“You win, Dad.” Tom laughed. “I’ll go out soon. Hope you’ll be there to show me around.”
“Wait till you see it, Tom. It’s like a white citadel 52 TOM SWIFT AND HIS GIANT ROBOT
jutting up out of the wasteland rock desert. In fact, that’s what we decided to call it: Citadel. For miles around there’s no civilization, just big black boulders and crumbling, eroded pink cliffs.”
“Sounds wonderful, Dad. And no chance of harming any neighbors?”
“That’s right. The border of the nearest ranch is fifteen miles away.” Mr. Swift looked at his watch. “Tom, your poor mother will certainly have every right to chide us for being late to dinner again. It’s after eight o’clock. Come on.”
The two locked up the laboratory and went at once to Tom’s jeep. They drove home quickly and the evening meal was set on the table immediately. But there was no chiding from understanding Mrs. Swift. She was used to serving food at any time of day or night to her adventurous husband and son.
Conversation revolved almost exclusively around the capture of the mechanical crow and its amazing ability, despite its size, to kidnap an object as large as a plane.
Mrs. Swift frowned. “It worries me to think of an ingenious scientist and a bank robber working together. That’s a frightening combination for the Swifts to have as enemies.”
The conversation was cut short by the insistent buzzing of the videophone from the plant. Tom excused himself and rushed to the screen in the living room.
The face that appeared on it was Dilling’s. The radioman looked weary and agitated.