Free Trouble on His Wings by L. Ron Hubbard Page A

weeks.”
    â€œYeah,” said Johnny,
disinterestedly lighting a cigarette, graciously offered by the ship.
    She had just started
toward her cabin when the door burst open and two marines stepped aside to let
the stick-bristled captain enter, followed by a lieutenant.
    â€œWe are very sorry,”
said the captain, politely. He made a sign and the lieutenant approached
Johnny, who at first drew back and then submitted to the inevitable. The
lieutenant made a quick search and, from under Johnny’s belt, where it had lain
flat against his stomach, drew out the film container. They then searched Irish
without result.
    â€œThank you very much,”
said the captain. “We have that film left in your camera and now this. My field
glasses are very fine, very powerful. Thank you very much.” Bowing courteously,
he withdrew.
    Johnny’s lean face was
strained. He looked fixedly at the girl.
    She winced and quickly
closed her door, but not soon enough to block off his “Jinx!”

Chapter
Nine
    T HE ship plowed through the soft
dark of the Eastern Sea, phosphorus curling in straight lines away from the
bow, a small slice of a moon paving the water with silver squares. Within four
or five hours, and still before dawn, they would dock at the Japanese port.
    The Jinx rested
against the rail, looking down at the sea, her thoughts a turmoil of misery
but, for all that, looking very lovely in the softness of the night. She became
aware of Johnny standing beside her and she made an effort to rally. “It’s
lovely, isn’t it? If . . . if only I knew what was going to happen, I might be
able to enjoy it more. I’ve never been in the Orient until now.”
    Johnny dragged
thoughtfully on his cigarette. “Well, if that’s all it will take to make you
happy, I can tell you all about it. We’re going to be held incommunicado until
hell freezes over. We know too much about Japanese methods in general and the
sinking of an American-owned transport in particular. They know what the US
press would say about the murder of a pilot and Mr. Wu.”
    â€œYou mean Mr. Wu—”
    â€œSure. He’s been dead
for more than a day. He tried to escape, they said.” He tossed his cigarette
into the water. It glowed in a bright arc on the way down and then, suddenly,
was extinguished and gone.
    â€œBut they can’t do
that to us,” she protested.
    â€œNo, they may not kill
us, but they’ll imprison us—which, as far as I am concerned, is just as bad.”
    â€œBut our ambassador—”
    â€œWill never know a
thing about it,” said Johnny.
    â€œBut they can’t do
it!”
    â€œIn almost every
country of the world,” said Johnny, “there must be imprisoned at least one
foreigner, long ago given up for dead, held merely because he knows too much.
Russia, France, England—”
    â€œAnd the United
States?”
    â€œWho knows?” said
Johnny.
    â€œThen maybe we’ll be
held for years and years! Oh, Johnny—”
    â€œKeep your chin up!”
he said, almost savagely.
    She wavered, tried and
then succeeded. “I’m sorry, Johnny.”
    They stood in silence
for some time and then heard footsteps approaching. It was the captain,
smiling, hissing and bowing.
    â€œGood evening. We come
to Nagasaki very soon now. I regret that I shall be forced to deliver you over
to other agencies. Is there anything which I can do?”
    â€œYou’ve done quite
enough,” smiled Johnny. “We appreciate your kindly hospitality. But there is
one favor I might ask.”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œYou might,” snapped
Johnny, “give me those pictures back and let me go free. You’ll never succeed
in covering this up. How do you know that pilot didn’t get away? Must you add
crime to crime, and hold neutrals prisoners? What if the world hears about
that?”
    â€œThe pilot,” said the
captain, sadly,