Men, their faces livid in the light from the flames, were fighting the fire. A tank truck was already spewing Tomasite foam into the blaze and two more came speeding and clanging to the scene.
“Boy, this sure is a bad fire, skipper!”
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Tom turned and saw the chunky figure of Phil Radnor. “How’d the fire get so far out of hand, Rad?” he questioned anxiously.
“Arson is my guess.” The security man had to shout to make himself heard.
“The flames broke
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out all over the building at once. They were sky-high by the time we got the alarm.”
Tom took charge of the fire fighters and soon the flames were brought under control. Luckily, Special Projects had been closed for the night and 134 3-D TELEJECTOR
no employees were inside, but the building was left a blackened, smoking shell.
The special chemical had cooled the ruins quickly. Tom, Ames, Radnor, and Doc Simpson entered the wrecked structure. The central workshop was a shambles. Tom felt sick as he examined the charred, twisted remains of the probe robots. The intense heat had buckled several metal beams in the ceiling.
“Definitely arson,” Ames declared. “Nothing else could have caused such a holocaust.”
A fire inspector arrived and Radnor reported that an arson expert from the State Police was on his way. Leaving them all to probe the ruins, Tom jeeped to the security office with Ames. Here he telephoned Pedro Uzcudun.
“Listen, Pete,” he said, “did that message tonight seem to involve anyone besides me? Or did you pick up any more details later?”