INTO THE AIR
★
Bob and Lieutenant Gibbons left the other federal agents at the apartment
building to help the superintendent clean up the litter of paper they had
strewn about the basement while they hastened back to the Department of
Justice building.
Waldo Edgar himself was waiting for their report and he smiled
contentedly when he heard it.
“You’re on the right track, Bob. Follow it hard and don’t let a single
trick get away from you. How are you going to Rubio?”
Bob turned to a wall map which showed the entire state of Maryland. As
Lieutenant Gibbons had surmised, Rubio was on the east shore, a tiny dot
of a town, well isolated from any of the other shore villages.
“That’s a desolate stretch,” said the chief. “You may need help in
rounding up this gang.”
“We’ll try it alone,” said Bob. “If we find them, we can send in a call
for assistance. Can you arrange for us to fly there?”
The chief of the division of investigation looked at his watch. It was
just three o’clock.
“A plane will be ready in half an hour at Antacostia,” he said. “Make
sure that you are well armed and don’t take unnecessary risks.
Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Bob.
“Then start for Antacostia at once. You’re going, too, lieutenant?”
“I wouldn’t miss this,” replied the intelligence officer. “Besides, we
have a considerable stake in this game.”
“Splendid. But don’t let Bob take any needless risks. I’m counting on his
developing into one of my aces one of these days.”
Bob’s temperature rose about three degrees and he looked at the federal
chief to see if he was joking, but Waldo Edgar was serious.
“Looks to me like you’re making headway rapidly,” said Lieutenant Gibbons
as they left the Department of Justice building. “You carrying a gun?” he
asked.
Bob patted his coat pocket.
“I’ve got a special .45 with an extra clip of cartridges. That ought to
be enough for a trip like this.”
“Let’s hope so,” said the intelligence officer.
When they reached Antacostia, a cabin plane, a navy ship, was out on the
ramp waiting for them. It was an amphibian and while they were paying the
driver of their cab, the pilot started the motor with a roar that shook
the ground.
An officer ran toward them.
“Which one of you is Bob Houston?” he asked.
Bob stepped forward.
“You’re wanted on the phone at once,” he said.
“Step on it, Bob. We’re ready to go,” warned Lieutenant Gibbons.
Bob ran toward the administration building and a clerk there handed him a
telephone.
Bob recognized instantly the voice of the chief of the bureau of
investigation. Waldo Edgar, usually so calm, was deeply moved.
“Bob, get to Rubio with all possible speed. We’ve just had reports that
an unknown yet tremendously powerful radio station has just come on the
air. The Department of Commerce has had radio direction finders on it for
the last ten minutes and they report that the station must be on the east
shore of Maryland, probably near Rubio. They’re throwing on extra power
on their experimental station here to gum up the sending from this
unknown outfit. I’m afraid they’re trying to get the secret of the
radio-controlled plane out of the country in this way.”
“We’re all ready to go. The plane’s on the ramp now with the motor on.”
“Then hurry. Let me know the minute you land at Rubio and I can send more
information. I’m starting agents out of Baltimore by motor and I’ll send
another plane with men within the hour. Good luck.”
Bob turned and raced toward the waiting plane.
“What news?” asked Lieutenant Gibbons.
“Tell you when we’re in the air,” replied Bob.
They climbed into the cabin and were no sooner seated than the ship
started rolling across the field.
Almost before they knew it the ground was dropping away and they were
headed for the east shore of Maryland.