He left the others abruptly, going to his bunk. Hanson and Bud announced that they too were going to try to get some sleep. Tom, too excited to sleep, remained in the plane’s lounge. He picked up one magazine after another but could not concentrate on any of the articles they contained until he came to one on Mars.
“So this writer thinks the 28 degrees below zero weather up there would make it impossible for anyone from this earth to live comfortably on the planet,” Tom mused.
When he finished the thesis, Tom sat lost in thought. Those symbols on the missilecould they have something to do with weather and temperatures?
Taking a pencil and a copy of the strange mathematical problem from his pocket, Tom began new calculations, using this as a basis.
“If Mars is inhabited, the people there would have a tough time visiting anywhere on the earth except the North Pole,” the inventor chuckled. “Maybe they want to know”
“Tom!” Bud’s voice called from the doorway. “For Pete’s sake get some sleep.
It’s three o’clock!”
“Okay, fellow. I’m going to turn in now.”
The next morning everyone was up early. Chow prepared a breakfast of sausage and pancakes, then announced that he was ready for a digging expedition.
“But first I want to contact police headquarters,” Tom replied. “They may have some word about
THE SECRET LANDING FIELD 153
Dad. And I’d like to know what happened to that police plane.”
He and Bud went to the short-wave set and Tom clicked it on. There was a brief sputtering followed by several sharp blasts. In a few moments it became apparent that they could neither send nor receive any messages.
“What can be fouling it up so badly?” Bud asked in disgust.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Tom replied. “I’d say the Verano scientists are deliberately jamming the air waves.”
Chow poked his head into the cabin. “How about it? Any news?”
Tom explained the situation and Chow urged that they forget it and commence work on the buried ore.
“All right,” Tom agreed. “But you may have to go mighty deep,” he added.
“Better get two picks and shovels for Hanson and yourself.”
“Well, brand my hoof knife!” the cook exploded. “How about you an’ Bud? Do you two have some magic way o’ pullin’ uranium out o’ the ground?”
The boys burst into laughter, then Tom said, “Bud and I are going to let you and Hanson find the whole deposit of uranium, Chow. We’re taking the copter up to look for more smoke signals.”
The group assembled outside to take stock of weather conditions. It was very cold and the men’s breath steamed in the frosty atmosphere. But it was clear, and perfect for flying, Tom declared.
“Look!” Bud cried suddenly as an enormous grayish black bird swooped over their heads. “Did you
154 TOM SWIFT AND HIS FLYING LAB
ever see such a wingspread? Why, it’s at least twelve feet across!”
“That must be a condor,” said Hanson. “The bird with a collapsible tube for a neck.”
“He has more lives than a cat,” Tom remarked. “A Peruvian Indian told me condors have been known to fly away after hanging in a noose for hours, and pistol bullets rarely injure them.”
“I wonder where he’s going,” Bud said. “Uh, uh, there’s his target.”
Climbing up the side of the mountain was a vicuna. Without warning the voracious bird swooped down and aimed at the vicuna’s eyes. As the nimble animal dodged successfully, the condor wheeled and flew away.
“But he’ll be back,” Hanson prophesied. “First he’ll get the eyes, then the tongue”
“Not if I can help it!” Tom exclaimed.
He ordered the Skeeter run quickly from its hangar and the two pilots climbed aboard. Tom switched on the elevators, and soon he and Bud were rising into the air.
“There comes that condor again!” Bud exclaimed. “My guess is he’ll make short work of that vicuna!”
Tom steered left in a high-swinging arc that brought the noisy helicopter swooping down upon the bloodthirsty condor.
“What are you doing?” Bud cried. “Are you out of your mind? That bird could wreck us!”
Without answering, Tom shot his craft straight at the spot where the battle was being fought. The
THE SECRET LANDING FIELD 155
startled bird, having trapped the beast in a shallow rocky crevice, whirled in frightened retreat and abandoned its prey.
“Well,” Tom said, “that’s one meal he missed.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have interfered with nature,” Bud blurted out. “How’s the poor bird going to get a meal?”
“I’m part of nature,” Tom replied in defense. “I was just defending a valuable animal from a vulture.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Bud conceded. “A vulture should stick to its cleanup job of animals already dead, but a condor doesn’t do that.”
Tom set his course for the area where they had seen the smoke signals the day before.
When they reached it, Bud remarked, “I don’t see any now.”
“Whoever sent the signals couldn’t keep it up all day long,” Tom replied. “I have an idea he waits until he hears a plane. I’ll go lower and make as much racket as I can.”
The blades whirred rhythmically as the helicopter lost altitude. For a moment Tom was tempted to land but the angle of the mountainside was too steep.
He flew back and forth, while they looked hopefully for a landing spot and for signs of smoke. They had just sighted a feasible place in which to come down when Bud shouted:
“I see it!”
There was no mistaking themreal smoke signals!
156 TOM SWIFT AND HIS FLYING LAB
“Somebody must have seen us!” Tom cried jubilantly as he headed the Skeeter toward the column of smoke.
“They’re going into code againthree short puffs for S,” Bud counted eagerly.
“Now three long ones O. And there come three more short ones. It’s an S O
S, Tom, for sure!”
“Say, there’s morewatch!” Tom cried. “It says ‘H-E-L-P!’ “
“It must be the Roberts expedition!” Bud exclaimed.
“We’ve got to free them!” Tom said determinedly. “And Dad may be with them.”
“Look! More signals!” Bud shouted. “There’s R again. Oand B. Now what?”
The signals stopped suddenly. “Why, that’s all! They just cut out altogether!”
Tom, too, was startled by the abrupt disappear* ance of the smoke. “ROB
could the sender have been sending ‘Roberts’ when someone caught him and put out the fire?” he mused.
“Or has someone been robbed? It could be either!” Bud suggested.
Meanwhile, the helicopter was descending and the boys strained their eyes for a close look at the spot from which the smoke had emanated. Bud grabbed the binoculars.
“I can’t see a thing except a pile of rocks, Tom,” he said. “Where could the sender be?”
Anxiously the copilot swept the glasses over the ground below. There was no sign of any opening in the mountain or of any life in the area.
THE SECRET LANDING FIELD 157
“This sure is a mystery,” he remarked. “Kind of weird.”
“We can either land now,” said Tom, “and take a chance on looking around, or come back when the police arrive.”
“I certainly wouldn’t land right now,” Bud replied, after a moment’s thought.
“We might be walking into a trap. Those rebels could be using John Roberts and his group as bait.”
“Bud! That’s it exactly! We won’t land now, but tonight, in the dark!”
“Are you cuckoo? How are we going to land in this mess in the dark?”
“We can do it,” Tom said enthusiastically. “Bud, get our cans of fluorescent dye, will you? We’ll outline that landing space with it.”
“I see what you’re driving at.” Bud’s eyes gleamed. “We’ll come back tonight when the smoke senders are asleep and turn our ultraviolet searchlights on the field.”
“Right. Our enemies won’t be able to see the lights, but the beam will pick up the dye.”
“Tonight we rescue the missing scientistsand maybe your dad!” Bud exclaimed excitedly.
CHAPTER XX
AN AVALANCHE
WHILE TOM maneuvered the helicopter above the tiny emergency landing field, Bud lay prone on the deck with his arms and head extended through the partly opened hatch. He poured the contents of the cans of fluorescent dye in a narrow line around the rim of the field.
“All set!” he called to the pilot. Arising, he closed the hatch and returned to his bucket seat beside Tom. “Midnight can’t come too soon for me,” he said eagerly.
As Tom checked his navigation and set his course for their base, he began to wonder whether Chow and Hanson had had any luck in their digging.
At this very moment the two men were hard at work in good-sized pits which they had laboriously hewed out of the rocky tableland between the two peaks.
Up to the moment they had found no radioactive ore.
158
AN AVALANCHE 159
Chow, some distance from his companion, stopped to mop his forehead. As his eyes roamed the landscape, they lighted upon a trickle of water not far away. Slowly the cook made his way to it, leaned over, and drank in great refreshing gulps.