The Ambassador's Son Page 18

  Kennedy looked for Ready but didn’t find him until a jeep showed up, Ready at the wheel. “Great little vehicle, sir,” he said. “Hop in and I’ll take you for a spin.”

  “Listen, Ready, I ordered you to stop modifying my boat, didn’t I?”

  “Oh, it’s not modifications, sir. We’re adding to it, that’s all.”

  Kennedy looked forlornly at the boat. “It’s not even a PT boat anymore. I don’t know what it is. I mean, without the tubes and those torpedoes just sitting out there all exposed, and those extra guns, the lines aren’t the same.”

  “You’re right,” Ready said. “It’s not the same at all.”

  “But you don’t care, do you?” Kennedy accused. “Do you have any idea what the navy will do to me when they find out about this? Maybe the Coast Guard thinks it’s all well and good to just trick up a vessel any time you feel like it, but that’s not the way the United States Navy does business, mister!”

  “I’m heartily sorry about nearly everything,” Ready replied, in a sincere tone.

  Kennedy allowed a sigh. “How did you gej the Seabees to do all this work for you, anyway?”

  “Pogo, sir. Don’t you recall how them nurses down at Santa Cruz made over him? Everybody does out here. It ain’t often you can get your picture taken with a real live honest-to-Pete headhunter and all. Most guys, they’ll give you anything to get their picture taken with him.”

  “Is Pogo really a headhunter?”

  “I don’t know, sir. I never asked him.”

  “What else? You must have traded something else. They’ve practically turned this base over to you.”

  “Well, um, you, sir,” Ready confessed.

  “Me?”

  “Yes, sir. Turns out they heard about you. Kennedy, the ambassador’s son and all. Rich guy. We let them take pictures of you in the hammock with this guy or that standing beside you waving a banana leaf over you like he was your servant fanning you or something. The Seabees thought that was about the funniest thing.”

  “Until this moment, I didn’t realize how much my luck had truly run out,” Kennedy despaired. “Now my court-martial charges will include destruction of government property and probably misuse of government personnel.”

  “Mister Kennedy, I think you worry about maybe a few too many things,” Ready advised, with genuine concern.

  “That’s easy for you to say!” Kennedy snapped. “You’re not the one who’s going to be held responsible.”

  Ready couldn’t argue with that, so he didn’t.

  “How much longer?” Kennedy demanded, looking at his watch. “It’ll be dark soon.”

  “I think we’ll be ready to leave first thing in the morning,” Ready said. “There’s a few things yet to do.”

  “Such as?”

  “Armor plating. We saved so much weight by throwing off those torpedo tubes, we think another quarter inch of steel could be added around the cockpit without slowing us down. We’ll have us a real gunboat then.”

  “Did you say gunboat?”

  “I did, sir. You recall I was telling you about my grand-daddy and the Curlew? We’ve done the same thing he did. Yes, sir. She’s going to be a real gunboat, why, even a gunboat from hell, as Granddaddy would say.”

  Kennedy started to yell at Ready, but then he stopped. He looked very carefully at the PT boat, which was the wrong thing to call it since it wasn’t a PT boat anymore at all. Thurlow’s boys had made it into something very different. He didn’t know if the aircraft torpedoes would work, but the extra firepower of the heavy machine gun in the stern and the mortar on the bow could make a world of difference. The armored plating wasn’t a bad idea, either.

  “What are you thinking about, sir?” Ready hazarded.

  “I think I might be the navy’s first gunboat captain in this war.”

  “With this rig, you’ll be able to get back at Jap for sinking you, for sartain. Would you like to name her, sir?”

  Kennedy gave it some thought, then decided. “I think I’d like to call her the Rosemary.”

  Ready grinned. “Rosemary she is, sir!”

  Kennedy felt something in his heart, all fuzzy and warm. He wasn’t certain what it was, though it might have been the residue of the fever, which seemed to have dissipated. Nonetheless, he felt so good he started to tell the Jackson twins that he thought they’d done a good job, and he would have, too, except at that moment, Once accidentally crossed two critical wires and the starboard torpedo rolled out of its rack. It landed in the water with a splash and sped off, wearing through a mud flat and into a grove of palms, where it sought one of them out and rammed it, detonating with a mighty force that sent big palm splinters and coconuts flying into the air.

  Knocked down by the force of the explosion, Kennedy picked himself up off the dock. Ready rose from behind the jeep. The Jackson twins were still standing on the deck beside the empty torpedo cradle, scratching their heads and peering at the rising column of smoke emanating from the burning palms. The Seabees crawled out of the water where they’d jumped. Then they all began to laugh. After a while, against common sense, Kennedy joined them.

  24

  Josh sat on a whitewashed rock along the path to Minister Clarence’s mission. He was trying to come to terms with the head Penelope had serenely drawn from the basket in the chapel. The smile on her lips had been so sweet, her eyes filled with such gentle innocence, it was all but impossible for him to reconcile the grotesque thing she had lifted into the hot white light beaming through the open window. He had mumbled something to her and stumbled outside away from the nightmare of the misshapen but peaceful expression on the face she had swung around for him to admire. He had gotten only as far as the rock, where he’d sat himself down, holstered his pistol, and tried to reason things out. How was it that this woman, whom he had made passionate love to the night before (although, it could be argued, he’d been under the influence of a drug) and twice more that very morning (with no drug), had accomplished this horrible act, that of murdering a man while he slept and cutting his head off and putting it in a basket?

  Penelope came out of the chapel and stood beside him. “Are you all right, Josh darling?”

  Josh raised his eyes to her. She was so innocent. He could not lecture her and tell her what she had done was wrong. Still, he felt he needed to supply at least some sort of correction to her behavior. “I’m not certain cutting a man’s head off is what Reverend Clarence had in mind for atonement. Usually, one prays for forgiveness and that kind of thing.”

  “Oh, are you upset with me? My word. I am so sorry!”

  “Not upset, Penelope dear. Just a bit surprised. By the way, the face of your man did not look very Japanese.”

  “Oh, he wasn’t Japoni, so that is the reason why.”

  “But you said—” Then Josh stopped, realizing she had never said who had accomplished the massacre. He had assumed it was the Japanese. “It was one of Joe Gimmee’s renegades,” he realized aloud. “But you said he was a holy man and maybe in Australia.”

  “And so he is, Josh darling. But now we must bury Minister Clarence, who was also a good and holy man and to be completely trusted except perhaps when alone with little boys, something his people never allowed once his weakness was discovered. I believe I spied his head over there beside that jackfruit tree. I should be grateful if you will assist me in the digging of a suitable grave and erecting a marker.”

  “I don’t think we have the time,” Josh answered. “My aircraft, you see . . .”

  “Then we must make the time,” she replied, and raised her eyebrows.

  So compelling was Penelope’s wish, Josh agreed to it without further comment. Beneath the tropical sun, he used one of Minister Clarence’s garden shovels to dig into the minister’s garden where the ground was soft. When it was deep enough according to Penelope’s standards, Josh dragged the loathsome torso over and rolled it into the grave. Then Penelope held the minister’s head by its hair and lowered it in. J
osh started to cover the awful thing up, but she stopped him.

  “Words,” she said. “There must be words. And since I am a Marie, my words do not hold much weight with the Lord. Therefore, they must come from you. Church words and good ones, if you please. Then I would like to read from this book, one of Minister Clarence’s favorites.” She held up a book that she’d brought from the chapel. It was not the Bible.

  Josh scratched up under his cap, then recalled the modified psalm that Captain Falcon often quoted at times when death and destruction were near, or just past:

  The Lord is my Skipper, I shall not drift. He guides me across the dark waters. He steers me through the channels. He keeps my log. Yea, though I sail amidst the tempests of the sea, I shall keep my wits about me. His strength is my shelter. He prepareth a quiet harbor before me. Surely the sun and the stars shall guide me, and I will come to rest in Heaven’s Port forever.

  “Quite prettily done in its execution,” Penelope pronounced, as if quoting someone, and Josh suspected it might have been a favorite phrase of Minister Clarence himself. Penelope opened the minister’s book and read:

  We live in a world of transgressions and selfishness, and no pictures that represent us otherwise can be true, though, happily, for human nature, gleamings of that pure spirit in whose likeness man has been fashioned are to be seen relieving its deformities, and mitigating if not excusing its crimes.

  “That was also nicely done,” Josh said, thinking he’d heard those words before but not quite placing them. He took the book from Penelope and read the title on its binder: The Deerslayer. “This was one of my father’s favorite books,” he told her.

  “Toss it in with Minister Clarence,” Penelope instructed him. “He will enjoy it.” After Josh had done so, she smiled a sad smile. “Minister Clarence used to call me Natty Bumppo because I loved to go alone in the forest. I used to bring him snakes and frogs and any manner of bugs to identify. He would patiently look them all up in his big book and teach me their names.”

  Penelope had taken a mahogany cross off the chapel wall and scratched Minister Clarence’s name along its horizontal crossbar. Josh finished shoveling dirt into the grave, then stuck the cross in the ground at the head of it, and the deed was done. He tossed the shovel aside, wiped his hands on his utilities, and took stock. “Well, my dear Penelope Bumppo, lead us back to the beach where you found me. That’s where my Catalina will land.”

  “Yes, I am quite ready to quit this island forever,” she said, walking away without looking back.

  He followed her as down they went, winding through the bush, this way and that, the fresh smell of the sea soon reaching Josh’s nostrils and, he hoped, flushing away the sickly smell of the New Georgian dead. They reached a headland by the sea, a place where the landing beach might be observed without their being seen. “You are a very smart girl to take us here first where we might have a look around,” he said, lying down behind a small bush. He felt her wriggle in close to him.

  “It pleases me that I please you,” she said. “Might I please you more before we fly away?”

  “I’ve no time for a Marie at the moment,” Josh said, then immediately regretted his ill-chosen words. He cleared his throat and pretended he hadn’t said anything, although her eyes felt hot on his cheek, and he knew he had hurt her. He scanned the beach, saw that Phimble had not yet arrived, then ducked when he saw three men suddenly appear. They were Japanese soldiers who were alternately looking out to sea and beachcombing, or so it seemed. They were nonchalant in the way they strolled, and Josh guessed that meant they were not alone. “A fine pickle,” he said, thinking not only of his situation but Phimble’s.

  “A fine pickle,” Penelope repeated.

  “My Catalina’s going to get shot down if it tries to land,” Josh said, still thinking out loud.

  “Its pilot will surely see the Japoni,” Penelope replied. “He would have to be blind otherwise.”

  Josh gave that some thought and hoped Penelope was right. “Do you think we could get over to the Truax plantation without Jap spotting us?”

  “It is not possible,” Penelope said firmly. “I am certain there are many Japoni waiting along the path. We would surely be caught.”

  “And if we stay here, they’ll soon catch us anyway. What do you think we should do?”

  Penelope made a puffing noise between her pursed lips. “Pfft! You are asking me? But I am only a Marie, for which you have no time at present.”

  Josh gave his words some thought this time and said, “I am confident that you can do anything you put your mind to, Penelope dear.”

  Penelope studied him, as if looking for sincerity, then said, “I know a safe place.”

  He touched her cheek and said, “Then take me there, Penelope Bumppo,” and was rewarded by her gracious and lovely smile, which he found himself quite lost within.

  25

  The likely scenario of events sped through Phimble’s mind as he rushed as fast as the jungle-covered mountain would allow. Surely the Japanese pilot had killed Fisheye and had since invaded the interior of the seaplane, overcome Stobs, and taken any number of pistols, rifles, and even the Browning automatic rifle that was stowed somewhere aboard. Phimble cursed himself all the way for being a true begomer, having left the boys without a final caution to be on guard.

  It was with the relief that comes only to a man spared the just results of his own folly that he emerged on the beach to see the Japanese pilot trussed up on the sand, his hands tied behind his back, and Fisheye sitting over him on the tip of the wing, his legs dangling nonchalantly. Stobs stood alongside the pilot, cradling a rifle. Dave was back from his journey and was squatting on the horizontal stabilizer. Nothing about the scene was of apparent interest to the megapode, as he was dozing.

  “Hidy, Mister Phimble,” Fisheye said from the Catalina’s wing.

  “I thought surely you was dead,” Phimble replied hoarsely. “I fired my pistol, but it was too late. I saw him hit you with that big stick. Are you hurt bad?”

  “I ain’t hurt bad at all,” Fisheye reported. “Ichikawa-san pulled his punches, don’t ask me why.”

  “I heard Fisheye hit the water,” Stobs said, shrugging, “and I thought he’d gone swimming. I was just going to tell him to stop playing around and fix the engine when Ichikawa-san tried to come through the hatch. I jumped on him and wrestled him into submission. He’s so skinny, it wasn’t much of a contest. Then I tied him up, and we’ve been talking some, got introduced and all.”

  Phimble used his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his brow, the mixed hot and cold sweat of exertion and anxiety. “So now there’s no argument about you being our prisoner,” he said to the pilot.

  Ichikawa shrugged his bony shoulders. “I have been captured,” he answered, “but I will try to escape.”

  “I was hoping we could get your word you wouldn’t try to escape,” Phimble said, with regret. “Then you could walk around, do anything you please.”

  “I wish I could give you my parole,” he answered in an aggrieved tone, “but I have explained the Bushido code of the samurai to you and these boys as well. Pray do not ask me to break faith with it and my fellows. I can not and I shall not.”

  “Well, can we at least ask that you not try to kill one of us?”

  “We are at war, and it is required that I try to kill you.”

  “You Japanese have the hardest heads I’ve ever run across,” Phimble said crossly. His stomach took that moment to growl its way to his attention. “Anyway, how’s about lunch?”

  “I am very hungry,” Ichikawa confessed.

  Stobs waded out to the hatch of the Catalina and crawled inside. With Fisheye’s help, he set up a portable gas-fed stove on the beach. It didn’t take him long to produce grilled cheese sandwiches and a pot of coffee. Ichikawa’s hands were untied so that he could eat. “I’ll shoot you if you make a run for it,” Fisheye advised.

  “I make no promises,” Ichikawa replied, though it was
obvious he was going to be busy for a while, since he was devouring the sandwiches.

  They ate while a gentle surf lapped at their feet. Then Phimble noticed that Dave was awake and his beak was pointing skyward. “We may have trouble coming,” Phimble said.

  Stobs and Fisheye looked where Dave was pointing. “I see it!” Fisheye cried.

  Ichikawa looked, then smiled, saying, “My boys are looking for me. Surrender, Yankee, or die. Screw Babe Ruth. And Eleanor Roosevelt, too.”

  “Shut up, Ichikawa-san,” Fisheye said. “That wasn’t very nice at all. My mother met Mrs. Roosevelt one time when she came to Killakeet. She seemed a nice lady, or so I was told. Babe Ruth’s got good qualities, too.”

  Ichikawa ignored Fisheye’s comment. “I would suggest you move away from your aircraft,” he said gleefully. “It will soon be filled with bullet holes and on fire.”

  Phimble was about to order his boys to do just that, but there was something about Ichikawa’s attitude that made him angry enough to reconsider. “Fisheye, Stobs, bundle Ichikawa-san here aboard Dosie, then man the guns in the blisters. I’ll take the nose gun.”

  Dave withdrew his neck and walked down the back of the Catalina and hopped inside the forward turret hatch, landing on Phimble’s head just as he entered the cramped space. They looked at each other, pilot and bird, then Phimble took charge of the machine gun and Dave headed for cover.

  26

  Kennedy savored the golden sunlight that warmed his face as he turned the gunboat Rosemary into Melagi’s deep harbor, which he was surprised to see bobbing with landing craft. “Looks like the balloon’s going up for another landing somewhere,” he said to Ready, who was maintaining vigil with him.