"But his was sailing for Pearl Harbor, sir!" Freddy Farmer spoke up. "So the one that ..." "That's no good, either," the vice-admiral interrupted. "The entire three-carrier force is bound for Pearl Harbor. En route they will work out a battle problem, and then proceed to Pearl Harbor to take aboard two torpedo and two dive-bomber squadrons, that are waiting there. This ensign pilot--this rotten Nazi--just what did he look like? If either of you can give me a detailed description, perhaps a radio to each of the carriers will make it possible for us to catch our man before the force reaches Pearl. Just what did he look like?" "That's just the point, sir," Dave Dawson said sadly, when Freddy Farmer didn't speak. "We saw him only in profile, and the light was bad. I didn't see a single thing unusual about him. I mean, sir, he looked just like hundreds of other pilots in Naval Aviation uniform. What about you, Freddy? Did you notice any outstanding features?" Young Farmer frowned, sighed, and shook his head. "No, sir," he said to the vice-admiral. "I'm sure I'd be able to recognize him, if I ever saw him again, but I really didn't see anything about him that would help anybody else to identify him." "Yes, I'm sure I'd be able to spot him again, too," Dawson murmured. Then, with a grim note in his voice, "And that Japrat, too, even though I did only see him at a distance." The vice-admiral was again scowling down at his clenched fist grinding into the palm of his other hand, and he acted as though he had not heard either of them speak. Dawson waited a few moments, and then asked a question. "What about the service records of the fighter pilots aboard all three carriers, sir?" he said. The base commandant raised his head and looked at him sharply. "What do you mean?" he demanded. "And why just the fighter pilots?" "From the way they talked, sir," Dawson replied quickly, "I felt certain that he was a fighter pilot. I mean, he plans to take off, when the opportunity presents itself, and fly direct to Truk. Well, sir, if he were a torpedo plane or dive bomber or scout bomber pilot, he would have somebody along with him. Gunner, or radio man, or both, I mean, sir. But neither of them made any mention of anybody else. So I feel certain that he's a fighter pilot." "Yes, I guess you're right there, Dawson," the senior officer said with a nod. "But how would service records help us to find our man?" "Well, sir," Dave said after a moment of frowning hesitation, "he is obviously German. He probably has a German-sounding name. His record sheet would tell about his parents. Where they were born, and so forth. He may even be a naturalized American, sir. Of course, it's just a long shot chance, but checking the service records of all the fighter pilots in that carrier force might turn up something that was suspicious-looking."