“Why those places?”
I debated giving her my reasons. Two of the largest processing centers for radio transmission intercepts in the Far East were the Air Force Security Service installation at Clark Field, and the facility run by the Naval Security Group at Naha on Okinawa. Both are under the direction of the National Security Agency. Radio transmission, primarily the coded ones that carry secret, diplomatic messages or heavily enciphered military traffic get top priority.
Hawk would manage to put this monster to work. A round-the-clock effort had undoubtedly been mounted to monitor the air waves for a low-powered, clandestine radio transmitter passing short messages to a receiver hidden in Hanoi to aid Martin’s plan. With the enormous facilities and capabilities of the National Security Agency, it would only be a matter of time before Martin’s location was pinpointed if it hadn’t been already.
I finally answered Willow. “Well, I just had a hunch that the next break would come from one of those two places.”
The dim interior of the plane was flooded with light. All of the cabin lights had been turned on. A cheerful voice issuing from the overhead loudspeakers announced our impending landing. It came back on again after the touchdown. There would be a ninety minute layover for on-going passengers. Everyone was asked to leave the aircraft. Following that information, soft island music was played while the plane taxied to the terminal.
The senior stewardess came down the aisle and bent over our seats. “I have a message for you, Mr. Carter. You’re asked to look for an army colonel who will be in the immediate debarkation area.”
My hackles went up. “Just that? Nothing more?”
“I’ll check with the captain if you’d like. He can call the tower again if there’s some question.”
I shook my head and waved her away. Why couldn’t Hawk be more specific? He should have said friend or foe unless he wasn’t sure. I took the pessimistic view. By now Hawk would have been informed and realize the tenth floor blast at the Fairmount was a gigantic hotfoot intentionally planted to remove me from the scene. He was telling me it could happen again.
“I’ll go first,” volunteered Willow. “I doubt if anyone knows I’m with you. It’s one of the ways I’m expected to help. Don’t worry. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
I hung back while Willow walked past the colonel in uniform standing at the end of the rail-guarded aisle that steered passengers to the main corridor. She didn’t go unnoticed. His eyes followed her appreciatively until he was forced by the incoming human stream to change his position. Willow circled around and came up behind him. Her right hand was buried inside the compartment of her shoulderbag that held her pistol. I was too far away to hear what she said to him. Whatever it was, she certainly held his attention.
After a moment, she lifted a hand and beckoned with a finger. “Colonel Tulley, sir,” he said as I approached. I thought he was going to salute me. His hand moved, but only to reach out and offer me a brown envelope. Willow-watched over his shoulder. She was as tall as he. The sunburned colonel’s eyes had a tendency to drift in her direction. I concentrated on his face.
None of us saw or were prepared to ward off the fast-moving figure that rammed between us. We staggered like pins scattering under the impact of a bowling ball. The running man snatched the envelope from Colonel Tulley’s hand as he went by.
The thief, a brown-skinned youth wearing a bright, floral print Hawaiian shirt and white slacks headed for the moving ranks of passengers jamming the corridor. In an instant he would be lost in the crowd.
I shoved one hand against the startled colonel to get a push-start to catch the fleet-footed hoodlum. Out of the corner of my eye I saw another movement. Willow had her leather bag by the long straps. She whipped it around once over her head like an Argentine gaucho winding up a bola and let it fly. The bag sailed like a missile launched from a catapults. It went between the islander’s scissoring legs at ankle height. He tripped, sprawling headlong. The envelope flew out of his grasp. It ended up against the wall with Willow’s pearl-handled .32 caliber pistol close by.
A woman shrieked. The crowd opened up around the fallen man. He rolled once, recovered his footing and continued to dodge and weave through the bewildered crowd. The confused onlookers closed in behind him, screening his retreat completely by the time I recovered the envelope, shoulderbag and gun.
“Keep moving, folks!” I called out, shoving the snub-nosed weapon back into Willow’s bag. “Nothing’s wrong here.” I flashed a wide smile.
No one challenged me. No one wanted to get involved. If anything, those around me turned away quickly and hurried off.
“Neat trick,” I complimented Willow as I returned her property before the astonished Tulley. I kept the envelope.
“I can’t believe this!” Tulley exclaimed. “Hadn’t we better—”
“We’d better forget about it,” I finished for him. It was becoming harder all the time to hold a low profile. Willow’s steer-roping exhibition bordered on the flamboyant technique I had been warned to avoid. “Was the envelope worth saving?” I asked Tulley.
“It rated a motorcycle escort which I don’t” he replied.
I broke the seal and looked inside. Without the contents, I could have run into serious problems. The one that impressed me was a State Department passport. It looked genuine. The booklet with its mottled green cover and gold lettering probably was. The pre-dated visa stamps inside were counterfeit. They showed that I had cleared through customs of countries I had not yet reached.
The other papers were Department of Defense invitational orders issued to Willow and myself. These are special authorizations presented to non-military persons in rare instances. They entitle the recipient to utilize certain services under the control of the armed forces in pursuit of matters related to national security. The privileges are extended only to very important individuals. I scanned the three short paragraphs. “Do you know what is contained in these orders, Colonel Tulley?” I asked him.
“That’s why I have a vehicle waiting, sir. If you’re ready—”
“I’d like to freshen up some,” Willow mentioned. I seconded the motion.
“That’s all arranged,” Colonel Tulley assured us. “If you’ll just follow me.”
We didn’t leave the airport. A sergeant-driver was loading our bags in the trunk of khaki-colored sedan when we reached the aircraft maintenance ramp beneath the terminal. Led by a pair of MPs on motorcycles, the sergeant drove like a demented stock car racer. He sped along the edges of runways and down taxi strips. One took us onto Hickham Air Force Base. From there a ferry carried the hot-tired sedan across Pearl Harbor channel to the Navy housing area. The ride lasted no more than ten minutes. It ended in front of the Barber’s Point Naval Air Station flight operations building.
The drill went like clockwork. A lady marine greeted and led Willow away. Colonel Tulley stuck with me. He waited in the pilot’s locker room while I showered and shaved. A tray of food was brought in from the Officer’s Mess. I ate breakfast standing up because all through it I was being fitted with flight gear. I ended up with crash helmet, oxygen mask, calf-high boots, a brilliant orange flying suit, a yellow Mae West, and a parachute. A green bailout bottle which I first thought was a hand-held fire extinguisher was strapped to my right leg below the knee. It contained emergency oxygen in the event a jump from high altitudes was necessary. I was assured the precaution had nothing to do with military aircraft reliability.
Colonel Tulley escorted me out onto the ramp. He put me in a FOLLOW ME jeep. He tossed my bag in the back. I thought he was going to salute this time for sure. I could tell he was as impressed with this well-planned and fast-moving routine as I was.