The jet turned back on its westerly course, and Tom followed obediently.
Meanwhile, Bud had warmed up the other radio and contacted Enterprises. Tom switched mikes long enough to report their position, course, and speed, adding: “Tell Security to alert Vignall Air Force Base pronto!”
“Roger Wilco!” the Enterprises operator responded. Even if the enemy ship detected the call,
52 THE ELECTRONIC HYDROLUNG
Tom knew the automatic scrambling device would prevent the message from being understood.
Minute after minute, the flight continued. “Where are they taking us?” Bud muttered.
“Some out-of-the-way landing spot probably,” Tom conjectured. “I wonder how soon those fighter boys will-”
Bud suddenly grabbed Tom’s arm and pointed to starboard. “There they come, skipper!”
Three gleaming specks had just burst through a cloud bank to the north.
Closing in rapidly, they were soon visible as Air Force fighter jets, flying in V
formation.
“Fighter One to unmarked jet!” came the sharp command over the radio.
“Can you read me? … You’d better read me, pal! I order you to proceed to Vignall Air Base under our escort or take the consequences!”
The mystery pilot, evidently bewildered by the sudden onslaught, made a frantic effort to escape. But the fighters, with almost contemptuous ease, quickly surrounded the plane and forced him to comply with orders.
Bud whooped with laughter. “Just a sheep in wolf’s clothing, eh, buster?”
Minutes later, all the planes, including Tom’s, landed at the airfield. Four sullen-faced men, their hands up, emerged from the mystery jet. Military police with drawn automatics herded