Part 10 (1/2)

CHAPTER VIII

DATE TROUBLE

The boys exchanged looks of fear through their face masks as the knifelike hull and conning tower of the submarine loomed gray and ghostly.

Was the sub Brungarian? And what was it up to? Were the two young skin divers about to be run down or kidnaped?

_Or was its crew friendly?_

”Better not chance it,” Tom decided fast. He caught Bud's eye again and motioned upward with a jerk of his thumb. ”Topside, pal!”

”Roger!” Bud's lips shaped the word silently behind his face mask.

In a twinkling both boys flicked their density controls and zoomed upward. The sub at once seemed to betray a hostile intent. It blew its tanks and planed upward in pursuit. But Tom and Bud easily pulled away.

Their density units worked like magic, shooting them straight toward the surface.

”Wow!” Bud shoved back his face mask as they broke water. ”That baby was after us and no mistake!”

Tom nodded, treading water. ”Let's not stick around here, either! We'll soon have company again if we do!”

Bud did not argue. ”Where to, skipper?”

In the fresh salt air, with the suns.h.i.+ne sparkling on the waves, it was hard to believe that an enemy submarine was hot on their trail. But both youths realized their peril was growing by the moment.

”Back toward the _Sea Hound_,” Tom said, pointing north-northwest.

”Submerge as we go!”

Bud circled his thumb and forefinger, then adjusted his mask, and the two boys plunged back in. On a sloping downward course, they sped along like undersea rockets, their ion jets functioning perfectly. Minutes later, they sighted the seacopter.

Hank waved to them through the cabin window as they glided past. The air lock opened speedily and the two boys entered. Both heaved sighs of relief when they were safely inside.

”Somethin' wrong?” Chow asked, sniffing trouble.

”A strange submarine,” Tom reported. ”Brungarian more than likely. It may be heading this way if they've tracked us.”

”A sub?” Hank was startled. ”We've picked up nothing on sonar!”

”Check again,” Tom ordered.

The sonarman bent to his scope and Hank listened intently over the hydrophones. Neither could detect any sign of another craft.

”Probably the same one that fired on us the last time,” Tom said grimly.

”We'd better clear out before they take another pot shot at us.”

Hank sent the _Sea Hound_ zooming toward the surface while the boys changed quickly into slacks and T s.h.i.+rts. Then Tom took over the controls for the flight home.

”Brand my vitamin vittles! Are we just goin' to turn tail an' run every time them varmints come skulkin' around?” Chow fumed as the seacopter arrowed northward.

”Not if I can help it,” Tom vowed. ”But first I must figure out a way to make our own craft invisible, so to speak. It's the only way to protect our American crews, Chow, if we hope to do any secret digging for that lost missile.”