“Great way to stop a fight,” he commented with a grin.
It took an hour to put the Bolo in shape for the air, but finally Rip flew off with his prisoner.
“The Flying Lab’s first relief job,” Hanson remarked.
“Operation Jungle,” Bud said.
Several Indians followed them back to the plane and watched curiously as the crew entered the Sky Queen and rose into the sky. Soon afterward, Chow brought the travelers lunch.
The group had hardly finished eating when Rip Hulse radioed them again.
“Come in, Rip,” Tom replied.
“Government report says a commercial transport plane made a water landing in the Pacific. They suspect one of the passengers may be Fritz Manuel. The Sky Queen could get there in no time. How about it? Over.”
“We’ll go! Where is the plane?”
124 TOM SWIFT AND HIS FLYING LAB
After Tom had been given the approximate position, he signed off and headed his craft for the Pacific. Half an hour later he started the search, cruising along only a thousand feet above the water. There was nothing to be seen on the calm blue-green expanse except an occasional whitecap.
“I’m afraid we’re too late,” Hanson muttered.
“Yes,” said Bud. “They probably drowned as soon as the plane hit the water.”
Tom was about to agree when his keen eyes noticed a tiny speck far to their right.
“Maybe that’s a piece of the wreckage,” he remarked, banking in that direction.
Bud trained a pair of binoculars on it. “Say, something on it’s moving!”
“People!” cried Hanson as they flew closer. “On a life raft!”
“Bud,” said Tom, “how about taking over while I rescue those folks with the Skeeter?”
“Sure thing.”
When the twelve survivors saw the helicopter shoot from the Flying Lab, they cheered frantically. Hovering over them, Tom let down the ladder and took the men aboard three at a time. As he ferried them to the big plane, they were loud in their thanks. Tom asked their names. He was not surprised that none said Manuel, for he felt sure that the rebel would be traveling under an assumed name.
Though nervous and bedraggled by their experience, the visitors cast incredulous eyes about them as they were escorted to the lounge.
After they had been made comfortable, and Tom
OPERATION JUNGLE 125
was certain there were no serious cases of injury or shock, he began to question them.
“I’ll radio news of your safety,” he said. “How many were on the plane?”
One of the survivors was a steward who said there had been twenty passengers and four crew members. At once Tom ordered a further search, but gave it up when a rescuing helicopter and a boat from shore took over. He radioed the pilot of the helicopter to be on the lookout for Fritz Manuel, and if he should be picked up, to hold him for the authorities.
“Now we’d better get back on our course,” Tom told Bud.
“How about our extra passengers?”
“We’ll leave them at the nearest airport.” He consulted a map. “There’s one due east about three hundred miles from here.”
“Be there before you can wind your watch,” Bud said.
“You lose. It’s self-winding.”
Before Tom had gone fifty miles, Bud gave a yell. “What in blazes is going on?”
A red warning light on the instrument panel was flashing on and off rapidly.
“Good night!” Bud cried. “That’s the signal on the escape hatch! It must be open!”
Tom raced down the stairway three steps at a time. Arriving at the escape hatch, he was just in time to see a man, wearing a parachute, poised to leap!
Grabbing a stanchion with one hand to keep from being sucked out, Tom lunged at him.
CHAPTER XVI
DARING PURSUIT
THE CHUTIST dropped from the hatch before Tom could grab him. At the same instant the huge ship banked sharply. The violent turn, coupled with the suction caused by the air rushing past the open hatch, threw Tom on his face and nearly catapulted him out into space.
With every ounce of strength he held on to the stanchion with one hand and gripped the edge of the hatch with the other. There was an intercom phone only a few feet away. The electric button to close the hatch was just behind him. But both of these were out of reach.
The landscape whirled crazily below Tom, who was beginning to feel faint.
Inch by inch he was being drawn through the opening. With his last bit of reserve energy he dug his toes in and forced himself back.
But it was no use. As fast as Tom pulled back, he 126
The man dropped from the hatch before Tom could grab him 128 TOM SWIFT AND HIS FLYING LAB
was sucked forward again. Just as he felt himself blacking out, Tom became aware of lights and a clicking sound. The door to the hatch had closed.
“Tom!”
It was Hanson’s voice. He turned the young inventor over and shook him.
“Tom!” he cried again.
In a moment Tom’s senses returned. He looked at Hanson gratefully, and in a weak, hoarse voice thanked him for the rescue. Presently he sat up.
“What happened?” Hanson asked. “Who opened the hatch?”
“One of our passengers,” Tom replied. “He took a chute and jumped.”
“Who was it?”
“I don’t know.”
“He must be crazy to risk his neck that way when he didn’t have to,” Hanson remarked.
“Maybe he had to take the chance,” Tom said. “1 think he’s Fritz Manuel using another name, and”
“And didn’t dare take a chance of being arrested at the airport,” Hanson finished.
“I’m going after him!” Tom announced suddenly, getting up.
“Over my dead body you will!” Hanson exclaimed. “If you’ve lost your senses, Tom Swift, I’ll have to pound some into you.”
Tom was persuaded to give up pursuit when he realized that his harrowing experience had left him pretty shaky.
“I’ll send Bud down in the Skeeter,” he said. “‘Will you go with him?”
DARING PURSUIT 129
“Yes. But do you think we can get there in time? That chutist has a good head start.”
Tom picked up the intercom and spoke to Bud, giving only the briefest details and asking him if he would turn back and try to spot the chutist.
“He’s not down yet,” Bud reported in a few moments as he circled over the parachute.
At this announcement Tom felt a surge of returning strength. He hurried from the hangar and up to the lounge where the passengers were sitting, completely unaware of the excitement.
“One of your group has jumped from the plane,” Tom announced. “Who was it?”
The startled men looked at one another, and finally a slender, elderly man said, “It was Senor Gordana.”
“We think he may be wanted by the police,” Tom said. “Can you tell me anything about him?”
A dark-haired man spoke up. “I was sitting in front of him in the other plane.
Just before we crashed I heard him babble ‘I mustn’t die. Verano needs me.’ “
Tom’s suspicions were confirmed. Picking up the intercom, he asked Bud to get the helicopter ready immediately and go after the chutist.
“Hanson will go with you,” he said. “I’ll take over the controls of the Sky Queen.”
By the time Tom reached the pilot’s seat, Bud was in the hangar. The mammoth door at the rear was opened and the Skeeter was launched-It dropped quickly, almost over the spot where Frits, Manuel was disengaging himself from his parachute. But be
130 TOM SWIFT AND HIS FLYING LAB
fore the helicopter touched the ground, the chutist was racing off across a field.
“You stay here, Hanson, and guard the copter,” Bud said. “I’ll take care of Manuel. I’ll give him a body block that’ll land him back in the States.”
He raced after the fleeing figure that was just disappearing into a patch of woodland. Reaching the spot, Bud listened. There was not a sound.
Too late Bud realized he was making a target of himself. The only way to outwit the fugitive was to hide and wait for him to make a move.
Dropping to the ground, Bud crawled along behind some bushes for about fifty feet, then stood up and peered from behind a tree. He spied his quarry far ahead, running wildly along a trail.
Bud dashed after him as fast as the tangled undergrowth would permit until he reached the trail. When he came to the end of the trail, he found himself near a small farmhouse.
In the distance Bud saw Fritz Manuel climb into a battered old car. With a clatter it bounced down a narrow lane and was out of sight before Bud could reach the farmhouse.
An excited woman darted out of the house. Three dark-eyed children were clinging to her skirt. Gesturing wildly and shouting something in rapid-fire Spanish, she called on all the supernatural powers to punish the thief who had stolen the family car. Turning suddenly she accused Bud of being in league with the thief. Speaking Spanish hesitantly, Bud explained the circumstances. A look of fear came into her eyes.