“Looks as if our keep-off signs are working,” Tom said with a pleased chuckle when the boys finally surfaced and climbed back aboard the boat.
Bud nodded. “Smart idea, all right.” Then he scowled thoughtfully. “But if you ask me, skipper, fishes aren’t the only thieves you’ll have to guard against.”
“Meaning?”
“Mirov’s pals,” Bud replied. “If it’s the space THE CAISSON CLUE 59
plants they were after when they pulled that aerial hijack attempt, they could take them easily from these silt beds.”
Tom sobered. “You have a point there. I’d better have an audio screen set up around this whole area. That’ll act as a burglar alarm-and help discourage the fish, too.”
Twenty minutes later the boys were winging back to the mainland. When Tom reached his office, he called in Gib Brownell, an Enterprises engineer.
“Got a job for me, skipper?”
Tom handed him a hastily scribbled diagram of the audio-screen setup. “One of those hurry-up deals, Gib,” he said with an apologetic grin. Tom explained his plan. “We’ll use transmitter buoys, monitored by an alarm system at base headquarters on Fearing.”
Brownell studied the diagram and nodded. “Right. We can have it set up in twenty-four hours.”
As Brownell left the office, the telephone jangled. Tom reached for it.
“Admiral Walter calling.” His voice was tense. “Important news, Tom. One of our subs has picked up a clue that someone has been operating in the missile search area.”
“What sort of clue, sir?” Tom asked.
“A compressed-air caisson for underwater work. It had been driven into the silt and then
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