Tom cried.
Pedro Canova’s evil face twisted into a warped smile as he showed Tom the note. It read:
Mr. Swift: If you want to see your son again you will prepare the Flying Lab for delivery to me. You will be informed within a few hours as to the time and place of delivery. You will keep this information in strictest confidence.
Ordtp
94 TOM SWIFT AND HIS FLYING LAB
“Ordep?” Tom repeated to himself. Then he real” ized what it wasPedro spelled backward!
What should he do? He could refuse to sign of course. On the other hand, if he did sign it, his father would know that Tom was in trouble.
But how to thwart these criminals? As he pondered, Tom recalled a conversation between his father and himself only a week before, in which they had mapped out a plan in case of trouble. He would use it!
“Okay, untie my hands,” Tom said. This was done.
Quietly he reached for the pen offered by Pedro Canova. Writing his name, Tom crossed the final T with a long, bold stroke. This meant Tom was in trouble but might be able to handle the situation himself. In any case, Mr.
Swift was to stall off any proposal by the enemy as long as possible. Then Tom’s hands were tied behind his back again.
“Now, you are being smart.” Canova smiled triumphantly. “Co-operate with us, and you won’t get hurt! By the way,” he added, peering intently at Tom, “what are those colored pencils you are carrying?”
Tom’s heart leaped. His secret gadgets! Trying to sound nonchalant, he answered:
“I use various colored pencils on my drafting board.”
“I will look at them,” Canova said.
Helpless to stop him, Tom watched as the man removed the green one, which contained the mini-radio. He hoped Pedro Canova’s treacherous eyes OUTRAGEOUS RANSOM 95
would not detect the secret button which operated it. After a quick glance, Canova replaced it.
“Toys for muchachos,” he snorted. “Play with them when I untie you!” he taunted, and did not bother to look at the other pencils.
In Spanish Canova ordered the prisoners held in his office while he went off to see about having the note delivered. Tom and Hank pretended not to understand, though both could speak Spanish fluently.
“Make sure their feet are tied,” Canova commanded Miguel. “Post one guard by the door and another outside the window.”
“Si, si, Capitan.”
Miguel inspected the ropes that bound Hank, then came over to Tom. After the swarthy villain had checked the boy’s wrists and ankles, he pulled the bonds even tighter, so that they cut into the flesh. Leaving Tom and Hank lying on opposite sides of the room, he went out and slammed the door shut behind him.
“I’m glad they didn’t gag us,” Hank whispered. “I suppose it wouldn’t do any good to shout. It certainly burns me up to think of your father being forced to give up the Flying Lab.”
Tom told him of the ruse he had tried, adding, “There’s a chance we can get free ourselves.”
“How?”
“The red pencil in my pocket is the midget soldering iron. Back up to me, Hank, and see if you can pull it out.”
The engineer inched over to where Tom lay.
96 TOM SWIFT AND HIS FLYING LAB
Though the movement made the bonds cut painfully into his wrists, he managed to twist his hands up to Tom’s shirt pocket.
“I have it. Now what?”
“We’ll try to sit up back to back.”
This maneuver was painful, but they accomplished it. Hank held the tiny instrument while Tom unscrewed the cap.
“Now press the button,” Tom ordered, “and hold the pencil point against the cords on my wrists.”
“Okay.”
The crayon end retracted, and in its place a tiny iron appeared. In a few seconds it was glowing cherry red.
As Hank was about to start burning Tom’s bonds, a key turned in the door lock. With lightning speed Tom threw himself to the floor in one direction, Hank the other.
Miguel poked his head inside the room. Satisfied that his prisoners were still under control he grinned.
“American inventor caught like rat in trap!” he crowed and closed the door.
“Another one of those,” Hank groaned, “and I’ll be a goner.”
Tom sniffed. “Burnt wood,” he remarked. “The iron burned the floor.”
“And my hand,” Hank answered. “Well, let’s get this job over with.”
They resumed their back-to-back position. This time there was no interruption as Hank pressed the soldering iron against Tom’s bonds. The rope be-OUTRAGEOUS RANSOM 97
gan to smolder. In a few minutes the hot metal had burned through the last fiber.
Tom’s wrists were free! Quickly he untied the ropes binding Hank and those on his own ankles.
“What a relief!” Hank sighed. “I guess we’d better keep those ropes handy in case Miguel visits us again.”
“Right. And I guess escape before dark is hopeless.”
“Suppose they bring us some supper. We couldn’t fake being tied up,” Hank said apprehensively.
“We’ll tell ‘em to leave it,” Tom replied, peering carefully outdoors into the growing dusk. “But I don’t think those hombres are going to think about our appetites.”
“I hear men in what must be the kitchen,” Hank remarked presently.
The noise grew louder. Evidently the men were celebrating, for there was loud, rough talk and laughter, partly in English, partly in Spanish.
An hour later the party ended. The murmur of voices died out altogether, and there was even a low snore from somewhere near them.
“It’s now or never,” Tom told Hank.
“How about the guard outside the window?” Hank asked.
“I’ll use the snooperscope on him.”
Taking the blue pencil from his pocket, Tom beamed a ray of infrared light into the inky darkness. It revealed the ghostly outline of a man standing near a low fence.
“He’s still there,” Tom reported. “Say, he’s mov-98 TOM SWIFT AND HIS FLYING LAB
ing. Probably going for some chow. Now’s our chance!”
As quietly as they could, the two prisoners raised the window and stepped across the sill.
Running as noiselessly as possible, they stole past the shed in which Canova’s plane was stored and headed for Tom’s own craft.
Suddenly the stillness was broken by a droning whir just above them. A helicopter was settling down almost on top of them!
Were Pedro Canova and his pilot friend in it?
CHAPTER XIII
STRATOSPHERE HOP
THERE WAS little time to decide what to do. With no hiding place, Tom and Hank would be spotted the instant that portable landing lights might be turned on.
“Listen!” said Hank suddenly. “That sounds like our new four-place helicopter.”
“It sure does,” Tom agreed. “Maybe the pilot’s coming in on the homing beam of our plane! Let’s find out.”
Pulling the green pencil radio from his pocket, and using a nickname Bud had given him, he said:
“Mr. Fixit to copter. Mr. Fixit to copter. Who are you? Over.”
Seconds later the tiny pencil vibrated to the reply. “Copter to Fixit. This is Bud.
Your father’s with me. Are you down there?”
“Almost directly beneath you. Ground’s clear. Hurry down!”
99
100 TOM SWIFT AND HIS FLYING LAB
“I’ll let the fuel out of our plane,” Hank offered, “so nobody can chase us.”
“Good idea,” Tom said.
While he directed the helicopter to a safe landing in the darkness, Hank ran to the plane and opened the drains of the fuel tanks. Hurrying back, he reached the helicopter, which had landed, just as voices sounded in the distance and the farmhouse windoxvs blazed with light.
“Let’s get out of here pronto!” Tom urged.
He and Hank climbed aboard. As the helicopter rose into the air four powerful flashlights stabbed paths of light across the meadow. Shots whizzed below them.
“We’re out of range, thank goodness!” Tom cried in relief.
“Sure, let ‘em pop away,” Bud agreed.
“I’m certainly glad you two are safe,” Mr. Swift said. “That homing beam did the trick.”
“Did you receive a letter from our kidnapers, Dad?” Tom asked.
“I did. That’s when I got hold of Bud. The quicker we get the law on those gangsters the better.”
Broadcasting on the police frequency, Tom quickly told his story to Captain Rock.
“Pedro Canova!” the officer cried. “He’s a former convict and a renegade scientist. You were clever to outwit him, Tom. But try not to land in his clutches again!”
Captain Rock promised that state troopers would STRATOSPHERE HOP 101
be dispatched immediately both by car and by helicopter. Though the roads leading to the spot were bad, and landing risky, they would make every effort to get there before the kidnapers could escape.
Bud, meanwhile, guided the Swifts’ helicopter over the outskirts of Shopton and soon was over the well-lighted Enterprises field.
Early next morning the telephone rang in the Swift home. The call was for Tom.
“Police headquarters. Captain Rock speaking. No luck last night,” he reported.