Tom was not so optimistic, but at least the Sky Queen and its passengers were safe for the moment.
CAMOUFLAGE 145
The three got up, stretched, and went toward the door. Tom, however, insisted that they wait until he brought the pressure inside the ship to approximately that of the outdoors.
“Take it easy,” he advised. “We can’t rush around in this rarefied atmosphere.”
“Desolate-looking country,” grunted Bud, first to lower himself to the rough ground.
“Can’t say I’d care to live here,” agreed Hanson, following him and looking around. “I wonder how far above sea level we are.”
“I think about eight thousand feet,” Tom replied. “Enough to make one lightheaded.”
“If you think we’re up high now,” Bud remarked, “take a look at that mountain next to us. From down here, it seems to be ten miles high!”
Chow, tumbling from the plane, twisted his neck up for a better look. He was speechless for several moments, then said:
“Where’s the top? I jest ain’t got good enough eyes to see through clouds an’
snow. An’ say,” he drawled, shuddering a little, “the longer you look at it, the more you think it’s goin’ to fall right on top o’ you.”
After the awesomeness of their situation had worn off, the group got down to the business of settling themselves for the night. Tom, disappearing within the ship, came out a few minutes later dragging a huge sack. The others sprang forward to help him.
“Now we’ll do a little disappearing job,” he commented, as the burden dropped to the ground and he began pulling out a roll of netting.
‘“How you goin’ to do that?” Chow asked.
146 TOM SWIFT AND HIS FLYING LAB
“This net is painted with various shades of browns and grays,” Tom answered, “and it”
“Camouflage!” Hanson exclaimed.
“You guessed it,” Tom nodded. “We’ll spread the net over the whole ship.
From the air it’ll look like the ground.”
“Well, brand my lil ole fish pole,” Chow said with a chuckle, “I sure never saw a fish net that big. Meant for a whale, ain’t it?”
“If you can find one around here,” said Bud, “we’ll lend you the net to catch it in.”
“You jest wait!” Chow threatened. “I’ll ketch somethin’ yet!”
“A cold, maybe,” Bud jibed.
It took the combined efforts of all four of the party to maneuver the tremendous nylon netting over the body and wings of the plane. For half an hour they sweated and strained, but at last the job was done.
“Now, unless someone spotted us as we came down, or had a radar bearing on us while we were in flight,” Tom remarked, “it should be pretty hard to locate the Flying Lab.”
“Are we going to dig tonight for that stuff what’s goin’ to make us all rich?”
Chow asked. “I sure could use any extry wad of bills.”
“That’ll be Tom’s next neat trick,” Bud spoke up. “How to turn uranium into a bank roll in one easy lesson.”
Tom grimaced, then said, “I suppose we could start digging, but it might be better just to scout around and get our bearings. It’ll be totally dark soon.”
CAMOUFLAGE 147
After locking the Sky Queen’s hatches as a security measure, the foursome spent an hour exploring the valley. Tom carried a Geiger counter of the standard type and it clicked steadily.
“We seem to be walking around a hotbed of radioactive substance!” Hanson commented excitedly.
“Yes,” Tom replied. “And those rebels mustn’t get hold of it and sell the stuff to some power outside the Americas. I’m afraid that’s what they’re up to.”
“No doubt,” Hanson agreed. “Leeskol’s confession practically proved it!”
At last, puffing from their activity over the rugged terrain, the foursome returned to the Flying Lab just as darkness fell. Chow cooked a tasty, refreshing meal.
Then they all sat down in the lounge to while away the hours in conversation.
Suddenly Tom held up his hand for silence.
“What’s wrong?” Bud asked.
“Listen!”
There was a faint whistling sound far away, but plainly discernible through the open ports.
“A plane!” Tom cried a moment later, and led a rush for the radar screen. “Maybe it’s the police.”
In the cabin he quickly switched on the radar and in no time the screen showed a pip.
“Circling right over us!” Bud announced.
The group stood with eyes glued to the screen, as the tiny spot of light slowly revolved on the face of the radarscope. Was the pilot friend or foe?
“Do you suppose they know we’re here?” Bud asked.
148 TOM SWIFT AND HIS FLYING LAB
No one could answer that question. The mysterious jet craft continued to circle above them.
At last Tom broke the silence. “Let’s go outside. Maybe we can see who it is.”
He hurried toward the main departure hatch. Out on the cold, dank ground, with the Flying Lab blacked out above them, the group gazed skyward.
“There are the wing lights.” Bud pointed toward the winking red and green lights sweeping over them.
“I’m going up!” Tom announced, “It’s full moon. Come on, Bud, we’ll take the Kangaroo Kub. It’s fast enough to trail any plane. We’ll soon find out if our callers are Bapcho police or Verano rebels! Hanson and Chow, help us with that portable runway, will you?”
The husky Texan and the engineer lifted one end of the netting and slid the lightweight aluminum strip down from the sliding doors in the rear of the Flying Lab’s fuselage. Then they beamed lights on the ground, shielded so that the reflection would not be seen from the sky. Meanwhile, Tom had warmed up the motors of the Kub. Built for a quick take-off, it rolled out, zipped along, and was off the ground in a few seconds.
“I’ll keep our lights off,” Tom told Bud. “If possible, I don’t want that other ship to know that we’re around. It may pick us up by radar, of course, but we’ll have to take that chance.”
Jaw set grimly, Tom made a beeline for the other craft. Suddenly the latter’s lights went out and the boys could hear that its speed had been stepped up.
CAMOUFLAGE 149
“He’s running!” Bud exclaimed. “That’s not a police plane!”
The Kub streaked after it, whipping through the sky with every jet pushing to capacity.
“That fellow’s moving fast,” Bud commented. “And, Tom, do you realize what direction he’s headed in?”
“I sure do. Deep into Verano territory. Bud, that pilot must have spotted us going down in the Sky Queen. But just to make sure he’s an enemy, I’m going to contact him.”
Flipping on his radio, Tom called again and again, “Police plane come in.
Over.” There was no response and at last Tom switched off the set.
Speedy as Tom’s jet was, it still trailed the fugitive ship. Gradually the other plane became less discernible and presently disappeared altogether. Tom continued the pursuit, hoping to discover where the pilot might have landed.
Running full speed through a pass between two peaks, the Kub gave a sudden lurch and rose abruptly. It seemed as if the plane had been hooked to some gigantic crane and was being pulled toward the heavens with the speed of a rocket, completely out of control!
CHAPTER XIX
THE SECRET LANDING FIELD
“WE’VE HIT an updraft!” Bud cried as the Kub bounced around violently.
Tom did not fight the controls. Instead, he waited tensely for the split second when the thermal wave off the mountain would cease.
Cutting back on his throttle to avoid having a wing torn off by the sudden gusts, Tom relaxed as he felt the craft suddenly surge under its own power toward the open sky above the snowcaps.
“Boy, I was beginning to think that”
The words were snapped off his tongue by a sudden powerful side pull of the Kub. Tossed as helplessly as the silky fluff from a milkweed pod, the tiny jet plane yielded to the new force and sideslipped toward the sharp edge of the peak.
“The end!” Bud closed his eyes.
But Tom, fighting the muscle tension in his arms and legs, struggled to pull the jet back on course.
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THE SECRET LANDING FIELD
151
When it seemed as if his efforts were useless, a hundred feet from the peak the Kub was caught in a new updraft and shot straight over the mountaintop to safety.
“I’ve had enough for one night,” Bud declared, his heart still pounding. “You ought to get a medal of pure uranium for that one, skipper. What say we go home?”
The trip back was uneventful and in the bright moonlight the boys found their headquarters easily. Hanson and Chow listened intently as Bud recounted the adventure.
The Kangaroo Kub sideslipped toward the sharp peak 152 TOM SWIFT AND HIS FLYING LAB
“It sure ain’t safe around here,” the chef said. “Mebbe we oughta move out.”