“Tom Swift, please call the main switchboard immediately!”
Tom hurried to the phone in the nearest bunker. The operator informed him that someone was calling on the private line from Shopton. It turned out to be Harlan Ames.
“Just received another tip from Warturo,” the security chief reported. “He told us to watch out for a startling message.”
“A startling message?” Tom was puzzled. “Didn’t he say what kind of message?”
“No, it was a hurried call,” Ames replied. “Apparently he had no time to say more-or perhaps
110 THE RACE TO THE MOON
he doesn’t know himself. But I thought I’d better alert you.”
“Thanks, Harlan,” Tom said. “Looks as if that counterspy plan of yours is paying off!”
As soon as Ames had hung up, Tom issued orders by phone to all Swift communications personnel, both at Enterprises and the rocket base, to be on constant alert. Every type of receiver was to be manned on a twenty-four-hour basis.
Bud whistled when he heard the news. “What do you suppose it means?”
“Haven’t the foggiest idea,” Tom admitted.
Acting on a hunch, he hurried over to the tracking center. His hunch proved correct. Wilhin twenty minutes after the two boys arrived, the signal bell rang on the electronic brain. As a stream of weird symbols flashed on the space oscilloscope, the brain promptly reeled off the translation: CALLING SWIFTS’ SPACE FRIENDS. DO NOT LAUNCH ROCKET
CONTAINING SICK ANIMALS INTO ORBIT AROUND EARTH AND MOON. AIM
ROCKET TO ORBIT AROUND MOON ONLY.
The message ended with no clue to the sender.
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