have happened that shouldn't have happened. Sabotage, missing papers of importance, and that sort of thing. The commander has been in charge of breaking the thing, and has made some arrests. Japs every time. Born and raised here in the Islands, but still Japs. Didn't do any good, though. Every one of them killed himself rather than talk and save his life. They actually killed each other. A suicide pact. I'll spare you the gory details. All we were able to learn was that the root of the whole business, the main nest, is somewhere in Honolulu. But Honolulu is a fairly big place. So, naturally, we are hoping that your lead will take us straight to that spot, and make it possible for us to wipe out the menace once and for all."

"I see, sir," Dawson said after a moment's silence hung over the room. "But you spoke of pointing him out so's he wouldn't suspect. Just how, sir? He probably got a look at us, at the time that Jap was scared off before he could finish us. So when he sees us come aboard his carrier, whichever one it is, he'll know us instantly. I mean, even if no move is made toward him, he'll certainly know why we are there. And later he's bound to guess that we pointed him out so that he could be followed. Or am I getting this all mixed up?"

"No, you make your point clear enough," the vice-admiral said with a smile. "But we're not going to advertise it as much as that. You two will see him, I hope. But he certainly won't see you. I've got all that arranged, so don't worry. You'll get a good look at every fighter pilot in the three-carrier force, but not one of them will even know that either of you are aboard. Just leave that part to me, and don't worry. I'll explain my little plan later. Right now, I guess we've talked things over enough for the first meeting. You two could do with some rest and relaxation. So I'll say again that I'm very pleased to meet you, and express my sincere hope that we can clean up all this very dirty business within the next seventy-two hours. Meantime, I'm turning you over to Commander Drake. He'll act as the Navy's official host during your stay here on the Islands."

The vice-admiral stood up, and smiled. The other three stood up, saluted, and then went outside.

"Well, what will it be first, Captains?" Commander Drake asked when they reached the golden sunshine. "Feel like a sight-seeing tour about the Station, a little nap, or what?"

"Those eggs we had for breakfast, sir," Freddy Farmer said with a sheepish smile. "The way they were cooked. I've never tasted anything so delicious. I ..."

Dave Dawson groaned aloud and shook his head sadly.

"Here we go again, Commander," he said. "You might just as well get used to it. There are perpetually three things that Farmer always wants to do most. One is eat, two is to eat some more. And three is to eat again. It's a habit that will never be broken, I'm afraid. So we might just as well humor him, or we'll have a terrible grouch for company."

"Rubbish!" Freddy Farmer snapped angrily. But just the same, he looked hopefully at Commander Drake. And then grinned broadly when the Naval officer nodded, and started leading the way over to his quarters.