Part 8 (1/2)

Tom handed him a hastily scribbled diagram of the audio-screen setup.

”One of those hurry-up deals, Gib,” he said with an apologetic grin. Tom explained his plan. ”We'll use transmitter buoys, monitored by an alarm system at base headquarters on Fearing.”

Brownell studied the diagram and nodded. ”Right. We can have it set up in twenty-four hours.”

As Brownell left the office, the telephone jangled. Tom reached for it.

”Admiral Walter calling.” His voice was tense. ”Important news, Tom. One of our subs has picked up a clue that someone has been operating in the missile search area.”

”What sort of clue, sir?” Tom asked.

”A compressed-air caisson for underwater work. It had been driven into the silt and then abandoned.” Admiral Walter added that photographs and a section of the caisson were being flown to the Naval Research Laboratory for careful study. ”I'll have a full report transmitted to you by video as soon as it reaches my desk.”

Tom thanked the admiral and hung up, feeling more uneasy than ever. The report came through the following morning. Tom absorbed the contents, then gave a low whistle.

”Trouble?” asked Bud, who had just dropped into the office with some flight-test data on a new Swift superjet.

”Our old enemies again.” Tom shoved the papers across his desk.

The report stated that both the design and manufacturing techniques used in making the caisson indicated that it was of Brungarian origin. A spectrographic a.n.a.lysis of the steels confirmed the theory. Their metallurgical content agreed with known Brungarian steel formulas.

”The sneaky rats!” Bud cried out. ”Well, at least we know now who sabotaged our missile recovery.”

As Tom paced about the office, Bud added, ”What do you suppose they were using the caisson for?”

”Probably as a base for some heavy, rotating search equipment,” the young inventor surmised.

”But why ditch it?”

Tom shrugged. ”An optimistic guess is that they spotted our Navy search force and pulled out quickly, fearing a surprise attack.”

”What's a pessimistic explanation?” Bud asked.

”Mission completed,” Tom said grimly. ”No need for them to stick around if they'd already snagged the missile.”

Bud scowled at the thought. ”Oh, no! That mustn't be true!”

Tom plopped down at his desk, frowning. ”Bud, I've been itching to get to work on a non-detectable sub, like the one that attacked us. But maybe it would be smarter to get a line on Mirov's pals first.”

”You mean down in the South Atlantic?”

Tom nodded. ”I'd sure like to know if they found that missile.”

”You and I both, pal!” Bud agreed. ”Hey! We could use the electronic hydrolungs for scouting around!” he added eagerly.

”I intend to,” Tom said. ”But we'll need speed to cover the area. So first I want to add an ion drive to our equipment.”

”Ion drive? For underwater?” Bud, who was familiar with ion propulsion for s.p.a.ces.h.i.+ps, wrinkled his brow in a puzzled frown.