"Radio Central, Mr. Karnes," came the voice. "We just got some more on
Brittain. About ten minutes ago, he abandoned the police 'copter.
Officer Powers was in the seat, shot through the head. We'll get the
essobee on a murder rap, now."
"Where was the 'copter abandoned?"
Radio Central told him and went on: "Funny thing was, he didn't try
to hide it or anything. And he stole another 'copter from a private
citizen. We're trying to get the description now. I'll call you if
anything further comes in."
"Fine." Karnes hung up. The address where Brittain had left the
'copter was in almost a direct line between the apartment building and
Long Island Spaceport. But if Brittain were actually heading there,
why should he leave such a broad and obvious trail?
He turned to the officer who was driving the 'copter.
"I've got a hunch. Swivel this thing around and head for Long Island.
I've got a funny feeling that Brittain will be there. He--"
The phone rang again, and Karnes grabbed it.
"Mr. Karnes, we've found that civilian's 'copter! It's at Long Island
Spaceport! Just a second, the stuff's still coming in." Pause. "Get
this: A man answering to Brittain's description bought a ticket for
the West Coast rocket.
"As you know, that's UN territory, and we have no jurisdiction. The
rocket is sealed for takeoff, but they're holding it for us until you
get there!"
"Right! I'm headed there now!" he answered quickly.
It was twelve minutes later that the police 'copter settled just
outside the rocket enclosure. Karnes had already notified the pilot to
be ready for him. He sprinted up the ramp and stood at the airlock of
the transcontinental rocket.
It sighed open, and Karnes stepped inside. He was met by a frightened
stewardess.
"Tell him to get in here and not to try any funny stuff!" snapped a
voice from the passenger cabin.
Brittain was standing at the forward end of the passenger compartment
with a levelled gun.
The rocket was tilted at forty-five degrees for the takeoff, and the
passenger's seats had swiveled with a section of the flooring to keep
them level, which gave the effect of a stairway which climbed toward
the pilot's cabin in the forward section of the ship. Brittain's
position was at the top of the stairway.
Karnes raised his hands and kept them carefully away from his hip
holster.
"All right," called Brittain, "Close that door and get this ship off
the ground."
The pilot could hear him through the intercom system. The airlock door
slid shut again.
"You and the stewardess get into a seat," the spy continued sharply.
"If you try anything funny, I start shooting the other passengers if
I can't hit you."
Karnes saw then what hold Brittain had on the pilot. The rocketeer
couldn't afford to risk the lives of his passengers.
He and the stewardess slid into the acceleration seats and strapped
themselves in. Brittain stepped down the tiered floor and took a rear
seat near a frightened-looking blonde girl.
"Anything funny, and Blondie here gets a bullet. Okay, pilot. Take her
up!"
There was a faint hiss, and then the rockets began their throbbing
roar. Acceleration pressure began to shove the passengers back in
their seats. Karnes leaned back and tried--successfully--to suppress
the smile of triumph that kept trying to come to his lips.
Brittain had finally made a mistake.
One hundred and twenty-five miles over Pennsylvania, the rockets cut
out, and the ship went into free fall. And Brittain's mistake became
evident.
With the abrupt cessation of weight, the padded acceleration seats
expanded again, pressing the passengers up against their safety
straps. But Brittain had failed to strap himself in.
* * * * *
The expanding seat shoved forward and toward the ceiling. Before he
could recover from his surprise, Karnes had undone his own seat belt
and snapped his body through the air toward Brittain. They collided
with a thump and Brittain's body slammed against the roof of the cabin
with agonizing force. The gun came out of his hand and clanged against
a wall, then drifted off harmlessly. Brittain was out cold.
Karnes handcuffed him securely and, with the stewardess' help, tugged
him back to the baggage compartment. One of the passengers was quietly
retching into a vacuum disposal chute.
With Brittain securely strapped into an empty baggage rack, Karnes
swam back to the pilot's compartment, pulling himself along the
railing that ran along the floor.
The pilot looked relieved. "Thank heaven you got the devil! He got
wise when we delayed the takeoff, and threatened to start shooting my
passengers. There wasn't a thing I could do."
"I know. Let me use your radio."
It took a couple of minutes to get UN International Investigation on
the hookup, but Karnes finally was talking to his superior in the UN
office. He reported what had happened.
"Fine, Karnes," came the tight-beamed voice. "Now, here's something
else you ought to know. Our radar net has spotted robot rockets coming
in over the Pole. So far, five of them have been hit by interceptor
rockets, but we don't have them all by a long shot.
"Evidently, the League feels that they're ready to slam us, now that
they've got Moonbase and two of our spacecraft plants out of the way.
_The war is on_, Karnes."
Karnes acknowledged, they cut the connection.
There was one thing burning hotly in his brain. Brittain had fled New
York without seeming to care how far they traced him or what kind of
trail he left behind. _Why?_
He jerked open the door of the pilot's cabin, and, not bothering to
use the rail, launched himself toward the rear of the ship, flipping
himself halfway down to land with his feet against the baggage room
door. He pulled the door open and pushed inside.
Brittain was still groggy, so Karnes began slapping his face
methodically, rocking his head from side to side.
"Okay! Okay! Stop it!" Brittain yelled, fully awake.
Karnes stopped, and Brittain blinked, owlishly. Karnes' hunch factory
was still operating at full blast; he was fairly sure that the lie he
was about to tell would have all of the desired effect.
"You didn't really think you could get away, did you, bud?" he asked,
nastily. "We're headed back for New York now, and you'll stand trial
for murder as well as sabotage and espionage."
Brittain's eyes widened in horror.
"What did that mind impressor tell you?" Karnes went on.
* * * * *
Brittain was trying to keep his mouth shut, but at that moment there
was a glare of light which flashed bluely through the hard quartz of a
nearby window.
From somewhere far to the north, another interceptor rocket had found
the atomic warhead of an enemy bomb.
Brittain knew and recognized that flash. He screamed wordlessly and
then began to sob like a hysterical child.