EARTHQUAKE ISLAND
Now came the hardest part of all for Tom and his companions--waiting to
learn if the shock deflectors had succeeded in blotting out the enemy
quake wave.
No one spoke. As the silence deepened inside the cave, the suspense
became almost unbearable. Minutes passed.
"When will we know, skipper?" a crewman ventured at last.
"Soon, I hope," Tom replied tersely.
But the waiting seemed endless. Bud's eyes met Tom's. The flier grinned
and held up crossed fingers, just as Tom had done to Mike Burrows the
previous evening. Tom managed a feeble grin in response.
Suddenly the telephone shrilled, shattering the silence of the cave. Tom
snatched it from the radioman's hands.
"Tom Swift here!... Yes?... Thank heavens! I guess we can all be
grateful, Dr. Miles!"
"Providence protected us, I'm sure, Tom," the seismologist replied at
the other end of the line. "But in this instance it worked through Tom
Swift's Quakelizors! The Bona Fide plant and the surrounding area never
even felt the tremor--your quake deflectors worked perfectly!"
There was no need to tell the others. Tom's words on the telephone and
the grin on his face told the story. A spontaneous volley of cheers
echoed through the cave as he hung up. Then the crew crowded around to
slap Tom on the back and shake his hand.
"I hope the whole country learns what you've done, Tom," Mike Burrows
said. "If it doesn't, I'll be the first to spread the word as soon as
the secrecy lid's taken off!"
"Shucks, I knew all along Tom's contraption would do the trick!" Chow
boasted, glowing with pride over his young boss's achievement.
Tom could only smile happily. "Guess we can go home now," he said to Bud
and Chow.
They were preparing to leave when another flash from Washington came
over the radiotelephone. A ship's captain, five hundred miles out on the
Pacific, had just reported sighting a great waterspout, accompanied by
considerable wave turbulence.
"It could have been the spot where the enemy shock waves and our
deflector waves met and damped out," Tom commented.
"Dr. Miles thinks so, too," the caller said.
Soon the sleek Swift jet was arrowing back across the continent. En
route, Tom radioed word of his latest triumph to Mr. Swift. As always,
he used the automatic scramblers to make sure any enemy eavesdroppers
would pick up only static.
"Great work, son!" Mr. Swift congratulated Tom. "I was confident you
could handle the situation with your Quakelizors."
"Thanks, Dad. See you soon."
When the jet finally landed at Enterprises and came to a halt on the
runway, the control tower operator spoke over the radio.
"Harlan Ames would like to see Tom Jr. at the security building. He left
word just a few minutes ago."
"Roger!" Tom replied.
Chow frugally carted off his leftover supplies. Tom and Bud, meanwhile,
went by jeep across the plant grounds to security headquarters.
Ames greeted the two boys enthusiastically. "Nice going on that
earthquake situation, Tom!" he said. "And now I have some more good
news. We've just nabbed the man who imitated your father's voice over
the phone the other night."
"What!" Both boys were excited, and Tom added eagerly, "Who is he?"
"An actor at the Shopton summer playhouse."
"How did you find out?" Tom asked.
"I had a hunch," Ames went on. "If the impersonator wasn't a plant
employee at Enterprises, then he had to be a person with a trained
voice. That gave me the idea of checking on all actors and station
announcers here in the vicinity. It paid off right away. The guy's name
is Brent Nolan."
"Have you questioned him yet?" Tom asked.
"I'm about to," Ames replied. "Radnor just brought him in."
The security chief led the way into an adjoining office. A slender,
good-looking young man with blond wavy hair was seated on a chair with
Phil Radnor on one side of him and a Shopton police officer on the
other. The actor was visibly nervous and perspiring.
"This is Tom Swift Jr.," Ames told him. "Brent Nolan."
Nolan nodded. "Yes, I've seen your picture in the papers many times."
The actor tried to force a smile but his face muscles twitched.
"I--I seem to have pulled a pretty dumb stunt by faking that phone
call from your father. I'm sorry."
"What was the reason?" Tom asked.
Nolan fingered his wavy blond hair uneasily and swallowed hard. "A man
named Professor Runkle paid me to do it."
"Professor Runkle?" Tom frowned. The name seemed vaguely familiar.
"He spoke with a foreign accent. Said he was doing research at Grandyke
University," Nolan explained. "He told me you might be expecting a rare
biological specimen from the East Indies. He said both of you were eager
to get hold of it for research purposes, but he was afraid that you had
outbid him. However, if he asked you straight out, you would guard the
secret very jealously. So he hired me to find out."
"Didn't it occur to you he might be an espionage agent?" Ames asked
coldly.
Nolan seemed shocked. "Believe me, I had no such idea!" he averred.
"Runkle seemed pleasant. He said it all was merely a short cut to save
him from wasting any more time on the project. If Tom Swift had the
specimen, he would quit. I--I guess I'm a little bit vain about the way
I can mimic voices, and this gave me a chance to show off. Besides,
I saw no harm in doing it."
"No harm?" Bud snorted. "You had Swift Enterprises in a real lather when
we found out."
Nolan spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "I'm truly sorry," he
repeated.
"How were you able to find out how my father's voice sounded?" Tom
asked.
"I listened to a recording of a speech he made at the Fourth of July
rally here in Shopton," Nolan explained. "I borrowed the tape from a
local radio station. Guess that's how your security men got onto me."
"What did this fellow Runkle look like?" Ames asked.
Nolan thought for a moment. "Oh, he was past middle age, I should say.
Grizzled hair, thick-lensed glasses. And he was quite heavy-set."
"Hmm. Then it certainly wasn't Narko," Ames murmured to Tom.
The young inventor nodded. "I believe I know him. The name just came
back to me. I met a Professor Runkle in New York about a month ago, at a
scientific convention. He was a member of the visiting Brungarian
delegation."
"We'll check on him," Ames promised. He turned back sternly to the young
actor. "All right, Nolan, I guess you can go. But I warn you--no more
impersonations."
After more flustered apologies, the actor hurried out, obviously
relieved.
"What a dumb egg he is!" Bud muttered.
"In a way he may have helped us," Tom pointed out. "If the Brungarian
rebels hadn't found out about Exman, we couldn't have lured them into
that kidnap plot. It's already helped us to save the Bona Fide Submarine
Building Corporation."
Monday morning Ames reported that Professor Runkle had left the country.
Tom was not sorry, since an arrest and public trial might have led to
dangerous publicity about Exman. The probings of a sharp-tongued defense
attorney might even have tipped off the Brungarian to Tom's real purpose
in letting the space brain be hijacked.
Meanwhile, a telephone call from Washington announced that State
Department men were flying to Enterprises to confer with the Swifts
about taking official action against the Brungarian attacks. The group
arrived by jet after lunch. Thurston of the CIA was also present.
"The problem is this," a State Department official said as they
discussed the matter in the Swifts' office. "Should we bring charges
against Brungaria before the United Nations? Or should we rely on other
means, short of war, to block the Brungarian rebel coup?"
Mr. Swift frowned thoughtfully. "It might be difficult to prove they
were responsible for the earthquake attacks," he pointed out.
"I'd say it's impossible," Tom said, "unless we give away the secret
about our electronic spy." He paused, then added, "Sir, if the State
Department will agree, I'd like more time before you make any official
moves."
The Quakelizors, Tom argued, seemed to offer protection against any
future quake waves, unless the power of the shocks was greatly stepped
up. Meantime, working through Exman, Tom might be able to provide the
Brungarian loyalists with valuable information. "I'm hoping it will help
them overthrow the rebel clique and their brutal allied military
bosses."
The State Department men conferred, then Thurston spoke up quietly, "In
our opinion, it's worth a gamble."
After the group had left, the Swifts resumed their sensing experiments
in Tom's private laboratory. They were hard at work when the signal bell
suddenly rang on the electronic brain.
The two scientists rushed to read the incoming message. It said:
EXMAN TO SWIFTS. ONE ENEMY EARTHQUAKE PRODUCER IS AT...
Here the message gave precise latitude and longitude figures. It went
on:
RUIN OF SWIFT PLACE IN ONE WEEK.
Tom and his father gasped in dismay. "I thought the New York-New England
Quakelizor was going to protect us!" the young inventor exclaimed. "Our
enemies must have located another earth fault with Enterprises right in
its path!"
Hastily opening an atlas, Tom fingered the location of the proposed
source of attack. It was Balala Island off the coast of Peru.
"Dad, that settles it!" Tom declared grimly. "It's clear now that those
Brungarian rebels want to destroy us and use Exman in some way to
conquer the earth!"
"I don't doubt that you're right, son," Mr. Swift said grimly. "We must
act fast! But how?"
Again, the signal bell interrupted. This time, Exman gave a number of
military details, evidently picked up from orders issuing from
Brungarian rebel headquarters. They concerned incoming troop movements
from the north and operational plans for crushing out the last pockets
of resistance by loyal government forces.
Tom recorded them with TV tape, then snatched up the telephone and
called the Central Intelligence Agency in Washington. He relayed the
information from Exman and asked if American agents could transmit it to
the loyalists.
"Don't worry. We'll see that it reaches them," the CIA chief assured Tom.
"Many thanks. This _could_ have important consequences."
As Tom hung up he decided on a bold move. "Dad, I'm going to lead a raid
on Balala!"
"A raid!" The elder scientist was electrified.
"According to the atlas, the island is barren and deserted," Tom said,
"so no friendly power will object if we land there. If it's being used
as an enemy base for quake attacks against our country, we have every
right to investigate. I might be able to learn the secret of the
setup--perhaps even put the equipment out of commission."
"Nevertheless, a raid by a United States force could lead to trouble if
the base there puts up any resistance," Mr. Swift said gravely.
"That's why I intend to handle it myself," Tom declared. "I'll take all
responsibility."
Tom Sr.'s eyes flashed as he recalled some of his own hair-raising
exploits in younger days. "All right, son," he said, putting a hand on
Tom's shoulder. "I know I can trust your judgment. Good luck!"
Again Tom issued a call for volunteers. Bud, Hank Sterling, Arv Hanson,
and Chow were all eager to take part. Within an hour they were taking
off for Fearing. At the rocket base, they embarked in the _Sea Hound_,
Tom's favorite model of his diving seacopter. A powerful central rotor
with reversible-pitch blades, spun by atomic turbines, enabled the craft
to rise through the air or descend into the deepest abysses of the
ocean. Propulsion jets gave it high speed in either medium.
Loaded with equipment, the _Sea Hound_ streaked southward through the
skies--first to Florida, then across the Gulf and Central America into
the Pacific. Here Tom eased down to the surface of the water and
submerged.
It was near midnight when the _Sea Hound_ rose from the depths just off
Balala. The lonely rocky island lay outlined like a huddled black mass
against the star-flecked southern sky. No glimmer of light showed
anywhere ashore.
"Maybe no one's here," Bud murmured.
"Don't bank on that," Tom said. "They wouldn't be apt to advertise their
presence to passing ships or planes."
Tom nosed inshore as closely as he dared from sonar soundings, finally
easing the _Sea Hound_ up to a rocky reef that fingered out from the
beach. Then he, Bud, Hank, and Arv clambered out, armed with wrecking
tools and powerful flashlights.
Chow, in spite of his muttered grumblings, was ordered to stay aboard
and guard the ship with the other two crewmen who had come along.
Tom led his party cautiously ashore from the reef. They probed the
darkness of the beach. Their footfalls sounded eerily in the night
silence, broken only by the soughing of the sea wind and splash of
breakers.
"Good place for spooks!" Bud whispered jokingly.
A steep draw led upward among the rocky slopes. A hundred feet on, Tom's
group found the black yawning mouth of a cave. The yellow beams of their
flashlights revealed a tunnel leading downward inside. Tom checked with
a pocket detector. Its gauge needle showed no field force caused by
electrical equipment in operation.
"Okay, let's go in!" Tom murmured.
Cautiously they moved into the tunnel. Then suddenly ahead of them a
powerful dazzling light burst on, nearly blinding the searchers!