Tom Swift and His Subocean Geotron by Victor Appleton II Page A

while."
    "What did Lieutenant Moreno say?" Tom asked feebly.
    It was Nee Ruykendahl, seated nearby, who answered. "Of course he’s very impressed with your endurance, you two, and your ingenuity. I’m a bit envious."
    "I’m sure you’d have come up with something daring, Nee, if you’d been lucky enough to get captured," Tom murmured. He then added with a trace of concealed suspicion, "But you were off with your business contacts."
    "Mm-hmm. Fate strikes, and I wasn’t there."
    "They say location is everything," remarked Bud.
    "Moreno and the police say a man they believe was Breeman Halspeth—he went by a phony name, of course—left Easter yesterday afternoon by jet seaplane, the same one he arrived in on his flight from Mexico," Ed recounted. "The governor’s pressing the search for these masked kidnappers, but― "
    "But they key word is masked ," said Tom with grim humor. "The mention of the old ‘Birdman’ cult—it was a big deal in the 19th century—was just a joke. But there may be some link between Li Ching and native religionists."
    Ruykendahl nodded. "That possibility can’t be sloughed off, friends. There have been revivals of the old customs now and then, an expression of pride and, alas, resentment against the horrors done to the original Rapanuians. Moreno thinks this Cobra of yours might have been manipulating one of these underground groups to get them to do his work."
    "Professor Tyburn said something similar when he phoned this morning," Tom noted.
    Still bandaged, but re-hydrated and smeared with ointments, Tom and Bud were released from the hospital by mid-afternoon. Within the hour they were back in the safety of the Sky Queen and high in the sky.
    "I suppose I’ve earned some of my modest pay by guiding you to Las Mambritas," remarked Nee Ruykendahl. "But not much has been accomplished, hie? Even providing you with the course of the Wascala on our Pacific cruises..."
    "You know, Tom, he does have a point," declared Bud innocently. "Just flying around over a big bunch of water doesn’t seem like anything major. Maybe we should just let Nee off and go on our way."
    As Nee frowned, Ed said hastily, "C’mon, this is just the start, isn’t it Tom?"
    "A preliminary survey," stated Tom. "Unless we have some incredible luck, we’ll be coming back with one of the submersibles."
    "And that is where Ruykendahl proves his worth," noted said Ruykendahl. "I not only know the precise coordinates of our anchorage, but also certain facts of the underwater terrain that may constitute clues."
    "What facts?" asked Bud.
    "Now, now—you must allow me to earn my pay."
    Arriving at Nee’s coordinates—a spot of blank ocean encompassing hundreds of square miles overall—they hovered for a time as Tom actuated and calibrated the Flying Lab’s probe instruments. He then had Bud commence a low-flying search pattern. But by sunset there had been no result.
    They flew back to Easter Island, landing on the same barren clearing as before and sleeping the night aboard.
    Next morning, they—and the Sky Queen —rose early. "We can spend another day on the search," Tom decided. "Then we’d better head up to Loonaui for refueling, and to get going on the subocean phase. I just wish we could narrow things down."
    "Maybe your dad has got more info from space," Bud suggested hopefully.
    As the skyship circled broadly, sensor instruments operating automatically, Tom called Shopton on the Private Ear Radio. "Nothing significant from the space beings, son," reported Mr. Swift. "They seem to think they won’t make any further progress without being able to use data from the other half of Ruykendahl’s object as a ‘key’."
    "What about Ed’s artifact? Do they want us to try to activate it?"
    "They ask us to wait until they can study how to release the data signal without causing the other effects."
    Tom responded ruefully. "Probably a good idea, Dad. We don’t know what Ed’s object might do."
    Damon Swift had