Can you tell us exactly where the crash occurred?”
Flambo shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. But I can take you to the man who saw it and first sent out the report. He’s one of a band of Kurdish nomads living in the mountains far to the northeast. The quickest way to reach him would be by plane.”
Arv, Slim Davis, and several other crewmen were still inclined to be suspicious of Flambo.
“How do we know we can trust him?” Arv de—
168 TRIPHIBIAN ATOMICAR
manded of Hank. “It might even be some kind of trap. Don’t forget that phony tip to the Army colonel-or those land mines, either!”
Flambo, when questioned, angrily denied having any part in either incident.
Hank and Chow both felt he was telling the truth.
“Okay, so we can’t be sure,” Hank admitted later as the Americans held a private council of war. “But he saved Tom and Bud from those wild tribesmen, didn’t he? I think his offer of help is on the level.”
The others, who were as anxious as Hank about the boys’ fate, were convinced by this argument. At dawn Hank took off with Flambo in a cargo jet, leaving Arv in charge of the base.
Flambo, an amateur pilot himself, guided Hank to the site of the Kurdish encampment. But as they hovered down on their jet lifters, Hank saw that the hillside was deserted! Only the ashes of cooking fires and ground trampled by livestock showed where the camp had been.
“What is this? A trick?” Hank snapped.
Flambo’s face darkened. “I do not deal in tricks,” he said. “As I told you, these people are nomads-wandering herdsmen. Quite plainly, they have moved on.”