Excerpt
The Head-hunter
It was hot in the cabin of the freighter Asiatic Dream. The heaviness of the tropical heat outside the ship penetrated through the steel and flaking paint of the deck to turn the cabin into an oven.
Rick Brant and Don Scott, stripped to their shorts, were oblivious of the heat. They sat hunched over a three-dimensional chessboard, studying the complex moves of their newest hobby. Now and then they glared at each other, or paused to wipe the sweat from their faces or arms, but otherwise they concentrated on the three-layer board and the chessmen. The rivalry was intense, and had been ever since Hartson Brant, Rick's distinguished scientist father, had introduced them to the game back home on Spindrift Island.
Watching them was Dr. Anthony Briotti. Clad in tropical tan shorts and nothing else, he looked like a college athlete. Little about him suggested that he was an archaeologist with an international reputation.
Presently he rose and left the cabin, heading for the deck. He didn't bother to say where he was going; he knew the boys wouldn't even notice. On deck, Briotti leaned against the rail and peered ahead to where the rocky fortress of Corregidor loomed at the mouth of Manila Bay. His pulse beat faster at the sight of the famous island. He knew its outline. He had commanded a destroyer during World War II. Even though the faint light of a new moon showed only vague outlines, he recognized the old Spanish prison rock below the overhang of Corregidor, and he remembered that his guns had blasted at the Japanese from that very point.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a shadow move fleetingly. He turned but saw nothing. Then, because he was busy with his memories, he turned back to the dim, haunting view of Corregidor and thought no more about it.
Below, Rick Brant moved his king diagonally across the three-dimensional chessboard and said triumphantly, "Checkmate!"
Scotty rose, drew back one muscular leg as though to kick the set into the air, then grinned. "Had to let you win. Bad for morale to lose all the time. Next time I'll teach you how to lose."
Rick snorted. "You let me win like a mother bear would let me walk off with her cubs. It's my remarkable intellect that won that game, and nothing else."
"Won by your wits, eh?" Scotty mopped his wet face. "And you only half armed!"
Rick shied a chessman at him. "Wait until we teach this game to Chahda."
Scotty chuckled. "He'll probably beat us both at once, then we'll find out he learned how to play from the latest edition of The World Almanac."
Chahda, their Hindu friend, had learned about America by memorizing an old copy of the Almanac, and he quoted from it at every opportunity. Since their first meeting in Bombay during the adventure of The Lost City, the Indian boy had been with them on several expeditions. Now he was to meet them in Manila to help them in their search for one of ancient history's most fabulous treasures.
Rick, a tall, slim boy, with light-brown hair and brown eyes, led the way up the ladder to the deck....