Bert Wilson at Panama
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Once or twice, Bert had seen him in Colon, a notable figure even in a town at that time filled with notables. No one seemed to know much about him. Three years ago, he had appeared in Panama and purchased a large landed estate. He had spent enormous sums in developing it, until it had become famous throughout the Isthmus for its extent and beauty. That the owner was fabulously wealthy could not be doubted. But beyond this, all was conjecture. He had no official position or diplomatic mission. No breath of suspicion had ever been attached to him of being in any sense hostile to American interests. His suavity, his courtesy, his unquestioned wealth and standing had won for him universal respect. And yet, if Bert's suspicions proved true, the accomplished Japanese gentleman into whose eyes he was looking, was the most dangerous foe that America had in the whole wide world.
A door opened and another Japanese entered the room. He was older than the man seated at the desk, and his face was creased with the deep lines of wisdom and long experience. He might have been, and probably was, one of the "elder statesmen" – that august body, that, at home and abroad, guided the destinies of the nation. He saluted ceremoniously the owner of the house, and they were soon engaged in an animated conversation.
Then a man of a different type was ushered in by an obsequious servant. He was dressed in American fashion, but his face indicated a Spanish origin. He was a Cuban who had been educated as a civil engineer in one of the scientific schools of the United States. His features were alert and intelligent, but there was a certain shiftiness in his eyes, and something about him gave an indefinable air of dissipation. He had been employed for a time in harbor work at Vera Cruz, but had killed a man in a brawl and been forced to flee the country. On the Canal, there were eighty-seven distinct nationalities engaged in the work, and, in view of the great demand for labor, he had no difficulty in securing employment, the more easily as he was an expert in his profession. He had been assigned to the Gatun section of the work, with his quarters in the city of Colon.
The Japanese secret service, in its search for a suitable tool, had become possessed of the facts regarding the murder for which the man, Ofirio, by name, was wanted by the Mexican authorities. With infinite caution and by slow degrees, they had approached and sounded him. They appealed to his fears and his avarice. As regards the first, they could betray him to his pursuers. For the second, they promised him an amount of money greater than he could expect to earn in the course of his natural life, and a safe refuge in Japan. Under the stress of these two primal emotions, he had yielded, and, for a year past, had been in the power and the pay of Namoto, the Japanese, in whose library he was at that moment standing. He it was who had dropped the paper that Wah Lee had so fortunately retrieved and which had given Bert the first hint of the appalling disaster that threatened his country.
Bert noticed the subtle something in the air of Namoto – a mixture of power, disdain, and condescension – as he motioned the engineer to a seat. From a stray word or two that came to him, he noted that they were talking in English, which both understood, while neither could speak the native language of the other.
And now it became imperative that Bert should hear the conference that concerned him so tremendously. From where he was, he could see perfectly, but could hear nothing but an occasional disconnected word. He must leave his safe retreat, take his life in his hands and reach the veranda that ran beneath the open window.
Silently, he removed his shoes, and, tying them together by the laces, hung them over the branch. Then he crept out on the heavy bough that reached within three feet of the porch. Holding on by his hands, he let himself down, swung back and forth once or twice to get the proper momentum, and then letting himself go, landed as lightly as a lynx upon the veranda. A moment he swayed trying to keep his nearly lost balance, while he looked anxiously to see if the conspirators had heard. They showed no sign of disturbance, however, and, with a muttered prayer of thankfulness, Bert dropped on his hands and knees and crept beneath the sill. And there, safe for the instant, with every faculty strained to its utmost, he became a fourth, if unseen, member of the group.
CHAPTER XIII
MARKED FOR DESTRUCTION
Ofirio was speaking.
"I am sure that nothing has been overlooked," he was saying, evidently in answer to a question. "The charges of dynamite have been tamped into the holes, and there are enough of them, fired at the same moment, to wreck the eastern gate. In any event, it will so injure the delicate machinery that works them, that they cannot be moved. Portions of it, no doubt, will be blown into the Canal and block it so effectually that no ship can pass through. But, leaving that out of the question, if the gate cannot work, the Canal is put out of commission. It would be a matter of weeks, perhaps of months, to repair the damage."
"The longer the better, of course," said Namoto, "but we do not ask even
that much of fate. Give us ten days of confusion and panic, with the
Atlantic fleet on this side of the Canal and unable to get through to the
Pacific, and our victory is sure."
"How about the tunnel?" asked Togi, the oldest of the three. "Are you sure there is no suspicion that it exists?"
"Not the slightest," answered Ofirio. "I came through it myself, last night, entering it at the masked exit near the locks, and leaving it by the secret opening in your cellar. Nothing has been disturbed, and the divers' helmets were in their accustomed place. If the Americans had any knowledge of it, their soldiers would already be in possession."
"Provided that we can keep the secret until the day of the grand opening," muttered Togi, uneasily. "You are sure," he went on, "that the connections are perfect?"
"The wires have been so strung that not one of the charges has been overlooked," asserted Ofirio, confidently. "There will be no interval between the explosions. When your finger presses that button, there will be a roar that will deafen the city and shake the whole Isthmus."
There was a brief pause, and Bert's heart beat so hard that it almost seemed as though it must be heard. The hideous plot had been revealed in all its blackness. His face was blanched as he thought of the possibilities, but he exulted in the fact that, at last, he had definite knowledge. He knew what was to be done – the destruction of the Canal Gate. He knew how it was to be done – by an electric current sent through the wires to the concealed explosives. He knew when it was to be done – on the opening day of the Canal.
In his mind's eye, he could see the progress of the plan that had been conceived and carried on with such infernal cunning. With the patience of moles, they had dug an underground tunnel, extending from Namoto's mansion to within a short distance of the locks. The mention of the divers' helmets gave him a clue to the way in which the holes had been made and the dynamite inserted. No doubt they had taken advantage of stormy nights, lowering themselves into the water at a distance from the locks and then slowly groping their way toward them. The wires had found a conduit in the tunnel, and ran directly to the library of Namoto. His index finger was indeed the finger of Fate, that expected to write a record of disaster to the United States. One pressure on a button would send the electric current surging through the wires, and the great Canal would, for a time at least, be put completely out of commission.
But, after all, this was not an end in itself. It was only the means to an end. It would be mere vandalism to cripple the Canal, simply for the sake of inflicting damage. Besides, the injury could be repaired, and, in a short time, all traces of it would have vanished. There must be an object for all this enormous toil and risk. What was it?
Namoto had spoken of the Atlantic fleet not being able to get through to the Pacific. "Ten days of panic and confusion." Why was it so imperative to prevent the warships on this side from joining their comrades on the other? Naturally, to keep the Pacific squadron weak and less able to resist attack. Then, an attack was planned. By whom? Who could attack us from the Pacific side but Japan? And when? Within ten days. And again Allison's words sounded in Bert's ears like the knell of doom: "Perhaps at this very moment a Japanese fleet is on its way to the Pacific slope."
With a sinking of the heart, Bert reflected on the vast number of American warships now at Colon or hastening there. The government had planned to make a great demonstration of naval strength, in order to impress the nations of the world. For this purpose, many had been called home from European stations. Some of the most formidable dreadnoughts building at the navy yards had been rushed along in construction, so as to be manned and launched for the great review. Others, which naturally belonged to the Pacific squadron, but had been in the drydocks for repairs, would in the ordinary course of things, have been despatched before this around the Horn, to join their brethren in the Pacific. But since the opening of the Canal was so near at hand, it seemed unwise to steam ten thousand miles, when, in a little while, the same result could be attained by traveling fifty. Thus, from various causes, at least three-fourths of the American navy was on the Atlantic side. If it could be kept there, the Japanese could attack the remnant in the Pacific in overwhelming force. Then, with these captured or destroyed, the Japanese vessels could bombard San Francisco and Seattle, land their troops from the crowded transports, and gain control of the whole western coast of the United States. It was an imperial idea – boldly conceived, broadly planned, patiently developed, but – and Bert thanked God – not yet executed.
These thoughts had passed through his mind with lightning rapidity. But now, the plotters had resumed their talk. This time, it was Togi who spoke.
"I would that the time were set for to-night," he said. "The present is in our hands. The future is uncertain. Fortune is fickle. Fate has its whims, its bitter jests. All is ready. One pressure on that button, and before ten seconds have passed, the work is done. Is it wise to wait, Namoto?"
Bert scarcely dared to breathe, while he waited for the answer. It was long in coming. Namoto seemed wavering. Togi had spoken truly. The present moment was his. The future was on the "lap of the gods." Perhaps, in obedience to the mysterious laws of mind, the very presence, though unknown, of Bert, just outside the window, made him sense dimly some crouching danger. But the moment of indecision passed, and he answered, slowly:
"It cannot be, Togi. We must wait. We have waited nearly three years. Surely the gods of Japan will not desert us in the next two days. There are many reasons for waiting, but here are two:
"The shock must come at just the right moment. It will be tenfold more paralyzing, more panic-breeding. When bells are ringing, when crowds are cheering, when America is exulting, when the world is watching – at just that instant the blow must fall. The power of the unexpected is irresistible. The enemy's fall will be more crushing, and Japan will loom up, a sinister image of dread, that will fill the whole horizon.
"Then, too, with every hour that passes, our fleet is drawing nearer. From all quarters of the compass they are converging. Of course, they will not form a compact squadron, until the news is flashed to them that the Gate has been destroyed. Then they will unite for the last great rush upon the Coast."
"I should think," ventured Ofirio, "that so many Japanese warships in one part of the Pacific would be noted by merchant ships and reported to their governments. Do you not fear that suspicion may be aroused before you are ready?"
"Not so," answered Namoto. "Our Naval Department has shown the utmost care and caution. For a year past the vessels have been sent to various ports along the coast of Japan. In every harbor they have lurked, one here, another there, at Nakodate, Miyako, Nagasaki, Noshiro, Ohama, and others. Some have been reported in the naval bulletins as drydocked. Others have been sent, in ones and twos, on missions of courtesy or diplomacy to China, Australia, and other countries bordering on the Pacific. So adroitly and innocently has this been done, that not even a rumor is current in any foreign cabinet that anything is afoot, and even the masses of the Japanese themselves do not know what their government is doing. But all the commanders have had definite orders so to time their departure from the various ports as to meet at a given parallel within a day or two of the time set for the opening of the Canal. That parallel is between Hawaii and San Francisco, barely two days distant from the latter. Steam is up, the magazines filled, the guns shotted, the plan of campaign worked out to the last detail. Like hawks, they are hovering within easy reach of each other, ready for the signal. The moment I press this button, the wireless will flash the news across all the continents and all the seas. Then the captains who smashed the Russians at Port Arthur and in the Sea of Japan will turn their vessels' prows toward arrogant America, and within forty-eight hours our guns will be thundering at her western doors."
A dull glow crept into his sallow cheeks and his eyes blazed, as he saw in vision the victory of his beloved Nippon.
"But there," he said, as though repenting his outburst of enthusiasm, so foreign to his habitual reticence and self-control, "they will do their part. It only remains for us to do ours. I will not keep you longer to-night, Ofirio," he went on, by way of dismissal. "Report to me to-morrow at the same hour for final instructions."
He pressed a bell, and a servant, bending low, ushered the Cuban out into the night.
But Togi still lingered. The lines in his face had deepened. His long experience had taught him how often the cup is dashed from the lips as one makes ready to drink. The reaction and depression that come to one when, after tremendous toil and strain, his plans await fruition, held him in their grip. It is true, those plans seemed faultless. Nothing had failed in their calculations. The mechanism was working without a jar. But this very perfection was in itself ominous. Perhaps, even then, fate was preparing to spring upon them and lay their hopes in ruins. And again his eyes turned longingly toward the button, the lightest touch on which would shock the world to its center.
Namoto noticed the direction of his glance and smiled.
"Be not impatient, Togi," he said. "Soon now the hour will strike that marks the beginning of a glorious era for our loved Nippon."
"Glorious, yes," answered Togi. "Whether we win or lose, it will be glorious. Our soldiers will know how to fight and die for their country, as they have always done, and even if defeated they will not be dishonored."
"Dream not of defeat," protested Namoto. "Let not that word of evil omen pass your lips. To doubt may draw down on us the frown of the gods."
"But America is a great country, and her people, too, are brave.
Besides, they are as the sands of the seashore for number."
"So was Russia great, and yet we beat her to her knees. We hurled back her armies and we crushed her fleets. So will we do to this haughty country, that sneers at us as an inferior race. America has had no real war for fifty years. She has no veterans left. We have hundreds of thousands who have had their baptism of fire on the field of battle. Can their raw volunteers face the seasoned warriors of Japan? Their regular troops are but a handful and are scattered all over the country. Before any real force can be brought against us, we will have subdued all the country west of the Rocky Mountains. Then will come negotiations. As the price of peace, we will wrest from her Hawaii and the Philippines, and Japan will be the unquestioned mistress of the Pacific."
"But before this can be done," objected Togi, "will not the Canal be repaired, so that the rest of the American fleet can pass through and attack us?"
"No," replied Namoto. "Our first care will be to seize the Canal at the Pacific end and blockade it. The ships can only come out one by one, and they would be an easy prey to our vessels awaiting them in overwhelming force. We would be like cats waiting at the door of a mouse trap. If, on the other hand, they abandoned this and sailed around the Horn, it would be a matter of many weeks before they would reach us, and then they would be strained and weather tossed and uncoaled. Then, too, the Pacific squadron will have been destroyed, and we will have the advantage in ships and guns. If, on the way, they attacked Japan in retaliation, our fortifications, backed by our land forces, would hold them off." "They could land no troops and would have to content themselves with a harrying of the coast that would amount to nothing."
"Our plan is perfect," he went on; "everything has been provided for. But all depends on the blocking of the Canal. If, by any chance, it should fail, the campaign would be abandoned. Our navy is not yet large enough to match itself against the combined naval strength of America. We can only win by dividing the enemy, and beating his squadrons, one at a time. If the Atlantic fleet gets through to the Pacific, at the opening of the Canal, our labor of years will vanish into nothingness. The ships will return quietly to Japan by various, routes, and the government will be ready to deny that any such plot ever existed. If you and I are charged with the plot, our country will calmly disown us and leave us to our fate.
"And we would gladly meet that fate for Nippon's sake, would we not, Togi? We would go to our death with banzais on our lips. It is sweet and glorious to die for one's country."
"We are prepared in any event," said Togi. "If we succeed, your yacht is waiting in the harbor ready to carry us home more swiftly than any can hope to follow. If we fail – " He made across his breast the sign of hari-kari – the Japanese form of suicide.
"If we fail," agreed Namoto, solemnly, "our home will be with the immortal gods."
He reached out his hand, and Togi grasped it firmly. For a moment they looked into each other's eyes. Then with a murmured word of farewell, the elder man turned and glided from the room.
Left alone, Namoto rose and strolled restlessly about. Then he approached the window, beneath which Bert lay hidden.
For a while he stood there motionless. Then he leaned out to catch the refreshing breeze. Bert tried to make himself as small as possible, and pressed close against the house. Namoto's eyes, glancing carelessly about, suddenly fell on the crouching figure.
Startled, he drew back, a cry shrilling from his lips. Like a flash, Bert straightened up, leaped through the open window, and the next instant his hands had closed about Namoto's throat. Down to the floor they went with a crash.
But the mischief had been done. The cry of Namoto had carried beyond the room. The door burst open and a horde of retainers rushed in. There was a stunning blow on the head, a shower of sparks streamed before his eyes, his grasp relaxed, and Bert felt himself sinking, sinking into a fathomless abyss.
CHAPTER XIV
SNATCHED FROM THE SEA
When he came back to consciousness, he found himself tightly bound and gagged. His head swam, and objects danced giddily before him.
Gradually he accustomed himself to the light and looked about him. A score of men stood leaning against the walls, while Namoto and Togi, seated at the desk, were conversing in low tones. They spoke in Japanese, but he had no doubt that they were deciding for him the issues of life and death. He had no delusions as to what probably awaited him. He had learned too much to be allowed to live.
But the conspirators seemed perplexed. To kill him, then and there, would be awkward. There is nothing in the world harder to dispose of than a dead body. Burial, burning, destruction by acids – all left traces. And this was not Japanese but American soil. There might be a hue and cry, a search, exposure, arrest. Still, he must vanish from the land of the living.
At last, Togi seemed to have an inspiration. He bent over eagerly and disclosed his idea. Namoto pondered and found it good. He beckoned to an officer in a naval uniform, and gave him his instructions.
At a signal, four men advanced, and, taking Bert by the legs and shoulders, carried him through a secret passage into the grounds. As silently as so many ghosts, they followed a road that led through the estate to the river's brink. There lay the swift sea-going yacht that Togi had mentioned. Bert was carried on board, the vessel slipped its moorings, and like a wraith passed down the Bay of Limon and out to sea.
It was with a sinking heart that Bert saw the lights of Colon grow more and more indistinct, until they looked to be little more than a nebulous haze rising above the water. His first thought had been that the Japanese were taking him to Japan, for some reason of their own, and as they steamed on mile after mile this idea gained strength.
After his capture he had expected nothing better than instant death, and when he found that his captors had other plans he had a gleam of hope. Perhaps, after all, he could make his escape in some way, or get a message to the authorities. But when he was taken to the yacht hope died within him, and he almost wished he had been killed at the moment of capture. Knowing what he did, the possibility of his own life being spared brought him but little comfort. Once fairly at sea, and he felt that nothing could stop the awful catastrophe hanging over his country.
Filled with these melancholy reflections, he hardly noticed what was going on around him, and only looked up when two sturdy Japanese seamen approached him. They untied his bonds, removed the gag, and motioned him to follow them. Bert, seeing no sense in useless resistance, did as directed.
As he approached the port rail, he saw that a group of sailors gathered there were lowering some object over the side. As he reached the rail and looked down, he saw that it was a large, flat bottomed rowboat, with nothing in it except a wooden bailer shaped like an ordinary shovel.
This boat was quickly lowered until it touched the water, and then Bert saw what had previously escaped his notice – namely, that several holes, each about as large as a five-cent piece, had been bored in the bottom of the boat, and through these the water was rushing in a dozen little fountains.
Then he realized what were the intentions of his captors, and his heart, which at sight of the boat had begun to beat hopefully, seemed to turn to lead. This, then, was to be his end! With fiendish ingenuity, the Japs had prepared this death-trap for him, knowing that he would fight up to the last moment from the instinct of self preservation. The enemy of Japan should not die too easily. His agony must be prolonged. According to their calculations, the water would continue coming in faster than Bert could possibly bail it out, and eventually he would sink, and his perilous knowledge with him.
Well, at any rate, he resolved to make his enemies sorry that they had ever seen him. As the sailors came toward him with the evident intention of forcing him into the boat, he grasped a camp chair that was standing near the rail, and swinging it in a mighty circle about his head, brought it crashing down on the head of the foremost seaman. The man dropped as though struck by lightning, and for a second his comrades hesitated, looking about them for weapons.
At a crisp command from an officer, who was standing a little to one side, they came on again with a rush. Bert felled the first of his antagonists with the stout chair, and then, as they were too close upon him for further use of this weapon, dropped it and resorted to his fists. He struck out right and left with all the strength of his powerful muscles, and for a few seconds actually held his swarming assailants at bay. Three men dropped before his hammer-like blows, before he was finally forced over the railing by sheer force of numbers and hurled into the rowboat.