“How’s the hurricane business these days?” he asked.
“A storm’s brewing near Cuba,” the observer re plied. “But it shouldn’t gain any real velocity for another twelve hours. We’re going to send out small-craft warning signals in a few hours.”
Bud gave Tom the weather observer’s report “We’d better make this a snappy trip,” he advised.
70 TOM SWIFT AND HIS JETMARINE
Tom grinned. “Twelve hours? We’ll be home and sound asleep before that hurricane gets too bothersome.”
He gunned the starboard engine. The portside work horse roared to life and the cabin quivered in the powerful windstream. The ship taxied down the strip, swung about, and with a loud roar began her take-off.
They had been flying for half an hour when Bud remarked, “We’ve certainly passed a lot of government planes-seems as if they’re all over the sky today.”
“I suppose they’re watching the shipping lanes carefully for more attacks,”
Tom remarked.
“You’re convinced the pirates haven’t moved their scene of operations despite that desert robbery, aren’t you?” Bud asked.
“That’s right. They may be doing some profitable long-distance work too, but I still think their base is here,” Tom answered. “By the way, I forgot to tell you about the note I found on my desk from Dean Allsopp. Dansitt never went back to Grandyke after the night the coin was stolen from our house.”
As the boys neared the Bahamas, the first angry gusts of wind whipped against the cabin.
“Looks as if the weatherman might have been wrong,” Bud remarked. “That hurricane is no twelve hours away.”