Chapter 6: Picking Up Pieces

The rapid walk up the street and into Government House left Silas Stanbridge slightly out of breath.  He paused in the marbled foyer to recover before making a dash up the broad stairway to the second level.  The captain nodded greetings to clerks and staff furries before entering the office of the Director of Aids to Navigation.

A young Siamese secretary in native dress paused in her typing to watch the human enter.

“Mr. Dharsono is waiting for you, sir.”

Stanbridge nodded his thanks as he strode past, pausing to the hang his hat on the hat stand.  At the door to the inner office of his boss the man knocked, took a deep breath, then opened the door and stepped in.  The room was spacious and filled with artifacts that reminded the occupant of his native Indonesia.  At the moment said occupant was standing before the window, hands resting on the sill, his broad back to human as he entered.

“I never expected you to have been interested in the theater, Captain Stanbridge.”  The words were casually tossed over the shoulder as owner of the deep rumbling voice turned.

Almost as broad as he was tall, Nurdin Dharsono filled out the white tropical suit as any other orangutan male would.  The low black cylindrical hat set on his head announced to the world that he was also a follower of Mohammed.  With a rolling gait due to his short legs Dharsono made his way around the broad desk to approach the tall officer.
 
Silas placed his right hand over his heart.

“Peace be with you,” he said while giving a slight bow.

The orangutan stopped, placed his large hand over his heart, and bowed in return.

“And with you, peace.”

Then the two figures straightened and shook hands, smiling.

“I see you have made the acquaintance of the Golden Harvest Film Company and the lovely An Sat Simi?” inquired the orangutan director as he directed the human to a chair.

Setting the briefcase down in the chair Stanbridge removed his copies of the reports he gave to Admiral Sebastian earlier.

“A rather forceful introduction, I’m sure, sir,” he answered as he passed the sheaf of papers to the director.
 
Picking up an ornate cigar box off the broad desktop, Dharsono offered the captain one of Sumatra’s best.  Silas accepted the cigar, then waited on his boss to do the same.  After cutting and lighting, the two gentlebeings settled back and savored the momentary solitude.  During this time Dharsono set a pair of pince nez glasses on his broad nose and began to peruse the reports.  A thin haze of cigar smoke drifted upward to be dissipated by the ceiling fans overhead.   When the orangutan finished reading he laid the reports down before swiveling his chair to regard a large map on the wall.  It covered the entire Spontoon Island archipelago, giving some geological detail to the dots of land scattered like a handful of gravel across a blue tablecloth.  Colored pins dotted the map, each pin having a particular color representing a specific detail.
 
There were fifty white pins signifying the light towers that were the responsibility of Silas Stanbridge and two other officers of the Navigational Aid Service.  And next to five of those pins were red ones, indicating their loss.  There was now a black headed pin set close to the red and white ones at Little Orpington Island.

“Admiral Sebastian was kind enough to inform me this morning about that unfortunate incident,” rumbled the simian, stabbing at the map with his cigar.

Silas nodded.  “Yes, I had a very close look at the aftermath.”

Dharsono took a thoughtful pull, blowing the smoke skyward.  He regarded the last couple of pages of the report before turning his attention on his officer.

“As with the other four this one was totally destroyed.  And these are the only deaths to have occurred during the destruction.”

Silas shook his head.  “We believe the killings happened after the tower was blown up.  Probably the event drew the party closer for a better look and the wreckers shot them to leave no witnesses.”
Tossing the report on the desk the orangutan took another pull of his smoke.

“By Allah, a most unfortunate thing to happen.  And the deaths of those responsible will not balance the scales against these people.”
 
The man nodded.  “Most true, sir, most true.”

The great orange simian stared at human.  “Do you have any idea why these towers were destroyed?  Whatever you have in mind, no matter how small or insignificant it may be, could shed some much needed light on this unfortunate string of incidents.”

Getting up from his seat Silas walked over to the map and studied it.  Then taking up a long pointer he began to mark off the red pins.

“We know that the first tower destroyed was #7 up here in Prescott Bay at Brackett Island.  And Commander Jenkins of the Mary Walker reported that early in April.  Then there came #12 on Blefuscu about a week later.”

“If I remember correctly those were very tall towers,” interjected Dharsono.

The captain nodded, taking a drag from his cigar.

“Yes, sir, both were one hundred and thirty foot structures of tubular construction set on screw pilings.  Unlike #34, these two held rotating beacons that required a greater tankage capacity for the acetylene. The same is true for #18 at Mare’s Nest Shoals and # 26 on Lovo Island.”
 
Using the pointer he ticked off the other two locations.  As he paused in his narration the man cocked his head, his brow wrinkled in thought.  Suddenly he stood erect; eyes wide as a revelation came to him.

“Mr. Dharsono, do you by any chance have some string in your desk?”

Puzzlement beetled thick black brows.  “Why, no, I don’t, but will ask for some.”

A thick finger stabbed at the intercom box on his desk as a stream of words in Siamese was directed towards it.  Presently the young secretary entered and set a roll of string on the desk before bowing out.  The orangutan brought it over, curiosity utmost in his mind.
 
Taking the string Stanbridge tied a small loop in the end before turning for one of the chairs facing the director’s desk.  Dragging it back to the map the man stood up in the chair and carefully placed the loop over the pin marking tower #7.   Then he asked for a white pin, inserting this into the center of the Spontoon Island cluster.  Feeding some string from the roll Silas drew the line down to the new pin and made a pass around it, keeping the string taut.  Afterwards he stretched the string to the pin marking #12, made a pass around this one, and brought it back to Spontoon Island.  He did it two more times, each going out to the pin indicating a destroyed tower then back to home.  When he was done the man threw a half hitch on the new pin before standing down.

“What do you see, Mr. Dharsono?” the captain asked after a moments pause.

Black eyes narrowed in concentration as the simian studied what was added to his map.  Quickly those beetling brows shot up, threatening to knock the black hat off.

“Tears of Allah, those four are used to guide shipping in from the Rain Coast and America!”

Silas Stanbridge nodded.  “Precisely, sir.  Someone is preparing a means of slowing down the response time to an invasion of Spontoon Island!”  The man turned back to the map.  “By blowing up these specific light towers the invader would observe the amount of time and effort it would take to replace these structures.  This would give them a time frame by which to plan their sweep into this region of the Pacific.”
 
“Without those lights any naval flotilla and supply convoy would have to approach the islands carefully so they wouldn’t get their bottoms torn out on the shoals.  And the invaders could bring whatever fire to bear on them.  They could even lay a hasty mine field if need be.”

Nodding his massive head Nurdin Dharsono saw the logic behind these assumptions.

“But what about Little Orpington Island?” he asked.  “It has no strategic value to what you have suggested.”

“That’s true,” answered Silas.  “The only thing I can think of why it was destroyed was probably to measure our response time in getting from one side of the archipelago to the other.”

“Such as replacing the light on Albert Island?” asked the simian director.

The human shrugged.  “Possibly, though I believe Albert Island was part of the original plan since it could guide shipping from California through the eastern portion of the archipelago.”

Again Dharsono nodded, understanding lighting his eyes brighter.
 
“Yes, my dear captain, a most astute observation.  Now the question is who would be doing this?
And why?”

    Silas shook his head.  He turned towards the director’s desk to knock the ash off his cigar.

    “The ‘why’ would be an invasion as we have just mentioned.  The ‘who’ is not so easy.  Cipangu is easily considered as they have been building militarily for a number of years.  But they would use their own people to spy on us, watching, counting, and gathering any bit of information to send back to Tokyo.  But they wouldn’t waste their efforts in blowing up the towers.  The same could be said for the Russians at Vostokiya Zemlya.  I don’t think they would try something like this.”

    Returning to the map the man stared up at it, his blue eyes narrowed as he weighed his words.
    “And I don’t see the Kuo Han having a direct hand in this.  Either someone is using the Five Dragons as a front for these activities, or using them as a red herring.”

    “Red herring?” asked a puzzled orangutan.

    Stanbridge grinned.  “A Western term meaning a false trail.  Someone could have planted that medallion on those three my aircrew shot up this morning.”

    Dharsono nodded.  “And how is the experiment with the aircraft doing?  Well, I hope?”

    A grimace flashed across the man’s bearded face.
 
    “I’m not too thrilled with having the Seagull on my ship.  The added weight sitting that high has moved the center of gravity too high for safe sailing in rough waters.  That storm we had a week ago was causing the Ida Lewis to roll too much for safety’s sake.  No, I’ll have to say that the experiment was not a resounding success.  And as soon as we can remove the cradle the better I’ll sleep at night.”
 
    Nodding his understand the orangutan director settled back behind his desk.

    “So you are recommending the entire project be cancelled?”

    Stanbridge went to his chair.  “No, sir, I believe the use of the Seagull is very instrumental in shortening the time and logistics of traveling from light to light.  What I’m recommending is that the plane and cradle be removed from the Ida Lewis and the ship returned to its original configuration.  The amphibian should be stationed at Moon Island and sent out to the light towers according to a schedule based on periodic inspections.  Of course that will keep the tenders in dock a lot of the time, but they are getting old and needing necessary overhaul.”

    Large black eyes regarded the captain through a haze of blue-gray smoke.  And behind those eyes the primate’s brain was adding this information with what had been stored there the day before.

    “You must understand, my dear captain, that at the moment the Transportation Committee is very tight on funding for what you are suggesting.”

    “Oh, why’s that?”  came the puzzled reply.

    “While you were out on your routine patrol the Committee had authorized funding for the construction of both a trolley system on Casino Island to reduce the congestion of motor vehicle traffic there, as well as reintroducing a much needed rail system on Main Island.”

    The human frowned.  “And what about those lightships I’ve been asking for, to be set out farther in the shipping lanes where there is nothing to anchor the light towers to?”

    The great simian shrugged.  “Your request had been submitted by myself, as you have asked, but the answer I received is that for now - how was it Barkley had said?  Oh, yes, ‘the current situation on the islands mandates a more pressing need to accommodate the tourist trade far more than enlarging a system of navigational lights which is adequate for the time being.’”

    Silas buried his face in his free hand.  My God, don’t these people realize its more important to get the tourists safely to the islands before you can worry about getting them around?  Heaving a deep sigh the man looked up at his director.

    “And what about my proposal for establishing life-saving stations around the archipelago?”

    “It was considered but tabled.  Once again, lack of funding.  Even the Syndicate council replied that is was a good necessity for the islands, but even they are suffering from a lack of funds.”
 
    “Oh, well,” the man began with a toss up of his hands, “ I’ve faced worse things on the sea but they can’t compare with bureaucracy.”

    Dharsono chuckled.  “All will come in good time, my friend.  You must place your faith in God.”

    “But keep your camel tied up,”countered the captain with a chuckle as he stood up.

    They shook hands after Stanbridge picked up his briefcase.
 
    “And now, my good captain, are you off to make ready for this evening’s affair with the admirable An Sat Simi?”  The orangutan was escorting the human to the door.

    Stanbridge shook his head.  “Not now, Nurdin, I have some business on Casino Island I need to look into before my confrontation with said actress.”

    “Then mind the construction along the main thoroughfares.  Traffic has been restricted to only public transportation, and as you Americans say, ‘the natives are restless.’”

    They parted with laughter as Silas retrieved his hat, bade goodbye to the director and his secretary, and left the building.  But instead of using the main entrance, the man ducked out a side door and worked his way down a side street to reach his motorcycle.  A thorough examination proved that the machine had not been tampered with.  Stashing the briefcase in a saddlebag Silas walked the Henderson out of the parking lot.  Then climbing on he rode it in silence down the street until he felt secure in the knowledge that the engine starting up would be less noticeable against the traffic in the background.

    He reached the docks to catch the latest ferry to Casino Island.  As was his trip to Meeting Island, Silas was engaged in conversation by people known and unknown all the way over.  But there was a little something that was nagging him since leaving Government House.  The unexpected meeting with An Sat Simi, a.k.a. Celine Monval, wasn’t sitting well with him.  It was all too pat a setup in his mind, from the deserted street to the barrier set aside for his convenience.  Pitching the stub of his cigar into the water, Silas Stanbridge knew that he was entering dangerous waters where the shoals did more than tear out the bottom of a ship.  Which was why he was going to need a pilot of a different sort to guide him through these murky waters.

    Upon reaching the docks of the European settlement Stanbridge kicked his motorcycle back to life and headed towards the downtown area.  As Dharsono had warned him the streets were beginning to show the inevitable signs of construction.  Large warnings had been posted that restricted vehicular traffic to only the public kind.  Strips of brickwork had been removed to allow a precast concrete guttering to be set down the middle.  In other places Silas noticed small open shelters being constructed along the routes with benches inside.
 
    Finally he could go not further as the side street he wanted was completely blocked off.  At a parking lot the man parked the Henderson, removed his briefcase, and proceeded on foot into a neighborhood of apartments and family businesses.  He hadn’t gone far when he noted the sign beside the entryway of a stairwell leading up.  The sign read: J. Breckenridge, Private Investigator.

    At the top of the stairs was a door with a large glass panel that bore the same title as below.  Stepping in Silas entered the outer office of the agency.  Two animal females were attending to clerical work; a middle-aged Guernsey in simple dress, pince nez glasses, and dark hair drawn back into a bun was at a filing cabinet.  At the desk busy with a typewriter sat a much younger Chinchilla whose mode of dress and makeover reflected the current fashion.  Both turned to see who had entered and smiled.

    With hand motions Stanbridge indicated for them to continue their routines while pointing to the door of the inner office.  Both nodded in the affirmative.  Walking softly to the door the man knocked at the glass light then tapped the lower panel twice with his shoe the refrain: “Shave and a haircut.  Two bits!”

    “Come on in, Silas,” came the tired gravelly voice of the occupant.

    Inside his inner sanctum Jacob Breckenridge was seated behind his desk, a report in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.  The middle-aged mallard glanced up at his guest through pince-nez glasses.  Setting aside the cup Breckenridge took the full curved pipe from his bill and stood up.  The two Americans shook hands.

    “What brings you here,” asked the P.I., “besides your scooter.”

    Silas took the offered seat.  “A need to do some snooping for me, Jake.”

    The mallard nodded, tamping his pipe before relighting.
 
    “Figured as much.  Got the cash to cover the trash?”

    The human grinned.  “You know I’m good, Jake.  What I need is for you to hit the usual portside dives and keep an ear open for anything having to do with the light towers.”

    The drake cupped a hand by his head.  “What ears?”

    Both chuckled before Jake continued.  “All this has to do with whoever is destroying the towers, right?  Well, I’ll see what I can dig up, but it may be nothing more than the rumor mill working overtime, you know.”

    The naval officer nodded.  “I know, but there has to be something drifting through the bars, especially the murder of those people on Jerome Davenport’s yacht.”

    Breckenridge spread his hands.  “As I said, Silas, I’ll see what I can dig up.  There might not be anything, not even a peep about any of it.  But I’ll do my best, you know that.”

    Standing up Stanbridge smiled, “I know that, Jake.  And that’s all I’m asking from you.  And paying you for.”

    Back out on the street Captain Silas Stanbridge straightened his hat, took a firmer grip on his briefcase, and headed back up the sidewalk to the parking lot and his motorcycle.  In his mind he knew, and strongly suspected, that there might not be any word over whom or why would be destroying his light towers.  But he was willing to spend his own money to get a blank report.  Whoever is doing this wouldn’t be in for the money.  It wasn’t extortion; this went right to the heart of national security.  And that meant the shadows of war were gathering in this watery part of the word.  

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