“Si, si,” Senor Ricardo replied. “And our Senor Berg will visit you today.
Please, to be sure of no more impostors, ask him to show you a picture in his pocket of his little boy Juan on a swing. No impostor will have that picture.”
As Tom said good-by, Chow opened the door. He was carrying a tray. Mr.
Swift was not able to eat much, but his son finished every bit of the food Chow had prepared.
He was drinking a second glass of milk when the intercom phone buzzed.
Tom picked it up.
An excited voice said, “We’re holding a man out here at the main gate who insists upon seeing you. But something’s wrong. He’s given the same name as that other visitor.”
“You mean Jose Berg?” Tom asked.
“That’s right.”
“I’ll come over,” Tom replied. “The other one was a phony.”
A few minutes later he entered the reception room of the gatehouse. Sitting in one of the comfortable easy chairs was a neatly dressed stranger holding a brief case.
“I understand there has been some confusion about a man who came here and used my name,” the visitor remarked as he introduced himself as 88 TOM SWIFT AND HIS FLYING LAB
Jose Berg. “I’m extremely sorry such a thing should mar my arrival, and I suggest you check my credentials very thoroughly.” He pulled some papers from his pocket.
Tom barely glanced at them. “You have a son, Senor Berg?” he asked.
The man looked surprised but answered readily, “Si. A little boy named Juan.”
“Do you happen to have a picture of him with you?”
“Ah, indeed I have.” From a wallet he took a snapshot of a small boy on a swing. Underneath had been written: Juan Berg. Tiene cinco anos de edad.
Tom smiled. “That’s proof enough,” he said. “Will you come with me and meet my father?”
As they went outside, Tom explained to the gate-man that this visitor was really Senor Berg. He was given an amulet to wear and they proceeded to the underground hangar. After meeting Mr. Swift, Senor Berg launched into the subject of uranium and how necessary it was that the rebels of the splinter state Verano did not get their hands on it.
“It would be most embarrassing for my country Bapcho,” he said. “Our foreign commitments”
Ten minutes later the telephone interrupted the discourse.
“Tom Swift Jr. speaking,” the inventor said.
“This is Bud. Listen, Tom. We found the cab driver. He took that phony Berg to his own plane at the Oakmont field. He had to gas up and have one of his magnetos checked before taking off, so he’s just left. Maybe you can catch him. The plane’s a
SPY HUNT 89
Renshaw and it’s flying south. It will probably pass right over the plant.”
“I’ll try to pick him up!” Tom cried, slamming down the receiver.
Turning to his father and Mr. Berg, he relayed Bud’s frantic message, adding, “I’ll keep in touch with you, Dad.”
“Take Hank Sterling with you,” Mr. Swift insisted. “You may need help.”
A few minutes later Tom was piloting one of the two-seater propeller-driven planes down the runway.
“Keep a sharp eye on the sky to the east and west, Hank,” Tom directed the blond, square-jawed young engineer.
They flew for several minutes in silence at full throttle. Scanning the horizon ahead of them, Hank said suddenly:
“I see something far ahead.”
Tom’s alert eyes shifted from his instrument panel to the sky in front of him.
There was a Renshaw dead ahead, and they were rapidly gaining on it.
“Hey, that guy’s swinging around!” Hank shouted.
“He’s probably going to land,” Tom murmured, “but I don’t see any airstrip.”
A minute later the Renshaw dipped behind a stand of tall pines and was lost from view. Tom whirled over the trees just in time to glimpse the plane taxiing into a large shed at the end of a meadow. Behind the shed stood an old farmhouse.
90 TOM SWIFT AND HIS FLYING LAB
“A private airfield!” Tom exclaimed. “I didn’t know there was one around here.”
Circling over the long meadow, which served as a runway, Tom banked to land. Making a short, sharp approach, he put his flaps and wheels down, throttled back, and glided in to a smooth landing.
“There’s no way of concealing ourselves,” he told his companion, “so be prepared for anything.”
When the plane had been braked to a stop, Hank ‘jumped out, but Tom delayed a moment. Reaching down to a small box underneath the pilot’s seat he clicked on a switch and adjusted two small knobs.
“Now Dad and the folks at home will know where we are, Hank,” he said.
This was a radio homing beam, a recent invention of Tom’s, which would send out a constant signal until he came back and shut it off. The signal flashed at both the Enterprises plant and the Swift house.
“If your father suspects any funny business, he’ll send help. Is that the idea?”
“Right.”
There was no one in sight as Tom and Hank strode determinedly toward the shed into which the fugitive’s plane had been rolled and the door closed.
Reaching it, Hank tried to swing the door open.
“Locked,” he said.
Tom pounded on the panel. “Open up in there!” he commanded. “We know you’re inside!”
“That’s where you’re wrong!” said a cool, calculating voice from around the corner of the shed, as four heavily armed men surrounded them.
CHAPTER XII
OUTRAGEOUS RANSOM
RESISTANCE by Tom and Hank was futile. There was a brief struggle, then their hands were bound tightly behind them.
“Don’t try any funny beesness,” one of the armed men cautioned.
“Don’t worry, Miguel, they won’t have a chance,” another answered. “We’ll tie ‘em up Indian style.”
There was no doubt in Tom’s mind that at least two of the men were Verano rebels. The other two, he decided, were North Americans. All four were tough-looking characters.
“We’ll deliver these hombres to the capitan,” Miguel ordered, after Tom and Hank had been securely bound. “He will be pleased to see them, no?”
“Where are you taking us?” Tom asked defiantly.
The answer was a shove from the other olive-skinned man, while the North Americans guffawed loudly. Tom and Hank were prodded along a path to the farmhouse. They were led through a small
91
92 TOM SWIFT AND HIS FLYING LAB
hall which opened into a large, well-furnished room. A young man with sleek black hair reclined in a chair smoking.
“I breeng some veesitors, Capitan Canova!” Miguel announced. “You are ready for them, no?”
The capitan was not, as Tom had expected, the fake Jose Berg, but the man who had slugged him at the Enterprises plant! He was the spy who had attended the Hemispak meeting in Riverton.
“Ha! The Junior Tom Swift? So we meet again!” He gave an ugly laugh. “You expected to see someone else? My pilot friend Fernando who call himself Berg? He is gone. And you bring a friend. We will have much time to become acquainted, Mr.”
Instead of replying, Tom flared, “What do you mean, much time?”
“Time to carry out a plan,” jeered Canova. “We will talk about that later. First, I will tell you that I, Pedro Canova, am not a scientist to be crossed. You understand?”
“We admit you’re cunning enough,” Tom replied. “You came down a copter ladder into our grounds and shut off the radarscope.”
Canova’s face broke into a smile of satisfaction. “Yes, and I have other means to gain my purpose. I will keep you both for a whileas hostages!”
Miguel laughed. “The capitan is very smart,” he said. “Capitan Pedro Canova and his humble serv-vant will get big reward when we get back to”
The leader’s fist smashed down on a table top.
“Quiet!” he roared. “Would you tell these men all you know?”
OUTRAGEOUS RANSOM 93
Miguel lapsed into sullen silence. Pedro Canova turned to Tom.
“I have written a note to your father,” he said. “You will sign your name under mine.”
“Why? You want money from him for our release?”
Canova leered. “In return for you and your friend, I shall accept your Flying Lab as a present and you will help me get it!”
“What!” Tom shouted.
Hank was too shocked by this outrageous demand to exclaim. Both listened in amazement while the rebel leader continued his demands.
“Yes, if the famous Mr. Swift wants to see his son alive again, he will leave the Flying Lab at a certain spot south of the border. Your father will then return home, and I will pick up the plane and fly it back to my country.”
“You couldn’t pilot it,” Hank spoke up. “You’d probably pull a wrong lever and blow yourself up.”
Canova frowned. “I might have to take Tom Jr. across the border to give me a few lessons!”
“What makes you think my father would agree to such a crazy proposition?”