On every ship and plane in the task force, eyes were glued to the radar screens. Two small blips were visible-one the Jupiter probe missile, the other the recovery missile-moving on courses that would soon intersect.
PIRATE MISSILE 17
Just as Bud returned to the compartment, several of the watchers gave startled gasps.
“Another blip-coming in from nine o’clockl” Admiral Walter exclaimed. “What’s that?”
Tom stared at the new blip. It was moving steadily toward the meeting point of the first two missiles!
“It’s a thief missilel” Tom cried out. “Some enemy’s trying to steal our probe data!”
“Good nightl” Bud gulped. “Who’d dare try that?”
“I don’t know,” Tom muttered tensely. “But if those three missiles meet, our whole project will be wrecked 1”
“Better tape all readings!” Mr. Swift advised.
“Right, Dad!”
Admiral Walter had paled slightly under his deep tan. In stunned silence, the Navy officers and scientists watched as Tom’s lean hands manipulated two controls.
“What are those for?” Bud asked.
“One’s to speed up our recovery missile,” Tom explained. “Looks like a slim hope, though, from the way that third blip is homing on target. This other control has just caused every instrument on this ship, and all the others in the task force, to make permanent records on magnetic tape of all their readings.
“If a collision occurs and the probe missile falls into the sea,” Tom went on, “there’s only one
18 THE ELECTRONIC HYDROLUNG
hope of recovery-to plot the exact geographical position and then get to the spot before the enemy does!”