Bud said no more, but he was worried. Had someone followed the Enterprises plane? Bud asked for a field glass and trained it on the strange ship.
It seemed to bear no identification marks! A moment later the plane was out of sight.
“That’s funny,” Bud thought. “Well, I’ll get out of here in a hurry before that guy does decide to land.”
The Swifts’ jet, after sweeping in an arc over the field, touched the earth lightly and rolled to a stop within a few feet of where Bud was waiting with the airport manager.
A young pilot grinned as he stepped from the plane. “FM at your service,” he said, giving Bud a wink. “You guys would have forgotten your heads if they weren’t riveted to your collarbones.”
Bud grimaced. “I left one of my heads home as it was.”
Amid good-natured needling the pilot and Bud hauled the two crates out of the jet and carried them to the truck.
A JET RESCUE 109
“Who was that other throttle jockey upstairs with you?” Bud asked.
“I don’t know. I didn’t notice him until about a hundred miles back.”
“Well, the FM are ready for the JM,” Bud said, as the airport manager looked on wonderingly. “Now we’re all set.”
The jet pilot waved, stepped into his plane, and with a resounding whoosh zoomed back toward Shopton. Bud climbed into the cab of the truck, slammed the door, and started off with his cargo.
Back at Stillman’s, meanwhile, Tom waited for Bud to return. The hands of the clock moved around to twelve, and when they approached one, the young inventor became concerned.
He hurried into the dock office and telephoned the airport. The manager said that Bud had left an hour before.