Lucky Lefty
Rick awoke to fiery agony. His face was burning, the flames searing his
flesh. He tried to reach a hand up to ease the pain and found the hand
gripped firmly. He struggled, and Steve's voice said, "Take it easy,
Rick. We'll be through in a minute."
The boy subsided and gritted his teeth. If Steve was there, it was okay.
But why didn't Steve put out the fire?
"Don't move," Steve said sharply. "I don't want to hurt you any more
than I can help."
Rick closed his eyes and fought the pain. He heard Steve say, "Give me
the spray can." Then something cool and soothing spread over his face.
An arm circled his shoulder and raised him to a sitting position. He
opened his eyes and looked into Scotty's worried face. Rick managed a
grin. "It's okay," he said hoarsely.
"If being alive is okay, then it's okay," Scotty said with relief. "But
you're a mess, boy."
Rick looked up dazedly. Steve was smiling at him, and next to Steve,
Orvil Harris! "Glad you're all right," the boy murmured.
"Thanks, Rick. I'm glad you finally came around. You had us worried for
a bit. And, Rick, meet my cousin Link."
A tall, gaunt man stepped forward. "Howdy, Rick? How do you feel?"
"Woozy," Rick said honestly. "Help me up, somebody."
Scotty lifted him, then guided him to a lawn chair. "Sit down. You're
too weak to stand."
Rick subsided gratefully. He could see better now, although it was
nearly dark. There were other people seated in chairs on the Calvert's
Favor lawn. Camillion, his electronics expert, and two others. At full
length, covered by a blanket, was the guard. He looked up at Rick, his
eyes dull and malevolent, but he said nothing.
"What happened?" Rick asked.
Joe Vitalli stood behind Camillion and company, his riot gun ready. The
JANIG agent was wet up to his armpits. Chuck Howard came into sight from
behind Rick, and he carried an open first-aid kit.
"You jumped for the balloon," Steve reminded him. He motioned to the
bodyguard. "This one tried a pot-shot at you and Scotty nailed him with
a spear. Then you smashed into the piling and got knocked out. The
piling was rough. Your mask was ripped off and your face dragged along
the wood just enough to take the skin off and leave you full of
splinters. We were taking the biggest splinters out when you came to.
How does your face feel?"
"Awful," Rick said. The soothing effect of the antiseptic spray was
wearing off and the pain was returning. "Where's the balloon?"
"On the ground behind you. Scotty got to you first, and with his weight
on it, the thing finally came down." The young agent grinned admiringly.
"We had to pry your hands off the rocket. Never saw such a stubborn cuss
in my life. Out cold, and still holding on."
"Persistent," Rick said weakly. "Not stubborn. Did you round up the
whole gang?"
"The whole lot."
Lefty Camillion glared at Rick from a chair on the other side of the
small circle.
"Why did you do it?" Rick asked. "What did you hope to gain?"
The syndicate chief shrugged, but kept his silence.
"I can shed a little light," Steve said. "Some of it is speculation, but
it stands up. Lefty knew his appeal against the deportation order was
almost certain to be turned down. Within a few weeks he'd be on his way
out of the country. The FBI has been trying to get the full dope on
Lefty, and one thing they found was that expensive living had taken most
of his money. He needed cash, in other words. This was the way he chose
to get it, collecting the data transmitted by the research rockets from
Wallops and selling it."
Rick shook his head, then winced. "It's a crazy idea," he said. "I don't
know why. I just know it is. I could tell you, but I can't seem to
think."
There were sirens far away, but getting closer. Scotty put a hand on
Rick's shoulder. "Don't try to think now, old buddy. The ambulance is
coming. Plenty of time to talk when you're feeling better."
Rick nodded weakly. It was getting very dark. He closed his eyes and
leaned back. Scotty kept a hand on his shoulder.
The ambulance, led by a state trooper, pulled into the grounds. An
attendant and an intern jumped out. "Who's hurt?" the intern asked.
"This one first," Steve said. "Then the one on the ground."
Rick felt a hand grip his chin and opened his eyes. The intern was
examining his face with a strong flashlight beam.
"Messy but superficial," the intern said calmly. "I'll bet it hurts."
"You win," Rick muttered.
"How did it happen?"
Steve described Rick's accident briefly. The intern nodded. He shined
the light into Rick's eyes and watched the pupils contract. "Possible
concussion. We'll check at the hospital." He knelt and took a roll of
cloth from his bag and unwrapped it to disclose hypodermic needles in a
sterile inner wrapper. He fitted a needle to a syringe and found a
bottle of alcohol and a vial of sedative. Working swiftly, he wiped the
vial top and Rick's arm with alcohol, then drew fluid into the syringe.
"This will help the pain," he said, and pressed the needle into Rick's
arm.
"Now," the doctor said briskly, "let's look at the next one. What
happened to him?"
"Fish spear in the side," Steve replied.
Scotty and the attendant helped Rick to the ambulance. He lay down on
the stretcher gratefully and closed his eyes. Scotty stayed with him
while the attendant went to help with the bodyguard.
"Quite a party," Rick said faintly.
Scotty covered him with a blanket. "You missed most of it, but I'll give
you the details tomorrow. How are you feeling?"
"Groggy." Rick's eyes were closed. He was never sure at what point he
drifted off into deep slumber. He knew only that he had no recollection
of the bodyguard being placed next to him or of the ambulance leaving
Calvert's Favor.
Rick awoke to bright daylight. The pain in his face had subsided to a
faintly aching stiffness and he felt fine. He knew from the surroundings
that he must be in a hospital, probably at Cambridge. He groped for the
call bell and found it wound around the bedpost. He pushed it. In a few
moments a nurse came in.
"Well," she greeted him, "how are you this morning?"
"Hungry," Rick replied promptly.
The nurse, a pleasant-faced woman of middle age, smiled. "That's a good
sign. Let's see what we can do. Ready for visitors?"
"Send them in," Rick said cheerfully. "Or is it just one?"
"Two." The nurse went to the door and beckoned. "I'll send in some
breakfast," she said, and left.
Rick's hand touched his head gingerly. The right side of his face was
bandaged, the pad held in place by tape that crossed his forehead and
circled down under his chin. He probed gently and discovered that the
sorest places were his temple and an area just in front of his ear.
Steve Ames and Scotty came in and greeted him with wide smiles. "The
nurse says you're hungry," Steve said. "Sounds like the old Rick."
Scotty asked, "How about crab cakes for breakfast?"
"Bring 'em on, followed by a dozen steamed clams and an order of
fritters," Rick replied. "How's the bodyguard?"
"Well enough so his disposition is pretty nasty," Steve reported. "He'll
be here for at least a week before the jail cell opens wide. Seriously,
Rick, are you all right? Apparently there was no concussion."
"I'm fine," Rick assured him. "But I'll bet this bandage makes me look
like a survivor of Custer's Last Stand."
Steve and Scotty drew chairs up to the bed. "One last look by the doctor
and we'll take you home," Steve told him. "If you feel up to it."
"What'll I do for clothes?" Rick asked.
"They're in your closet," Scotty replied. "We brought them with us. Last
night we took your gear home after the hospital folks peeled you out of
it."
"Good." Rick looked at his two friends. "Now suppose you tell me what
happened last night? I must have been out like a light while the
excitement was running high."
Scotty nodded. "I'll start. I was behind one of the pier piles when the
bodyguard cut the balloon loose. I jumped out for a clear shot, but by
then you had put your spear through the thing. I was going to add mine
for good luck when I saw the bodyguard reach for the old equalizer and
draw a bead on you, so I shifted targets. I looked back at you just in
time to see you dangling from the stingaree like an extra tail. And
right then you went boom into the piling. But would Brant ever let go of
evidence? Not you, ol' buddy. There you dangled, limp as a wilted banana
while the balloon drifted along with you. I started toward you as fast
as I could go, which wasn't very fast with water up to my waist."
"Wish I could have seen it," Rick said with a grin.
"So do I," Scotty assured him. "Camillion and his friends were also
somewhat interested in you. They started down the lawn, and I was sure
they'd get to you before I could. Only then Joe and Chuck stepped out of
the bushes not ten yards from where I'd been hiding, and yelled to the
lads to hold fast and get their hands high. Steve stepped around the
corner of the barn with a .45 in his mitt and emphasized the point.
Lefty and company got the idea and skidded to a stop with all brakes
locked. I put on more speed, and Steve joined the chase."
"I didn't see you hit the piling." Steve picked up the story. "But I
heard it. When I saw that the boys had things under control with their
shotguns, I stepped on it and got to you a few seconds after Scotty had
grabbed you by the waist. When I saw your face, I had a few bad moments
until I could take a closer look. You were a bloody mess, to put it
mildly, with more than a few splinters adding color. But I could see
your manly beauty wasn't gone forever. We pried you loose from the
rocket and stretched you out on the lawn. Your pulse was pretty good and
you were breathing steadily, so we gave you a few whiffs of oxygen from
Scotty's tank for good luck."
Rick could appreciate how worried his friends must have been in spite of
their half-humorous report.
"Lefty spoke up," Steve continued. "It was the only time he spoke. He's
said nothing since. He said, 'There's a first-aid kit in the kitchen.'
We got it, and went to work on you. Of course we put in a call to the
police, and asked for an ambulance. Joe Vitalli kept a watch on the
crowd and Chuck went into the barn while we pulled splinters out of you.
He found Orvil, and he also found Lincoln Harris."
"I remember meeting him," Rick nodded. "I was too groggy to be
surprised."
"He was okay. They hadn't mistreated him. Link said he had gone up the
creek just in time to see them launch a balloon with a rocket on it, and
they got the drop on him with rifles, then grabbed him. His curiosity
got the better of him. He'd heard about the people at Calvert's Favor
and decided to take a look, the waterways being free to all navigators.
Orvil had a bump on his head, but otherwise was all right. Lefty hasn't
talked, but I suspect he had plans for their release, once he was safely
out of the country."
"Where is Lefty?" Rick asked.
"He and his friends are in the local jail. You know, Lefty is a chump.
But he's also an excellent example of what happens to people when they
start operating in unfamiliar fields."
"Why is he a chump?" Rick demanded.
"Because every bit of data he went to so much trouble to collect was his
for the asking, if he'd only waited until it was processed."
The light dawned. Rick knew at once what Steve meant. "That's what was
trying to get to the surface in this addled brain of mine last night. Of
course! Wallops Island is an unclassified launch site. Everything about
the launchings is reported in scientific publications! But, Steve, the
Soviet Embassy was interested in buying the stuff!"
Steve chuckled. "Sure, but not for a very high price, I suspect. The
Reds are so suspicious they can't believe that a country like the United
States can afford to give away data. They'd buy the tapes just to make
sure we weren't holding back information they could use."
"Even a casual investigation would have told Lefty the data from Wallops
firings is published by scientific publications," Scotty pointed out.
"How could he have been so stupid?"
"He fell into a natural trap," Steve answered. "Most people think there
is military secrecy connected with rocket firings. They don't make a
distinction between the civilian space agency and the military services.
But the law does. It says the National Aeronautics and Space
Administration is required to report on its scientific findings."
"And it does," Rick concluded. "Dad has already written a report on the
instruments for measuring solar X rays. The scientists who actually use
the instruments will also write a report on the data they obtained."
"That's it," Steve agreed. "What's a little more puzzling is why the
electronics expert didn't know. I suspect he has been concerned only
with the design of telemetry equipment and not with any actual
launchings or space experiments."
"Maybe he did know," Scotty offered. "He might have kept quiet just to
get money from Lefty for doing the work on intercepting the data. You
know we had the clues, but it never occurred to us there might be a
connection between Wallops Island and the stingarees, because who could
imagine going to all that trouble to intercept open, unclassified data
you can get by asking for it?"
Rick had to laugh. "Whether he knew or not, it's still a joke on Lefty,
and on us for not suspecting the connection. And poor Lefty won't have a
nest egg to take back to Europe with him."
"He won't need a nest egg," Steve corrected. "Lefty violated the law by
kidnaping Link and Orvil. I don't know whether we can make a federal
espionage rap stick or not, since the data he was collecting was
unclassified. But we'll try. Anyway, he won't be going back to Europe.
He'll end up in a Maryland prison, or a Federal one. Either way, it'll
be some years before he has to worry about money."
"Lucky Lefty," Rick said. "A cell of his own, plenty of food, and no
worries about money. We did him a favor."
Steve grinned. "Just don't expect any gratitude for a favor like that!"