The Vanishing Mermaids
Parnell Winston worked as Hartson Brant described his experience.
"There really isn't much to it," Mr. Brant said. "I started out for
Whiteside in the fast boat."
Winston focused a flashlight into one eye, then the other.
"I was on the north side of North Cove when the boat smashed into
something. I was thrown violently into the water."
Winston tested the scientist's reflexes, using a finger instead of the
traditional rubber hammer.
"Apparently I was badly shaken up, because my memory becomes unclear
at this point. I do recall being fished out of the water, and when I
came to enough to recognize my surroundings, I was in a strange room.
It turned out to be the cabin of the houseboat."
"Do you remember any strange sensations, or smells?" Winston asked.
Rick listened, his heart pounding.
"None. The people on the houseboat were most considerate. One of the
men insisted that I get into some of his spare clothes, and I did so.
One of the women--the wife of the man who came here, I believe--made
me a cup of hot consomme. They told me I was apparently whole, no
broken bones."
"They were very pleasant and helpful," Rick admitted.
The houseboaters had done just the right things, including coming to
Spindrift for help rather than bringing the scientist home in the
slow-moving and rather uncomfortable pram. Instead, Hartson Brant had
waited on the houseboat while one of the men brought the pram to the
island with a request that someone follow him back in a more
comfortable boat.
Rick and Scotty had done so, and were almost limp with relief at
finding the scientist apparently unhurt and comfortable.
"How does your head feel?" Parnell Winston demanded.
"Rather stuffy," the scientist admitted. "I'm finding it difficult to
collect my thoughts. Parnell, why all these questions?"
The cyberneticist rubbed his bushy eyebrows with both hands, a habit
he had when agitated. "Hartson, as you know, I am not a doctor of
medicine. However, I do claim competence as a physiologist, and
consequently bodily reactions are familiar to me. I believe you have
been drugged."
"Drugged?" Rick's heart stopped momentarily.
"Yes. I've looked for the mark of a hypodermic needle, but there is
none. If I'm correct, the drug was a light one, possibly amytal. Your
reflexes are slower than normal, even taking the accident and
subsequent shock into account, and your pupils react slowly."
Rick came to a sudden decision. He went to the desk and picked up the
phone.
"What are you doing?" Hartson Brant demanded.
"I'm calling Steve Ames. We need help."
In a few minutes Rick had the agent on the wire and was giving him the
details of the accident over the scrambler system. He concluded, "If
Dad was drugged by the houseboaters, as Dr. Winston thinks, that means
the enemy has his brain pattern!"
Steve Ames asked, "Is Winston there?"
"Yes."
"Ask him a question for me. Would the brain waves be considered
quasi-optical?"
Steve meant would the waves be of such high frequency that they would
act like light. Rick put the question to Winston.
"Tell Steve the answer is a qualified yes."
Rick repeated the information.
"All right. Then we must assume that the brain scrambler--or whatever
you call it--can operate only from short distances, approximately to
the horizon. Tell your father he is to get out of town. Have him pack
a bag, then deliver him to the New York JANIG office. We'll take it
from there. Got it?"
Rick had it. "How do I make sure we're not followed?"
Steve paused. "That's a tough one. Air travel would be surest. Do you
have any landing lights on Spindrift?"
"No. Besides, it's a short runway, and only a pilot who knew the
island could possibly land at night."
"I've got a pilot who knows it, so forget going to New York. Rig
lights of some kind. You can put lights on the roof of the lab
building, I'm sure. Then put a pair of lights at each side of the
runway's end, so he'll know how far he can go. If you have nothing
else, soak newspapers in gasoline. He'll buzz the island. That will be
your signal to light up."
"Is Mike Malone the pilot?" Malone had landed there before.
"Yes. He'll take over. Just deliver your father intact."
"If we can," Rick said slowly. "Steve, suppose the enemy activates
their machine when they hear the plane? Suppose they suspect he's
getting away and turn on the mind reader?"
"We'll have to chance it. Best thing is to move fast. Get your father
in with Mike, and let them clear out. I'll tell Mike to put distance
between him and you as fast as he can."
"All right, Steve." There seemed to be no other way.
Rick turned to his father and Winston, and repeated the conversation.
"He's right, Hartson," Winston said. "You're in good enough shape to
travel. Better get packed." The cyberneticist looked at Rick. "What
did you call the enemy gadget? A mind reader? That's an odd name."
"I didn't think about it," Rick told him. "The name just popped into
my mind. But doesn't the enemy machine read the patterns in peoples'
minds, then erase them?"
"As good a name as any, I guess," Winston agreed. "Well, let's tell
the others. Then you have work to do getting ready for the plane,
Rick."
Mrs. Brant, after making sure that her husband was no more than
slightly dazed, had been forced to turn her attention to Barby and
Jan. The two girls were on the verge of sheer hysteria with fear for
their fathers. Scotty had joined Mrs. Brant, in an effort to soothe
the girls' frayed nerves. Now, as Rick opened the library door, he
could see that the two pretty young faces were tear-streaked, but as
calm as could be expected under the circumstances. Scotty looked worn
out. Rick could only marvel at his mother. She could always be relied
upon in a crisis.
Mrs. Brant listened to her son's report, then nodded firmly. "Steve
is wise to insist, Rick. I'll help your father pack."
Rick beckoned to Scotty. "We have work to do. Let's start with the
lab."
On the way, he filled Scotty in on the details of what had happened in
the library. Then he asked, "How did you get the girls calmed down?"
Scotty shook his head wearily. "It wasn't fun. The poor kids are
scared stiff. Remember they haven't been exposed to stuff as we have.
To them, our stories are just exciting fun, because we leave out the
rough parts. Now they're getting a taste of this business the way it
really is."
"Did you say that?"
"That, and a thousand other things. Nothing did much good, and Mom
couldn't make any headway, either. Another ten minutes of tears and
the island would have been under water, honest. Finally I got rough. I
told them we were all in this, and they were only creating a nuisance
that complicated things and didn't help at all. Then Mom chimed in.
You know how she does. Never raises her voice. She said real courage
consisted of being terribly frightened, but trying to remain calm in
spite of it. Then she said she was rapidly becoming ashamed of both of
them. That did it. They stuck their chins in the air, wiped off the
tears, and actually managed a smile."
"Good for them!" Rick exclaimed.
Inside the laboratory they went at once to the stockroom. Floodlights
were stored there, among other items. Extension cords were plentiful,
and there were electric outlets on the roof. In a few moments the boys
had strung the lights and Rick had readjusted the board downstairs, so
that all the lights were on a single circuit. That way, they could all
be switched on or off at once.
Joe Blake came to watch. Rick explained what he was doing, and told
Joe of Steve's conversation.
"I know," Joe said. "Steve called me on the radio. He didn't want us
shooting Mike down for trying to land without warning. But how come
you can cut circuits in and out like this?"
"We never know when an experiment will call for electric power in some
unexpected place," Rick explained. "The main board is set up so we can
do just about anything we need to. We can feed normal current in, or
440 volts, and we can cross-link the circuits any way we like."
Scotty checked Rick's work, then took the switch handle. He touched
the contacts briefly, and there was a quick pulse of light as the roof
lighted up and went dark again.
"I'll stand by here," Scotty said. "You stand by at the end of the
runway. Are we going to use gasoline?"
"We'll have to. It would take a while to run power from the house and
hook up lighting units. Gasoline will be quicker and easier. Let's
go."
There was a supply of gasoline for the boats. Rick got a five-gallon
can while Scotty collected newspapers. Two trash cans served as
containers. The cans were filled with newspapers, then drenched in
gasoline and placed at the last possible point of runway that could be
used. If Mike overshot the containers he would land in the sea.
Rick worried about the problem of lighting the containers without
getting burned, then went to the workshop and selected rags. He
twisted the rags loosely and tied them together, poured gasoline into
a bucket and soaked his rag fuse. The last step was to insert one end
of the fuse in each can. When the time came, he would be between the
cans, and he would light the center of the rag string. The fire would
travel rapidly, because of the gasoline.
In case Mike was delayed for any great period, Rick kept the gasoline
handy. He might have to wet down the cans and fuse again. He had
forgotten to ask where Mike would come from, and Steve hadn't
volunteered. Probably he would come from Washington, which meant about
an hour's flying time in the plane Mike would use, a fast little
four-place job that Rick had long coveted. But Mike wouldn't be ready
for take-off instantly. Time had to be allowed for Steve to give him
instructions, to get from wherever he was to the airport, and then get
the plane gassed and ready. Allow another hour. That meant two hours
in all.
Inside, Rick was still scared. How did they know the electronic mind
reader wouldn't be activated at any moment? He hurried into the house
and went upstairs to where his father was packing. He couldn't do
anything, and he knew it. But it helped, just being near the
scientist. Apparently Scotty felt the same. He had joined Hartson
Brant, too. But Barby, Jan, and Mrs. Brant had preceded him.
The scientist smiled. "Never had so much help packing before."
The smile was strained, and Rick thought he knew why. He had seen his
father face great physical danger without losing a bit of his
composure. But the insidious weapon that could read all reason out of
minds was far more horrible to a man like Hartson Brant than any
physical danger could be. Bullets, knives, and clubs may leave bad
wounds, or they may kill. But what chance is there for anyone with a
damaged brain?
Scotty looked at his watch and held it up for Rick to see. Nearly an
hour and three-quarters had passed since the call to Steve. Rick
gestured to Scotty and urged, "Hurry, Dad."
"I'm ready." The scientist closed his bag. Barby got to it first and
lugged it down the stairs, refusing Scotty's offer of help.
The boys went to their stations while the others waited on the porch.
Rick checked to be sure he had matches, then worried because a wind
had sprung up. Suppose it blew his match out? He was about to go
borrow his father's lighter when he heard the far-off drone of a
plane. There wasn't time now! He held the matches in his hand, ready.
The drone grew nearer, rising to a high whine. The plane was diving!
Suddenly it was overhead and gone with a crash of sound. Rick saw its
lights head out to sea. Mike was making a tight turn to come in for a
landing.
Rick's lips formed the words. "Now, Scotty! Now!"
And, as though he had heard, Scotty threw the switch. Lights flared on
the lab roof, outlining it clearly. Rick struck a match and held it to
the saturated cord of rags. Flaming gasoline ran along the cord in
both directions, ran up the sides of the cans. There was a loud whoosh
of exploding gasoline, and both cans were ablaze. Rick ran away from
the heat.
Mike came in low and fast over the lab roof and slapped the plane down
on the turf. In a moment he applied the brakes and the wheels whined
their protest as they dug up grass. Then the plane was rolling to a
stop directly in front of the house.
The pilot jumped out and called, "Hello, gang! Come on, sir. No time
to waste!"
Hartson Brant kissed Mrs. Brant and the girls, found time to pat
Rick's shoulder, and climbed in. Rick took the suitcase from Barby and
handed it to the scientist. The door closed and the plane was
whirling, catching them in its prop blast. Mike taxied back fast to
the laboratory, turned the plane and revved up, holding on the brakes.
Rick saw Scotty emerge from the lab building and go right back in
again as the prop wash caught him. Then the plane was rolling ... and
lifting. Mike skimmed low over the burning trash cans, banked out to
sea, and was gone.
Rick felt a sob rising in his throat and resolutely squelched it. He
walked to the burning cans and dropped covers on them. Scotty cut the
lights on the lab building.
Had they made it? They wouldn't know. Not until Steve reported that
the scientist was safe.
On the porch, Barby asked, "How soon will we know?"
Rick was proud of her. Her voice had trembled only slightly. "Probably
not until tomorrow, Sis. Come on. Let's all hike off to bed. It's been
a rough evening."
"All right. Rick, we still don't know for sure, do we? About the
people in the houseboat?"
"Not for sure. But we have a pretty good idea. How else would Dad get
drugged?"
"Mightn't they have given him a sedative?" Jan asked. "That would have
the same effect."
Rick hadn't thought of that. He admitted it was possible.
"I wish the radio trick had worked," Barby said sadly. "I wish we had
some way of getting a radio on the houseboat. Then we could listen in
on everything they said."
"No way of doing it," Rick said. He was very tired. "Forget it for
now and let's all turn in. We can talk some more in the morning."
* * * * *
Steve Ames phoned at five o'clock in the morning. Rick had been
sleeping lightly, his rest broken by nightmares that he couldn't
remember when he awoke. He got to the phone in the hall. "Just a
minute," he said. "Let me get downstairs to the switch."
The entire family was close on his heels as he went into the library.
He threw the scrambler switch, then asked anxiously, "Yes, Steve?"
"Just had word, Rick, so I called in spite of the hour. Your father is
safe inside the compound at Los Alamos. He's all right. And just as a
precaution, he'll spend most of his time in a shielded area where no
radio signal can penetrate. Now go on back to bed and get some sleep."
Rick thanked him gratefully. Los Alamos! That was one of the two main
atomic energy weapons laboratories. No place in the United States was
more closely guarded. Now he could be sure his father was safe as
anyone could be.
He repeated the conversation to his anxious family. "Now," he said,
echoing Steve's advice, "let's get back to bed. Perhaps we can really
sleep for a change."
He did sleep. It was nearly noon before he awoke. He got up sleepily
and found Scotty had just barely preceded him and was now taking a
shower.
Downstairs, things were apparently normal. Mrs. Brant and Mrs.
Morrison were at work on lunch, but since an hour was too long to
wait, Rick had a bowl of cereal and a glass of milk. He was careful
not to choose Crummies. Scotty settled for three doughnuts and milk.
"Where are the girls?" Rick asked. "Still asleep?"
"They've gone swimming," Mrs. Morrison replied. "They should be back
soon, though. They've been gone over an hour."
"I could use a swim myself," Rick admitted.
"Not me," Scotty said. "Wait until afternoon and I'll join you. That
cold water would shock me into a state of galloping goose pimples the
way I feel now."
Rick had forgotten how cold the water was. "Okay. We'll wait. Let's go
over to the lab and take down the lights. I want to clean up the trash
cans, too."
They walked leisurely over to the laboratory and stopped for a moment
to chat with Joe Blake. Then, before starting on the lights, they
walked around behind the lab building.
The laboratories were built on a promontory that sloped inland toward
Pirate's Field, which was just above sea level. The raised area ran
around the seaward side of the island, so that the Brant house was on
high land, too. On the north side, the land sloped down toward the
boat landing.
Rick stood on the edge of the low cliff and looked for Barby and Jan.
They weren't in sight.
"They must be using lungs," Scotty said. "Watch for bubbles."
No bubbles were visible, either. Rick checked carefully and began to
worry. It was a calm day with little wave action, and the bubbles from
the lungs should have been clearly visible. Surely they wouldn't swim
so far the bubbles couldn't be seen on a day like this.
"Let's check," Rick said.
The boys hurried to the room where the Scuba equipment was kept. Two
lungs and the blue and white equipment were gone. So was the cart. A
quick look at Pirate's Cove showed no cart in sight.
Where could they have gone? The boys hurried to the front of the lab
building again and found Joe Blake still getting a bit of sunshine.
"Did you see the girls?" Rick asked hurriedly.
Joe nodded. He motioned across the island. "They came and got
aqualungs and hauled the cart across to the north side. They're
probably swimming over there."
Rick doubted it. He doubted it very much. The currents on the north
side kept the bottom stirred up and visibility was too poor for
diving.
Without the need of exchanging a word, Rick and Scotty were suddenly
running. As they passed the house Rick had a sudden thought. He went
in and ran up the stairs to his room, grabbed his radio unit and
turned it on.
"Barby!" he called frantically. "Barby!"
There was no answer. Tucking the unit into his pocket, he ran out and
joined Scotty again. If Barby had her set she wasn't using it.
"Come on." He led the way to the boat cove and stopped short. The
speedboat was there, and so was the Scuba cart, but the rowboat
wasn't. Anxiously he scanned the water. There was no sign of the
girls.
Where were they? Where? The thought struck him. He remembered Barby's
comment of the night before.
_Had they gone to the houseboat?_