JANIG Runs a Security Check
There wasn't much evidence on which to base his reaction, Rick
admitted. But when he reacted, he just reacted and that's all there
was to it. Call it a hunch, or call it nonsense. That's how it was,
and he couldn't change it.
The barber had practically refused him a dry-hair treatment--and his
hair was rather dry. The same barber had tried to sell a treatment to
Hartson Brant--whose hair was not dry at all. And the elevator boy who
had carried the scientist down from the fourth floor had winked at the
barber.
Even admitting that it added up to no evidence of anything, it
bothered him. He had asked Tom Dodd how much JANIG knew about the
barber.
Tom admitted that JANIG didn't know much. After all, he pointed out,
it was impossible to check everyone in an office building of that
size, or at least impractical. Furthermore, it was a cover operation,
and any kind of a careful check on people in the building would warn
them that something was going on. Tom agreed, however, that it was
better to be safe than sorry. JANIG would run a check on the barber,
even though Rick's evidence was no evidence at all.
Rick wasn't satisfied. He felt he had to talk it over with Steve Ames,
and called the agent, who was in JANIG's New York office, as soon as
he got home.
There was a small switch box next to the telephone in the library. It
had only two positions, one marked "normal" and the other not marked
at all.
Steve asked, "Who is it?"
"Rick."
"Throw your switch."
Rick did so, with no apparent results. "Nothing happened," he said.
"Nothing audible," Steve corrected. "I threw mine at the same time.
We're scrambled. Go ahead, Rick, what is it?"
Rick told him the story. Steve didn't laugh. He had had experience
with Rick's hunches before. "All right. I've already talked with Tom
Dodd. He told me the story and I agreed we should run a check. He also
reported that Weiss had persuaded Marks to come to Spindrift so the
team could work together. I have Dodd planning how to get him out of
Washington."
"Tom told me why no check had been run on the people in the
building," Rick said hesitantly. "Honestly, Steve, I thought you
always checked on everyone who might have a connection with a case."
"We do," Steve said flatly. "But we can't check on everyone in the
city of Washington. Consider, Rick. There are several hundred people
that work in the building and perhaps as many more who go there
regularly for perfectly legitimate reasons. We couldn't run a deep
check on all of them, and a superficial check wouldn't mean anything.
So we don't check. Instead, we make sure we know about the people the
scientists see regularly, and we give physical protection not only to
the scientists but to the floor they work on. We keep a careful check
to be sure our phones aren't tapped, and there's a scrambler on each
line. Of course the moment we get even a slight odor of fish, we run a
check. That's why we're working on your barber right now. We're also
checking the elevator operator."
"All right. I was off base, I guess."
"Not at all. I'd be disappointed if you didn't ask for explanations."
There was one other question in Rick's mind. "How do you know we
weren't followed back to Spindrift?"
Steve chuckled. "You had two cars on your tail. They'd have picked up
anyone who tried to follow Tom. What's more, our men at the airport
identified every plane that took off from the vicinity of Washington
for two hours after your departure."
Rick said sheepishly, "Sorry, Steve."
"Forget it. I'll be in touch with you, Rick."
Steve was right, of course. JANIG was on the job and would plug any
loose holes. And once Marks arrived, Spindrift would be the only base
the JANIG men had to cover. That would make it simpler. Rick decided
he might as well put the matter out of his mind.
Barby, Jan, and Scotty were waiting for him on the front porch.
Scotty asked, "What gives?"
"Steve says to forget it."
Jan frowned, her pretty face worried. "Barby told me about these odd
hunches you sometimes get. Aren't they ever wrong?"
Rick grinned. "I'll say they are. Don't worry, Jan. You're safe here."
Her dark eyes flashed at him. "I'm not worried about myself. I'm
worried about my father."
Rick apologized. "I didn't mean that quite the way it sounded. But
don't forget, Jan. Our father is in this, too. So we'll worry with
you--if there's any worrying to be done."
Barby changed the subject. "It's still early. Why can't we give Jan
another swimming lesson?"
They had started the day before teaching Jan how to use underwater
breathing apparatus. She was an excellent swimmer, almost as good as
Barby. But she had never had experience with mask, fins, and snorkel,
so lessons in the use of those were required before she could graduate
to the aqualungs.
"Let's go," Rick said.
In a short time the four had changed to swimming suits and were
testing the water off Pirate's Beach. It was cold, but not unbearable.
Once they were accustomed to it, Rick picked up the instructions where
he had left off the day before. Jan was using Barby's mask, snorkel,
and fins. They would get her some of her own on the first trip to
Whiteside.
Barby had borrowed her father's equipment. The mask wasn't a perfect
fit, but she was experienced enough not to mind a little leakage. The
snorkel was all right, since no fit was involved, but the fins were
ludicrous on her small feet. She had stuffed cotton in the toes to
make them tight enough to wear, but that made the fins hard to
control.
"Follow the leader!" Rick called. "I'll lead, Jan next, Scotty next,
and Barby bring up the rear."
That was so Scotty would be instantly aware of any trouble Jan got
into. Barby could swim as well as either of the boys and needed no
watching.
Rick started by going straight out, watching the bottom through his
mask. When he got to about the fifteen-foot depth, he bent at the
waist and threw his legs upward. He slid smoothly into the water,
rolling on his back to watch Jan. She imitated his movements
perfectly, and he turned back, satisfied. She was graceful as a seal
in the water. It wouldn't take much to make a first-class diver out
of her.
Rick went to the bottom and moved along, doing underwater acrobatics
and touching a rock here and there. Then he turned over on his back
again and started upward, eyes on Jan. She followed. He led the way
back to the beach.
As the group emerged from the water and lifted their masks, Rick
looked at Scotty. His pal nodded. "She'll do. She followed you like a
shadow."
"Good. All right, Jan. Next step is clearing your mask of water. The
principle is easy. Just remember that gas is lighter than liquid. Your
breath is lighter than the water. So you hold the top of your mask and
blow it full of air, which forces the water out the bottom. Watch."
He demonstrated a few times, then Jan tried it. She caught on easily.
The instruction continued, until at the end of two hours, Rick took
all of Jan's equipment and threw it into twelve feet of water. "Now,"
he said calmly, "go after it and put it on in the water. Clear your
mask and snorkel, then come back to shore with full gear on and
operating. No surfacing to take a breath. Use only the snorkel."
Jan looked into the water thoughtfully. The moments ticked by. Finally
Rick asked, "What is it?"
The girl smiled. "I'm planning how I'll do it. If I don't plan in
advance, it will be too late after I've started, and I intend to do it
right the first time."
Rick, Barby, and Scotty exclaimed together, "Good girl!" They
laughed, and Rick explained, "That's what makes a safe diver. Know
what you're going to do before you have to do it."
Jan filled her lungs and dove. The three swam out over her and watched
through their masks. She found the mask, and there was a bad moment
when she got it on upside down, but she quickly reversed it, held it
to her face, and blew it clear. Only then did she bother with the
strap that held it.
Rick watched, pleased. He hadn't told her it wasn't necessary to
attach the mask before clearing. She put the snorkel mouthpiece in
place, but did not bother to attach the rubber strap to her head.
Then, working smoothly but without waste of time, she slipped on the
fins and flashed to the surface. The snorkel emerged and she blew it
clear, then swam to the beach.
"Perfect," Rick applauded.
"You're a natural," Scotty added.
Barby just beamed.
Jan was obviously pleased at their praise, but she was a little shy,
too, so she contented herself with smiling her thanks.
"Aqualung instruction tomorrow morning," Rick said. "Come on. I've
worked up an appetite."
That evening Rick began work on the radio circuits, as he had promised
Barby. The transmitters would be the easiest part, since he could use
the same circuits that had gone into the design of the Tractosaur
controls, modified only slightly for use on the highest amateur band.
Fortunately, Rick had both an operator's and station licenses as a
radio "ham," so Barby's scheme wouldn't mean illegal operation.
The girls wandered into the shop where he and Scotty were at work, but
there was nothing exciting about the painstaking work of laying out
diagrams, so they soon left.
Scotty paused in his work of assembling the parts they would need.
"Rick, how about making transceivers instead of simple transmitters?"
"So we can send and receive on the same unit? We can do it, all right.
But why?"
"I was just thinking. Quite a few times we'd have been a lot better
off if we could talk back and forth at a distance. There's no reason
why these have to be designed just for you and Barby to use in the
mind-reading act."
Scotty was right, of course. He usually was. "We'll make a pair of
transceivers, and a receiver for Barby. Unless you think we ought to
build a transceiver into her outfit, too."
"Would it be much work?"
"Not much. We might as well, I suppose."
They buckled down to the job. Rick found he couldn't work long,
however. "I've still got that guitar-string feeling," he admitted.
"I'm all tight inside." He didn't like it, and there was no apparent
reason for it. But that didn't help him to get rid of it.
Scotty knew Rick from long experience. "Wish I could help," he said,
"but I'm stymied. There's nothing we can get our teeth into. Those two
scientists bother me. I can't imagine what would put two perfectly
sensible and healthy people into a state like Steve describes."
"Same here." Rick had thought about it a number of times in the past
day, but had reached no conclusion. "But if it's from natural causes,
how did Marks and Miller--I mean Morrison--escape?"
Scotty grinned wryly. "You're not asking me because you expect an
answer."
"No," Rick agreed. He said abruptly, "I've had it. Let's hit the hay."
He might have felt better, or worse, had he been able to tune in on a
conversation between Tom Dodd and Steve Ames that was going on at that
very moment.
"We've had seven men on it ever since this morning," Tom was saying.
"We checked him from here to breakfast, and the record is absolutely
negative. Same for the elevator operator. The barber is a wanderer,
never stays in one shop for long. He's hunting another job right now.
The machine is his, and it's the only one of its kind. We sent Mike
Malone in for a treatment. He says the machine is good. Apparently
it's nothing but a hood with three massage machines installed on
spring mounts, so they fit the head. The barber applies oil, then
turns on the machine. It has dials, but they're fakes. It's a massage
machine, pure and simple, and it passed the health inspection board,
so we know it's not harmful."
Steve Ames said thoughtfully, "Negative record. Hmm. Well, at least no
one has ever caught up with him if he happens to be a wrong one. It
doesn't prove he's clean."
"Too true. Any ideas?"
"Just keep an eye on him. He's innocent until we get some evidence
that he may be guilty. Same for the elevator operator. But, for now,
we'll consider you've drawn a blank and let it go at that."