“Rogerl” Bud agreed.
It was obvious that Tom’s fears about the missiles colliding were well founded. The mystery blip had veered as the recovery missile speeded up.
Within seconds, the three blips met on the screen and fused into a single spot of light.
“The probe missile’s no longer responding to control!” one of the telemetering scientists called out.
Admiral Walter, grim-faced, flashed a questioning look at Tom. “Then recovery has failed?”
“I’m afraid so, sir.”
The fused blip was still visible on screen as the radar dishes tracked it, moving in a way that indicated a steep downward plunge.
For a moment Tom felt numb with despair. But he set his jaw firmly and turned to the admiral.
“Sir, I’d like helicopters readied for take-off immediately,” Tom said. “As soon as the tracking instruments lose contact, have the recording tapes picked up from every ship in the task force and brought here to the Recoverer.”
Admiral Walter nodded tersely. “Very well. Then what?”
“I’ll get to work right now,” Tom replied, “and PIRATE MISSILE 19
lay out a computer program to process the readings.”
The data-consisting of millions of information “bits” from the shipboard instrument tapes-would be fed to an electronic brain. The brain would then calculate the probable location in latitude and longitude of the sunken missile.
As the admiral snapped out orders, Tom exchanged a brief worried glance with his father. Each was pondering the same thought.
Could Tom find the lost Jupiter probe missile? Or would their enemy locate it first?