West from Singapore (Ss) (1987) (7 page)

Blank astonishment swept over Sag's face. Still trying to lift his gun, he toppled back into the black maw of the hatch. Shooting and slugging furiously, Ponga Jim leaped into the brawl on the main deck. Hassan was down, his body riddled. Big Abdul stabbed and ripped a heavy knife at a circle of enemies. Jim's shot cut one of them down. Another man wheeled to face him. Mayo slammed him with the barrel of the gun. The man wilted.

But where the hell was Dussel? Blood streaming down his face, Jim stared around.

He saw him, standing on the bridge of the other ship. As he looked up, job Dussel saw him and beckoned.

Jim cleared both rails at a leap. Job met him at the top, his white, pulpy face wrinkled in a smile. Then the big man leaped.

But this time Jim was ready. Rolling under a left, he slammed each fist into the big man's body. Dussel crowded him back, swinging. When he tried to duck he was caught with a wicked uppercut that knocked him back against the wheelhouse. There was no chance for boxing. It was a matter of standing toe to toe on the narrow bridge and slugging.

Dussel hooked a vicious right that knocked him to his knees and then shot out a kick that Jim barely evaded. Staggering to his feet, Ponga Jim was blinded by the blood from his scalp wound. He scarcely felt the terrific driving force of those blows that rained about his head and body. Driving in, he weaved and bobbed. He felt only the killing desire to batter that gross body against the bulkhead, to drive him back, back, back!

Knocked sprawling to hands and knees, Dussel toppled forward, and Jim sprang up behind him. The big man was on his feet in an instant. But Jim whipped a short, wicked right hook into that rising pulpy face.

Like a brick landing in a pool, the big man's features seemed to splash. With a cry of mortal agony, Dussel sprang back, blood streaming from a fearful gash across his cheek.

Ponga Jim stared. The huge, hard body, seemingly so soft, was impregnable, almost beyond injury. But the faceJim crowded closer, swinging both hands. A blow staggered him. But he went under and whipped up a left hook that bared Dussel's cheekbone.

A terrific right knocked Dussel sprawling along the bridge.

Someone was shouting at Jim. He looked up, dazed. A slim white cutter had swept up, scarcely a half dozen yards away. Standing on the bow was Major Albert, immaculate in a white and gold uniform!

"Jump, you slug-minded clown!" Major Albert yelled. "That damned old scow is sinking under your feet! Stop playing slap hands with that beef trust slugger!"

"William," Jim gulped. He suddenly felt relaxed and empty inside. "You look sweet enough to kiss. Am I seeing stars or are those gold buttons?"

"Jump, damn you!" Albert roared. "If you don't, I'll come after you!"

Jim stared around. The water was creeping over the decking of the bridge!

Jim sprang to the rail of the bridge and off into the water. Panting and dripping, he was hauled aboard the cutter. He could see the sturdy old Semiramis standing off. The crew let out a cheer and dived into the water, swimming for the cutter. "Look!" Major Albert said suddenly.

On the bridge of the sinking freighter, job Dussel had tottered to his feet. His wide, repulsive face was horribly smashed and bloody. The white shirt hanging around him in shreds revealed his great body. Instead of fat, enormous bulges of muscle hung over his arms and shoulders. His torso was like the trunk of a vast tree!

Staggering to the rail, Dussel toppled blindly into the water. With a grinding crash, as though it had waited for that instant, the freighter slipped down into deeper water. Only swirls of water marked the spot....

Ponga Jim turned to Major Albert.

"William," he said. "I got so busy there at last, I never did find out where your sub base was located."

"You said the Gulf of Tolo before you started," William grinned. "That gave me a lead. Then the Valapa Bay relayed the message you sent with the mast light. I knew if they were aboard the Semiramis, it was because they had to get to the Molucca Passage, or to some boat en route.

That pointed in the same direction. We investigated and found the submarine base.

"You see, Dussel and Lucieno didn't dare show themselves on a British ship. The Dutch were watching for them, too. Then the boys found you were going to Amurang, Menado, and Wahai, so they slipped aboard. Job Dussel sank the Silver Lady.

He also sank those other ships, sank them without a chance. He was aiming at paralyzing the entire trade of the islands-and he came damned near success. He was a brute, all right!"

Ponga Jim Mayo wiped the back of his hand across his bloody mouth.

"Yeah, he was a brute," he said. "But, William"-Jim pointed back at the reef, where the waters were stirring slightly over the rocks-"that guy could fight! Boy, how that guy could fight!"

AUTHOR'S NOTE

The Banggai group of islands were inhabited at the time of which I write by a very primitive people living in the mountains and avoiding contact with the Muslims along the shores.

These islands were one of the best sources of ebony, a dark, beautiful wood much used for carving and furniture. The islands are also a source of mica. Gum and rattan are brought from the forests. Maize, tobacco, sugar cane, and sago are cultivated.

Many of the islands are high and thickly wooded.

The Banggai Islands and the Sula group lie eastward of Celebes, and at the time of which I write the area was imperfectly surveyed, so navigation was conducted with caution.

*

You know, William," Ponga Jim Mayo said drily, "I'm Y getting so I hate to see that handsome pan of yours showing itself around. Every time you come around me I end up getting shot at."

Major Arnold smiled blandly. "Never give it a thought, Jim. I don't. They can't shoot a man that was born to be hung." "Huh!" Ponga Jim emptied his glass and reached for the bottle. "That's a swell crack from the guy whose bacon I've saved at least twice.

If it wasn't for me you'd have lost the war right here in the East Indies. And you, a British intelligence officer, razzing me. It pains me, William, it really pains me!"

"All of which," Major Arnold continued, ignoring him, "reminds me. How did you ever get that `Ponga' tied to your name?"

Mayo grinned complacently and settled back in his chair. "It's a long story, William.

A story that will make your pink British ears pinker, and much too rough for your sensitive moral condition. However, over in Africa, there's a place called Gabon, and in Gabon is a town called Ponga-Ponga. Now, a few years past over in Ponga-Ponga was a young man named Mayo, and-"

"Jim," Major Arnold whispered suddenly. "Who are those men at the next table?"

Ponga Jim chuckled. "I was wondering how long it would take the British Intelligence to wake up to those lugs," he said.

Then he said guardedly, "Believe me, those guys are a barrelful of hell for you and me. Despite the obvious military bearing of at least two of them, those gents are merely innocent passengers on the good ship Carlsberg. You may remember the Carlsberg is from Copenhagen, but not so many days past her home port was Bremerhaven.

"The chap with the bulge behind his belt is a commercial traveler, even though he looks like a member of the Nazi Gestapo. The lean, hard-faced guy isn't a naval officer, but only a man traveling for his health. The"

"Ssh!" Major Arnold whispered. "The fat one is coming over. "

The man's face was rotund, and his round belly was barely controlled by a heavy leather belt. He looked jolly and lazy until you saw his eyes. They were small, and hard as bits of steel. Like the others, he wore whites and a sun helmet.

He stopped beside their table. "I beg your pardon," he said, smiling slowly, "but I accidentally heard your friend call you Ponga Jim. Aren't you master of the Semiramis?"

"Yeah," Jim acknowledged. "Have a seat."

The German seated himself between them, smiling contentedly. "And your friend?"

Major Arnold waved a deprecatory hand, looking very much the neat, well-bred Englishman.

"My name is Girard, William Girard," he said. "I'm trying my hand at pearl buying."

"And mine is Romberg," the fat man said. Then he turned to Jim. "Isn't it true, Captain, that you clear for Bonthain and Menado soon? Captain van Raalt, the pilot, told me your cargo was for those ports. My friends and I are interested, as we have some drilling machinery for shipment to Banggai."

"Banggai's on my route," Jim said. "You and your friends want to go along as passengers?"

Romberg nodded. "I can start the cargo moving right away, if you wish," he said.

"The quicker the better," Mayo said, getting up. "We're moving off as soon as that cargo's stowed."

Romberg, after shaking hands with both of them, rejoined his friends.

"Well, William," Jim said softly, when they had reached the street, "what do you make of it?"

"That cargo to Banggai looks like a load of trouble, if you ask me," the major said grimly. "Cancel it. I didn't know they were here yet, but I knew the Gestapo was out to get you. They know you messed up that New Guinea deal and their plans here."

Ponga Jim shrugged. "So what? Cargo doesn't lay around waiting for a guy. I'll take my chances and-" he smiled grimly, his eyes hard, "they'll take theirs!"

"Don't say you weren't warned," Arnold said resignedly. "Those Gestapo men are cruel, relentless, vindictive. You wrecked their plans, and now you're marked for death."

"William," Ponga Jim said pointedly, "I need that money. Everything I got in the world is in that old tub down there by the dock. I got to win or go down swinging-and I'm winning!"

He turned and walked rapidly down the street. Over six feet tall, Ponga Jim weighed two hundred pounds and carried it like a featherweight. In the officer's cap, the faded khaki suit, and woven-leather sandals he looked tough, hard-bitten. His jaw was strong, and his face was tanned by wind, sun, and brine.

Arnold shrugged. "Maybe," he said softly, "maybe he can do it. If ever a man could go through hell barefooted, that's the one!"

Makassar was dozing in the heat of a tropical evening. Like many tropical towns it can sleep for weeks or months and then suddenly explode with volcanic force, releasing all its pent-up violence in one mad burst and then falling quietly into the doldrums once more.

Now it was quiet, but with an uneasy stillness like the hush before a storm. Ponga Jim stopped on the end of the Juliana Quay, and Slug Brophy walked up.

"Been around the joints?" Jim asked him.

Brophy nodded. He was a short, thickset man with enormously broad shoulders and a massive chest. His head was set on a short, thick neck. His heavy jaw was always black with beard. He was wearing whites, with shirt-sleeves rolled up and his cap at an angle.

"Yeah," Brophy said, "but I came back. I don't like the looks of things. Everything is quiet enough, but some of the bad ones are looking wise. I saw Gunong, Stello, and Hankins. They've all been drinking a little, and they've got something up their sleeves."

"Crew aboard?" Jim asked.

"All but Li Chuang, the Chinese steward you picked up in Perth. He's ashore picking up something extra special for you."

Jim nodded. "I'm going to look him up. We're getting under way as soon as this new cargo gets loaded. The Gunner watching it?"

Brophy nodded. "Cap," he asked, "is there anything funny about this cargo?"

"Trouble. Those Nazis want me out of the picture. This whole deal is a trap. But they pay in advance."

Brophy grinned widely. "In advance, huh? Okay, Cap. Let's go!"

Ponga Jim turned and started back up the street. A month before, he had bought the Semiramis in Melbourne, a battered old tramp with too many years behind her. From the beginning, there had been trouble finding a steward. Then he had stumbled across Li in Perth and had shipped the Chinese at once.

Since then life aboard ship had improved. Li knew how and where to buy supplies, and he always managed to save money. In short, he was too close to a miracle to have running around loose, Jim thought.

Jim was passing the Parakeet Nest, a dive near the waterfront, when he heard a fist smack and a rattle of Chinese in FRONT HERE TO BANGGAI vigorous expostulation. His pulses jumped at the sound, and he wheeled, pushing through the swinging doors.

Hankins, a burly beachcomber with an evil reputation; Gunong, a Buginese; and Stello, a Portuguese Malay were gathered about, shouting. On the floor lay Li Chuang, his packages scattered about, his face livid with anger.

Hankins stood over him, kicking the slender Chinese in the ribs.

With one bound, Mayo was through the door. Gunong shouted and Hankins whirled, and even as he turned he unleashed a terrific right. It was a killing punch, and Jim Mayo was coming fast. It caught him full on the chin and sent him crashing against the wall. His head bounced, and he slid to the floor.

For just an instant, everyone stared, unbelieving. Then, with a roar, Burge Hankins leaped to finish the job. But that instant had been almost enough, and Jim rolled his head away from the wild kick launched by the raging beachcomber.