The House of Storms

By: Geron Kees
(© 2017 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

GKees@tickiestories.us

Chapter 11

"The tide must be down," Joe said, as they neared the bluff. He squinted in the evening sun. The narrow ledge was visible now, although still slick with ocean spray.

Frank eyed the narrow pathway, thinking that, if he had just chanced across it while enjoying the beach, that he would not have been tempted onto it. It looked slippery and uneven, a sure formula for a dunking. Not only that, but just looking at it from the safety of the beach, it did not look like it went anyplace worth the attempt.

He hefted the flashlight he had received from the hotel manager and used it to indicate the ledge. "Follow the leader, guys." And then he mounted the narrow path and started off.

They stepped carefully and made their way in a line around the end of the bluff to the hollow, and gathered at the back before the cave opening. They turned the flashlights on and pointed the beams inside.

Ten feet back, a brick wall was visible, green with algae and pitted with age. Frank grinned, excited at the obvious implications that this was a tunnel and not just a natural cave. He started back, the others following, and quickly arrived at the wall. To the right was another opening, and Frank immediately turned his light into it.

A wide, brick-walled tunnel with an arched ceiling stretched back as far as the beam of his light would reach.

"I'd say we're in business," Joe whispered, urging his brother forward.

The tunnel was wide enough for them to walk two abreast. The walls were dank and covered with algae, the bricks blackened with age, and Frank could imagine that during a storm surge, the tunnel would be completely filled.

Their footsteps echoed eerily as they moved. Far ahead, Frank could pick out a change in the darkness, which soon resolved into a flight of steps leading upward. They arrived at the bottom, and Frank motioned for everyone to stop. "Lights out a second, fellas." The others nodded, and shut off their flashlights.

Frank turned off his own light, and cast his gaze up the stairwell. Above them, no light pierced the darkness at the top of the stairs. Frank turned his light back on and motioned the others to follow him.

They climbed the staircase, and found themselves in a new section of tunnel. Here, the bricks were darkened with age, but only lightly covered with algae. They followed the tunnel, and soon arrived at another flight of steps. Again, they turned off their lights and looked for evidence of illumination above; there was none.

"We're slowly moving upwards," Chip whispered. "Do you think it goes all the way to the top?"

"We're going to find out," Frank returned, just as quietly. "I'm starting to think I know what we have here."

"What?" Joe asked, pressing forward.

"Otto Sturm's escape tunnel. He and his family probably came this way the night they fled, and were able to board a boat and make good their exit before the authorities arrived."

It seemed to make sense. The obvious age of the tunnel might mean that it had been constructed at the same time as the house, or even the lighthouse, for that matter.

They continued upwards, pausing at each new staircase to check for lights above.

At the fifth staircase, a low illumination was detected from the next level when they turned their lights off. Frank held a finger to his lips and started up the steps. He reached the top and raised his head slowly above the level of the floor to see what could be seen.

Unlike the previous staircases, which had simply deposited them into another tunnel, this level had some open floorspace. Frank looked slowly about, taking in the piled crates and boxes, and the huddled, dark forms of machinery. Beyond that was a hallway, with doors on each side. Light spilled from several of the rooms beyond, filling the area with a soft glow.

Frank cocked his head, and thought he could hear the murmur of voices from one of the doorways. He turned to the others, placed a finger to his lips, and received nods of acknowledgement from each.

The only way to learn what was happening here was to go and see. Frank indicated to Joe that he was going for a look, and squeezed his brother's arm when he saw objection rising in the other boy's eyes. Joe made a frustrated face, but nodded.

Frank looked back towards the hallway, and slowly rose. He crept the rest of the way up the steps and moved quickly to stand in the shadows behind a pile of crates. He could definitely hear voices now, and they sounded to be coming from the first lit room on the left. He looked back at the stairway, and could see the faces of the other three boys, watching. Frank pointed at the doorway, and Joe nodded.

Frank took a deep breath to slow his racing heart, and moved slowly forward, inching along the pile of crates towards the doorway. As he drew nearer, he could discern that several people were talking, and as he approached the door, what they were saying became clear.

"...too bad the others were killed when the car went over that cliff," a deep voice was saying. "That leaves us short-handed. And now we got these snoops poking around. I can see why the boss has moved everything up to tonight."

"How's the radio gear aboard the ship doing?" asked another, more gravelly voice. "Will it be ready?"

"Kelly says it's all installed, tested, and sealed up." There was a small sound, as if the man had given a shiver. "Scares me to think those Nazis dogs were working on things like this. It was hard enough dealing with their navy when it was crewed by men that could be killed."

Frank inched forward to the end of the pile of crates, and leaned out just a little, trying to see into the doorway. He could just spy the back of a man, leaning against some kind of table just inside the room.

"You fellas decided where you're going to go after this is all done?" a third voice asked, a little higher-pitched, and slightly nervous-sounding. "It's gonna be really hot around here. I don't plan to come back to the States for a few years, at least."

"I'm for Mexico," deep-voice said. "I know a girl in Tiajuana I can spend some time with, if you know what I mean."

The others laughed.

"South America is where I'm going," gravelly-voice said. "With the kind of money we're gonna have, a man could live like a prince there."

"I don't speak Spanish," nervous-voice said.

"Who needs the lingo?" gravelly-voice returned. "The locals all comprende Ingles. And if they don't, you just wave a coupla dollars at them. They all get that."

"I'm going to Canada," nervous-voice decided. "I visited a lake up there once - Lake Kabetogama. The Canadian shore has some nice cabins. I'll buy one of them and live a quiet life."

Deep-voice snorted. "How'd you ever get into the rackets, Shorty? Betcha you'll spend your days readin', or something like that."

"I like to read," the other said defensively. The other two men laughed.

The man that Frank could see suddenly straightened. "Better check on our boy," he said, and Frank knew then it was the man with the deep voice. "The boss said he's a wily one. I don't want him slippin' his bonds and gettin' loose."

And with that he turned and came out of the doorway.

Frank just froze, unable to move. The doors on each side of the hallway were staggered, with the right-hand doors slightly further along than the left-hand doors. So the man came out into the hallway angled away from Frank, and crossed to the other door without sparing so much as a glance in the Dane boy's direction. Had he turned his head even a fraction of an inch, there could be no way he would have failed to see Frank standing there. The thug reached the other door and went into the room beyond.

Frank looked across the hall. On the other side was a low pile of boxes. He darted over and crouched behind them. In the first room, the two remaining thugs continued to talk.  But Frank was focused now on the right-hand doorway, hoping to hear any conversation that might issue forth from that source.

"How you coming along, fella?" Frank could just make out from deep-voice. "That gag makes it hard to breathe, don't it?"

For a second there was silence, and then another voice spoke up: "You'll never get away with this, you know."

A chill of shock and surprise raced up Frank's spine. He knew that voice!

Dad!

Frank immediately felt anger, and only an extreme act of will held him in place. To go rushing in now would only get them all captured. These people were surely armed, and fists were no match for guns.

"So you been saying," deep voice replied. "You shoulda just minded your own business, bub. I don't know what the boss has planned for you, but I bet it ain't pretty."

"Don't you have a conscience?" the sleuth asked. "Do you know haw many lives are at stake here?"

"I was at Anzio, mister. Don't talk to me about lives, okay?"

"But these are innocent people!" Ben Dane returned, sounding angry now.

"There ain't no innocent people, mack," deep voice said. "There's just those that got, and those that ain't got. It's my turn now to be one that's got, you see?"

"There will be children there," Mr. Dane said, almost too softly to hear.

"There was kids in Sicily, and Messina. Think anybody cared then?"

"You can't let this happen!"

There was a brief, unnameable sound, and then deep voice spoke up again. "I see why they got you gagged now, buddy. You talk too much!"

A moment later, deep-voice came back out into the hallway and crossed back to the first room. Frank caught a glimpse of a tired-looking face under dark curly hair, and then the man was gone.

A brief flash of recognition hit Frank: it was the man they had seen entering the elevator with the burlap sack just before the snake incident!

That they were in the right place now, Frank was certain. They had found the lair of the enemy!

The boy turned an ear back to the first room, trying to hear what came next.

"He's okay," deep-voice said. "Still breathin', which is just too bad."

"The boss said to keep him alive for now," gravelly-voice said. "I don't know about you, but I don't wanna be the guy to make the boss mad!"

Frank let out a soft, tense breath. He had to get back to the others. He took a long look at the doorway that the thug had entered, and then rose and tiptoed back to where the other boys waited..

As he settled back on the steps next to his brother, Joe reached out and squeezed his arm. "I thought it was all over when that guy came out of the doorway."

Frank nodded. "That was pure luck." He leaned forward. "They have dad."

An anguished look crossed Joe's face. "We have to help him!"

"We will." Frank looked at Chip, and then at Tony. "I need a volunteer."

The two boys looked at each other. "What do you need?" Chip asked.

"I want one of you to go back down the steps. Go to the hotel, and call Sheriff Kingsley. Tell him what is going on, tell him to bring reinforcements, wait for him to arrive, and bring him here."

Chip frowned, and Tony looked adamant. "We don't want to leave you," Tony said softly. He reached out and wrapped his fingers gently around Joe's wrist. "Please, Joe."

Frank looked at his boyfriend, saw the worry and fear in his eyes. "Please, Chipper?"

The boy compressed his lips together, and nodded. "I'll go. Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone!"

Frank grinned, and laid a hand upon his breast, as if to say, "Who, me?"

Chip wrapped his arms quickly around Frank and hugged him, and then he was heading down the steps. As he reached the bottom, they could see his flashlight pop on, and then the light slowly retreated and was gone.

Joe popped his head up and looked at the hallway. No one could be seen.

"We have to get to dad," he whispered.

Frank nodded, feeling the pocket of his slacks. One of the things he always carried was a small pocket knife. He would need it, probably, to cut through their father's bonds. "Just one of us will go. If the men come out while I'm gone, it will be up to you two to take action."

For a moment Joe looked like he was going to argue; but then he simply nodded. "Be careful, Frank."

"Always am." Frank gave his brother's shoulder a squeeze, and then raised his head to look down the hallway. Still clear.

He tip-toed back to the spot he had occupied when deep-voice had suddenly walked out of the room, and paused, listening.  He could hear the three men talking about the Yankee's chances for the pennant this year. No one seemed to be close to the door.

Frank danced across to the pile of boxes again, and crouched behind them. He made his way forward to the leading edge of the pile, and peeked around at the other side of the hallway.

The three men sat in chairs around a small table with a single bulb in a fixture hanging above. They had a newspaper out, and gravelly-voice was reading off player stats while the others listened. The only one facing the door was apparently gravelly-voice, and the newspaper he was holding obscured his view of the hallway.

Frank stood slowly, and then simply walked silently down to the door on the right and peered around the jamb.

This room was also piled high with boxes. Another light fixture dangled on a twisted wire from the overhead, illuminating a single chair. In that chair sat a man, bound and gagged, his head lolled forward.

Ben Dane.

The room looked otherwise empty. Frank cast a look back the way he had come. Gravelly-voice was still reading off stats from the newspaper.

Frank tiptoed into the room, went to the chair where is father sat, and circled behind it. He squatted down, peered around his father at the doorway. All clear.

Frank raised a hand and gently placed his fingertips against his father's elbow. The man started, and turned his head to the side, trying to see behind him. Frank raised up just enough to make eye contact, and nearly smiled at the look of amazement in his father's eyes.

Then he squatted again, pulled out his pocket knife, and went to work on his father's bonds. The cords were tough, but the knife was sharp, and soon he had parted them. He stood, cut through the rag tied around his father's mouth, gently pulled it free.

"Frank!" the man breathed. "My god, son, how did you find me?"

Frank leaned close to his father's ear. "Can you walk?"

"I think so. Those ropes were tight, and my legs feel a little numb. But I can manage."

Frank helped the man to his feet. "Walk around a little, dad. You have to be able to sneak past an open door."

The elder Dane nodded, and moved slowly about in a circle. He winced a few times, but then nodded again. "I'm good."

Frank turned, and they started for the door.

But before they reached it they heard footsteps, and the tired-looking, curly haired man with the deep-voice was standing in the doorway. He blinked, obviously processing what he was seeing, and then grabbed at a pocket of his jacket even as Frank and Mr. Dane leaped forward.

The man was quick. He danced backwards, and got his gun out before Frank and his father could reach him. "Hold it right there!"

Frank ground to a halt, frustration and anger clouding his face. Mr. Dane put out a hand and squeezed his shoulder. "It's okay."

"That's the guy that brought the snake," Frank said, pointing at deep-voice.

The detective nodded. "Attempted murder. Nice fellow."

The other man snorted. "Shorty! Jack! Get over here!" Deep voice eyed them, shaking his head. "Don't give me a reason."

Mr. Dane kept his hand on Frank's shoulder, and the boy realized that his father was restraining him. He nodded at the detective. "I'm okay, dad."

"Dad, huh?" deep-voice said. "I should have figured."

The other two thugs arrived, their guns also drawn. Their eyes went wide at the sight of Frank, and Mr. Dane out of his bonds.

"What the hell, Mike?" gravelly-voice said, giving a name to the man with the deep voice.

"They was headin' for the door, that's what. Glad I decided to come and look in on the guy again." He grinned at Mr. Dane. "And to think I was worried you might be havin' trouble breathin' or somethin'!"

The detective grinned defiantly. "Take more than that to stop me from taking a breath."

Mike grinned evilly. "Oh, I'm sure we'll get to the thing that works eventually, smart guy." He nodded at the other two thugs to keep the Danes covered, returned his own pistol to his pocket, and started forward. "Now we got two to tie up."

Frank was watching the two thugs in the doorway, and so saw when Joe and Tony suddenly appeared behind them. Gravelly voice's eye's widened as something was suddenly thrust into his back.

"Don't move or I'll drill ya!" Joe bellowed, in an unnaturally loud and deep voice.

Mike whipped about, his hand going for his pocket. Mr. Dane stepped forward, his arms flashed out; and in the next second the thug was laying on the floor, glassy-eyed.

Frank grinned. "You need to teach us some of that judo, dad."

The detective laughed. "We'll make time, okay?"

The other two thugs had raised their hands, and now Joe and Tony reached up and relieved them of their pistols. Then they gave each man a good shove, propelling them into the room. Frank and Mr. Dane stepped past them to join Joe and Tony. The two thugs turned, their hands still raised.

Joe grinned, hefting one of the captured pistols, while casually dropping the broken end of a broom handle to the floor.

Gravelly-voice shook his head at the sight, and sighed. "Aw...that just ain't right."

"Yes," said another voice, with a slight accent, from behind Joe and Tony. "But very effective, it seems."

Joe went to turn, but a hand clamped down on his shoulder. "I would hate to have to kill all of you just yet," the voice continued casually. "Just hand me those pistols...yes, that's it. Thank you, boys."

Now Joe and Tony were pushed into the room. A man came behind, carrying a Thompson sub-machine gun. He waved the muzzle at them, and smiled. "Turnabout is fair play, after all."

Frank stared at the man, certain that he had seen him somewhere before. Joe also narrowed his eyes, as if feeling the same. "Who are you?"

Mr. Dane gave a soft sigh. "Boys, let me introduce you to Gunter Sturm."

Sturm! The man with the German Luger!

"I got your pistol when you lost it on the road," Frank couldn't help saying. "A nice souvenir of the day you went swimming."

Gunter smiled, and looked at Mr. Dane. "Definitely one of yours. I see that charm runs in the family."

Mr. Dane gave a small bow of his head in acknowledgement.

"My, my. What to do with you? One nuisance tied up is one thing, but four of you-- " The man broke off, narrowing his eyes. "Where's the other one?"

Gravelly-voice came forward to reclaim his pistol from Sturm. "Other one?"

Sturm nodded. "There were four of these boys." He pointed the muzzle of the Tommy gun at Frank. "Where's the other one?"

Frank shrugged. "He didn't feel well today. He didn't come with us."

Sturm smiled. "We'll just look about, shall we?" He directed the two thugs to begin a search of the level, while he kept the intruders covered.

On the floor, Mike groaned and sat up. "Ow. What hit me?"

Sturm grinned. "A rather interesting form of martial art, I suspect." His eyes went to Mr. Dane. "Japanese?"

The detective shrugged, but smiled.

"Just full of surprises, aren't you, Mr. Dane?"

"I do try."

It was only a few minutes before the two thugs returned. "The place is clean, boss."

Gunter Sturm nodded. "Watch these four while I call upstairs." He handed the Tommy gun over to one of the others, and then exited the room.

Frank looked at his father. "Do you know what these guys are up to, dad?"

The elder Dane nodded. "Herr Sturm told me. A little bit of revenge, it seems."

Frank nodded, several until then incompletely-formed ideas in his mind settling into place. It made sense. Otto Sturm had had everything he had worked for stolen from him by the country he had adopted as his own, and been forced to flee with his family in order to stay free. And now, the son of Otto Sturm had returned, looking for a little payback.

He voiced his ideas to his father, and the man nodded. "Yes. Not bad, Frank."

Joe frowned. "My question is, is Jack Dark involved? Or Joseph and Sophie?" He shook his head. "Amazing to think all of this exists underneath the house, and none of them have a clue about what is going on here. Seems impossible to me."

Mr. Dane shook his head. "I don't know about Joseph and Sophie. Not for sure."

Sturm returned, frowning, and reclaimed the Tommy gun. "He said to take them out to the ship."

The three thugs looked at each other, and Mike grinned. "Front row seats, eh?" He rubbed at his neck, and glared at Mr. Dane. "Can't say I'm sorry."

Frank had just one question he wanted to ask. He turned to his father. "Who was the guy in the black cape we chased last night?"

Gunter Sturm cleared his throat, smiled, and waved a hand.

"You're really fast...especially for an old guy," Frank said.

Sturm laughed at the back-handed compliment. "I've been chased by some of the führer's best, young man. Nothing inspires speed like the thought of being shot, let me tell you."

Frank shook his head. "You were a patriot," he said. "You fought for freedom. How can you do something like this?"

Sturm's eyes looked merry. "Like what?"

Frank felt confused. What, indeed? He looked at his father.

The detective narrowed his eyes at Sturm. "Our friend here intends to ram the lightship Aphrodite ashore at the pavilion during Jack Dark's magic performance."

Frank was astonished, and then horrified. "But...the ship will just beach itself, won't it? It can't hit the pavilion!"

"I rather doubt it. But under a full head of steam, it may come close. The beach is very narrow at that point. But it doesn't matter. The Aphrodite will get close enough. There are ten tons of high explosives lodged in her bow. They intend to detonate them by remote control."

The boys all gaped, and then they were all talking at once.

"You can't!" Frank roared angrily, taking a step forward.

"You'll never get away with this!" Joe yelled, bunching his fists.

"I rather think I will," Sturm replied, raising the muzzle of the machine gun at them. "No one is going to be looking for me." He motioned to the three thugs, who all waved their guns at the Dane's group and approached them.

Sturm eyed them again, looking less amicable now. "I wish for you to understand where you stand. I am too close to my goal now to allow any interference. For now, the four of you will remain alive. But if any of you attempt anything whatsoever to impede my operation, then all of you will die immediately. Am I understood?"

Frank was chilled to the core. Despite the anger he felt towards what Gunter Sturm had planned, a sense of helplessness now overcame him. One false move, and he would bring death to all of them.

The others must have felt the same way. They stood quietly, their eyes downcast, as their hands were tied behind their backs.

"Take them down," Sturm then instructed. "The boat will be waiting."

He smiled then, and looked at a watch on his wrist. "My, my. Less than an hour to curtain time. I must ready things. It won't do to give anything less than a sterling performance."

Frank gave the man a last baleful glare as the four of them were pushed into the hallway and led to the stairwell.

"Hold tight a second," Mike said there, and vanished into the room the gang had occupied earlier. The other two thugs continued to watch the boys and the detective, guns leveled, their eyes leaving no doubt about their intentions should someone make a wrong move.

Mike reappeared a moment later, grinning, and carrying a small cloth sack that jingled slightly as it swayed back and forth in his hand.

"Okay, let's go," he said,  and urged the group downward.

The trip was made by flashlight, in silence, only the sounds of their footfalls for company. Frank's mind was in turmoil, trapped between a need to act and fear that anything he might do might bring about the deaths of them all. The others must have had similar fears, for they reached the bottom level of the stairs and were marched down the tunnel to the entrance. As they entered the little hollow before the sea, they heard voices.

"...lucky the tide is coming up. She only draws three-foot, but the water here is right shallow. Wouldn't want to bottom out just now. The boss would be upset."

"There they are," said another voice, as the captives and their guards emerged into the hollow.

Two scruffy-looking young men in fisherman's clothing stood there, pistols in-hand. "Hey, Mike," one of them said. "Got your hands full, I see."

Mike scowled. "Royal pain, this bunch has been. I'm gonna be happy as a clam to see 'em get theirs."

Frank stared at the two fisherman, again feeling a sense of recognition.

One of them noticed the stare. "What are you lookin' at?"

And then Frank had it. "You're the two that were in the green roadster at the service station!"

"How 'bout that?" the other fisherman said, laughing. "Small world, ain't it? You really surprised us when you mentioned Land's End. Thanks for the warning you were coming!"

Beyond the fishermen, a small fishing trawler with a tiny cabin at the rear rocked gently in the sea, her side kept from the rocky ledge by thick pads of sisal draped over the gunwales. The five thugs now combined their efforts to hoist the bound boys and the detective aboard, and then climbed aboard themselves. One of the fishermen cast off, while the other went to the small cabin and started a diesel engine. The boat gave a small jerk, and began to move away from the bluff.

Above them, the sky had gone to dusk. A quarter-moon was rising out to sea, and stars were appearing along the horizon. It was a beautiful, clear evening, and a jarring contrast to the drama that they were involved with just now.

Frank found he could not just sit still and watch as the little trawler moved out to sea.

"So," he said, gazing at Mike, "what happened to the crew of the lightship? You kill them, too?"

The man smiled at him. "They have a new home, locked in the forward hold."

"Aren't there some kinds of check-ins that lightships have to make each day?" Mr. Dane suddenly asked.

Mike looked over at the detective. "Ain't you the smart one?" He turned to squint out to sea. "We got a guy with our outfit that was radioman on a sub-chaser right off these shores in the war. He knows the routines, and he's been fillin' in for Aphrodite's regular radioman."

The thug called Shorty, with the nervous-sounding voice, nodded. "Piece of cake, Kelly said. These civvy outfits ain't nothin' like the navy." He grinned then. "Just relax. You boys can talk to the crew all you want when we get there."

"I don't think so," Mike said then.

Shorty looked at him. "The boss said to lock them in the hold with the others."

Mike nodded. "I know. But that ain't good enough for this bunch. I don't want them locked in down there, not able to know what's goin' on." He grinned nastily at Ben Dane. "I want this lunk to see it comin'."

Shorty shook his head. "That's not what the boss said --"

"I've got this," Mike said, sharply. "When you see what I got in mind, you'll see it's okay. Trust me."

Shorty and Jack looked worriedly at each other for a second; but then the one called Jack just shrugged. "No skin off my teeth how they get it. Just so's they do get it."

Shorty sighed, but nodded.

A set of lights before them soon resolved into the outline of a ship, and then it loomed ahead of them. The Aphrodite had been a small coastal freighter before being converted to a lightship, and was a sizable vessel, at about 1200 tons. The lighthouse that dominated the center of the hull towered a good forty feet above the deck, rising even above the forward superstructure holding the wheelhouse. As they slowed and drew alongside a gangway hanging along the hull to the waterline, Frank would just make out the designation WAL-571 painted in large red characters along the center of the hull.

The ship's engines seemed to be running, though of course the ship was not underway. She was moored at her station by four large mushroom anchors, the chains of which hung, two forward, two astern, from hawses above them. Frank was startled to see the chains moving slowly upward, to the accompaniment of a metallic sound, and suddenly gasped.

The ship was getting ready to get underway!

The fishing boat came neatly up to the gangway and coasted to a stop almost alongside. The fisherman still with them used a boat hook to draw them closer, tossing a sisal mat over the gunwale just before the side contacted the gangway.

"Up you go," Mike said, rising to his feet.

The boys and the detective were helped across to the gangway, and marched up to the deck of the ship. The thugs pushed them forward, and they found themselves at the base of a flight of stairs leading up to a raised deck in the forward superstructure.

"That way," Mike urged.

They climbed the steps, and were led around to the side of the superstructure, and urged through a door into the wheel house.

"This ain't what the boss said to do," Shorty complained again, looking upset.

Mike just glared at him. "I said I've got this. Now shut your trap."

The wheel house was roomy, with a radio room to the rear, and weather and current maps posted along the walls. A staircase led below deck, and several tall seats faced the large glass windows at the fore of the wheelhouse, affording a view of the ship's bow and the sea beyond.

It looked like a normally busy place where things got done, except now it was empty and silent save for the deep throb of the engines far below and the subtle grating sound of the anchor chains being drawn in.

Frank noticed then that the wheel was missing. In place of the great circle normally used to steer the vessel, a long, narrow piece of machinery squatted. It was encased in a thick steel housing that had been welded to the deck, and looked quite unmovable. The ship's E.O.T. - the engine order telegraph - normally used to send signals from the captain to the engine room regarding the ship's speed, was also absent.

Frank looked at his father. "What do you make of this?"

The elder Dane frowned. "Some kind of remote guidance device, would be my guess."

Mike laughed. "Gotta admit, you're a sharp one, fella. That's exactly what it is. The boss was in on some kind of hush-hush operation with the spy boys back in the war, which netted them a kraut e-boat that had been fixed up to be controlled from shore by radio." He pointed at the heavy machine. "You can thank the Kriegsmarine for that thing, there. Man, if they hadda gotten that thing going in the war, it woulda made things difficult for our navy boys."

"Dad," Joe said anxiously, "they're going to sit back and run this thing from afar. They're gonna run the ship right up on the beach and blow her up!"

Tony looked at Joe and gulped. "And I think we're going along for the ride."

"Another bright boy," Mike said, his eyes full of mirth. That he had the upper hand now was plain to him. And he was enjoying it, too.

The thug produced the bag he had brought along, pulled at the drawstring, and reached inside. When his hand came out, he was holding a pair of handcuffs!

"No more ropes for you," the thug said. "Shorty, bring the gumshoe over here by this hunka machinery."

Mr. Dane was thrust roughly forward to stand by the mysterious radio guidance machine. Mike came forward then, and opened the cuffs he held in his hand. The top of the machine had four large eye bolts - one at at each corner - by which it had presumably been lifted and moved about. The thug opened one wristlet, and snapped it through the eye bolt. The other he set on top of the machine. Then he reached into his pocket and produced his pistol, and aimed it squarely at Joe's head. "Okay, now untie the gumshoe. You --" he looked pointedly at Mr. Dane " -- make one wrong move, and you see what's gonna happen."

The detective simply nodded. Shorty and Jack stepped forward, and cut through the cords fastening Mr. Dane's hands behind him. Then Jack grabbed the free wristlet, put one of the detectives wrists inside, and snapped the wristlet closed.

"Keys in the bag," Mike directed at Shorty. "Double lock those cuffs, okay?"

After that had been accomplished, another set of cuffs was produced, and the detective's other hand cuffed to the eye bolt as well. Then, in turn, Frank, Joe, and Tony were each double cuffed to a different eye bolt at one of the corners of the heavy machine.

"There," Mike said now, grinning. "Comfy? Good view? That's great." He seemed very pleased with himself.

"You gotta real mean streak, Mike," Jack said, in his gravelly voice. "Remind me never to get on your bad side."

"Okay, I will." The deep-voiced thug looked over his handiwork, and nodded. Then he glanced at his watch. "The show will be startin' soon, gents. Time to go."

The thugs all filed out, and slammed the weather door behind them.

"Dad," Frank said softly, trying to overcome the despondent feeling settling over him. "We sent Chip to get Sheriff Kingsley. Maybe they'll be in time to stop this."

"We can't wait on that," the detective said, grinning. "Let's just wait a minute until we're sure they've left."

Frank's eyes bolted to his brother's, and both he and Joe grinned. "You have a plan?" Joe asked, sounding suddenly excited.

"In a minute," the elder Dane said, listening. "Be quiet just a moment, boys."

They all cocked their heads, concentrating.

Frank could just hear the footfalls of the men as they made their way back to the gangplank and descended to the fishing boat. There were some bangs and a small vibration, and a moment later the fishing boat came into view, heading for the shore.

At the same moment, the metallic grinding of the anchor chains drawing up suddenly ceased. The anchors had been raised! The ship was ready to go!

Mr. Dane picked up his right foot and settled it on the top edge of the machine, as if he were going to tie his shoe. Instead, he canted the shoe to one side, grasped the heel of it, and twisted sharply. There was a small click, and the heel turned outward!

"A good detective is prepared for every eventuality," Mr. Dane said then. "I just could not believe our good fortune when I saw that thug produce these handcuffs."

"What have you got there?" Frank asked, leaning forward as his father maneuvered his fingers into the heel.

The detective pulled something out, suddenly dropped his foot, and tapped the side of the heel against the casing of the machine, reseating it into position on the bottom of his shoe. Then he held up a tiny, gleaming object, and grinned. "Why, a master handcuff key, of course!"

An incredible elation, and not a small amount of admiration, washed over Ben Dane's oldest son. "Dad! You're wonderful!"

"Boy, is that some dandy thinking!" Joe said, grinning at Tony. His boyfriend grinned back, obviously thrilled at the turn of events.

Mr. Dane bent and maneuvered the key into the lock of the first wristlet, managed to turn it...and the wristlet popped free! In seconds he had the other one off, and was unlocking Frank's cuffs. Momentarily, all of them were free.

"How can we stop the ship?" Tony asked, voicing the question that all of them were thinking.

Mr. Dane examined the case of the machine they had been cuffed to. The metal was thick - too thick to break through with anything they had at their disposal. The ship surely had a machine shop, but where it was would take time to learn.

Instead the detective shook his head. "We cannot hope to stop the ship from here. Even if we somehow disabled her, I'd be willing to bet that Sturm would still detonate the explosives." He frowned. "The first thing we should do is see about letting the crew out of wherever they are locked up."

They descended the stairway to the next deck, and began calling out. Soon they heard a muffled reply, and a banging sound, and followed it to a large steel door set in a forward-facing bulkhead. The door's dogs had been thrown, and blocks of wood hammered under them to keep them in place. Joe located an emergency fire station and brought the axe that was hanging there, and soon they had knocked the wooden blocks out and were able to open the great door.

Six men stood there, looking wary. "Who are you?" the tall one out front said.

"Ben Dane and party," the detective answered, stepping forward. "Which of you is the captain?"

"I am master of this vessel," the tall man said. "Amos Dewey, at your service." He smiled then. "Ben Dane, the detective?"

Frank laughed, and Joe grinned. Only Mr. Dane shrugged off the comment. " Yes. But we haven't much time. This ship has been set to run by radio control. I want to know if we can stop that?"

"No," the captain said, glumly. "We were forced at gunpoint to assist them, so I know what was done to my ship. After they placed their nefarious machines in my engine room, the hatches were all welded shut. All the machine spaces have been isolated. It would take hours with a cutting torch to gain entry."

"How about the radio connection? Could we interrupt that somehow?"

Another man stepped forward. "That's my area. They are using some kind of low-frequency set-up. They welded the aerial directly to the hull. The entire ship is an antenna."

Ben Dane frowned. "Is that possible?"

"Yes. They would need to be operating from close by, though, and with a fairly powerful transmitting rig. They ran all their wiring down through the bulkhead chases and welded the access doors shut. Again, it would take hours to get to anything we could hope to use to interrupt their control." He shook his head. "I've never seen anything like the equipment these people have."

"Then we need to leave," the detective said immediately. "If nothing else, we can warn the people at the pavilion."

They hurried back up the steps. "Are there any lifeboats we can use?" the detective asked.

"Better than that," Captain Dewey said. "We've a motor launch we use to get back and forth to shore. If they haven't done something to her, that is."

"We didn't see anything like that at the gangway," Mr. Dane pointed out.

"We left the leeward gang open for the supply and mail packet," the captain said. "The launch is on the seaward side."

They hurried around to the side of the ship. The captain lead them aft, almost to the stern, to a place in the deck railing spanned by a chain stop. He bent over the railing and looked down, squinting into the darkness below, then popped his head up, grinning. "Still there, it seems."

Ben Dane shook his head. "Isn't that odd? I mean, if they intended to run the ship ashore, you'd think they would have wanted anything attached to her removed."

The captain shrugged. "I'd say they just missed the launch being there. They always came from shore, not from the sea. The little trawler they used to transport their machines here always came down the coast." He smiled. "Out of sight, out of mind."

They unfastened the chain guard, and descended the narrow gangway one by one to the launch.

"Take the tiller, Mr. Munson," the captain instructed, as they all found seats. "Release those lines," he instructed two other men, who hurried to comply. There was a brief grind of a starter, and an engine rumbled into life.

The captain looked at Ben Dane. "Are we making for the beach and the pavilion?"

But the detective seemed lost in thought. Everyone paused, watching him in silence, until he suddenly nodded to himself. "Make for the bluff. Drop me and the boys off, and then head straight for the pavilion and warn them to evacuate the beaches and the carnival grounds."

The captain nodded, and the launch set out around the stern of the ship.

"What are we doing, dad?" Frank asked.

The detective looked at him. "To run the ship by remote control, someone would need to be able to guide it." He waved a hand at the darkened sky." Not an easy thing to do at night, even with the ship's lights lit. So, how will they hit their mark? There must be some sort of radio guidance beam placed near the pavilion. Also, there will need to be a direct line-of-sight between the transmitter used to guide the ship, and the ship itself. I can think of only one place that would be perfect for that task." He pointed a finger at the bluff.

"The lighthouse!" Joe exclaimed, just before Frank said it himself. The two brothers exchanged a quick grin.

"But we were up there," Tony said. "We didn't see anything that looked like a transmitter."

"We didn't go through all those storage cabinets, either," Joe pointed out. "All of them were large enough to hide radio gear inside."

Behind them now, the lightship had faded to a dark outline laced with running lights, and topped by a red marker lamp atop her main mast.

Mr. Dane peered at his watch, the face of which glowed softly in the dark. "We're running out of time. It's just eight o'clock now. The magic show will be starting."

The beach ahead was awash in light from the hotel and the carnival area. They could see the rides turning, and the brighter area of light that was the great pavilion by the sea, surely even now packed with an excited audience awaiting the magical performance of Jack Dark. Frank felt a twisting sensation inside, imagining the havoc and death that ten tons of high explosive would unleash on the unsuspecting crowds. To come to such a storied place, expecting magic and wonder, and to be met with horror and oblivion instead...it was almost too much to consider. If Sturm were to be successful in his mission...Frank could not even imagine the consequences.

"We've got to hurry," he breathed, mostly to himself.

The launch made good headway, and soon brought them back to the base of the bluff.

"Have you a flashlight aboard?" Mr. Dane asked the captain of the Aphrodite.

"Yes, several." He reached quickly for the lid of a box built in by his seat. "Here. Take two." The captain's face looked drawn, even in the poor light. "And good luck." He was surely considering the destruction that his ship might wreak upon the crowded beach if it was not stopped.

The detective and the boys jumped over to the hollow, and waved as the launch headed off down the beach.

"Quickly, boys," Mr. Dane urged, "up the steps. But we've got to be as quiet as we can."

Frank looked about, but here was no sign of Chip or the police. Surely they had to be on their way!

Again, Frank felt the twisting sensation inside, a small fear arising that something might have happened to his best friend. That he loved Chipper he could not deny. Losing him would be a tragedy of another sort, and one that would surely break Frank's heart forever.

He swallowed hard, and steeled himself. Chipper was okay. He had to concentrate on what was to come.

The detective led the way as they entered the tunnel, and turned on his light. Joe had the other light, and turned it on as well. They made their way as rapidly and as quietly as they could down the lengths of tunnel and up the first four flights of steps, and then slowed and crept up the last flight of steps. They immediately heard voices, and crouched at the top of the staircase.

Frank cocked his head and strained to hear what was being said, but couldn't quite make it out. He could hear people moving around, and even what sounded like crates being dragged over the floor.

But then, a voice suddenly spoke up, close by, loud and clear. It sounded anxious and fearful, but strong with an underlying sense of purpose, and Frank would have recognized it even in his sleep.

"They must be here someplace, sheriff."

Chipper!

Frank bolted to his feet. "Chip!"

Mr. Dane also stood, as did the other boys.

Across from them stood Chip Morton, Sheriff Kingsley, and one of his deputies. Beyond them, down the hallway several more men were visible, appearing to be in the act of searching the level.

But all Frank could focus on was Chip. They ran together, laughing, and hugged each other, pounding each other on the back. It was all that Frank could do to keep from kissing his boyfriend, and he was relieved to see that Chip managed to take the same measure of self-control. As it was, they probably hugged too long, but anyone really paying attention would likely just see two best friends showing relief that each was safe and sound.

"By god, Jake, it's good to see you!" Mr. Dane said, stepping forward and grasping the sheriff's hand. "How long have you been here?"

The local lawman was all smiles. "About a half hour. I had my doubts at first when young Morton called me from the hotel, but his tone was so demanding and serious that I had to take notice. I rounded up and deputized some dependable men in the town, and placed a call to John Lewis and filled him in. He is supposed to be bringing some men up in a couple of those newfangled helicopters."

Mr. Dane nodded, looking around. "You surprised the men here?"

"Yes. There were only three of them. They're back here, in this first room."

Frank and Chip drew apart, smiling. "I'm so glad you're okay," Chip said softly, his eyes full of smiles.

Frank nodded. "Me, too, Chip. I was worried about you, too."

Mr. Dane moved off, following Sheriff Kingsley, and the boys joined the group.

Inside the first room, Mike, Shorty, and Jack were seated on the floor, their hands cuffed behind them, while a grim-faced deputy cradling a shotgun stood over them. At the sight of the Danes, all three men looked shocked...and then scared.

"The jig's up!" Shorty wailed. "We're caught!"

"Shut up!" Mike said viciously. "Don't say anything."

"That's right," Ben Dane said, nodding. "Stay silent. Protect your boss. Let him kill hundreds of innocent people." He bent down, and lowered his voice. "It will mean the electric chair for all three of you as aiders and abettors in the worst terror massacre in post-war history."

Even Mike gulped at that.

The detective smiled. "You three are already in so deep there's no turning back. The only thing you can do now is to try to mitigate your circumstances by helping to stop this crime."

The three thugs looked at each other, and nodded.

Mike seemed to decide that he would be the spokesman for the group. "You'll speak up for us if I help you?"

"I'll do what I can, yes," Ben Dane replied.

Mike winced, but nodded. "What do you want to know?"

"First of all, where is my thirty-eight?"

"Drawer of the table," the thug said.

The detective went to the indicated door, retrieved his snub-nosed revolver, and checked that the cylinder was full. He stuffed the weapon into his shoulder holster, then straightened, and turned back to Mike. "Is Gunter Sturm running the ship from the lighthouse?"

"Yeah."

"Is he alone?"

Mike shrugged. "I dunno. Even Gunter reported to someone. We never met the guy, though." He lowered his eyes.

Ben Dane looked grim. "You have a suspicion who it is?"

Mike nodded. "Joseph, the lighthouse caretaker."

"And why do you suspect him?"

Mike raised his eyes again. "Aw, come on. All that stuff going on at the lighthouse? They would fire up the light to let the lightship know they were starting a test on the radio gear. Guys were going in and out of the lighthouse all the time, carrying gear, wiring up the stuff; how could Joseph not see that? It has to be him."

"How about Jack Dark?" Frank had to ask.

The thug made a derisive sound. "That guy? He's at the pavilion now, ready to be blown up with the rest of them. He'd be pretty stupid to let that happen if he knew what was up, huh?"

For the moment, Frank had to agree. Yet something still bothered him about the magician...but he just couldn't put a finger on it.

"How can we get upstairs?" Sheriff Kingsley asked. "We've been all over this level, and there doesn't seem to be a way up."

Mike frowned, and remained silent.

"You tell him, Mike, or I will!" Jack suddenly said, his gravelly voice edged with fear now.

Mike grimaced, then nodded. He turned his head and looked at the back wall of the room, which was constructed of floor-to ceiling panels of wood, each about three feet wide, with vertical strips of wood between them. "Go to the panel second from the right and push on it."

Sheriff Kingsley blinked, but moved immediately to the panel in question. He eyed it up and down a moment, then extended a hand, laid it palm-down on the surface, and pushed.

Nothing happened.

"Give it some juice!" Shorty called then, sounding hoarse and afraid.

The sheriff leaned a shoulder against the panel and pushed. There was a squeak of protest from hidden hinges, and the panel moved backwards into the wall.

"A door!" Joe said in wonder. "A hidden door!"

The sheriff leaned harder and pushed the door inward. Beyond the door was a lighted room, at the center of which was a spiral staircase, which disappeared into the hard rock ceiling above.

The way up!

The lawman looked back at the three on the floor. "Where does this go?"

Mike sighed. "It takes you to a sub-basement under the lighthouse. There's a tunnel that runs over to the basement of the mansion, and a small staircase that goes up into the cellar of the lighthouse. That's the one you want."

"Better watch yourselves," Jack spoke up then. "That guy Gunter ain't no one you wanna play with. And he's got that Tommy gun with him, too."

"We have one, also," the sheriff said. He turned to the deputy with the shotgun. "Go get that machine gun from Ralph." Kingsley then drew his pistol and leveled it at the men on the floor. "Stay still, gentleman."

The deputy was gone and back in a flash, this time toting a big Thompson sub-machine gun, it's dark pancake magazine giving it a truly menacing appearance. Frank was reminded of all the times he had seen the weapon in action in the movies, and determined that it was not something to joke around with. The sheriff and his men meant business, no doubt about that.

"You boys stay here," Sheriff Kingsley said, nodding at the teens. "Come on, Ben. You come with Will and me." The deputy with the Thompson nodded, and stepped forward.

Frank and Joe both gaped at the sudden turn of events. Ben Dane looked at his sons in sympathy, and then sighed. "Jake, the boys have earned a right to be in on the end of this. Without them, hundreds of people would have certainly died."

The sheriff's eyes widened, and he grimaced. "Ben...if anything happens to even a one of them, it will mean my badge. Not to mention me being unable to live with myself."

"They'll stay to the rear," the detective said. "Believe me, Jake, when I say that I do not want my sons or their friends in danger, either." He looked at the boys, at the expressions on their faces. "But they have earned this, okay?"

The sheriff surveyed the boy's anxious faces, and slowly nodded. "Okay. Someone starts anything...anything at all, you boys go back, you hear me?"

Frank and the others nodded, looking relieved. To miss out on the end of this case would be awful!

The sheriff started up the steps, followed by the deputy with the machine gun, and then Mr. Dane, and then the boys. Frank led the way behind his father, with Joe a close second, and the other two boys last. Frank knew there was danger here, and briefly wished that Chip and Tony were staying behind; but they, too, had earned a right to be here.

The staircase wound slowly upward through the rock, with small lights at regular intervals, attached to a conduit that led downwards from above. Far above them, maybe a hundred feet or more, they could see a faint circle of light that marked the top of the stairs. Frank marveled at the amazing engineering of this route through the rock of the bluff to the sea below, and wondered at what had been in the mind of Otto Sturm when he had created it. Surely not as an escape route. What use could the man have envisioned for such a herculean construction?

He whispered the same question to his father.

The detective made a slight amused sound. "I'm not sure that Sturm built this, Frank. I suspect that whoever created this tunnel complex was doing more than fishing. We'll talk about it later, okay?"

More than fishing! Frank's thoughts turned in new directions, now considering the possibilities of smuggling and piracy.

But there was no time for more thought on the subject.

They slowed as they neared the top of the stairs, setting their feet as quietly as possible on the steel steps, and as they arrived at their destination, Sheriff Kingsley waved a hand for those below to stop. The lawman carefully mounted another couple of steps, and then just as carefully stuck his head up and looked slowly around the room above.

"It's clear," he whispered, motioning them for the others to follow him up.

They emerged into an obvious basement, with walls of stone all about. In one wall was a large door, that somehow looked much newer than the surroundings.

"That must go off to the mansion," Ben Dane said quietly. He turned to look at Sheriff Kingsley. "I'm thinking now the lighthouse tunnel predates the construction of the mansion by some years. If that is the case, then Otto Sturm simply took advantage of what was already beneath the lighthouse when he purchased this property."

"You think he was a smuggler?" Joe whispered.

The detective smiled. "I can't answer that. But it certainly seems that whoever originally constructed these subterranean works had more than just getting back and forth to the beach in mind."

Sheriff Kingsley held a finger to his lips for silence, and pointed to another staircase in the corner of the room, that went up seven steps to a landing, turned at forty-five degrees, and continued up through the wooden floor above them.

Ben Dane nodded, and they approached the other stairs and mounted them carefully. At the top was a wooden door, from beyond which only arrived silence. Sheriff Kingsley licked his lips, grasped the knob, turned it, and edged the door inwards. He peered around the edge, opened it further, and then stuck his head quickly through the gap for a better look.

Then he was pulling back and opening the door wide.

Beyond was what looked like a kitchen. A wide gas stove underneath a bronze-colored hood occupied a space between countertops, and an icebox and a small table were off to one side. They emerged, still stepping carefully, and Ben Dane withdrew his pistol and held it at the ready. "Stay behind us, "he whispered to the boys.

The went around through an arched doorway and entered a small dining room...and stopped.

Two of the chairs at the table were pulled out. Bound tightly to them, gags stuffed into their mouths, sat Joseph and Sophie. Their eyes grew large as the party entered, and stood in a semi-circle before them.

"Who did this?" Ben Dane asked.

Joseph raised his shoulders, confusion plainly visible on what could be seen of his face. Sophie looked to be in shock, her eyes slightly glazed. She turned to her husband, who gave her an encouraging look.

"Should I cut 'em loose, Ben?" Kingsley asked.

The detective frowned. "Not just yet. They seem safe enough here, and until we know who is who, I don't want them running loose." He bent down and looked into Joseph's face. "You understand? Both of you relax. We'll be back shortly to release you."

Joseph obviously swallowed hard, but nodded.

"Are they in the lighthouse?" the detective asked then.

Joseph nodded.

"How many? Do you know?"

Again, the groundskeeper nodded. He blinked his eyes two times.

"Two?" the detective inquired.

Joseph nodded.

Frank felt a thrill of excitement. Two men! Gunter Sturm, certainly, was one. Could the other one be the mysterious boss of this outfit?

Ben Dane put out a hand and gave Joseph's shoulder a comforting squeeze. "You and your wife will be fine."

They left the groundskeeper and his wife, and circled around to the other side of the house. A doorway there led into the base of the lighthouse tower.

Again, the sheriff eased it open, and peered through the crack. He gazed upwards, opened the door further, and stepped through.

There were crates and other items stowed about the lower walls; but the interior of the tower was essentially open. A wide staircase, hugging the outer wall, spiraled upwards to a second floor. Frank knew, having visited the lighthouse before, that there were four floors going up the steps, with the lantern room occupying a fifth level.

Sheriff Kingsley again motioned for silence, and started up the steps. They reached the first floor, and found it clear. The next several floors were also clear. Finally, they reached the fourth floor, and looked up the steps at the last level. They could hear voices now, talking quietly, but could not make out what was being said.

Nearby was a window, and Frank took a step over to it to look out. He could see the beach and the carnival. People still milled all about, although they did seem to be leaving the grounds.

Out to sea, nearing the shore, he could see the lights of the Aphrodite, her topmost red beacon blinking as if in warning. Mr. Dane came over to stand beside him, and also looked out.

Clearly, the crowds were not going to reach safety before the big vessel rammed herself up onto the beach. Mr. Dane gave a pained look, and turned his head to look up the steps again.

Then he approached the deputy holding the machine gun, and extended his hands. The deputy looked at Sheriff Kingsley, who nodded, and then the gun was handed over.

The bolt on the weapon was already pulled back. The detective carefully thumbed off the safety, gave a little sigh, and then began to walk about, looking upwards at the wooden floor above them. Occasional creaks floated down to them as the two men moved about above them, and it was suddenly clear to Frank what his father intended.

They could not risk the ship reaching the beach and being detonated. The number of lives to be lost was just too much to wager. The two men above had to be stopped now.

Ben Dane stopped moving, and pointed the muzzle of the Thompson at the floor above them. Then he closed his eyes, listening.

Frank could scarcely take a breath. His heart was racing, and small, anxious tremors passed through his legs. The other boys also seemed to be totally consumed by the events now transpiring.

There was another creak from just above them, and suddenly the Thompson roared in the detective's hands. The boys danced back as splinters of wood rained down about them, and Frank could see light appearing through the ruptures in the wood above. An awful wail echoed down the stairs, and then came the heavy thumps of two bodies hitting the floor.

Sheriff Kingsley hefted his pistol, and he and the deputy raced up the steps to the lantern room. Mr. Dane charged after them, and the boys followed.

Near the top of the steps lay the body of a man they had never seen before. He was Ben Dane's age, maybe, with sandy hair, and there was no doubt that he was dead.

Several feet away, near a table upon which had been piled some strange looking devices, some of which resembled radio gear, lay Gunter Sturm. His eyes were open, and he turned his head to look at them. But that he, too, was on his way out, was apparent. The front of his shirt was drenched in blood, and his hands moved feebly against the pockmarked floorboards.

He spied Ben Dane and the boys, and a slow smile spread over his features. "Why am I not surprised?" he breathed.

The detective squatted next to the man, anguish apparent on his features. "I'm sorry. We couldn't take a chance that you would explode the ship."

Sturm smiled, and nodded, and his eyes rolled upwards. His eyelids sank down, and he gave a small breath.  "Es tut mir leid, vater."

His chest heaved once, and then was still. Ben Dane stood erect, and handed the Thompson back to the deputy.

Frank and Joe moved to their father's side, and each gripped an arm. They knew how much the man valued life, and how much it had cost him to take two of them. The detective smiled sadly, and raised his arms, and took a son under each, and squeezed them too him.

"Is it over?" Chip asked, coming to stand by Frank.

Frank nodded. "Almost."

They turned to look out one of the large widows, to where crowds still streamed forth from the carnival area. Offshore, the Aphrodite was still approaching.

Ben Dane released his sons, and moved over to look at the console on the table top. It was covered with levers and switches and small red and green lights, and Frank could see now that they were all labeled in German. One large lever was currently pushed all the way forward, to a label that read Vorwärts. The detective gripped it, and pulled it back to the middle position, labeled Halt.

Offshore, the Aphrodite seemed to nose down into the water a bit, still moving forward, but had obviously slowed in its mad plunge towards the beach.

There was another switch near the motor control, a large red pushbutton marked Detonieren. Ben Dane pointed at it. "If Sturm had reached that one, it would have set off the explosives aboard the ship."

The detective walked around the console and examined the wiring. He found what was obviously a power cable, and pulled it from its socket. The lights on the console winked, and went out.

"I know you speak German, dad," Frank said then. "What did Sturm say...right at the end?"

Ben Dane nodded, and put an arm around his eldest son. The other boys came closer to hear the answer.

The detective turned his head to look at the body crumpled on the floor. "He said, 'I'm sorry, father'."

A sound reached them then, a steady throbbing that cut through the air, and began to rise in volume. Frank turned, and could see lights in the sky.

"Are those the state police helicopters?" Joe asked, giving a little huff of wonder.

"I'm sure they are," the detective said, nodding. "Better late than never, huh?"

Frank smiled, gave his dad another hug, and the boys followed the detective back down the stairs.

To be continued...