Nearing it, Tom again asked for news of Bud. The answer was simply, “Swift landing requested.” What did it mean? That Bud was landing, or that he himself was wanted? Tom wondered.
“I’d better go down,” he decided, his heart pounding with worry.
He asked for clearance and came down through the overlying shreds of mist.
Several huge cargo rockets dominated the island, their needle noses pointing skyward. But what made Tom’s heart give a joyous leap was the sight of Bud’s plane reposing safely on the airfield!
Its leather-jacketed young pilot came rushing up to greet him as Tom climbed out of the jet. The two embraced in a bear hug of relief.
“Boy, am I glad to see you in one piece!” Tom exulted. “What happened after you signed off?”
“The craziest game of tag you ever saw,” Bud replied. “That masked pilot tried every trick in
18 THE RACE TO THE MOON
the acrobatics book to keep me from getting to Fearing short of crashing,”
Bud explained. “But when old hotrock figured you’d be here soon-no doubt he heard us talking-he streaked off. I came down here pronto and suggested the veiled message to you.”
“Have you notified the Civil Air Patrol?” Tom asked.
“Billing went to call them. Let’s go find out if he’s learned anything.”
The two boys hurried over to base communications. George Billing, the Swifts’ radio chief, was just signing off.
“Hello, Tom,” he greeted the young inventor. “The CAA says the mysterious plane’s registration numbers were faked. And the Civil Air Patrol has alerted all ships to be on the lookout.”
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