Rick Brant - Smugglers' Reef Part 32

The editor was as anxious as any of them to see the pictures, but, as he pointed out, there was no longer any special haste, and he preferred not to have both himself and Jerry away from the paper at the same time, especially in the very early or very late evening when the wire service newscasts were coming in.

Rick had agreed. He planned to project the film, choose the single frames that would be the most useful, rephotograph them, and make enlargements for Duke and Captain Douglas. The rephotographing was done with a special, inexpensive device that could be purchased at any photo supply store.

Scotty opened the window wider and stuck his head out. "Thought I heard something."

Rick looked at his watch. It was shortly after eight. "Let's take the gla.s.ses and walk out to the north side," he said. "It won't be completely dark until around nine, and we'll be able to see him coming."

"Wait a minute." Scotty held up his hand. "There. I thought I heard something. He's coming now. I recognize the launch motor."

Rick started for the door, then he hesitated. "You go meet him. I'll get the projector set up in the library."

He ran down the stairs and called, "Mother. Dad. Jerry's coming with the pictures." Then he hurried into the library, took his folding screen from the closet and set it up. He got the projector from its case, plugged it in, using his father's desk as a table, and put on the take-up reel. He finished focusing just as Scotty and Jerry burst into the room. Mr. and Mrs. Brant were right behind them.

"Got a clogged gas line," Jerry explained breathlessly. "I finally got a man to push me to the nearest gas station. We took the gas line off at the carburetor and blew it out with compressed air. I didn't dare take time to find out what had clogged it, because I knew you'd lynch me."

"You're forgiven," Rick said. He had already taken the film from Jerry and was threading it through the projector gate. He inserted the loose end in the take-up reel and motioned to Scotty. "Here we go."

Scotty snapped out the light and Rick started the projector. White leader ran through the gate, then suddenly, clear as day, there were two s.h.i.+ps below, their center sections brightly illuminated and the rest fading out slightly toward what had been the edges of the infrared beam.

"Excellent, Rick," Hartson Brant said. "Good work, son! That's much better than I had hoped."

"Same here, Dad," Rick said, eyes on the screen. The s.h.i.+ps appeared to be whirling slowly, the result of his having taken the picture while circling in a tight bank. He could see the men on the decks clearly, and even thought he recognized Brad Marbek. Then, as the angle changed, he saw Marbek clearly, waving his arm.

"What flag is that?" Scotty asked suddenly. "There, on the stern of the freighter."

The flag was limp because there had been no breeze to speak of, but part of the design was clear. "I have it," Hartson Brant exclaimed.

"That s.h.i.+p is of Caribbean registry." He named the country, then said, "Look for the name of the s.h.i.+p."

But the angle was wrong for that. The name was not within the camera's view, on either stern or bow.

The film was running out rapidly now. Rick watched the cargo net swing over, full of wooden cases, and drop on the deck of the freighter. For a moment it didn't register, then he yelled. "Hey! Ohmigolly! Did you see that?" He threw the reverse switch and the film ran backward. The net lifted from the deck of the freighter and swung toward the _Albatross_. Then he ran it forward again and watched the load settle to the freighter's deck.

Scotty yelled, too. "What a pair of chuckleheads! Rick, no wonder we didn't find anything on the _Albatross_ and neither did Captain Douglas! They're smuggling stuff _out!_ Not in!"

The Plimsoll mark! The _Albatross_ had been heavily loaded because Brad Marbek had _taken on the load at Creek House he would deliver later to the freighter_.

That was why no s.h.i.+ps had been listed in the New York paper as being in the right area at the right time. They had looked for arrival times, not sailing times.

That was why the cache of cases was no longer in the marsh behind Creek House. These pictures were of those cases being loaded on the freighter!

The picture ran through and white light flashed on the screen. Scotty snapped the lights on.

"We've got to get these pictures to Captain Douglas," Rick exclaimed.

"I'll hurry and rephotograph them right away. It will only take a moment."

He hastily rewound the film while Scotty ran ahead to the photo lab.

Hartson Brant said, "Ed will be glad to get those, Rick. But don't get your hopes too high. The pictures don't show any contraband in those cases, and that's what you'll need."

"I know, Dad," Rick replied. "But at least we know now why we've always been wrong. We were backwards!"

He hurriedly excused himself, then he and Jerry hurried after Scotty.

Scotty already had loaded the rephotographing camera with film and screwed a photo flood bulb into a convenient receptacle. It took Rick only ten minutes to select the frames he wanted to rephotograph and finish the operation. Then he gave the rephotographing camera to Scotty who wound the film all the way through and took it out.

"Let's develop it," he said, and reached for the shelf to take down a small developing tank.

"Wait!" An idea struck Rick. "How do we know Brad isn't going to load again tonight? Remember the Kelsos have only a few more days at Creek House."

Jerry snapped his fingers. "That's right! And I'll bet they're gloating over hoodwinking the State Police, too. They wouldn't be afraid to s.h.i.+p _out_ another load, particularly since they know they're suspected of smuggling stuff _in_ and it might be their last chance."

"We can't risk it," Rick said decisively. "We'll take this film to Whiteside and have the photographer at the paper develop it. How about that, Jerry?" The reporter nodded agreement and he continued, "While it's being developed, we can go through the New York papers again and find out if a s.h.i.+p of Caribbean registry is sailing. About midnight would be right for a sailing time."

Scotty reached for the light. "We'd better hurry." He snapped it out and led the way through the door. He and Jerry went directly to the boat landing while Rick ran upstairs and picked up his infrared camera, just in case. If the police raided Creek House tonight, he intended to be on hand.

Scotty had chosen the fast speedboat and already had the engine turning over. Rick jumped aboard and they roared toward Whiteside. At the dock they transferred to Jerry's car and sped through the streets to the newspaper office. Duke Barrows had just finished with the early newscast and, taking advantage of the lull, had gone home for dinner; he would return in about an hour, the photographer said. He was the only man in the office. Jerry gave him the roll of film on which Rick had rephotographed the critical scenes from the movie and asked for two enlargements of each.

"It's urgent," he said. "Duke will want to see these when he gets back."

"He'll have 'em." The photographer headed for the darkroom.

Rick and Scotty didn't wait any longer. They took the file of New York papers from the rack and hurriedly leafed through them to the proper dates.

"Here's one!" Rick found a pencil and jotted down the name of the s.h.i.+p and its owner. The next date disclosed a s.h.i.+p of the same registry and owner, but with a different name. They worked rapidly and it took only a few minutes now that they knew what to look for, and presently they had the job completed. Jerry, who had been phoning Duke, joined them and looked over Rick's shoulder as he read aloud.

"All the same company and registry. It's the Compania Maritima Caribe y Atlantica." He stumbled a little over the Spanish name. This was good evidence. He looked at his friends, eyes s.h.i.+ning. "Now for today's paper. Got it Jerry?"

The reporter found it on Duke's desk and they spread it out on a table. Three heads bent over it. There was no s.h.i.+p of that company and registry listed as sailing tonight. Then Scotty spotted a separate listing of s.h.i.+ps now loading.

"Got one! But it's scheduled to sail night after tomorrow. And look!

It's the same s.h.i.+p that was here two weeks ago!"

Rick sat down at Jerry's desk. He still couldn't escape the feeling of urgency. He had played his hunches before and he did so now. He leaned over and picked up a copy of the New York phone directory. With the others watching curiously, he leafed through it, found the right page and ran his finger down it until he had the number, then he picked up Jerry's phone and called it.

While the operator made the connection, he held his hand over the mouthpiece. "A hunch. The s.h.i.+pping offices are closed now, but the Port Director at New York will know."

A female voice said, "Port of New York Authority."

"Information on s.h.i.+p sailings, please," Rick requested.

The operator rang an extension and a male voice answered.

"I know you don't usually bother with information of this kind," Rick said, "but this is the Whiteside _Morning Record_ and we need it for tomorrow's edition. I'd like to know if there is any correction on the sailing date of this s.h.i.+p." He read off the name and company and the pier number.

"Just a minute, Whiteside. I'll be glad to look it up."

Rick waited tensely.

"Here it is. That s.h.i.+p was supposed to sail Friday night, but the sailing has been moved up. She leaves tonight at midnight."