Tom Swift and His Spectromarine Selector (6 page)

Then, accompanied by startled screams, a gunshot crackled through the purple shadows!

TOM and Bud hurled themselves down flat, muscles tensed in anticipation of bullets. But there were no more bangs, only the babble of excited voices.

"Lookit that!" laughed a boy somewhere ahead. "Man, this ride has everything!"

Rising cautiously, the boys made their way forward at a crouch. "Look down there," Tom whispered. "Footprints."

They crossed the stream, using the prow of a passing boat as a stepping stone. "Sorry," Tom muttered to the riders.

"Having a good time?" was Bud’s contribution.

They crept through an archway into another section—and halted with stunned gasps. A lean, longnecked figure was hanging from an overhead beam, arms dangling down limply, so low that the laughing riders had to duck beneath his fingers.

Tom and Bud made a slow approach, jerking back at one point when it seemed an arm had twitched. But it was only the nudge of a head brushing as it passed beneath.

Tom drew close and touched the body.

"Dead?" asked Bud.

Tom nodded. "Bleeding from the back. That shot was meant for Ebber, not us."

Even in the dim luminance they could make out a small square of white against the late Longneck Ebber’s dark shirt. Li Ching’s calling card!

After a long afternoon with the local police, carnival officials, and a pair of sour-faced young ladies, Tom and Bud ended their day of carefree amusement conferring with Harlan Ames and Mr. Swift back at Enterprises.

"No trace of Longneck’s female companion," reported Ames. "Matching Bud’s description to yours, Tom, we think it was the same woman who stopped you out on the road."

"So now this Li Ching character has racked up two victims from the Mayday Mob," Bud noted. "Someone must have been following Ebber."

"And was Ebber following Tom in turn?" asked Damon Swift. "We found a gun—Ebber’s—on the floor near the body. He must have drawn it."

"Nobody could have known that we’d be at Carnival Park," Tom put in thoughtfully. "More likely he was holed up somewhere in town putting together some more dirty work, and decided to take his lady friend out on a date."

"It’s enough to make you give up dating," Bud remarked. "Long as I live, I’ll never go into another Tunnel of Love!"

"Comrade-General Li may be taking out the bad guys for now," stated Ames, "but who knows what he’ll turn to later."

Seeing the look on his father’s face, Tom said gently, "We’ll be safer underwater. When is Lieutenant Fraser supposed to get here?" Lieutenant Brian Fraser was the assigned replacement for Cromwell, who was still hospitalized.

"There’s been a change in plans," Mr. Swift answered. "I received word this afternoon, while you were all off enjoying yourselves. Fraser is on Fearing, where he’ll stay until the expedition is ready to depart."

"I’ll say Monday’s the day, Dad. The spectromarine selector should be ready by then; I think we can load it onto the
Sky Queen
Sunday afternoon. All three mantacopters are already waiting in their berths on Fearing."

"Your science team gets here tomorrow morning," Ames added. "I’ve checked them all out, and so has the FBI. More than once!"

"It’ll be great to see Ham and George again!" Tom grinned. George Braun and Hamilton Teller were a lively, bantering pair of scientists with a background in oceanography and archaeology and a powerful interest in the Atlantis legend. They had been part of the first seacopter visit to the city of gold.

Ames winked. "I’ll do my level best to keep you boys alive, at least through tomorrow morning."

Bud had the last word. "Could you make it tomorrow evening? I have afternoon plans."

The next day, Friday, brought not doom but a diversion. Anticipating the arrival of the science team by plane, Tom’s wait in his office was interrupted by the office secretary, Munford Trent. "Tom, there’s a Miss Gabardine here to see you."

"Does she have an appointment?"

"She claims not to need one. She says she’s here from the Treasury Department—official business." Trent approached Tom at his desk and spoke softly. "Please don’t make me argue with her any more, Tom. It’d take an atom bomb to pry her out the door!"

Tom chuckled under a sympathetic look. "All right, let’s see what she wants. I’ll keep a finger on the security alert button."

"They’ll need to send a squad."

In a moment a woman marched in, her stride forceful and determined. Tom knew instantly that this woman was unique, in that she lacked a description. In all respects she was as plain as the national average, neither tall nor short, young nor old, stout nor thin. Her hair was a mousy color floating somewhere between brown and blond. Her outfit was gray, dignified, and thoroughly businesslike—and it was clear she meant business!

"Julienne Gabardine," she declared, offering her hand. "I apologize for arriving in this abrupt manner, but this is our method of operations when we conduct an inspection."

Tom was puzzled. "An inspection?"

She seated herself unbidden. "Not in this case, actually. I am here as an Evaluator on behalf of the United States Department of the Treasury. Swift Enterprises, or rather your current exploration project, is my Evaluatee. Her are my credentials. Feel free to contact the Department for verification."

Tom glanced at them politely, knowing that he would pass them along to Harlan Ames. "Well, Julienne—"

"Miss Gabardine, if you please. I prefer to keep this relationship at a professional level. I am unmarried, but I would be grateful if you would inform your employees that I am
not
available for socializing."

"I’ll pass along the word, Miss Gabardine," responded Tom with a smile. "I’m afraid I’m not clear on the purpose of your visit."

"No, of course you aren’t. I am assigned the responsibility of reporting on, and generally evaluating, your use of the Federal funding granted you for certain well-defined purposes with respect to your proposed activities at the subocean archaeological site."

"I see," nodded the young inventor as his smile faded. "Of course, the government is involved in the project, and has sent us an observer. Really, though, ma’am, nearly all the costs are born by Enterprises."

"I don’t make the rules, Mr. Swift," was the curt reply. "This is required by Federal regulations, which I am prepared to cite if you wish. International agreements are also involved."

"We’ll make your visit as easy as possible, Miss Gabardine. I suppose you’ll need access to our files and records?"

"Eventually."

"Excuse me?"

"Mr. Swift, I am to accompany you on the voyage, to evaluate your project and its expenditures on the basis of firsthand knowledge."

Tom drew back in his chair, astonished. "But—ma’am—this is a complicated scientific operation on the ocean floor! I don’t see how we can be expected to accommodate—"

This woman stood, her attitude politely dismissive. "You might like to have your legal office examine my credentials. My scope of authority is absolutely definite. I won’t interfere with the science, Mr. Swift. As I understand it, you will be providing a surface type of environment at the site, so no special training would seem to be necessary. But my presence
is
necessary, if your project is to go forward."

Tom boggled but said calmly, "Departure is scheduled for Monday."

Miss Gabardine gave a crisp nod. "I’ve taken a hotel room in Shopton. Here is the number. No doubt it would be best for me to spend Sunday night here, on the premises, so as not to delay you."

"We’ll arrange it." She turned and marched out, and Tom wiped his brow.
Good night, wait’ll Dad hears about this!
he thought.

The science team, eighteen men and women from various scientific fields and several nations, arrived at Enterprises at the tail end of the busy morning. Tom and Mr. Swift greeted them and had them shown to their comfortable quarters on the grounds of Enterprises.

"Great to see you, you two!" exclaimed Tom warmly as he shook hands with Ham Teller and George Braun. "It’s been too long!"

The two scientists were very different from one another. Red-haired Braun was pudgy and animated, while Teller, tall and balding, was wry and relaxed. His inflection bespoke his Brooklyn upbringing.

"Yaa, well, we’ve been busy, sorting out all that stuff from the
Ocean Arrow
trip," responded Ham in half-apology. "Brauny here can’t turn over a piece o’ paper without getting himself distracted."

"Sure, Ham, blame the short guy!" retorted George Braun. "As you remember, Tom, I’m the one who’s precise and thorough. Teller lazes around playing computer games when I’m not looking."

Tom laughed. He knew the two were the closest of friends, and topnotch scientific researchers.

Monday arrived. The scientists, Swift technicians, spectromarine selector—and Miss Gabardine—were loaded aboard the Flying Lab. Doc Simpson was also accompanying the mission, to study the physical effects of longterm living beneath the sea.

But the ceiling of the huge underground hangar did not split in two and open. The
Sky Queen
’s special platform did not lift it up into the morning sunlight. Instead, the clock ticked.

"Where is he?" groaned Bud Barclay. "Are we
really
sure he flew in last night?"

Tom nodded. "Absolutely, pal. He brought me a rattlesnake sandwich at eleven PM!"

A big, round, frantically waving figure came bounding across the hangar concrete, unheard on the other side of the thick cockpit viewpane.

"That’s our boy," Bud snorted humorously. "That shirt could run all by itself." Chow Winkler’s gaudy color preferences had become the stuff of legends at Swift Enterprises, along with his formidable, if sometimes eccentric, prowess as special executive chef. Since Tom and his father had brought him back from a New Mexico ranch, he had become a favorite at Enterprises, and one of Tom and Bud’s closest friends. It was a rare operation that lacked Chow Winkler’s special touch.

The ex-Texan arrived panting in the control compartment. "Brand my slitherin’ snakes!" he gasped. "Got m’self jet-lagged! I ’as hard asleep when th’ dang alarm went off!"

"Couldn’t leave without you, pard," Tom said affectionately. The older man beamed through his broad leathery face.

Finally gliding vertically above the clouds on its bank of jet lifters, the mighty stratoship made for the sky, heading south toward Fearing Island at supersonic speed, Hank Sterling at the controls while Tom and Bud chatted with their colleagues and friends in the top deck lounge.

"What a beautiful blue sky it is up here," murmured one of the geophysicists, Dr. Emmaline Norliss. "Have you flown the stratosphere before, Jul—mm, Miss Gabardine?"

"Once or twice," replied the Treasury official. "But I tend to look at things from the standpoint of efficiency."

"Oh, upper air travel is very efficient," put in Arv Hanson jokingly. "Gives a person time to think—clears the brain."

"And you leave trouble down below," Bud said. Then he added: "Unless you fall out of the plane, of course."

Tom winced. "Let’s not bring
that
up, flyboy!" It had happened to Tom!

The
Sky Queen
flew on to Fearing Island. Ever since the small, barren stretch of sand dunes and scrubgrass off the Georgia coast had been converted into the Swifts’ top-secret rocket-testing facility, it had come under high-security protection. It was circled without pause by midget drone jets, and a radar monitoring system, the patrolscope, was constantly alert to any unauthorized entry.

The Flying Lab circled as it approached, giving a view of Tom’s huge repelatron spaceship, the
Challenger,
as well as the docking facility where the three mantacopters were berthed.

"How kin you tell ’em apart?" asked Chow.

"Only by looking at the names painted on the hulls," was the reply. "Besides the
Deepwing,
there’s the
Supermanta
and the
Fathomer
—all loaded and ready."

"Wa-aal, ya shoulda let ol’ Chow name ’em, boss," Chow declared. "Got me a whole passel o’ names ready fer use. Good ones, too."

"Hey, Chow, you already got to name my new invention," Tom laughingly reminded his friend. "I was all set to call it a ‘spectron selectrol’—then I remembered my promise."

"Right good thing, too!" Long before, Tom had promised that he would use a name the cook had come up with,
spectromarine selector,
at the earliest reasonable opportunity.

After clearing with the tower, the team landed on the island airfield and sped by jeep caravan to the submersibles support building next to the docks. A crew was standing by, ready to load the final supplies, and the spectrosel, onto the waiting mantacopters.

"I’ll miss riding in the
Sea Hound
this time out," Bud remarked, He pointed off into the distance. "Your helicopter-submarine is all slicked up and ready, looks like." Dwarfed by the mantacops, the saucer-shaped seacopter gleamed in the bright Atlantic sun.

Tom nodded. "She’s a great ship. But she’ll be here waiting for us when we get back."

A young, red-haired Navy officer now approached, accompanied by Phil Radnor. "I’m Brian Fraser," he said as he shook hands with Tom. "The real thing!"

"Good to meet you, Lieutenant." Tom noticed that the new man wore the twin gold dolphins of the submarine service. "You’ll be right in your element on this trip."

Fraser grinned pleasantly. "I’m looking forward to it!" He conveyed greetings from Admirals Hopkins and Krevitt.

The team and crew split three ways. Tom decided to make the voyage in the
Fathomer
along with the cannon—which had now become the official nickname of the spectromarine selector. He was joined by Bud, Chow, George and Ham, Zimby Cox, and, at her own insistence, Julienne Gabardine. The young inventor thought it best not to argue.

"I’ll take the
Supermanta,"
Fraser decided. "Best not to put all the brass in the same hull!"

Tom took his place at the controls, with Bud beside him in the copilot’s seat. He flicked on the atomic reactor control system, shooting steam to the turbines which spun the enclosed horizontal rotors. With a purring hum the mantacopter floated skyward from its docking cradle.