He therefore plotted their course to
the South Atlantic carefully, and issued orders for the antidetection
circuits to be switched off every half-hour for a position check.
"Report to your ships," he now ordered.
As Tom was about to leave base headquarters, Harlan Ames telephoned from
Shopton. "Bad news, Tom. Dimitri Mirov has broken jail!"
"Good night!" Tom stifled a groan of dismay. "How did it happen?"
Ames said the Brungarian had somehow fashioned a crude weapon and
overpowered the turnkey. Disguising himself in the guard's uniform, he
had slipped out before his victim was discovered.
"He must have had outside help within close call," Ames ended, "because
he seems to have made a clean getaway. The State Police have spread a
dragnet, but it doesn't look hopeful."
"He'll probably duck out of the country pronto," Tom surmised. "Anyhow,
this won't stop us, Harlan."
By nightfall the little fleet of three undersea craft was speeding
southward at periscope depth. Tom alternated at the controls with Zimby,
two hours on and two hours off. Sleep came in snatches, the crewmen
flopping on their bunks as the chance offered. Chow's tasty meals helped
break the monotony.
It was the following day when they reached the missile search area. Tom
surfaced the _Sea Hound_ and reversed blade pitch, then gunned the rotor
turbines for an aerial reconnaissance flight, while the jetmarine and the
other seacopter stood by in the water.
Pages:
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143