Chapter 11: Clashing Thunderheads

    The Clements household was subdued by the revelation of what had happened while they were gone.  Marge Clements had taken a distraught Beverly Plumb into the kitchen, promising a cup of coffee laced with bourbon.  The children had been sent to their rooms so as not to disturb the adults.  And Silas Stanbridge, along with Orin Clements and Jacob Breckenridge, had secluded himself on the porch.  The bag full of hair rested on the floor between the man's feet.  The detective continued
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    "After I received the phone call, I went to the intersection directed by your 'Mr. Jarvis' and waited.  Not long afterwards a kid came up and asked if I was Breckenridge.  When I told him I was, he gave me the bag and a note, and ran off."

    Silas looked up from the object in question.  "A note?"

    The mallard nodded then produced an envelope.  "It's better if I keep this for the constables, don't want too many fingerprints all over it."

    The captain nodded his understanding.  "What did it say?"

    After getting Orin's permission Jake quietly filled his pipe and continued.

    "Basically, it states that they have this Jennifer Monroe prisoner, with the proof in the bag, and will keep her that way until they call to arrange a meeting."

    "A meeting?" asked Silas, looking a bit confused.

    Blowing smoke, the detective shook his head.
 
    "Nothing more about that in the note.  Just that they’ll call.  Oh, on a thought, I called the local hospital and found out that a male rabbit had been admitted with injuries from a severe beating.  So I'm suspecting that whoever did this had been following the two until they were alone and swooped in on them."

    "Thanks, Jake," Silas said quietly.  His mind was in a whirl.  Who were these people that would do such a thing to Jenny, then announce they would call to arrange a meeting with him?  And for what reason would this meeting entail his presence?  The man buried his face in his hands.

    Everybody jumped when the phone rang.  Orin hurried inside to intercept the call before his wife got there.

    "Clements’ residence," he announced quietly.  His eyes widen a bit before sliding to his captain as he stepped through the door.  The simian handed the receiver to him without a word.

    Taking it as though it would turn into a serpent, Silas spoke into it.

    "Stanbridge here."

    From the other end came the cultured English accent from the night before.

    "Ah, Captain Stanbridge, I'm so glad that I was able to reach you."

    "How did you get this number?" the man growled.

    A soft chuckle came to his ear.  "Let's just say that's a professional secret.  I believe your investigator friend is there, and that he had brought the proof of our holding Miss Monroe?"

    “He brought a bag.  Now what the hell do you want?”

    “Why, you, of course, Captain Stanbridge.”

    The man’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.  “Me?”

    The chuckle came again.  “Exactly, sir.  We’re wanting you in exchange for the poor dear rabbit woman.”

    “Why?”

    “All I good time, captain, all in good time.”

    Silas was about to make a biting retort when he heard a soft click on the line.

    “What was that?” asked Jarvis tensely, also hearing the sound.

    Thinking fast, Silas looked out the door and caught the sudden flash of heat lightning in the distance.  “There’s a storm coming this way.  The lightning sometimes interferes with the phone service here on the islands.”

    There was a long pause, making the human nervous that the English hound - if such he was - had ended the conversation.  But the cultured voice came back, giving instructions to Silas as to where they were to meet and when.  Then the line went dead.

    Setting the receiver back in its cradle, the man turned to see his First Officer come out of his bedroom.

    “That was a damn fool chance trying to eavesdrop, Orin.”

    The chimpanzee kept his gaze leveled at his captain.
 
    “A chance that needed to be taken if I’m to save my captain’s yiffing ass.”

    The man could only nod.  “I don’t have much time to reach the place he’s mentioned.  Those warehouses are on the far side of Casino Island, and pretty shading goings-on happen there.”

    Clements nodded in turn.  “I’ll give you a head start, then follow with the cavalry.”

    “Where are you going?”
 
    All turned as Beverly Plumb stepped out of the kitchen, concern deeply etched into her lovely face.  She strode up to her fiancé.  “Are you going to get yourself killed?  Dammit, Silas, we just met, you proposed, I accepted, and now you’re going to get your ass shot off?”

    Silas placed his hands on Beverly’s shoulders, but she shook them off, her own fists balled up beside her, a look of defiance stamped on her round face.  So the man did what he thought would be necessary: he slapped her!  Then with his own balled fists resting on hips, Silas Stanbridge glowered down at the startled woman.

    “Now you listen to me, Beverly Plumb!  I have one of my people in serious trouble and I have to go after her.  I wouldn’t send anyone else to do the job if I couldn’t do it.  A captain’s number one responsibility is the safety of his crew, and I sure as hell wouldn’t be worth a pile of whale shit if I couldn’t look after the safety of one of the least of them.  And Jennifer Monroe is not the least of them!
 
    “If you can’t accept this, then drop that ring you’re wearing and haul your ass back to that little hospital on Little Orpington Island, because neither one of us is worthy of the other. You got that?”

    A tense silence filled the room as the two humans stared at each other.  Marge Clements had sidled up to her husband, her dark brown countenance clouded by worry as she took his hand.  Jake Breckenridge felt like he needed to slide out the door unobserved, as this was not his cup of tea.  The silence stretched for over a minute before the woman made the next move - she threw her arms around the captain’s neck and pulled herself up to kiss him.

    The move startled him, but he accepted it and pulled Beverly into a tight embrace.  After awhile they broke contact but still kept close so that their whispering was very private.

    “Damn you, Silas, I oughta kick your balls into your skull so that they would rattle when you shake your head for slapping me.”

    He gave a grim smile.  “Maybe I should knock some more sense into your dumb Missouri mule-headed brains for trying to stop me.  If it had been you they took instead of Jenny, I’d still sail through Hell to save you.”

    With a tight smile of her own, Beverly replied, “Then hoist some sail and get going.  Jenny won’t keep for long, especially after what, “ she swallowed hard, “they did to her.”

    The two humans embraced again and kissed fiercely once more before Silas broke away.

    “Give me half an hour, Orin, then come in with guns blazing,” he called over his shoulder as the captain ran out of the house and towards his motorcycle.  The sound of the engine being kicked to life and roaring off down the street brought tears to Beverly’s eyes.  And in the distance came a rumble of thunder to echo the motorcycle.

    Marge came over and wrapped an arm around the woman’s now trembling shoulders.  Together they settled onto the divan as Orin picked up the phone and dialed a number.

“Yes, this is Lieutenant Commander Clements of the buoy tender Ida Lewis.  I need to get in touch with a Petty Officer 1st Class Snodgrass.  Tell him that it’s an emergency.  Yes, and tell him it involves Captain Silas Stanbridge.”

    Streetlights gave little illumination along the dingy thoroughfare, making it easier for the lone figure to slide from shadow to shadow.  Silas Stanbridge felt his guts tighten when the hissing and spitting of a catfight down an alleyway erupted.  Cautiously, he continued further into the warehouse district of Casino Island and his rendezvous with possible death as sheets of heat lightning brighten the way.

    When he had left Orin’s home, the man’s mind was in a whirl over what was coming, and what he could possibly expect.  Most of all was why this Jarvis fellow wanted him and for what reason.  The ride down to the docks of Moon Island gave him a start in piecing together some things that had been lurking in the dark corners of his mind.  Was the canine involved with the tower wreaking?  Was he just a piece or the player of this game?
 
    On reaching the water taxi station the man found one boat left that was heading back to Casino Island.  It didn’t take long to step in and seat himself before Silas turned his attention back to his problem.  He didn’t need to worry about his Henderson; the dock master allowed him to store the motorcycle in a nearby shed for the night.  Silas’ thoughts turned then to Celine Monvel, the Eurasian actress.  Was she a part of this whole mess?  An active member, possibly an agent for the Five Dragons, or could she have been a front for the whole affair?  Her manners and attempts at questioning the man the other night at the Marleybone Grand Hotel seemed to indicate the former.  And what about the submarine he saw – or thought he saw - trailing his boat’s wake? This puzzle was becoming more and more complex, and he thought he had it all together.  Then Jenny gets grabbed and . . .
 
   He shook his head when he turned a corner and saw the building in question across the way and further down the street.  A single light burned through the dirty window to the left of the entry door.  To the right of the door was a double garage door for bringing a truck in.   Glancing about to make sure the coast was clear, Silas eased across the street before working his way down the far side.  When he reached the door the man hesitated before placing his hand on the doorknob.  It twisted under his hand.  Taking a deep breath he pushed it open.

   A single naked bulb glowed from a long cord in the middle of the bay.  To Silas’ left was a small office cubicle in the corner, while all around where crates and boxes stacked as if ready to be loaded.  And in the middle of the floor, under the light, was Jenny Monroe.

   The man gave a low groan of sorrow as his eyes fell on the pitiful figure tied to the chair.  Jenny had been beaten, that was evident from the swollen lower lip, the track of dried blood coming from a nostril, her left eye swollen shut, and . . . Silas stepped closer before dropping to one knee.  Whoever had done this to the rabbit femme had shaved her head down to pelt level!

    “Oh, my God, Jenny!  Why did they do this to you?” the man groaned as his blue eyes roamed over every inch of the creature tied to the chair.

   “Doesn’t she look marvelous?  It’s the latest fashion in Spain these days, you know.”

   That cultured British voice came from behind a stack of boxes to Silas’ left.  The man slowly stood up when several figures came out from hiding.  Some held pistols while the rest carried machine pistols.  And their attitude and bearing told the human that these were naval types and wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him down.  From his place of hiding appeared the Weimaraner, now dressed in the dark blue uniform of a German Kriegsmarine officer, the light from the lone bulb glinting off of his monocle.  Silas turned to face the gray-furred canine.

   Snapping a salute while clicking his heels the hunter smiled, “Oberleutnant zur Zee  Bernhard Beckmann, at your service.”

    Feeling that formalities should be observed, Silas stood to attention as he snapped a returning salute.  “Captain Silas Stanbridge, commanding officer of the buoy tender Ida Lewis.”

    The canine stepped forward, gloved hands now clasped behind his back.  He stopped between the man and the rabbit femme.  With a casual touch Beckmann brushed the top of Jenny’s clipped head.  She twisted her head away from the touch.  With anger seething inside himself, Silas started to make a move towards the German before he caught sight of several gun barrels coming up.

   “It was a pleasure to finally meet you, Herr Kapitan, at the casino last night.  Though I feel this setting is far more agreeable to what I have in mind.”

   The German snapped his fingers and two of his furs stepped forward.  One, a feline with a sour face and a notched ear, circled wide around the human to come up from behind.  The second sailor was an Alsacian holding a Bergmann machine pistol level with the man’s stomach.  The feline began a systematic search of Silas’ body for any hidden weapons.  In the back of his mind he felt thankful that he didn’t stop at the tender to recover his revolver.  After several minutes of working his way down to the shoes, the feline stood back and nodded once.  Beckmann made a wave of his hand and the pair resumed their positions.

   “What is it you want, Lieutenant, that you had to arrange this whole affair?” growled the human.
The Weimaraner turned to face him, a pleasant smile gracing his gray-brown lips.

   “Shall we go back in time, then?  Say, about twenty-one years ago, when you were serving in your American Coast Guard?”

   Silas bit back a question about how this German knew of his prior service.  But he would have to know, wouldn’t he, to set up this meeting.  “Go on.”

   “It was a lovely June morning, as I recall.  Your vessel was patrolling the waters off the Virginia coast when it spotted a small freighter steaming in your direction.  I suppose everyone on the bridge was surprised to see that ship explode suddenly.  And in everyone’s mind was the same thought: torpedo!  Am I right?”

   Silas didn’t say anything, though a slight chill ran down his spine.

   Not getting a reply the German officer continued.  “And because you are the United States Coast Guard, sworn to assist any vessel in danger, your cutter charged ahead, ready to offer assistance to the crew.”  Turning away from the human, Beckmann, nee Jarvis, strolled around the bound lepine, his boot heels tapping out a slow tattoo across the concrete floor.
 
   “Oh, I can imagine the look of horror and surprise on the crew’s faces as a submarine surfaced to finish off what it had started.  ‘Oh, look,’ they must have shouted, ‘it’s a German submarine, prowling our waters!  What are they doing so far from the war?’”  Beckmann turned to face Stanbridge.  “Was that what you thought?”
 
   Only nodding, Silas kept his mouth shut, letting the other keep talking.  He wanted to know why they were here and was trying to be patient enough to await the words.  By now the canine had completed his turn about his prisoner and ended up before the tall man.
 
   “Especially you, Herr Kapitan, what with your wife and her father dead not long before hand on the British liner Mauritania.”

   Feeling as if gut punched, Silas narrowed his eyes to slits, his eyes blazing like cut sapphires. “How did you know that,” he growled.

   Beckmann merely smiled, further infuriating the human.  “Quite simple, old boy, I was in Berlin when the message came a few days later from some of our people working in London.   They had passed along a copy of the passenger list which include one Cynthia Stanbridge and her father, Howard Carlisle, wasn’t it?  A member of your country’s Senate?”

   Rage seethed like a volcano deep within Silas soul.  It took every bit of self-control to keep from decking the hunter, though he wanted to feel the crunch of bone under his fist.

   “So it must have come as a shock to witness this act of war so close to home.  And, of course, your little ship had to come to the rescue of that wounded freighter, even knowing that it could be the last act ever to be performed in the course of your duty.

   “So, tell me, Captain Stanbridge, how did it feel to watch the bridge on your ship destroyed, leaving you in command, hmmn?  Rather a daunting task to have thrust on one so suddenly.”
Then Beckmann’s smile melted away to a grim demeanor.  “And you would like to know how I knew all this, yes?  Well, my dear captain, I was watching all this not more than a couple of kilometers away.”

   Silas’ eyebrows shot up in surprise, threatening to knock his hat off.

   “Oh, yes,” continued the Weimaraner, “I was there as well.  You see, this voyage was a very special mission in which two of our U-kruiser class of submarines were dispatched to America to see if it would be possible to disrupt the shipment of supplies and personnel to the war in Europe.  And that task was given to my vessel and the one my brother was on, the one you sank!”

   Like a slap in the face the man could only stare dumbly as another piece of the puzzle was fitted into place.  He knew there had been a submarine prowling the waters off the Atlantic coast line, but he never would have suspected two of them working in tandem.
 
   “I remember something in the newspapers about a special submarine having been built to haul cargo from America to Germany when we were still neutral.”

   The canine naval officer smiled.  “Precisely, Herr Kapitan, for the first one was the Deutschland, of which there were five more built with the express purpose of ranging across the Atlantic Ocean to harass your coastline.  Too bad they came a little to late to be of effective use.”  Beckmann shrugged.  “Still, they proved their worthiness, as you have seen.”

   “So what does that have to do with me, then?” asked Stanbridge.

   The smile became grim on the canine officer’s face.  “Why, Herr Kapitan, I wish to extract my revenge, of course.  You took my brother’s life so I will take yours.”

   Silas shook his head.  This was insane!  To come all this way around the world in order to kill the man who took Beckmann’s brother’s life, even if it was in an act of war?  Somehow, from a perverted point of view, it was rather funny, to spend the major portion of your life in trying to come up with a way and means of avenging a brother’s loss!  And the very thought of it caused the man to begin chuckling at the ludicrous idea.
 
   The furries began casting glances at one another, ears twisted back and an eye cocked in the expression indicating their doubts of this human’s mental state.  Even the Weimaraner looked askance at his intended victim as the man threw back his head and burst out with guffaws of laughter.  After a few minutes of this display Silas Stanbridge finally got himself under control to fix a mirthful eye on his captor.

   “Is that what this is all about?  Revenge?  Blowing up my light towers as a means of getting your hands on me for killing your brother back during the war?  You’re yiffing nuts!”

   The canine worked hard at keeping his temper under control.
 
   “That was only part of why I’m here.  It was a diplomatic request from some acquaintances of Berlin that a submarine be volunteered for a special mission here in the Spontoon Islands.  Our ‘friends’ wanted of know how long it would take to repair or replace one of your precious light towers should it face a catastrophic ‘incident’, shall we say.”

   Somewhere in the back of Silas’ mind, a row of dominos began to tumble against one another, the falls accelerating as more parts of the puzzle began to merge and the picture became clearer.  Then he spoke the answer.

   “So, the Tsarist Russians are still eyeing the islands.  And Nicholasgrad had wired Berlin for some help in getting what they want.  And you volunteered for this because you found out that I was here, and your need for revenge was well within your grasp.

   “And to give the whole operation a convincing cover, you made a deal with the Five Dragons of Kuo Han to use a film company to operate from.  They would film a particular scene on one of the islands in archipelagos, then under the cover of darkness send out a black boat to demolish the light tower.”  The man shook his head.  “But not just any tower.  It had to be one in a series of markers that would guide shipping from America and Rain Island to the Spontoon Islands.  That way you could have the timing of the Navigational Aid Service’s response to arriving on the site and replacing the tower.  Then you would inform the Tsarists of this information and they can draw up their plans in dealing with any support coming here while they move in and try to take over.  Am I right?”

   Now it was the German’s turn to laugh and applauded.  “Well done, Herr Kapitan, well done!  I knew you would have this figured out by the time we would meet again, and for the last time, as well.”

   All Silas could do was shake his head.  This was a bombshell that he needed to drop on Admiral Sebastian’s desk, but it looked like such would not be the case.  And the wedding with Beverly Plumb would never occur.  His last hope was with Orin Clements in getting some of the crew from the tender together for a last ditch rescue, but even that was looking forlorn.
 
   Spreading his hands wide in a gesture of defeat he looked at the canine officer and said clearly, “Du vickerische alten Bauren.”

   The smile froze on Beckmann’s muzzle as his crewfurries’ heads snapped up at the insult.  To be called ‘a yiffing old farmer’ was a grave slap in the face, especially when using the informal ‘you’ with someone you are not on friendly terms with.

   A gloved hand came up and across the man’s face, snapping it around.  Blood trickled from the corner of Silas’ mouth as he slowly brought a hand up to wipe it away.

   “I’m a Christian and believe in turning the other cheek,” he quietly said as he did so.

   The gloved hand delivered an open slap against the offered cheek.

   For a tense moment both man and canine glared at one another.  Then everyone in the garage slowly became aware of a growing sound outside, other than the approaching storm.  Somewhere in the distance came the roar of a vehicle engine as it grew louder.  The squeal of rubber tires punctuated the intensity of the noise until the occupants realized that it was just outside of the building.

   There came the sudden crash of the double doors being shattered from their hinges as a truck came to a stop mere feet from Beckmann and Stanbridge.  In the briefest of moments in time, Silas made out the grinning opossum countenance of Eugene Snodgrass at the wheel, with Jake Breckenridge beside him.  Then the view erupted in brilliant light as the mallard had brought up a camera and taken a flash picture of the setting.

   Then a cacophony of gunfire exploded from the back of the truck.  Karl Mueller and Ben Fraiser from the Seagull popped up, chattering Vickers machineguns from the amphibian in their hands.  A couple other of the Ida Lewis’ crew were squeezing off revolvers at the Germans diving for cover, while over all stood the towering panda bosun’s mate, Ling Po, wielding a pump shotgun with deadly effect.

   All this came in a matter of seconds, and it gave Silas Stanbridge the impetus he needed.  Bringing his right fist around, he delivered a roundhouse punch that land with all his two hundred pounds behind it.  The blow caught the Weimaraner in the left cheek, and the man had the satisfaction of feeling the cheekbone crack under the strike.  As the canine went flying into a stack of crates, Silas surprised even himself with the speed and strength of his next action.

   Quickly spinning on his heels, he gathered up the bound Jenny Monroe - chair and all - and dashed around the truck to the back.  Waiting hands reached for the rabbit femme and hauled her in.  Silas stepped out into the street to check both ways, then motioned for the driver to start backing.  With a grinding of gears, the vehicle pulled out of the wreckage of the garage doors.  Springing to the running board, the man held on as the truck set off down the road.  There came a few more shots from the doorway to be answered by a rattle of machinegun fire.

   At the end of the block Silas told Snodgrass to stop.  “Alright, you sorry lot, your work is done.  Now, get Jenny to the base hospital quickly!”

   “We can’t leave you here, Captain,” answered the worried opossum.

    “You have your orders, Mr. Snodgrass, and I expect them to be carried out.”

   “Dammit, Silas, we can’t leave you here,” hollered the mallard from the passenger side.

   The man leveled an unwavering gaze at the detective.  “You’ve got more important things in hand, Jake,” he said, pointing at the camera in the fowl’s hands.  “That photo must get into Admiral Sebastian’s hands tonight!  I’ll lead them off and work my way back to the taxi docks.  Your priorities are Jenny and that picture!”

   “But . . . ” the mallard started but was cut off.

   “Remember what I told Beverly earlier this evening?”

   The mallard worked his bill a couple of times before clamping them shut and gave a curt nod.  Jake turned to the driver and muttered for them to get going.
 
   Silas stepped off as the truck roared off away down the street.  There came the crack of a pistol from where they came as a bullet whizzed dangerously close to his head.  Ducking instinctively, the man spun on his heels and began running in the opposite direction.  It wasn’t long before he recognized his surroundings.  In the distance came the glare of neon lights announcing the Tum-Tum Club.  Once more the man dashed off towards the nightclub.

   “Where do ya tink yer goin’?” growled the gorilla bouncer as he brought a massive hand up to stop the running human.

   “Inside, if you don’t mind,” snapped Silas, trying to push his way passed the simian barrier.

   There came the sharp crack! of a pistol shot up the street followed by the meaty smack of the bullet hitting home.  Both man and ape looked at each other in startlement before letting their eyes slide down to the bright rose spreading across the door ape’s white-shirted chest.  The gorilla tried to speak but only could work his thick black lips in a vain attempt to get the words out.  Silas helped ease the massive body down to the sidewalk before slipping into the door.

   Inside it was still as dimly lit and smoky, as it had been the other night he was here.  Carefully the human worked his way along the wall, trying to keep from being noticed as to his true nature. When he reached the far corner, Silas noticed the player piano vacant.  With nonchalance he didn’t really feel the man slipped off his jacket and seated himself into the swivel seat.  Tossing the jacket over the top of the upright he saw a derby hat sitting there.  Grabbing it quickly, the man jammed it on his head.  With shoulders hunched to make himself look smaller Silas began to tickle the ivories in a soft way.  The conversations close by dropped a little in volume then resumed.
 
   There came the thump of something hard on the top of the piano.  Risking a glance the man saw a shot glass held in a slender hand there.  Sliding his eyes up the arm Silas noted that it was attached to Nola Stevens, the part owner and operator of the club.  Her eyes were as smoky as the cigarette held in the other hand resting on a sarong wrapped hip.

   “You’ve got some nerve coming back here after the other night,” the canine femme snapped quietly at the man.

   “Believe me, sister, I had no choice,” was Silas’ reply as he gave the femme the briefest of outline of what had went on not far from the place.

   A grim smile creased her painted lips.  “You expect me to believe that?”

   The human answered with a smile of his own.  “You will in about a minute.”

   As if on cue the front doors banged open as several furs burst in, brandishing guns.  That caused the whole setting of the club to change quickly.  There were several shouts as to what was going on, what the hell did they want, mixed with a few screams from some of the femmes.  The Germans ignored all this, their attention being fixed on finding the human that slipped their grasp.

   Nola stood frozen at the piano, not sure what to do.  But Silas quietly asked if she would be so kind as to get him a beer.  The ploy worked at the canine woman moved mechanically off to comply.  The man gave a silent prayer that she should be spared any injury that was about to happen.

   Silas sensed a presence behind him but dared not turn around.  The figure then demanded in broken English that the piano player will stop playing and turn around.

   “Look, mate, I gits paid to plays, so I plays,” the man said in a guttural voice.  “Now bugger off!”
A hand grabbed Silas by the left shoulder and spun him around.  Using the spin Silas came up out of the seat with an upper cut.  It caught the feline there on the point of the chin, sending him flying backwards into a table.  That started the fight.

   The whole room was filled with cursing and screaming as the local water rats began dealing with the intrusive German sailors.  There were a few gunshots that added to the fracas.  Turning the man dashed for the safety of the bar were the bartenders stood ready with bung mauls and truncheons.  He dodged passed them, into the backroom that served as kitchen and out the backdoor.  In the trash-strewn alleyway, Silas glanced both ways before heading off to his left and away from the fighting.
 
   Sticking close to the shadows the man worked his way back towards the docks on the north side of the island, if not a constabulary station.  Whenever he came to a lighted intersection Silas paused to check to see if the coast was clear before dashing across, expecting at the moment for a gunshot to end it all.  It was at the third one that it did happen.  He was halfway across when there came the report followed by the hard sledgehammer strike to his left shoulder.

   The man cried out in pain and surprise as the force of the impact spun him around before crumpling into a heap in the gutter.