"She's not moving, Dave!" Freddy shouted. "There must be another mooring line we didn't see! There.... Oh, thank the Lord, we are moving!"
It was true. The huge flying boat had picked up speed and was now kicking frothy spray back up over the compartment window as the snub nose of the hull plowed through mounting rollers. And then, suddenly, as the big craft came up onto the "step," a beam of brilliant white left cut out at them from the right rear and filled the compartment with an eerie shimmering light.
"Now or never!" Dave shouted. "We've got to get off and shake that beam, or we're in for another swim. Work those fuel adjustments, Freddy! The port engine's lagging bad, and we need plenty of take-off speed!"
As Freddy got to work on the adjustments, Dave held the Cat-boat on a course dead ahead. Though the presence of the searchlight was proof positive their escape was now known to the entire base, it helped in guiding the craft by lighting up the waters ahead. A moment later the port engine started doing its full share and the flying boat thundered forward at increased speed. But at the same time a second searchlight beam, this one to the left rear, caught them, and they went roaring out toward open sea pinned perfectly in the crossed beams of light.
Dave waited until the craft had touched maximum take-off speed, then he virtually lifted the Catalina into the air and curved up and around to the east. The two searchlights followed him like two lighted fingers of glue. But a couple of moments later, when he had gained sufficient altitude, he suddenly shoved the flying boat down in a steep dive. No sooner had he dropped out of the searchlight beams than he pulled out of his dive, curved around toward the west and hauled the hull's nose up toward the star dusted sky high overhead. It was a near maneuver, and it was also successful. As soon as his eyes became accustomed to the change from brilliant light to inky darkness, Dave turned his head and looked down back. There were three searchlights, now, and they were frantically probing about just off the surface of the open sea.
"Right-o, very neat, my man!" came Freddy's voice. "But stop patting yourself on the back. Get us away from here, not high above it! They're bound to send off land planes, you know."
"Sure as shooting," Dave replied in a tone of apology. "What we do need is distance, and not altitude. Okay, my fine feathered friend. What'll it be, South Africa or South America, huh?"
"Further than that will make me feel much better!" Freddy replied. "Jeepers, it gives you the creeps knowing that your own comrades are after you, doesn't it?"
"It sure doesn't make a fellow feel happy," Dave said soberly and took a quick look at the searchlight beams that were fast falling far astern of the flying boat. "Fact is, if you want the truth from me, I don't feel so happy about any of this business."
"What's that, Dave?" Freddy cried sharply and turned his head to stare hard in the darkness. "You mean you don't honestly think there's a chance in the world for us to do the job?"