Admiral Sarne's voice was as bitter as General Lloyd's. "How do we
fight a machine capable of this?"
"Not by building a bigger and better machine," replied Lloyd in a
completely helpless voice.
"So we are unarmed men fighting the best in modern war equipment,"
grumbled Sarne. "Look, Lloyd, let's get out of this circling race and
land somewhere we can sit and talk and plan."
"Washington."
"I prefer--"
"Radar trace at max range, South," came the cry of Sarne's radar
officer.
Then, as one, but in whichever direction was most convenient, the
combined fleets turned sharply to the South. Throttles went home
unaided. The planes jockeyed into a flight pattern and raced towards
that single radar target that just missed being off the edge of the
screen. The fleets deployed, spreading out into a vast screen that
raced to intercept the lone plane.
"That," chattered the radio with a trace of satisfaction, "must be
Narina Varada and Harry Vinson. You will--I trust--pardon me if I
marshal my allied machines to intercept them. And if you don't pardon
me, I'll do it anyway."
6
In complete radio and radar silence, Harry Vinson drove his captured
flying boat at top speed. Narina sat by his side in the co-pilot's seat
with binoculars and scanned the sky constantly.
"You might as well give that up," he told her for the tenth time.
"Why?"
"Because our only chance is to get through completely undetected. If
you can see anything through those things, remember that they've been
on our trail for a half hour with radar. They can 'see' us long before
we can see them."
"I know," she told him. "But if we're detected, there's no way of
knowing."
"A hell of a lot of good it will do for us to know," he grumbled.
"Better to know."
"I suppose so."
"We might be able to run."
"We're running this old tub as fast as she will go right now."