Tom Swift and His Spectromarine Selector (15 page)

"Wonderful!" cried Nina. "But how? Is something wrong with the document?"

"I’ll say!" Tom grinned in triumph. "Whoever prepared this was careful to use an old, rusted container and include a few samples that might have come from Aurum City. But they made a foolish mistake!"

"Really? What mistake?" inquired Professor Centas with a frown.

"The document refers, twice, to the Democratic Workers Republic of Kranjovia."

"But that’s their name," protested Zimby Cox.

"Sure—now!" Tom retorted. "But not back in 1971! It was Ulvo Maurig himself who changed the name, after he came to power in the eighties. Back then they used the old post-revolution name, the Kranjov People’s Democratic Republic!"

Brian laughed and shook his head ruefully. "You’re absolutely right, Tom. I can’t believe I missed it."

Chow lofted his cowboy hat and raised a cheer. "Then we’re back in business!—home on our
own
dang range!" The joyous cheer was echoed by the rest of the crowd.

"Guess it shows that even these professional spy types can be just plain
stupid,"
remarked Dick Strong.

"But not
that
stupid," Tom commented thoughtfully. "Here’s a Swift theory for you. Maybe the mistake was intentional! It’s possible Maurig’s people have changed their plans, or lost confidence in their agent. For some underhanded reason they
wanted
him to give himself away and get caught!"

Tom shot a veiled wink in Bud’s direction, and the young pilot grinned back. Tom was up to something!

"Yeah, okay, youse guys," grumbled Ham, the emotion of the moment fully Brooklynizing him. "But whatever da weirdo reason is, we definitely got somebody here in dis city who wants to ashcan the whole deal. You can’t just assume he’s gonna fold his cards and give up."

"Yes, Tom, your theory may be wrong," Centas put in, his voice a bit weak. "All theories are vulnerable to error."

"We’ll have to keep our guard up," declared Lieutenant Fraser.

"I was under the
impression
that we were
already
keeping our guard up!" Miss Gabardine murmured sourly.

Work with the spectromarine selector resumed early the next morning. In the middle of the afternoon—morning in the eastern United States—Tom met Bud and Brian at the longwave aqua-rad console. "I’ve got quite a lot to report," he told them. "To Phil Radnor and Harlan Ames, and also my Dad. Then I’ll turn the mike over to you, Brian—you said you wanted to contact your superiors."

"Thanks, Tom."

The young inventor set the controls and activated the communicator. But after a moment he frowned and repeated the procedure.

"Skipper, you have that look that tells me it’s time to worry," Bud said.

"I’m not getting any response back from the transponders on the mainland—no ‘handshake’," he replied. "It’s almost as if we’re not transmitting at all. Let me run a check on the circuits."

Tom muttered to himself as he ran through the circuitry responses. "No… no… that one’s okay…" He finally glanced up at his friends. "The only remaining possibility is that something has happened to the transmitter-float up above. We’ll have to—hold it!"

"Got something?" Brian asked.

Tom indicated an oscilloscope readout. "We
are
getting a signal coming back through the cable. But it’s not an aqua-rad signal!"

"Huh? What kind of signal is it?"

"A modulated analog signal, like in a standard telephone."

"Okay, I’d call that weird," Bud gulped. "Here we are at the bottom of the sea, and somebody’s trying to
telephone
us?"

Tom adjusted the set to the analog mode and put the input on the speaker.
"Swift expedition, Swift expedition, please reply!"
The call was repeated over and over without break.

Picking up the microphone Tom responded cautiously. "This is Tom Swift speaking. We read you."

"Ehya!"
exclaimed the answering voice, followed by a sound of many voices talking in the background, in an unknown language.

"They’re speaking Kranjov, Tom," pronounced Fraser.

A strong, thick-accented voice now came on the line. "Hello, Tom Swift. Do you read me?"

"Yes. To whom am I speaking?"

"I am Chief Commander Drozhal of the Kranjovian Atlantic Fleet."

Bud groaned and made a fist, but Tom tried to remain calm. "What can we do for you, sir?"

"I shall be very frank with you, Mr. Swift, and urge you to show me the same courtesy. I know you have matched wits with enemies of the urbane, sophisticated type—Streffan Mirov, or the Hungarian boatbuilder. I am not of that kind. I am not a conversationalist. Indeed, I find your language most difficult. You will forgive me, I hope."

"I understand," Tom said, adding: "How is it you are able to communicate with us in this manner?"

"I regret to inform you that we have commandeered your transmission device, the buoy floating at the end of the cable."

"By what authority?" demanded Tom angrily.

The man replied briskly, with little emotion. "Let us not make this a personal struggle, Mr. Swift. It would be well for you to realize that I bear you no personal animosity; indeed, I admire your many accomplishments. I have no stake in these matters—I leave it to the negotiators and the politicians. I am a military professional, and will carry out the orders of my superiors to the best of my ability."

"And what
are
your orders?"

"I am to secure the area, the submarine archaeological site, for whatever few days it will take for the Kranjovian submersible fleet to move into position. My government claims rights to the site, rights that other nations have conspired to abrogate—that is what I am to say—and we will act to protect those rights. Ultimately there will be discussions at higher levels to resolve these matters."

"All right," said the young scientist-inventor, setting aside his resentment for later use. "That much is clear. What are you demanding of us?"

"I make no demands, sir. Proceed with your work as you like. But you will not be permitted to leave, nor to communicate with the rest of the world."

"In other words, we are your hostages!"

"I have my orders, Mr. Swift. Regrettably, I am compelled to inform you that if any of your seacraft attempt to escape to open water, we will treat it as a hostile act and respond accordingly. I believe you know, by demonstration, that this ship is now equipped with torpedos."

"Yes," was the contemptuous retort. "You stole a vessel designed to advance man’s scientific knowledge and turned it into a warship."

"I understand your attitude, but there is no point in my debating you," stated Drozhal. "Let us hope all goes well elsewhere in the world. If not, I will reluctantly carry out the rest of my orders. To prevent this site from falling into the hands of what we are to call the ‘decadent West,’ and to prove to the world that our determination must be taken seriously, explosive devices will be used to bring down the walls of the canyon and destroy the city. You yourselves will bear the undesirable consequences."

A click brought the conversation to an end.

"They’re
inhuman!"
Bud cried.

"He thinks of himself as a professional and a patriot, I’m sure," declared Lieutenant Fraser with a shake of his head.

The three started as a clattering
thump!
rang out overhead. "Come on!" Tom exclaimed.

The three ran out of the mantacopter, and in a moment found the cause of the sound. The long aqua-rad cable was collapsed in a scattered heap on and about the ship. After hunting about, Tom held up a free end.
"Cut!"

"Then—we really
are
trapped down here, aren’t we." Bud looked his pal in the eye, and Tom nodded back. "No way out.
We’re trapped two miles below the ocean’s surface!"

AFTER conferring with Lieutenant Fraser, Tom ordered all personnel to assemble in front of the
Fathomer,
including those working in the city with the spectromarine selector.

"As the director of this project, and on behalf of my father and Swift Enterprises, I have to tell you all about a very difficult situation," he began. A ripple of concern rose from the crowd, and Tom held up his hands for silence. "We are being blocked from leaving this canyon, or from communicating with the mainland or other submersibles, by representatives of the Kranjovian government. As you all know, they took possession of Professor Centas’s submarine, the
Hydra-Gaea.
They’re now using it to guard the channel opening above us, which is the only way our mantacopters can exit to open water." He proceeded to give the gist of his conversation with Drozhal, including the threat at its conclusion.

"We know you’ll do everything possible to get us out of this, Tom!" called out Hank Sterling loyally. There were many shouts of agreement.

Mel Flagler stepped forward, trying to speak to his young commander in a low voice. "But we have someone here among us working for the enemy—don’t forget that."

"I know, Mel," Tom replied. "Listen everyone! As Mel just said, it looks like we have some kind of agent working against us here in Aurum City. I’m hoping it’s not one of you—I want to trust all of you. It’s just possible the enemy is a stowaway who sneaked off one of the subs and is hiding somewhere in the ruins."

"Say!" Chow exclaimed loudly. "Never thought o’ that!"

"So what should we do?" called out a member of the science team.

Tom nodded at Brian Fraser, who answered the question. "I’ve advised Tom to send out two armed patrols to search through all the blocks of the city inside the hydrodome bubbles, starting at opposite ends and meeting in the middle. At the very least it’ll allow us to rule out the possibility of an unknown stowaway in hiding."

A general nod circulated through the assembly. Then, as if on cue, Bud Barclay spoke up. "Great idea, skipper, Lieutenant. But why just two patrols? If we all split up, we could tackle the whole thing in a couple hours."

"For protection, Brian thinks the patrols should be armed," was Tom’s reply. "As you all know, we usually don’t bring weapons along on our scientific expeditions. In fact, we have only two—the Lieutenant’s service revolver, and one of our electric impulse guns."

As Bud nodded, Tom asked Fraser to begin selecting the two patrols. He and Bud started to trudge back toward Tom’s lab in the
Deepwing.

"That went pretty well, genius boy," Bud murmured.

But Miss Gabardine suddenly popped up at their heels.
"Tom!"
she called. "I
must
speak to you privately!"

Tom halted. "Sure—but not privately. Let’s keep Bud with us." He lowered his voice. "It wouldn’t look good, Julienne, you know."

"Oh, yes, you’re right… Mr. Swift." As Bud drew closer, she began to speak softly and urgently. "I believe I know who the secret enemy is!"

It was hard not to sigh. "Really? Who?"

"One of your employees," she responded. "The man who accompanied us in the
Fathomer
. Zimby Cox!"

"Zee?"
Bud burst out emotionally. "Lady, you’re nuts!"

"Let’s hear her out," Tom urged. "What’s the basis of your accusation, ma’am?"

"Well, first of all, I suppose I should note that some people have said that I’m rather, er, addicted to eavesdropping," she admitted, embarrassed. "Perhaps it arises from my dedication to extracting accurate information in order to produce conclusive evaluations."

Tom smiled. "You heard something, then?"

"I did! This morning I happened to be in one of the storage rooms in the
Fathomer
—the one used for canned edibles and kitchen equipment. I was taking an inventory… of sorts. And then I heard voices, two men talking together very quietly, as if they wanted no one to hear them."

"They didn’t reckon on your powers of detection," remarked Bud with what might have been sarcasm.

Miss Gabardine smiled as if she had been complimented. "Anyway, I listened very carefully. I’m quite certain one of the men said something about
Kranjovia,
and then the other man said,
No, it’s too great a risk!
And then a moment later I saw Zimby Cox walk past the door! Doesn’t that seem rather alarming?"

"I don’t think I’d use the word
alarming,"
replied Tom smoothly. "But it may be something to look into. Leave it to me, won’t you?—but thanks."

"My pleasure, of course!" Miss Gabardine turned and strode away.

"Jetz, she’s really something," Bud grumbled. "Tom, you don’t think—?"

Tom looked very weary, but managed a half-smile. "What can I say? Zimby’s a friend and a long-time employee. But… something just occurred to me, Bud."

"What?"

"Back on the survey cruise, when we were trapped in the freight airlock—we’ve always assumed that Judson sabotaged the circuit on his own. But…"

Bud gulped in dismay. "It was
Zimby
who’d just been back there! And he’s the one who mentioned the problem to you."

The young inventor nodded grimly. "Matter of fact—you could even call it a kind of
phony distress call!"

"Oh no!"

"Well," said Tom, "for now it’s just a theory—
another
theory. And we’ve got plenty more than theories to worry about!"

But fate allowed Tom no time to worry. He had scarcely arrived in his lab compartment when the inter-ship speaker buzzed. "Boss!" commed Chow Winkler. "Get on back t’ the
Fathomer
pronto! We got us another problem!"

Tom and Bud covered the several blocks separating the ships at a run. They arrived panting in the control cabin, where Chow, Fraser, and several others had congregated.

"What is it?" Tom demanded.

"After assigning the patrols, I came in here to get my revolver from the security locker where Chow had put it," said Brian. "It’s gone!"

"An’ the blame locker door was locked up tighter ’n a whistle!" exclaimed the westerner. "I tried it after I shut it—you saw me try it, dincha, Mordy?"

Mordo, standing a ways away with Professor Centas, nodded vigorously. "I did, yes! He made certain it was secure."