By CURTIS STEELE - Pulp Fiction, Old Time Radio and ... 5 alone guessed the dread secret and matched his individual might against a million war-drunk terrorists—while the nation

Originally published in the June, 1934 issue of Operator 5TM

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Copyright 1934 by Popular Publications Inc.Copyright renewed © 1962 and assigned to Agrosy Communications, Inc.

All rights reserved. Licensed to Vintage New MediaOperator 5 is a trademark of Argosy Communications, Inc.

By CURTIS STEELE

One moment good-will bound the United States and the great Power across the sea . . . thenext, shells screamed their death wails into Coast homes and factories. No citizen was safefrom the bloody holocaust when the Yellow Empire struck without warning from the Pacific.With fiendish artifice the world was turned against us. And somewhere in this country, covertlycompleting the terrifying work of wholesale destruction, lurked the ruthless agent of theinvading hordes. Operator 5 alone guessed the dread secret and matched his individual mightagainst a million war-drunk terrorists—while the nation trembled on the brink of red wreckage!

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CHAPTER ONEDestruction on Parade

In the blue waters of San Diego Bay, off theCalifornia coast, the naval fleets of two greatworld powers were drawn into review formation.

Smoke poured darkly into the basalt sky fromthe funnels of parading capital ships, cruisers,destroyers and aircraft carriers while low-dippedsubmarines trailed alongside. Their big gunssparkled in the clear sunlight and rainbowedspindrift floated across the spotless decks whereimmaculately uniformed crews stood at stiffattention. In the wind whipped the Stars andStripes of the United States and the brillianttricolor of the Yellow Empire.

Side by side in the bay there lay at anchorthe Houston, flagship of the Pacific Fleet of theUnited States Navy, and the Noa, flagship of theUnited Fleets of the Yellow Empire. Before themin majestic review was passing the greatestdisplay of armed sea-power ever witnessed in thehistory of the world.

The eyes of the world were turned upon thespectacle—a sight both reassuring and terrifying.From the California coast countless yachts,sailboats, motorboats and sight-seeing steamershad put out, carrying thousands eager to witnessthe display. From Catalina and the Santa BarbaraIslands hundreds of other small vessels hadsailed. From the shore thousands more peeredthrough field glasses. It seemed that the wholeworld had paused to watch.

To the millions living inland in the UnitedStates, and to the millions living in the far-awayYellow Empire, the picture was carried by theinvisible lightning of radio waves.

High on the conning tower of the Houston aradio announcer spoke into a microphone thatsent his voice flashing around the girdle of theglobe.

"Below me, ladies and gentlemen, standofficers of the United States Navy in companywith officers of the Yellow Imperial fleet. I see theSecretary of War shoulder to shoulder withCounselor of Naval Affairs Otuski of the YellowEmpire. There is present also Rear AdmiralNeasham, Commander of the Pacific flagshipHouston, and Chief of Imperial Naval OperationsAdossi. Our own chief of naval operations, RearAdmiral Monroe, is conversing with theCommander-in-Chief of the United Fleets of theYellow Empire, Admiral Ogoro.

"Beside the Houston lies the Yellow ImperialFlagship Noa, where again officers of both naviesare witnessing the review. I can see Vice-AdmiralUgatto beside our Chief of the Bureau ofAeronautics, Rear Admiral Ledyard. There is alsoChief of the Operations Section of the YellowImperial fleet, Admiral Agranda, side by side withour Director of Naval Communications, CaptainJacoby. These are only a few of the officerspresent, ladies and gentlemen, on the occasionof this tremendous gesture of friendship betweentwo great world powers."

The announcer's voice lowered confidentially."As a side-light, ladies and gentlemen, I want totell you of a young man in civilian clothes who isstanding at the rail of the Houston. He is the onlyman present not in uniform, the only man not an

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Operator 5TM THE YELLOW SCOURGE JUNE, 1934_______________________________________________________________________________________________

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officer of either of the two navies. He standsaside, alone, with a pair of binoculars at hiseyes, intently studying the Yellow battleship Korawhich lies at anchor alongside the Houston. He isapparently a person of privilege, but his identity iscloaked in mystery."

The young man standing at the rail of theHouston was entirely unaware that the entireworld had been told of his presence. He stoodmotionless, binoculars pressed hard to his eyes,a straight, lithe, smoothly garbed figure. He didnot move until a uniformed officer stepped closeto him, smiling, and tapped his arm.

When he lowered the glasses, his face wasdisclosed to be clean-cut, his eyes a deep,shadowed blue. He was, plainly, American tothe very marrow. The smile that formed on hislips was warm and charming.

"You seem very interested in the Kora, Mr.Wakeley," remarked Lieutenant Commander Hallof the Houston.

"I have been wondering," answered theyoung man called Wakeley, "why the Kora isdrawn alongside the Houston."

Lieutenant Commander Hall shrugged. "Thedesire of Chief of Naval Operations Adossi," heanswered.

"And I have been wondering," the youngman added, "how it ever managed to cross thePacific from the Yellow coast."

"Why?""It is a rust-eaten, obsolete hulk—a ship that

is falling apart—such a wreck that it could notpossibly be an accredited ship of the YellowImperial Navy."

Lieutenant Commander Hall looked startled."Are you sure of that?" he asked. "The Kora,you know, was built only last year."

The young man passed his binoculars. "Seefor yourself," he said. "Look through the freshpaint and you'll find plentiful evidence ofcorrosion. The guns in the turrets are hopelesslyantedated. Even the crew—it's scarcely morethan a skeleton of what it should be. The Kora,as a battleship, is worth absolutely nothing.Except," he added in a lower tone, "as a targetfor artillery practice."

Lieutenant Commander Hall lowered thebinoculars puzzledly. “You're right," he said. "Ihadn't noticed that. I'm sure CommanderNeasham hasn't, either. What can it mean?"

The young man made no answer. The blueof his eyes grew darker as his fingers strayed to atiny gold ornament hanging from his watch-chain.Lieutenant Commander Hall's gaze dropped tothe little ornament held in the tips of the youngman's fingers. It was a golden skull with eyes ofbright-red rubies.

"I say—this is damned strange!" Hallexclaimed. "I'm going to report this toCommander Neasham—but who are you,anyway?"

The young man's engaging smile returned."My name is Wakeley. That's enough, isn't it?"

He took the binoculars from Hall as hespoke. The lieutenant commander turnedpuzzledly and left him. He peered again throughthe glasses at the Kora.

He might have answered, were it not that apledge of secrecy sealed his lips, that his namewas really James Christopher; that otherwise hewas known as Operator 5 of the AmericanIntelligence Service.

In the secret archives of the AmericanIntelligence Service in Washington, D.C., thename of James Christopher, Operator 5, wassigned to the reports of investigations of amazingespionage activities. Working almost single-handedly, his identity unknown save to hisimmediate superiors, he had, as the aceoperator of the service, directed the handling ofcases which had involved the fate of the UnitedStates.

Secrecy had covered his every move, evenfollowing his amazing successes. Operator 5 wasunknown to the very people he had saved fromdisaster. Fame could never be his reward; nocitation could ever be granted him. The Presidentof the United States had, privately, thanked himin the name of the people of the nation;Congress, in joint secret session, had voted himan unrecorded resolution of gratitude; with theseexpressions of thankfulness he was content.While others were given public credit for theachievements he had won, Jimmy Christopher,Operator 5, moved in secrecy.

His presence on the flagship Houston was inthe nature of an award for services rendered hiscountry; he was the guest of the Secretary ofWar, and his real identity was known only to theSecretary and Commander Neasham. To allothers he was a certain Mr. Wakeley, nothingmore. He had come to the great naval parade

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seeking respite from the strain of intense work;but now the strange condition of the Korabeguiled him and set his mind to working.

He swept his binoculars seaward, lookingpast the gliding cruisers at the vast spread of bluebeyond. After a long moment he lowered theglasses, and stood frowning, his blue eyes againclouded.

Suddenly the air began to tremble with adroning sound that grew swiftly louder. It wasdifficult to hear through the brassy beating of theNaval band, and Jimmy Christopher alone gaveevidence of hearing it at all. He raised his glassesagain to peer out across the Gulf of Catalina.

He glimpsed swiftly-moving winged forms.They were sweeping into sight above the horizon.First one, then three, then five, then sevenairplanes became visible as a V formation roseinto sight. Their wings flashed in the sun whilethey drove high into the sky, toward the lane ofparade.

Jimmy Christopher's body tightened as hepeered. His eyes sought markings on the flyingfuselages. He lowered his glasses quickly,walked forward on the deck, and stepped closebeside Commander Neasham of the flagshipHouston.

"Those airplanes, sir," he said. "Have younoticed them?"

The commander turned curiously. "Yes, I'venoticed the planes. They are United States Navyships and—"

"I beg your pardon, sir. They are not UnitedStates Navy ships."

"No? What are they, then?""Their markings are counterfeit. Their lines

do not conform strictly to the lines of our Navalplanes. Notice the position of the undercarriages,through these glasses, sir—a little too far back.Also, the ring airfoils of the motors are deeper."

Commander Neasham raised his glasses,studied the planes sweeping closer to the paradelane, then gazed again at the surprising youngman.

"I see what you mean, but—""They're coming directly toward the flagships,

sir."The formation of planes had already passed

the lane, and were swinging into a bank. Sevenpairs of wings teetered as the formation swung.Jimmy Christopher raised binoculars to his eyes

again and said quietly: "They're bombers, sir.Look out there beyond the submarine flotilla!"

The startled commander's glasses revealedsomething black riding above the waves—something the like of which he had never seenbefore. It was dome-shaped and it glistened wetlyin the sun. Around it, standing at attention, tinyblack-garbed figures were visible.

"What the devil is that craft?" theCommander blurted.

"Watch those planes!"Jimmy Christopher's warning brought a

startled response from the officers of two nations.Their eyes rose as the wings of the airplanesflashed into a dive. First the formation-leader,then the pairs following, dipped sharply. At thesame time tiny black spots appeared beneaththem—spots that spun and fell swiftly.

"Bombs!"Like winged streaks of black light the bombs

plunged. The surprising sight held paralyzed theofficers on the deck during the swift seconds ofthe bombs' fall. As the rest of the strangeformation of planes dipped, more of the blackspots appeared in the air. Through the roaring ofthe motors sounded the soft, shrill shrieks of theplunging projectiles.

Suddenly, in the swiftness of their flight, thelowest bombs disappeared. An instant afterwarda terrific concussion shook the sea. A blindingsplash of fire spattered across the deck of theKora; a wreath of writhing, yellowish-whitefumes sprang up. Swift destruction struck thedeck of the Yellow cruiser with a power thatseemed to shake the very basin of the sea.

With a discordant wail the Navy band aboardthe Houston went silent; and during the firstechoing concussion there could be heard therending crash of tearing steel, the shrill cries ofdying men aboard the Kora. The billowing fumesof the explosives closed down over the shakenhulk and rolled out over the lashing water. Andimmediately the mind-stunned confusion wasstirred again as more bombs hit.

Four deafening reports followed each other inlightning succession, each rending the hulk of theKora. Steel plates, ripped from their thick rivetslike sections of wet cardboard, whirled into the airand splashed into the water. Human forms, tornand broken, were hurled over the twisted rails ofthe Yellow cruiser.

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Its after fighting tower crumpled with aresounding crash. Lost for a moment in the furyof the attack was the heavy drone of the airplaneformation in the sky.

One instant transformed the tranquillity of thesea into a stormy, strife-torn scene that spreadinstantly to envelope the Yellow Imperial FlagshipNoa that lay anchored opposite the Houston.

An explosion rocked the stern of the Noa,crumpling a gun-turret like a cardboard box,hurling sections of the rail into the sea and with itscores of screaming men. Lung-stinging fumestore on the wind and whipped across the deck ofthe Houston as it swayed in the lashed water, asthe officers on her deck whirled to stare instunned dismay.

Smoke streaked off the decks of the Noa,frantic officers shouted commands to man theanti-aircraft guns; gunners scrambled into turrets;the crew ran to battle stations. Yet the move toanswer the attack of the swooping planes wasdoomed to futility; for already the gray wingswere sweeping high into the sky, circling, drivingout to sea.

A groaning of wrenched steel plates camefrom the bomb-torn hulk of the Kora. It was listingheavily, spilling more of its crew from its tilteddeck into the churning waters. Its stern wasalready awash; tons of water were pouring inthrough burst plates and torn seams. The Korawas sinking rapidly while the fumes of destructionswirled about it.

Then, through the air, as the thunder of theattacking planes rolled across the sky, a shrillwail sounded. It chilled the nerves of every officerwho heard it—the wail of a shell coursing on itstrajectory across the sky. Every instant loudenedit until it was an ear-piercing shriek. And suddenlythe sound disappeared in another rendingconcussion that shook the Kora from stem tostern.

Catastrophic destruction struck the hulk thatwas already swiftly settling into the waves. Flamespewed high and water geysered as the shelldrove into the trembling cruiser close beneath itsdeck. A great black, ragged hole appearedinstantly, water sucking into it with terrific force.It sent the Kora sliding under—sent it downbeneath the surface as bewildered officers on theflagships watched.

Now the V formation of planes was sweepingout of sight—now the air was trembling again withanother ear-piercing wail.

Commander Neasham of the Houstonshouted hoarse commands. Review formationsbroke as the panic-stricken crew rushed to obey.Officers echoed orders as they came from thenumbed lips of the Commander. Standing back,binoculars still in his hands, Jimmy Christopherwatched the fleeing planes with dark-cloudedeyes.

A motor burst into a roar. An airplane on theHouston’s catapult was preparing to take off. Apilot climbed to the gear and scrambled into thepit swiftly. Jimmy Christopher turned smartly andspoke to the dismayed Secretary of War. "Withyour permission, sir, I'll go with that pilot."

"Yes—yes—if you wish!"The whine of the second shell had risen to a

deafening intensity. Every man within hearingcringed as its tone lowered toward the instant ofimpact. Suddenly the explosion came with terrificcloseness, ripping through the forward conningtower of the Houston, driving into the seabeyond.

The Houston quaked with the rending power.The torn lacing of the conning tower buckledswiftly. High up in its nest men clungdesperately—the radio announcers abandonedtheir microphone and their world-wide audience atthat moment of impending death. Metalscreamed as the tower collapsed, crashingagainst the rail, spilling its men into the water.

Signals were flashing. Orders fromCommander Neasham were speeding likelightning to the ships of the Pacific Fleet. On thespotless decks men were scattering to battlepositions. Across the waves the commandsreached to the deck of the aircraft carriersLexington and Saratoga.

On the launching deck of the Lexington andSaratoga airplane motors were already roaring.Pilots were legging into their pits. Officers werebarking commands which repeated those ofCommander Neasham. Preparations to answerthe surprise attack were being swiftly made.

On the deck of the Houston, CommanderNeasham turned to peer at the Yellow ImperialFlagship Noa. Its guns were manned, but it wasnot firing; the attacking planes had sped out ofrange. The anchor was being weighed. On theafter deck mutilated bodies were strewn—victims

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of the bombing. The Noa was badly damaged;but it was not going to follow the Kora to thebottom of the bay.

Commander Neasham turned again, thistime to peer into the glittering black eyes of theCounselor of Naval Affairs of the Yellow ImperialNavy, Admiral Otuski.

"My compliments, Commander Neasham,"Admiral Otuski said in a whisper. "My staff and Iwill withdraw at once."

Commander Neasham turned pale as death.He saluted smartly. He spoke no word becausewords were beyond him. The stiff-backed officersof the Yellow Imperial Navy returned the salutewith a snap. They marched quickly across thedeck intent on descending to the waiting tender,their purpose to return at once to the YellowImperial Flagship Noa. Commander Neashamstepped close to the Secretary of War as theydescended.

"Good God—what's happened? This gesturetoward peace has turned into a promise of war!"

The pale Secretary of War pressed white lipstightly together. The roaring of the motor on theship's catapult was now a deafening din.Commander Neasham's eyes rose to it. He sawthe pilot hunched at the controls; and, in the rearpit, a young man in civilian clothes—JimmyChristopher. The Commander exclaimedbreathlessly: "He knew it was coming! Hesuspected it—he warned me!"

A fresh burst of power came from the planeon the catapult. The terrific force of the launchingmechanism exerted itself swiftly. One instant theplane was resting on its channels; the next it waswhipping through the air, plunging away from theHouston. It sank toward the water as its airfoilsbit into the air; then, its motor snarling at itshighest pitch of power, it streaked out across thewaves toward the strange black craft in the gulftoward which the seven attacking airplanes werenow spiraling and settling. CommanderNeasham's eyes clung to the U.S. Navy planeroaring low above the water.

"By God, sir," he blurted, "I'm glad he'shere! By God, sir, that young man is worth moreto us at this moment than all these battleships onparade!"

The sea-plane zoomed high as it spedacross the dark blue waters of the Gulf ofCatalina. Behind it lay the two fleets in review,their flags still fluttering, their guns glistening; but

now their crews, responding to swift orders, wereat their battle stations. The war dogs of the seawere straining at their leashes, waiting for asignal that would transform the gesture of peaceinto a gesture of war!

Nearer the shore, the thousands of smallcraft which had put out to watch the great navalparade were scattering like frightened geese.

From the North came thunderous roars asplanes swept off the broad decks of the Lexingtonand the Saratoga. Swift orders were throwing thepower of the aircraft carriers into the sky.Snarling planes were speeding from them,swinging into formation, driving out from shorewhile, in the ears of the pilots, orders still rang:

"Attack on sight the craft which fired on theflagships, with the purpose of sinking it at once!"

Jimmy Christopher peered across the blueexpanse of water. The troubled darkness in hiseyes had grown deeper. They shone like cloudedblue stars as he watched the strange black craftthat was dimly visible, riding close above thechopping waves.

It exposed a superstructure amazingly broadand long, indicating that a hulk of tremendousproportions lay beneath the surface. That it wassome type of submarine, Jimmy Christophercould not doubt; yet it could be like no othersubmarine ever constructed. It displayed nomarkings to identify its nationality; it lay in thewater like a grotesque, sinister monster.

And toward it the attacking formation ofplanes was settling. As Jimmy Christopherwatched, one of them leveled out of the smoothspiral; its pontoons dipped and slashed throughthe water. It ran swiftly toward the kiosk whichdominated the superstructure of the weirdsubmarine, until it was bobbing only a few yardsaway. Then, as Jimmy Christopher peeredthrough his binoculars, as his plane whisked himswiftly closer, a strange thing happened.

The pontoon-equipped plane was drawnforward until it passed out of sight within thekiosk. Immediately it entered, a second of theplanes swooped to the waves, drove closer, andentered. One after another the remaining planesspiraled and dropped. The amazing sight becameclearer in Jimmy Christopher's glasses as hisplane swooped low.

Now, toward the rear, the United Statesplanes which had been launched off theLexington and the Saratoga were swarming

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down. Their exhausts rolled like thunder acrossthe sky. Pilots coaxed their motors to the limit asthey plunged to attack.

Through his binoculars, Jimmy Christopherwatched operations on the superstructure deck ofthe tremendous submarine. Six of the attackingflight of planes had disappeared within the kioskwhich was large enough to hold only one of them;the last plane of the attacking formation wasswinging down to follow. On the wave-washeddeck three black-uniformed officers were peeringat the onsweeping U.S. planes, signaling orders.Suddenly they turned, running into the kiosk.Swiftly the black metal doors leafed together.

The single attacking plane swooped swiftly,like a bewildered bird, its entrance to thesubmarine suddenly cut off. The rushing U.S.Navy planes howled down as waves washed overthe superstructure of the grotesque submarine.Its kiosk disappeared first, telescoping flatagainst the deck. Suddenly it became nothingmore than a vague, dark shape in the water thatblurred away. Jimmy Christopher's plane passeddirectly over it at that moment; and peering down,he could see nothing but the chopping waves.

Within the space of one second by the clock,the unknown submarine had submerged—anddisappeared.

Bomb-releases tripped, and vaned projectilesstreaked down from the underside of JimmyChristopher's plane. They spun and twisted; theystruck the surface, and water geysered high asrolling thunder crossed the waves. The nextmoment the Navy planes from the Saratoga andthe Lexington swarmed over the spot where thesubmarine had submerged.

A rain of bombs plunged. The waterwhitened with foam; smoke tore on the wind;giant waves rolled; terrific power struck again andagain as the high explosive flew down from thesweeping planes. Overside, pilots peered grimly.Jimmy Christopher's plane circled swiftly as hewatched. But no spot of oil appeared on thewater—no indication came that the vanishedsubmarine had been hit or damaged.

Jimmy Christopher whacked his pilot'sshoulder and shouted: "Watch that plane! It'sgoing down!"

The one crate which had been shut out of thesubmarine had, for a moment, circled inbewilderment; then it had swung low over thewaves, during the quick bombardment, and now

it was shooting toward the shore. JimmyChristopher's plane swung after it swiftly.Bending over the cowling, he could see its pilottwisting back, peering up. That pilot was, asJimmy Christopher had warned, bringing hiscrate down to the waves.

It passed out of sight a moment, asOperator 5's plane banked; then he could see itagain, riding the swells, its prop motionless. Thepilot was slumped forward in the seat. AgainJimmy Christopher shouted orders, and his planelowered. It dipped, slashed to the surface, andswung toward the other craft.

Closer inspection indicated again that theattacking bomber was not in reality a U.S. Navyplane, though its color and its markings had beencleverly counterfeited. When the wing-tips drewclose together, Jimmy Christopher eased out,bracing against the struts; a quick leap took himacross. He worked his way to the bomber's pit ashis pilot watched puzzledly.

He became motionless as he peered overthe cowling. He reached down, caught the laxpilot's chin, and raised it. A white face lifted."Chet Galway!"

Jimmy Christopher peered back at his pilot."You know him?" he asked quietly.

"Know him! Everybody knows him! He's oneof the best damn' stick-wrestlers that ever heaveda crate through the air. Ace Navy flyer. God—what happened to him?"

Jimmy Christopher peered at a round, blackhole in Chet Galway's right temple. He loweredthe lolling head, reached deeper, and brought upa service automatic from the bore of which a wispof powder-smoke still curled. "Dead," he saidsoftly, "by his own hand."

He looked up slowly. Over the Gulf theswarm of U.S. Navy planes from the Lexingtonand the Saratoga was circling, searching thedepths for some sign of the mysterious attackingsubmarine, but searching hopelessly. Towardthe California coast lay the ships of the UnitedStates Pacific fleet and the main body of theYellow Imperial Navy, their funnels spewing blacksmoke that clouded the sky.

The sun shone dimmed through the murkyhaze, as though already the darkness of war wasdescending.

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CHAPTER TWOSecret Orders!

Out of the night sky a plane swooped towardthe flood-lighted field of the Glendale Airport nearLos Angeles. As it trundled to a stop it was seento be a ship of the United States Navy TrainingStation at San Diego. From it Jimmy Christopherstepped.

Alertly he strode to a waiting sedan, pausingto buy an armload of late afternoon newspapers.He gave no directions to the solemn-facedchauffeur, but he was whisked quickly alongbroad streets toward the heart of Los Angeles.By the dome-light of the car he read the shoutingblack headlines and his eyes grew dark andgrave.

The sedan swung to the curb in front of abuilding on Olive Street. Jimmy Christopherstrode into the lobby, and from the directory foundthe location of the United Film Booking Company.An elevator took him to the twenty-fifth floor. Hestepped into an office where a pretty girl sat at asecretarial desk.

"Mr. Wakeley," he said, "calling to see Mr.Webster."

Jimmy Christopher, directed by the girl,entered an adjoining office and for a moment wasalone.

Presently a door opened and a young mancame toward him. "You want to see Mr.Webster?"

"No.""Your name?""Mr. Webster.""This way."Jimmy Christopher entered another office. In

it, at a corner desk, sat a man with snow-whitehair. His face was creased and kindly; the blue-veined hand he extended to Jimmy Christophertrembled slightly. He said: "You want to apply fora position?"

"Not at all. I am leaving Los Angeles tonightby plane."

"When?""Number four-sixty."The dark-veined hand tightened on Jimmy

Christopher's. "Very good. These precautionsand these codes are highly necessary to protect

this secret headquarters, you know, Operator 5.Please be seated. I am V-3."

The white-haired man, Chief of the PacificDivision of the American Intelligence Service,studied Jimmy Christopher's face.

"You received my orders?""Immediately I returned to the Houston.""Can you verify the information I have

already received? The plane captured by ourflyers is of foreign manufacture, painted to looklike a United States Navy ship. It is, in fact, aplane from the Yellow Imperial Air Corps?"

"Yes.""Yet it was flown by one Lieutenant Chester

Galway, who resigned from the U.S. Navy only afew months ago?"

"Yes.""Good. That information is being held in strict

secrecy by us, on orders direct fromWashington."

Jimmy Christopher spread the newspaperson the desk; and his eyes grew troubled. "Whatdoes this mean? The Imperial Council of theYellow Empire has issued a statement declaringthat the submarine which fired on the navalparade this afternoon is an instrument of war ofthe United States."

"It is true."Jimmy Christopher blurted: "What?""It is true. The submarine which attacked the

flagships today is a vessel of the United StatesNavy."

Operator 5's face turned white. "Good Lord—it isn't possible!"

V-3 leaned forward tensely. "Thesubmarine," he said, "is an entirely new type ofundersea craft which was built secretly in aspecial yard off Mare Island, by the United StatesNavy. The work was done under such closecover that many of our highest ranking officers donot know of it. It was the intention of the WarDepartment to hold the craft, the Neptune, inreadiness as a surprise defense in case ofattack."

"Then the statement of the Imperial Councilis correct?"

"Only too correct, as far as it goes. TheCouncil does not state, however, that the vesselhad been stolen by secret agents of the YellowWar Office."

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Jimmy Christopher lowered himself to achair, staring stunned across the desk. "Thisputs an entirely different complexion on theattack!" he exclaimed. "I came here under theimpression that it was an enemy ship. But if it isour own—"

"It means international complications of theutmost gravity," V-3 declared. "For months theNeptune has been under construction in a secretunderwater dock off Mare Island. The UnitedStates has been able to build it without violatingany international treaty, since it is an entirely newtype of craft, and can be classified only under thesubmarine quota which, in our case, has notbeen filled. Only a few days ago the constructionof the Neptune was completed. It was about totake its maiden cruise.

"It is the only craft of its kind in existence. Ithas been constructed along lines never attemptedbefore. It is, essentially, a submarine airplanecarrier. Inside it there is storage space for twoflights, of seven planes each, of wing-foldingamphibians. It is also equipped with twelvetorpedo tubes, and it is capable of thirty knots anhour on the surface, fifteen submerged. It is ableto dive within thirty seconds, which establishes anew submersion record for undersea craft.

"It is able to remain under the surface for farlonger periods than any other submarine everbuilt. It can blow its ballast tanks ten times, ascompared with the usual three for ordinaryunderwater boats, due to specially constructedcannon-tanks.* Its storage batteries deliverpower incomparably greater than any othersubmarine's. What is most important, in theNeptune, we have overcome the greatesthandicap of undersea vessels—blindness. TheNeptune is equipped with a newly developedcamera-type periscope which utilizes infra-redrays for visibility.

The ordinary compressed-air tank is made of rolledsheet-steel, riveted so as to be air-tight. A cannon-tank,so called, is made from a single block of steel, boredexactly the same as a cannon-barrel. Having no rivetsand no seams it is capable of withstanding tremendouspressure—7500 pounds to the square inch ascompared with 2500 for the old-style riveted tank.—AUTHOR.

I do not need to tell you that, in time of war,a weapon of the type of the Neptune would betremendously powerful—able to destroy a wholefleet of an enemy navy. But now, Operator 5,we have lost control of it, and it actually is in thehands of an enemy. It is being used against us!"

Jimmy Christopher sat silent, peering into thefaded blue eyes of V-3.

"Secret agents of the Yellow Empire,somehow," the Pacific chief of the AmericanIntelligence continued, "learned of itsconstruction. They carefully laid their plans toseize it, unknown to us, of course. Late lastnight, the Neptune was captured and spiritedaway from its underwater dock. This wasaccomplished by poison gas—the attack camewithout warning, as a complete surprise. Whenthe Neptune dove, for the first time, it was underthe command of a Yellow officer."

Jimmy Christopher's eyes sought headlinesin the newspapers. "Then that explains—?"

The headlines read:

20 UNIDENTIFIED BODIESWASHED ON VALLEJO BEACH

"Some of the construction crew of theNeptune—killed by poison gas when thesubmarine airplane carrier was seized," V-3 saidquietly. "Poor chaps, they hadn't a chance!

"It was the intention of the War Department,Operator 5, to keep the existence of the Neptunea secret, but we counted on no suchdevelopment as occurred this afternoon. It isobvious now that the seizure of the Neptune wasthe first move in a deep laid plan of attack on thepart of the Yellow War Office."

"Then their participation in the naval paradewas only an empty gesture!"

"Yes. The reports I have here showconclusively that the Yellow Empire has acted inbad faith. Their war office talked of peace and atthe same time planned the opening attack of awar. The overthrow of the military party has inreality put into power another faction whichdesires war with the United States even morestrongly."

"Then they are still desperate to savethemselves from uncontrolled currency inflation,"Jimmy Christopher observed. "Their intention is tooverthrow the United States and confiscate ourgold holdings, the largest in the world, in order tosave their own financial life."

"Exactly. Their first attack came thisafternoon—as devilish a strategic move as hasever been known. While the naval review was inprogress the Neptune, in the control of its Yellow

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commander, was lying in wait in the Gulf ofCatalina. It had taken aboard it, secretly, a flightof Yellow naval planes, disguised to look likeAmerican ships. At the same time an obsoletecruiser of the Yellow fleet was anchored alongsidethe Houston in San Diego Bay—yet we arepositive now that this cruiser was not in reality theship whose name it bore—the Kora."

"I suspected that!" Jimmy Christopherexclaimed.

"The real Kora was constructed only lastyear, as you know. Where it has disappeared,no one knows; but another cruiser, which wasintended to be scrapped, was hastily painted andpartially conditioned to look like the Kora, and itwas this counterfeit Kora which lay beside theHouston this afternoon. It was there for only onepurpose—to be sunk.

"You know, Operator 5, that the Neptune,under the command of a Yellow officer, mighteasily have destroyed half our Pacific fleet thisafternoon, with its bombers, its deck guns, andits torpedoes. But it did nothing of the kind. Itattacked the counterfeit Kora and sank it. Itdropped a bomb on the Yellow Imperial flagship,the Noa. To all appearances—and this is thedevilish part of the strategy—it was an Americanvessel firing upon the Yellow fleet!"

Jimmy Christopher was leaning forwardtensely.

"And now the Yellow Council has announcedto the world that the Neptune is an American builtvessel—and we can't deny it!"

"Exactly. They have contrived to make itseem that the United States has made theopening attack of a war in the midst of ademonstration of peace! It has placed us in adangerous international situation. Our treaty-allies will certainly file protests in Washington.This strategy of the Yellow War Office is costingus the respect of the world!"

"But—can't we prove—?""We can prove little. The counterfeit Kora

lies now at the bottom of the Bay of Catalina. TheYellow airplane we captured, flown by LieutenantGalway, is insufficient as proof compared to thebombing of the Yellow ships. We cannot denythat the Neptune was constructed by us, and wecannot prove that it is now under Yellowcommand. In short, the Yellow Empire hascommitted an international crime, and has

fastened the guilt on us as an excuse for an opendeclaration of war."

Through the wall of the office came a sharpclattering sound. It continued as V-3 resumed."We are making a desperate effort to locate andrecapture the Neptune. All along the coast,planes are hunting for it—ships from France Field,Boeing, Seattle, from Crissy Field at the Presidioat San Francisco, from Hamilton Field at SanRafael, in fact from every California field, as wellas from Albrook Field in the Canal Zone. TheDirigible base at Sunnyside has sent out lighter-than aircraft for the search. Submarines havebeen put out, also searching, from San Pedro,from Astoria, Oregon, and from Keyport,Washington. But it's hopeless.

"Our own shrewdness in constructing theNeptune has turned against us, for it is able tomake itself invisible in the water. All its power isdirected against us, and we are almost helplessto regain control of it."

A door opened, and a shirt-sleeved manentered. He placed on the desk in front of V-3 ayellow sheet covered with the pasted strips of ateletype message. V-3 read it swiftly and silentlypassed it to Jimmy Christopher.

...YELLOW GOVERNMENT DEMANDSFROM U.S. REPARATIONS OF FIVE MILLIONDOLLARS AND SURRENDER OF OUR PACIFICFLEET... U.S. CANNOT ACCEDE ANDDECLARATION OF WAR MAY RESULT... SEIZEAT ONCE ALL KNOWN SECRET AGENTS OFYELLOW ESPIONAGE OFFICE... DETAILEDORDERS FOLLOW....

V-3's fist crashed to the desk. "That's thedamnable cleverness of the Yellow Empire! Theystrike first and declare war afterward. They haveno difficulty finding a suitable casus belli when itis needed. It’s part of their devilish strategy—toattack us, make it appear that we attacked them,then deliver demands upon us which it is utterlyimpossible for us to accept!"

Jimmy Christopher said slowly: "It meansthat war is inevitable!"

The door connecting with the outerpartitioned space opened quickly. The girl whoacted as "secretary" for the United Film BookingCompany stepped in quickly.

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"Chief, a man purporting to be a repairmanfrom the telephone company has again gone upto the office above us."

"Thanks," V-3 said. "That's all."As the door closed he looked intently at

Jimmy Christopher. "I have suspected," heexplained, "that this headquarters has beenspotted by a Yellow agent. I believe that attemptshave been made to tap our telephone lines and tooverhear conversations held in this room. I'mpositive that the man who has rented the officeabove has not yet learned our secret. But he istrying.

"This 'telephone repairman' has appearedupstairs frequently, according to our Operator Y-4, who is handling one of the express elevators.The office above must be watched closely; thisheadquarters must be kept secret at all costs.Quick work is essential."

"Leave it to me, Chief," Operator 5suggested quietly. "I'll handle it." And he steppedtoward the corridor. The door clicked softly behindhim as he headed for the banks of elevators.

The door of the office located directly aboveSecret Intelligence Headquarters PL was lettered"Shantung Tea Importers, Ltd." Behind thepebbled pane, while all other offices on the floorwere dark, a light was shining.

It was almost midnight when the light blinkedout, and the door opened. The man whoemerged into the corridor was lean and tall, hisface a dried saffron color. He wore thick eye-glasses; he looked a quiet, dignified Orientalbusinessman thoroughly Americanized. Carryinga briefcase, he strode to the elevator shafts andpunched a button.

A grille clacked open, and he steppedthrough. He was alone in the car as it began itsdescent. The uniformed man of the cage yawnedsleepily as floor-levels flicked past. To allappearances he was a bored and tired youngman. In reality he was alert, tense: he wasIntelligence Operator Y-4, acting under orders ofOperator 5.

Suddenly the lights in the cage blinked out;there was a bounding jounce, and the dark carslid to a stop.

"Gosh!" exclaimed Y-4. "The power's off!""Let me out, then!" the businessman

exclaimed. "I will walk."

"Can't let you off, sir," Y-4 answered."We're stuck between floors."

Muttering came from the dried lips. "Howlong must I be held here?"

Y-4 yawned. "That," he said truthfully, "Ican't tell you." He could not say, he might haveexplained, as he did not, that the elevator cagewas going to hang imprisoned between floor-levels until a certain signal came from above—from Operator 5.

Jimmy Christopher hurried again into thebuilding on Olive Street; took an elevator to thetwenty-second floor, then climbed flights of stairsquickly. At the twenty-sixth floor, he strode alongthe gloomy corridor toward the door of theShantung Tea Importers, Ltd. He drew a packetof keys from his pocket, tried one after another,heard a click, and stepped through.

Knowing that a watch might be maintainedon these offices from a building across the street,he did not snap on the lights. It appeared to bean ordinary business layout. He opened an innerdoor, walked across a quiet office where, on atable, glass jars of tea samples sat, and theninto one beyond.

In the third room he paused. In one cornerlay a heap of crumbled concrete. The thicklinoleum had been peeled back, disclosing ablack emptiness beneath it. Operator 5 steppedclose, peering at tools which lay alongside. Amoment's inspection told him that the occupant ofthis office had been attempting to burrow downbehind the wall of Secret IntelligenceHeadquarters PL, one floor below.

The sound-proofing which protectedHeadquarters PL had at the same time dulled thenoise of the chipping-tools which had eatenthrough the concrete. Down into the cavity rantwo thin wire strands. Operator 5 pulled on them,and lifted from the wall cavity a small microphone.Smiling quietly, he twisted one wire in his fingersuntil the delicate filaments of copper inside theinsulation broke and parted. He lowered themicrophone again, and turned.

He spent quick moments opening deskdrawers, looking into filing cabinets, searchingthoroughly, but he found no scrap of evidenceindicating that Yellow agents had rented theseoffices. Leaving each leaf of paper as he found it,he strode into the corridor, locking the doorbehind him.

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He walked quickly down the flights of stairsthat opened into the lobby at the ground floor. Ashe appeared, he flicked dust from a lapel of hiscoat. The night starter in the foyer saw themovement, and punched an electric button. Thebutton flashed a signal in the basement, and anoveralled electrician reached for a switch, andthrew it.

Far up, lights appeared in the imprisonedelevator cage. Y-4 sighed, threw his controlswitch, and sent the car shooting downward. Hisfidgeting passenger stepped quickly into thelobby, still muttering, and walked into the street.

Jimmy Christopher stepped from a telephonebooth and followed.

Along Olive Street Operator 5 trailed the leanAsian man. The tea importer circled a block, thenanother, in an attempt to throw off any possibleshadow. Jimmy Christopher drifted far behindhim. The man finally turned again and walkedquickly toward that quaint old Spanish section ofLos Angeles which is the original settlement of thecity.

The streets grew narrower; shop windowsgleamed dully; dark figures lounging in doorwaysmuttered Spanish. The task of trailing the manbecame more difficult. Jimmy Christopher steppedinto a taxi, and rolled along quietly while, unseenwithin it, he peered through the windows. He wasahead of his man when the Oriental turned to adoor and disappeared.

Jimmy Christopher left the cab and trodback. At the dark, scarred doorway through whichthe Oriental had passed, he hesitated. Hestepped through into a dark hall, facing stairs thatrose to an odorous second floor. Quiet steps tookhim upward.

Three doors opened on the landing. JimmyChristopher believed that they opened intoseparate rooms, that two of them must be falseleads. He brought from his pocket an envelope,tore off a corner, stepped close to a knob, anddusted a brownish powder over it. Stooping, hesmelled it.

Again he did this; and the second time hisnostrils caught a faint, pungent odor. Hestraightened, smiling. The reaction of the powderwith the extremely faint traces of human skin-oiland perspiration on the knob told him that a handhad touched it only a few seconds ago.

Again he brought from his pocket his packetof keys. There was not the slightest sound as he

tried first one, then another, in the lock. Hisfingers moved as surely, as deftly, as those of amaster surgeon. The third key turned slowly,soundlessly. Jimmy Christopher twisted the knob,poised—and stepped through.

At a table in the center of the room the leanOriental was hunched; peering at letters andpapers taken from his briefcase. JimmyChristopher's step brought him to his feet in aflash. He whirled, his eyes glittering darkly; hishand shot deep into the leather case. When itflashed out, it was gripping the hilt of a bright-bladed knife.

Jimmy Christopher swung close. The knifeslashed up as the man lunged. JimmyChristopher's left hand flew up, clenched; hiswrist clicked against the wrist of the Yellow agent.The blade hissed downward, slashing the fabricof his coat. Swiftly he stepped again, whirled,hooked his arm around the man's neck, andcrushed.

A muffled scream came from dry lips.Jimmy Christopher's hand slipped to his vestpocket. His thumb-nail pressed the catch of acigarette case. He rolled one of the white papertubes into his hand, dropped the case, and bentthe cigarette between his fingers as he thrust itclose to this man's face.

There sounded the crack of splintering glassas the thin walls of the tube contained in thecigarette broke. A sweet, sickish odor came intothe air. The man went limp in Jimmy Christopher'sarms. He lowered the lax form, stepped to thewindow, and opened it.

Quietly he took up the papers from the table,and stuffed them back into the briefcase. Hesearched the room quickly, and found nothingelse. Pausing again, he peered intently at theOriental's features, then he stepped out the doorand ran down the flight of steps.

From a telephone booth he called SecretIntelligence Headquarters PL. He exchangedsignals, and read an address.

"He's sleeping soundly, V-3," he said quietly,"and he'll keep on sleeping until you take him intocustody. His papers indicate that he's Da Fonda—one of the cleverest agents of the YellowEspionage offices."

An hour later Jimmy Christopher wasbending over the stained table of a chemicallaboratory hidden deep in a building in downtownLos Angeles. It was the secret ink laboratory of

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the Intelligence Service on the West Coast. Hehad come directly from the room of Da Fonda.

A man in an acid-eaten smock was bendingover the letters taken from the spy's briefcase.Across each of them he had drawn a brushdipped in chemicals; each had been treated inthis way three times. The reagents had stainedthe paper with dark streaks, and the chemist waswagging his head. "No invisible writing so far,"he said.

V-3 had come to the secret ink laboratory onword from Operator 5. He frowned inbewilderment.

"Those letters," Jimmy Christopher declared,"are neither in code nor cipher. They appear tobe business letters—but Da Fonda was ready tokill me to keep me from getting them. They mustcontain some secret writing."

Under his directions the chemist prepared anairtight glass cabinet. Flaky crystals ofsublimated iodine were placed in a tube. As itwas heated over a Bunsen burner a rich, purplevapor rose, flooding into the glass case, and overthe letters.

"You see," Jimmy Christopher explained toV-3, "no matter what secret ink was used, thepen and invisible ink has disturbed the fibers ofthe paper. The disturbance is so minute that it isinvisible to the naked eye. Instead of trying to findthe correct developer for the secret writing—whichmight be impossible, and we might ruin thehidden writing trying to find it—the iodine vapor isused. It settles into all the microscopic disturbedplaces in the fiber and— There it is!"

Quickly Jimmy Christopher slipped thestained paper from the case. Writing hadappeared on it as if by magic—faint butdecipherable. He read the message quickly:

Chief Secret Agent Kara Vizna is aboard theAlhambra docking at San Francisco night of the tenth.Await orders from her.

"Kara Vizna!" Jimmy Christopher exclaimed."The Yellow woman spy!"

V-3's eyes shone. "A perfect tigress!" hesaid. "Attempting to enter the country—thetenth—tonight! I'll get verification from our agentin Shanghai at once!"

V-3 took up the telephone and spoke quicklyas Operator 5 subjected others of Da Fonda's

letters to the iodine-vapor test. As he finished V-3turned from the telephone.

"Our agent in Shanghai furnished SanFrancisco with a report days ago, but it was sovague that they have not acted upon it," he said."They did not believe that Kara Vizna would dareattempt to enter this country. They are radioinghim now for further details.

"Operator 5, you are to proceed at once toSan Francisco and attempt to seize Kara Viznawhen she lands. She must be heldincommunicado. A plane will carry you to SanFrancisco and another operator is to meet you atthe Embarcadero. He will be B-10. You maytrust him implicitly, but be careful—Kara Vizna isthe most dangerous secret agent alive!"

Jimmy Christopher smiled. "I don't relish thisassignment, V-3. I've never tackled a womanespionage agent before."

"You may be sure you've never tackled anadversary as dangerous as the woman KaraVizna. She is a human fiend, merciless,heartless, shrewd beyond words to describe.And she has behind her the most cunningintelligence organization in the world."

"That organization," Jimmy Christopherremarked quietly, "may explain why LieutenantChet Galway, one of the Navy's finest flyers,turned traitor to his country."

V-3 nodded gravely, extending his gnarledhand toward Operator 5. "She'll stop at nothing—absolutely nothing. A dangerous adversary," herepeated grimly, "particularly because she isbeautiful—one of the most beautiful women whoever lived!"

CHAPTER THREEThe Human Tigress

The high powered sedan which met Operator5's plane at Crissy Field, the Presidio, SanFrancisco, carried him swiftly to the famedEmbarcadero. A swirling fog hung over the water-front. Telegraph Hill loomed a black hulk in themist; out on the Bay twinkled myriad lights.Among them glimmered the colored beacons ofan approaching steamer. The time was shortlybefore ten, when the Alhambra, putting in fromShanghai and Asiatic ports, was due to dock.

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Jimmy Christopher entered the enclosed pierand walked toward a group waiting near agangplank not yet raised. He noticed a youngman waiting at one side alone, a newspaperfolded under his arm. He stepped close, andnoted that the date of the newspaper wasFebruary 10—months past.

"Waiting for someone?" he asked softly."Perhaps.""February," said Jimmy Christopher, "is the

second month of the year, and likewise thesecond letter of the alphabet is B. In other words,B-10. I prefer a plain five."

The young man turned abruptly, and strodeoff the pier. Jimmy Christopher followed him at adistance toward another. They stepped through adark doorway, onto a pier that was lightless anddeserted. The young man's hand sought Operator5's.

"Glad to see you. I'm B-10—Carl Elliot.""Good. I'm Jimmy Christopher."They walked along the pier to its outer end.

There the fog swirled in, enveloping dark figuresthat stood silently. No word was spoken asJimmy Christopher climbed down to a motor-launch. When B-10 stood beside him a motorsnorted and a propeller churned the inky water.The boat nosed out into the bay, toward thecolored lights of the approaching steamer.

Carl Elliot said: "Our operator in Shanghairadioed that Kara Vizna boarded the Alhambrathere and didn't get off, but I have advice directfrom the boat saying no woman of her descriptionis aboard. She's traveling in disguise. Thatmeans we've got to look sharp."

"Who did you radio aboard the Alhambra?""My sister. Funny thing—she's on the boat

now, just coming back from a two month'svacation in China. She's a swell kid, a starreporter for the Amalgamated Press, and cleveras a witch. You'll see her, probably, and she'll tryto pump you. She's ravenous for anything thatlooks like news."

"A dangerous kind of a sister for anIntelligence man to have," Jimmy Christophersmiled.

The launch was cutting through the mist-layered water rapidly. Ahead loomed the blackhulk of the Alhambra. As the motor-boat swungclose, Carl Elliot signaled with a flashlight, andan answering gleam came from the steamer's

bridge. They veered as a rope ladder rattledoverside and hung against the moving wall ofsteel.

A half hour later, puffing tugs had nosed theAlhambra to her dock. Crowds were lined alongthe pier, shouting to voyagers at the rail.Hawsers clanked and winches whistled; thegangplank rose. Mist floated across the deck,about the scores waiting to disembark, as JimmyChristopher and Carl Elliot left the bridge.

Ship's officers were keeping the passengersfrom the gangplank, as they walked close.Suddenly there was a glad cry—"Carl!"—and agirl rushed from the group. Operator B-10 turnedto find himself embraced by twining arms and afaint aura of familiar perfume.

"Carl, darling!" "Diane—hello! " Jimmy Christopher paused,

signaling the officers at the head of the gangplank to wait a moment. He stood asideunnoticed while Diane Elliot hugged her brotherand chattered gleefully. She was in her earlytwenties, with a softly modeled face and eyesthat snapped with brilliant lights.

"What a glorious surprise—your meeting meon the boat, Carl!"

Carl Elliot laughed softly. "Well, Di, I'll joinyou later, what do you say? First, meet JimmyChristopher."

She turned her face and the beauty of itstruck Jimmy Christopher like a spell. Her fingerscurled tightly into his; her red lips pursed and hereyes narrowed thoughtfully.

"Important business? I think I know whatthat means. It's—"

"Hold on, Di!" her brother cautioned. "Takeyour things down to the customs, and we'll joinyou shortly. Right now—we're busy!"

She turned to Jimmy Christopher. "You wantme to fade out of the picture, I know," she saidquickly. "I'm continually hearing it from Carl.Well—" her eyes shone with excitement and shewithdrew a little distance with her brother.

Jimmy Christopher strode toward thegangplank, signaling the officers to allow thepassengers to disembark. Diane Elliot's eyesfollowed him brightly. There was a look ofpleased amazement in them.

"Carl," she said softly, "I like that youngman. He's nobody's fool."

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"If you knew who that young man really is,my dear," her brother answered cryptically,"you'd pass out!"

"I would not!" she said. "I'd interview him!"Carl Elliot strode quickly to Jimmy Chris-

topher’s side, while Diane eagerly followed. Sheignored Carl Elliot's gestures to leave and studiedJimmy Christopher's face intently. Her rich lipspursed with approval, and she smiled to herself.She found something pleasing in the fact thatJimmy Christopher, now, was entirely unaware ofher presence.

Officers standing at the head of thegangplank allowed the disembarking passengersto pass only in single file. Jimmy Christopherscrutinized each face. The features of eachwoman he examined swiftly, more intently thanthose of the men. Carl Elliot sighed and softlyremarked, "How the hell are we going to spother? The captain swore she's not aboard.Nobody's seen her. Di surely would have spottedher—but there's nothing doing."

"She's here, all right," Jimmy Christopheranswered quietly. "She'll slip past us if we giveher half a chance."

The file of passengers continued. At thebottom of the gangplank hysterical greetings werebeing exchanged. Whistles shrilled, and the workof unloading the freight cargo had already begun;winches were hissing, cables creaking. One afteranother the passengers stepped past JimmyChristopher as his expression remainedunchanged.

"Looks hopeless to me," Carl Elliot sighed.At that instant Jimmy Christopher's hand

shot out. It closed upon the arm of a passengerwho was stepping past. He looked into a darkface shaded by a black felt hat, into black eyesthat looked dull and lusterless. The passenger hestopped was apparently a small, rather stupidand harmless little man.

"Your passport?" Operator 5 asked quietly.Jimmy Christopher examined the document

quickly as the man produced it. It stated that thebearer was one Juan Ridegez, a resident of thePhilippine Islands. The seal-stamped photographon the first page was unquestionably that of theperson carrying it. Jimmy Christopher said:"You'll return to your cabin with me, won't you,Senor Ridegez?"

The answer was thickly accented. "Yes, butwhy must I do so? My friends are waiting for me.My passport is in good order. There is no need—"

"To your cabin, please."Juan Ridegez stepped from the line of

disembarking passengers. Carrying twosuitcases, slight shoulders bending under theirweight, Ridegez walked across the deck. CarlElliot fell in step with Jimmy Christopher as theyfollowed.

"You've made a mistake, haven't you? Thatlittle man can't be Kara Vizna. He's small, butotherwise there's nothing womanish about him."

"Which speaks for the cleverness of KaraVizna," Jimmy Christopher answered quietly."Because Juan Ridegez is not a man."

Carl Elliot glanced back to see that Dianewas following. Jimmy Christopher strode morerapidly as the brown-faced passenger entered acabin on the deck. He stepped through, and CarlElliot closed the door. The passenger faced themmeekly.

"Now, what is it you wish?""We wish you, Kara Vizna.""What? I do not understand."Jimmy Christopher smiled slowly. "An

excellent disguise; I compliment you. You mighthave slipped past me, except for one thing—onething that tells me you're not a man at all. Andsince you're not a man, you're Kara Vizna"

The dark eyes, no longer lusterless, flashed."I do not understand," the brown lips mumbledagain.

"You are wearing, you see," JimmyChristopher pointed out, "a double-breasted top-coat. It is buttoned from right to left. Womenbutton their coats in that direction, Kara Vizna,but not men. A slight mistake—but it gave youaway."

Now the dark eyes glittered malevolently.The little passenger straightened; and when thelips moved again there was no accent in thespoken words.

"That is very clever of you—Operator 5."Carl Elliot blurted: "Good Lord! It is she!"Jimmy Christopher thought he saw a quick

flash pass from the eyes of the disguised womanto those of B-10, yet it was gone in an instant.He was fascinated by the excellence of her

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15

disguise. There was no beauty in her face, nosemblance of feminine characteristics about her.

"You are to consider yourself under arrest,"Jimmy Christopher said quietly. "You may comewith us as—Juan Ridegez."

The disguised woman's throaty voice wasscarcely a whisper: "Perhaps not."

Jimmy Christopher smiled. "I've heard thatyou are very beautiful," he said. "I'm glad thatyou've disguised it so completely, for then the jobmight be harder than it is. I don't like to think ofwhat will happen to you, Kara Vizna, if war isdeclared between your country and mine."

"Very clever of you, Operator 5," thewoman's throaty voice came again, "but not quiteclever enough."

One small, brown hand flashed upward fromthe pocket of the top-coat. Jimmy Christophermoved quickly to grasp it; but his move was notswift enough. From Kara Vizna's brown fingers asmall, glistening sphere flew. It crashed againstthe wall and splattered liquid that instantlychanged into a heavy white gas.

"Look out!" Carl Elliot called, and his voiceended in a choking sputter.

Jimmy Christopher leaped backward. Hisone hand shot out to B-10's shoulder, draggingback. They stumbled into the open air as DianeElliot recoiled in surprise from the stateroomwindow. Tears were streaming down their faces;they were choking, gasping for breath. As theystumbled on the deck, the small, disguised figureof Kara Vizna darted after them.

"Stop her!" It was a stifled shout from CarlElliot. "God's sake—stop her!"

Jimmy Christopher staggered, peeringthrough bleared eyes, as he glimpsed the quick-moving form of the woman. He sensed amovement past him, and saw Diane Elliotpassing the cabin door. As the disguised KaraVizna turned to run, the girl's hand gripped one ofthe woman's arms. Kara Vizna whirled, handsflying upward.

"Stay back!" Jimmy Christopher gasped ashe saw the move.

Kara Vizna's stiff fingers drove hard againstDiane Elliot's body. The girl whimpered withsudden pain as a jujitsu blow sent a paralyzingnumbness through her arms and legs. Thewoman tore out of her grasp as she swayed

backward. Jimmy Christopher sprang forward,peering through scalding tears.

Kara Vizna ran swiftly toward the rail. Shegripped it and paused an instant, peering back.A tight smile was formed on her stained lips, asmile of cool triumph. She sprang over the railswiftly. Jimmy Christopher stumbled against it,groping through empty air as far below, a splashsounded.

Jimmy Christopher cleared his eyes,gasping, at the instant the small figure of KaraVizna broke the waves. He clung motionless,peering down through the drifting fog, while CarlElliot crowded beside him. Grimly he brought hisgun to his hand, and his finger tightened on thetrigger as he waited for the woman to reappear atthe surface of the water.

A long minute passed—a second one—andempty waves chopped past.

"Good Lord!" Carl Elliot gasped. "She's notcoming up!"

Jimmy Christopher breathed deeply of thedamp air, and straightened. For a long time hedid not move. His clouded eyes searched theblack, steaming surface of the water.

"Drowned herself—the she-devil!" Elliotexclaimed. "Drowned herself rather than take thechance of facing a firing-squad!" He choked."What the devil did she throw at us, anyway?"

Jimmy Christopher answered grimly, stillpeering out over the water. "An advanced type oftear-gas, probably. Lucky for us she wasn'tcounting on being picked up, or we'd be lyingdead in that cabin now. If there had been Yperiteor telluride in that flask—"

He broke off as Diane Elliot hurried towardthe rail, her face ashen. He took her shoulders inhis hands firmly.

"Hurt?""No—I'm not hurt a bit!" she gasped. "I

know perfectly well it's my own fault," shedeclared. "I—I tried to stop her, but—"

"Good girl! You took a terrible risk. Thatsame jujitsu blow, delivered a little harder, mighthave paralyzed you for life. Now, listen. You're anewspaper reporter, but you can't report this. It'sstrictly secret Government business."

"As a newspaper reporter," Diane Elliotanswered, "it's my business to tell the public allabout it, and—"

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Jimmy Christopher's hands tightened on hersoft shoulders. "You're not going to do that!"

Suddenly she smiled. "There's somethingabout you," she said quite frankly "that I like verymuch."

He took a deep breath. "I may say the samefor you, young lady, but—"

A sudden gleam, shining out on the water,turned his head quickly. He leaned across therail, peering at a brilliant spark of light glitteringlow against the surface, radiating dimly throughthe fog. Around it the water was lashing; a darkform was moving Jimmy Christopher blurted:"There she is!"

The sudden bubbling of a boat's motor boiledout of the distant mist as he turned quickly. Hesnapped a command to B-10 and sped across thedeck. Over the port rail the rope-ladder was stilldangling; beneath it the motor-boat was bobbing.Jimmy Christopher swung over as B-10 crowdedafter him.

He scrambled down the ladder and jumpedinto the boat. Carl Elliot followed quickly. JimmyChristopher was ordering "Out into the bay—around the steamer!" when the ladder rattled hardagain against the steel hulk of the Alhambra. Hegrabbed at it and pulled.

Diane Elliot was climbing down, the windwhipping her skirt, one trim oxford and slendersilken ankle reaching into space. JimmyChristopher caught her and swung her aboard asthe launch veered. She fell breathless into hisarms and raised her sparkling brown eyes.

"You're a pest!" he growled at her."You can't leave me behind!"Now the launch spurted, slashing through

the waves and the fog. It swung swiftly aroundthe stern of the Alhambra as wind tore the mistpast it. Peering across the bay, JimmyChristopher saw that the gleam of light haddisappeared. But now, cutting swiftly through thefog, a dark shape slashing through the waves, aspeed-boat was driving toward the spot, wherethe light had shown.

"Swam under water!" Jimmy Christopherexclaimed. "She set off a waterproof flare,signaling that boat. It's picking her up!"

His gun leveled steadily as the launch toreout into the bay. Lights glittered from Goat Island,where the U.S. Naval School of the Pacific waslocated, and from Alcatraz Island, site of the

U.S. Prison. Against the misty darkness thespeed-boat was slowing, bearing into a quickcircle. Jimmy Christopher's craft slashed toward it.

Suddenly his eyes raised, as a dull, throatybroom beat through the fog. It came from thesky, a quickly loudening drone, the exhaust-noiseof a plane sweeping low. Still out of sight, it wasapproaching rapidly.

Dimly, as he gripped the launch rail, JimmyChristopher could see the speedboat bobbing.Black figures were bending over its side,reaching into the water. From the dark waves aform rose a small slight figure that quicklyscrambled in. Kara Vizna!

The motor of the speedboat snarled highagain. Jimmy Christopher leveled his automaticand squeezed the trigger once, sending a slugwhistling above the craft as a warning. Instantlythere was an answer—the chopping, biting reportof a machine-gun!

Flame licked from the muzzle of the weaponleveled over the side of the speedboat. Slugsslapped into the water and clicked against theshell of the launch. A sharp cry came from CarlElliot and he dropped to his knees. JimmyChristopher snapped a warning at the girl, andfired again.

The first burst from the machine-gun was aprelude to a withering hail of bullets. Slugsswarmed across the waves, clicking hard into thelaunch at the water level. Spray flew and woodsplintered. Through a split in the hull watergushed.

"Bail!" the man at the wheel roared.Water poured around Jimmy Christopher's

feet as the second man snatched up a rustybucket. They huddled, watching the speed-boatcut out across the Bay. The machine-gunchopped again, and bullets whistled low. Themotor-boat trembled with the power of the impact.Wood splintered again; a torrent of water spilledinward.

"Keep following that boat!" JimmyChristopher ordered sharply.

The speed of the other craft was greater thanthat of the launch; it was tearing away like mad.At the same time, from overhead, came thesinging roar of the circling airplane. High in themist a light kindled and fell, like a flaming meteor.A flare had been thrown overside. White smoketrailed after it as it plunged, struck the water andbobbed on the waves, still gleaming.

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In the blinding white light, the swiftmovement of the speedboat became clearer.Jimmy Christopher fired again, grimly, at thehuddled dark figure of the machine-gunner.Another slashing burst of fire answered. Hecrouched while water lapped about his knees.

"We'll have to swim for it!"Materializing out of the mist like a winged

ghost, the plane swooped low. Its gray colormade it seem like a U.S. Navy plane, and itsmarkings bore out the impression it gave. YetJimmy Christopher noted instantly its peculiarlines, its nonconformity with true Navy planes.

It was another counterfeit craft—one of theflight which had attacked the naval parade thatafternoon!

The launch was rolling violently in the waves;its motor snorting, choking. Jimmy Christopherlooked back once, with deep concern, at DianeElliot. She was huddled, the light of the flareshining whitely in her widened eyes. He turnedagain, and fired, as the pontoons of thecounterfeit Navy plane cut through the waves.

The speedboat was far out now; the planeteetering toward it was a vague shadow in themist. Jimmy Christopher fired three times, swiftly,and again the machine-gun blasted a counter-attack. Eyes raised just far enough to see beyondthe wave-washed rail of the launch, he discerneda black, slight figure crawling from the speed-boat, climbing upon the wing of the amphibian.

Kara Vizna was transferring to the plane.A wave struck the side of the launch at that

instant, flinging cold water in and across it. Itlurched, settling swiftly. The two boatmen yelledand leaped. Jimmy Christopher rose grimly,peering back at Carl and Diane Elliot.

"Swim for it!"The solidity of the boat melted away beneath

him. He struck out powerfully, first holstering hisgun, keeping his eyes on the vague forms on thedistant water. Icy chill enveloped him; he twistedto see the two boatmen swimming frantically,toward the distant lights of the Embarcadero.Diane Elliot's head was dimly visible; she wasswimming with firm, even strokes, B-10 at herside. Jimmy Christopher sobbed as the new snarlof a motor beat through the mist.

The winged ghost was rising; the speedboatwas scurrying off. The floating flare blinked outand thick darkness closed down. One momentJimmy Christopher trod water, peering grimly at

the rising plane. It swooped high; it melted awayinto the mist; and suddenly there was nothing leftof it save the pounding of its motor. The sounddiminished rapidly as the craft banked toward thePacific.

Jimmy Christopher kicked off his top-coat,disregarded the impediment of the rest of hisclothing, and began a swift crawl. Ahead of himhe saw the four heads on the surface, rising andfalling with the swells. He stroked alongside thegirl and gasped: "Can you make it?"

"I'm all right!" she called to him.In the air the drone of the escaping

amphibian was still audible. It melted away slowlyas Jimmy Christopher swam the lead toward theEmbarcadero. At the edge of an open pier hesaw dark forms moving and he called. As hecame nearer, a rope snaked down. He gripped itand hung, reaching out to grasp an arm of DianeElliot.

She seized the rope. As she was lifted,water trailed from her clothing into the waves.Another rope dropped, then a third. JimmyChristopher clung to a moss-greased pole forsupport until Carl Elliot was being hoisted to thepier, until both boatmen were being pulled out.When a rope fell for him he climbed hand overhand.

The girl and B-10 were shivering in the coldmist as Jimmy Christopher swung onto the pier.Ignoring the startled dockmen, he trotted away,leaving trailing wetness behind him. Jawsclamped with the cold, he shouldered into atelephone booth, fumbled a soaked code-bookfrom a secret pocket, found a telephone number,and called it. His connection went through swiftlyto secret Intelligence Headquarters PS in SanFrancisco. He snapped out code words andfollowed with a swift message. "Operator 5reporting. The craft Neptune is somewhereoutside the Golden Gate! Send planes out onreconnaissance!"

When he returned to the edge of the dock,Diane Elliot, her brother and the two boatmenwere covering themselves with blankets. JimmyChristopher pulled another across his shoulders,and peered through the fog blanketing the bay.Now the sound of the plane which had whiskedKara Vizna into the sky had vanished.

A long moment passed while JimmyChristopher stood motionless. Then the skybegan to tremble with a concerted, powerful

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droning. Through the mist colored lights gleamed,the wing and tail beacons of a formation of planessweeping low, beginning to climb. Word hadbeen flashed swiftly to Crissy Field at thePresidio. A flight of Navy crates was beginning thesearch.

"Hopeless!" Jimmy Christopher thoughtgrimly. "She's aboard the Neptune by now—bynow it has submerged."

He turned slowly. Close beside him DianeElliot was standing. Her clear, brown eyes weresparkling, looking deep into his.

CHAPTER FOURBlood-Red Dawn

Thirty minutes later Jimmy Christopherconsulted his wet code-book, lifted the receiver ofa telephone, and put through a long-distance callto Los Angeles.

During those thirty minutes a quick ride inCarl Elliot's car had brought the three of them to amodest house. Jimmy Christopher had changedto a suit loaned him by B-10. Elliot and Dianewere still changing, in their rooms, when JimmyChristopher seized the opportunity to telephoneunheard. He sat in a corner of the Elliot living-room, while a fireplace blazed, waiting for hisconnection to be completed to the Los Angelesheadquarters.

Jimmy Christopher spoke softly, yet hisvoice carried distinctly to the Pacific chief of theAmerican Intelligence in Secret Headquarters PL,four hundred miles away.

"Kara Vizna was aboard the Alhambra,disguised. She escaped me, Chief. She jumpedinto the water, was picked up by a speedboat,transferred to a plane, and by now is aboard theNeptune."

"The Neptune! Good Lord, are you sure ofthat?"

"Positive. A flight of planes from Crissy Fieldis searching for the submarine, but they can'tpossibly find it. Sorry, Chief, but you were right.That woman's clever as the devil himself."

A startled silence followed. "It serves toshow how valuable she is to the Yellow cause,Operator 5! Her escape was planned out in case

of an emergency, and her safety was importantenough so that the Neptune played a part in it."

"I have a feeling," Jimmy Christopher saidsoftly, "that Kara Vizna and I will meet again."

V-3 spoke quickly. "Hold the wire—amessage from Washington, coded 'urgent': 'AllAmerican consuls—stationed in the—YellowEmpire—have been ordered home. Likewise—Yellow Consuls—in United States—arewithdrawing—tonight following—United States'refusal—to grant reparations—to Yellow Empire.'"

The chattering of the teletype receivercarried over the wire as V-3 waited. JimmyChristopher asked tensely: "Yes!"

"'The Yellow Empire ambassador justpresented himself—to President—tendering—'Good Lord!—'formal—declaration of war!' "

Jimmy Christopher snapped: "Go on!"" 'Proclamation of declaration—received by—

President ten post meridian—Eastern StandardTime.' Only a few minutes ago, Operator 5! Morecoming!

"'Congress called—in extraordinary jointsession to pass resolution—that state of war—between United States—and Yellow Empire—thrust upon—this country—be formally declared.It will be affirmed by President—within the hour.' "

Jimmy Christopher asked tersely: "Orders,V-3?"

"Yes. The United Yellow Fleet began towithdraw immediately following the attack today.They are reported lying far off the CaliforniaCoast. Our Pacific Fleet is awaiting orders fromthe War Department. They will—"

V-3's voice broke off suddenly. JimmyChristopher's hand tightened about the telephone.Over the wire came a shrill, prolonged sound—awail that grew swiftly into a shriek—a shriek thatrose in intensity until the whole world seemed tothrob with it. And suddenly, over the tremblinglines, came a dull, resounding crash.

Rumbling reverberations came over the wire,mixed with V-3's strained voice: "Now another'scoming! I can hear it! It's coming from the West!Another shell is falling!"

Jimmy Christopher rose, muscles tightening,scarcely breathing. The shrill whine carried to hisears. It became a deafening scream that endedsuddenly in another crashing roar. In the turmoil

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that carried over the wires V-3's voice shrilledagain.

"Los Angeles is being bombarded! Return tothis headquarters at once!"

Into the trembling night sky, from the verycenter of the "City of Angels," rolling, writhingclouds of fumes rose darkly. The earth shookwith the rending explosions of the first two shellsthat had fallen. In the main business streets, inthe very heart of the city, the flickering light ofrising flames flared high.

Into Figueroa Street spilled masses ofmasonry as the cornices of tall buildings splitaway and fell. From the sidewalks rose theshrieks of the terrorized and the injured. Theterrific power of the exploding shells seemed toshake the very foundations of the world. Now, asthe air clouded with the fumes of spent explosive,stone-dust swirled, street-lights blinked out, andthe sky began to shake with the screams ofanother shell fIying through its trajectory.

Out of the motion-picture houses, therestaurants and the night clubs in the heart of thecity, crowds poured. Frenzied people fought theirway from the exits, into the fume-misted streets.Men and women ran wildly toward cars left inparking-spaces, only to find scores of themcrushed under masonry which had fallen fromwalls now broken and ragged. Terrorized crowdsmilled through streets as the scream of the fallingshells pierced the sky.

The earth rocked. Flame spewed high,flashing from the openness of Griffith Park. Earthsprayed, and thick fumes tore out of atremendous raw crater born of the thunderingexplosion. Even while the rumbling echoes rolledinto the hills, and down the avenues to the sea,another whine came trembling on the dark air.

Destruction streaked down at WilshireBoulevard west of Westlake Park. A crash likethe coming of doom shook that glistening, blackmain artery of traffic. Flame flashed high abovethe buildings. White-stone walls crumpled andcrashed into the streets. Automobiles were flunginto the air like tin toys, tossed crushed upon thepiles of dust-clouded debris. For blocks aroundwindows turned into flying splinters of glass as theearth shook under the power of the explosion.

And still the air grated with the shrill warningthat another shell was falling!

Down into the Hollywood hills it streaked. Asparkling path marked the arc it made across the

sky, a rainbow of doom stretching from far out onthe Pacific, ending over the close-packedcommunity of Hollywood. The jarring shock boreddeep into the marrow of the hills. Houses bursttheir walls and hurled crumbling fragments downthe slopes. An avalanche of destruction spilledover the twining roads. A cloud of choking fumesrolled out across the sky.

Into the rumbling echoes of the explosion,came the roaring of spilling water. From thebroken-walled Hollywood Reservoir rivers leapedaway, tearing aside houses that lay in their paths,dumping tons of lashing power into the streets.Darkness passed like a wave over the broadboulevards below as the flood descended.

Now the wave of destruction passed swiftlyseaward. A shrieking shell plunged into thechecker-boarded houses of Beverly Hills, southof Wilshire Boulevard. Homes disappeared inclouds of dust as a cone of flame sprang into thesky, as cataclysmic thunder rocked the earth.The black spires of oil wells rose from the earthand fell twisted upon others. Beyond Culver City,other falling shells flattened the forest of towerslike ten-pins.

From far out at sea, the thunder of the bigguns rolled—barking out projectiles that tracedtheir paths of doom across the sky—paths endingin the quaking night that hovered over a terrorizedcity.

Far out of sight of the shore, the battle fleetof the Yellow Empire was drawn into lineformation. One after another, along the file ofblack-shrouded ships, the big guns roared andrecoiled while bursts of smoke tore away andclung to the dancing waves. Blinding flasheswere all that marked the position of the fleet; noother lights shone anywhere along the menacingformation.

The Yellow flagship Noa quaked as a long-snouted sixteen-inch gun blasted anotherprojectile on its way. On the operations bridgeofficers of the Yellow Navy stood clustered,reading radio reports from inland, and from otherships in the attacking line. Their eyes shone withgrim triumph as the effects of the bombardmentwere revealed to them.

Commander-in-Chief of the United Fleets,Admiral Ogoro, smiled tightly at the Counselor ofNaval Affairs, Admiral Otuski. "Our first gun," hesaid softly, "was fired the instant our ambassadordelivered our proclamation of war to the Presidentof the United States."

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Vice-Admiral Ugatto was peering across thesmoke misted waves through powerful binoculars."The Pacific Fleet of the United States," hedeclared, "is not in sight."

Chief of Naval Operations, Admiral Adossi,permitted himself a sly smile. "They will beunable to approach us. Submarines are lying inwait for them. We have laid mines behind ourcourse. And—other factors are delaying them, asyou know."

Other factors were, indeed, delaying theattack of the Pacific Fleet of the United StatesNavy.

Black smoke billowed into the night sky asthe sea-warriors of the United States Pacific fleetsteamed away from a coastline that was breakingunder the terrific bombardment of the Yellowguns.

Aboard the Houston, Admiral Neashamstood tensely beside a table, peering at messagesplaced before him with electrical rapidity—messages brought by wireless, messages flashedby blinking searchlights from ship to ship:

Firing-pins of all guns aboard the Marylandand West Virginia have broken and must be re-placed. Sabotage is evident everywhere.

Two boilers of the California have burst,disabling her.

Lexington reports a propeller lost. Planes aboardthe Saratoga unable to take-off due to watered fuel.

"By God, they've prepared for this!" AdmiralNeasham growled. "Lieutenant Hall! Is theenemy fleet in sight?"

"Not yet, sir. We are proceeding under fullpower!"

"Signal all ships to remedy damages underweigh if possible. If not—by God, we can't reachthem!"

"Signal of distress from the Idaho, sir!""What?""The Idaho has been fired upon by a Yellow

submarine! It has been struck by a torpedoamidships, sir! It is sinking!"

Admiral Neasham's lips pressed hard. "ByGod!" he roared. "Signal all flights of theLexington to take off at once. They are to sightthe Yellow fleet and bomb it to hell!"

Signals crackled. On the dark launching deckof the Lexington motors roared. The giantairplane carrier was rocking helplessly in a heavysea, dragged to a stop by the loss of her screw.In the dim starlight propellers flashed. Flagsflapped the take-off, and birds of battle roaredinto the night in droning V formations.

Through binoculars, Admiral Neasham, fromthe operations bridge of the Houston, watched thedark wings flit overhead. "Pray that they stop thebombardment! By God, those devils are usingguns beyond the caliber allowed by internationalagreement. They should be out of range of thecoast, but they're blowing hell out of it whereverthey please!"

The Yellow fleet was so far out at sea thatnot even the flashing of their guns could be seenbeyond the horizon. But, probing deeper, thewinged warriors from the Lexington plunged insearch.

Before the eyes of Admiral Adossi on theNoa a report was laid. "Bombers driving towardus, sir!"

"Man the anti-aircraft guns!"Out of the vastness of the night came the

roar of the searching U.S. Naval planes. Darklines against the sky, they moved high,searching. On orders from the flagship Noa, thebig guns of the fleet grew silent lest the flashingfire disclose to the hovering airmen the positionsof the attacking ships. Yet, at the anti-aircraftbatteries—guns which had been concealed duringthe naval parade, guns of a power outlawed byinternational treaties—gunners waited for thesignal to fire.

It came.Blasting explosions rocked over the waves.

Screaming shells mounted high into the black sky.The zenith quaked with the terrific explosions thatbroke among the U.S. Naval planes. Shrapnelwhined in the wind, tearing through wings,ripping fuselages apart. Once the attack began, itmounted swiftly to a savage intensity.

The sky was ripped asunder by the fury ofthe exploding anti-aircraft shells. In the flashes oflightning fire, U.S. Naval planes could be seenspilling out of the air, their wings ripped off, allairfoils shattered. The V formations broke beforethe savage power that thundered through the sky.

Scattering planes swung south. Through thenight, from their bomb-racks, projectiles flashed.First on the water surrounding the Yellow Fleet,

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then upon the deck of a cruiser, explosionssounded. Even while merciless fire raked theskies around them, the United States flyersjockeyed to drop their bombs. Across the seaand across the sky swept cataclysmic destruction.

The Yellow cruiser Ural listed heavily againsta tearing swell. Details of its fate were flashedaboard the Noa from the Nova, a sister-ship, andAdmiral Adossi peered grimly at the report, jerkedup his head and commanded: "Drop all attackingplanes!"

The fury of the anti-aircraft attack grewfiercer. The sky became a flashing mass ofexplosives, the space between all the worldsseemed to rock with their power. Out of thedarkness spilled the shattered U.S. Naval planes.On the swells rode the broken remains of thebirds of war. No winged thing could withstand thesavage force of the guns which blasteddestruction into the sky.

Motors screamed, then grew still. Theswells splashed white where wrecked airplanesfell. Yellow gunners waited at their stations, whileofficers searched the sky for gliding wings. Nowthere was no drone from above; the air wasquiet.

Then, from far across the water, came therolling boom of a greater explosion. It jarredthrough the swells that lashed against the YellowFleet. The sky was lighted by a glare thatinstantly passed.

Swiftly another report came to AdmiralAdossi: "One of the United States ships has beendestroyed by our mines, sir."

Aboard the Houston, Admiral Neashamstood erect, chilled, his face ashen. "TheTennessee has been mined, sir! It sank instantly.There must be a bank of mines separating theU.S. from the Yellow Fleet. Submarines havebeen sighted ahead."

Admiral Neasham sighed deeply. "TheYellow Fleet is no longer firing, is it?"

"No, sir."He uttered a command. It was echoed up

and down the smoke-spewing line of the Pacificformation—a fleet staggering under the handicapof diabolical sabotage. The giant ships swungslowly out of formation, changing their coursenorthward. They strung out slowly, taking aposition to bombard, no longer advancing to sea.

Now over the Houston, the air hummed withthe exhaust of a single motor. "A plane passingabove, sir! A Yellow naval crate!"

"Drop it!"Anti-aircraft guns aboard the U.S. ships

swung high. Flame spat from them; the higherair rocked with the rending force of explodingshells. Through the echoing reports, the motor ofthe lone airplane continued to hum. Already itwas passing beyond the line, proceeding towardthe shore. Blasting explosions followed it as it zig-zagged to avoid the bursts.

Minutes passed; the drone of the motorvanished in the air toward the coast; the anti-aircraft guns aboard the U.S. Pacific Fleet grewstill.

Swiftly the lightless plane drove landward. Itwinged above the coast, where avalanched earthhad spilled from the palisades into the sea; itsoared above debris-filled streets; it swung into agiant circle above the fume-misted city of LosAngeles.

From it a voice spoke—a booming voicewhich issued from a gigantic loudspeaker on itsunder side, amplified to a strength that carriedinto the shell-broken streets below.

"The Yellow Empire calls for unconditionalsurrender by the United States Government. Youthe people are that government. Demand thatyour representatives yield. Demand anunconditional surrender! If surrender does notcome—"

Terrorized fear-frenzied thousands in thestreets of Los Angeles paused to listen as thebooming tones rang from the sky like the voice ofdoom itself:

"If surrender does not come at once you willlearn that our first attack has spared youmercifully! If the war continues, poison gas willturn your cities into open tombs filled with dead.Incendiary bombs will burn them to the ground.Utter destruction win spread over your country. Itis your only choice: Destruction, or surrender!"

While the black plane circled, while thebooming voice roared from the heavens, thestrident song of other motors rose into the nightair. Swarming through the sky came a formationof Army pursuits. Directly above the city, theflying ghosts spread their wings—barricading theretreat of the propaganda ship, swirling around itlike wolves of the air.

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Machine-guns stuttered. Slugs whistled.Motors thundered. In the zenith above a burst offire. Flame washed back from the motor-housingof the Yellow Propaganda ship, spreading to itswings, transforming it into a falling phoenix. Theguns of the U.S. Army ships blasted it down. Hotlead answered the call to surrender!

The Yellow propaganda plane plunged, afalling arch that lighted the way to its owndestruction. In Griffith Park it crashed, flying tofiery fragments near the still-fuming shell-crater.There it lay and flamed.

In the sky above, the motors of the Armycrates sang a song of grim triumph. When, atlast, they drew again into formation, when theyskirted through the night toward their base, theyleft the sky a black, hovering, silent menace.

A blood-red dawn came slowly to light abroken city—a city rife with terror.

CHAPTER FIVE One Against the World

Jimmy Christopher, as a veiled sun rose,stepped from a taxi near Pershing Square, LosAngeles, and peered about at the ruins of thebombardment. Great holes gaped in white-stonewalls. Olive Street was blocked by a mound ofbroken masonry that had crumbled from atoppling wall. Quiet, gaunt-faced throngs werebeing held back by ropes as firemen and policedug the crushed bodies of victims from thedestruction. Over the city hung a cold pall of fear.

Jimmy Christopher walked quickly, along astreet that reeked of the fumes of high-explosive,a street of ruins. Traffic was almost at astandstill; business was suspended. Newsboys onthe corners shouted shrilly the latestdevelopments of the bombardment:

"Thousands killed! Thousands fleeingthe city!" "Pacific Fleet suffers heavylosses!" "New bombardment feared!"

An elevator whisked Jimmy Christopher to afloor high above the street. The building whichhoused Secret Intelligence Headquarters PL hadnot been struck, but in it countless windows and

office doors were shattered. That of the UnitedFilm Booking Company was glassless.

Immediately he entered he was escorted tothe rear room. V-3 rose quickly; his blue-veinedhand trembled as it pressed Operator 5's. Thewhite-haired chief of the Pacific Coast Division ofthe Intelligence looked worn after a sleeplessnight.

"You have seen—?" and the gnarled handwaved.

"Yes," Jimmy Christopher nodded. "Thebombardment might have broken the entire city—but it was stopped. Why? Because the YellowWar Office believes we will surrender?"

"No doubt. There are factions which areclamoring for surrender now, but they are in theminority. We're in a mood to fight, Operator 5—and fight we will. This bombardment has stirredthe people as nothing else could.

"They've already organized private groupswhich have seized and held prisoner scores ofYellow Aliens. Unfortunately, they can't touchany of the secret agents—the Yellow spies aretoo well covered. There must be hundreds ofthem here—the Yellow Empire has beenpreparing for this for years."

"And the most dangerous of them all—KaraVizna—escaped me. I'm sorry, Chief," JimmyChristopher said.

"If she slipped you, my boy, she would haveslipped anyone. We are battling a devilish cleverespionage-machine. Sabotage all but crippled ourPacific Fleet!

"The Yellow United Fleet is nowmaneuvering on the high seas, out of reach.They're protected by mines and submarines, andthey're out of range of our coast-defense units.They're lying in wait, ready to strike again."

"No sign of the Neptune?"“None."A buzz came from the dictaphone on V-3's

desk. He clicked a cam and answered the call. Avoice said, "Mr. Cortez calling." V-3 snapped"Show him in!” and leaped to his feet. His fadedblue eyes brightened into Jimmy Christopher's.

"Z-7!"The door opened quickly. The man who

strode in was tall, keen-faced, with eyes ofsnapping black hair that glistened like a raven'swing. He paused on the sill, lips pressed to afirm line—Z-7, Washington Chief of the United

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States Intelligence—director of all secret serviceactivity in the country.

Z-7's hand gripped that of Operator 5. Hisblack eyes snapped as he peered out the brokenwindow, into the wreckage-strewn street below.

"God—we're in it now. A war to the finish! Awar that might bring every other nation in theworld at our throats!"

"Chief!" Jimmy Christopher exclaimed again."Lord, I'm glad to see you here."

Z-7 turned briskly. "I came by plane fromWashington in twelve hours flat—a new recordthat can't be publicized. I'm here, Operator 5,principally because you're here. I'm here becauseyou're facing the most important job of your life.The United States is in the most ticklish positionin its history. Not only because a trick hasbrought an enemy fleet to our door—but becauseall our friendly international relationships arethreatened."

V-3 said slowly: "We have received no recentmessages, Z-7. One of the shells broke ourteletype line. It's being repaired now."

Jimmy Christopher and V-3 listened intentlyas Z-7 spoke: "It's fairly obvious what the Yellowplan of attack must be. First, their naval air forceswill attempt to destroy ours—which means theyintend to sink our aircraft carriers and bomb ourcoastal air fields off the face of the map. So faras naval tactics go, they will cover themselveswith smoke screens and put themselvesanywhere they damned please along the Westerncoast so long as our Pacific Fleet is separatedfrom our Atlantic. They'll seize the Philippines,and our naval bases at Guam and Pearl Harbor,crippling us irreparably on the Pacific.

"At this very moment Yellow forces, armed,and hidden until today, are mobilizing in CostaRica, Colombia, the Republic of Panama andMexico. Those in Mexico are moving nownorthward toward the border, and we in turn aremobilizing to repulse the advance. A newrevolution is due to break out in Cuba at anymoment, fomented by Yellow agents. Trouble isrising all over the face of our possessions likeboils. We can't ignore them, but handling themwill draw off a good part of our naval and militarystrength.

"I tell you, gentlemen, this is war—a fargreater war than we ever dreamed would occur!

"The Atlantic Fleet has been ordered to thePacific—but valuable time will be lost before it can

arrive here. If, in the meantime, Yellow agentssucceed in crippling the Panama Canal, as theymost certainly will attempt to do, it will imprisonthe Atlantic Fleet and leave our Pacific Fleetdefinitely overpowered.

"As it is, we are almost completely isolatedon the Pacific side—all steamship service issuspended. Reports from Admiral Neashamindicate that most of the coast has been mined bythe enemy. Our trawlers are attempting now tosweep the lanes clear—but it's a dangerousthreat, gentlemen—highly dangerous!"

"At least," V-3 said gravely, "the Neptunehas not yet been used in direct attack against us."

"The most confidential information I have tobring you," Z-7 said crisply, "is that we arebuilding a successor to the Neptune. Everypossible means of rushing the job is being taken.At this moment the work on it is progressing in thesecret underwater dock off Mare Island. Give ustime, and we will match the Neptune with anothersubmarine exactly like it—even better!"

Z-7's eyes turned to Jimmy Christophersmolderingly. "In the meantime, the UnitedStates finds itself facing the enmity of the world."

From the deep pocket inside his coat heremoved shears of yellow flimsies. "They'll tellyou in detail of the devilish strategy of the YellowWar Office. Their first statement, disclosing thatthe Neptune is an American-built ship, was only ameans of starting the war. Now they are workingto make us the enemy of our allies.

"In every foreign newspaper this morning,were published copies of what purport to besecret documents of the United States. The storyaccompanying these documents states that theywere stolen from the State Department by Yellowespionage agents, and translated. They furnish afurther excuse for hostilities, for the Yellow WarOffice declares that their declaration of war wasmade in self-protection.

"These documents purport to disclose ourpolicies, and they declare that the United Stateshas definitely launched upon a program ofterritorial expansion. These communicationsstate that the United States has plans to seize theYellow Mandatory Islands in the Pacific; that weplan to send an invading army across the bordersinto Canada and Mexico; that it is our intention toviolate every international treaty, to maintain thelargest standing army on the face of the globe, tobuild a navy twice as powerful as all others in the

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world combined. These documents have createda furor all over the globe.

"They're fakes—forgeries perpetrated by theYellow War Officer but those faked documentsare being believed, gentlemen!

"Already Britain, France, Germany, Canadaand Mexico have filed protests with our StateDepartment. Already the situation is extremelygrave. Tinder for a second World War is set andneeds only a spark to ignite it—a second WorldWar which, if it comes, will make the first seemlike a church sociable!

"This comes at a time when all Europe isarmed and ready to fight. It comes at a timewhen the United States is caught by surprise andtotally unprepared for hostilities. If that warbreaks out, it will mean the United States mustfight the World—with inevitable defeat looming inthe very near future."

"Can these so-called secret documents beproved forgeries?" Jimmy Christopher askedquickly.

“We can protest they are forgeries, but thatis all at the moment. Remember, they werepublished in foreign countries, in a press overwhich we have no control. It can be done throughdiplomatic pressure, but it must be doneconclusively. That is why I am here, Operator5—bringing you orders.

"I have no leads to give you. I have nosuggestions to make. I can assure you only thatour first attempts to prove the 'secret' documentsforgeries have met with failure. But your orderscome direct from the President—to find that proofthat they are faked."

Jimmy Christopher's eyes darkened. "It's abig order, Chief," he said quietly.

"It's an order so big, Operator 5," said Z-7,"that we dare not give it to any man but you."

In the pause that followed, a sudden clickingsounded from the next room. The door opened,and a shirt-sleeved man looked out excitedly.

"The break in the teletype wire has beenrepaired, Chief. There's a message coming innow, coded 'Attention Z-7 and Operator 5'."

V-3 rose quickly, as Z-7 strode into theadjoining room. Operator 5 followed toward atable in the corner, where a teletype machinewas chattering. A yellow tape was curling out of it,carrying a message that was automaticallydecoded as the instrument received it. Z-7,

Operator 5 and V-3 bent over the twining ribbon,watching the words form.

. . . CODED RADIO REPORTS FROM OURAGENTS AT VLADIVOSTOK AND HONGKONG . ..QUOTE—U.S. NAVY CRUISERS OPENED FIREAND SUNK EARLY THIS MORNING AN ENGLISHMERCHANT STEAMER SURAMIA . . . ALSO OFFHONGKONG ONE DUTCH VESSEL CITY OFAMSTERDAM . . .PROTESTS FILED BY ENGLISHAND DUTCH CONSULS. . . ASIATIC FLEETS OFRESPECTIVE NATIONS SEARCHING FOR U.S.CRUISERS WHICH ESCAPED IN SMOKESCREEN—UNQUOTE. . .FOLLOWING MESSAGE FROM SAIGONRECEIVED FOLLOWING THE ABOVE. . . QUOTE—FRENCH MERCHANT VESSEL L'AIGLON BLOWNUP OFF HERE THIS MORNING. . .TOTAL LOSS. ..FRENCH GUNBOAT MARSEILLES SIGHTED U.S.CRUISERS... FIRED UPON AND REPORTEDCRIPPLED... FRENCH ASIATIC SQUADRONREPORTED STEAMING FOR SHANGHAI TOATTACK U.S. SHIPS STATIONED THERE PENDINGORDERS FROM PARIS. . .SAIGON POLICE SEIZEDSIX MEN FOLLOWING L'AIGLON EXPLOSION ANDFORCED CONFESSIONS FROM THEM. . .THEYADMIT BOMBING . . . DECLARE THEMSELVES TOBE AMERICAN AGENTS ACTING UNDER ORDERSDIRECT FROM WASHINGTON—UNQUOTE.

Jimmy Christopher raised startled eyes to Z-7's as the teletype resumed chattering.

. . . LONDON PARIS THE HAGUE ADVISEDATTACK DIRECTED BY DEPARTMENT OF WARLINKED WITH SO-CALLED SECRET DOCUMENTSPUBLISHED THERE TODAY.. .COLONIAL NATIONSMARSHALING AIR FORCES TO COMBATTHREATENED ATTACKS BY UNITED STATES. ..DEMANDING EXPLANATION THROUGH U.S.AMBASSADORS. . .SITUATION GRAVE. . . PROOFOF DUPLICITY OF YELLOW WAR OFFICENECESSARY TO AVOID WORLD HOLOCAUST. . . .

The machine clattered to a stop.

Z-7's eyes were glowing coals. "More of thedevilish strategy of the Yellow War Office!" hedeclared. "It is absolutely positive that there areno United States cruisers at present in thosewaters." He consulted a wrinkled chart spreadbefore him on the desk.

"It's another move of the Yellow War Officedirected at turning the entire world against us!

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Yellow naval airplanes have been painted andmarked to look like ours—and now they've donethe same with some of their cruisers. If the secretagents who bombed the French ship L'Aiglon areAmericans, they've been tricked into turningtraitor! By God, by Kara Vizna—she just leftChina!"

Z-7 strode quickly into the forward office. V-3, opening a locked cabinet, drew from it a largephotograph. He passed it to Jimmy Christopherslowly.

"Kara Vizna," he said, his faded eyeslingering upon it.

Jimmy Christopher gazed at the likeness ofan amazingly beautiful face. The eyes of thewoman Kara Vizna were large and opalescent,with veiled lights shining in them—eyes that lured,yet threatened. Her mouth was full and sensuousbetraying grim determination for all its curvedbeauty. Nowhere else in the softness of her facewas the fierceness of her nature revealed; yetJimmy Christopher, peering at the photograph,felt his blood grow cold and his pulse quicken.

Z-7 was still speaking rapidly: "The samedevilish trickery may make everlasting enemies ofthe nations who once fought with us as allies. Anattack on the British and Dutch ships by thecounterfeit U.S. cruisers; the blowing up of theFrench vessel . . . It is useless to try to reasonnow; the fire of war is in the veins of every nation.We've got to fight our way out of this situation, toprove our integrity to the world—or we're lost."

Jimmy Christopher raised eyes to Z-7's."This woman—Kara Vizna—is the key to thesituation, Chief. Her espionage office must haveplanned the propaganda, the sabotage, thecounterfeit attacks the betrayal of our men. Sheknows the secret."

Z-7's lips thinned. "Then above all else,Operator 5, Kara Vizna must die! It's you againstKara Vizna, Operator 5—exactly that. If shesurvives, the world collapses. Your orders areto—render her powerless."

Jimmy Christopher placed the photographslowly on the desk. He walked slowly to the door,his eyes darkly shadowed, and went out.

CHAPTER SIX

Spell of the Beast

Jimmy Christopher, head erect, steps brisk,strode into the resplendent lobby of the mostexclusive hotel in Los Angeles. Men were stillclearing away wreckage made by distant shellconcussions. He passed the desk. The menbehind it bowed and smiled. "Good afternoon,Mr. Victor."

Jimmy Christopher smiled his acknowledg-ment and stepped into an elevator. The grilleclicked shut softly. At the top floor he stepped outand walked down the corridor. He turned a knoband entered a room decorated in quiet luxury.

When he passed the sill of that door, heceased to be Jimmy Christopher of the AmericanIntelligence Service and became, in an instant,Carleton Victor, renowned photographer. To bephotographed by Carleton Victor was considereda mark of distinction. Royalty, members of thepeerage, world-famous dignitaries, men andwomen whose names were household words,sought the favor of his portrait camera. No livingsoul but his chiefs knew that the identity ofCarleton Victor cloaked that of Operator 5—noteven the cool-faced Crowe, the man-servant,who came to take his coat and hat.

Crowe bowed. "I have been quite distressed,sir," he said. "Your not returning last eveningupset me considerably."

"I'm sorry, Crowe. I hope the bombardmentdidn't frighten you."

Crowe's eyebrows arched. "The bombard-ment, sir? What bombardment, may I ask?"

Carleton Victor looked astonished. "Younoticed nothing amiss late last night, Crowe?"

"I took the liberty of dozing in the chair, sir,"Crowe answered. "Nothing ever disturbs me, sir,except your step. I know nothing about anybombardment."

"Then it's best not to tell you," CarletonVictor smiled. "I was busy all night."

"Photographing motion-picture stars, sir? Ihope you won't overdo it, sir. It's not worthy ofyou. Some of them are—" there was aperceptible sniff— "not quite our sort, sir."

"Perhaps, Crowe," Jimmy Christophersmiled. "I shall change."

Jimmy Christopher stepped into the adjoiningbedroom. He noticed an amazed expression on

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Crowe's face, upon beholding the suit thatbelonged to B-10, but there was no audiblecomment. He transferred quickly to an exquisitelycut suit of his own. He was knotting his cravatwhen a buzz sounded at the door.

Crowe answered the summons and returnedto announce: "A young lady to see you, sir. Isent her away."

"No," said a voice, "you didn't."Jimmy Christopher spun on his heel and

stared at the communicating doorway. In it a girlwas standing. She was very pretty, a shadeolder than twenty; she was smiling, and herbrown eyes were sparkling. Her name was DianeElliot.

Crowe stiffened. "Do you know this youngwoman, sir?"

"No, Crowe, I don't.""I will show her out, sir.""I'll do it," Jimmy Christopher said briskly.

"Stay here, Crowe."He stepped into the living-room and closed

the door tightly. He found it an effort to keep asmile from his lips, in spite of his dismay, for thatof Diane Elliot was extremely contagious. Heasked quickly: "What're you doing here—how'dyou learn?"

"Aren't you going to say you're glad to seeme, Jimmy Christopher? Or shall I call youCarleton Victor?"

"Look here!" he exclaimed in alarm. "Myservant doesn't even know I'm JimmyChristopher. No one else does, except mychiefs—and now you. You've got to forget it!"

Diane Elliot kept smiling. "I'm perfectlydelighted!" she said. "I've found out something.You see, you left your wet suit at my home, andin it there was a telephone call-slip with the nameof this hotel on it. I came here, asked for you,was told you weren't here, and so I just settleddown to wait, and a minute ago I saw you comein."

"You," said Jimmy Christopher with a frown,"are a most tenacious young woman."

"I'm a reporter, and my business is news. Ihad a devil of a time making the desk-clerk talkabout you. But I gathered that—"

"You've gathered enough," he told hersternly. "You've got to get out of here. You've got

to forget I'm both Carleton Victor and JimmyChristopher."

"I can't," she said. "I find it a very pleasantthing to remember."

In spite of himself Jimmy Christopher smiled."Look here—you know I'm an Intelligenceoperator, exactly the same as your brother. It'snecessary for me sometimes to hide myself, andCarleton Victor is the way I do it. If the news gotout that I'm both men, it would destroy years ofcareful work. I want your promise that you'll printnot a word about it—not even say anything aboutit to anyone, including Carl."

"Is it really that important?""It's vital."Diane Elliot smiled again. "Very well, I'll let

you in on a secret of mine. Carl thinks I went toChina for a vacation. I didn't. I was sent there bymy boss. I went on a secret assignment—to learnas much as possible about a certain woman. Ididn't come back on the Alhambra because myvacation was ended, but because that womanwas aboard the ship."

"Kara Vizna!”"Kara Vizna," said Diane Elliot firmly. "I

admit, she fooled me completely; I didn't seethrough her disguise. But—"

"Good Lord, you can't print a story abouther!”

"That's exactly what my boss expects me todo. She's a glamorous figure. She's news. I'mafter news. If I don't turn in a story about KaraVizna, and do it while the news is hot, I'll falldown on the most important assignment evergiven me. I certainly don't intend to do that."

"That's why you followed me here? Becauseyou know I'm on the case?"

"Yes. And I'm going to keep right after you,Jimmy Chris—Mr. Victor—until I learn what I wantto know."

Jimmy Christopher moaned. "God! I cannever tell you anything about her!"

"I wouldn't expect you to divulge confidentialGovernment information, of course," Diane Elliotsaid. "Carl has made me see that. Butsomething—enough to make a good story—I wantit desperately!"

"I'm sorry," Jimmy Christopher smiled. "Notone word."

"Ever?"

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"Never a syllable."Her eyes sparkled. "Very well," she said.

"Then I'll have to get it in my own way. I warnyou—I will!"

She turned quickly. The door closed uponher. Jimmy Christopher stood stock still, staringat the panels, listening to the soft footfallsvanishing down the corridor. He did not moveuntil, faintly, he heard the elevator grille clickopen and shut.

He sighed."Why," he asked himself softly, "did she

turn out to be, of all things, a newspaperwoman?"

A powerful roadster, Carleton Victor at thewheel, swung from La Brea boulevard inHollywood to the high iron gates of the ClassicalProductions Studio. They swung open to admithim. He left the car, climbed a flight of steps,and entered a spacious room.

It was elaborately outfitted as a photographicstudio. A myriad of artificial-light reflectorsglistened around a gigantic camera. No effort hadbeen spared in supplying the equipment assignedto the use of Carleton Victor. Into this room, tosit for him, had come the loveliest of womenstars, and the most popular of actors, in allHollywood.

An assistant stepped toward him as heentered. "My appointment this afternoon is withMerte Noire, I believe," he said.

"Yes, sir; but she telephoned a few momentsago to break the appointment."

Jimmy Christopher's eyes rose. "Why?" heasked.

"The bombardment upset her, she said.""Get me a photograph of her, please."He continued to ask questions while the

assistant searched through voluminous files ingreen metal cabinets. "Merte Noire has not beenin Hollywood long?"

"A year. She's made just two pictures, butthey've been big hits."

"Yes. Lately she has been away fromHollywood, hasn't she?"

"For two months; yes, sir. She went toEurope, no one knew just where. She's likethat—mysterious about herself. The studio triedto locate her while she was away, but they

couldn't. The cables we sent were received, allright, but they weren't answered."

"Very," Jimmy Christopher mused,"mysterious!"

The photograph was put into his hand. Hestudied it intently, through narrowed lids. His righthand dropped, and his long, supple fingersplayed gently with the tiny gold ornament danglingfrom his watch-chain—the golden skull with eyesof rubies.

The photograph was that of the actress whohad recently taken Hollywood by storm. MerteNoire, backed by dramatic triumphs in Europe,had been brought to the California film capital atenormous expense. It was rumored that she wasof royal lineage. She had been acclaimed as thegreatest actress living. She had, what was moreimportant, just distinguished herself by being thefirst sitter ever to break an appointment withCarleton Victor.

"Her address?"He wrote in a small notebook the address

given him by the assistant. He turned slowly,toward the door, a faint smile playing on his lips.Pausing, he asked:

"Upset because of the bombardment, eh?""Yes, sir. So she said.""Strange," he murmured, "very strange that

such a thing would upset—Merte Noire!”He left the assistant blinking.It was midnight when Carleton Victor,

sartorially perfect, stepped from the elevator intothe lobby of the exclusive Los Angeles hotel. Hepaused, drawing on spotless gloves, and gazedat the late newspapers spread upon the sparklingcigar counter. Black headlines loomed large onthem:

YELLOW ARMY ADVANCINGON MEXICAN BORDER ASU.S. TROOPS MOBILIZE!

ATLANTIC FLEET RUSHESPANAMA CANAL!

DIPLOMATIC RELATIONSTENSE WITH EUROPE!

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The pretty girl behind the counter remarked."It's frightful, Mr. Victor—frightful!"

"I really," said Jimmy Christopher quietly,"know very little about it."

PACIFIC COAST FEARSRENEWED BOMBARDMENTS!

Carleton Victor sighed and strode from theentrance of the hotel. A garage attendant broughthis gleaming roadster to a stop at the steps. Hetook the wheel, and the powerful enginewhispered as he swung along the drive past palmtrees, into the broad, black lane of WilshireBoulevard.

He drove slowly westward. Along themagnificent thoroughfare, the ravages of thebombardment of the night previous were every-where in evidence, promising worse destruction tocome. He passed the busy intersection of La Breaand Wilshire, then the car tracks which mark theboundary of Beverly Hills. He turned into windingroads, climbing high.

Once off the main artery, quiet closed down.There was no moon, no stars; the sky wasshrouded with a hovering mist, yet the dim glowof the streetlights filled the air. Even this shinewas left behind as Jimmy Christopher turned hiscar onto a lonesome road.

Presently the roadster was rolling beside ahigh, iron-spiked fence. On the crest of a hillsprawled a sumptuous hacienda. JimmyChristopher passed its gate, then swung into araw-dirt side-road which flanked it.

He blinked out the headlights, eased asidein the darkness, and stopped. Slipping from thewheel, he studied the shadow of the hacienda onthe hill-crest. Sparks of light shone from itscurtained windows; there was a subdued air offurtive activity around it. Jimmy Christopher deftlytouched his clothing here and there, making sureof the contents of certain secret pockets, andstepped toward the forbidding fence.

His hands gripped hard; a swift swing liftedhis feet over the needle-pointed spikes. Hedropped silently, glanced about at dark massesand carefully tended gardens, and began tomove away.

Abruptly he paused. A swift rustle soundedfrom a hedge nearby. Jimmy Christopher swungas two dark forms materialized from the gloom.

They rose quickly from crouching positions andleaped. Converging upon him, two men sped;and the faint glow glittered on guns gripped intheir hands.

Jimmy Christopher dropped almost to hisknees. Suddenly, supporting himself on hishands, his legs shot out. One foot hooked behindthe ankle of one of the men; the other drove hardagainst the knee of the same leg. There was thesharp gritting sound of a shattered joint; a muffledcry of pain.

It was a swift jujitsu counter, terrible yetelementary, which flung one of the attackersunconscious into the grass.

Jimmy Christopher whirled to his feet as theother dark figure rushed close. A gun was leveledat him. His toe swung and clicked against it; heleaped, spinning, drawing the right arm of theassailant under his. Again bone grated, and amoan of pain gasped into Jimmy Christopher'sears. The gun dropped.

He released the man. The side of his handslashed sharply against his attacker's neck. Thedark form tumbled into the grass and lay still.Jimmy Christopher bent over to make sure thesecond man was unconscious. The deadly jujitsublow of Hi-Koa, he knew, would keep that manunconscious the remainder of the night.

He rose, sighing, the two guns in his hands.He tossed them out of sight into the garden. Hebrushed his fingers and adjusted his top-coat.

Stepping away again, a slight sound againhalted him. He stopped, peering back. Beyondthe fence his roadster was a long, dark shadow;startled, Jimmy Christopher saw the rumblecompartment lid raising. It swung up, and ablack form seemed to unfold from the spaceinside.

Quick steps and a crouch put JimmyChristopher out of sight behind a clump of cacti.His narrowed eyes followed every move of theblack figure as it dropped from the rear of theroadster. Surprise filled him when he saw hisunsuspected passenger climb to the top of thehigh spiked fence as nimbly as a monkey. Theslight form made Jimmy Christopher suspect aYellow agent. His muscles tightened as the figuredropped to the grass.

It came forward slowly, one silent step afteranother. Jimmy Christopher tensed, and made aswift bound. His hands gripped two arms, hisfingers pressed nerve-centers that rendered his

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captive powerless. A moan came from the figureas it squirmed against him.

"Jimmy Christopher—let me go!"Cold surprise filled Operator 5. His fingers

loosened; he looked into a pale, upraised face.His captive was not, after all, a Yellow man. Itwas a girl—a girl whose bright eyes pleaded withhis.

"Diane!""Thank you," she said breathlessly as she

wriggled loose. "Where do you learn thesetricks?"

He moaned. "Good Lord! What the devil areyou up to—following me here?"

She glanced about warily. "I told you that I'mnot going to fall down on my biggest assignment.If you won't tell me what I want to know, I'll findout for myself!"

He gestured impatiently. "Look here. Iadmire your persistence and your nerve—butyou're exposing yourself to danger unnecessarily.Besides that, you're mixing into importantGovernment business. You've got to go back!"

"I'm not going back.""You're not coming with me!""I'm coming with you."Jimmy Christopher was silent. Diane Elliot's

firm determination dismayed him, and at thesame time, oddly, it pleased him. He glancedanxiously toward the looming hacienda on the hill-crest, then at his watch. His fingers tightened onher wrist.

"Listen," he whispered. "Don't be a damnfool! You've got to go back at once. You can'tlearn anything here, anyhow."

"I happen," she answered firmly, "to knowmy Hollywood. I wrote studio gossip before Iwent with Amalgamated. I know that this housewas Lloyd Garton's, and now it's Merte Noire's.Why are you interested in her?"

He swore under his breath. "I'd take youaway from here if I had time, but I haven't. Iought to tie you up and leave you right here, but Idon't think I could bring myself to do it. I wantyou to promise me—"

He broke off suddenly and turned. From themain road in front of the hacienda came thesound of a car. Its headlights shafted whitebeams across the slope as it turned to the gate.Jimmy Christopher whirled, ducking low, bringing

the girl after him as the glare shot past them. Helistened and heard the gate-hinges creak.

The car swung from the road and crawled, asilhouetted shadow, toward the hacienda. Thereit stopped. From it a dark figure alighted. JimmyChristopher saw a man stride to the frontentrance. It opened and closed, and he wasgone.

"Please," he begged the girl anxiously, "stayhere!"

He rose quickly. Fast, silent steps took himtoward the hacienda. He passed into its shadowand darted to the wall. He moved soundlessly;but suddenly he paused, hearing quiet footfallsahead. He pressed flat, and waited, his handrising slowly toward his arm-pit holster.

A dark figure moved slowly into sight—aman. He paused, glanced about, then driftedon. Jimmy Christopher stood motionless until hehad disappeared.

Operator 5 stepped to a window andattempted to peer through. Heavy drapes baffledhim. He tried the casement, and found itfastened. Silent as a ghost, he passed to otherwindows in the wall. Each was locked.

He paused. Stepping back, he glanced atthe hacienda roof. Quickly, then, from a secretinner pocket of his topcoat he removed a coil ofsilk rope that weighed no more than a fewounces. He whirled a slightly weighted loop abovehis head; it flew upward, a writhing circle. Itdropped around a chimney directly above andsnapped tight.

Jimmy Christopher stepped to the base ofthe wall, seized the strong strand, and raisedhimself hand over hand. A few seconds broughthim to the level of a second story window. Nolight was shining through it. His fingers pressedfirmly and the sash rose. He thrust a leg through,pulled himself over the sill, and stood indarkness.

It was a bedroom, furnished with white andchromium modernistic pieces; faint perfume hungin the air. At the bottom edge of a door in a sidewall, a line of light was shining. JimmyChristopher trod silently toward it, listened,twisted the knob, and drew it open. The hallwaybeyond was empty.

From below a woman's quiet voice said:"You're so upset, darling. Do have a drink."

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"Just one," a man answered. There wassomething strained, peculiar in the timbre of hisvoice.

Jimmy Christopher went down the stepsslowly. Amber light filled a hallway below. Hepaused, hearing movements in an adjoiningroom, through an open doorway. He turned backquickly, saw another door standing ajar, andeased into the darkness of a library.

Across it light shafted from the room in whichthe voices were sounding. Jimmy Christophermoved close enough to see through. Thespacious living-room was decorated lavishly.Near a burning fireplace a golden screen stood,and past the edge of it Jimmy Christopher couldsee part of an easy chair from which a man's legswere visible, and one hand, holding a highballglass. The glass disappeared behind the screenas he raised it to his lips.

"You are so foolish to be worried," thewoman's voice came again. "I am all alone; Ihave missed you so."

She moved into view, her back turned toJimmy Christopher. She was wearing a trailing,misty white gown; her exposed back andshoulders were smoothest ivory upon whichnestled Titian hair that glistened with deep lights.Her one slender arm extended beyond thescreen, and her beautifully formed body leanedforward, half hidden.

"Of course, darling—I love you very much,"Their voices died to whispers.

Jimmy Christopher turned to glance at alarge, carved desk in the library and steppedtoward it. He found its drawers locked, andbrought from his pocket a leather folder of masterkeys. Not a sound disturbed the silence of theroom as he tried first one, then another, in thelocks.

From the adjoining room the man's voicecarried: "I'll do anything for you, Merte."

"Perhaps—" and the woman's tones werealmost a whisper—"perhaps I shall ask you tohelp me."

"Anything, Merte—anything!"A drawer slid open under Jimmy

Christopher's eyes. From it he removed a steelbond-box. Again his keys came into play. In amoment the lid rose.

Suddenly a buzzer sounded—three times,quickly, then once, as if in signal. Jimmy

Christopher jerked up. Through the doorway hesaw the woman straighten and turn. Clearlyvisible in the light now was her face.

She was enchantingly beautiful,unbelievably beautiful. The widening of her eyesdisclosed depths of darkness as luminous asblack diamonds. She moved quickly, gracefully,across the room and called: "Mioti! What is it?"

The curtains of a doorway flicked aside, andJimmy Christopher saw a man appear—a huge,broad-shouldered man with a dark, sinister face.He was an Eurasian; and in the slant of his eyesJimmy Christopher glimpsed the man's heritage.His voice rumbled throatily; he spoke in thelanguage of the Yellow Empire.

"We've caught someone prowling about thegrounds—a girl."

"Take her into the conservatory," thewoman answered quickly in the same tongue.

Jimmy Christopher sat motionless, chilled,watching. The woman turned quickly to the manhidden behind the screen. Her voice was dulcet,soothing: "Finish your drink, darling. I will beback in a moment." Her gown trailed, hersandalled feet moved quickly, and she was gone.

Jimmy Christopher half rose anxiously, buthis eyes dropped again to the steel bond-box hehad opened. Quickly he fingered through theleather-jacketed books it contained. He glimpsedcabalistic symbols on the pages. He unfoldedseveral documents, and saw that they too werecovered with code-writing. Swiftly he stuffed thecontents of the box into his top-coat pocket,returned it to the drawer, closed the drawer andlocked it.

Quick steps took him toward the living-room.Behind the screen the man was still sitting.Jimmy Christopher risked a move outward. Hecrept over the thick rugs, toward the door throughwhich the woman had gone. Listening, he heardher speak; again in the strange language: "Whoare you? What are you doing here?"

The answer came: "Tell your men to let mego! Why have you got this place guarded like afortress?" The voice of Diane Elliot!

Jimmy Christopher's throat tightened. Herealized that the girl had tried to follow him; thatshe had been seen and seized. He could pictureher held by several of the sentinels while thewoman known as Merte Noire faced her.

"You came alone?"

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A hesitation, then: "Yes." A slow smileformed on Jimmy Christopher's lips.

Suddenly the woman spoke. Her voice waslike the hissing of a deadly snake: "You littlefool—to come here!"

There was silence for a moment. Then aman's voice asked in the Yellow tongue: "What isto be done with her?"

"What is to be done?" the woman repeatedshrilly, in the same language. "Need you ask?She suspects something, or she would not behere! She must never speak again. We must killher!"

CHAPTER SEVEN The Pit of the Black Leopard

Soft footfalls sounded in the room beyond.Jimmy Christopher whirled and darted to the doorof the library. He passed into the darkness as alatch clicked, and the exquisitely gowned womanappeared.

She paused. Now the beauty of her facewas vanquished—yet was heightened—by thesheer, cold ferocity shining in her eyes. Her mouthhad become a red, evil thing. But as she pausedto gaze at the screen behind which the unknownman sat, her features changed.

The alluring warmth returned, her mouthsoftened, her eyes became luminous, darktemptations. She crossed the room slowly, andpaused to face the man sitting behind the goldenscreen. His hand reached for her exquisitefingers; she lowered herself to the arm of thechair.

"You feel rested now, don't you, darling?""It is like a dream to be near you, Merte.""Rest. With all your body. With me you find

ease—"The man's voice was scarcely a whisper:

"Your perfume—is like—a drug."One of the woman's hands was visible to

Jimmy Christopher. He saw it tighten into anivory-white fist. Her voice was scarcely audible.

"Can you hear me? Can you still hear me?""Yes," slowly.

"You will help me?""Ye-es.""There is a man," the woman said softly. "A

man who is known as James Christopher. Youknow him?"

Jimmy Christopher's body tightened. Hestrained to hear. A chill was coursing through hisbody—a chill brought by the soft, spell-weavingvoice of the woman.

The man in the chair answered, slowlyagain: "Yes."

"James Christopher is going to die."A whispered assent."You are going to kill him."Assent again, scarcely audible."You will learn immediately where he is. You

will go to him. Tomorrow exactly at midnight, youwill kill him."

"Ye-es."Amazement filled Jimmy Christopher. He

strove to combat the dreamy spell brought by thewoman's slumberous voice. He listened, standingmotionless in the dark.

"You will go away—at once—after you havekilled him. Once you leave the room in which helies dead, you will forget. You will remembernothing of what has happened. Nothing. Do youhear me still?"

"Ye-es. I will—do as—you wish."Jimmy Christopher straightened. There was

a motion behind the golden screen as he steppedsilently into the room. For a moment both theman and the woman were out of sight. He heard aslight grating noise, a dull thump. He steppedbeyond the screen. . . .

The woman was standing alone in the room,facing a blank wall—alone.

Jimmy Christopher said softly: "Goodevening."

The woman was a flash of glittering white asshe whirled. She stood motionless—an exquisitelycarved figure, her wide, ebony-dark eyes peeringat Jimmy Christopher.

"Good evening," he said again quietly, "KaraVizna."

Slowly Kara Vizna smiled. The beauty of herface was a radiant light dimmed now by theferocity shining in her eyes. Yellow sparksflashed in them, gleaming like those in the eyes of

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an angry tigress. She took slow, gliding stepstoward Jimmy Christopher.

"Perhaps," she said softly, "you will not dietomorrow night after all, Operator 5. Perhaps youwill die tonight."

The corners of Jimmy Christopher's lipstucked in tightly. "You are amazing, Kara Vizna.You are everything I have been told you are—andmore. The devil himself must have given you yourbeauty and your ability to use it—to use it to turnmen into traitors."

Her scarlet mouth curved. "Perhaps," shesaid.

"No one but a consummately daring womanwould do what you have done—appear before thepublic while maintaining a disguise, by posing asan actress, and appearing behind the footlights tothousands nightly. Most daring of all, youmultiplied your audience when you came toHollywood to appear in pictures."

"Well?""Your trip to Europe, after making two

pictures is not difficult to explain. From Europeyou hurried to China to resume espionageactivities—not as Merte Noire, but as Kara Vizna.Because you could return to this country fromShanghai as neither Merte Noire nor Kara Vizna,you were forced to assume still another disguiseaboard the Alhambra."

"You are very clever, Operator 5.""Not so clever as you, Kara Vizna. You and

a man known as Juan Ridegez boarded theAlhambra at Shanghai. The man managed todisappear. You took his place. You were hurryinghere to resume your role as Merte Noire. Eachtime you have altered your features completely.You are not Juan Ridegez now, nor the womanwhose photograph was shown to me—KaraVizna. Only one thing betrays you—the uttercruelty in your eyes."

She asked softly: "What do you wish withme, Operator 5?"

"I have been given orders which determineyour fate."

She came closer. "You are a wise man,Operator 5. You must realize that you are fightingoverwhelming odds. Your country cannot hope toexist more than a few weeks longer. The triumphof the Yellow Empire over the United States iswritten in the Book of the Heavens. In that booktoo is written your death."

Jimmy Christopher smiled. Kara Viznaleaned closer, her black eyes fiery with dark fury.Her one hand had moved gracefully to the edge ofthe golden screen.

Space opened instantly beneath JimmyChristopher's feet. He felt the first yielding as asection of the floor dropped away. His musclesflexed as he leaped back, but his spring came aninstant too late to completely clear the blackhollow that appeared beneath him.

He twisted sharply, feeling himself falling,and desperately flung out his arms. He droppedfive feet, fingers gripping the rug weighted by theheavy easy chair. Arms outspread, his bodydangling in blackness, he hung one instant.Damp coldness gusted up about him, as, from theemptiness below, sounded a throaty snarl.

Swift footfalls slipped across the floor, andthe voice of Kara Vizna called sharply:

"Mioti! Kazuh!"Jimmy Christopher swung his body swiftly.

He hooked a knee over the edge of the fallen trapand dragged himself up. Breathless, he glimpseddown into the hollow. A black, lithe form wasmoving below; two glaring yellow eyes wereshining up. Suddenly there was another snarlingcry, and the dark thing leaped.

Half out of the underground den it sprang—aleopard of glistening black, fangs gleaming, talonsscraping at the floor. The savage ferocity of itsgrowl shook the room as Jimmy Christopherleaped back. The beast was clawing up, flamingeyes fixed on him, as his hand flashed to hisarm-pit holster.

Fire spat. One yellow eye blinked out; ahorrible, rending shriek shook the house. Theblack leopard's claws dug again as it struggled tospring out of the pit; Jimmy Christopher's gunspat a second time. The animal screamed,sinking back; it dropped into the darkness; andJimmy Christopher stepped close, shuddering.

A fall into the pit would have meant horribledeath under the fangs and the talons of thatuntamed beast.

He glanced up quickly. In the wall on theopposite side of the room a panel was closing.Through it was trailing the white of Kara Vizna'sgown. Jimmy Christopher leaped, clearing thepit, flinging himself toward the settling panel. Hisfingers dug into the crack as powerful weightsclosed it, crushing it down upon his hands.

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Biting pain filled him as he wrenched back.Grinding gears sounded beyond while he resistedthe pull of the mechanism which operated thehidden panel. He twisted back quickly, hearingheels pound on the floor, as two men dashed intothe room through the flicking drapes of a doorway.In their hands glistened guns.

Jimmy Christopher thrust a foot into thewidened crack of the panel and fired swiftly. Hisnumbed fingers scarcely felt the pull of the trigger.The brute-like Mioti fired an instant before a bulletslapped into his body. He whirled down to thefloor as the second man rushed.

Jimmy Christopher fired and, realizing thathis bullet had flown wide, slipped into thedarkness beyond the panels as the grinding gearsreversed. Backing, he slammed bullets into theroom beyond as the man sprang aside. He turnedquickly, peering along a passageway that slopeddownward.

Swift steps took him along it. Through thedank air a reverberating thump sounded. Herounded a bend and stopped, facing a door thatglistened blackly in the light. He seized a hugemetal ring that hung from it and pulled but all hisstrength was not enough to move it. Beyond thatdoor, he knew, Kara Vizna had passed—and nowit blocked his way with immovable steel.

Shouts rang along the passage and heelsscraped the floor. Jimmy Christopher whirledback. In the darkness rushing figures loomed.Three—four sprang into sight around the bend.Jimmy Christopher backed against the steel doorgrimly, his automatic leveled.

Guns spat. Bullets spanged against themetal behind him. He moved swiftly from side toside, a bewildering target in the darkness, as theblack figures crouched, blocking his way out,trapping him. Swiftly his gun spoke. One of theforms crumpled forward, another spilled againstthe wall and tumbled down. Echoes clashed inthe passage as the gun-lightning flashed andpowder-smoke gusted.

Four men spilled dead to the floor of thepassage—and Jimmy Christopher's automaticclicked on an empty chamber.

Two more black, giant figures loomedaround the bend. The light flashed against metalas a saber swung high. Its keen edge sliced theair and Jimmy Christopher sprang aside likelightning. He dropped his gun; his hands clickedloose, in an instant, to the buckle of his belt.

When he whipped the belt away, it flewstraight. It was a long, narrow sheath of leatherwhich sped from a blade of specially forgedsteel—a blade as supple as a whip, sharp-pointed as a needle, keen as a razor. He lashedit, lunging toward the two dark figures.

A second saber was flashing in the air withthe first.

Swiftly steel clashed steel, the heavy bladesslashing against the light rapier. Sparkling metalkindled the air.

The two men bore down, crowding JimmyChristopher against the steel door. He tensed,and with the swiftness of lightning, executed a diGrassi lunge. His blade whipped up again andred drops flicked from it.

A saber clattered to the floor. JimmyChristopher's rapier sparkled about the other as itswung. Magical power seemed to course alonghis bright steel whip, twisting the saber in theman's hand. Jimmy Christopher lunged, andmissed; he recovered swiftly. His blade whippedabout the saber in a swift parry of semptime—then, brilliant as a lightning stroke, came hisriposte.

He straightened, reddened blade lowered,as the second black man dropped.

He leaped ahead along the passageway,hearing shouts and calls above. As he sped intothe living room, the blast of exploding gunsrocked the air. The room was empty; hehastened across it to the far door. He shoulderedthrough and paused, breathless—peering atDiane Elliot.

Her wrists were lashed behind her, herslender ankles were bound; a gag was plasteredacross her mouth. She lay on a couch, herwidened eyes imploring Jimmy Christopher. Hestepped close, and the blade of his rapier flickedgently, hissing through the strands that pinionedher. She struggled up, gasping.

Shots rang again in the room beyond.Jimmy Christopher stepped quickly into the living-room, picked up a revolver dropped by Mioti, andpressed it into the girl's hand.

"Stay here. If anybody comes at you, usethat gun!"

He crossed the sill again. Through a darkdoorway he saw crouching forms. A man washuddling against the wall of the entrance, firinglow; beside him crouched a smaller figure.Outside waited two others. Jimmy Christopher

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turned sharply when he heard a movement.Diane Elliot was hurrying from the conservatory.

"Stay back!" he ordered.She ran toward a rear door. Amazed, he

followed her swiftly. He caught her arms andturned her. "Diane! What are you doing?"

"I'm going to get out of here quick! I've gotmy story just who Merte Noire is!"

Now the blasting of shots had ceased. Therewere quick voices in the hallway. JimmyChristopher glanced back, shifted position so thathe could face the door, and took the gun from thegirl, He said swiftly: "You can't, Diane! You can't!”

"They'll print it—every word I give theAmalgamated!"

His eyes dropped swiftly. He stepped veryclose to her. His words crackled. "If you turn inwhat you know about Kara Vizna it will finish meas an Intelligence operator." She was silent, hereyes defiant.

"Do you hear? It means the end—ofOperator 5."

Her red lips parted. "You're Operator 5?"Now black movements filled the doorway.

Jimmy Christopher jerked his gun level. Into thelight stepped two figures. One was a man, hisface gray and grimacing with pain; the other wasa boy of fourteen, his tough little Irish facespotted with freckles, his mouth twisting into abroad grin.

A cry broke from Jimmy Christopher."Dad! Tim!"Tim Donovan rushed toward Jimmy

Christopher with arms outflung. He stoppedshort, his grin battling tears that formed in hiseyes.

"Jimmy! Jimmy, gosh—you all right?"Behind him strode John Christopher, ex-

Intelligence Operator Q-6, his hand extended."Jimmy, my boy!""Dad—Tim!" Jimmy Christopher stood

paralyzed with surprise. "Where'd you comefrom? I—I thought you were in New York!"

Tim Donovan blurted: "We had to come,Jimmy! We flew out! Z-7 told us where you werestaying, and we tried to find you—"

"We saw your car leaving the hotel, Jimmy,just as we came!" John Christopher exclaimed."We followed you—came here—heard shots—"

"Gosh, Jimmy! We couldn't keep out of it!Those two mugs tried to stop us—but theycouldn't!"

Jimmy Christopher blurted: "Oh, God, it'sgood to see you, Tim, old boy! Dad! You kept'em off of me, didn't you—the last of 'em!Where's Nan—did she come West with you?"

"She's still in New York, Jimmy. What—what happened? You're not hurt, are you,Jimmy?"

Jimmy Christopher smiled warmly at TimDonovan's anxious question. His fist pushedgently at the nervy Irish lad's chin. "Tim, boy, I'mall right. I was never so glad to see anybody inmy life!"

"That girl, Jimmy—where'd she go?"Jimmy Christopher turned quickly. Diane

Elliot was no longer in the doorway. She was notin the room beyond—not in any of the roomsbeyond. When Jimmy Christopher ran outside,searching the darkness for her, he saw no sign ofher.

She had gone—gone to put her story on thewires? He stood motionless, numbed withdismay, cursing himself for a bungler.

Diane Elliot, at that moment, was hurryingalong the twining road which led downward intoBeverly Hills. She ran until she sighted a taxi;she signaled it and gasped quick orders to thedriver. It carried her swiftly to a hotel in downtownLos Angeles.

She hurried to her room. Breathlessly shesat before a portable typewriter. Her swift fingerstapped the keys. She studied her lead, and wenton:

. . . for the notorious spy Kara Vizna, andthe famous actress Merte Noire are one and the sameperson. . . .

She covered three yellow sheets quickly.She snatched them out of the machine, andhurried from the hotel. Another taxi whirled heralong a dark street. She ran into a building, intoa vast room where scores of desks sat, whereteletype machines were clattering.

Toward a shirt-sleeved man working under agreen-shaded light, she pushed her sheaf ofcopy.

"I'm working out of San Francisco. There'smy story—it'll set the wires on fire!"

Her face turned pale in a flash as the copyleft her hands. A voice rang in her ears—the

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voice of Jimmy Christopher: "It will mean the endof Operator 5!"

The eyes of the Los Angeles wire editor weredropping to the opening lines of her story. Herhand shot out; she gripped the yellow sheets,and tore them away. For a moment she stoodfrozen, appalled at the thing she had almost done,while the puzzled, green-lighted eyes peered ather.

"I guess—" her voice faltered—"I guess I'mmistaken. It's no good after all; not worthsending."

She ripped the sheets in two, then in twoagain. She stuffed them into the pocket of hercoat and turned without looking back at theamazed wire editor. Tears glistened in her eyesas she opened the door and hurried out—tearsthat stung.

At a desk on the lower floor she paused.She quickly addressed an envelope to CarletonVictor at his hotel. She wrote quickly on one tornsheet:

I'd never do it for anyone else, JimmyChristopher!

DIANE

Her lips pressed hard as she signed hername. She took stamps from her purse andapplied them to the envelope. She slipped it halfinto a mail-box and hesitated. Slowly her fingerslet go; it dropped.

When she left the building her eyes were dry;her proud chin was lifted. . .

CHAPTER EIGHT The Hour of Death

The brilliant sunshine of a California morningstreamed through the window of SecretIntelligence headquarters PL.

At a desk in a corner, Jimmy Christopherwas poring over the intricate code recordsdiscovered in the desk in Kara Vizna's library.Sheets closely covered with elaborate notationssurrounded him. An electric clock on the walltwirled its red hand as he worked. He had been

striving to penetrate the secret of Kara Vizna'srecords since dawn.

At another desk Z-7 sat, rapidly reading areport prepared by Operator 5. His dark eyessmoldered at the last page:

The tunnel leading from Kara Vizna's haciendahas an outlet in the valley behind the estate. She wasable to slip out of it quickly, once past the steel door.There was no hope of stopping her escape once thatdoor closed.

V-3's gnarled hand was gripped around atelephone; he was talking quickly: "Very well,then, a search of the hacienda discloses nothing,but it must be watched. Keep it under constantguard. Anyone attempting to enter it is to bearrested. Make your reports to this headquartershourly." Z-7 tossed the report aside and gazed atOperator 5. "Any headway?" he asked.

Jimmy Christopher sighed. "It's a hard nut,Chief. A numerical-substitution code that lookssimple, but it's as complex as the devil. The firsttrouble was discovering what language it is writtenin—but now I'm sure it's a dialect of the YellowEmpire."

Z-7 peered over his shoulder as JimmyChristopher explained, "letter combinations aresubstituted for ideographs, and each ideographmay have as many as fifteen different meanings.The thing is complicated further because there isno use of certain letters in the language, but it'scoming, Chief."

A telephone clattered, and V-3 answered thecall. An exchange of signals was followed bymonosyllabic comments from the Pacific chief.He hung the receiver and paused thoughtfully.

"Strange, Z-7," he mused. "R-16 has justreported from Santa Monica. Three persons werefound this morning, dead on the beach—one alife-guard, the others a man and a woman. Theircar was located, and they are identified. Nomarks on them, but an autopsy has revealed thatthey died of poison gas."

"But there was no poison gas attack reportedlast night."

"I know, but this was dichlorasinevinylchloride. R-16 reports that they wereevidently at the beach to swim, though the beachhas been almost deserted since thebombardment. Of course, if there had been apoison gas attack along the beach last night,

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there would be widespread deaths this morning.Yet those three were gassed, killed instantly."

"What else?""Footprints on the sand, very strange. Partly

wiped out by the waves, but the lowering tidesaved the rest. Two pairs of prints—not bare feet,but feet clad in shoes. Both lines come directlyout of the water, and there are no prints leadingdown."

"What? Footprints coming out of the waterbut not going in?"

"Just that. I wonder. . . "V-3 picked up a pad of notes and studied it.

"Here is information phoned in by E-9 from LongBeach an hour ago. He states that some sort ofprojectile floated ashore there during the night. Ithas the appearance of a torpedo, but is obviouslynot one. He is to telephone full details later. Itmay link up with the deaths at Santa MonicaBeach."

"Hell!" Z-7 snapped, "I want full reports fromR-16 and E-9 as soon as possible."

Again the telephone clattered. V-3 answeredthe call. He listened intently, and his pencilscribbled notes. When, after ten minutes, heturned away from the phone, it was to speak toJimmy Christopher: "Here is the report of theanalytical chemist on the liquid you brought fromKara Vizna's place last night, Operator 5—thestuff that was left in the highball glass by herunknown visitor."

Jimmy Christopher looked up alertly. "Yes?""It is found to be dhatura. It is a vegetable

poison easily obtained in India. The chemist tellsme that the white, bell-shaped dhatura flowergrows wild in the fields of India, almost asgenerally as the daisy and the buttercup inAmerica, although the poison is little known here,and he had to refer to obscure sources for hisinformation.

"The leaves, the seeds and the stalk allfurnish the poison. It can be readily mixed withfood, especially sweets, with opium andtobacco—and it can be mixed into drinks. A smalldose of it has the extraordinary effect of robbingthe victim temporarily of his memory and ofrendering him highly susceptible to suggestion. Aman drugged with dhatura is unconscious of whathappens to him while under the influence of thedrug, and may be made to commit acts of which

he ordinarily would be incapable. Also, he isunable to tell how he came to be poisoned.

"Larger doses cause insanity and death but,unlike mineral poisons, dhatura leaves no tracewhich can be detected in the body after death."

Jimmy Christopher's eyes had narrowedthoughtfully.

"In other words," V-3 continued, "dhaturaproduces a kind of hypnotic effect. Kara Viznahad evidently brought about this mesmericcondition in her unknown visitor last night, andwas giving him directions."

Jimmy Christopher's eyes lighted. "Iunderstand. She was making use of a kind ofpost-hypnotic suggestion. You know, of course,how that functions. A person, when in a conditionof susceptibility, is told that at a certain time andat a certain place he will do a certain thing. Oncethe temporary condition of susceptibility passes,he will not remember having been given the order;but when the time comes, he will do preciselywhat he was told!

"Whoever he is, the man Kara Vizna told tokill me is not aware at this moment of whathappened last night. But when midnight comestonight, he will be seized with a craving to kill—tokill me. Don't doubt that! He will unconsciouslyprepare for it. Nothing will stop his attempt. Hewill seek me out with the intention of killing me,and he will not know why he is doing it—but thepeculiar, powerful effect of drug will force him toit."

"Good Lord—you've got to watch yourself!"Z-7 exclaimed. "That man may be known to you—someone you would never suspect of such athing."

"If we had means of proving it," Operator 5answered, "we'd find that Merte Noire must haveinfluenced, in the same way, Lieutenant ChetGalway—and the six men captured near LakeSaigon after the bombing of the French merchantsteamer—the six who claimed they wereAmericans, and probably were. Americans forcedto turn traitor by the power of that human tigress."

"At midnight tonight, Operator 5," Z-7declared grimly, "I'm going to see to it that youare well protected."

Jimmy Christopher smiled. "Perhaps," hesaid quietly, "work will prevent."

He returned to the puzzle of thecryptograms, while the teletype in the next roomclattered. Reports were brought to V-3's desk;

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the two chiefs studied them while JimmyChristopher worked.

. . .E-9 LONG BEACH . . .TORPEDO WASHEDASHORE HERE DURING NIGHT CARRIED NOEXPLOSIVE. . . A WATER-TIGHT SHELL LARGEENOUGH TO CONTAIN A MAN. . .CONTROLSPROVIDED FOR MOVEMENT THROUGH WATERAFTER POWER SUPPLIED FROM SOMEEXTERNAL SOURCE SUCH AS TORPEDO TUBEOF SUBMARINE. . . AFFIXED INSIDE ALSO ISTANK FOR COMPRESSED GAS PROBABLYOXYGEN ALSO A RELEASE VALVE. . .INDICATESTORPEDO USED TO BRING ASHORE UNKNOWNAGENT. . . .

Z-7 exclaimed: "Be damned! They're sendingsecret agents ashore from Yellow submarines.It's probably the way Kara Vizna returned after theNeptune carried her off."

"And that," V-3 declared, "seems to explainthe deaths at Santa Monica and the foot printsthat led from the water without returning. Thethree who were killed by poison gas wereevidently unfortunate enough to see one or two ofthese torpedoes float onto the beach. They werekilled because they saw something the Yellowagents wish to keep secret!"

"Lord! In that way they can send scores ofagents into the country! It's impossible to watchevery foot of the entire coastline closely enough tospot them!"

V-3 said quietly: "I've already instructed E-9that the torpedo is to be kept strictly under cover.So long as their means of getting secret agentsashore seems to remain undiscovered, they'llkeep on using it. That means—a constantwatch—an almost super-human job!"

The scratching of Jimmy Christopher's pencilturned Z-7's eyes. He was writing feverishly. Aquick glance up and he said: "I've got it!" Z-7stepped behind him and peered over his shoulderas he translated:

Plan of OperationsPrepared: copies of documents supposed to

have been stolen from U.S. State Department.Details in Order 453, Code XVII.

These documents to be released to press inBritain and continental Europe immediately

opening attack is made by our fleet duringinternational naval parade.

"Great Scott! That admits their guilt! KaraVizna prepared the forged documents! It's almostconclusive proof!"

Jimmy Christopher continued to write swiftly.Order 453 trailed out under the point of his pencil.Z-7 read each word as it formed.

"It follows line by line the forged documents!"he exclaimed.

When Jimmy Christopher sat back he had athick folder of sheets covered with hishandwriting. He raised darkly clouded eyes.

"To make the proof conclusive, Chief," hesaid, "further details must be brought out. First,that this paper was manufactured in the YellowEmpire. Second, that the ink is peculiar to thatcountry. Third, that these documents werewritten prior to the opening attack. Fourth, thatthey were written by a Yellow hand. Experts cando that—and I suggest that you allow the proof tobe established by experts other than our own."

"Yes—exactly!""Dr. G. S. Collinbroke is England's foremost

secret ink chemist—the documents might beturned over to him. It will take time, but it mustbe handled so that there is not the slightest doubtthat these documents are forgeries originating inthe Yellow Empire. If you have any othersamples of Kara Vizna's handwriting—"

"Yes. I have several specimens in File X, inWashington. Great Scott, young man, you'vedone it! Yellow codes are the most difficult in theworld to tackle. Yardley spent a year decipheringone cipher during the World War—an entire year,and you've—"

"The full proof will take time, Chief.""Yes, valuable time. The President himself

must present these documents to ambassadors ofthe European powers—they've got to be taken toWashington. I'm going to do that myself—immediately.

"V-3, I'm leaving for the field within a fewminutes. Teletype to Washington that I ambringing these codes. Inform the President that asecret meeting of all European ambassadors isurgent immediately following my arrival."

V-3 stepped quickly into an adjoining office.Operator 5 took from Z-7's hand the reports of E-9 and R-16 and studied them.

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"Every minute is precious!" Z-7 exclaimed."Yellow troops will march closer to the Mexicanborder before this proof can be presented to theEuropean dignitaries. The Yellow Navy maychoose to bombard this coast again. They mayattack our allies, under the guise of United Statesarmament, and make the task immeasurablymore difficult. At this moment they're waiting—waiting for the entire world to turn against usbefore they strike again! The counterfeit U.S.cruisers used by the Yellow forces in Asiaticwaters against the neutral merchant ships maystrike again before this proof can be presented. Iam urging reports from our agents in the YellowEmpire, in the hope of learning facts about thatcounterfeit fleet."

"Its whereabouts are unknown?" JimmyChristopher asked.

"Absolutely. After each attack it withdrewunder cover of a smoke-screen—simplydisappeared. So far our agents have been unableto wireless any information concerning it. Butwhen that information comes, it's going tonecessitate a daring, dangerous move—anattempt to destroy the camouflaged fleet."

Z-7 folded the translation of the Kara Viznacodes; he tucked them into a secret pocket andgrimly examined his automatic. At the door hepaused, turning. "Watch yourself, my boy, whenmidnight comes—" He went out.

Operator 5 turned slowly back to the desk,again taking up the reports of E-9 and R-16.

"The three bathers who died on SantaMonica beach," he said slowly, "were killedsometime past midnight by—Kara Vizna! Youremember my orders, she is my case. Tonight,"Operator 5 paused in thought. "Please order anarmy blimp sent from Sunnyside immediately. Itshould be disguised as an advertising ship. I willwant the use of it tonight. I'm going to patrol theshore."

He rose, stepped to the door, and calledthrough. From an outer office came JohnChristopher and Tim Donovan. Operator 5 wavedthem in.

"V-3, my father," he said. "Once known asQ-6—one of the best Intelligence operators whoever lived."

John Christopher smiled, grasping V-3'sgnarled hand. "My son is worth ten of me,Chief—you know that well. I'd give my soul if I

could reenter the service, but apparently—according to the doctors—I'd give my life if I did."

"I know," V-3 said softly. "Z-7 has told meabout you. Bullets embedded near your heart.Take care of yourself, fellow."

The tough little Irish lad grinned broadly asthe hand of the Pacific Intelligence chief seizedhis. "And I've heard of you too, Tim Donovan.You'll be one of us some day, my boy."

Jimmy Christopher's arm crossed the littleIrish lad's shoulders. "Those Yellow Naval guns,out there," he said, "don't seem so terrible nowthat you're here with me. I don't know what I'd dowithout you both—and Nan."

He turned toward the door. John Christopherand Tim stepped through ahead of him. The doorclosed; they were gone.

CHAPTER NINE The House of the Dead

At eleven-forty-five p.m. the telephone in thesumptuous living-room of Carleton Victor's hotelsuite rang shrilly. Jimmy Christopher answered it.A voice said softly:

"Your order will be shipped from Glendale."(The Army blimp will take off from GlendaleAirport.)

"What weight?" (What time?)"Twelve and a half." (Twelve-thirty.)"Thank you.""I suggest you exercise great care in

handling this matter. The night air is apt todamage the consignment." (There is danger ofpoison gas.) "And Mr. King has not reported fromhis voyage." (The Neptune has not been located.)

"I will let you know the condition of theshipment." (I will communicate from the blimp.)

As Jimmy Christopher disconnected, thedoor buzzer sounded. Crowe strode stiffly toanswer the call. He returned with a sniff.

"The same persistent young lady, Mr.Victor," he said. "And a young man."

"I think, Crowe, that you are very busy inthe bedroom, aren't you?"

"Extremely busy, sir."

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Crowe withdrew and Jimmy Christopherstrode into the foyer. Waiting there were DianeElliot and her brother. Jimmy Christopher's eyesstudied the girl's as he greeted them and invitedthem in. Diane stepped close as her brotherentered the living room first.

"Carl doesn't know you're Carleton Victor,"she whispered.

His hand tightened warmly upon hers. "Ifound a very interesting communication in the mailthis morning—and I'm more grateful than I cansay."

"You've ruined my career as a newspaperwoman, but—I couldn't do anything else."

Carl Elliot turned. "Diane told me you werestopping here, and she insisted on coming along.It's official business, Di—you know you can'tstay."

"You might," she answered, "make me yourofficial business some evening, both of you.Anyway, I've got to go to work. My boss is on myneck. Good-bye."

Her small hand slung warmly to JimmyChristopher's; she kissed Carl and hurried out.Jimmy Christopher stood watching the door afterit closed and turned to find Carl Elliot smiling.

"She's a swell kid, Jimmy.""She's a very forthright and charming young

woman . . . You said official business?""Orders from V-3," B-10 answered. "He's

keeping me on the Kara Vizna case since Istarted it with you. I'm directed to go with youtonight."

"V-3 didn't tell me." Jimmy Christopherglanced at the clock. It read a few minutes ofmidnight. He turned slowly, saying, "We'll beleaving in a jiffy."

He strode to the door, and clicked the latchin place. When he returned, he saw Carl Ellioteyeing him strangely. Jimmy Christopherpaused. "Is that clock right?" Operator 5 asked.

Carl Elliot answered without glancing around."It's three minutes of twelve."

"How did you know, without looking?"Elliot did not answer. Jimmy Christopher

gazed at him a long moment. Into B-10's eyesthere was creeping an unnatural brilliance,tranquil yet alert. Jimmy Christopher strode to thewindow, peering at Carl Elliot out of the corners ofhis eyes. Suddenly he turned. A glance at the

clock told him it was exactly one minute of twelve.Carl Elliot was peering at him fixedly. A quick steptook Jimmy Christopher toward him.

"Have you a gun?"Elliot did not answer."Have you a gun? Give it to me!"There was no response in the glazed eyes.

Jimmy Christopher glanced up once. The minutehand of the clock was creeping slowly toward thesecond of midnight. Grimly he watched it, feelingCarl Elliot's eyes on him. And suddenly—

Elliot leaped up. His hand swung under hiscoat, toward the bulge of a pit-holstered gun. Afiendish fury blazed in his eyes as the gun flashedout. Unreasoning hatred twisted his face into anugly mask—and the weapon came level.

Swiftly Jimmy Christopher stepped aside.His fingers clamped hard about Carl Elliot's wrist.A quick twist, a pull—and a moan of pain crossedB-10's lips. His finger twitched on the trigger ofthe gun and a slug blasted out, drilling into thefloor between Jimmy Christopher's feet.

Quickly Jimmy Christopher thrust Carl Elliotinto the chair. He slumped weakly. From the sideof the room came the click of a quickly openingdoor.

Crowe asked sharply: "Sir! Is anythingwrong?"

Jimmy Christopher smiled at him. "Wrong,Crowe?"

"I thought I heard a shot, sir!""No, Crowe. You were mistaken."Crowe's startled eyes dropped to the

automatic glittering in Jimmy Christopher'sfingers. He saw the gust of powder-smoke driftingon the air. His eyebrows arched.

"Quite right, sir," he said. "I was mistaken."He turned, and the door closed behind him.

Jimmy Christopher stood tensely over Carl Elliot.B-10's eyes were raising pleadingly, fearfully tohis.

"You," said Operator 5 slowly. "You werethe man who was with Kara Vizna last night!"

The sound of the name sent a shudderthrough the body of Carl Elliot. JimmyChristopher leaned close.

"You wanted to kill me, didn't you?""Yes.""You don't know why?"

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"No!""It is because Kara Vizna told you to do it.""No, no! Not Kara Vizna! Merte—Merte

Noire!""You don't know that Kara Vizna and Merte

Noire are the same woman?""No—it isn't possible!"Jimmy Christopher was speaking softly. "It's

true. She is very beautiful, isn't she, Carl—verybeautiful?"

Carl Elliot's body sagged despondently. "Sheis the most beautiful woman in the world—theloveliest woman in the world."

"You were flattered by her attention, weren'tyou—the favor of such a beautiful woman? Youyielded to her, without knowing it. When she toldyou to kill me, you accepted it as a naturalrequest, a trifling favor to do for her. Your minddidn't work then as it is not working now. Do youunderstand me, Carl?"

"Ye-es.""Do you remember everything she told you?""Ye-es.""Has she taken Intelligence secrets from you,

Carl? Has she?""No—never!"Jimmy Christopher straightened. "I am going

to give you your gun," he said. "You're going toput it back in its holster. You are going to forgetinstantly that you have it—you will forget it untilyou leave this room. Do you hear me?"

"Yes."Carl Elliot's hands rose trembling to the

weapon. He seized it—for one tense momentheld it—then, slowly, he returned it to the arm-pitholster. Suddenly he spoke brokenly: "Oh, God—if you tell them—if you tell the Chief what I'vedone!"

Jimmy Christopher nodded. "I know that," hesaid softly. "Listen. Kara Vizna—Merte Noire—gave you further instructions last night. You aregoing to follow them implicitly. Do youremember—and understand?"

"Yes."Jimmy Christopher commanded: "Get up!"

B-10 rose swaying to his feet."You will come with me."Quickly he put on hat and coat, and B-10

followed his actions. They moved together toward

the door. With his hand on the knob, JimmyChristopher paused, gazing straight into CarlElliot's eyes.

"You won't recall what I'm about to say,Carl," he declared gently, "but somewhere, deepdown in your mind, it will make its impression.You realize the penalty you might pay for whatyou have done—in time of war."

B-10's flushed face faded to pasty white. Hemumbled, "Yes."

"You realize that even now, though you havea splendid record behind you, though you areloyal to the last—Kara Vizna has worked her spellon you and never again can you be completelytrusted?"

B-10's face turned even whiter. "Yes.""If ever you face the woman Kara Vizna

again, you are going to remember Diane. Youare going to think only of Diane—as I am thinkingof her now."

Jimmy Christopher was peering deeply intoCarl Elliot's eyes. He opened the door, and B-10stepped through; he followed, and closed thedoor quickly, watching Elliot's face. A strangeexpression of bewilderment shone in B-10's eyes.He gazed around; he smiled confusedly at JimmyChristopher.

"I—I feel a bit dizzy," he said slowly. "Howlong was I in there with you? All of a sudden, Idon't seem to be able to remember."

"We've been alone in there only a fewminutes," Jimmy Christopher answered, "talkingabout—nothing."

Carl Elliot blinked. "Do—do you rememberwhy I came here? Did I say?"

"You came because you're a damned goodIntelligence man—and I need you tonight."

Carl Elliot smiled. "I remember now. Ordersfrom V-3."

Jimmy Christopher nodded. "Let's go, Carl."Arm in arm they walked down the hall. Carl

Elliot was quiet, undisturbed. Jimmy Christopherwas thinking again of—Diane.

A black midnight hovered over the Californiacoast. The night was deep and silent, disturbedonly by the threshing of the surf on the smoothshore. Yet an electrical tension tightened theair—a fearfulness that had been born of thebombardment, a terror nourished by the verysilence that lay over the troublous waters of the

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ocean. Somewhere out on the Pacific lay thefleet of the Yellow Empire, waiting to strike.

The Palisade road near Santa Monica hadbeen dug clear of the earth that had been spilleddown by the exploding shells, yet few cars weremoving along it. The beach was deserted. Thethreat of attack had turned the popular shore intoa lonely, deserted stretch. Miles of white beachlay lonesome in the night.

High in the air, unseen, unheard, a darkform moved. It was a shadow crossing the sky. Itdrifted slowly, a U.S. Army blimp with itsmarkings disguised, its carriage lightless. Specialmufflers silenced the exhaust of its motors,diminished the sound of its propeller.

Inside the gondola, binoculars pressed to hiseyes, leaning to peer through a window, JimmyChristopher stood. Operator B-10 was besidehim, also scanning the strip of beach below. Withthem were John Christopher, Ex-Operator Q-6,and Tim Donovan; they too were using glasses,gazing down intently at the white-foaming surf.Two officers stood by for orders while the craftdrifted along the coast.

For a long hour it had patrolled the desertedbeaches, while the men in the cabin maintainedsilent sentry in the sky.

B-10 sighed. "It's like trying to find a certaingrain of sand on the beach."

"It's our only chance," Jimmy Christopheranswered gently.

The operator of the blimp's radio equipment,who had been sitting motionless before his panel,stirred and touched a button. The hum of a carrierwave came from a loudspeaker, and a voicespoke: "V-3 calling Craft S-78. Is there anyreport?"

The operator saw a wag of JimmyChristopher's head and spoke into a microphone:

"S-78 calling WQ. No report."At intervals during the past hour the same

interchange had taken place. As the minutescrept past, the voice of V-3 spoke the samequestion again; and each time the answer wasnegative. At the windows of the gondola the menscarcely moved, except to swing their binocularsover a wider stretch of the shore below.

The wave of Station WQ sounded again. "Aspecial report for Operator 5."

Jimmy Christopher touched a cam and theloudspeaker was disconnected. He fitted phones

to his ears, and when the voice of V-3 continued,no one save Jimmy Christopher could hear it.

"Operator 5, I have just been incommunication with Z-7, en route to Washington.He asked me to advise you of a serious newsituation arising here.

"We have had no reports from our operatorswithin the Yellow Empire for almost twenty-fourhours. It's possible that they are known to theYellow Espionage Office, and that they havebeen captured. If not that, then their means ofcommunication have almost certainly been cutoff."

"Yes?""This leaves us absolutely blind; working

under a terrific handicap. If our operators withinthe Yellow Empire have been uncovered, it isimperative to re-establish our secret posts atonce. It will have to be done from outside—a verydangerous task. Z-7 has ordered me to hold youin readiness for the emergency."

The carrier-wave hummed off.Jimmy Christopher stood in thought, his

fingers straying unconsciously to the tiny goldcharm of his watch-chain. He was aroused by B-10, who had lowered his glasses and turned fromthe window.

"Is that your good-luck piece, Jimmy?"Jimmy Christopher smiled slowly. "My bad-

luck piece," he answered. "I've been veryfortunate in my work so far, but some day myluck may change. If it ever does—"

His thumbnail touched a tiny hidden springon the golden skull. Though not the slightestcrack had been visible, a lid flew up, disclosing asilver pellet lying within a cavity in the death's-head. He lifted it gently, and rolled it between hisfingertips.

"This little sphere contains diphenyl-chlorasine," he explained softly. "It is a liquidwhich turns to vapor instantly on exposure to air—one of the deadliest poison gases known toscience. The shell is very fragile. A pinch of myfingers will crush it—a fall to the floor will splinterit. If I broke it now, every one of us in thisgondola would die—instantly!"

B-10 exclaimed: "Good Lord! Why do youtake the risk of carrying it?"

"It might be necessary to use it, if thereshould happen to be no other way out of a tightsituation," Operator 5 answered.

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"It would kill you too, as well as—""I would probably die first."Tim Donovan was gazing at Jimmy

Christopher wide-eyed. "Gosh, Jimmy, you'dnever do that, would you? Break that thing, and—"

"If it ever becomes necessary, Tim, I won'thesitate. That's why I always carry it with me."

Jimmy Christopher smiled. He gentlyreplaced the little sphere in its cavity, and clickedthe golden lid shut. His hand curled snugly aboutTim Donovan's arm. "Tim, boy—dying wouldn'tbe so bad, but—well, I want to stick around awhile you know, with you and Dad and Nanand—"

"And—somebody else, Jimmy?" TimDonovan asked in a curious whisper.

He nodded slowly. "Somebody else, Tim.There's somebody else now."

A sudden exclamation came from JohnChristopher. He bent closer to the window,peering through his binoculars. "Jimmy!Something down there, on the water!"

Operator 5 swung glasses to his eyes. At hisfather's shoulder, his muscles tightening, hepeered downward at the irregular, lapping edge ofthe water. He swept his glasses slowly.

"Notice those three lights forming a triangle.Directly off shore from them, on the water. Seeit?"

"I see it, Dad," Operator 5 answered slowly.On the blackness of the water he glimpsed a

movement—something glistening, riding with theswells, yet floating through them. Its shape wasuncertain, but behind it a trail of whitened waterwas left in a drifting wake. For a momentOperator 5 watched the strange thing in the watercourse shoreward.

"Lower above it!" he commanded over hisshoulder. "Report to V-3 'transport torpedosighted'!"

The muffled motors of the gliding baghummed smoothly. The craft dipped, coursingthrough a slow circle, swinging over the shore,then back again as Jimmy Christopher shiftedfrom window to window to watch the black shapeon the water below. No word was spoken in thegondola except the whispered report of thewireless operator at the microphone.

The porpoise-like object was still movingslowly toward the waterline. Jimmy Christopher'sglasses swept their circles of vision over thesurging black.

"Two of them! Three!" he exclaimed. "Andthere's a fourth!"

The white wakes betrayed the objectsfloating in slow parade toward the sands. Surfwashed over the first as it slowed, then stopped.A sudden foam of white at its sharp-pointed,vaned tail drove it higher onto the sand as a wavecarried it. It lay on the sand—a glistening, sleektorpedo.

The gondola dipped low, and JimmyChristopher watched alertly. A leaf on the upperside of the torpedo lifted quickly. From the hollowinterior a black form rose. It stood on the sand amoment, peering about. Bending, then, it drovethe torpedo out into the water. The surf splashedinto the exposed cavity; it sank from sight.

Now the three others, one after another,were slipping onto the beach. As each grounded,the same strange procedure followed. Blackforms lifted from inside them; the figures thrustthe torpedoes out into the water and wavesengulfed them. Now, on the otherwise desertedbeach, four men stood.

Jimmy Christopher saw guns glinting in theirhands as the soundless bag swung lower. Theyturned and moved together, walking away fromthe water. In the line of beach-houses which saton the sand, near the road, there was an emptygap, and into this they walked. They paused atthe pavement, waiting.

Jimmy Christopher uttered crisp orders whichsent the blimp swinging silently toward a point onthe opposite side of a fenced beach-house. Thefour men were still waiting when the gondoladipped and the cottage blotted them from sight.Jimmy Christopher was at the door as the baghovered low, almost at a standstill.

He leaped down. Tim Donovan was firstafter him. The Irish lad's face shone eagerly as B-10 and John Christopher followed. The blimphovered while they walked silently across thesand, to the corner of the fence. Peering past,Operator 5 glimpsed the four men, dark shadowsagainst the black of the road and the Palisadesbeyond.

He paused. "They're armed," he warned,"and dangerous. Last night they used poison gason three people who saw them." His hand

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reached inside a pocket hidden in the lining of hiscoat.

He brought out four squares of fine gauze;he moistened them with an oily liquid from a vial.He fastened one over his nose and mouth withtabs of adhesive, while the others complied.Once the improvised gas-masks were affixed,Jimmy Christopher's hand stole to his automaticand brought it level.

He signaled and led the way into the open.Tim Donovan kept at his one side, B-10 at theother. They were soundless shadows approachingthe spot where the four men stood. JimmyChristopher's hand shot out in a gesture ofcaution when he saw a dim light flash.

It came from an electric torch in the hand ofone of the four; it blinked a quick signal. At thesame time the hum of a motor came down theroad. Into sight swung a low-slung, heavy sedan.It decelerated quietly, and the four near the roadmoved toward it.

Jimmy Christopher sprang forward. Sandcrunched under his heels as he ran with TimDonovan matching step for step. The four darkfigures were herding outside an opened door ofthe big sedan. A few yards separated JimmyChristopher from the car when a guttural voiceexclaimed loudly. The man at the wheel shouted aquick warning.

Instantly the four whirled. A hand thrust outthe front window. A glistening object whistledthrough the air—a teardrop-shaped glass bulbthat flashed toward the sand and shattered with adull reverberation. Like magic a swell of whitevapor exploded to enormous volume, blottingaway for an instant all sight of the car and thepassengers of the torpedoes.

A muffled cry of warning sang from JimmyChristopher's lips as he dashed closer. Two moredull crashes sounded; two more gas-shells flewto bits on the sand. The blinding fumes became asticky, baffling cloud from which throaty criessounded. Into the midst of it Jimmy Christopherleaped as the engine of the sedan snarled.

He sprang to the running-board, scarcelydaring to breathe, scarcely daring to trust themakeshift gas-mask which covered his mouth andnose. Through the swirling mist he glimpsedhuddled figures within the body of the sedan.Three men were already inside; the fourth wasfollowing. A dome light was burning, casting aghostly glare over their faces. In the fog glittered

quick reflections on metal as the four turned theirautomatics.

Blasting reports blended in a fierce attack.Bullets spanged through the open door. Frombehind Operator 5 came the alarmed shouts of B-10 and John Christopher. A slug slashed throughthe fabric of Tim Donovan's cap; he whirledaside, with a sob. He saw Jimmy Christopher'svague figure moving swiftly, close beside theopen door.

"Jimmy—look out!"Operator 5's hand gripped the arm of the

fourth man, and his fingers pressed hard to anerve-cord. A sharp cry of rage answered andthe supple-muscled figure whirled. A hard-grippedautomatic slashed through a semi-circle. Caughtoff balance Jimmy Christopher lost his hold on theslippery arm. The gun cracked hard against theside of his face.

Tim Donovan saw him lurch aside, stunned.He saw the yellow-faced man thrusting theglittering automatic straight toward Operator 5'shead. The tough little Irish lad sobbed as heleaped forward, arms out-thrust. He struck downat the gun desperately. It blasted once, and thebullet slammed against the metal of the running-board. Frantically Tim Donovan drove his fiststoward the yellow, evil face.

Jimmy Christopher lurched back through theeye-stinging mass of white vapor. The motion ofthe car hurled him away. Through the door, stillopen, the automatics blasted again. The yellowman who had fired ducked back to escape theflying fists of Tim Donovan. The boy made adesperate attempt to save Jimmy Christopherfrom the spinning fall. His hands gripped clothing,and were torn off instantly. He instinctively hungto the door of the sedan as a fresh burst of powercame from the motor, and the wheels spun.

Unreasoning rage flung Tim Donovan intothe body of the sedan, toward the Yellow manwho had struck Operator 5. The Yellow man hadwhirled again and turned his gun on the Irish boy.A single, sharp report sounded. Tim Donovan felta tug at his left arm, a sensation like a sharppinch. Stunned, he felt warm blood trickle to hiselbow; he sprawled forward.

Claw-like hands fastened on him as hefought, dazedly, to rise. He was thrust down,held motionless. The car was rushing now, itsengine singing with power. Wind whipped inthrough the opened windows. Above Tim

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Donovan guns spat and, from far behind, camethe snap of answering reports.

One swift moment, and the gun-fire stopped.Then came no sound save the humming of themotor of the sedan, and the rushing of the wind.Tim Donovan lay face downward, pinioned. Hesquirmed a protest, and fingers bit again into hisflesh, forcing him to submission. Tears streamedfrom his eyes; burning pain coursed from hiswounded arm. He blinked once at his own fistwhich was pressed to the floor of the car in frontof him.

Dimly he saw a slender golden chain trailingthrough his fingers. He opened his handstandperceived the thing he held—a tiny golden skull—a death's head—that peered at him with red-flashing eyes. Unconsciously, when trying tosave Jimmy Christopher from the attack, he hadgripped the watch-chain and torn it loose.

His mind whirled, and tears of rage blindedhim. A sob choked past his lips—and his fingersclosed hard over the glittering, golden skull.

CHAPTER TEN Pellet of Doom

Into the deep gloom of the deserted beachroad the fleeing sedan, its path marked by the redspot of its taillight.

Jimmy Christopher's automatic spat its lastslug. He turned, and in the mist saw Operator B-10 and John Christopher aiming to fire again. Hesprang past them, out of the drifting vapor, andcalled: "It's out of range! Stay with me!"

Above the dark beach-house the floating bagof the Army blimp was a black cloud. He sprintedtoward the swaying gondola as Carl Elliot andJohn Christopher hurried after him. A rope-ladderwas trailing over the sand. Jimmy Christopherseized it and climbed.

He heaved through the gondola door,glanced down to see his father and B-10 ladderingup and snapped orders at the officers. "Followthat sedan! Keep it in sight!"

John Christopher was crawling into thegondola, and B-10 was still clinging to the ladder,when the engines of the craft surged out suddenpower. The bag lifted, driven into a swift semi-circle by the drive of the flashing propellers.

Jimmy Christopher hooked hands under B-10'sarms and helped him into the gondola; heslammed the door, peering down as the blimpshot over the shore road.

"That's it ahead—the red light! It's turningonto Ocean Avenue. Watch it!"

He clicked the empty clip out of hisautomatic, substituting a full one, as he steppedclose to the radio operator. "Signal V-3!"

John Christopher's hand gripped his son'sarm. "Jimmy—where's Tim?"

"In that car! They've got him!"A moan came from the lips of ex-Operator

Q-6. He peered down at black streets passingbeneath the blimp. In the spread of darkness wasa shine of light—headlights shafting ahead of aswiftly moving car. Jimmy Christopher pressedbeside him, watching it. "That's the car!"

From the radio operator: "V-3!" Operator 5turned quickly to the microphone. "Reporting fromCraft S-78. Four passenger torpedoes just cameashore, carrying four Yellow agents. That meansthere's a Yellow submarine lying off the coast—possibly the Neptune. Signal a search!"

He turned from the microphone quickly,leaving the officer at the radio to communicatefurther details to the Pacific Intelligence chief.The blimp was rising higher above Santa Monica.Black masses of buildings, lightless because ofthe wide-spread fear of another navalbombardment, were floating below.

The shafting headlights of the speedingsedan were still visible. The officer behind JimmyChristopher spoke quickly. "It's following OceanAvenue, but it's going to turn. There—it'sswinging into San Vincente. It's going to be adevil of a job, following it! We can't hope to equalits speed."

"Then rise higher and keep it in sight as longas possible!"

Again Jimmy Christopher brought binocularsto his eyes. As the bag tilted to ascend, the redlight glimmered brightly through his lenses. Thesedan was traveling swiftly over the boulevard;the blimp was circling to follow. Ahead lay vastdarkness that threatened to engulf the car.

Jimmy Christopher's lips tightened. Thesedan was gaining, driving swiftly inland.Motionless except for the slight shifting of thebinoculars, he kept in sight the red star flashingthrough the blackness below.

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On the vibrating floor of the speeding sedan,Tim Donovan lay, still pinioned by the sharp-nailed hands of the Yellow man. The roar of thepowerful motor drummed in his ears, muffling theguttural voices of the four men. He wasconscious of quick turns when the sedan lurchedand the tires whined. He could see nothingthrough his bleared eyes save the glittering,golden strand trailing through the fingers of hisclenched fist.

It seemed an endless ride to Tim Donovan.When at last the car slowed, he sensed thatlonesome country spread all around. There wasanother turn, and the wheels of the sedan grittedover loose gravel. Presently he felt the brakestake hold and the car stopped.

Feet moved around him. The handstightened on him; he was dragged across themat, and lifted out. As he was forced to his feetand dragged across a grassy slope, he saw awhite building loom out of the gloom. Its marblecolumns shone with a ghostly glow, and an eeriesilence blanketed it. Tim Donovan could read, ashe was hurried closer to it, words carved above arearing arch:

ETERNAL LIGHT MAUSOLEUM

His small fists still clenched the tiny goldenskull. He twisted back once to peer into the skybefore the portico blotted it away. He glimpsednothing but black emptiness before a metal doorground on heavy hinges, and he was thrust intodeeper darkness.

Behind him the entrance swung tightly shut.A faint glow shone through the colored glass ofarched windows. A ringing silence pervaded theinterior of the mausoleum, a silence that held forlong moments until heels clicked on the marblefloor.

Then light appeared as another door wasswung open. In the ghostly luminescence TimDonovan perceived white statues standing likefrozen ghosts. Behind them reared a marble wallpatterned with the bronze doors of rows of crypts.Nameplates glistened dimly. Tim Donovan's eyeswidened as he peered around, as he realized thathe was within a house of the dead. He waspushed on, and again a door thudded behind him.

A quick muttering of guttural voices echoedwithin the cold room. Released, Tim Donovan's

right hand sought the injury in his left arm. The fistthat clenched the golden skull of JimmyChristopher was reddened with sticky blood. Thetough little Irish lad's jaw clenched hard with thethrobbing pain that filled him. He peered defiantlyinto the saffron, evil faces of the four who hadbrought him as their voices shrilled excitedly.

Abruptly, from behind Tim Donovan, awoman's voice spoke, silencing the others. Thefour turned, made gestures of respectfulobeisance, and peered toward another doorthrough which light was shafting brightly.

Turning, Tim Donovan saw the woman. Shewas standing in the light, her slender bodysilhouetted, her eyes glittering in the glowreflected from the marble walls. Her gaze shiftedsharply to the Irish boy. She took slow stepstoward him—slow, gliding steps that remindedTim Donovan of the stalking of a beast.

The woman's red lips worked evilly as sheasked in a tone of merciless coldness: "Who isthis?"

Immediately another burst of the strangetongue blurted from the lips of the four. Thewoman did not move; she continued to gaze atTim Donovan. There was no sign that she heard,except that her scarlet mouth turned into a slow,cruel smile. She gave a signal that broughtsilence, and said throatily: "It is good. He will beglad to hear what we have to say, comrades.Take him in!"

She turned quickly, and strode into thebrighter light beyond the door through which shehad entered. Again the hands seized TimDonovan's arms. He grimaced with pain as hewas thrust forward, through the door, and jerkedto a standstill. Again blinking, he peered around,at walls checkered with the bronze doors ofclosed crypts.

The woman had gone to the end of a longtable; she was standing erect, her eyes fixedupon the boy. At her right and left men sat—menwhose faces were expressionless masks, whoseeyes glittered darkly. One of the four closed theheavy metal door, and with its click it seemed toTim Donovan that the world was shut far away.

The woman said slowly, "We will speak inEnglish, so that he may understand."

One of the parchment-faced men assented:"It is as you wish, Kara Vizna."

"It pleases me that he will understand—before he dies. I know of this boy. He is a dear

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friend of the man known as Operator 5—of theman whose fate we are deciding tonight.Perhaps, when he hears what we have to say,he may talk."

Tim Donovan's jaw squared pugnaciously."You can't make me say anything—no matterwhat you do to me!"

The merciless light in Kara Vizna's eyes didnot change. Her gaze was a frigid shaft upon TimDonovan. He returned it without flinching, yet hefelt a coldness gathering around his heart.

Kara Vizna spoke to the four without turningher beautiful, implacable face from Tim Donovan."You were seen coming ashore, and you arepositive that the gas did not kill the men who triedto capture you?"

"Yes.""You are sure one of these men was

Operator 5?""He could be no other, Kara Vizna.""Then," she said slowly, "he lived—past

midnight.""Unfortunately."The woman's tapering hands curled into

tight, white fists; she pressed them hard upon thetable.

"We are here tonight for one supremepurpose, a purpose that must be accomplished atthe soonest possible moment, at any cost. Thatis the death of Operator 5! The strategy of theYellow Empire is complete, save for the executionof Operator 5. His death is more important thanall other plans. He is the most dangerous threatwe face. He must—he will die!"

The woman seated herself. She continuedto gaze at Tim Donovan as she spoke; and hermouth formed into a merciless smile.

"Look at him," she said. "See the fear in hiseyes. He is afraid—afraid for Operator 5. He hasheard doom pronounced upon his friend. Itpleases me to watch him suffer."

Tim Donovan blurted frantically: "You'recrazy if you think you can even touch him!"

Kara Vizna's answer was slow anddeliberate: "His death, I promise you, isinevitable. It is written in the Book of theHeavens. He is doomed."

Tim Donovan stood motionless. Within themoist palm of his left hand he felt the smoothhardness of Jimmy Christopher's death-charm.

His heart began to beat swiftly, heavily. His eyesclung with fearful fascination to those of KaraVizna.

"Yesterday," she said softly, speaking to themen at the table, "our secret agent Xaros,shadowing signal corps repairmen, succeeded indiscovering the wires which lead to the secretheadquarters of the American Intelligence in LosAngeles. Xaros, working carefully last night, wasable to tap the special line. We already know allthe details of the U.S. Code XVII which is usedbetween Washington and Los Angeles by theAmerican Intelligence."

"Yes, Kara Vizna.""I have supplied Xaros with a message,

written in Code XVII, addressed to Operator 5,and before dawn he will send it. Operator 5 willnot suspect that it has come from any source butWashington. He will obey the orders withoutquestion. Obeying them, he will die."

Tim Donovan's throat tightened. His hot fistclamped about the golden skull as his breathcame faster.

"His orders will direct him to investigatesuspicious circumstances surrounding a certainhouse at Malibu beach. He will be told that it isthought to be a rendezvous of Kara Vizna. He willgo to it promptly, you may rest assured—and in ithe will meet his death."

There was silence around the table. TimDonovan placed his hands slowly behind his back.The movement brought a throb of pain into his leftarm; his fingers were stiff as he opened them.Carefully he felt of the smoothness of the goldencharm. His thumbnail pressed the metal as hesearched for the hidden spring.

Kara Vizna's voice continued, each syllableringing. "His orders will bring him to the housealone, and once he passes its door there will beno escape for him. You will be lying in wait—all ofyou. You will riddle him with bullets until no dropof blood remains in his body. You will dig out hisheart with the sharp blades of knives, then youwill carry him to the water, and hurl him into it,and know that the fish of the sea will prey on him."

"Yes, Kara Vizna.""You will bring his heart to me in a glass

vessel—you will say to me, 'This, Kara Vizna, isthe dead heart of Operator 5'."

"Yes, Kara Vizna," the men chanted.

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"And I will send it to the Yellow Emperor,saying in my message, 'Kara Vizna has againtriumphed'!"

Tim Donovan scarcely breathed. The spell ofthe woman's eyes chilled him to the marrow, sothat even his numbed fingers ceased for amoment to search for the hidden spring in the littlegolden skull.

Kara Vizna rose slowly, still gazing at thelittle Irish lad. She moved with slow, gliding stepstoward him. As she reached the closer end of thetable, she extended one white hand, and uttered asharp command in the Yellow tongue.

One of the men answered with a movementthat brought into the light, from a hidden sheath,a narrow-bladed knife. Kara Vizna's slenderfingers tightened about its hilt. Again, with slowsteps, she glided toward Tim Donovan.

Another snapped command brought twoYellow men springing from their chairs. Theyrushed upon Tim Donovan; they seized hisshoulders, and pressed him back. The coldnessof the marble wall penetrated his coat and chilledhis blood as he was pinioned against it. Squarelyfacing him stood Kara Vizna, the slender-bladedknife glittering in her alabaster hand.

A sob broke through Tim Donovan's lips.Unseen by the Yellow men who held him hefumbled again with the golden skull. Desperatelyhe sought the spring which would release thepellet of death into his fingers. The hard, goldenshell still imprisoned it as Kara Vizna advanced.

Suddenly she turned the knife. It flashedtoward Tim Donovan's chest. Breath locked hotlyin his lungs as its needle-point came to restagainst him, directly over his heart.

The woman's voice was an almost inaudiblepurr.

"Operator 5 will join you in death before thedawn shines over the sea."

The sharp point of the blade parted the fabricof Tim Donovan's shirt; he felt its coldness eatinto his skin. He peered with horror-strickenfascination into the dark, smoldering eyes of KaraVizna eyes coming closer and closer, shiningwith a promise of doom.

Frantically Tim Donovan sought the elusivespring. His mind was ringing—ringing withremembered words that Jimmy Christopher hadspoken: "My bad-luck piece . . . One of thedeadliest gases known to science"

At that instant he felt one tip of a goldencrossbone shift. He felt the flick of the littlegolden cap. He felt a round pellet roll into hisfingers. His lips pressed hard as he peered intothe eyes of Kar Vizna. And again he seemed tohear Operator 5's voice ringing in his ears: "Apinch of my fingers will crush it, and I would diefirst. . . "

Between the trembling fingertips of TimDonovan the little pellet rested. Tim Donovanblurted: "You aren't going to hurt Jimmy! I'm notgoing to let you touch him!"

His numbed fingertips pressed on the shell.His eyes closed tight. A sob sank into his lungs.Silently he cried: "Jimmy—Jimmy! So-long,Jimmy—!"

The blade pressed harder to his body.Now!Suddenly guttural exclamation sounded in

Tim Donovan's ringing ears. A gasped word camefrom the woman. Quick movements followed.The piercing coldness of the razor-edged bladeleft Tim Donovan's chest.

His eyelids flew up. He saw that Kara Viznahad turned away; that the men had whirled, andwere peering at the metal door of the marbleroom. Through the hush came sounds fromabove. A crashing of glass, the sharp report ofan exploding gun, a shrill cry of pain.

Kara Vizna uttered orders sharply. TheYellow agents sprang toward the metal door andflung it open. A gun blasted again. Mutteringcries followed. Heels clicked upon marbleflooring, feet rattled down the steps. A voiceshouted, "Follow him!"

Tim Donovan's heart leaped. "Jimmy!"In the numb fingers hidden behind his back

he still held the tiny silver pellet of death—unbroken.

"Jimmy!"Kara Vizna whirled toward the door. She

cried commands that sent the Yellow agents flyingthrough it. At the same instant another manappeared beyond, his eyes shining with terror.He shouted something which became lost in theclattering echoes of another shot above.

Quick steps took Kara Vizna to the door.Her small hands thrust it shut upon her agentswho had dashed through. She clicked a latch inplace. Her slender finger touched a switch thatbrought thick darkness.

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Tim Donovan crouched low, bringing hishands in front of him. He dared not attempt toreturn the fragile shell to its receptacle in thegolden skull in the darkness. He closed a handover it gently.

Beyond the metal door shots blasted. TimDonovan heard, from close at hand, a swiftrustling; then a dull, metallic thud. He groped intothe room. His throat tightened as he heard JimmyChristopher's voice again, as his one handtouched cold marble and crept toward the metaldoor. His fingers sought the heavy latch andfound it.

Halfway down the marble stairs JimmyChristopher dropped to a crouch. His automaticbarked at the darting figures of the Yellow men inthe room below. Shrill cries mixed with theechoing of the explosions. He sprang again,closer to the guns in the Yellow hands.

B-10 ran after him. John Christopher gave aleap that sent him over the marble railing, downinto a corner below. His gun spat as his feetslapped against the floor. A Yellow agentscreamed and fell as he sprang toward Operator5.

Gusting powder-smoke, clashing echoes,filled the room. Slugs spatted against the marblewalls and chips flew. Jimmy Christopher led theway toward the corner in which the Yellow menwere backed. Four lay on the floor amid splashesof red; three attacked with the fury of trappedrats.

Jimmy Christopher heard his automatic clickupon an empty chamber. Shots blasted on bothsides of him as his hand plucked at the buckle ofhis belt. In the glow flashed the supple blade ofhis rapier. He sprang nimbly as the steelwhipped.

A gun dropped out of a lashed Yellow wrist.The needle-like blade sank, then whipped higher.Twice Jimmy Christopher lunged, quicklyrecovering. He paused, his blade weaving,whipping from wall to wall, peering down athuddled bodies. Behind him guns blasted again.

B-10 shouted: "Got 'em!"Jimmy Christopher turned as he heard a

moan behind him. His father was standing withsagging shoulders, gun lowered, face gray, onehand clutched over his heart. He dropped hisrapier and gripped John Christopher's shoulders."Dad!"

"I—I'm all right, Jimmy," John Christophermumbled. "My heart—hurts a little, that's all."

"Dad—you shouldn't have come in here withus! You took a terrible risk!"

John Christopher straightened himself withan effort. His eyes shone brightly into his son's."No greater risk than you took, Jimmy."

A metallic click turned Operator 5's headquickly. In the side wall a door was opening.Behind it appeared the face of Tim Donovan. Hiseyes were wide, his lips parted. He shoulderedthrough, his one arm dangling uselessly, his fistclenched.

"Tim!"Jimmy Christopher flung arms around the

tough little Irish lad. Tim Donovan clung to him,sobbing. He asked anxiously: "Tim—you'rehurt—your arm!"

"It doesn't hurt!" Tim Donovan blurted."Jimmy—in there. That woman—Kara Vizna!"

Jimmy Christopher sprang up. His hand rosegripping the hilt of the rapier. Fast steps took himto the door. He paused, peered into thedarkness beyond—and stepped through.

There was silence. . . He moved asidequickly. In the dim light, reflecting through thedoorway, he saw no movement, nothing saveemptiness. His fingers stroked the light-switch,and a brilliant shine filled the room.

Emptiness. Kara Vizna was gone."Outside, Carl! Look for her!"Operator 5 moved swiftly to the bronze doors

of the crypts in the wall. He tried one afteranother, finding each one tightly sealed. Hepaused, peering around grimly; but his facesoftened when he saw Tim Donovan standing inthe doorway.

"Gosh, Jimmy! I thought I'd never see youagain!”

Operator 5 came to the little Irish lad quickly."We had a tough time following the car in theblimp, Tim. Lost it once, then picked it up. Wecame down and found this place guarded like afort."

Tim Donovan blurted: "She talked aboutkilling you, Jimmy, till I couldn't stand it! I wasn'tgoing to let her do that. I—I was just going tobreak it, Jimmy!"

He extended his moist palm, and the littlesilver sphere of death lay on it. Jimmy

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Christopher's eyes shone with a startled light. Hetook up the pellet gently. He returned it to thecavity inside the golden skull—and dropped theskull into his pocket. He looked at Tim Donovansolemnly.

"You were going to use it, Tim—to save me,even though you knew it would kill you too?"

"I wasn't going to let 'em touch you, Jimmy!"Operator 5's arm crept across the Irish lad's

shoulder. His throat tightened. "I'm glad youdidn't, old-timer. I'm glad you didn't do that."

CHAPTER ELEVEN Wings Over the Pacific

A heavy pre-dawn darkness lay over thealmost lightless city of Los Angeles when JimmyChristopher and Carl Elliot entered the building onOlive Street in which Secret Headquarters PL waslocated.

Operator 5 had made a quick search of theisolated mausoleum without finding a trace ofKara Vizna; he had been forced to accept theunpleasant truth that again she had eluded him.When other operators had appeared to relievehim of the search, following his report by wirelessto V-3 from the gondola of the army blimp, hehad returned by air to the Glendale field.

John Christopher had been weakened by thenervous strain of the night's encounter, andOperator 5 had insisted that he return to his hotel.Jimmy Christopher, having received orders fromV-3 to report to Headquarters PL, had waited longenough to see that Tim Donovan's wounded armwas dressed. Now, with B-10, he was reporting.

The girl at the secretarial desk in the outeroffice rose as they entered. "V-3 didn't expect youquite so soon—he's stepped out," she told them."Please wait, and I'll call him."

Jimmy Christopher followed Carl Elliot intothe room beyond. B-10 sank wearily into a chair,wagging his head. There was silence until thedoor of the teletype room opened and the shirt-sleeved assistant to V-3 entered. He left a yellowsheet on the Pacific chief's desk, and went outagain.

Jimmy Christopher stepped close to read themessage.

...RPT W-4, SAN FRANCISCO... YELLOWAGENT KARA VIZNA KNOWN IN HOLLYWOOD ASMERTE NOIRE... REFLECTS DOUBTFULLY ONOUR OPERATOR B-10. . . B-10 KNOWN TO HAVEBEEN FRIENDLY WITH MERTE NOIRE... GRAVELYSUSPICIOUS CIRCUMSTANCES. . . ARREST B-10AT ONCE PENDING INVESTIGATION. . . K-2, SANFRANCISCO. . . .

Jimmy Christopher's breath stopped. Heglanced quickly at Carl Elliot, who was still sittingwith head bowed. His hand hovered over themessage.

"Carl," he said softly.Elliot looked up. "Yes.""Your sister, Diane, means a great deal to

you, doesn't she?""Everything in the world, Jimmy.""And you," Jimmy Christopher said slowly,

"mean everything in the world to her."Elliot smiled. "I've tried to make her proud of

me."Again there was silence, while Jimmy

Christopher peered at B-10. Into the quiet camethe sound of a quick step, a click of a latchbeyond the partition. A voice carried in: "Thechief is waiting for you, Operator 5."

Swiftly Jimmy Christopher's hand closed overthe message from San Francisco, crumpling it.The door opened as he thrust it deep into hispocket. V-3 strode in briskly.

B-10 and Operator 5 gripped the Pacificchief's hand. Jimmy Christopher left the waddedmessage in his pocket. V-3 turned to the deskquickly, picked up several other messages whichhad come in during his absence, shoved themaside, and gazed fixedly at Operator 5.

"I've called you here," he said levelly, "toexecute the most important orders that have yetbeen handed you. They're dangerous—highlydangerous—and yet there is no other man we cantrust with the mission."

"What is it, Chief?"V-3 slipped from a desk drawer a sheet

covered with pasted teletype strips, and handed itto Jimmy Christopher.

"This," he said, "is the first word that hascome to us from our undercover agents in theYellow Empire since communication wassuspended. It was received by wireless at San

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Francisco, from one of our secret radio stationsand relayed here. It tells its own story. Read it!"

Jimmy Christopher read rapidly.

. . . REPORT FROM S-9 STATIONED AHABYELLOW EMPIRE... IMMEDIATELY WARDECLARED YELLOW FORCES SEIZED ALL U.S.INTELLIGENCE MEN WITHIN EMPIRE . . . FOURKILLED. . .OTHERS MISSING. . .I MANAGED TOESCAPE WOUNDED NOW UNDER COVER ATTHIS STATION . . . MAY BE DISCOVERED ANYMOMENT. . .HIGHLY IMPORTANT INFORMATIONFOLLOWS. . . ENTIRE PORT OF AGUSKO UNDERGUARD . . . APPROACH IMPOSSIBLE EXCEPT TOKNOWN OFFICERS OF YELLOW FLEET. . .TENCRUISERS OF YELLOW FLEET DISGUISED AS US SHIPS IN THIS HARBOR DEFINITELY THOSEWHICH SHELLED DUTCH AND ENGLISHMERCHANTMEN NOW AWAITING FURTHERORDERS... STRUCTURAL PECULIARITIESIDENTIFY THEM BEYOND DOUBT AS YELLOWSHIPS BUT OTHERWISE APPEARANCE OF U.S.SHIPS CLEVERLY COUNTERFEITED . . . ALLNEWLY BUILT, ONE RECENTLY CONSTRUCTEDKORA . . . PROOF OF THIS WILL AVERT CRISISBETWEEN WORLD POWERS AND U.S. But. . . .

The message ended abruptly. JimmyChristopher's eyes shifted alertly to those of V-3.

"It's very possible," the Pacific chief saidgravely, "that S-9 was discovered sending thereport by Yellow agents. If so he is dead and thewireless station has been destroyed. Our lastmeans of communication within the YellowEmpire is lost."

The telephone chattered. V-3 took up theinstrument and, after an interchange of signals,listened intently. His forehead furrowed; hemuttered exclamations. When he replaced theinstrument his lips pressed firmly.

"Report from the operators searching themausoleum," he informed Operator 5. "Almostall the crypts have been broken open. Inside themare stores of bombs—high-explosive, poison-gasbombs, incendiary machines as well as culturesof deadly germs. The building is an arsenal!"

"Kara Vizna—?""One of the crypts opened into an

underground room. From it a tunnel led outside.Kara Vizna provided herself with another escape!The devil, she—"

V-3 broke off in wordless fury. Then he saidquietly: "I have here a long message from Z-7

who is still flying toward Washington. I informedhim by wireless of S-9's report, and his answer isthese orders.

"Pending the message of the President tothe European ambassadors, we must make adesperate attempt to establish incontestable proofthat the cruisers which shelled the merchant shipsare not U.S. ships. Unless we do, the crisiswhich has risen between the European powersand the United States may precipitate adeclaration of war. If the declaration comes, it willbe too late for proof. The proof must come first.

"The task of obtaining that proof, Operator 5,rests entirely in your hands."

Jimmy Christopher listened silently."This, then, is the plan evolved by Z-7,

preparations for which are under way at thismoment. At Crissy Field, in San Francisco,fourteen special Martin bombers are being madeready. They are being provided with a capacityfor fuel great enough to carry them across theocean to the shores of the Yellow Empire."

"A flight across the Pacific!""Exactly. It is a foregone conclusion that

only a few of the fourteen super-bombers willcover the entire distance. Some of them willinevitably fall. It means certain death for most ofthe pilots who attempt the flight, yet the sacrificeis necessary."

"I will accompany this flight, V-3?" JimmyChristopher asked quietly.

"You will lead the flight, Operator 5. We aredepending on you as we can depend upon noother operator in the Intelligence Service.Included in the two flights, of seven super-bombers each, will be several photographicships. Their equipment is of the most advanceddesign, and their cameras will be able, ifnecessary, to pierce smoke-screens by utilizinginfra-red rays. It is our intention, however, totime the flight so that the flotilla arrives at Aguskoat night.

"Several other planes will be provided withflashlight bombs in their racks. Every provisionwill be taken so that, if it is humanly possible,photographs will be obtained of the disguisedships lying in the harbor of Agusko. Thesephotographs must prove that the ships are not inreality U.S. cruisers, but part of the Yellow fleet.

"Assuming that the photographic planesreach Agusko, the making of these pictures willbe hazardous in the extreme. It is known that the

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port is heavily protected by anti-aircraft batterieswhich will certainly attack. Once the photographsare taken, if the attempt is successful, there willfollow the almost insurmountable problem ofreturning the films to the United States.

"Our undertaking is not simply a non-stopflight across the Pacific to the Yellow Empire,Operator 5—it is a non-stop round-trip flight!

"This can be accomplished, we hope, byprovisions for refueling. One of the two flights ofseven super-bombers each will carry noarmament. Their entire load-capacity will begiven over to fuel. Once the flotilla flies near theYellow Empire, it will land upon the water. Theone flight will refuel the second for the remainderof the journey."

Operator 5 leaned forward tensely. "It meansthat at least half the bombers will necessarily beabandoned on the high seas—with their pilots!"

V-3 nodded gravely. "There is no other way.Already, in spite of the certain destruction facingthese men, we have volunteers for the detail ingreater number than we have planes to be flown.To get back to our preparations: Once a flight isrefueled, the trip toward the Yellow Empire will beresumed. It will consist of the photographic ships,and planes carrying heavy loads of bombs.

"After the photographs are taken, theexplosive-carrying bombers will attempt to sinkthe counterfeit ships while the camera planesbegin their return hop. Their supply of fuel shouldcarry them, barring accident, almost to the PacificCoast of the United States. Radio communicationwith our air-fields here will be maintainedconstantly. At the proper moment, depending onyour signal, Operator 5, another flotilla will takeoff, flying westward, to meet the returning cameraships.

"Again, somewhere on the high seas, theprocess of refueling will take place. Once thatpoint in the journey is reached, the possibility of asuccessful return, with the films, is far greaterthan before. But until that point is reached, therewill be steadily increasing peril every foot of theway.

"The flotilla will fly under your orders,Operator 5. You will direct all maneuvers. It willbe your task first to obtain, then to return to thiscountry, the photographs which will prove beyondall doubt the treacherous strategy of the YellowEmpire in using ships camouflaged as U.S.cruisers."

Jimmy Christopher asked: "If I don't getthrough—?"

V-3 answered: "As a precaution, we willsend a second operator with you. Should you bestopped, somehow, it will then devolve on him toobtain and return the photographs. I have not yetselected the man—for a terrific responsibility willrest on his shoulders in case you are preventedfrom carrying out your orders."

"May I suggest the man to go with me,Chief?"

"Certainly.""B-10."Carl Elliot had been listening intently; now

he sprang to his feet."Good Lord! You can't mean that, Jimmy!""I mean it, Chief," Operator 5 answered

quietly. "B-10 is my choice." His hand, thrust intohis pocket, closed over the teletyped messageordering the arrest of Carl Elliot. "I consider himthe man for the job!"

He could not put into words the thoughtslying deep in his clouded blue eyes. "I choose B-10 for this task," he might have said, "because, ifhe succeeds, there will be no possible doubt ofhis faith to the Intelligence service or of hisintegrity as a secret operator. And because, if hefails, it will be far better than the disgrace whichfaces him now."

V-3 hesitated, during a moment of silence,then nodded. "Very well. B-10 will fly with you."

Carl Elliot's eyes sparkled as he peered atJimmy Christopher. "Say—thanks! I—I know it'sa terrific responsibility, pinch-hitting for you,Jimmy—but I'll do my best!"

Operator 5 said quietly: "I know you will,Carl."

V-3 rose. "The fourteen Martin super-bombers, all convertible amphibians, are of anadvanced type never before used. They are nowbeing made ready on Crissy Field. We hope thatthe take-off can be made soon after dark tonight.In the meantime, our plans will be perfected.

"I will discuss them with you minutely,supplying you with all possible data and maps,prepared under the direction of the Chief of NavalAeronautics, Rear Admiral Ledyard. By the timeyou are ready to leave here for San Francisco, Z-7 will have arrived in Washington, and I'll havebeen in touch with him. Now—

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"Neither of you has slept tonight. Once thisflight begins, there will be no such thing as sleep.You've got to rest, both of you. Come back here,at say, three this afternoon."

Jimmy Christopher grasped V-3's gnarledhand. Carl Elliot linked arms with him as they leftthe secret Intelligence Headquarters. B-10's voicerang eagerly.

"Jimmy, I—I'm damned proud to be goingwith you!"

Jimmy Christopher was solemn as theywaited for the elevator cage. "Better not tell Dianeall about it, Carl."

Elliot nodded slowly. "I know. No, I won't tellthe real risk. But whatever happens, Jimmy—she'll be glad."

Jimmy Christopher's hand was still thrust inhis pocket, still closed tightly about the wall ofyellow paper. Before his eyes danced themocking black words he had read upon it— "B-10. . . to be arrested at once . . ." His fingerstightened on the crumpled sheet and he smiled.

"She'll be glad," he said quietly.At a few minutes before three p.m., Carleton

Victor, smartly dressed, stepped from his superbliving-room into the vestibule of his hotel suite.He glanced back at the cool face of his valet,Crowe.

"I shall be absent indefinitely, Crowe," hesaid. "And your instructions are—not to worryabout me."

"Really sir?""If a week passes, and I don't return, Crowe,

I suggest that you pack and return to New Yorkwithout me."

"Without you, sir?" Crowe looked startled. "Ishouldn't think of doing it, sir, unless—"

"And if," Carleton Victor continued soberly,"after a month I do not return at all, I suggest thatyou look for another position, Crowe. You will findletters of recommendation in the center drawer ofmy desk in New York."

"Why, sir," Crowe protested. "You startleme. Is something apt to happen to you, sir? Is itsuch a dangerous undertaking—making photo-graphs?"

"In some cases, Crowe," Carleton Victorreplied, smiling quietly, "it is not the safestoccupation in the world."

He left the amazing manservant standingbewildered at the door. His swift roadster carriedhim to Olive street. Carleton Victor stepped out ofthe elevator high above the thoroughfare; andJimmy Christopher had entered SecretIntelligence Headquarters PL.

Three hours later, he sat hunched at a desk,shoulder to shoulder with B-10, facing V-3 acrossa spread of carefully drawn and scaled aerialnavigation maps. No detail had been leftundiscussed. They had talked rapidly, quietly,planning the flight of the flotilla across the Pacific.

"The devilish thing about it," V-3 declared,settling back wearily in his chair, "is that there areno possible emergency stopping-places betweenour coast and the Yellow Empire . . ."

Jimmy Christopher nodded. It was in theminds of all of them that upon that flight and themen controlling it rested the fate of a nation.They gazed at each other silently.

The Pacific chief of the Intelligence saidquietly, "The plane waiting for you at Glendalenow will carry you directly to Crissy Field. You willimmediately assume command of the flotilla,Operator 5."

The telephone jangled. V-3 took it up. Hisface lighted; quickly he touched a cam whichthrew into the circuit a frequency-distorter.Hidden in the desk, the vacuum-valve devicefunctioned to make eavesdropping over the lineimpossible. He said, as he touched the tiny lever,"Z-7 calling from Washington."

He listened. "Yes, Operator 5 is here. He isabout to leave for Crissy Field. Plans areperfected . . . Certainly."

He passed the telephone to JimmyChristopher.

"I have just come from a conference with thePresident," the Washington chief informedOperator 5. "I have turned over to him the codesof Kara Vizna, and he has arranged a meeting ofthe European ambassadors. The meeting is insession now. We are hoping for areestablishment of friendly relations, although thesituation is most threatening—and we'redepending on you to save us from an open breakwhich would be disastrous. But such a break isinevitable if proof of the duplicity of the YellowWar Office does not come through."

"I'll do my best, Chief.""Most dangerous of all is the threat to the

Panama Canal. Our secret agents in Mexico have

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advised us of the capture of several Yellow spieson the Isthmus. More Yellow troops are marchingtoward it from the south. The Atlantic Fleet of theUnited States Navy is under full steam to joinAdmiral Neasham in the Pacific. But if the Yellowforces succeed in destroying the canal, the waywill be blocked and it will mean inevitable defeaton the Pacific.

"I am calling you chiefly on that account,Operator 5. In your workshop you have beenconstructing your radio rocket. We had hoped tocount on it as a means of defense in case ofattack, but I know the surprise tactics of theYellow Empire have caught you with the deviceunperfected. Still, if we can bring it into use—"

"Only minor details of the radio rocket needworking out, Chief," Operator 5 answered. "Allmajor problems are solved. By fast work, we willbe able to use the rockets in the defense of thePanama Canal if necessary.

"Turn the model over to the War Departmentat once. You know where my keys are kept. Theywill unlock the compartments containing the plansand full specifications. The rockets can be builtquickly, as well as the launching towers. If therockets are to be used at all, it will be necessaryto begin construction of the launching towers atonce, especially near Colon and Balboa, as wellas Panama City."

"I will give orders for their immediateconstruction."

"Full directions for the use of the radiorockets are also contained in the safe," JimmyChristopher went on quickly. "They will be able toreach farther than the largest guns of the YellowNavy, in case an attack comes."

There was a brief silence. And then, fromWashington came the words, "Good-bye, andGod bless you, Jimmy Christopher."

He rose. B-10 straightened beside him. V-3faced them across the desk, his faded eyesshining. Operator 5 spoke quietly again. "Let'sgo," he said.

Glendale Airport, commandeered as an ArmyAir Field following the first bombardment of theYellow guns, lay dark under the night sky.Sentries patrolled it. On the gloomy field the onlyspark of light was the flashing of flame from theexhaust stacks of a swift pursuit which sat, motorhot and ready to hop, on the line.

A heavy sedan rolled past armed guards andstopped near the waiting plane. Out of it stepped

Jimmy Christopher, followed by B-10 and V-3.They strode briskly toward the ship; and as theymoved, dark figures hurried toward them.

"Jimmy!"It was the anxious voice of Tim Donovan.

The little Irish lad ran eagerly toward Operator 5,John Christopher following. With them came agirl, her eyes sparkling in the light of the exhaustflames. Diane Elliot had found Tim Donovan andJohn Christopher waiting on the field when shehad come in response to a message from herbrother. Operator 5 turned quickly to greet them.

Tim Donovan gripped Operator 5's hand inboth of his, and raised a pale, drawn face. JohnChristopher's arm crept across his son'sshoulders. "Luck, my boy. I wish I were goingwith you."

Jimmy Christopher smiled. "I'll be thinking ofyou, Dad. You, too, Tim, old fellow. I'll be seeingyou again." But doubt shaded his voice. "It'll bringme through—thinking of you and dad and Nan.Say so-long to Nan for me, Dad."

Jimmy Christopher turned to see Diane Elliotstanding beside B-10. Her eyes were gazing intohis. She extended her hand slowly.

"Happy landings, Jimmy Christopher.""Thanks, Diane." They were quiet, almost

inaudible words. "I'm glad you've met dad andTim. I've wanted them to know you."

The tough little Irish lad was still gazingwidely into Operator 5's face. Jimmy Christophersmiled, and thumped Tim's shoulder. "Wantsomething to think about while I'm gone, Tim?Watch this."

Smiling, he brought a box of safety matchesfrom his pocket. He displayed it silently, thendrew out a match, and struck it. Holding the boxlevel, he placed the match vertically upon it. Thelight shone in his eyes as he slowly withdrew hishand, and the burning match remained standingupright on the box.

"Gosh, Jimmy!""Watch it, Tim!"Operator 5 made mystic passes about the

match. Slowly it rose in the air. Tim Donovangasped again as the match rose into space, stillburning. His smile widening, Jimmy Christopherpassed his free hand over and under and aroundit.

"Gosh, Jimmy—it's floating, and there'snothing keeping it up!"

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Then, as mysteriously as it had risen, thematch, still vertical, still burning, descended tothe box. Jimmy Christopher puffed it out, closedfingers about it, and passed both box and matchto Tim Donovan.

"Try figuring that out until I come back, Tim."The boy sniffled, gulped, cleared his throat

and then a brave grin twisted his homely, freckledface. "How'd you do it, Jimmy?" he asked with acatch in his voice.

"Easy, Tim. Just this." Jimmy Christopherbrought from his hand a length of light, stiff, blackwire, and put it into Tim's hands.

"You see, there's a loop at one end just largeenough to go around my little finger. The wire isstraight for about five inches, then there's a right-angle bend in the same direction as the loop forabout three-quarters of an inch, and then there'sanother right-angle bend, back to the originaldirection. The last bent piece is only about aneighth of an inch long."

"I see, Jimmy.""Before I start the trick I have the loop

around my little finger, and the wire hidden in myhand. I hold the match-box level, and place thewire so that the bent parts lie on top of it, with theshank running down over the side of the box,held in place by my thumb. Then I light the matchand stick the end of it on the point of the wire.

"Then I just raise my little finger, and thematch seems to rise in the air. You can't see theblack wire, even in good light, because the flameof the match affects the eyes that way. I seem topass my hands all around the match while it'sfloating in the air, but in reality I avoid touchingthe wire below it. Then I just move my little fingerdownward again, and the match lowers. Simple,isn't it?"

"It's swell, Jimmy. Gosh . . ."His hand closed about the little Irish lad's,

and Tim Donovan blinked down. JimmyChristopher turned from them toward the plane.B-10 and V-3 had gone ahead. Carl Elliot wasalready in the second cubby of the pursuit whenJimmy Christopher heard quick steps behind him.He turned—and looked into Diane Elliot's paleface.

"Jimmy Christopher, I'm not going to let yougo without—"

She brought her face close to his, and theirlips met. He felt a tear steal across her cheek,

and he breathed deep of the sweet perfume of herhair. His throat grew tight; the warmth of her lipsstill clung to his as he turned away.

He stepped into the plane without lookingback. The thunder of the motor rose into the night.Swift wind whipped back across the tarmac duringa short, agonized moment. Then, with a rush, thepursuit shot off into the wind. Black wingsrocked—black wings that rose into the air—thatdisappeared in the sky . . . .

On the field Diane Elliot watched the planego. Standing silently beside John Christopher andTim Donovan, she watched the wings until theyvanished. When she looked down it was becauseshe felt a small hand stealing into hers. TimDonovan's fingers were curled and trembling inher palm, and his teary eyes were raised tohers—and he was smiling.

CHAPTER TWELVE Night Attack

Blanketing darkness lay over Los Angeles.Only a few dim lights marked the location of thecity. Fear still tightened the air; terror laydormant, ready to waken and scream through thestreets. Darkness and silence—and a torturoussense of waiting for doom to strike.

High in the building on Olive Street, in a rearroom of the Secret Intelligence Headquarters PL,the Pacific chief sat before the panel of a short-wave radio receiver with earphones clamped tight,his blue-veined hands pressing them close.

Through the ether a voice vibrated. Eversince his return from Glendale airport, V-3 hadbeen listening to that droning voice speaking outof the void of space. Now it brought the news hehad so anxiously awaited.

"CF calling PL. CF calling PL. San Franciscocalling Los Angeles. Our sky-sounder has pickedup the signal of Craft D56. It is nearing the field."

V-3 sighed. Craft D56 was the codeidentification of the swift pursuit which wascarrying Jimmy Christopher through the night at aspeed greater than two hundred miles an hour.The voice from the air continued muffled: "Theplane is directly over the field. It is circling downfor a landing. Our beacons are momentarilyturned on. The flotilla is in readiness, waiting for

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Operator 5. The plane is now taxiing to a landing.It is stopping operator 5 is getting out of it."

V-3 scarcely moved. A long silence followed;no voice sounded in the earphones. The redsecond hand of an electric clock above the radioreceiver in Headquarters PL twirled on.

Then again: "Operator 5 has been issuingorders to the pilots of the flotilla. He has given thesignal, and they are returning to their ships. Heis now garbed in coveralls, and helmet. He isgoing toward the plane which will fly point in theformation of Flight A. Operator B-10 is also takinghis position with Flight A. The fourteen ships areabout to take-off."

Over the air, faintly, came the rumbling ofmotors—a sound carried to the microphone onCrissy Field the Presidio, and shot out over the airon the lightning beams of the radio. It rose to awave of thunder that rolled a long minute.

The voice sang loudly, tensely now."Operator 5 has signaled. The flotilla is taking off!The ships are rushing into the air! There theygo—out over the water. Operator 5's ship, flyingpoint in Formation A, is leading the way. Theyare traveling swiftly after a perfect take-off.They're driving out to sea—two perfect V's.

"A Flight is disappearing and B Flight follows.It can no longer be seen. The motors can beheard still, but even the sound is vanishing . . .They're off!"

V-3 signaled quickly. The radio technician athis elbow made a quick adjustment of dials. Intoa microphone the Pacific chief spoke crisply. "PLcalling 5 in A. PL calling 5 in A."

"Take-off perfect," came Jimmy Christopher'sanswer. "All ships functioning beautifully. Moralehigh. Every man in the flotilla is determined tomake it. Going off your wave-length now, Chief.Calling CF now. Further reports later. So long!"

V-3 started as a hand touched his arm. Hetwisted to peer at a second radio technician whohad been bending before the panel of anotherreceiver. The man's face was white, his eyeswidened: he blurted syllables that made V-3 tearthe phones from his ears.

"—being bombed!" the Pacific Chief heard."What?"Again the technician gasped the startling

news. "The attack just started. San Diego'sbeing bombed!"

Over the darkness that lay above San DiegoBay the savage snarl of motors sounded. Out ofthe expanse of the night black wings camesweeping. Second by second the roar of enginesrolled into menacing thunder. Air attack!

Instantly the ether carried the warning. Intothousands of homes the strained voice of radioannouncers boomed: "All lights out!"

Thunder in the air above as threateningwings swept reddened skies. Birds of warswooping to spread destruction! And again thecrescendo of warning: "All—lights—out!”

Windows went dark, houses became blackshells. In the power-stations quick hands graspedmaster switches and jerked. Street lightsvanished. Through the spreading, white city thegloom of night flooded. Blackness covered SanDiego as the snarl of the oncoming planes flungtheir threat through the sky.

Orders snapped across the field of the NavalTraining Station as the alarm came: "All planesup!"

Even as pilots raced across the tarmac, aswaiting planes burst into life, as the air-force ofthe training station marshaled to combat themenace sweeping across the sky—the first bombstruck.

A terrific concussion shook the air. Sandspewed up from a corner of the Naval TrainingField. In the flare of a brassy light flung acrossthe heavens, terrorized men saw torn planesflying before the blast of the explosion. Instantlyreverberating darkness closed down, while fumesripped on the wind from a crater that yawnedblackly.

"All planes up!" Through the ether a voiceshrieked—a voice that carried through the night tothe ears of V-3.

"The field is being bombed by enemy planesand a corner of the field has already beendestroyed. Enemy ships are sweeping over theentire city!"

Behind V-3 a telephone clattered. He stoodstiff, scarcely hearing it, until a shirt-sleeved manwhacked his arm. He turned, snatched up thereceiver, and barked out an exchange of signals."Z-7 calling from Washington. The damned devilsmust have learned of the result of the President'sconference with the European ambassadors.Kara Vizna's codes were presented to them andbrought an immediate change of face. Theyaccepted without question the possibility of

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proving the duplicity of the Yellow War Office.Except in the case of France, in which somedoubt remains, friendly relationships have beenreestablished. Our continued relationship withFrance depends entirely on Operator 5 now!"

"He's taken off, Z-7.""The Yellow forces have abandoned their

Iying-in-wait tactics. They realize that theirundercover strategy is defeated, that there issmall hope of tricking other nations into declaringwar on us, except in the case of France. ByGod, Operator 5 has got to get through!"

"Reports are still coming from San Diego.The Yellow ships are dropping incendiary bombs.Our planes have taken off to repulse the Yellowcraft."

"It's war now—open war! We're vulnerableon the Pacific until the Atlantic fleet joins AdmiralNeasham. The Yellow War Office must haveordered an attack upon the Panama Canal bynow. And if the Atlantic Fleet is cut off—!"

"Part of San Diego is afire!""We will endeavor to keep in touch with the

flotilla and Operator 5 here in Washington. I'mflying to the Canal Zone at once. Orders havebeen flashed to Albrook and France Fields, there,to be on the alert for an attack. Work on theerection of Operator 5's radio rocket platforms hasalready begun."

Z-7's connection clicked off. V-3 againaffixed phones to his ears. Through the nightcame the rushing voice from San Diego: "OurArmy planes are battling the Yellow ships abovethe Bay and above the city. A battery of sixty-inch anti-aircraft searchlights is aiding the fight.The attacking planes are identified as havingflown from the Yellow aircraft carrier Ormungo.There are hundreds of planes in the air."

The sky above San Diego was boiling withthe fury of the attack, with the savage repulsion ofthe United States Navy and Army planes. Into thezenith swept the beams of the powerful anti-aircraft searchlights, each probing three mileshigh into the night, each swinging through battle-torn air with a candlepower of eight hundredmillion. Among the radiating beams, black wingsflashed past gray as the sky-fight reached ademoniacal fury.

Beneath, from the broken-walled city, flamesleaped. Incendiary bombs, spewing unquenchablethermite, crashed into the streets. Mixed with thecrackling of the flames came the earth-rocking

roaring of high explosive as walls crumbled, asbuildings collapsed. Into the street from broken-roofed homes thousands ran terrorized, whiledeath thundered across the earth.

Still the voice screeched through the etherfrom San Diego: "Admiral Neasham has sightedthe Ormungo and is firing upon it! United Statestrawlers have opened a way through the mines,and the Houston is approaching the Yellowaircraft carrier. The Lexington and the Saratogahave launched two hundred planes each into theair. They are flying to attack the Ormungo, and toadd to the counter-attack above San Diego.

"The Yellow ships are out-numbered!Already half of them have fallen, and moreAmerican planes are swarming into the sky,repulsing the others.

"Report from the Houston: Admiral Neashamhas registered direct hits on the Ormungo and theYellow aircraft carrier is sinking. None of theother Yellow aircraft carriers are close enough toaid the planes which launched off the Ormungo!The Yellow planes are being driven out to sea.

"San Diego has been badly damaged, butthe city has been saved from complete ruin by ourswift counter-attack. The Yellow attack has failedof its objective to cripple our air-forces. TheYellow planes are still sweeping out to sea. Someof them have been forced down to the water. Allof them face destruction. The bombardment of theYellow planes has failed!"

V-3 stood pale, motionless, as the strainedvoice singing through the night from San Diegogrew silent. Long moments passed before itsounded again. "All Yellow planes are knockeddown! With the Ormungo lost, the Yellow forceshave suffered a decisive defeat!"

V-3 straightened as a hand touched his armagain. He turned, slipping off one pair of phones,fitting on another. In them there was a hum. Amuffled voice came out of it.

"Operator 5 reporting. All's well."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN Eagles Above Agusko

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A long night passed while spread-wingedeagles flew deep into the darkness of sky andocean.

Purring motors rolled their thunder out of thezenith and down across the deserted waters.Wing lights twinkled in empty space. Throughoutthe long night the flotilla had sped on its way.

Dawn came slowly out of the East,spreading a glow across the sky, melting thedarkness off the surging sea. Gray wings glintedin the shafting rays. Disclosed in the light of dayfor the first time, the two V formations swungdeeper into space.

From the super-bomber flying point in AFlight, Jimmy Christopher looked back. His facewas drawn and solemn. No moment of sleep orrest had come to him. He had studied his chartsintently; he had read each flicker of the indicatorson the dash; he had flashed frequent, regularreports to the radio stations left far behind on thecoast. Now, as light came, he peered at theswinging echelons of the flotilla.

His eyes saddened. Both V's were ragged.From B Flight two bombers were missing. FromA Flight one was gone.

He spoke quietly into the microphone heldbefore his lips by a metal spider.

"5 in A calling CF. 5 in A calling CF.Verifying earlier reports, three of the planes havegone down, due to motor trouble. Eleven carryingon."

He peered ahead, at blue emptiness. Therolling expanse of water stretched away to meet acloudless sky. With props slashing the air, withwings speeding incredibly fast, the monotony ofthe sky and the ocean persisted. All around therewas nothing but empty air and empty water.

Jimmy Christopher's gaze swung to a planeflying in the left echelon behind him. A helmetedhead was peering over the cowling, a jacketedarm swung in signal to him. It was Carl Elliot,Operator B-10. Jimmy Christopher wagged ananswer, and as he did so he thought of Diane . . .

A muffled voice spoke in the earphonesaffixed inside his helmet. "PL calling 5 in A. PLcalling 5 in A . . . V-3 speaking, Operator 5. Thecenter of attack from the Yellow forces has movedsouthward and the Yellow Fleet will certainlyattempt an attack on the Panama Canal. Z-7,flying to the Canal Zone, has issued orders forthe erection of launching platforms for the radio

rockets, and the work of construction has alreadybegun."

"The relationship between the United Statesand France—?"

"Continues strained. The French governmentis waiting delivery of the proof of Yellow duplicitywhich is the object of your orders. If the prooffails to come through, if further propaganda isreleased and directed against the United States,if further attacks are made by the counterfeitcruisers, war may be declared again. You mustprevent that."

Jimmy Christopher listened, straightened,and looked back. The deep blue of his eyes grewshadowed when he glimpsed a plane in B Flightstaggering out of formation. He watched itclosely—watched the bent head of the pilot, theteetering wings. His voice barked into themicrophone: "One of the fuel-supply carriers isfalling out of formation. It is going down!"

The struggling ship was drifting far behindthe roaring flotilla. The helmeted heads of theother pilots turned down and then forward again.Jimmy Christopher, in the point ship, and B-10 inthe left echelon, saw the disabled plane drop intothe vast maw of the ocean. Its shadow wastrailing close ahead of it now, on the surface ofthe swells—and suddenly the shadow and theplane were one.

"It's down!"Faintly, Jimmy Christopher saw the pilot of

the disabled crate rise in the pit as its pontoonsbobbed over a swell. The jacketed figure wavedboth arms wildly—waved encouragement to hiswinging comrades. Swift minutes passed, whilethe plane and the man melted into the distance.Then they were gone—lost in the blue vastness.

Jimmy Christopher's eyes shone darkly as hepeered ahead, lips pressed tight, into the Easterndistance toward his perilous destination.

Throughout the night V-3 had remained athis post in the radio room of Secret IntelligenceHeadquarters PL. He had heard the voice ofOperator 5 carrying from the illimitable stretchesof the night that lay over the Pacific. Dawn foundhim sitting with phones still clamped over hishead, his face pinched, his eyes weary butglittering. A touch on his arm, and he transferredto another set of phones.

"CZD calling PL," a voice came ringinghollowly. "CZD calling PL." Another voice sang

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through. "V-3! This is Z-7 talking from the radiostation at Balboa, Canal Zone. I have just arrived.Report to Operator 5 that his radio rockets arebeing pressed into immediate use."

"Operator 5 has already given me a messagefor you concerning the radio rockets, Z-7," V-3answered. "Use helium instead of air in thecompression tanks of the radio rockets."

"Very well. Inform him that rockets are beingconstructed as swiftly as possible now. They willbe brought here by air as soon as each one iscompleted. We are racing against time, until theAtlantic Fleet begins to pass through the Canal.Already several launching platforms have beenerected. Our agents have informed us that theYellow Fleet has split, that part of it is proceedingsouthward, evidently with the intention ofattacking the Canal with long-range guns in timeto prevent the U.S. Atlantic Fleet passing throughthe locks."

V-3 looked up as a radio technician tappedhis arm, and listened to a quick, reassuringmessage: "Operator 5 has just reported, statinghis position. He is keeping to his course andmaintaining top speed, about three hundred milesper hour. Our calculations fix the time of hisarrival at Agusko at about midnight, if the flotilladoes not encounter adverse weather."

Z-7 spoke quickly. "Please inform Operator5," he said, “that the President himself is listeningto the flotilla's reports as it crosses the Pacific."

Throughout the day, reports carried, moreand more faintly, from the space above thePacific. Each word brought tense silence to thefar-flung rooms in which it echoed. Each reportwas awaited with dread, and received with relief,even when the news brought a sense of tragedy.

"A seventh plane has fallen!"In the White House the President listened; in

Balboa, Canal Zone, Z-7 listened; in LosAngeles, V-3 listened; and they were not alone.The world was not aware that eagle wings werespreading over the Pacific while the shadow ofdoom hovered over them; those who knew wereonly a scattered few. Only they realized thatOperator 5 was carrying into the Western skytheir hope of averting national disaster.

And at last, shortly after sunset came thewords, "5 in A reporting. Our position approx-imately two hundred miles from Agusko. I amordering a descent for refueling."

First maneuver in the attack!

Black wings settled to the water. Sevenplanes dipped their pontoons in a dark, desolaterealm of sky and water. Birds of war comingdown to roost.

In the darkness props swung and engineschattered. From the tanks of the ships of Flight B,petrol gushed into the tanks of Flight A.

From the cockpit of his crate, JimmyChristopher watched until he saw the shipsdrifting apart. Then the black wings lifted.Pontoons dripping, swinging high, the fourplanes remaining in Flight A hurled themselvesinto the air. Jimmy Christopher peered back asthe rolling water dropped away in the darkness.He saw the three refueling crates still bobbingbelow, their tanks drained of every drop. Planesbeing left behind with their pilots—men and ships,sacrifices to the God of War.

Jimmy Christopher gazed at them until theydisappeared behind the flight in the misty gloom.

In the deep black of the night sky the foursuper-bombers that remained leaned on theirwings, circling. Their motors were throttled down.Their pilots hunched tense at their sticks. In thepoint ship Jimmy Christopher leaned over thecowling, striving to pierce the blackness shroudingthe ground.

"Agusko below!"Suddenly—a swooping dive! Four engines

snarling out terrific power. Four pairs of wingsslashing the air in answer to a signal fromOperator 5. Thousands of miles of bleak oceanlay behind them, and now the zero moment hadcome.

Black, vaned bombs streaked down from theunderside of a gray-winged ship. Dark lightningthrough the night, they plunged toward the harbor.When they burst, the night was split wide byblinding brilliance spread from the air. Flashlightbombs exploding!

Swiftly the hollow reports sounded whilewhite fumes tore on the wind. In the flickeringglare, the harbor lay revealed, black water framingthe anchored cruisers. From the sky a greatcrystal eye looked down, registering the scene onsensitive film. The disguised boats were directlybeneath the camera ship.

The flaring of the flashlight bombs was asignal which brought a roaring hell into the sky.Guns spat from the ground. Thunder rolled upthrough the air as shells screamed high. Hollowexplosions rocked across the heavens, throwing

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out a rain of shrapnel. With appalling rapidity theanti-aircraft batteries of the Yellow forces burstinto action.

In the pit behind Jimmy Christopher a manshouted shrilly. The plane swung, driving outtoward the open sea. From a gun in Operator 5'shand a red signal flared through the smoke-ladenair. Swiftly the two explosive-carrying planesswung high, maneuvering for position.

Beside Jimmy Christopher's crate raced theplane carrying Operator B-10. The air above wascriss-crossed with streaks of death shooting upfrom the shore below. The two crates swayedfrom wing to wing, zig-zagging to avoid thebursts, driving deeper into the night. And behind,over the harbor, the two explosive-carrying super-bombers released deadly loads.

Spinning destruction streaked down towardthe dark waters, toward the ghostly ships lying atanchor. Deafening concussions rocked skywardas bombs unleashed their power. Rendingdestruction tore across the decks of the disguisedcruisers, displaying in blinding flashes of light thehavoc of twisted steel and torn human bodies.

The planes carrying Operators 5 and B-10whipped swiftly out over the black Pacific withtheir motors snarling out every available ounce ofpower. They were beyond the slashing attack ofthe anti-aircraft guns now, but the two bombersabove the harbor were rocking in the blasting air.

"Four ships sinking!" Jimmy Christophersang the report into his microphone as the instant-short flashes of the bombs lighted the scene."Port almost entirely destroyed. The ships whichhave sunk have locked others in the harbor. Thebombers are going down!"

In the steaming air above Agusko savagepower tore at the wings of the two circlingbombers. Dimly Jimmy Christopher saw thewings fly from them, saw their fuselages dropnose-first and plunge into the fogged water below.

He turned forward. The man in the pit behindhim signaled with a wild, jubilant waving of arms.Jimmy Christopher's lips moved before the micro-phone.

"We have the photographs! We're comingback!"

Two lone birds of war, stripped of everythingbut the precious films—all that remained offourteen—were winging their way again acrossthe restless desert of the Pacific!

CHAPTER FOURTEEN Monster of the Deep

The day wound slowly around the clock—aday seeming even more torturously long than thelast. Throughout the sunlit hours the reports ofOperator 5 continued to come.

"All's well."His position was checked carefully on charts

as his reports came. Each hour brought himcloser to the Pacific coast, yet an endless stretchstill remained. There was no hope that he couldreach land before the next dawn. His reportsdeclared that a headwind was diminishing thespeed of the two planes. Their progress was asteady, if slower sweep across the Pacific.

In a room of the powerful radio station atBalboa, Canal Zone, Z-7 paced nervously. Infront of glittering black panels, technicians werebent, adjusting knobs, pressing ear-phonesclose, seeking signals in the ether. Each time theymoved Z-7 jerked to a stop, peering at them,anxious for news.

"Operator 5 approaching West Coast! Bothplanes still in the air. He reports fuel running low,sir!"

Z-7 sighed and resumed his pacing.Presently he paused again, as another technicianlooked up. "Message from Washington, sir. Awireless message was intercepted late thisafternoon and has been deciphered by MI-8. Itoriginated from the Neptune. Kara Vizna hascome aboard the craft. From it she is directingespionage activities in the Canal Zone. Thesubmarine is lying off the Pacific Coast near thethirty-eighth parallel, sir."

Z-7's face flashed white. "Good God!Directly under Operator 5's route! Flash to CrissyField and direct them to relay it to Operator 5.Warn him that the Neptune is lying in wait forhim!"

Out on the Pacific darkness spread, andthrough it, wing to wing, driving hard toward theWest Coast of the United States, there plungedtwo planes carrying Operator 5 and Operator B-10. In the pit of his plane Jimmy Christopherreported. "5 in A calling CF. Fuel running low—

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unable to reach the coast. Dispatch second flotillaat once!"

Over the air Jimmy Christopher heard hisorders acknowledged, heard the faint drummingof motors. It continued a long moment, rising to acrescendo, and then the steady roar diminished.

Again the ether grew silent and JimmyChristopher peered ahead. Somewhere, farbeyond in the night sky, the formation which hadlaunched off Crissy Field was plunging towardhim. Miles of empty air and water still remainedto be covered until the flotilla could meet the twosuper-bombers.

Operator 5 peered across at the planebobbing alongside his. Over its cowling thehelmeted head of Carl Elliot was visible. B-10signaled reassurance, and Jimmy Christopheranswered. He smiled slowly; and his hand thrustinto his coat-pocket, through a slit in his linedjacket; his fingers closed again about the yellowsheet he had carried with him across the Pacific:

"B-10 . . . to be arrested at once . . ."Through binoculars Jimmy Christopher swept

the horizon. The eternal darkness had heldsteadily, but now faint spots of light wereappearing—sparks so dim that Jimmy Christopherscarcely dared believe they existed. He waitedlong minutes, and they grew brighter, like starsshining through thinning fog. Glimmering in thesky, the wing-beacons of the formation which hadsprung off Crissy Field were sweeping closer.

Suddenly, from below, a shaft of lightappeared, like the blade of a sword unsheathedfrom a scabbard of darkness. It was a silent boltof lightning, a beam sweeping high from thesurface of the water. Jimmy Christopher peereddown at the brilliant spot from which it sprang. Hesnapped into the microphone: "Unknown craftbelow!"

Through the ether a startled voice answered."Avoid it at all costs! It is the Neptune!"

Into the words blasted a shattering explosion.From the water destruction sprang into the sky. Atearing concussion vibrated through the darkness.Shrill sounds sprang far into the depths of thenight as shrapnel rained.

"The Neptune is firing anti-aircraft guns!”The two planes weaved apart as their frantic

pilots banked to avoid the rain of shrapnel. Swiftlyanother shell streaked high from the invisible craftlying on the surface of the sea. As it exploded, athird rose, and a fourth. Swiftly the sky became a

pandemonium of roaring explosions, flashing light,shrieking shrapnel.

The beam of the search-light was swinging. Itswept past the plane carrying Jimmy Christopher;it wavered; and suddenly gray wings glinted inthe glare. The shaft had picked up the cratecarrying B-10! The plane swung swiftly to escape,but the beam followed as fast. It was a flutteringthing impaled upon a glittering white needle-pointof luminescence.

Shattering explosions again! JimmyChristopher peered across space as the planecarrying B-10 became engulfed in a mass ofboiling fumes. An anti-aircraft shell had rocketednear it. One instant it was wiped from Operator5's sight; then it became visible again—broken-winged, shattered, a wrecked plane tumblingdown through the night.

"B-10's crate is hit and falling!" Operator 5gasped.

"The flotilla will attack with bombs," cameback the answer.

But they were still miles distant. Operator 5'sface was white and drawn as he glimpsed, in theglare of light from another shell, a pilot lollingdead in the pit of B-10's plane. Behind the deadman B-10 was rising. Jimmy Christopher saw theparachute pack strapped to Carl Elliot's back.Darkness engulfed the plunging ship again as thesearchlight swung, probing for JimmyChristopher's crate.

Another rocking explosion, and Operator 5saw a circle of white floating beneath him—thebell of a parachute. B-10 had bailed out of thedoomed ship; he was coating toward the seaunder the tight silk of the chute. The search-lightflicked across his swinging body, held him amoment, then swung on.

From beneath sounded the roar of a motor.Jimmy Christopher's binoculars turned downward.Against the ebony background of the water hesaw black movements—planes sweeping out ofthe kiosk of the Neptune. The tremendoussubmarine was dimly visible now, a great blackhulk lapped by rolling water. From it one planeshot, then another, then a third. They droveswiftly, springing off the swells to meet the flotillaracing from the east.

Jimmy Christopher's crate was swinging in awide circle, wings tilted. Peering down, hefollowed the white spot floating through thenight—the parachute carrying B-10. He saw the

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Neptune move as more planes launched from itsmetallic maw.

Now the flotilla from Crissy Field wasswarming close. Up to meet it zoomed the planeswhich had sprung from the interior of thesubmarine airplane carrier. Fire sparkled from thesnouts of machine-guns, and chopping reportscarried through the night air. Wings swept swiftly;motors thundered; and over the depths of thePacific, birds of war clashed.

The circle of B-10's parachute drifted lowover the waves. From the kiosk of the Neptune,then, another form emerged. It darted over theswells—a light speed-boat. A swift swing broughtit beneath the fluttering parachute.

Another instant, and B-10 was threshing inthe water. Jimmy Christopher ignored the gunsclashing in the sky, ignored the sweeping wingsof the U.S. bombers and watched the speed-boatbelow. In it black figures were moving quickly.They reached into the water and, grasping B-10,dragged him aboard. A boiling circle of whiteformed while the speed-boat circled back anddisappeared within the kiosk of the Neptune.Instantly the swinging searchlight blinked out. Alast shell screamed high and spattered itsshrapnel. Then the U.S. bombers plunged low,and bombs streaked from their racks. But therewas no sign of the Neptune.

"5 in A reporting! B-10 has been takenaboard the Neptune! It has submerged!"

All around Jimmy Christopher's plane the skywas shaking with the fury of winged attack. TheCrissy ships were pouring round after round fromtheir machine-guns while the Neptune cratesanswered with withering blasts. Broken wingswere flinging the out-numbered Yellow ships downtoward the ocean. The U.S. planes were ringingthem like savage wolves, tearing them to pieces.

Operator 5's ship was spiraling low. "Goingdown to the water! The films are intact! I am goingto transfer them to a bomber. Going down!"

CHAPTER FIFTEEN Radioed Death

The first golden light of dawn was streakingacross the sky when gray-winged bombers circledsmartly above Crissy Field. Leading them in

ragged V formation came the crate carryingOperator 5. It swung low, dipping for a landing.

On the field, wearied with sleeplessness,yet jubilant at the sight, stood John Christopherand Tim Donovan. They scarcely moved while theplanes shot down, engines snorting. When thepoint ship trundled to a stop, when they saw afamiliar figure legging over the cowling, theyhurried toward it.

"Jimmy!" Tim Donovan shouted.Operator 5 turned quickly and grinned. The

tough little Irish lad rushed to him, clinging tightly.John Christopher's hand went out, trembling, andOperator 5 seized it.

"My boy—!""It's all right, Dad. Tim, old fellow! I'm back!

I said I'd come back!"Tim Donovan grinned through streaming

tears as Jimmy Christopher turned to shoutorders to the officers who rushed toward him.They moved quickly, transferring from the hugebomber the precious roll of films that had traveledtwice across the ocean. It was lodged quickly in acompartment of a freshly-fueled pursuit plane,and a signal was snapped.

The pursuit's engine roared; it shot acrossthe field, lifting. It swung high into the sky,driving toward the East.

Jimmy Christopher hurried into theoperations office while officers crowded aroundhim, slapping his shoulder, blurting congrat-ulations. Wearily he stepped alone into a sound-proofed room while a connection to Los Angeleswas put through for him. He took up a telephone,exchanged signals, and began his report.

V-3's strained voice answered. "Thank Godyou're back! I have word for you from Z-7 in theCanal Zone. Launching-towers for the radiorockets have been erected. A store of rocketshas been brought to them by air. Your instructionshave been followed carefully, but you are neededthere at once to handle the controlling mechanismof the radio rockets. Report to Z-7 at Balboa."

Operator 5 left the telephone and steppedfrom the sound-proofed room. He trudged wearilythrough the door, and out upon the field. In theglowing dawn, Tim Donovan and JohnChristopher were waiting for him. He smiledslowly, looking around; and he asked:

"Where's Diane Elliot?"

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"We've got word from her, Jimmy! She senta telegram to you and her brother. I've got ithere!"

Tim fumbled in his pocket, while JimmyChristopher's eyes darkened. He read the wordsof the message:

LEAVING AT ONCE AS SPECIALCORRESPONDENT FOR AMALGAMATED WHENYOU RECEIVE THIS I WILL BE ABOARDFLAGSHIP HOUSTON.

DIANE

He peered stunned at the eager messagewhile a chill gathered around his heart. Aboardthe Houston! The Houston at that very momentwas steaming southward under full power in adesperate attempt to repulse the impending attackof the Yellow Fleet upon the Panama Canal!

Into Limon Bay, through the bright sunlight,steamed the Atlantic Fleet of the United StatesNavy. Black smoke pouring from their funnels, amajestic procession of gray ships drew close tothe entrance of the Panama Canal. Leading themcame the Oklahoma, flagship of the fleet. Beforeit lay the narrow passageway through which theships must pass in order to reach the Pacific.

The world watched.Seven hours must pass before the first of the

ships to enter from Limon Bay could reach theBay of Panama on the Pacific. Seven hours ofslow progress through the locks, being lifted andlowered, winding their way across the narrowIsthmus. Seven hours while the threat of attackhung heavy in the air.

Past the breakwaters in Colon Harbor theOklahoma steamed. Its sister ships lay waitingwhile it passed slowly through the Gatun Locks,lifting eighty-five feet, facing then the twenty-fourmiles of water which stretch between the threelocks at Gatun to those at Gamboa, whereCulebra Cut begins. Creeping, crawling—workingits way toward the Pacific.

At the torturous speed of two miles an hourthe "electric mules"—towing locomotives crawlingover cog tracks—dragged it along. Water gushedin and out of the huge locks; the tremendous,floating gates swung open and shut as the slowprogress continued, creeping slowly toward thePacific.

The officers on the bridge of the Oklahoma,as it was towed toward Balboa, saw the strangesight of rearing towers rising into the sky—skeleton-like frameworks that had sprung intobeing magically, topped by huge platforms onwhich strange mechanisms could be seen.

High on the platforms men worked frantically.Electric cables snaked upward to devicesconnected with huge cradles on which restedtorpedo-shaped projectiles. Winches on theground below whistled and snorted, cablesstrained and glittered in the sunlight, as others ofthe strange projectiles were lifted and cradledready for use.

From the tops of the towers at Balboa, thespreading Bay of Panama could be seen—theconcrete buildings of the permanent Armyheadquarters, the streak of breakwater stretchingthree miles out to Noos Island. In the air hoveredthe threat of the dreaded attack—a threat thatloomed as a certainty as the ships of the AtlanticFleet crept on their way through the locks of theCanal.

On one of the four platforms erected behindBalboa, Z-7 stood. Around him officers werebusy, checking intricate electrical connections tothe radio rocket cradles, consulting copies ofmemoranda prepared by Operator 5, listeningthrough ear-phones to reports being sent fromplanes shuttling back and forth along the Canal.Anxiously Z-7 peered out across the blue waterthrough binoculars which brought the horizonstartlingly close. Suddenly he lowered his glasses.

Through the air came a shrill whine—a soundthat grew swiftly louder—the note of a siren thatswelled to shake the heavens. Z-7 stoodmotionless an instant while the scream sent aparalyzing power through the air. The men on theplatform paused, peering at him. His face turnedwhite as death as he blurted:

"The Yellow Fleet is attacking! Launch therocket!"

High in the sky a plane was spiraling, swiftlygathering altitude. It leveled and streaked outacross the blue of the Pacific as the scream in theair grew to ear-piercing intensity. A shell wasflying through its trajectory—a shell driven towardthe Canal by Yellow ships out of sight behind thehorizon!

The shrilling note lowered—and out on theBay of Panama an explosion rocked the water.

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Falling short of its objective, the shell speweda roaring geyser high into the sky. Smokebillowed, a cloud forming swiftly, ripping toshreds as the wind whipped at it. Over all theworld the reverberating echoes of the blastspread—the first shell of the Yellow attack!

Z-7 shouted again: "Launch that rocket!"He whipped about, affixing phones to his

ears, as the men on the platform tensely tookpositions. His smoldering black eyes peered faracross the sky at the single plane which wasspeeding across the ocean. Out of the air a voicecalled—the voice of the observer in that plane:"Yellow Fleet sighted steaming toward Panama!"

An officer barked: "Rocket—ready!""Ready!""Fire!"Cut of the huge cradle on the platform roared

a blast of compressed gas. The shock of itsrelease was so terrific that men fell flat, stunned.Z-7 staggered, blinded by the burst of power.The entire tower swayed as an ear-splittingscream sounded. One instant of swift confusionfollowed; and then Z-7 glimpsed, streakingthrough the air, the rocket flying high across thewater, glistening black lightning.

In the ear-phones the aerial observer's voicecalled: "Sighting the Noa!"

On the platform men huddled before blackpanels, eyes fast to flickering indicators, tremblingfingers touching knobs. The flight of the radiorocket was registering before their eyes. It hadvanished in the sky almost instantly, its airfoilscontrolled by radio impulses flying even moreswiftly through the ether.

In the single plane shuttling above the blue ofthe waters, another man sat hunched with ear-phones pressed hard to his head, his eyes onflickering needles, his hand on a knob. Swift,deft touches sent varying impulses through the airwhich flipped the rudders and elevators of theradio rocket as it streaked. Scarcely a secondwas given in which to guide the trajectory of theprojectile—a second which spelled success orfailure of the shot.

Far out over the Pacific, a black mass on thehorizon, the Yellow Fleet moved. Black fumespouring from the stacks of the ships, white smokedrifting on the wind as a screen formed before it, itwas advancing toward the Canal through whichthe Atlantic Fleet was still slowly winding its way.

Eastward of the thickening smokescreen anexplosion tore the water. Surging swells brokeaway from the surface as the power of the radiorocket expended itself, driving deep. From thehigh-flying radio control plane the observerpeered; he turned to the microphone and droneda cryptic message. The radio rocket had missed!

On the platform of the tower behind Balboa,Z-7 heard the words sing down from the sky. Hisface turned ashen; he peered at the mengathered around the cradle.

"Check your readings!" he snapped, asfurther details of the first rocket shot carried to hisears. "Correction two zero! Number three twoseven four zero! Left five, two nine hundred!"

"Yes sir!"For God's sake, check your readings! If only

Operator 5—"He turned swiftly. From the northward the

howl of a motor was passing through the sky.Gray wings shone in the sunlight as a plane droveswiftly closer. Z-7's dark eyes kept on it as itswung low along the canal, settling toward theground. He did not move until it shuttled down,trundled, and stopped.

Out of it three figures climbed swiftly. Thefirst whirled, peering up at the peak of thelaunching tower where Z-7 stood. He waved aquick signal and ran on. Z-7 took a deep, slowbreath. "Okay," he snapped. "Operator 5's here."

Jimmy Christopher sprinted toward the baseof the launching-tower, fastened hands upon themetal ladder which reached up its side to theplatform, and climbed swiftly. Below him TimDonovan followed; John Christopher climbedmore slowly, his pounding heart protesting theeffort. Over the railing of the platform Z-7 peered,his black eyes smoldering with grim hope.

Across the sky a swarm of planes camesweeping. The signal of the Yellow attack hadbrought the war-birds of the Army roaring off theirfields. They flocked past swiftly, driving out acrossthe Bay of Panama, plunging toward the spotwhere the Yellow fleet lay.

At the same time, darkly from across thehorizon, other winged forms appeared. Swoopinghigh, Yellow planes rose to meet the onrushingformations of the U.S. Army. Howling with fury,the birds of battle rushed to meet above thesurging blue of the water. Their exhausts shookthe sky as another high explosive shell screamedfrom the guns of the Yellow Fleet.

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"The Noa firing!” rang through the radioreceiving apparatus on the launching platform,from the radio control plane shuttling high abovethe bay. "Cruisers swinging into broadsideformation for bombardment!"

The land jarred with the shock of explodingbig guns. The coast-defense units of the PanamaCanal near Balboa began blasting their wrathupon the attackers. The whining of the shellsflying seaward discorded with the high-pitchednote of projectiles arcing from the Yellow guns.Far out at sea explosions blasted as the coast-guard shells strove for their targets. At almost thesame time the Yellow shell hit.

Rending power tore into the earth. All ofBalboa trembled with the force of the explosion.At the foot of Sosa Hill the marine and railwayrepair-shops splintered under the blast. Thefumes tore inland, casting a pall above the Prado,over the governmental buildings. The second shellfrom the Yellow guns had reached closer to theCanal, and the next would fall still closer.

The Oklahoma, first through the last lock atPedro Miguel, was steaming out into PanamaBay, its great guns swinging. Behind it, stillpassing through the canal, came the parade ofcapital ships and cruisers. The peril of thedestruction of the canal by shell-fire had notdiminished; a single explosion could block theway, imprison the remainder of the Atlantic fleetfrom the Pacific.

Out over the Bay, the Army planes and theYellow ships which had launched off their aircraftcarriers, were swarming into a gigantic dogfightthat seemed to spread over the entire sky.Machine guns chattered angrily; motors snarledtheir wrath; wings whirled swiftly throughdesperate maneuvers. And, from the Isthmus,more formations of Army crates swept, driving attop-speed across the water, flocking to keep theYellow swarm from reaching the vital neck of land.

Again, along the coast, the defense batteriesblasted. The big guns spat out their shells, andrecoiled spewing smoke; and the air shrilled withthe voices of the screaming projectiles.

The armed power of two nations wasclashing above the narrow strip of water beltingacross Panama—a tiny, vital spot, the fate ofwhich spelled the fate of the entire United States.

On the platform of the launching-towerbehind Balboa, as Jimmy Christopher peeredacross the water, an officer's command rang.

Again terrific force tore through the air; againmen were flattened on the platform by its force;again the tower swayed. A second radio rocketstreaked up into the sky, a glistening line ofblackness, a rainbow of doom reaching towardthe approaching Yellow Fleet.

"The radio rocket missed!"Z-7 heard the report and turned, white-

lipped. "We're wasting the rockets! You've got tocontrol them, Operator 5. It's our only chance!"

"Order a control ship here as fast as it cancome! I'm going up!"

"The Yellow Fleet is getting the range; thenext shell might block the canal. Get into the air,Operator 5!"

Behind them, an officer was barking theorders into a microphone. He straightened andsnapped:

"A report from the Pacific Fleet, sir! Theyhave run into a trap of mines! All of them arestopped except the Houston, which managed toavoid them. The Houston is steaming toward theYellow Fleet, intending to attack!"

"Alone?" Z-7 gasped."Alone yes, sir!"Jimmy Christopher's eyes clouded as he

peered across the sea. He remembered thewords of Diane Elliot's telegram. She was on theHouston! "Good God!" he muttered. "Our PacificFleet trapped by mines, our Atlantic Fleet caughtpassing through the canal!”

Through the air came a surge of roaringpower as a plane swept low. Jimmy Christopherturned as Z-7 exclaimed: "The control ship!" Thecrate dropped rapidly, touched three-points, andtrundled toward the plane that had whiskedOperator 5 from Crissy Field. As JimmyChristopher reached for the ladder, TimDonovan's hand gripped his.

"Jimmy!""So long, Tim!""Jimmy!"Operator 5 went down the ladder swiftly.

Tim Donovan's wide eyes followed him; then,desperately, the boy scrambled over the rail andbegan to follow. He was still crawling downwardwhen Jimmy Christopher reached the ground andbegan sprinting toward the waiting control ship.

A roar shook the air as the pilot in the pitgoosed the motor, as Jimmy Christopher

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clambered over the cowling. Swiftly the blockswent free, and the plane rushed, lifting, as TimDonovan ran wildly after it.

He saw Operator 5 turn back in the pit—sawa wave that meant "So long!"—and stoodmotionless, watching the plane sweep high abovethe Bay.

On the launching platform Z-7 snappedorders that brought another radio rocket into itscradle. Swift adjustments were made as theWashington chief watched the control plane climb,spiraling high to avoid the dogfight which was stilltearing the air beyond the shore. He fitted phonesover his ears as a voice sang in them.

"Follow my instructions. Take range!"The swift control plane flitted high in the

zenith, swinging out above the blue. Against thehorizon, Jimmy Christopher saw the smoke-shrouded Yellow Fleet, in position to bombard.Far to the north, a gray dot on the horizonapproached—the Houston. Guns were rearingtoward it as Jimmy Christopher signaled the firstcontrol ship to leave the sky. He settled quickly tohis instrument board.

He lifted from the pit binoculars with speciallenses. Through a pattern of criss-crossing lineshe peered at the distant Yellow Fleet. TheHorizontal Zero he superimposed on the sky-line;the Vertical Zero he fixed upon his mark. Into theswinging microphone he snapped orders: "Rightthree zero!"

On the launching platform officers obeyedswiftly, making adjustments.

From Operator 5's control ship: "Up onefive!"

On the platform: "Up one five!" And then—"Fire!"

The launching platform rocked as theexplosion followed. Across the sky streamed theblack line of the flying torpedo. One swift secondpassed.

Through the binoculars he saw an explosionjar the side of the Yellow flagship Noa. Flamesheeted; the great hull lurched; and when thefumes tore away a gaping black hole was visible.Through it the sea poured.

"Hit!"On the launching platform the officers moved

frantically. Signals flashed from tower to tower.Z-7 stood motionless, cold to the marrow,

listening to the singing reports. Again rocketsfired.

Two platforms swayed at once. Twostreaking black rockets arced across the sky.Two notes sang into Jimmy Christopher's ears ashe listened and, by swift adjustments, kept themtrue.

Havoc rocked in the midst of the advancingYellow Fleet. His lenses showed JimmyChristopher flaring fire and clouding smoke, withtwo conning towers crumpling. The wind clearedthe fumes to disclose a cruiser with a brokenstem, another with a gaping hull.

"Both hits!"Blasting reports again on the launching

towers; black streaks again tracing across theheavens. Screaming destruction flew through theair, guided by the deft fingers of JimmyChristopher. Then two more shocks striking themidst of the Yellow Fleet—two more boatsstaggering under the power of the radio rockets.

Through the glasses Jimmy Christopher sawthe Yellow cruisers rearing toward the north.They swung and grew still as range was taken—range on the approaching Houston. Quickly hesnapped into the microphone corrections whichwould send a radio rocket flying toward the Yellowship, but before he could utter the command tofire, the big guns blasted.

Terrific power struck the Houston as theexplosive struck across the deck. A gun turretwent flying into the sea; a conning tower bent andsagged. Over the decks washed the oily fumes ofthe explosive as Commander Neasham utteredcommands that sent the Houston’s sixteen-inchers swinging.

Through a shattered port a girl peered, white-faced, across the steaming waters. Far in thedistance she could see the Yellow Fleet. In herone hand she clenched a sheet of copy paper; inher other a pencil. Now she had forgotten aboutthem as, peering across the ocean, she felt theshell of the boat still trembling with the shock ofthe fallen projectile. Diane Elliot closed her lipstightly on a sob.

A hoarse voice called: "They've got ourrange If they strike us lower they'll sink us!"

She closed her eyes. . . .High in the zenithsped the control plane carrying JimmyChristopher. Again he peered through the criss-crossed binoculars. Carefully he was registeringthe Zero Lines. His voice rang into the

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microphone. And then a blast more terrific thanany other rocked the air above the Pacific mouthof the Canal. At the same instant four rocketstraced their glistening paths across the sky.Jimmy Christopher hunched in the control pitmotionless except for his quickly movingfingertips. The screams of the projectiles werevanishing in the distance when he looked up.

Far against the horizon, the Yellow ship wasgripped in power that tore it out of the water.Flame enveloped it an instant, leaving a tornadoof smoke. A moment Jimmy Christopher peereduntil he glimpsed the surging swells where theYellow cruiser had lain.

"All hits!"On the bridge of the Houston Admiral

Neasham stared dumfounded across the water."The boat that was shelling us was sunk and theYellow Fleet is being ripped apart!" he signaledshoreward.

Still swinging through the sky, JimmyChristopher snapped orders into his microphone.Again and again weird-looking launching towersswayed as radio rockets leaned into theirtrajectories. Again and again destruction struck atthe Yellow Fleet. Over and over he signaled theresult. "A hit!"

Into his ear-phones the voice of Z-7 rang."Withhold fire! The radio station at Balboa isreceiving a message from the Noa!”

Jimmy Christopher peered back tensely.Two more cruisers had slipped into the Bay ofPanama, to join the Oklahoma. The shell-fire ofthe Yellow Fleet had not reached the Canal. In theair above, Yellow planes were fleeing before theterrific attack of the U.S. fighting ships.

Suddenly Jimmy Christopher stiffened,peering down. He saw a vague movementbeneath the waters of the Bay—a black formdrifting. Almost as quickly as he saw it, it slippedto the surface. Black, tremendous, glistening, itbobbed into sight not far from the Oklahoma.

The Neptune!Swiftly, from the superstructure of the

submarine, the kiosk rose. Almost instantly aplane shot out of it , slashing its pontoons, rushinginto a take-off. With incredible speed anotherappeared, then a third. The black bombers swepthigh swiftly, streaking toward the coast.

"Withhold fire on the Yellow Fleet but attackthe Neptune! Corrections! Down five six!"Operator 5 signaled.

On the launching platforms the words wererepeated breathlessly. Then silence through theether—silence while Jimmy Christopher peereddown at the sleek black body in the water.

Z-7's voice rang in his phones. "Operator 5!Kara Vizna reported aboard the Neptune!”

Operator 5 answered, "Our Operator B-10 isalso aboard the Neptune, Chief."

"You will give the order to fire?"For a moment no answer came from the

control ship, and then: "Yes. Check yourreadings!"

Planes were still launching out of theNeptune's kiosk. Wireless warnings flashingthrough the air were bringing toward the bombersa swarm of U.S. crates. Machine guns began tostutter their angry protests at the renewed attack.

"Range checked!" rang in his ears. On the black back of the floating submarine

glistened plate-glass windows. Through severalof them Yellow officers peered at the planessweeping across the sky above. In the controlroom other officers were at their stations. In ametal-walled compartment near the torpedorooms, a man stood, peering up through anotherplate-glass pane. He was Carl Elliot, B-10.

His eyes dropped as he heard a sound at thedoor. It opened slowly. The face which looked inat him was indescribably beautiful—andindescribably cruel. The luminous black eyes ofKara Vizna prodded deep into Carl Elliot's. Hervoice was throaty and soft. "You still refuse to talkto me?"

His eyes blazed. "Certainly not! I know whatyou've done to me. You've taken the soul out ofme—turned me into a traitor. You're—"

Kara Vizna smiled slowly. "If you talk likethat," she said, "you shall die. Do you want todie—while I live?"

B-10 said softly: "Yes."The woman's eyes grew cold as black ice.

“Then—"She brought forward a hand which had been

hidden behind her slender body. She raisedtoward B-10 a glittering automatic. Her slenderfingers tightened on the trigger. "Then—die!"

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The report that sounded was not the feeblesnap of the gun. It was a terrific roar that shookthe whole hull of the Neptune—a clap of thunderthat rocked it from the water, lifted it with terrificpower, and flung it back into a sea that surgedover it and into it through split seams.

From the launching platforms, in answer toJimmy Christopher's command, four radiorockets had sped to the glistening hulk of theNeptune. Jimmy Christopher peered at the rollingwaves which washed over the sinking submarine.He watched with glazed eyes, his heart stilled andcold. Watched while a voice rang sharply in hisears.

"The message from the Noa, Operator 5!The Yellow Fleet is asking for an armistice!"

Jimmy Christopher still peered down at thewater from which the black shell of the Neptunehad vanished. His hand trembled as it reachedinto his pocket. He brought up a sheet ofcrumpled yellow paper and read slowly the blackwords traced upon it: "B-10 . . . to be arrested atonce . . ."

He tore the paper to shreds and let themflutter from his fingers upon the smoky air. Hesaw them float down to the oily water—to thedeep blue shroud that now enveloped the mostdangerous woman spy who had ever lived—andthe brother of the girl he loved.

Around the world the news of the battleflashed, while over the secret network of cablesconnecting Washington with the United StatesIntelligence Headquarters throughout the countrycame a message that kept the teletype receiversclattering for long, tense minutes:

. . . FOLLOWING CABLEGRAM FROMYELLOW EMPEROR RECEIVED BY PRESIDENTAT 3.45 PM . . .QUOTE—TO THE PRESIDENT OFTHE UNITED STATES I OFFER MY COMPLIMENTSAND PRESENT MY SINCEREST FELICITATIONSAND DEEPEST REGRETS AT THEUNWARRANTED OUTBREAK OF HOSTILITIESBETWEEN OUR TWO GREAT NATIONS. . .IGRIEVE OVER THE LOSS OF HUMAN LIFE ANDDESTRUCTION OF PUBLIC PROPERTIES . . . MYPROFOUNDEST HOPE IS THAT A FRIENDLYRELATIONSHIP MAY BE RESUMED BETWEEN US.. .I DEDICATE MY EVERY THOUGHT AND EFFORTTO THE ACHIEVEMENT OF THIS NOBLEPURPOSE.... EXPOSURE BY YOUR SECRETAGENTS OF THE APPARENT DUPLICITY OF OURSTAFF OF WAR HAS PROMPTED ME TOINVESTIGATE THESE REPORTS PERSONALLY. . .I

OFFER MY ASSURANCE THAT THE GOVERN-MENT OF THE YELLOW EMPIRE PLAYED NOPART IN THIS REPREHENSIBLE TRICKERY... NOTUNTIL TODAY DID I BECOME COGNIZANT OF THETREACHERY OF CERTAIN OF MY NAVAL STAFFOFFICERS WHO BY THEIR SECRET ACTIVITIESBROUGHT ABOUT THE STATE OF WAR.

I AFFIRM THAT DOMINANT IN THEUNFORTUNATE SITUATION WERE THEMACHINATIONS OF THE WOMAN KARAVIZNA. . .THAT THROUGH HER INFLUENCECERTAIN OF MY NAVAL OFFICERS WERE MADETO BETRAY MY DESIRE TO MAINTAIN PEACEWITH THE UNITED STATES. . . THAT THE WARBETWEEN THE YELLOW EMPIRE AND THEUNITED STATES WAS BORN OF THEIR SECRETAMBITIOUS INTRIGUE... THAT THESE TRAITORSFORCED THE YELLOW GOVERNMENT TODECLARE A WAR WHICH IT DID NOT DESIRE....

I HAVE TODAY ORDERED THE EXECUTIONOF ALL WHO PARTICIPATED IN THE BETRAYALOF MY EMPIRE... I WISH TO CONVEY TO THEPRESIDENT MY PROFOUNDEST REGRETS ANDMY SINCERE HOPE THAT WE MAY ENTERUPON AN EPOCH OF ENDURING PEACEBETWEEN HIS NATION AND MINE . . UNQUOTE THE NAME SIGNED TO THE MESSAGE ISTHAT OF THE YELLOW EMPEROR.

There was silence in Secret IntelligenceHeadquarters PL as the teletype machinechattered to a stop. Operator 5 fingered the stripof paper that carried the momentous message,gazing at Z-7 and V-3.

"A war born of a woman!" the Washingtonchief exclaimed. "The world is well rid of her!"

The teletype operator wagged his headruefully. "Easy enough for all this to be said now,"he remarked. "How do we know this is so?They're licked and—" He broke off suddenly,gazing into the dark, burning eyes of Operator 5.

"You are not quite the man," JimmyChristopher said slowly, "to doubt the Emperor'sword."

The man's eyes fluttered; his smug smilefaded.

"It was my honor," Jimmy Christopher addedquietly, "two years ago, to meet the man who isthe Yellow Emperor. I had several privateaudiences with him. I saw him many times while Iwas in the Yellow Empire. His is of an integritywhich may never be questioned. The Emperorhas spoken the truth . . ."

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Over the United States rang the glad cry ofpeace. The world-wide hysteria that followedovershadowed the frantic demonstrations ofNovember 11, 1918. Jubilant peoples shoutedtheir joy—joy that another World War had beenaverted. The whistles of the world blasted theirsalutes. Around the world went the cry of peacereturned!

Everywhere was delirious turmoil that lastedthrough nights and days—and yet there was onesmall spot in the United States which was nottouched.

In a room in Los Angeles quiet reigned.There stood Z-7, chief of the AmericanIntelligence Service. There was V-3, chief of thePacific units. There, too, was Operator 5. Besidehim stood John Christopher and Tim Donovan.They faced each other under shaded lights.

On the desk lay shears of telegrams—copiesof messages sent from the rulers of Europeankingdoms and republics and dictatorial states—felicitations from renowned dignitaries, and,above all, a personal message expressingheartfelt gratitude from the President of the UnitedStates to Operator 5.

He had received them, read them—and nowhe had forgotten them. Now, in that quiet, dimlylighted room, there was no jubilation, no smile.The five men faced each other, holding in theirhands glasses of wine. And there was silenceuntil Z-7 raised his glass.

"I give you, gentlemen," he said solemnly,"the memory of a comrade—a comrade whoseheart was filled with faith. I give you the courageand integrity of—Operator B-10. He lived insecret, and in secret he died."

They drank . . .Tim Donovan, his eyes shining proudly, and

John Christopher, his head bent solemnly,followed Operator 5 from the secret IntelligenceHeadquarters. Jimmy Christopher walked ahead,Diane at his side, his hand clasping hers.

The night lay quiet over the city—a night ofpeace.

THE END

Documents

By CURTIS STEELE - Pulp Fiction, Old Time Radio and ... 5 alone guessed the dread secret and matched his individual might against a million war-drunk terrorists—while the nation