Part 27 (1/2)

As Tom emerged from the tank, the portly cook rolled up his own pantlegs and waddled up the metal ladder to the tank brim. He summoned the porpoise with a whistle and straddled its back.

”What in the name of aquanautics do you think _you're_ doing?” Tom gasped.

”I'll show you a real broncobustin' act in the water,” Chow bragged.

Smiley glided off gently at first, Chow fanning the air with his hat and yipping like a rodeo star. He did, in fact, cling to his slippery perch with considerable skill.

But suddenly Smiley began bobbing and humping like an eel. Chow's face froze in alarm. A moment later the porpoise dived and the cook let out a yell of terror, ”He-e-elp!”

Roaring with laughter, Tom dived in and rescued him. ”Guess he ain't quite broke yet, pardner!”

”Reckon not.”

Now that Tom had all his technical problems solved, he plunged eagerly into the job of fitting out his expedition to the South Atlantic to search for the lost Jupiter missile.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Besides the _Sea Hound_ and the other diving seacopter which had already been rigged with antisonar and antidetection equipment, Tom ordered a large cargo jetmarine to be similarly equipped.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Then he drew up a list of supplies and underwater search gear needed for the missile hunt. Tom phoned orders to a dozen different departments. Food, s.p.a.ce-plant pills, extra clothing, tools, including a midget atomic earth blaster, grappling hooks--nothing was overlooked.

”I'd better take along a Damonscope too,” Tom reflected. ”Judging by those Navy reports, ordinary Geiger counters haven't revealed anything.”

Tom's Damonscope, one of his early inventions, was a photographic device which worked on fluorescent principles. It was amazingly sensitive to any form of radioactivity--and the missile, of course, would be ”hot”

from exposure to cosmic rays.

Meanwhile, Tom had ordered his new hydrolung suit, with its four-plunger control unit and porpoise sonar, to be flown back to Enterprises. Arv Hanson had promised to make up several duplicates with a team of technicians working on all-night s.h.i.+fts.

Late the next afternoon Tom returned to the mainland to confer with his father. Mr. Swift reviewed the expedition plans with approval.

”Suppose we call Admiral Walter now and set a time for the Navy to move out of the missile area, so you can take over,” his father said.

Tom agreed, and his father placed the long-distance call to Was.h.i.+ngton.

Moments later, Admiral Walter came on the line. Mr. Swift talked to him briefly, then turned the phone over to Tom, who described his preparations for the missile hunt. A time schedule of operations and communications was quickly laid out.

The admiral was amazed to learn that Bud Barclay was already patrolling the area. ”Our s.h.i.+ps haven't seen or heard him!” the officer exclaimed.

Suddenly Admiral Walter broke off. ”Hold it, please, Tom! A code call is just coming in!”

His voice was grave as he returned to the Swifts' line. ”That message was from your friend, Bud Barclay,” Admiral Walter reported. ”It looks as if our enemy has found the missile!”

”Oh, no!” Tom groaned.

CHAPTER XIX