Tom checked the latitude and longitude figures on a chart. “About fifty miles southwest of the Windward Passage between Cuba and Haiti,” he replied. “But Captain Church was probably dead reckoning from his last position.”
Tom took the controls and the “duck” rose steeply into the blue. Soon they were spearing high over the Atlantic toward the Caribbean area at a speed faster than sound.
Half an hour later they were winging past the coral reefs of the Bahamas.
Presently the green coastline of Cuba loomed on the horizon.
Tom decreased altitude as they approached the Windward Passage. Several other aircraft were al-4 COSMIC ASTRONAUTS
ready on the scene, though visible only as distant specks in the sky. Bud was able to identify three through binoculars as part of the search mission from Fearing Island.
“Two are Swift jets,” he reported, “and that baby skimming low is the good old Sea Hound!”
The latter craft was one of Tom’s ingenious diving seacopters-combination submarine-whirly-bird-an atomic-powered ship able to fly, hover, or speed through the ocean depths.
Tom flicked on the radio. “Tom Jr. to all ships of rescue mission! Report at once any sign of the castaways!”
“Surely we can’t miss the Sea Charger’s crew if that position was anywhere near correct!” Mr. Swift muttered tensely, sweeping the sea below with binoculars.
“Davis to Tom! … I’ve spotted ‘em, skipper!”
All three aboard the heliplane were electrified with hope as the voice of Slim Davis, piloting a seacopter, came over the radio.
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