“I’ll arrange that through our State Department,” Mr. Swift promised.
“Fine. I’d like you to send the Flying Lab down here, Dad. And besides the camera and helium, please ship along a jeep, a small tank, and all the digging equipment we’ll need.”
Mr. Swift agreed to attend to these details. He also assured Tom that he would be on hand to greet the shy little Mayan men when they arrived in Shopton and escort them personally to Gran-A HELIUM MYSTERY 37
dyke University. “Take care of yourself, son,” the elder scientist concluded.
“I will, Dad. And give my love to Mother and Sis.”
By the time Tom had signed off, the sky had darkened considerably. He emerged from the cargo ship to find a stiff wind blowing in from the sea. The Mayas stood huddled together rather fearfully. They greeted Tom with chattering exclamations in broken Spanish.
“What’re they saying, skipper?” Slim asked.
“That we’re in for a storm,” Tom replied. “We’d better all hop aboard and make sure everything’s secure.”
He and Slim went at once to the pilot’s and copilot’s seats. Presently Tom checked with the crew who had gone aft. All doors were locked.
By this time the storm had broken. A torrential rain poured down on the jungle, making visibility almost zero. The wind increased to gale force.
Watching through the pilot’s window, the boys saw the nearby trees bend under the smashing impact of the wind. Suddenly the plane itself began to shudder and move.
“We’re being pushed backward by the wind!” Slim cried. “Tom, we’ll crash into the trees!”