"It's the next shack beyond this one, Freddy," Dawson murmured softly as he laid a restraining hand on his friend's arm. "Just hold it a second, and see if we can hear anything. Somehow I like this even less. The door shut, and every shade drawn, such as they are. Or am I just getting jumpy?"

"Well, anyway, shut up, if you want us both to listen!" Freddy Farmer breathed back at him.

Dawson grinned, made a face, and then with Freddy standing motionless at his side, he listened intently for any sounds coming from inside the shack just beyond the one behind which they crouched. And he did hear sounds. So did Freddy Farmer. The muffled and completely indistinct sound of two people talking. A tremor of excitement rippled through Dawson, and he squeezed Freddy's arm. A moment later, though, he frowned silently and wondered if perhaps he and Freddy weren't just being a couple of fools. After all, this wasn't the war zone. They weren't behind the enemy lines, or even their own lines. This was California, and what if they did see a soldier and a civilian go into one of the crop pickers' shacks? So what? And maybe that gun wasn't a gun after all. Freddy and he would certainly look awfully foolish if the pair inside that shack should suddenly come out and see them crouched there gaping wide-eyed like a couple of kids playing cops and robbers.

Those and other disturbing thoughts floated through his brain as he frowned at the shack. He turned his head and looked at Freddy questioningly. And the look young Farmer gave him in return indicated clearly that the English-born air ace was entertaining pretty much the same thoughts.

"Maybe it's stupid, huh?" Dawson formed the words with his lips.

Freddy nodded slowly, but at the same time a sort of half puzzled and half stubborn look glowed in his eyes. And then in the very next instant what indecision either of them may have had was wiped away by a cry of anger coming from the shack beyond. At least it sounded like anger to them both, although the sound was still too muffled to permit them to pick out individual words.

"Well, that tears it as far as I'm concerned!" Dawson grunted. "I'm going to get a better look, whether it seems screwy or not."

"Me, too, and right with you," Freddy Farmer replied. "There are some bushes there against the back of the place. No window to peek through, but we can certainly hear clearly through those loosely fitted boards. Good grief, what places for people to live in!"

Dawson nodded, and said nothing. He simply left their place of hiding and eased over to the protection of a line of scrub bushes. Keeping behind them, he swiftly made his way to the rear of the other shack. There he crouched down low and pressed an ear to the rough boards. Freddy Farmer quickly followed his move, and together they heard the high-pitched voice that was speaking inside.

"... must not fail!" it said. "What I have given you must reach its destination as quickly as possible. However, not at the risk of your being suspected for one single minute. Do you understand?"

"Of course I understand!" a harsh voice replied. "Do you think I am a fool? Do you think I am a baby playing at a man's game?"

"What I think is of no importance," the high-pitched voice replied. "Both you and I are but cogs in a great wheel that will crush the world. There is a saying in my native tongue that describes it perfectly, but I will not bore you by repeating it, as you do not speak the Japanese language. And when translated into your native tongue, German, it has no meaning at all. So forget that I mentioned it. You have your work, and I have mine."

A moment of silence followed, and Dawson was filled with a terrible fear that the thunder of his pounding heart could be heard beyond the loose board wall of the shack. He didn't dare turn his head to look at Freddy for fear that even that slight movement would create a sound that might be heard inside the shack. A Jap and a Nazi inside there? It seemed incredible! Like a crazy Hollywood concoction he had seen at the base movie house only the night before. It was ...

But the one who was obviously a Nazi was speaking again.

"I was told that all my orders would come from Berlin."

"And so they have, in a way," the one of the high-pitched voice replied smoothly. "To be transmitted to you through me. Your country, and mine, fight this war together. It does not matter who gives the orders, or who performs them, so long as the enemy is defeated. Now, tell me, when do you sail?"

"Tonight," the other replied. "I must be back aboard the carrier within two hours."

"And so you will be," the Jap assured him. "There is no need for us to talk much longer. Here is the address of the one you will call on in Honolulu. Show him this, and he will know you come from me. He will probably give you additional information. Guard it well until you have placed it in the hands of Admiral Shimoda at Truk."

"But that is foolish, stupid!" the Nazi snarled. "My carrier force may not go within a thousand miles of Truk! And ..."

"Do not worry about that!" the other cut him off. "The American dogs have met him with a few minor successes of late, and it has gone to their heads. They will act boldly now, and that is what Admiral Shimoda wishes. Yes, I am sure that your task force will steam to within easy flying distance of Truk. When your carrier reaches that point you will see to it that you take off without creating any suspicion and fly at once to your destination. When you reach Truk you will be under the direct orders of Admiral Shimoda. It may be that he will desire that you return to your carrier for future use. If so, you can safely leave it to him to arrange matters so that your own force will pick you up as a pilot who unfortunately has been forced down into the water, and has floated about in his rubber life raft for a day or two."

"I would rather be sent to China to work there!" the Nazi growled. "I am sick of these swine Americans, and pretending to be one of them."

"I can sympathize with you there," the Jap purred. "I am sick of living under their rule, too. But at least I have the chance to travel often across the border into Mexico. There is a country that we will make great, once we have conquered the world. The Mexicans are ... But I wander. Speak to Admiral Shimoda of your wish to go to China. Perhaps he will agree with you. However, there is other work for you to accomplish first, before carrying information to Truk."

"Other work?" the Nazi asked sharply.

"Important work," was the instant reply. "And very important work. When you go to that address in Honolulu you will be given a number of water flares, so small that you could carry them all in one pocket and the bulge they made would not be noticed. But they give off a powerful light that burns for four or five hours."

"Water flares?" gasped the Nazi. "For what use?"

"An important use," the Jap replied. "Right now there are three American carriers in the San Diego Basin. You know that yours will sail tonight. Perhaps the other two, with their forces, will sail also. It may be, though, that only your carrier will stop at Pearl Harbor. Later it may meet the other two carriers at sea. You do not know now, and neither do I. However, you can keep our Pacific patrol forces informed of your own position. The water flares. I will explain their use briefly, and the one in Honolulu will give you detailed instructions. It will be an easy matter for you to learn the position of your carrier, and its force. An equally easy matter for you to learn the strength of your force, and whether others have joined it. So! Each evening you will put all that information down on special paper that you will be given in Honolulu, and put it in a watertight pocket attached to the flare. Then, unseen, you will throw the flare into the water. It is so constructed that it will not break into light for three or four hours. That is so that your carrier will be far out of sight range by then. However, come darkness, all of our submarines will surface to re-charge their batteries. Perhaps one of them will see the flare. Or perhaps one of our long-range patrolling Kawanishi flying boats will sight the flare, and land beside it. Perhaps not the first night you are at sea, or the next, or the next. But one night a flare will be picked up, and we will know all we need to know to set our trap of destruction for a future date."

"That sounds very interesting!" the Nazi said eagerly. "I shall enjoy doing that kind of work. Let us hope that a dozen of their swine carriers make up the force of which mine will be a part!"

"Let us hope so," the Jap replied, with a little laugh that chilled the blood in Dawson's veins, "but let us not count on it. The American dogs are not fools, all the time. We have shown them what happens to fools. But if it be only your carrier, that will be enough. From the information you throw into the water each night we will be able to guess accurately the destination of the force. Then at the right moment Admiral Shimoda's forces will destroy it completely. The victory will be just what is needed in Japan, and in Germany, too. And the Americans will cease to be so foolishly bold. They will hesitate, and that will give Admiral Shimoda the necessary time he desires to re-enforce his ground forces and break the American grip on New Guinea and the Solomons."

"But if we could get several of their carriers!" the Nazi said fiercely. "We ..."

"We will hope for that," the Jap stopped him, "but we will be content with one carrier force. It will be enough for the present. Now, before you go I want you to look at this map of Honolulu. I will show you the quickest way to reach the address I have given you. Your carrier may not remain in Pearl Harbor long, so you must not waste time making this important contact."

There was the crackle of paper, the faint shuffling of feet, and then nothing but silence. Dave Dawson took that moment to turn his head slowly until he met Freddy Farmer's wide, angry eyes. But he gazed into Freddy's eyes for only an instant, for he suddenly noticed not four inches from the end of his nose a long quarter-inch crack between two of the wall boards. Young Farmer spotted it almost at the same time. And holding their breath, the two air aces inched over until they each could put an eye to the crack.

At first Dawson could see nothing but the shadowy interior of a filthy room. Dust, dirt, and dried yellow mud were everywhere. Scraps of rags were strewn all about. And there were several empty rusty cans lying about on the filthy floor. He gave all that but a passing glance, because as his eye became adjusted to the bad light inside he was able to see the head and shoulders of a uniformed figure. His heart leaped up to clog his throat when he saw that it was the uniform of a Naval Aviation Ensign. The man was standing side to, so Dave had only a profile view of the face. And it was a very ordinary face. No single feature stood out prominently. He had seen thousands of faces just like it. He could see, though, that the hair below the service cap was straw-colored, and he guessed that the eyes were sky blue. And the neck, perhaps, was just a little thicker than the average neck of a man of that height.

Of the other figure in the room, though, he could see nothing. No matter how hard he pressed his eye to the crack, a sliver of wood on the other side of the wall board blocked out everything else.

And then from out of nowhere, it came!

A sixth sense, more than his ears, told him that there was sound and swift movement behind him. He jerked his head around, caught a flash glimpse of Freddy Farmer turning his head, and then the California sky fell down on top of him. All the bombs in the world exploded inside his head, and the whole world was made up only of dazzling white flashes of lightning. But unconsciousness did not engulf him at once. He knew that he was lunging out with both hands, and clawing at rough coarse fabric. He even heard a snarl, a cry of pain, and the scream of a fiend gone completely berserk.

But whether that scream came from his own lips, or from another's, he did not know. A split second later, he didn't know anything at all. The California sky crashed down on him again and drove him deep into a yawning chasm of utter darkness and silence.