Another jeep from the Enterprises Security Building joined Tom as he reached the station airfield. Its driver was slim, dark-haired Harlan Ames, security chief of Swift Enterprises. Ames leaped out of his jeep and stood beside Tom as he waited to greet their visitor.
The pilot of the jet proved to be a huge, ruddy-cheeked man of about forty.
But even more imposing than his size was an enormous blond handlebar mustache which stuck out on either side of his bluff, weather-beaten face.
“Tom Swift?” he boomed.
Tom nodded and shook hands. “This is Harlan Ames, head of our security staff,” he added.
The visitor shook hands with Ames. “I’m Simon Wayne,” he explained, “American representative of Europa Fabrik-as you probably guessed from the trademark on my plane.”
Europa Fabrik was well known, at least by name, to both Tom and Ames. It was a European firm, belonging to one of the biggest industrial cartels in the world.
“Rather an informal way to drop in, wasn’t it?” said Ames.
Wayne’s eyes froze on Ames, then he burst into a deep chuckle. “When I do things, I do ‘em in a hurry!” Wayne said. “Only way to meet business competition these days. I wanted to see Tom
CAPSULE EXPLOSION 29
Swift and happened to be flying this way, so here I am!”
“What did you want to see me about?” Tom broke in politely.
Wayne abruptly turned serious. “Where can we talk business?”
Minutes later, Tom faced his visitor across a huge modern desk in the big sunlit double office which he shared with Mr. Swift.
“I’m listening, Mr. Wayne.”
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