As the boys flew back to Enterprises, Bud threw Tom a quizzical glance.
“How come you mentioned the Jupiter prober, skipper? Do you think those hijackers were after information?”
Tom shrugged. “I’m wondering myself, Bud. If they were, it could mean our enemy hasn’t found it yetl”
When they arrived at the experimental station, Tom made a full report to Harlan Ames, the slim, dark-haired security chief. Ames listened thoughtfully but was as baffled as Tom.
“Are the men Americans?” he asked.
“I doubt it,” Tom said. “They speak English well enough, but with a faint accent. Somehow, I have a hunch they’re Brungarians.”
Ames whistled. “That could spell trouble, skipper.” More than once, Brungarian rebel agents had engaged in brazen plots against America and the Swifts.
“Let’s hope I’m wrong,” Tom said wryly.
“Art Wiltessa-and the Navy-called again,” Ames added. “Still no luck on the missile search.”
The gloomy news did nothing to lift Tom’s
A HUNCH PAYS OFF 55
spirits. The next day, hoping to verify or disprove his suspicion, he drove to Shopton Police Headquarters with Harlan Ames. The two talked briefly with Chief Slater, an old friend. Then a turnkey took them to the cell block.
The four prisoners had been confined in a single large cell. They seemed tense and angry-as if they had been quarreling among themselves.
“Ready to talk yet?” Ames asked. Getting no reply, he repeated the question in Brungarian.
Ames’s ruse failed. “What language is that?” asked “Captain Smith”
mockingly. “Pig Latin?”
As his cellmates grinned, Tom’s eyes roved over their faces. One man-wavy-haired with penetrating dark eyes-seemed oddly familiar. Why? Suddenly the answer hit Tom like a flash. He resembled Streffan Mirov, the brilliant Brungarian rocket scientist who had tried to oust Tom’s expedition from the phantom satellite Nestria.