Tom asked.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Flamm mumbled.
“Don’t give me that!” Tom’s eyes blazed. “Your stooge, Kessler, has spilled the whole story and you’ll stand trial for murder if Wong and Hanson die. Is there an antidote?”
Flamm quailed under the young inventor’s tone. “No-none that I know of,” he stammered.
“Write the formula you injected,” Tom ordered.
Flamm obeyed with trembling fingers. While he was doing so, Tom’s eyes raked the other prisoners. Among them he recognized a gaunt, 152 3-D TELEJECTOR
big-nosed man with a bewildered, woebegone look.
“Mulver! Was he listed in the gang, Harlan?”
Ames nodded, then asked, “Do you think medical men can work out an antidote to that formula?”
“I sure hope so-and you’d better hope so, too, mister!” Tom told Flamm.
“We’ll get the best medical specialists to work on it.”
At nine o’clock that night an urgent meeting was called in the Swifts’ office at Enterprises. Around the conference table sat Tom, his father, Dr. Grimsey, Hank Sterling, and Bud Barclay.
“For some unknown reason,” Tom began, “the form of life that exists on the Green Orb seems to be hostile to us. We now know they can monitor our communications and anticipate our moves. Worse yet, the Black Cobra’s at large to help them. I don’t know what new devilry they’re plotting, but we’d better get our probe launched fast before they strike again! Our only chance of saving Felix and Arv may hinge on what we can learn about the Orb-maybe even our national safety!”
The young inventor explained that by Monday night he hoped to have all gear and equipment readied for the probe shot, so that the launch could take place Tuesday morning at eight o’clock.