KIDNAPED!
The message which Tom signaled in code over the electronic brain said:
WE HAVE A DANGEROUS PLAN. IF PLAN WORKS, YOU MAY BE EXPOSED TO
ENEMY TAMPERING. WILL THIS BE SAFE? CAN YOU STAND THIS?
There was a tense pause. Then the signal bell rang on the machine and
the keys began to punch out a reply on tape:
NO ONE CAN ALTER THIS BRAIN NOR CAN THEY CHANGE ITS PURPOSE.
THEY CAN ONLY DESTROY THE ENERGY HOLDER.
As Tom finished reading the message aloud, Chow gave a whoop of delight
and the whole group burst into spontaneous cheers.
"Terrific, skipper!" Bud exclaimed, clapping his pal on the back. The
others gathered around to add their congratulations.
Mr. Swift, beaming with pride, gave Tom a quick hand-squeeze. "It's an
amazing achievement, son. And it may prove to be the key for unlocking
the secrets of space, if and when we have time for some research after
this crisis is over."
"I sure hope so, Dad," Tom murmured. Though jubilant, the young inventor
realized that this was only the first step in his plan to checkmate the
Brungarian rebels.
_The real perils still lay ahead!_
Tom called Harlan Ames and asked him to come to the laboratory for a
conference. When the security chief arrived, he was as impressed as the
others with the way Tom was able to communicate with Exman.
"The problem now," Tom said, "is how do we have him kidnaped?"
Chow, wary as a coyote, offered his opinion that the safest way would be
merely to leave the space robot unguarded somewhere about the grounds of
Enterprises.
Ames shook his head. "Too obvious. They'd suspect a trap." Tom agreed.
"Wal, then, how about truckin' him along the highway hereabouts, as if
you all were sendin' him down to Washington?"
This, too, was vetoed on the grounds that a shrewd espionage agent would
guess that such a valuable prize would never be entrusted to a slow and
vulnerable method of transport.
"Then what about an air flight?" Hank Sterling suggested.
"Brand my six-guns, that'd be jest beggin' to git yourself shot down!"
Chow fumed.
"Not if we used a plane like the _Sky Queen_, equipped with jet
lifters," Hank argued. "If any hijack planes jumped us, they'd have to
let us come down safely in order to get their hands on Exman. We could
land on the water or just hover while they made the transfer."
"And after they had it safe aboard their own plane, they'd blast yours
to smithereens!" Chow retorted.
Tom, too, thought a plane flight unwise, but for different reasons. It
might look suspicious to the Brungarians after the Swifts had been
warned by one aerial hijack attempt. Also, they might be deterred by
fear of war, thinking that the United States Air Force would doubtless
be alerted to the possibility of attack.
"So right," Ames agreed. After a thoughtful pause, he added, "Tom, what
about transporting Exman by submarine? We know that every spy apparatus
in this hemisphere is constantly trying to probe what goes on at Fearing
Island, where our subs are based."
"No doubt about that," Tom conceded.
"So," Ames continued, "any move to Fearing would certainly make the
Brungarian agents prick up their ears. Their own spy subs probably would
come prowling around the island and detect the departure of a Swift sub.
And they might feel that an undersea hijack attempt would be a fairly
safe gamble."
The others looked thoughtful, then slowly nodded in agreement. Ames's
reasoning sounded highly logical.
"Tom, you'll insist on going, I suppose," Mr. Swift said somberly.
"Of course, Dad. After all, the kidnap plan was my own idea," Tom
replied. "Another thing I'll insist on is that you _don't_ go. We have
Mother and Sandy to think of, and it's not right that both of us risk
our necks."
Realizing that it was hopeless to dissuade his son, and realizing the
basic fairness of Tom's position, Mr. Swift did not argue. Bud, Hank,
Chow, and Arv immediately volunteered to accompany the young inventor on
his dangerous mission.
Tom gratefully accepted their help. He asked all hands to assemble on
the Enterprises airfield at six the next morning for the flight to
Fearing.
After the others had left, Tom and his father resumed their experiments
with Exman. Mr. Swift suggested adding a device to the radio equipment
to make it disintegrate if tampered with. "Before those rebel
Brungarians can learn the secret of your electronic spy."
"Good idea, Dad. And how about our doing the job with Swiftonium?" This
was an unusual radioactive ore which Tom had discovered in South
America.
Mr. Swift nodded as he began work.
Tom watched admiringly as his father reconstructed the radio, coating
the entire thing with a Swiftonium compound. He at once placed the set
in a small oven which he raised to 50 degrees centigrade.
"When this cools, the set will be stable," Mr. Swift said. "But if you
should move any part of it after it cools, all of the organic parts,
like the circuit boards, the insulation, the carbon resistors, etc.,
will oxidize and disappear as gas. You will not even be able to tamper
with a single unit."
"Wonderful, Dad," Tom murmured when the device was finished. "I wish I
had your know-how in microchemistry."
"And I wish I had yours in electronics!" the elder scientist declared
with a chuckle.
After Mr. Swift had installed the device in Exman's star head, Tom used
the electronic brain to inform the robot about the whole scheme.
Both Tom Jr. and Tom Sr. were delighted when Exman showed real
enthusiasm. It replied via the printed tape on the decoder:
DO NOT WORRY, MY FRIENDS. I WILL NOT RESPOND TO ANY ATTEMPTS BY
BRUNGARIAN SCIENTISTS TO COMMUNICATE WITH ME. MY PLANET IS WELL
AWARE OF THEIR DANGEROUS AIMS. HAVING CONQUERED YOUR WORLD, THEY
WOULD NEXT INVADE SPACE.
"Looks as though Exman's got their number, all right!" Tom said with
satisfaction.
Early the next morning Mr. Swift drove Tom to the Enterprises airfield
to meet his friends. Hank Sterling, Bud, and Chow were already on hand,
and Arv Hanson arrived a few moments later. Tom and Bud left the others
to bring Exman in a small panel truck.
Soon the space robot was safely loaded aboard a transport helicopter.
The others took their places inside the cabin.
"Good luck, son!" Mr. Swift forced a smile as he gave Tom a parting
handshake.
"Don't worry, Dad. I'll be back soon!" Tom assured him. The nature of
the trip had been described only vaguely to Mrs. Swift and Sandy in
order to keep them from worrying.
The short hop overwater to Fearing Island was soon completed. Lying just
off the Atlantic coast, Fearing had once been a barren, thumb-shaped
expanse of scrubgrass and sand dunes. Now it was the Swifts' top-secret
rocket base, tightly guarded by drone planes and radar.
As the helicopter approached its destination, Tom radioed for clearance,
then whirred down toward the landing field. The barracks, workshops, and
launching area of the base lay spread out in full view. Cargo rockets
bristled on their launching pads, along with Tom's spaceships, including
the mighty _Titan_, and the oddly shaped _Challenger_ and _Cosmic
Sailer_.
North and south, the island was fringed with docks. Here the recovery
tugs and fuel tankers were moored, as well as the Swifts' fleet of
undersea craft.
Tom had chosen a cargo-hauling jetmarine, named the _Swiftsure_. It was
a larger version of his original two-man jet sub, the _Ocean Dart_. He
had given orders the night before to have it ready for sea by morning.
By jeep and truck, Tom's group sped across the island to the dock. Exman
was quickly lowered aboard through the sub's hatch. The others followed,
the conning-tower hatch was dogged shut, and soon the _Swiftsure_ was
gliding off into the shadowy blue-green depths.
"What's your sailing plan, skipper?" Hank Sterling inquired. The
quiet-spoken, square-jawed engineer stood beside Tom at the atomic
turbine controls and looked out through the transparent nose of the
jetmarine.
"Go slow. Give 'em plenty of chance to pick up our trail," Tom replied.
For two hours they cruised at moderate speed. Nothing happened.
Disappointed, Tom surfaced and radioed his father for news, after
cutting in the automatic scrambling device.
"You're in time for an exciting flash," Mr. Swift reported jubilantly.
"What is it, Dad?"
"An attempt to earthquake New York has just failed!"
Grins broke out on the faces of the crew as they heard Mr. Swift's words
come over the loud-speaker. Bud let out a happy whoop.
"That's great, Dad!" Tom said. "Maybe we've got 'em licked on the quake
front. No luck so far, though, on our new project."
"Well, keep in touch and let me know at once if anything happens," Mr.
Swift urged.
"Right, Dad!" Tom promised.
Again the _Swiftsure_ submerged. This time it was only a few minutes
before Arv Hanson gave a cry of warning.
"Something on the sonarscope, skipper!"
Bud, Hank, and Chow hastily gathered around the scope to watch. The blip
grew larger rapidly. It was clearly another submarine, closing in on a
collision course.
Tom put on a burst of speed, as if attempting to outrace their pursuer.
But he was careful to gauge his knots by reports from the sonarscope, in
order not to widen the gap between the two craft. There seemed no danger
that this would happen, although the _Swiftsure_ raced ahead faster and
faster. Still the enemy sub continued to close in like a marauding
shark, finally passing Tom's craft.
"Some baby!" Bud muttered respectfully.
The words were hardly out of his mouth when a missile streaked across
their bow, in plain view through the _Swiftsure's_ transparent nose. Its
foaming wake rocked the jetmarine.
"They're attacking us!" Bud cried out.
Tom slammed shut the turbine throttle, bringing his craft to a gliding
halt in the water. At the same time, he switched on the sonarphone.
"Orders to Swift sub!" a voice barked over the set. "Surface and heave
to! No tricks, or the next missile will not be across your bow!"
Tom blew his tanks and sent the _Swiftsure_ spearing upward. As the
conning tower broke water, Tom and his men swarmed up on deck. Seconds
later, a sleek gray enemy submarine knifed into view. Its hatch opened
and several men climbed out.
To Tom's amazement, their leader was Samson Narko!
Chow let out a yelp of rage. "Why, you sneakin', double-dyed,
bushwhackin' polecat!" the old Westerner bellowed. "We shoulda kept you
hawg-tied, 'stead o' lettin' you go free!"
Narko ignored the outburst and raised a megaphone to his lips. "Hand
over your cargo and do it quickly!"
"What cargo?" Tom snapped back. "And what's the meaning of this outrage?
You realize this is piracy?"
"I realize you will wind up on the bottom at the slightest show of
resistance!" Narko warned menacingly. "You know very well what cargo
I refer to! Now do not try our patience!"
[Illustration (a submarine attacks the Swiftsure)]
Tom and his crew pretended to put up a blustering, indignant front. Chow
was especially convincing, with a blistering torrent of salty Texas
invectives.
Narko's only response was a barked-out order to his men in Brungarian.
Quickly the enemy submarine maneuvered closer until the two craft were
almost chockablock. Narko and his men then leaped aboard the
_Swiftsure_, armed with sub-machine guns and automatics.
"I'm warning you, Narko--" Tom began angrily. But Narko cut the young
inventor short by a poke in his ribs with the gun muzzle, then issued
orders to two of his men to go below.
Moments later, Exman was being hauled up through the hatch and
transferred aboard the raider. The Americans glared in angry silence.
"Thanks so much, my stupid friends!" Narko taunted them with a jeering
laugh. Then he followed his crewmen as the last one scrambled back to
the enemy submarine.
With laughs and waves, they disappeared into its conning tower. The
hatch was clamped shut and the raider promptly submerged.
Tom and his men were amazed, but delighted at not having been taken
prisoner along with Exman. All of them broke into happy chuckles of
relief.
"Wow! That's what I call fast service!" Bud exclaimed.
"It was sure a blamed sight easier'n I expected," Chow said. "Thought
fer a while we might end up feedin' the fishes!"
"You put on a real act, Chow!" Tom said, clapping the stout old cook on
the back. "Well, they've taken the bait. Now let's hope it pays off--for
us!"
The Americans swarmed below again, closed the hatch, and submerged. Tom
took his time in bringing the jet pumps up to speed. "Wonder if we
should pretend to proceed on course, or turn around and head for home?"
he murmured to Hank.
Hank's reply was cut short by a yell from Hanson at the sonarphone.
"Missile coming, skipper! Straight at us!"