Chapter 12: Rain Must Fall!
 
    Fire burned in Silas’ left shoulder as the right side of his head throbbed.  Vaguely he remembered hitting the curb with his head when he fell.  Overhead came the continuing rumbles of the summer storm moving in, while around him were the hard footfalls of running feet.

    Hands roughly grabbed the man and pulled him up, eliciting a cry of pain for the sudden movement.  Silas was then dragged to a wall and slammed into it, bringing more crashing pain to his shoulder and head.  He sagged in place while a couple of angry voices spat out their words that he could barely understand.

    Presently he heard the approach of a car down the street as it pulled up in front of the group.  Through bleary eyes the man watched a fur jump out of the front passenger door and quickly wrench open the back door.  Bernhard Beckmann stepped out, looking none to pleased at the current situation.  Silas did notice a hasty bandage had been wrapped around the left side of his face and felt some satisfaction.

    The canine naval officer approached.  “Well, Kapitan Stanbridge, I trust you enjoyed the strike you gave me.”  He indicated the handkerchief binding his long face.  “But I’ll still have the final satisfaction of watching you die!  From here you will be taken to my U-boat, after which we will journey quite some distance from these wretched islands.  At a point of my choosing I will see you bound in chains and by my hands I will push you over into the dark waters, to die the same ignoble death as my brother."

    The human didn’t say anything.  Something had caught his eye further up the dark street but he wasn’t sure if it was real or just an illusion brought on by the pain of his injuries.

    Not getting a response the Weimaraner turned to one of his lieutenants and rattled off his orders.  The other snapped a salute before speaking to another.  The canine turned back to Stanbridge.

    “I must leave for now, Herr Kapitan, to see to other matters dealing with our lovely Miss Monvel.  But my furs will see to your care in getting aboard my vessel.”

    So saying the German spun on his heels and reentered the car.  As the vehicle pulled away the one left in charge gave a high sign to the one he had spoken to -- now down by the intersection.  This one nodded then produced a flashlight.  He gave a couple of flashes, paused, then repeated the code.  Soon another car rolled silently into the intersection, lights off, and stopped before the group.  A fur jumped out and held the back door open as a couple of other sailors manhandled their prisoner towards it.  They were about to deposit the man into the back seat when all around them, the shadows moved, detaching themselves from the pools of darkness there.

    The shadowy figures glided silently forward, bearing gleaming shards of steel.  The shadows fell upon the Germans, enwrapping them with black arms while the daggers plunged home.  There were a few brief grunts from the victims before they were lowered to the ground.  One shadow had leaped unto the running board by the driver, sinewy arms reaching through the window to enwrap the head.  As the driver struggled to break the grasp, another figure in black dove through the front door and slid its dagger deep into the unfortunate’s chest.
 
    One of the shadows recovered the dead lieutenant’s torch and signaled down another lane.  From the distance another vehicle started up and quietly rolled down behind the first.  Two figures in street clothes stepped out of this car and approached the human lying on the sidewalk.  One bore a doctor’s handbag and began to administer to the wounded figure, while the second furson hissed out orders in Cantonese.  Quickly the shadow warriors gathered up the dead Germans, piling the bodies into the first car as one of their number slid in behind the wheel.  This one started the car and drove away with its grim harvest of death.  The rest of the shadow warriors gathered around their lieutenant, kneeling before him as he gave quick orders.  They bowed and soon melted away into the darkness of the street.  The second furson turned back to the doctor.

    <How is he?> he asked in his native tongue.

    The second one shrugged.  <Nothing serious, a minor flesh wound with no broken bones.  Our mistress will be pleased with that information.>

    The lieutenant proceeded to the last vehicle present.  He stepped up to the back passenger window to report.  The scent of burning cloves drifted out into the night air.

    <Well?> asked the shadowy figure in the back seat.

    <He is in no serious danger, Mistress,> replied the lieutenant, bowing.  <A flesh wound, nothing more.>

    The figure in the car drew on the long bamboo holder.  <Very good, Fu.  Now have the dear captain loaded into the car with me and you may depart for the ship.  And tell the captain to drop his anchor on the southern coast of South Island and await my return.>

    Fu did as he was commanded.  When Silas Stanbridge was settled into the back seat with his mysterious benefactor, the doctor climbed into the front seat while the leader of the shadow warriors faded into the night after his subordinates.

    Through a haze brought on by pain and the injection of a painkiller, Silas was vaguely aware of the cigarette smoke in the car, as well as the soft warm body he was leaning against.  This figure was dressed in black and had a black scarf draped over the head.  But somehow the bamboo holder was familiar; he just couldn’t place it at the moment.

    The wrapped head turned slightly.  “Ah, Captain, so good of you to still be with us.  I hated to think of what would have happened to you had Lieutenant Beckmann succeeded in taking you away.  No matter, what I have planned will be far more pleasurable for both of us, especially for me.”

    In clipped words the figure issued instructions to the driver who swiftly obeyed.  Somewhere in the back of a foggy mind, Silas Stanbridge should be grateful for this furson in rescuing him from a watery grave.  But the words just spoken somehow offered little solace.  Through lips thick with pain and drugs he managed to squeeze out: “Thank you . . . Celine.”

    His savior turned her head until dark eyes flashed with surprise mixed with a rising excitement.  A smile graced those dark lips until the teeth shown white against the seal point muzzle of the Burmese.

    “You’re quite welcome, Captain,” she answered.  Then on a thought she bent her head down to kiss that sweaty forehead as a black-sleeved arm was draped over his shoulder to hold him close.  “Very welcome, indeed.  And I assure you, you will enjoy yourself with me.”
 
    The storm thundered close at hand, the first drops of rain pelting the car as it vanished down the dark street.

    Outside of Moon Island Base Hospital, Orin Clements paced back and forth along the curbing before the entryway.  When he had assembled the rescue party over an hour ago, down by the docks where the buoy tender lay moored, he stated to everyone present to bring Jenny Monroe and the captain straight to the hospital.

    “We have a very good idea what would have been done to Miss Monroe, so it is imperative that she be taken there once you’re back on Moon Island.  And Captain Stanbridge, should anything happen to him.  Is that understood?”

    Those gathered around him nodded grimly, especially the opossum that would be driving the truck.

    The chimpanzee nodded in return.  “Then get going, and may God be with you all.”

    The party climbed into the truck, Snodgrass behind the wheel, the drake detective sliding into the passenger side to direct him.  The engine started up and the vehicle pulled away, heading for the vehicle ferry waiting for it.  Clements had to pull a lot of strings to arrange all this, but now he began to worry whether it might have been all in vain.  For all the simian knew his good friend of thirty years might already be dead, body floating under some dock.  Or worse, taken away and never to be found.

    Once again he glanced at his wristwatch for the hundredth time in the past half-hour.  He knew Marge would be comforting Beverly Plumb at home.  After Silas had left the woman fell into the other’s arms, a shaking bundle of nerves that broke into fits of crying over the man’s departure and unforeseeable future.  Finally, the chimpanzee wife had given the woman a tall glass of bourbon and Coca-Cola to ease the tension.  The drink did the trick.  Not long afterwards Beverly slumped over, sound asleep.  The Clements stretched her out on the sofa pillow under head and a blanket tucked in around the snoring body.

    The sound of a truck engine rattled off of the buildings.  Orin stared hard down the lane, hoping it would be the expectant vehicle this time.  Several cars and trucks had made the simian’s heart jump at their approach, only to leave him in passing.  The tension of the long wait was beginning to frazzle his nerves, and the wish for a tall cold drink was edging into his conscious.  But it was the right truck this time as it squealed to a halt before the First Officer.
 
    Ling Po lightly dropped off the back and turned to take the blanket wrapped figure into his burly arms.  Orin stepped forward and paled at the sight of the rabbit femme’s battered face.  Then he glanced up as Fraiser and Mueller stepped off as well.  Jake Breckenridge climbed out of the cab.
 
    “Where’s the captain?”  he asked as his large brown eyes scanned the crew for the familiar bearded face.
 
    “He stayed behind, sir,” answered the Cairn terrier.

    “He what?!” shouted the simian.

    “He ordered us to get Miss Monroe to the hospital,” said the mallard, nodding towards the building.  “That, and getting this picture to your Admiral Sebastian.”  He held up the camera.

    “And you left him there?” snapped Clements.

    The opossum driver stepped up and saluted.  “Commander Clements, Captain Stanbridge gave direct orders to get the young lady to the hospital and this photograph to the base commander.”

    Brown eyes narrowed, as the dark face they rested in grew even darker with a growing rage.  “And you left him there!,” the simian repeated hotly.

    “Yes, sir,” answered the duck detective, “those were his direct orders.  He wanted us to get away while he led the Germans on a wild goose chase, then he was going to get back here on his own.”

    “Germans?”
 
    “Aye, sir,” answered Snodgrass.  “When we crashed through some garage doors at the place you said to go to, there was Captain Stanbridge with some German naval officer, Miss Monroe tied to a chair, and a buncha others with guns.  And those guns looked to be German made.”

    Like being slapped in the face by a wet towel, Orin Clements’ mind reeled at the thought of what had just been explained.  The other day Silas thought he saw a periscope following the Ida Lewis, and the First Officer wrote it off as a figment of his captain’s imagination.  Now Miss Monroe gets taken by some unknown people, worked over hard, shaved, and used as bait to lure his good friend and fellow American to a certain doom.  On top of that the presence of German naval types sneaking around on the islands was a way bit too much to take in.
 
    Shaking himself back to reality, Orin Clements directed Ling Po to take Jenny Monroe into the hospital.  The big panda nodded once and proceeded up the walkway, Karl Mueller and Ben Fraiser following to help with the admittance.  The chimpanzee First Officer turned to Breckenridge.
 
    “And you say you got a photo of this meeting?”  He pointed to the camera in the mallard’s hand.
 
    Jake nodded.  “And it’s a helluva bombshell to drop in the admiral’s lap.”

    “I’ll bet,” sighed Clements.  He looked at the rest of the crew.  “All right, men, head back to the ship.  Get those weapons cleaned and turned back into the lockers.  Then I want each of you to write out a report from your personal point of view of what went on tonight.  Leave nothing out.  I’ll need those to turn over to the base intelligence officer, along with that photo.”

    As the truck pulled away, leaving the chimpanzee and drake alone in front of the hospital, Orin turned to Jake.

    “Did the captain really order you all to get back here while he stayed behind?”

    “That he did.”

    Sighing again, the simian headed towards the hospital doors.  “We better wake up the admiral and let him know what had happened this evening.  Then we’ll head over to the photography lab and get that picture developed.”

    The detective merely nodded as he followed the broad back of the chimpanzee.  They hurried inside as the first showers from the approaching storm began to fall on them.

    Rain pattered softly on the tin roof of the bungalow.  Inside, two Asian furs undressed the slumbering form of a human male and pulled the bedding over him.  From a chair in the corner of the room, the Burmese actress, Celine Monvel, watched quietly while smoking one of her clove cigarettes in the long bamboo holder.  The two males then turned and bowed to their mistress.

    <How well is he resting, doctor?> asked the Eurasian femme.
 
    Still bowing, the doctor replied, <Quite well, mistress.  The drug I have injected will ease the pain and make him comfortable.> Then with a lascivious grin he added, <And very responsive, as well.>

    The dark brown face broke into a smile.  <Very good, Doctor Lin, very good, indeed.>

    She arose from the chair and glided over to stare down at Silas Stanbridge.  A single table lamp on the far side of the room dimly lighted the room.  Thus the two males did not see the dilation the femme’s eyes, nor took note of her increased breathing.
 
    She had just met the famous Captain Silas Stanbridge over a day ago, and yet it was like a lifetime of wanting and waiting to finally meet him.  She glanced down at his shoes set carefully by the bed.  The left one held the artificial foot, the leather holding strap hanging open.  Taking another puff of her smoke, the Burmese turned to address the pair.

    <You both have done well and will be richly rewarded for your efforts.>

    Lin and the driver, Chin, bowed again, hiding the smiles they both wore at such praise.
 
    <Now, I want both of you to wait by the docks until dawn then come and get me.  We must be back on the ship before the people who own this establishment awake and find him here.  Is that understood?>

    Both furs bowed again.  <Very clearly, mistress,> answered Lin.  Then he and Chin stepped out the front door, leaving the Eurasian actress with her acquisition.

    Celine turned back to the sleeping form on the bed.  Her dark brown eyes roved appreciatively over the figure under the light covers, and in her mind arose the lascivious thought of what she wanted most to do with her acquisition.
 
    Finishing the cigarette, she set the holder down by the ashtray next to the lamp, then quietly glided into the bathroom.  From there came the sound of water filling the tub, while outside the storm rumbled even more as the rain lashed the metal roof of the bungalow.  On the bed Silas moaned softly from the pain in his shoulder, head, and the shattered dreams the drug was giving him.

    The sound of someone bathing, as well as softly singing, filled the bedroom.  There followed the draining of the tub and a body being toweled dry.  Soon the dark figure of the Burmese reentered the room, now wrapped in a dressing gown that was left hanging open to reveal the sable brown beauty underneath.
 
    The actress went to the chest of drawers where another box lay.  This one she opened and began to assemble a pipe with a deep metal bowl.  Celine unscrewed the bowl and filled it with water from the bathroom tap.  Fitting it back into place, she packed the top with something gummy from a smaller box within the bigger box.  Then striking a match to it, the Burmese drew on the long curved stem.  Soon the odor of cloves was replaced by the pungent smell of hashish.

    With pipe in hand the femme opened the French doors that let out onto a screened veranda.  Rain dripped from the eaves as she settled into the chair by another table, and began to smoke.  Celine sat for a long time, drawing the smoke deep into her lungs, holding it there before blowing it into a great cloud that was sucked out by the wind.

    Minutes passed by slowly as the rain continued to drum the roof.  A soft cry from the man in the bed would cause the feline femme to glance in through the doors.  Satisfied that nothing was seriously wrong the Burmese turned back to the pipe until it went out.  This she laid aside on the table to reenter the main room.  By now Silas had finally drifted off into a deep slumber.
 
    The Burmese actress stood by the bed for a long moment, staring down in a drug-induced longing at the quiet person there.  She then turned to the table where stood the lamp and turned this off.  Brief flashes of lightning were the only means of illuminating the bungalow now as the femme once more stood by the bed.  There came the soft sibilant rustling of silk on fur as Celine cast off her gown to pool at her feet.  A burst of lightning outlined the soft sable form of the actress there by the bed as a black hand reached down to draw back the bed clothes, allowing her to slide in next to the slumbering figure.  She drew the bedding back up as she settled in next to the naked man.  After a moment there came a soft moan from bearded lips.

    The storm spent most of its fury in the early hours of the night, settling into a steady shower that soaked the islands.  When dawn broke over the horizon, the front had moved on, leaving shreds of clouds behind.

    In the Clements home Orin sat on the divan on his porch, watching the false dawn through bleary eyes.  He reached for the coffee cup, then decided not to.

    “Had too much of the damn stuff already,” he mumbled sleepily.  On a chair across from him reclined the snoring figure of Jake Breckenridge.  The duck detective had finally fell asleep sometime ago as both simian and mallard tried to stay up all night waiting for a phone call.  Orin had roused the admiral from the hospital, filling in the English sheepdog base commander of all what went on that evening.

    “Germans, you say?” was the sleepy reply over the wire.  “Are you quite sure, Commander?”

    “I have it on good authority, as well as photographic proof of it, sir.”

    There came some grumbling before the admiral gave First Officer permission to head to the base photography lab and get the picture developed, then brought to his office forthwith.  After checking up on Jenny Monroe’s condition, both Orin and Jake headed to the lab.

    A security guard met them at the door, having been sent on the admiral’s direct orders to the Officer of the Day.  Once inside Jake went to work in preparing the film for a copy to be made.  Orin sat outside with the guard standing at the door.   The minutes dragged by until the red light over the door went out and the detective called the simian in.  And there it was, hanging from a cable stretched across the room.
 
    The photograph showed Silas Stanbridge standing face to face with a Weimaraner in the unmistakable uniform of a German naval officer, complete with monocle.  And down in the lower left hand corner, just visible over the fender of the truck, was the shaved and battered head of the young rabbit pilot.  And in the background were a few others in sea clothes and holding guns.

    “Do you think the admiral will blow a gasket over this?” asked Jake with a touch of levity in his voice.

    Orin Clements could only shake his head, staring incredulously at the evidence hanging before his dark eyes.  “More likely explode the whole damn boiler.  But we better get this over to his office as soon as possible.”

    After carefully drying the print Jake fitted it between two sheets of pasteboard, inserting it all into a brown envelope made for photographs.  With their guard leading the way they climbed into a waiting Shore Patrol car and headed straight to base headquarters and their meeting with Admiral Hawthorne Sebastian . . .

    A telephone shattered the chimpanzee’s remembrances.  Slowly he climbed to his broad feet as the mallard stirred sleepily.  Inside came the rustle of blankets as Marge Clements wearily climbed to her feet from the sofa.  Beverly Plumb was trying to shake the sleep from her eyes, and groaned at the slight hangover from the night before.

    “Clements’ residence,” mumbled Orin.  After a moment all thoughts of sleep and how tired he was went out the window.  “What?  Repeat that, please?”

    By now Marge, Beverly, and a disheveled Jake Breckenridge had gathered close by.

    Orin turned to them, a light gleaming in his eyes.  “They found Silas!  He’s in some resort bungalow on the north coast of South Island!”

    The women immediately fell into each other’s arms, crying with relief.  The mallard was quickly straightening his tie and buttoning his jacket.

    “Did they say which resort?” he asked quickly.

    “Where was he found?  Bjorn’s Bungalows?  Thank you, very much.”  Orin hung up.

    “I know the place,” said Jake.  “Did an investigation there last winter, but I won’t go into the details.  Is there someway we can get there quickly, other than by water taxi?”

    The simian First Officer grinned hugely.  “I believe I can arrange something on that order.”  He picked up the phone and began dialing.

    A half-hour later the two were standing behind the sea-sprayed windscreen of a naval militia crash boat heading across the channel, skirting Casino Island.  Two naval medics had been waiting for them down at the docks with the boat.  Orin Clements had called Admiral Sebastian with the good news, and the older canine had arranged everything afterwards.
 
    It seemed a crew of cleaners was arriving at the resort for the start of their day when they noticed a car pull up in front of one of the bungalows and two figures hurried inside.  Later on, two of the femmes heading out to begin their rounds watched three figures leave the building, climb into the car, and speed off.  As curiosity took hold of them, and the bungalow was part of their assignment, they went over to investigate and found the sleeping human inside.  When the constables arrived they recognized the person and immediately called their station, and the message was passed on to Moon Island.

    “I just hope everything’s going to be alright with Silas,” shouted the drake over the engine.  He was hold his hat on and jacket closed against the wind.
 
    “I believe we’ll have to wait and see when we get there,” replied the chimpanzee, seeming to enjoy the wind in his dark face as it washed away the last trace of worry.

    The crash boat pulled up to one of the water taxi docks.  From years of experience the simian leaped to the dock where a couple of constables were waiting.  Jake waited until the boat was tied up before stepping ashore.  The constables saluted Orin and led the way to a waiting car.  As soon as all were squeezed aboard, the driver eased out the clutch and the vehicle took off.  Minutes later it pulled up before the resort labeled Bjorn’s Bungalows.  There were a couple more constables standing guard over the specific structure, as well as an ambulance with its white uniformed attendants waiting beside it.

    The sergeant in charge led the First Officer and detective in through the front door.  The pair immediately noticed the odor of hashish in the air before moving softly to the bed.  There lay Silas Stanbridge, sound asleep, the covers hastily drawn up to his chin.  As Orin stared down at him Jake began to search the room.  On the chest of drawers he found an ornately carved wooden box.  Using his pocketknife he carefully lifted the lid and peered in.  Three sections of bamboo lay nested in a velvet liner.  He sniffed them and detected the whiff of burnt cloves among them.  Easing the lid shut Jake continued his canvassing.  The odor of hashish seemed to be stronger on the veranda.  There he found the remains in an ashtray.  When he returned to the bed Jake looked down and stopped.  Only one shoe, the right one, was sitting under the bed.  He nudged the chimpanzee and pointed it out to him.

    Orin frowned.  Why would someone take one of his shoes, especially the one with his artificial foot in it?  Shaking his head he leaned over the slumbering figure and touched his shoulder.

    “Silas?  Wake up, Captain.  Beverly is waiting for you.”

    There came a soft moan as the man shook his head slowly before his eyes fluttered open.  Those deep blue orbs swiveled around for the source of the voice before settling on the dark broad face of his First Officer.

    “Orin?” he croaked through thick lips.

    An overwhelming sense of relief flooded the simian’s being at hearing his name.

    “Aye, Captain, it is I, your First Officer.”

    A slow smile graced the man’s bearded lips.  Then he spotted the drake.  “Jake, is Jenny okay?”

    “Yes, she is.  We got her to the hospital like you ordered.”

    Silas started to nod but stopped as the movement made his head ache.  When the pain faded he looked around.  “And Celine?  Celine Monvel, the actress?  Is she still here?”

    Chimpanzee and drake exchanged glances.  “No, she’s not here anymore,” answered Jake.  “And I think she took something of yours, too.”  And he explained about the missing shoe and foot.  “But I think she left you something in return.  A sorta remembrance gift.”  And he retrieved the box holding the bamboo cigarette holder.

    The man stared at the object a long time before closing the lid.  “Well, I should think of it as a fair trade.  And how’s Beverly doing?”

    “Worried sick over you, Silas,” said Orin, then motioned the naval medics in to do a quick examination.
 
    They found the bandage over the left shoulder.  Upon removing it the two commented on the expert job done to the bullet wound, and the fresh poultice applied to both sides.

    “I think this is Chinese,” commented the canine member.
 
    His partner, a feline, agreed as they rewrapped it.  “Can’t go wrong with Asian herbology.”

    With help from the ambulance furs outside they loaded the man into the vehicle.
 
    “Did you get the photo to Admiral Sebastian?” called out Silas.

    Jake grinned.  “Oh, yes, and you would have loved the look on his face!”

    The human laughed but briefly as it brought a spasm of pain to his head.  When it cleared he shouted as the doors closed, “See you at the hospital!  And bring Beverly, too!”

    As the ambulance pulled away Orin Clements felt a sudden weight fall from his shoulders as the sun brighten the eastern horizon.

    “You can count on that, my captain.  You can damn well count on that.”

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