I actually did fasten my fingers over my nose clothes-pin fashion. Then I blinked the sunlight out of my eyes and cautiously peered down over the edge of the loft. The last of the goats was just straggling out to the ramp. The very last one received a kick from the goatherd bringing up the rear, and then the man pulled the door down behind him as he left.
I was alone again, and I’d have to take the chance that the heat was off. I couldn’t spend the rest of my life in this goat-heaven of a loft. My nose would never hold out. So, if I was going to get down to some serious snooping, now was the time.
I climbed down from the loft and went to a door set in the back wall of the goat stables. The door was ajar. I stuck my head out. There was nobody in sight. I kept going down a long, brightly lighted hallway. There were other doors leading off it on either side of me. I didn’t dare try any of them, but then I had no choice. I heard footsteps coming toward me from around the bend at the end of the hall.
I was just opposite a door, and it opened at my touch. I slipped inside, crossing my fingers that no one would be there. I was lucky. Nobody was.
It was some sort of supply room. There were bins along the walls and standing shelves in the center. Small cartons were in some of the bins. There were stationery items on some of the shelves-—pencils, typewriter ribbons, cans of mimeo machine9 fluid, stuff like that. I opened one of the cartons at random. It contained a dozen test-tubes, each in its own individual corrugated cardboard unit. I tried another. This one had packets of very thin wire, the kind used in transistor circuits.
Crossing back over to the door, I eased it open and peeked out. Through the crack, I had a side view of Bruce standing in the open doorway opposite. He had his back to me. He was talking to somebody inside the room.
“. . . when you raise Tahiti,” he was saying. “And then you can leave while I talk to them.”
The voice which replied was surly and had some sort of foreign accent that I couldn’t place. “I take my orders from the boss,” it said. “He didn’t say nothing about taking them from you.” His tone was insolent with an umnistakable dislike of Negroes. There was no effort to hide it.
Bruce didn’t deign to notice. He spoke evenly and with the kind of authority that takes itself for granted. “Hanson—-your boss, that is—obviously has a better understanding of discipline than you do. He would never question my authority in this matter. If you really wish to question it for him, then go ahead. I assure you that he will not be pleased. And let me add,” Bruce closed firmly and pointedly, “that the reason he will not be pleased is that I am not pleased.”
I guessed that Bruce was staring him down. There was a long pause, and then I heard the dit-dah sound of a wireless key tapping10 . Another pause, and then the voice inside announced that it had made contact with Papeete.
“Tell them to wait,” Bruce instructed. “Now you may leave. I’ll communicate with them myself.”
“You know how to work this thing?”
“Yes, thank you. It’s one of my small accomplishments. Now please go. And let me give you a piece of advice. If you wish to remain with S.M.U.T., don’t ever question my authority again.”
“I’m sorry.” He sounded as if he meant it. Or, rather, he sounded as if he was afraid he might have stepped on some important toes. The fact that they were black toes had him confused as well as apprehensive. He’d spoken just the two words, but his tone delineated the perfect pattern of a bigot turned servile.
Bruce stood back to let him exit from the room. I ducked back behind the door so he wouldn’t see me. I caught a glimpse of him, though. He was a youngish man of indeterminate nationality with blonde hair and a perplexed expression. He was still scratching his head as he walked down the hallway.
Bruce went into the room opposite and closed the door behind him. I opened my door and peered down the hall- way in both directions. It was empty. I tiptoed over to the other door and examined it. No keyhole. I guessed that it latched from the inside. The guess was confirmed when I heard Bruce turn the lock.
I noticed that there was a transom over the door. It was half open. I looked around. There was still nobody in sight. I chinned myself up to the transom and looked inside.
There was a large table against one wall with a radio transmitting setup and a Morse code key. On the wall abutting it there was a large, framed Gauguin print of Tahiti. As I peered inside, Bruce was just in the act of removing the picture from the wall. He set it down on the floor. As he bent, the safe which the picture had concealed was revealed.
Bruce turned the tumblers of the safe with fingers that were light and nimble. Only a moment, and then the door swung open. He removed a small, bound notebook. Thumbing through it, he seemed to find what he was seeking. He studied one of the pages carefully and then nodded to himself. He sat down in front of the telegraph key and propped the book open at the page he wanted. Then he started to transmit.
I understand Morse code, and I was able to comprehend the click-clack, communication which followed11 :
“ARE YOU READY TO RECEIVE, PAPEETE, TAHITI?”
“READY TO RECEIVE.”
“I WILL TRANSMIT NOW. ALL SOUTH PACIFIC UNITS S.M.U.T. TO BE NOTIFIED THAT EMERGENCY PLAN B IS IN IMMEDIATE EFFECT. REPEAT. EMERGENCY PLAN B TO BE CARRIED OUT IMMEDIATELY.”
There was a long pause; then came the answer.
“EMERGENCY PLAN B EFFECTIVE IMMEDI-ATELY. UNDERSTAND AND ACKNOWLEDGE. QUESTION. WHAT AUTHORITY? PLAN B REQUIRES UTMOST HIGHEST S.M.U.T. COMMAND.”
“ACKNOWLEDGED.” Bruce glanced at the book in front of him, and a small smile crossed his lips. “6-9, 9-6, 6-9. ACKNOWLEDGE S.M.U.T. AUTHORITY CONFIRMED AND CARRY OUT PLAN B.”
“AUTHORITY ACKNOWLEDGED. APOLOGIES FOR QUESTIONING. PLAN B TO BE EFFECTED IMMEDIATELY.”
“GOOD. OVER AND OUT.” Bruce switched off the key .
Afraid that he might be coming out at any moment, I dropped silently down from the transom and slipped back into the supply room across the hall. I leaned against the door, listening for him to come out, and pondered the import of the messages exchanged. There was a lot to ponder.
What was “Plan B”? Judging from the hesitation and insistence on “utmost, highest” authority from the other end, it must be something pretty important. “Utmost, highest S.M.U.T. command”-—that was the only authorization they would accept. Did the designation fit Bruce? Was he the real head of S.M.U.T.? I remembered how sure he’d seemed of his right to override Hanson’s standing instructions with the wireless operator before. His tone had almost seemed to suggest that Hanson took his orders from him. “Utmost, highest . . .” And they’d accepted him as such in Papeete. It just might be that at long last I was only a few feet away from the real leader of S.M.U.T.
Bruce hadn’t come out yet. I took a chance, slipped back across the hall, and chinned myself up to the transom again. There was only time for the briefest glimpse inside when I again heard footsteps coming from around the bend in the corridor. I dashed back to my hiding place. For a minute my mind tried to glean the meaning of what I’d seen. Bruce had been turning the pages of the book and photographing each one individually with a miniature camera!
There was no time to dwell on it, though, because events started moving more speedily just about then. Peeping through the crack in the door, I saw the wireless operator striding rapidly back down the hall. Cronin, the hunchback, was at his side. Both men held pistols in their hands. Both looked ready to use them on the instant.