<h2 id="c5"><span class="small">CHAPTER V</span> <br/>Jack Hudson</h2>
<p>Nam Palung meant business. There was no question
about that. But Biff had no intention of yielding
without a struggle. He would make his escape if at all
possible. Right now, though, as his mind whirled trying
to think his way out of this predicament, it would
be best to do exactly as he had been told.</p>
<p>Biff promised himself one thing. Once he was free
of Nam Palung he, Biff Brewster, was going to give
himself, Biff Brewster, one swift kick. He had been
played for a sucker, a trusting, easy-to-take American,
and he had filled the role perfectly. How, he now
thought, could he have been so taken in?</p>
<p>The jeep rolled across the field. Biff shot a sidelong
glance at Nam Palung. The jeep moved at a steady
pace, not fast enough to attract attention. It was
headed toward a gate in the high wire fence surrounding
the airfield through which service trucks
passed. He noticed that the gate was blocked by an
iron bar, raised to allow a vehicle to pass underneath
it. When raised, the bar on its upright poles looked
like a football goal post.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_32">32</div>
<p>As the jeep drew near and fell in line behind a truck
and a small car, Biff noticed the bar was raised just
sufficiently to allow about a foot’s clearance for the
vehicle passing beneath. An idea came into Biff’s
head. He turned to look over his shoulder at his knife-bearing
guards.</p>
<p>“Keep your head straight forward,” Nam ordered.
“And no tricks as we pass the gateman.”</p>
<p>Biff watched the truck ahead pass through. It
slowed down without stopping as it passed under the
raised bar. The bar was lowered to stop position after
the truck’s tail-gate went through. Next came the
smaller car, its roof much lower than the truck’s.
Again the bar was raised, but this time, just high
enough to accommodate the car, leaving about two
feet between it and the car’s top.</p>
<p>Now the jeep approached the bar barricade. The
bar began rising slowly. Biff watched it, his heart in
his mouth. “Don’t let them raise it too high,” he
prayed. Biff leaned slightly forward, placing his
weight on his firmly planted feet. He tensed his leg
and thigh muscles until they felt like tightly coiled
steel springs.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_33">33</div>
<p>The bar was about three feet higher than tall Nam’s
head. Biff waited until the front of the jeep was directly
under the bar. Then he leaped up as if he’d
been blasted off a launching pad. His hands seized the
bar. Like a trapeze artist, he swung his body forward
in a giant arc. At the top of his swing, when his body
was parallel to the ground, Biff twisted his head, looking
over his shoulder as his body started a swift downward
stroke. At the split second, he lashed out with
his feet. One foot struck the left knife-wielder square
on the side of his head. The man shot over the side of
the jeep as if jerked by the hand of a giant.</p>
<p>Biff’s other foot struck the second knife-wielder
full in his chest, toppling him out the back of the
jeep.</p>
<p>Now Biff was propelling himself into the backward
arc of his swing. Again his body came swiftly downward.
He lashed at Nam, planting both his feet solidly
in the Oriental’s shoulders. Nam shot forward, his
head striking the windshield.</p>
<p>Biff swung his body sideways, and dropped to the
ground. He ran back toward the terminal building,
nearly half a mile away. After a hundred yards, he
slowed to catch his breath. Turning, he looked back
at the jeep. There was no need to run. Nam still lay
sprawled over the steering wheel. One of the knife-bearers
was out of sight, apparently still sprawled on
the ground on the other side of the jeep. The other
guard was just rising from behind the jeep. Biff saw
him stagger, still not fully recovered.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_34">34</div>
<div class="fig"> <ANTIMG src="images/p02.jpg" alt="" width-obs="500" height-obs="691" /> <p class="caption"><i>He ran back toward the terminal building</i></p> </div>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_35">35</div>
<p>There would be no more trouble with those three,
Biff said to himself. Not right away, at any rate. The
boy continued toward the terminal building at a rapid
walk. He didn’t run, no need to, and if he did, he
might attract attention. He might be stopped. Explanations
would be demanded. The gate-keeper
might come up and describe what had happened.</p>
<p>Biff needed time to think. What was his next move?</p>
<p>“Guess I’ll have to play it by ear,” he told himself,
and what, he wondered, had happened to Uncle Charlie?
Had he been waylaid by those same three?</p>
<p>Inside the teeming terminal building, Biff mingled
with the constantly moving crowds. He hoped he
wouldn’t be noticeable, but there was little chance
of that. In his American clothes, gray slacks and open-necked
shirt, he was as noticeable as an Oriental
dressed in mandarin clothes would have been at the
Indianapolis airport.</p>
<p>There was only one thing to do, Biff decided. Go
to the airline check-in counter and see if any message
had been left him by his uncle. The boy approached
the counter cautiously. He wanted to look around
before identifying himself.</p>
<p>Biff sidled up to the counter. A tall, handsome man,
about thirty years old, was leaning over the counter,
questioning the clerk intensely. He was wearing white
drill trousers and a white shirt open at the collar. A
well-shaped, close-cropped head topped a strong neck
and broad shoulders. He spoke to the clerk in a voice
filled with authority. Unless he was badly fooled
again, Biff felt sure that this man was an American,
and there was something about him that the boy liked
immediately.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_36">36</div>
<p>“Hold it,” Biff told himself. “Let’s not jump too
fast this time.”</p>
<p>Standing behind the man, Biff saw him take out a
worn wallet from his hip pocket.</p>
<p>“Now you listen to me. I’m Jack Hudson. I’m a
pilot for Explorations Unlimited. Here, take a look
at my papers. I’m here to meet a boy named Biff
Brewster, and I want to know where he is. Right
now!”</p>
<p>The clerk leaned on the counter. He carefully inspected
the list of names on the paper in front of him.</p>
<p>“So sorry. No name like one you say on this list.”</p>
<p>“Is that your passenger manifest list?” the man,
Jack Hudson, demanded.</p>
<p>The clerk nodded his head.</p>
<p>Without asking, without waiting, Hudson snatched
the list from the man’s hand.</p>
<p>“Here. You can’t do that!”</p>
<p>Hudson ignored the clerk. His eye ran down the
list quickly.</p>
<p>“And just what do you think this name is?” Hudson
held his index finger beside one of the names.</p>
<p>“Oh, so sorry. I guess I no understand your talk.”</p>
<p>“Fat chance,” Hudson said angrily. “Now you just
tell me where that boy is.”</p>
<p>Biff had made up his mind. He couldn’t be mistaken
in this man of action.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_37">37</div>
<p>“I think you’re looking for me, sir,” Biff said and
placed his hand on Jack Hudson’s arm.</p>
<p>Hudson swung around. He looked Biff up and
down, slowly, carefully, sizing him up, before answering.</p>
<p>“If I weren’t so glad to see you, I’d ask where the
devil you’ve been.” Then, seeing Biff’s face fall, Hudson
smiled, a warm, immediately friendly smile. “But
the important thing is I’ve found you.”</p>
<p>“I guess it is mostly my fault that you’ve had trouble
meeting me,” Biff confessed. “I had a little mixup
with—” He cut his sentence short. Perhaps he had
better wait until he got to know Jack Hudson better
before revealing all the mysterious happenings that
had taken place from that early hour in the morning
four days ago, back in Indianapolis.</p>
<p>“Well, part of it’s my fault, too,” Jack said. “Or the
weather’s. Coming in from Unhao, I ran into a terrific
headwind. Should have allowed for it. These
winds spring up all the time in these parts. I was late.
But come on now, we’ve got to clear you with customs
and get your gear.”</p>
<p>Jack Hudson, with a forcefulness sharp enough to
cut any red tape, literally bulldozed Biff through a
maze of inspections, checks, and rechecks.</p>
<p>“I’m slipping,” he grinned at Biff when the boy had
been cleared. “Took me thirty-one minutes. My record’s
twenty-nine. Come on. We’ve got to make with
the plane back to Unhao. Fast. Lots to be done.”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_38">38</div>
<p>“That sure suits me. I’m anxious to see my uncle.”</p>
<p>“Hope he’s there when we get back.” A frown
creased Jack’s face as he spoke.</p>
<p>“He will be, won’t he? That’s what I was told,
that the emergency came up quickly and—” Biff
ended his sentence feeling foolish. He suddenly remembered
who had told him the story.</p>
<p>“Emergency? I don’t know of any emergency.
Your uncle wasn’t even in Unhao today. It was arranged
for me to pick you up before he left.”</p>
<p>“Before he left? What do you mean?” Biff was getting
puzzled.</p>
<p>“Your uncle flew out of Unhao over a week ago.”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_39">39</div>
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