Appleton, Victor – Tom Swift Jr 23 – And His Aquatomic Tracker

Monte Carlo, then out along the quay. The car stopped at the stern of a big, sleek yacht.

“A single false move and you will die in your tracks,” Vaxilis muttered to the prisoners.

Tom and Bud were removed from the car. Several of the yachts moored nearby were lighted up. But they were occupied by merrymakers who showed no interest in what was happening elsewhere. Each guard put an arm around one boy in a seemingly friendly way, but their grip was viselike.

Two by two, the boys and their captors crossed the gangplank onto the yacht’s fantail. Vaxilis brought up the rear. A man in captain’s uniform saluted smartly as he stepped aboard.

Vaxilis glanced over the Naiad proudly. In the moonlit darkness Tom and Bud could sense the vessel’s gleaming, spit-and-polish condition.

“Too bad you will be unable to enjoy this cruise,” Vaxilis murmured gloatingly. “Naiad is the finest, fastest yacht afloat. She was built in England to my own specifications. Her crew, too, were all trained in British ships.”

“Who trained them to backstop your crimes?” Bud asked.

Vaxilis scowled. “Have this lout taken belcw-decks,” he told the captain. “Put the other one in my cabin-I wish to talk to him after we get underway. We will cast off immediately.”

“Aye, aye, sir. Will you be coming up on the bridge?”

“Not yet. I must go to the radio shack and make PRISONERS 135

several radiotelephone calls to inform my business subordinates of this trip.

Meanwhile, set your own course.”

The captain saluted again and snapped out orders for the henchmen to go ashore. Then he turned to the seamen of the deck watch. All wore blue-denim trousers and white T-shirts with their ship’s name in blue letters across the chest.