The parts of the mysterious jigsaw puzzle had begun to fit into a rough
pattern, with Eddie and Teena furnishing most of the key pieces. Mr.
Evans glanced at his wrist watch.
“It’s now a quarter after five,” he said. “The supposed submarine
sighting took place on a Saturday night two weeks ago. That same day
Eddie and Teena saw the men out over the sand bar. They saw them again
last Saturday. Probably another pickup took place that night. It’s
logical, therefore, to assume that the third pickup is scheduled for
tonight. That doesn’t give us much time to set our trap.”
“You’re the boss,” Mr. Taylor said. “You tell us what you want us to
do.”
“That’s right,” Teena’s father said anxiously. “I can’t overemphasize
how important it is that those blueprints don’t get out of this
country.”
“First I have several urgent phone calls to make,” the FBI man said
quickly. “Must get the wheels turning at once.”
“There’s a phone in the empty office next door,” Mr. Taylor volunteered.
“Help yourself.”
While the federal investigator was in the next room telephoning, Mr.
Taylor, Mr. Ross, and the man from Drake Ridge talked over what they
knew so far.
“Apparently what we have to go on,” Eddie’s father said, “are some
assorted guesses, none of which may prove to be positive facts.”
“Well, guesses will have to do for the moment,” Mr. Ross said. “We have
to have a starting point.”
“All right,” Mr. Taylor agreed, “here’s what we have. Two men seem
responsible for both the stolen isotope and the missing blueprints.
Eddie and Teena both saw the tall one called Simms on the college campus
about a week ago. He must be familiar with our atomic-research
department in order to know of the delivery, and to plan a method for
stealing the isotope. In that case, he shouldn’t be difficult to trace.”
“Dad,” Eddie said suddenly, “doesn’t everyone who works around the
atomic lab have an identification badge with his picture on it?”
“You’re absolutely right,” his father said, getting up quickly. “And we
have duplicates of the pictures right here in our files.” He pulled a
thick album from a steel drawer. He thumbed through to the ‘S’ section
and opened it in front of Teena and Eddie.
“That’s him!” Eddie said, pointing almost immediately to the picture of
the thin-faced man. His name was listed as Harvey Simms. Underneath the
photo the man’s job title was typed in a single word—Custodian.
“Now I recognize him,” Mr. Taylor said.
“I’ve seen him working around. A quiet person. The kind you hardly
notice.”
“That’s the way he would want it to be,” Mr. Ross said.
Teena and Eddie went through the entire book of pictures without
recognizing any as the man called Roy Benton. Mr. Ross picked up the
telephone and called the Acme Aircraft Company personnel department. He
gave Roy Benton’s name and the description Eddie and Teena had
furnished.
“See if you can get a line on such a person,” Mr. Ross instructed over
the telephone. “Call me back as soon as you can.” He gave the number,
and hung up.
“Now, then,” Eddie’s father picked up the conversation again, “after
managing to steal certain blueprints during the week, the men would
naturally pick Saturday—their day off—to schedule the pickups by the
submarine. We’re still assuming, of course, that a submarine actually is
being used. It seems the only logical means of getting in and out past
our alert Coast Guard. By timing the patrols, they would know when to
surface. They would know how long to allow for their divers to row into
the bay, get the tube, and return to the sub before the patrol doubled
back. It’s possible, even, that the submarine carries a small seaplane.
After returning to unpatrolled water, they could launch the seaplane to
deliver the cylinder to some surface vessel, or possibly to an island or
other land base. The submarine itself probably stays around for other
pickups.”
“Those are possibilities,” Mr. Ross admitted.
“I mention it,” Eddie’s father said, “only because, if it’s true, the
tubes which have been picked up off the sand bar are already delivered.
In that case, your blueprints and my radioisotope are no longer secrets.
If not, however, both still must be on the submarine. No sub could
shuttle back and forth to a foreign shore fast enough to make delivery
and get back within a week’s time. This is only a guess, but they may
lie a few miles offshore during the week as a safety measure and to
conserve fuel. They come in and surface just outside the bay each
Saturday, under cover of darkness. When they have everything they’re
after, they’ll head home. Since they already have sufficient samples of
the isotope, my guess is that they are now after the final blueprints.
The small samples of the isotope are now used only as tracers to help
locate the submerged cylinders.”
Teena’s father seemed immensely impressed by Mr. Taylor’s reasoning. “It
so happens,” he said, “that the blueprints we discovered missing
today—added to the others—complete the entire layout of our new secret
missile-guidance system. In the hands of an unfriendly nation, there’s
no telling to what improper use the guidance system might be put.”
“Then,” Mr. Jamison said, “this must be the end of their
assignment—tonight’s delivery of the final blueprints.”
“That’s right,” Eddie’s father said. “That’s how it would appear.”
Mr. Evans came back into the room. “I’ve been arranging a little
surprise party,” he said, with a rather tense smile. “I couldn’t help
but overhear you, Mr. Taylor, while I was waiting for one of my calls. I
think you’ve got that submarine angle pretty well figured out.”
“I spent a hitch in the Navy,” Eddie’s father said, smiling. “Operating
seagoing vessels—surface or subsurface—falls into a general pattern.”
“True,” Mr. Evans agreed, “and I doubt very much that any submarine
refueling tanker would be hanging around even several hundred miles out.
Like aircraft traffic, shipping is run pretty well according to
schedule. A wandering tanker would simply invite curiosity. But be that
as it may, the immediate task is to capture that submarine—if submarine
there is. We’re still going on guesses.”
“What do you want us to do?” Mr. Taylor asked.
“It won’t be necessary for any of you to do anything,” the FBI man said.
“I’ve lined up all the assistance needed. Everything is set.”
“You’re going to arrest those two men, aren’t you?” Eddie blurted out.
“They—they’re traitors!”
“They won’t go anyplace,” Mr. Evans assured him. “The important thing
right now is that we don’t tip off our plans. Possibly they have various
signals worked out with the submarine. Things have to go right on
schedule, or we might lose the whole battle. Benton and Simms are small
fish and can be landed any time we want. The big thing is the delivery
of those blueprints and the isotope. That’s what we’ve got to stop.”
The telephone on Mr. Taylor’s desk rang. “It’s for you, Tom,” he said,
handing the instrument to Teena’s father.
“File clerk?” Mr. Ross said, after listening a few seconds. “How about
that! Thanks. No, don’t say a word to anyone.” He hung up, and turned to
the FBI man. “Well, there’s your Roy Benton. A file clerk. New man. Been
at Acme just a little over a month. Can’t figure, though, how he managed
to get into the secret blueprint files. They’re kept locked up.”
“Professional spies have ingenious ways of working,” Mr. Evans said.
“Anyway, it’s pretty plain now how both the radioisotope and the
blueprints happened to disappear. One thing’s equally certain. This is
all part of a carefully worked out plan. The job now is to stop that
plan—and stop it tonight.”
“Oh, I’m frightened,” Teena said. “Spies, and submarines, and—and—”
“Aw, Teena,” Eddie said, “there’s nothing to be afraid of.” Yet he had
to clasp his own hands tightly together to keep them from shaking.
“All right, everybody,” Mr. Evans said, looking at his watch, “within an
hour everything will be set up. I’m not free to reveal our plan.
However, since you are all involved in this thing, I have no objection
to your witnessing the outcome. If an outcome there is. Remember, we’re
going primarily on guesses. So, if you want to drive quietly out to the
lighthouse, I’ve arranged—”
“Lighthouse!” Eddie exclaimed. “We know Captain Daniels. He’s a good
friend of ours.”
“I know,” Mr. Evans said. “I talked to him on the phone. He’s a Coast
Guard man, you know. And the Coast Guard is mighty important to
tonight’s activity. You might find what goes on out there, and in the
bay, extremely interesting to watch.”
“Can Teena and I go?” Eddie asked anxiously.
“Of course,” Mr. Evans said. “Without you two, we wouldn’t have a thing
to be working on, would we?”
Eddie flushed with pride.
“Of course,” the FBI man went on, “you will have to ask your parents.”
Eddie looked pleadingly at his father. Neither Mr. Taylor nor Mr. Ross
voiced any objection.
“All right,” Mr. Evans said, rising, “there’s no time to waste. I’ll see
you folks a little later.”
He left the office. The others sat for a moment as though trying to
catch their breaths over the rapid developments of the past hours. Mr.
Jamison excused himself to report back to Drake Ridge.
“Tom,” Eddie’s father said finally, “we’d better call our wives and tell
them we and the children will be home late.”
“Unfinished business,” Teena’s father said thoughtfully.
“That’s right. Unfinished business.”