S.O.S., page 27
She shook her head. “Nothin’,” she said. Then, “You guys wait here while I check in with my dad.” She pointed to another, identical bungalow, next to hers. “That’s where you’ll be stayin’ tonight.”
“Thanks,” Ryan said. “It looks nice.”
“Another thing,” Hattie said. “My dad has a little pocket German dictionary the Coast Guard gives out. I’ll grab it for you.”
“That’s great,” Ryan said. “Next time I’ll be ready for them.”
Hattie just nodded, then licked dry lips. Clearly on edge. Like a tightrope walker ready to take her first step. She approached the house as if in dread. The reason for the dread became apparent the next moment when they heard the crash of broken crockery.
And then a woman was shouting, “Where’d you hide it, Steven? I’m not in your damned Coast Guard. You’re not my commanding officer.”
There were more sounds of broken glass. Then they heard a man pleading: “Now, Bridget. You know how you get when you drink. I’m only doing it for you, honey. Remember what the doctor said. It’s gonna kill you, baby. Kill you!”
Hattie turned back to look at them. She started to speak. But she just shook her head and then ducked into the house.
A minute later they heard Mr. Peters say, “Look who’s here, sweetheart! It’s Hattie. Hattie’s home.” His voice was overly loud, the tone of one speaking to a child, or an addled adult.
And then Mrs. Peters was saying, “Hattie, honey. Where have you been? I’ve missed you so.”
They heard Hattie’s voice, but she was speaking so softly they couldn’t make out what she was saying, although her tone was soothing and gentle.
“Oh, Hattie,” Mrs. Peters exclaimed. Then she burst into tears.
Alex nudged Ryan. “Maybe we ought to make ourselves scarce.” He indicated the adjoining bungalow. “Let’s go see what our digs look like.”
Inside the bungalow, they switched on the lights and found a comfortably furnished living room, with cane-backed chairs, a long couch and a glass-topped coffee table. They sat on the couch, Rex between them.
“That’s terrible,” Alex said. “I knew Hattie had it rough, but not that rough.”
Ryan sighed. “You don’t know how lucky you are, Alex,” he said. “You have a great mom and dad. And sisters who love you, even if they do drive you crazy.”
Alex gave him a penetrating look. Perhaps seeing things in Ryan that he hadn’t been aware of before.
“It’s that bad, is it?” he said.
Ryan’s throat thickened. His eyes were suddenly wet. Instead of answering, he gently stroked Rex’s head.
After he composed himself, he said, “It’s hard to explain to an outsider what’s it like when your father’s in the military.” He drew in a deep breath, then let it out. “Some people can’t seem to ever get used it.”
In a low voice, Alex asked, “That what happened to your mom?”
A whole raft of conflicting emotions and confused thoughts welled up in Ryan. He wanted so badly to spill his guts to Alex. Tell him about all the things that had happened. He opened his mouth several times to speak, Alex leaning closer to hear. But then it all collapsed.
He shrugged. “I guess,” he said.
For a moment he thought Alex was going to push the issue. Try to draw him out. He almost wished he would. But then he felt ridiculous. Here was Alex, a colored, half-blind boy with a father who only had one hand, living in world that sometimes treated him like a festering thorn that it desperately wanted to pull out and dispose of. Compared to all that, Ryan’s problems were baby stuff.
Just then, there came a great CRUMP! The whole bungalow shook and windows rattled in their frames so hard Ryan thought they’d explode.
Rex leaped to his feet, barking. And then there came another CRUMP! and Ryan and Alex were running outside to see what had happened.
Looking out to sea they spotted twin columns of smoke rising on the far horizon. Then sirens were wailing and people were shouting and Hattie’s dad came bursting out of the house, pulling on his uniform jacket.
He shouted at them, “Stay here!”
Which was quite unnecessary. Where would they go? Then he was sprinting down the road to the Coast Guard headquarters.
Then, to Ryan’s surprise, he found Hattie moving in between him and Alex.
“Another U-boat attack,” Hattie said. The second this week.” She looked at Ryan. “Probably your Germans,” she said.
“Yeah,” Ryan said bitterly. “My Germans.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
The Boy Who Cried U-Boat
Verne put a big arm over Ryan’s shoulder. “Are you ready for them?” he asked.
Ryan gulped. “Yessir, I’m ready,” he said.
Verne looked at his two friends. “How about you two?” he asked.
In the light beaming through his office window, they looked drawn and weary.
Alex started to reply, then licked dry lips and merely nodded.
Sammy patted his son’s arm. “You sure, son?”
Alex drew himself up. “I’m sure, Pop,” he replied. Firm.
Attention turned to Hattie, who pulled in a deep breath, then expelled it. “I’m ready,” she said. “I just wish my father had shown up. But he wouldn’t listen. Said it was all a bunch of hooey and went off to work.”
“If you can convince the three men waiting out there your father will come around,” Verne assured her.
Hattie blurted, “Momma always said he had problems listening.” Immediately after she looked mortified. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t be talking about family business.”
“No sorries needed,” Verne said. “You’re under a lot of pressure. But when you’re out there—” he pointed to the door that led to the living room… “- it’d be wise to watch your tongue.”
“Yessir,” Hattie said, chastened.
“Now, let me warn you,” Verne said. “I twisted arms into pretzels to get everybody out here to Sullivan’s Island because it’s neutral territory. But they’re going to be pretty hostile. They’ve got their suspects—Smoky Anderson and Joe Collins. And they’ve got all the evidence they think they’ll need to convict them.”
Verne shook his head. “And now you three come along with a whole other theory. And a pretty far-fetched one at that. German saboteurs. Sounds like the plot of a Saturday morning movie serial.”
Ryan was suddenly alarmed. “But you believe us, don’t you, sir?”
Verne sighed. “Let’s put it this way,” he said. “I think you sincerely believe you saw what you claim you saw. And that you are equally sincere in your conclusions.”
“But you think it could be our imaginations, right?” Ryan pressed.
“I honestly don’t know,” Verne said. “You are three of the most level-headed kids I’ve ever had to pleasure to meet.”
“But we’re still just kids,” Hattie said, an edge of bitterness in her voice.
“And one of us is the wrong color,” Alex added, his jaw set to its most stubborn mode.
Sammy came in. “You’ll be facin’ that your whole blessed life, son,” he said. “Least this time you’ll be facin’ it with friends at your side.”
Alex frowned, then the frown suddenly turned to a grin. “We’ve already done rattlesnakes and moonshiners,” he said to his friends. “Guess we can handle a couple of cops and a Coast Guard officer, huh, guys?”
Ryan and Hattie laughed. “Sure we can,” Ryan said.
“Piece of cake,” Hattie said. She giggled. “Of the pineapple upside down variety.”
Verne smiled. “That’s the spirit,” he said. With that he rose from his overstuffed chair, then he and Sammy escorted them into the living room.
Their newly found high spirits turned leaden the moment they walked into the room. There were three very serious men waiting for them: Deputy Tindall, his boss, Sheriff Plant and Lt. Matheson, head of security at the Coast Guard base.
Plant was a portly, middle-aged man with a uniform tailored to hide his expansive gut, and two heavy gold rings on his right hand. Ryan had heard whispers that he used those rings with some effect when questioning suspects.
Matheson was in his late 30’s, trim in his uniform and his eyes had the steely, far away gaze of a man who spent a lifetime at sea.
Tindall was nervous in their company, his bald dome glistening with sweat.
They were seated in a semi-circle around a long couch. A tray of ice cold sweet tea and cookies had been set on a low table between their seats and the couch.
Ryan noticed that his grandmother had taken up position in a far corner of the room. She had her sewing basket out and was busying herself repairing one of Verne’s work shirts.
The three friends sat in the couch, while Verne and Sammy pulled up more chairs and sat next to the inquisitors.
Verne said, “I want to thank you gentlemen for taking time out of your busy schedules. But I wouldn’t have asked you here if it wasn’t a matter of utmost importance. Justice, as they say, must be served.”
Tindall snorted. “Justice for a moonshiner,” he said. “Don’t that beat all!”
Sheriff Plant frowned. “Now, deputy,” he said, “we’re also talkin’ about the son of one of our most prominent citizens.”
Chastened, Tindall ducked his head. “Yessir,” he said. “Sorry sir.”
The sheriff turned back to Verne. “Havin’ said that, I’ve heard a little bit of what this is about from Lieutenant Matheson. And what I heard sounds pretty far-fetched to me.”
“After listening to Hattie’s father,” Matheson said, “I almost declined to come.” Then he chuckled “But Mr. Sullivan here can be most persuasive.”
In the corner, Ryan’s grandmother spoke up. “I expect you’re all enjoying those pool tables he donated to the officers’ club a couple of months back.”
Laughter all around at that, although Ryan saw that his grandmother hadn’t cracked a smile. She was dead serious. For the first time he realized she was actually on his side. It emboldened him.
“May I speak?” he said.
“Go ahead, son,” Verne said. “That’s why we’re all here.”
“There’s no denying that what we have to say sounds far-fetched,” Ryan said. “But it is all true. And based on hard facts.”
“Let’s hear those facts, then, young man,” Sheriff Plant said.
Ryan said, “It all started with Morse Code signals that I started picking up a month or so ago.”
“I understand from Mrs. Wilkinson down at Western Union that you’re an amateur telegrapher,” the sheriff said.
“Yessir,” Ryan said. “My dad’s a submariner. The chief telegraph operator aboard the boat. He gave me a Morse Code set and I’ve been practicing pretty regular.”
The sheriff nodded. “So you started hearin’ these signals on your receiver,” he said. “And it made you suspicious.” He looked the other men. “That’s understandable.”
“Nossir,” Ryan said. “I didn’t pick them on a receiver. I don’t have one.”
The sheriff frowned. “Then how did you hear them.”
Ryan glanced at his friends, who looked at him with great sympathy. Feeling like he was about to high dive from a cliff, he took a deep breath.
“Through the mattress springs in my bed, sir,” he said.
There was an explosive, “Nonsense!” as Lt. Matheson jumped to his feet. “That’s the stupidest thing I have ever heard,” he said.
He turned to Plant and Tindall. “I don’t know about you two, but I’m not wasting anymore of my time.”
“Just a minute, lieutenant,” Verne said, heaving himself to his feet. Peering down at Matheson from his great height, he added, “I don’t appreciate you calling my grandson stupid,” he said. “Now, instead of name-calling and making hasty assumptions, why don’t you sit down and hear the boy out?”
Matheson gulped. “Sorry about that,” he said. “There’s no excuse for rudeness. But I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you that in my mind the boy has an overactive imagination. Hattie’s father said young Ryan is a science fiction fan. But come on—Morse Code in mattress springs. That’s beyond science fiction.”
“Just the same,” Verne said, “I would take it as a personal favor if you sat back down and heard the boy out. And try to keep an open mind.”
Matheson sighed. “Very well,” he said, returning to his seat. “Go ahead, son,” he said.
“Yessir,” Ryan said. “But about the mattress springs. I talked to Mrs. Wilkinson about it and she agreed with you. She said it was impossible.”
Lt. Matheson nodded. “Naturally,” he said. “It’s a simple matter of science.”
Ryan raised a finger. “But that’s not how it turned out,” he said. “Later, she spoke to a friend who is an expert on telegraphy. She works over at the new base they’re building.”
“She?” Lt. Matheson said, scornful. “Mrs. Wilkinson’s expert is a woman?”
“Yessir,” Ryan said, not sure why gender had anything to do with it. Especially since a moment ago Matheson was supporting Mrs. Wilkinson’s mistaken opinion.
Verne must have thought the same thing, because he loudly cleared his throat. Matheson glanced at him, caught his stern look and folded.
He waved for Ryan to continue. “Go on,” he said. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“Yessir. Anyway, Mrs. Wilkinson’s friend said it was definitely a possibility. It had to do with atmospherics, antennae arrangements, shielding. And a lot of other stuff I haven’t started reading up on yet.”
Ryan took a deep breath. He’d hardly started and he was suddenly feeling tired. And his throat was sandpaper dry.
“Want some sweet tea, Ryan?” Hattie broke in, leaning forward to pour him a glass from the frosty pitcher on the table.
Gratefully, Ryan drank long and deep. Hattie poured him some more, but this time she picked up the narrative.
“At first, we all thought Ryan was crazy too,” she said. “Isn’t that so, Alex?”
Alex nodded vigorously. “Ryan’s got a wild imagination,” he said. “We were both funnin’ him for awhile. But after hearin’ from Mrs. Wilkinson, I went down to the library in Jove Beach. They got a whole new section on electronics, there. ’Cause of the war and the new base, I suspect.”
Ryan looked at him. Alex had never mentioned this. His friend grinned at him. “Well, you didn’t think I was just gonna take a couple of people’s word on it, did you?”
Ryan shook his head—No.
“Anyway, I looked it up,” Alex continued, “and although electronics aren’t part of my regular studies, I could make enough sense of what I was reading to see that Mrs. Wilkinson’s friend was right. I also got confirmation that dentists have reported that some of their patients pick up radio signals in their fillings.”
He looked over at Lt. Matheson. “I can give you the names of those books later on, if you’d like.”
Matheson looked offended that a colored boy was offering to share his knowledge with him. Glancing at Plant and Tindall, he could see that they were of the same low opinion about the worth of such information.
“That won’t be necessary,” Matheson said. “We have a more than adequate technical library at the base.”
“Boy, would I love to see that,” Alex said. “Maybe someday I could get a peek.”
“Sorry, Coast Guard personnel only,” Matheson said—just a little too hastily.
“Yessir,” Alex said, sounding genuinely disappointed. Then to Ryan, he said, “Go on. Tell them about your two telegraphers theory.”
“Two telegraphers?” Matheson said, frowning.
“Yessir,” Ryan said. “I learned from my dad—and from listening on my own—that every telegrapher has a distinct hand. A manner in which they tap out the Morse Code. And there’s a distinct difference between one guy and another.”
“That’s true,” Matheson said, with undisguised reluctance. “But everyone knows that.”
“Yessir,” Ryan said, not knowing what the heck that had to do with anything. “Anyway, I started to realize that two people were talking to each other. Also, that the signals were coming from two different places. One near. And one a little distance away.”
“And how could you tell that?” Matheson wanted to know.
Ryan shrugged. “Volume levels. Interference. It was easy.”
“Go on,” Matheson said.
“Well, then I started trying to write down what was being said. But nothing made any sense until I talked to the Professor.”
Matheson frowned. “The Professor?”
“Yessir,” Ryan said. “He’s a genius. If you talked to him out of uniform you’d never know he was a conductor on a train.”
Matheson looked horrified. “A common train conductor?” he exclaimed.
Ryan shook his head violently. “There’s nothing common about him,” he said. “Ask anybody. He’s a genius, alright. Shoot, he’s read the entire Encyclopedia Britannica!” He leaned forward in his excitement to press this point. “Practically memorized the whole blamed thing. From A to Z!”
Matheson was unimpressed. “I suppose he’s colored too,” he said. “Being a conductor and all.”
“Indeed he is, sir,” Verne said. “Which makes him no less a genius. You may take the word of Verne Sullivan on that!”
Sammy broke in. “The Professor has tutoring been my son,” he said, eyes full of pride. “Alex is up for a full college scholarship, you know.”
Matheson rolled his eyes. “Isn’t that just grand,” he said.
The look and tone made Sammy seethe. He appeared ready to punch the man out. Although he was small in stature and missing one hand, Sammy was immensely strong and Ryan didn’t give the lieutenant much of a chance.
Ryan jumped back in before Sammy’s temper got the best of him. “That’s when it all came together,” he said. “When I showed the Professor the code words I picked up he informed me right off that they were German.”
