“Give her more juice, skipper, or we’ll lose it!” Bud pleaded.
“We’re making all the speed I can nurse out of this eggbeater!” Tom groaned.
“Wish I’d taken a helijet instead of this crate!”
By the time their craft had crossed the highest ridge in the range of hills, the drone plane had completely disappeared from view. Tom 105
106 TRIPHIBIAN ATOMICAR
flicked on the radio and reached for his microphone. “Tom calling Enterprises! Come in, please!” As a voice crackled in response, Tom asked, “Are you tracking the drone on radar?”
“Trying to, Tom,” replied Hank. “We can barely keep locked on. Something’s gone haywire -that homing pigeon’s flying a crazy, zigzag course!”
Hank’s reports continued, moment by moment. Then came the final word.
“Out of range, skipper. We’ve lost it.”
Tom was stunned. As the boys headed back to the experimental station, Bud broke the gloomy silence. “What do you think went wrong-the homing device, or the control system?”
Tom shrugged. “There are a dozen possibilities.” An angry light blazed in his steel-blue eyes. “But hang it, Bud, the plane was completely checked out this morning. I just can’t see how it could have flown such a goofy course … unless .
. .”
Bud shot him a startled glance. “Unless what?”
“Well, unless someone jammed the master steering unit by radio impulses.”
“Oh-oh!” Bud gave a low whistle. “You mean sabotage?”
“Worse than that,” Tom said. “If someone could jam it, why not go a step further and radio new instructions to the steering circuits? That would explain the zigzag course-an attempt to
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