Lieutenant Larko, or Blatz as he was known to his American friends, wanted to get his visit to the American headquarters of the Gerka over as soon as possible. He did not look forward to it with pleasure and was anxious to return to his friends. The deeper he got into the intrigue the less he liked the mission which had been assigned to him by the dictator of Rubania.
On leaving the hotel, he sank back in the cushions of the taxicab and marveled at the dexterity of the driver, who guided his car between the moving streams of traffic with amazing skill. They worked away from the mid-town section, getting over on the east side where the streets were narrower, the lights dimmer and the pavement rough and bumpy.
Occasionally the gleam of the headlights of another car flashed in the mirror over the driver’s head, but Blatz thought nothing of it until the driver leaned back as he slowed for a turn.
“There’s another cab been following us ever since we left the hotel,” he said. “Want me to try and shake them?”
“Not right now,” replied Blatz. “Keep going; I’ll watch them.”
He turned and looked out the rear window. There was no mistake on the part of the driver; another machine was following, making every turn they did, maintaining the same speed and keeping about a block to the rear. Had the American secret service become suspicious of him and placed him under surveillance?
The thought alarmed Blatz and he ordered the driver to attempt to lose the pursuing machine. For fifteen minutes they turned and twisted from one street to another, darted through alleys and doubled back onto thoroughfares. At last the lights of the other machine vanished and Blatz felt sure that they had lost their pursuers.
He gave the order to continue to the address he had given the driver and relaxed again. He would be glad to get back to the hotel and rejoin his friends.
The American headquarters of the Gerka were located on the fifth floor of a warehouse building on the east side, a district which was anything but reassuring after dusk had fallen. Street lights cast their feeble rays at infrequent intervals and there was no traffic on the street. One dusty electric globe hung in the little cubby which was marked “watchman’s office.”
“Want me to wait?” asked the taxi driver.
“That’s not necessary,” replied Blatz. “I’ll call a cab when I’m ready to return.”
The taxi lurched down the street and Blatz walked up to the watchman’s window.
The password of the Gerka was in Rubanian and Blatz spoke a guttural phrase.
The watchman, a middle aged man with distinct Rubanian features, stepped to a phone and made sure that Blatz was really an agent of the Gerka. Informed that the newcomer was to be shown to the headquarters, he took Blatz into the dim confines of the building and showed him into a freight elevator. They were lifted slowly to the fifth floor and when the door opened, Blatz stepped out into a comfortably furnished suite of rooms.
A secretary took his number and mission and five minutes later he was ushered into the inner chamber, to face Lothar Vendra, head of the American branch of the Gerka.
Vendra was an impressive individual. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and handsome in a bitter sort of way.
“I am most happy to greet you,” he told Blatz, extending his hand in welcome.
“I am happy to be here,” replied Blatz, with an enthusiasm that he did not honestly feel.
“Sit down,” motioned Vendra, “and tell me all that has happened since you arrived at Bellevue and how you happen to be in New York at this time.”
Blatz recounted in detail the events that had taken place since he had arrived at the home of the Goliath. When he mentioned the name of Boris Dubra, the mechanic who had been wounded in his attempt to damage the Goliath’s hangar, Vendra’s face clouded with anger.
“I had heard of that,” he said. “Dubra was a fool. We are just as well off without him. You will be able to accomplish the task alone.”
“I’m not so sure that I will fulfill my mission,” replied Blatz.
“What’s that?” demanded Vendra.
“I have a feeling that the Americans, especially Andy High, are suspicious,” explained Blatz. “When I left the hotel a few minutes ago I was followed and only by the amazing dexterity of my taxi driver was I able to elude my pursuer.”
“You must have been mistaken,” insisted Vendra. “Your papers are in perfect order.”
“I was not mistaken,” said Blatz, clearly and decisively. “Every precaution must be taken or I will find myself in an American military prison.”
“I agree that you must be careful,” admitted Vendra, “but His Excellency is most anxious that the Goliath be destroyed at once. In his latest communication he especially stressed this point. This air monster must never become the king of the skies!”
The words came to Blatz through a mist of memories. He could see the silver sides of the Goliath as the great ship lay in its hangar, hear the tap of hammers and cries of the workmen as they rushed it to completion, see the pride and joy in Andy’s eyes as the young engineer looked at the great skycraft he had helped to create. And his job was to destroy all this. The airman in him rebelled and Vendra, sensing the emotional conflict, moved closer.
“Remember,” he warned. “You are a Rubanian, a member of the Gerka, who is pledged to duty even unto death!”
Blatz nodded dismally. There was no getting away from the facts. He would have to destroy the Goliath.
“You may inform His Excellency,” he said, “that I will do my best.”
He was about to leave when a buzzer rang sharply. Vendra seized the telephone and a look of alarm came over his face.
“There’s trouble down at the entrance,” he said. “The watchman just found a man prowling around. He knocked him out and is bringing him up here.”
Andy’s pursuit of the German observer had not been successful for his driver had finally lost the cab in the maze of quick turns Blatz’s driver had made after being ordered to shake off pursuit.
But Andy was not easily discouraged and he ordered his own taxi to return to the street on which they had been when Blatz had started his zig-zig tactics. There was a possibility that the cab he sought might return and continue its journey from that point. His hunch was correct and within ten minutes the machine he had lost rolled down the street. This time his driver put out his lights and they followed, Andy in the meantime having agreed to fend off any police charges that might be brought for running without lights.
He was less than two hundred yards away when Blatz entered the warehouse and Andy was slipping into the building when the night watchman returned and caught him.
The challenge was in Rubanian, a language unfamiliar to Andy. He replied in American, explaining that he was looking for a friend who was to meet him at that address.
The explanation failed to satisfy the watchman, who ordered Andy out. The watchman was too anxious to get rid of him and Andy refused to leave. The attack followed almost instantly, and the burly watchman hurled himself at the slender airman with surprising speed.
Taken unaware, Andy went down in a heap. He struggled to his feet and turned to face the next rush by the watchman. He partially fended off the first blow but another, starting low and coming up with tremendous force, caught him on the point of the chin. His knees wobbled, a mist clouded his eyes, his mouth was strangely dry and he had a sensation of falling from a great height. Then a curtain of darkness descended.
The watchman picked him up carried him into the elevator, and finally walked into Vendra’s office with the unconscious Andy in his arms.
Blatz started back in white-faced amazement.
“Is he badly hurt?” he asked.
“No,” grunted the watchman. “He’ll come around in a few minutes. He struck his head against a door sill when I knocked him down.”
“This is terrible,” said Blatz. “Now Andy’s suspicions of me will be confirmed. It will be no use for me to return to Bellevue after this.”
“What do you mean?” asked Vendra.
“Just this,” explained Blatz. “Your bulldog watchman here has knocked out Andy High, son of Charles High, executive vice president of the National Airways who is in charge of the building of the Goliath. Andy is my ‘chaperon’ at Bellevue and the only one who has appeared to be suspicious of me. He must have followed me from the hotel.”
Vendra was silent for a minute, pondering the situation which confronted them.
“It is regrettable,” he said. “You must return to Bellevue to fulfill your mission of destroying the Goliath, the air monster.”
“But I can’t go back now,” protested Blatz.
“Return to your hotel at once,” said Vendra.
“When anyone asks where you have been, tell them on a long taxi ride through the city and Central Park.”
“Andy will never believe such a story,” protested Blatz.
“He won’t be able to disprove it,” countered Vendra. “As soon as you leave I’ll take him out of here. We’ll leave him in another street before he recovers consciousness. He’ll never be able to find his way back here and you’ll make a complete denial if he ever openly accuses you. It is ticklish, I admit, but it is the only way out.”
Blatz finally agreed and hastened from the room, to return at once to the hotel where he found Bert and Harry waiting.
“Where’s Andy?” asked Bert.
“I don’t know,” replied Blatz. “I’ve been on a long taxi ride.” Which, he told himself, was quite true.
An hour later Andy arrived in a cab, his clothes so dirty and disheveled that he attracted open attention as he walked through the fashionable lobby of the hotel. The clerks eyed him with disgust but they dared not protest at his appearance. When he appeared in his room, he was greeted with exclamations of astonishment.
“What under the sun happened to you?” asked Bert. “Did a taxi walk all over you?”
“Something, hit me,” said Andy, “while I was down on the east side. The next thing I knew I was lying in a street and a policeman was shaking me. I finally convinced him that I was sane and sober, and he let me come back here. I haven’t figured it out just yet; my head’s too dizzy.”
He looked straight at Blatz when he added:
“But I have a hunch I’ll get it straight when I get over this headache.”
Andy was shaky from his experience over on the east side and while Bert, Harry and Blatz went out to a show, he remained at the hotel to rest and think things over.
He was positive that he had seen Blatz go into the warehouse and the conviction grew that the German civilian observer was not all that he claimed to be. Andy felt a crisis coming, something he couldn’t exactly put into words, but a vague feeling that trouble was just around the corner. He was asleep when the others returned at midnight from the theater and they did not waken him.
Andy felt much refreshed the next morning and they decided to accompany Harry on his visit to the shipyard.
“It’s the finest tin fish I’ve ever seen,” said Bert, who had visited the Neptune the afternoon before. “They’ve got just about everything they need in it.”
“It is a wonderful boat,” admitted Harry proudly, “but I’ll have to confess that traveling in the Neptune won’t be able to compare with the Goliath. When we’re submerged the air isn’t any too good if we’re down three or four hours and we’re pretty cramped for space.”
“Let’s get under way,” said Andy. “I’m anxious to see this wonderful tin fish.”
They took a taxi across town, rolled over the Brooklyn bridge and fifteen minutes later were walking into the shipyard where the Neptune was being groomed for its polar trip.
The submarine was lying beside a stubby wharf with its main hatch open. Workmen were busy passing supplies down into its depths as Andy and his party arrived.
“My gosh,” exclaimed Andy. “I didn’t suppose you had a submarine of this type. It’s almost as big as one of the navy’s super-cruisers.”
“Just about,” agreed Harry. “As a matter-of-fact, this sub was built for naval purposes by the Seabright yards. They used it as a demonstrator in selling similar models to South American navies. It has just about every modern gadget on it that inventors could devise. As a result of this working model, the Seabright people landed contracts for about 25 million in work. The Neptune had served its purpose and they were willing to sell it to Gilbert Mathews at a very reasonable figure when he started looking for a ship in which to make the polar trip. The Seabright engineers have made all of the necessary changes for polar cruising and have just put their official approval on the Neptune, which means we’ll be starting north within a few days.”
“I’d like to see inside the Neptune,” said Blatz, adding, “I’ve never been in a submarine before.”
“All right,” agreed Harry, “but we’ll have to keep out of the way of the crew bringing in stores Let’s go.”
They scrambled down the ladder and reached the rivet-studded deck of the Neptune. There was a lull in the steady stream of boxes being carried into the interior and they hurried through the main hatch and into the conning tower, then down into the main control room.
Andy looked about in amazement at the compactness of the instruments in the “brains” of the submarine. There was not an inch of waste space in the spotlessly white interior of the steel fish.
Harry led them through the forward engine room and into the crew quarters where double-decked bunks lined the walls. Just ahead were the officers’ quarters, slightly better furnished than those of the crew and beyond this was the radio cubby where Harry would practically live from the time they left the Brooklyn shipyard until they returned from the desolate ice wastes of the far north.
They went on ahead into the room usually used as a torpedo room. This had been fitted with scientific equipment for sounding the ocean depths, and determining the material at the bottom of the Arctic. In addition to the scientific paraphernalia, the forward room contained the all important rescue chambers. In this room was located the powerful drill which was capable of boring fifty feet upward straight through the ice, opening a tunnel large enough for a man to wriggle through in case the submarine became trapped by ice. There was also an escape passage through the forward torpedo tubes.
The inspection of the forward half of the sub completed, they turned to the after quarters. Another large engine room was located after the main control room and beyond this was another room with double-decked bunks while just back of that was the galley.
“You’ve got a place to cook food,” said Bert, “but where do you eat?”
“Just about any place we find convenient,” replied Harry. “There are a number of folding tables that can be pulled out in the crews’ quarters but if the going is rough or we’re busy, we take on food when and where we can get it.”
“When you’re pitching around on the North Atlantic and trying to connect a little food with that hungry mouth of yours, just remember what a pleasant time I’ll be having on the Goliath where there’s plenty of room to stretch and plenty of room to eat,” said Bert.
“I’ll probably remember that a good many times,” grinned Harry, “but if you radio me a description of some of those nice meals of yours. I’ll refuse to answer.”
They completed their inspection of the Neptune and had climbed back to the wharf when a roadster rolled through the shipyard gate.
“Just a minute, fellows,” said Harry. “Here comes Gilbert Mathews. I’d like to have you meet him.”
The commander of the Neptune was tall and broad-shouldered. His walk was vigorous and he was hatless. His brown hair was slightly gray at the temples and he might be anywhere from 35 to 45 years old.
“Hello, Harry,” he said as he came up. “Your radio equipment all ready?”
“Everything’s tested and in fine shape,” replied the radio operator. “I’d like to have you meet my friends.”
“Delighted,” said the explorer, and he greeted Blatz, Bert and Andy cordially.
“I’ve had some very pleasant conferences with your father,” he told Andy. “Will we meet at the North pole this summer?”
“I sincerely hope so,” replied Andy. “Bert is chief radio operator on the Goliath and I will make the trip as assistant to Captain Harkins.”
“Then I am sure that we will meet again,” replied Mathews. He turned to Harry.
“Did the orders reach you at your hotel before you left this morning?” he asked.
“No sir,” replied Harry.
“Then this will come as somewhat of a surprise,” smiled Mathews. “We’ll leave at sunrise and every member of the crew has been ordered on board tonight.”
“It certainly is a surprise,” gasped Harry, “but I’ll be aboard ship tonight.”
“You’re leaving almost two weeks earlier than you had first planned,” said Andy.
“Conditions in the Arctic are more open than they have been for a number of years,” replied the explorer, “and I am anxious to get the Neptune into the ice as soon as possible.”
“We probably will not see you again,” said Andy, “but we wish you every good fortune and we’ll see you at the North pole.”
“Thank you for your good wishes,” replied Mathews. “In return, I wish the Goliath a fair voyage and a fast one.”
The explorer left them and hurried down the ladder to supervise the final preparations for the departure of the Neptune.
Harry was busy the remainder of the day, finishing the task of getting his kit together and sending goodbye telegrams to relatives, for his parents lived in Illinois and would not be able to reach New York before sailing time.
Hotel reporters learned that the assistant pilot of the Goliath was in the city and when they returned to the hotel in late afternoon, half a dozen were waiting for Andy.
They plied him with questions. How long would it be before the Goliath was ready to take the air; what would the big ship do; where would it go on its trial flights; was it true that attempts had been made to destroy the ship in its hangar; when would it start on the cruise into the Arctic regions?
To all these questions Andy was able to give only the most general of answers for he was bound in secrecy not to reveal definite information about the Goliath or the plans for its trial flights. Andy and his friends posed while flashlights flared but finally they were alone in their rooms.
Harry had finished the score of small tasks which had been necessary when the final sail order, was given and he stretched out on one of the beds, his hands clasped above his head.
“Tonight we’re all here together,” he said. “Tomorrow I’ll be going down the sound in the tin fish; next week you’ll be aloft as the Goliath tries its wings, and the next time we meet will be at the North pole. Believe me, that’s adventure.”
“How I envy you all,” said Blatz, his voice low and earnest, and Andy actually felt sorry for the European whom he had come to firmly suspicion. If he could wipe those doubts out of his mind, he would thoroughly like Blatz for the foreigner was a born airman and would be a real asset to the technical staff of National Airways.
“When you sail away for the North pole in the Goliath,” he told Andy, “I’ll stay on the ground at Bellevue and watch you fade into the north but I’ll glory with you in success.”
“I’m hungry,” announced Bert. “Let’s go down and get something to eat. If we sit around here we’ll all get blue for we’re going to miss Harry a lot. There’s just this one consolation. We’ll be able to talk back and forth daily on our low wave sets unless the Arctic puts up a wall of static we can’t break through.”
Their last meal together was a quiet affair despite Bert’s efforts to make it jolly and cheerful. With Harry going aboard ship within the next hour or so and the Neptune casting off at dawn, they knew the start of the great adventure was at hand and it awed them all.
A messenger paged Harry in the dining room and handed him a telegram. The Neptune’s radio operator tore it open with fingers that shook just a little and read it hungrily. His face whitened for a moment and he folded the message carefully and placed it in an inner pocket. There was a suspicion of a tear in one eye.
“A wire from Dad and Mother,” he said. “They’re the best ever.”
An hour later they stepped out of a taxi on the Brooklyn wharf. Lights glowed over the Neptune; cars hurried up to disgorge other members of the crew, newspaper men were buzzing around, flashlights blazed and over the whole scene there was a feeling of tension.
Gilbert Mathews was at the head of the ladder, checking in every man as he came aboard. Harry reported and was checked off the list. He turned to his friends from Bellevue.
“I can’t say very much,” he told them. “Everything is sort of choked up in my throat. Bert, old scout, I’ll be tuning up for your messages. Don’t forget me.”
“I won’t,” promised the Goliath’s operator.
“So long, fellows,” said Harry and he turned and hastened down the ladder to the deck of the Neptune. He paused for a moment and waved before stepping inside the steel hull.
When they returned to their hotel, Blatz stopped at a newsstand to buy an early edition of one of the morning papers. They were so much more comprehensive than the Rubanian papers to which he had been accustomed and he thoroughly enjoyed reading them. In the quiet of his room he digested the news of the day. A story on an inside page caught and held his attention. The dateline was “KRATZ, Rubania.” The story told of the growing unrest against the regime of Dictator Reikoff, adding that this bad feeling was centered in the powerful air corps, the largest unit of the Rubanian army.
Blatz knew what they meant. Reikoff had been making unjust demands of his airmen and he was sitting on an open powder keg which was likely to explode with disastrous results to himself. Blatz almost wished that revolution would sweep the country and rid Rubania of its dictator. He was thoroughly disgusted and out of sympathy with the task to which he had been assigned, that of destroying the Goliath, and he would welcome any opportunity to escape but as long as Reikoff lived and ruled it would mean death for Blatz if he failed to carry out his mission.
Andy stepped through the door which connected the double room.
“Any objections to our returning to Bellevue in the morning?” he asked.
“No, why?” replied Blatz.
“Oh, there’s no reason for us to stay on longer here but I thought you might have some business over on the east side to transact.”
Andy’s keen eyes were watching Blatz’s face, searching for some change of expression that would indicate his alarm. There was none; the civilian observer outwardly appeared cool and unruffled but it was well that Andy could not see the flash of fear that seared across his mind. It was true, then, that Andy did suspect him. He was warning him in this way to watch his step. Undoubtedly he would tell the secret service. If he, Blatz, were to accomplish his mission of destruction it must be immediately after his return to Bellevue.
“There is nothing to keep me in the city,” replied Blatz, “and I am anxious to get back and see the finishing touches put on the Goliath.”
“Then we’ll get an early start,” said Andy, “drop down the harbor and say goodbye to the Neptune and then head for home. We ought to be there in time for lunch.”
They were up shortly after dawn but it was eight o’clock by the time they reached the airport of the National Airways in Jersey, had stowed their baggage in the monoplane and were ready to take the air. Andy took over the controls, Blatz climbed in beside him and Bert stowed his more ample bulk in a chair just behind and beside a window where he could wave when they passed the Neptune.
Satisfied that the motor of the monoplane was functioning perfectly, Andy sent the plane speeding over the crushed rock runway and into the slanting rays of the sun. He circled the field until he had plenty of altitude, and then cut across the Jersey flats where the blue Atlantic gleamed in the distance.
The Neptune must have started at the crack of dawn, for the submarine was far down the bay when they finally picked it up. The Neptune was running on the surface at ten knots an hour, its sharp nose cleaving through the sparkling waves and its decks almost awash. The main hatch was open and half a dozen of the crew were on top of the conning tower.
Andy sent the monoplane down in a gentle glide, levelled off, and skimmed over the water with motor on full. They flashed past the Neptune, raced out to sea, turned and roared back: Someone on the conning tower was waving frantically.
The three in the monoplane caught a fleeting glimpse of Harry as they sped past. The Neptune was off, headed for Plymouth, England, on the first leg of its long and adventurous trip into the Arctic.
The return flight to Bellevue was uneventful and the monoplane settled down beside the Goliath’s hangar shortly after noon. Andy taxied the plane up to the apron and they piled out and hurried into the main hangar to see what progress had been made on the Goliath since their departure.
Even in the short time they had been away the crews had put on the finishing touches. The great silver hull gleamed in the softened light of the hangar. The main gondola had been completed, the observation cockpits on top of the big bag were in place and hundreds of helium tanks were piled along the walls of the hangar—empty. That meant that the gas cells had been filled with the precious gas. The Goliath was almost ready to take the air.
Charles High and Captain Harkins hurried up to them.
“How does the Goliath look today?” Andy’s father asked.
“Wonderful, Dad, simply wonderful,” replied Andy. “When will you make the first test?”
“We may walk it out of the hangar tomorrow but we won’t make a real flight for several days,” replied the vice president in charge of operations for the National Airways. “The army has a finger in the pie and when we actually take the air several members of the general staff and a dozen air corps experts will want to be aboard to see if it behaves to specifications.”
“I’m sure it will,” put in Blatz. “I’ve seen a good many of Doctor Eckener’s ships at Friedrichshafen and with all due respect to the Herr Doctor, the Goliath is the finest, most carefully designed and built aircraft I have ever seen.”
“That’s a real compliment,” chuckled Bert. “It isn’t very often a European will concede superiority to an American in anything.”
“Blatz is right,” said Captain Harkins quietly. “There is no question about the Goliath being the finest airship ever built. I expect it to live up to our every hope in its performance in the air.”
“We were surprised when Gilbert Mathews informed Harry of the advance in sailing plans,” Andy told his father.
“I was a trifle surprised, too,” admitted the vice president of National Airways. “Mathews wired me the same day of the change in plans and I replied that the Goliath would be able to advance its air tests and keep the date to meet him at the pole even with the earlier sailing. I can’t blame him, though, for wanting to take advantage of the favorable ice conditions which are reported in the north now.”
“The Neptune is a great submarine,” said Bert, “as far as subs go but I’ll take an airplane or dirigible any day. Being shut up in one of those things is like sailing around in a tub. I wouldn’t trade my radio cubby on the Goliath for a dozen jobs on the Neptune.”
“Someone had to go on the Neptune and we’ll give Harry plenty of credit for his nerve,” said Andy. “Will you be able to pick up his message tonight?”
“I promised him I’d tune in every night at eight,” replied Bert. “We ought to hear him plainly.”
Captain Harkins asked Andy to accompany him to the main office to check over the final construction reports on the Goliath while Andy’s father took Blatz on an inspection trip over the big bag. They entered the luxuriously furnished gondola with its lounge and radio room, the dining salon and the glass enclosed promenade. Then to the upper deck of the gondola where the passenger cabins were located. The interior finish was in a cool, pleasing gray, a favorable contrast to the silver of the metalized hull.
After leaving the gondola, they walked down the main runway which was built lengthwise down the middle of the Goliath. In the earlier dirigibles this had been little more than a catwalk and none too safe. A plunge off would have meant crashing through the outer fabric and a fall to earth. In the Goliath the main runway was a substantial affair six feet wide. Made of duralumin, it was strong but light and guard rails proved ample protection for members of the crew or passengers who might be permitted to view the interior of the big airship.
The gas bags were inflated with, helium and held rigidly in place, six of them in the forward part of the ship and six of them in the after section. The transverse rings built of girders of duralumin separated each bag and there was a narrow catwalk between each large gas cell to facilitate the stopping of any possible leaks.
The motor gondolas were built inside the hull with the flexible propeller shafts sticking through the side. There were six of the motor gondolas on each side and each car was carefully insulated so that fire could be confined to one section of the dirigible.
The mid-section of the Goliath was forbidden ground to Blatz for it was here that space had been provided for the storing of airplanes in time of war. A special device which hooked onto the planes while they were in flight and lifted them into the hold in the center of the airship had been perfected by Captain Harkins and Blatz was anxious to see this. He was in for a disappointment that afternoon for Charles High did not take him back that far. Instead, they stopped at the fourth transverse girder where a stairway led to the top of the dirigible. There were six of these stairs all told, each running to the top and giving access to the observation cockpits. There was a runway on top of the Goliath with strong cables stretched along the side but it would be almost worth a man’s life to attempt to walk on it while the dirigible was in motion and especially if the air happened to be the least bit rough. A fine place, thought Blatz, for anyone who was inclined to be seasick.
They walked along the outer runway toward the rear of the Goliath and from this elevation Blatz had a real opportunity to realize the size of the new king of the air—the craft which Reikoff had termed an “air monster.” When they reached the after part of the dirigible with its great fin and elevators, they descended into the interior. Motor crews were busy tuning up the engines and the air was filled with the tenseness of preparation.
At dinner that night Captain Harkins announced that he had received word from the army air corps that the officers who would report on the trial flights of the Goliath would be at Bellevue before noon the next day.
“That means we’ll walk the Goliath out at one o’clock if the wind and weather are favorable.”
The words came to Blatz through a daze. He had seen Andy and Merritt Timms of the secret service conferring before dinner and from the look Timms had shot his way he knew that he had been the object of their discussion. The Goliath would be out of its hangar tomorrow. Army officers would arrive and from then on there would be little opportunity to damage the big ship. Tonight was the time! Even though Andy might be suspicious, he would hardly believe him capable of so daring an attempt on the Goliath. Blatz set his jaw firmly. It was going to be a task he did not fancy for his love for the Goliath had grown until he quailed at the thought of its destruction. But he was a Rubanian, a member of the Gerka. He could not escape from his duty.
Andy found an item of interest in the evening paper which he showed Blatz. It was another bulletin from Rubania. Revolution was threatening. Reikoff’s power was tottering.
Blatz read it eagerly. Perhaps he would not be forced to destroy the Goliath after all. If he could only wait a few more days. But the one big opportunity was at hand. Tonight was the logical one for his task.
Andy noticed the European’s hands shook as he read the item, but Blatz’s face showed no change of emotion.
“Come on, you two,” called Bert. “Let’s get over to my radio shack and we’ll see if we can pick up Harry somewhere off Long Island in his tin fish.”
It was nearly eight o’clock when they reached the radio shack just outside the main hangar and it took Bert some time to time up his apparatus. He plugged in on the main transmitter and a minute later turned around with a grin.
“Harry is burning up the air,” chuckled Bert. “I was late coming in and wants to know what I’d been doing. Accuses me of over-eating. Imagine.”
The stream of dots and dashes which had been flickering through the air ceased.
“We’re going to try the radiophone now,” explained Bert, “and we’ll be able to talk back and forth.”
When Bert completed the proper adjustments Andy almost fell out of his chair as Harry’s voice echoed in the little room.
“Hello Bert. Hello Andy,” said Harry, eight hundred miles away and under water in the radio room of the Neptune. “Tell Blatz hello, too, if he’s with you,” added Harry.
“The three of us are in the radio shack,” replied Bert, “and I resent your implication that I overate tonight. I over-talked.”
“Which is just as bad,” came back the voice over the ether waves.
Andy picked up the microphone and spoke to Harry.
“How is the trip going?” he asked, “and where are you?”
“We’re about 130 miles out of New York harbor,” replied Harry. “The sea is a little choppy but nothing to write home about. Everything is running smoothly so far and we ought to put in at Plymouth in about 12 days.”
“How’s the air in your tin fish?” Bert wanted to know.
“Fine,” replied Harry. “The main hatch has been open all of the time and I haven’t a thing to complain about. I’ll have to sign off now and send some messages for Mr. Mathews. I’ll buzz you again at eight in the morning.”
“Be sure you make it at eight o’clock our time,” warned Bert as he signed off.
Bert had some work to do on his reserve radio equipment and Andy went to his own office to look over the correspondence which had accumulated during his absence in New York.
Blatz, professing to be tired after the flight down from New York, said he would go to the hotel and retire early. Andy watched until the German civilian observer bad crossed the track and was well on his way to the hotel. He had told Timms of his experience in New York but the secret service man was still inclined not to doubt Blatz’s right to be at Bellevue. Whatever watching of the observer was done would have to be by Andy.
The assistant pilot of the Goliath was busy half an hour reading and sorting the mail. It was unusually quiet around the hangar that night so the scuffing of something against a stick caught Andy’s attention. Someone was walking cautiously toward the hangar!
Andy remained in his chair, fingering through the pile of letters before him. The guarded sound came again. At the end of a minute he turned out the light and slipped out of his office. A small door which led into the main hangar was open.
Andy returned to his office to get his flashlight. Remembering that he had left it at the hotel, he found some matches beside a half dozen red lanterns which were used to mark danger places on the field. Since the Goliath used helium there was no danger of an explosion from striking a match in the hangar or, for that matter, aboard the Goliath itself.
The assistant pilot of the dirigible stepped quickly through the door and paused to accustom his eyes to the heavy darkness of the interior. He slipped off his shoes and then moved slowly toward the lighter outline of the silvered hull of the Goliath.
Andy paused. Someone was moving slowly just ahead of him. The young airman groped his way ahead, hands outstretched. The next second he was clutching someone’s coat.
They came to grips, but only for a second. The unknown invader of the hangar slipped out of his coat and Andy heard him running out of the hangar.
Muttering to himself in disgust, Andy stooped to strike a match and look at the coat he had seized. As he struck a match, he slipped and stumbled headlong. The match dropped into a chunk of oily waste. It flared and burst into flame but Andy remained motionless on the floor, his head resting against a heavy wood block it had struck.
The fire in the waste glowed brightly and leaped higher as it fed on the oil which saturated the waste. Unless help reached Andy soon the fire would spread to other parts of the hangar and the Goliath itself would be in danger of destruction!
While Andy lay senseless on the floor of the hangar with the flames from the oil-soaked waste mounting higher, a shadow appeared in the doorway. It was Blatz, whom Andy had surprised in the hangar as he was about to attempt the destruction of the Goliath.
The German observer crept closer to the flames and it was not until he was almost at the blaze that he discerned the inert form of the assistant pilot.
“Andy,” he cried, “Andy!”
There was no answer and Blatz acted with sudden determination. He picked up the coat which Andy still clutched and used the garment to beat out the flames. That task accomplished he turned on his flashlight and bent down to examine the lump on Andy’s forehead. The young airman groaned and Blatz chuckled grimly. The game was nearly over. He was glad.
He managed to pick Andy up and carried the now half-conscious American out of the hangar and into his office, where he turned on the light.
Andy came to several minutes later and finally focused his eyes long enough on one spot to see Blatz standing in front of him.
“I’m on to you,” cried Andy, struggling to get out of his chair. “You’re trying to destroy the Goliath.”
“Easy, Andy, easy,” urged Blatz. “You’ve had another nasty bump on your head. The Goliath is all right.”
“The last I remember is falling,” said Andy. “How did I get in here and what are you doing around the hangar at this time of night?”
“You took a tumble, all right,” agreed Blatz, “and the match you had in your hand fell into a handful of greasy waste. You’d chased me out of the hangar but if I hadn’t been curious when you failed to follow, the whole thing might have burned up. As it was, I got back in time to put out the fire before it got to you or the Goliath.”
Andy looked at the speaker with incredulous eyes.
“If that’s true,” he said, “I have done you a great wrong.”
Before the observer could reply, Bert burst through the door.
“Big news,” he said. “The Rubanian air force rebelled this afternoon and forced Dictator Reikoff clear out of the country. I just got that bulletin over in the radio shack.”
“You’re sure there’s no mistake?” asked Blatz.
“Positive,” replied Bert. “It was an Associated Press dispatch broadcast through the courtesy of one of the Louisville papers.”
Blatz looked at Andy and they smiled understanding.
“What’s the joke,” demanded Bert.
“There isn’t any joke,” replied Blatz gravely, “and I can now tell you the truth. I am Lieut. Serge Larko of the Rubanian air force. I was assigned to special duty as an agent of the Gerka, our secret police, and my mission was to make a non-stop flight to the United States, make my way to Bellevue and bring about the destruction of the Goliath.”
Bert stared at him in speechless wonder but Andy nodded and said.
“Then you were piloting the gray monoplane we chased that afternoon?”
“Right,” said Serge. “You gave me a real scare.”
“And you went into that warehouse on the east side while we were in New York?” continued Andy.
“Right again.”
“And tonight you went into the hangar for the purpose of destroying the Goliath?”
“I started in with that purpose,” admitted Serge, “but I’m too much of an airman. After I got inside I couldn’t bring myself to damage that beautiful craft. I was about to leave when you entered and we met in the dark. You know the rest of the story.”
“I know that it was mighty fortunate for me that you came back,” replied Andy and be grasped Serge warmly by the hand. “Now that the menace of Reikoff has been removed from your homeland, I’m sure we’ll become real friends. We’ll see Dad and Captain Harkins about having you added to the permanent staff of the National Airways.”
“I’d like that,” smiled Serge happily, “but they’ll probably order me away from Bellevue or the secret service may take a hand in my case.”
“I think Merritt Timms can be made to see things my way,” replied Andy.
“When did you first suspect me?” asked Serge. “Almost as soon as you arrived,” admitted Andy. “If you remember I questioned you about Friedrichshafen and suggested that you might know Karl Staab? When you admitted that you knew Staab I decided something was wrong for as far as I know Staab never existed outside of my own mind.”
“But I really have been at Friedrichshafen,” replied Serge.
“I believed that,” said Andy, “for your technical knowledge showed you had been trained with the Germans. Now let’s go over to the hotel and see Dad and Captain Harkins.”
The conference at the hotel was interesting and successful and before the long evening drew to a close it was agreed that Serge Larko, who had assumed his real identity, should become a permanent member of the Goliath’s crew.
Even though the next day promised to be unusually busy, it was midnight before they were in bed but they were up at the crack of dawn.
Serge was happier than he had been in months and Andy felt that a great weight had been lifted from his mind. There was no further danger to the Goliath from inside sources and they were practically ready for the test flights.
Lieut. Jim Crummit, in command of the army pursuit ships at Bellevue, stopped them as they left the hotel.
“Will you want us to stand by this afternoon in case you decide to take the Goliath aloft?” he asked Captain Harkins.
“I hardly think that will be necessary, Lieutenant!” replied the commander of the Goliath. “Any flight we might make would be confined to the limits of the field.”
“Right, sir,” said the army officer as he turned and walked toward the hangars which housed the army ships.
At eight o’clock Andy, Serge and Bert gathered in the radio shack and Bert turned his set to talk with the Neptune. There was a steady crackle of interference but Bert stepped up the power with the hope that he would get through to the Neptune.
“Looks like we’re out of luck this morning,” he finally announced, “but I’ll give it one more try.” He turned to the dial again, tuning so carefully the black disks hardly moved.
“Harry’s coming in now,” he said. “I’ll have it strong in a minute.”
Bert switched over to the radiophone loudspeaker and the boys heard Harry calling, “Hello Bellevue. Good morning.”
“Good morning yourself,” replied Bert. “Have fish for breakfast?”
“Not this morning,” replied Harry. “Besides, it’s mid-forenoon out where we are. How’s the Goliath?”
Andy picked up the microphone and told Harry briefly what had taken place the night before, adding that Serge had been added to the crew of the Goliath and would make the trip to the North pole.
“I’m glad to hear that,” replied Harry over the magic waves which bridged the hundreds of miles between them. “I’ll say hello to Serge if he’ll take the mike now.”
The young Rubanian conversed with Harry for several minutes and then the operator of the Neptune signed off.
“I’ll be back on the air tonight at eight,” he told Bert. “Be sure and let me know how the Goliath behaves on her first trip out of the hangar.”
The interior of the great hangar was alive with activity that morning. Final weight checks were being made for the war department. Specifications on the total weight were very strict and builders of dirigibles were always prone to exceed the specification limit.
Captain Harkins and Andy’s father were at first one end of the Goliath and then at the other supervising the countless last minute tasks.
A tri-motor droned over the field at 11 o’clock, circled and dropped down to waddle across the fresh green of the meadow. It stopped at one side of the Goliath’s hangar and a dozen army officers, all with the wings of the air corps on their collars, descended and walked toward the hangar.
Captain Harkins and Andy’s father hastened to make them welcome and assure them that the Goliath would be ready for a walk-out test immediately after lunch.
While the builders and chief engineers of the Goliath entertained the visiting army delegation at the hotel at noon, Andy and Serge made the final inspection of the big ship. The ground crew had been drilled in its task and the operator of the portable mooring mast to which the nose of the Goliath had been fastened had thoroughly rehearsed his part.
At one o’clock the army officers, accompanied by Captain Harkins and Charles High, returned from the hotel. For the next hour the army men went over the Goliath, inspecting every yard of fabric and testing every duralumin beam. Motors were put on test, Bert demonstrated the power of his radio equipment and even the passenger cabins came in for a rigid inspection.
At two o’clock Captain Harkins stepped into the control room at the forward end of the gondola.
“Everything ready?” he asked Andy, in whom he had placed a large share of responsibility for the successful flight.
“Everything ready, sir,” replied Andy.
Captain Harkins took over the controls. The army officers lined the windows of the control room. Andy leaned out one window on the right side and placed a whistle to his mouth. He was wearing a telephone headset while on the wall of the control room was a compact little switchboard so that he could instantly communicate with any part of the dirigible whenever Captain Harkins gave a command.
The great moment was at hand. The Goliath was ready for its first test, the walk-out from the hangar. Months of work and planning were represented in the great ship; would it live up to expectations?
Andy sounded a shrill blast on the whistle. The ground crew, which had been waiting for the signal, leaped to its stations. The operator of the portable mooring mast started the engine of the big tractor-truck which carried the mast.
The assistant pilot of the Goliath looked at Captain Harkins, who nodded quietly.
Andy sounded two long blasts on the whistle. The shackles which had held the Goliath in the hangar for so many months were loosened. The great airship quivered slightly as though eager to test its power.
The blasts of the whistle echoed through the hangar and the operator of the huge tractor ahead eased in the clutch and started forward. The Goliath lurched slightly at the tug of the mooring mast, and then slowly started ahead. The ground crew steadied the great hulk as it was eased out of the shed. There was no wind and in ten minutes the Goliath was outside the hangar in which it had been born and in which it had grown to such proportions that it was king of all the skycraft.
The Goliath moved steadily ahead until it was well away from the hangar. Captain Harkins signaled Andy and another blast of the whistle stopped the portable mooring mast.
Captain Harkins conferred with the ranking air corps officer and Andy caught a snatch of their conversation. They were going to take the Goliath up. The big ship was behaving perfectly and the army men were anxious for an air test. Captain Harkins assented and turned to Andy.
“Have the motors started at once,” he ordered.
Andy cut in a main phone connection so that he could talk to each of the 12 motor rooms at the same time.
“Start your motors,” he said, “and stand by for flight.”
Sharp, joyous answers echoed in his ears as the engineers hastened to start the engines which were capable of sending the Goliath through the air at a maximum speed of 120 miles an hour.
The rear engine crews were the first to get their motors turning over but within a minute the steady pulse of the 12 powerful engines could be heard. Engine room after engine room reported to Andy and he checked each one off as they reported ready. In three minutes he turned to Captain Harkins and said:
“The engineers are ready.”
The Goliath was ready to test its wings. For a moment it hung, poised just above the ground. Then Captain Harkins nodded again, Andy’s whistle shrilled the “lines away” call and the Goliath floated upward into the heavens. For the moment it was the world’s largest balloon, drifting upward in the warm rays of the afternoon sun, lifted higher and higher by the buoyancy of its helium gas.
Andy, Bert and Serge were grouped at one of the windows in the control cabin together. The ground simply floated away from them. There was no sense of sudden rising; no undue motion to the great craft.
Fifty, one hundred and then two hundred feet the Goliath climbed into the skies, its powerful motors purring smoothly and ready to take up their task.
Andy cut in the general connection to all of the engine rooms and warned the engineers to stand by for further orders.
When the Goliath was three hundred feet above the field, Captain Harkins turned to Andy and gave the order for slow speed ahead.
“Slow speed ahead,” Andy repeated into the transmitter.
The Goliath came to life almost instantly. The great gas bag shook itself as though getting accustomed to its new power and then moved slowly ahead, the ground beneath drifting away in a fascinating panorama.
Captain Harkins, at the controls, moved the wheel which operated the elevators at the tail of the Goliath, and the earth dropped rapidly away from them as they climbed for altitude and circled over the home field. Andy, looking down, could see the members of the ground crew, faces upturned, watching their every move.
The great moment had come and passed. The Goliath had soared aloft and even now was proving the claims of its builders. Captain Harkins ordered half speed ahead and Andy repeated the command to the engine rooms. The speed quickened as the beat of the motors increased but so carefully insulated were the engine rooms that there was no unpleasant or disturbing noise.
The air corps officers appeared elated at the ease with which the Goliath handled and they were outspoken in their praise of the engineers and staff which had constructed the new king of the skies.
For half an hour the Goliath cruised leisurely around the field, now climbing, now dipping lower at the will of the silent man at the controls.
Andy turned his telephone set over to Bert to relay Captain Harkins’ commands to the engine rooms and in company with his father, made an inspection of the whole ship.
There had been no shifting of the big gas bags and stress and strain indicators on the transverse rings of duralumin, the real backbone of the dirigible, exceeded their expectations. Engine performance was more than satisfactory and before returning to the control cabin, they mounted one of the stairways to an observation cockpit on the top of the Goliath.
Ahead and behind them stretched the smooth, silvered surface of the Goliath. Far to the east, were the haze enshrouded mountains while below them was the rich, fresh green of the countryside in spring.
Andy stood close to his father for he knew how much the successful flight of the new dirigible meant to the vice president of the National Airways. His father, with Captain Harkins, had dreamed and planned for years for the Goliath, and the culmination of their hopes meant their life careers. Andy, himself, had shouldered no small part of the burden in the studying and engineering necessary for the construction of the huge ship but he felt his own share small in comparison to the manifold burdens which his father had carried. They stood together in the observation cockpit, happy in the knowledge that the Goliath represented a great task well done.
“Son,” said Charles High, “I’m mighty proud of all that you’ve done in the building of the Goliath.”
“And I’m mighty proud of you, Dad,” said Andy, “for I have some idea of the obstacles you’ve had to face and the problems you’ve been called on to solve. The Goliath is certainly an accomplishment for which the world will pay you tribute.”
“I’m not looking for tribute or praise,” replied his father. “Satisfaction in knowing that the job is done, and done well, is all that I ask. Now I’m looking forward to the day when our plant here at Bellevue and the Goodyear-Zeppelin people at Akron will be busy all the time turning out air cruisers like the Goliath; when the country will be crossed with a network of dirigible lines carrying passengers, express and valuable freight at a high rate of speed and much more safely than airplanes.”
“The day is coming and it is not so far in the dim and distant future,” said Andy confidently.
A telephone in the observation cage buzzed and Andy answered the call. It was Bert, warning them that Captain Harkins was about to descend.
“We’d better get back to the control cabin,” said Andy’s father, and they hurried down the ladder, along the main interior runway, and into the control room where Captain Harkins was giving Bert orders to relay to the engine rooms.
With power on, the Goliath nosed down for its first landing. The ground crew was strung out along the field, ready to grasp the lines which would be dropped while the portable mooring mast had been maneuvered into position for the landing.
They were dropping rapidly but smoothly and there was only a slight feeling of downward motion. Captain Harkins checked the forward speed of the Goliath, lines were dropped, and the big ship was back to earth after a flight in which it had lived up to the fondest hopes of its designers and builders.
The nose was pushed up against the mooring mast where the automatic coupling was made and the slow entry into the berth in the hangar started with the mooring mast, on its tractor-truck, waddling along ahead and the Goliath following obediently.
In fifteen minutes the big ship was in its berth and the “orange peel” doors were rolling shut.
Before leaving the gondola, Captain Harkins and Andy’s father held a conference with the air corps officers who had made the trip with them and definite plans for the first long trial flight were made. Captain Harkins turned to Andy when the conference was over.
“See that orders are issued for the crew to be aboard ship and ready to depart at three in the morning,” he said. “We’re going to make a surprise visit to Washington if the weather reports at 2 A. M. are fair.”
Captain Harkins’ announcement that the Goliath would make its first long test flight the next morning meant hours of work ahead for Andy but the assistant pilot of the airship threw himself into the task with his usual unfailing energy. He had able assistants in Serge and Bert.
The visit to Washington was to be a complete surprise and every effort was made to keep the news from getting out from Bellevue. If all went well the first intimation the capital would have of the visit of the new sky king would be when the rising sun silvered the nose of the Goliath with its rays.
Andy received detailed reports from each of the engine rooms on the performance during the trip over the field and found them highly satisfactory. Fuel consumption had been less than he had anticipated. Supplies for the flight the next day must be ordered and placed aboard for breakfast and lunch would be served to the army officers and to the members of the crew. Serge volunteered to attend to that task while Bert kept his radio busy getting the latest weather reports. He asked the Washington bureau for a special report at two o’clock the next morning and Washington came back with:
“What’s up? Are you chaps going to make a trial flight at that hour of the night?”
Bert refused to give the curious operators at Washington any information but secured the promise that he could have a special meteorological report at the desired hour.
Preparations for the flight were completed by early evening and members of the crew were ordered to bed by nine o’clock. They would be aroused shortly after two if the weather report at that hour was favorable for their plans.
At eight that night the three young friends gathered in Bert’s radio shack to talk with Harry, now well out to sea in the Neptune. They picked up Harry’s signal on time to the minute and learned that the Neptune had been having a bad time of it.
“I’ve been sick most of the day,” said Harry miserably. “The sea got mighty choppy this morning and we’ve been tossed all over the inside of this tin fish. The air’s bad, too, and it’s been so rough we couldn’t have eaten much if we had felt like it.”
“That’s too bad,” replied Bert, “but it’s just what you get for gallivanting around the world in a cast-iron cigar.”
“When is the Goliath going to test its wings?” asked Harry.
“Can’t tell you,” replied Andy, who had picked up the microphone.
“You mean you won’t tell me,” said Harry.
“I guess that’s it,” admitted Andy, “but the first long flight is supposed to be a surprise trip and if I told you where and when we were going to take the air someone with a low wave set might pick it up and the newspapers would spread it all over their front pages.”
“I get you,” replied Harry. “When shall I come on the air again.”
Andy turned to Bert, cutting off the mike temporarily.
“We ought to be over Washington around six o’clock,” he said. “How about having Harry tune in then and we’ll talk to him while we’re circling over the capital?”
“Fine idea,” replied Bert enthusiastically. “Make it six o’clock and I’ll make a note of it now and put it on my instrument board on the Goliath. If I don’t I may get so excited I’ll forget to call Harry and he’ll be sitting around out there in the ocean wondering what has happened.”
Andy cut in the mike again.
“Turn on your juice tomorrow morning at six o’clock, eastern standard time,” he told Harry. “I’m going to sign off now. We’re rolling out early in the morning and I need a little ‘shut-eye’.”
Andy, accompanied by Bert and Serge, made a final inspection of the Goliath. Everything was in readiness for the early morning flight. They returned to their rooms at the hotel but sleep was a long time in coming for Andy. He had worked so many long months over the plans and on the actual construction of the Goliath that their realization had seemed, until now, an almost unattainable dream. But now the Goliath was ready to claim its place as the king of all the man-made crafts which cruised the heavens for only that afternoon the great dirigible had tested its wings and found them strong and reliable. On the morrow it would sail away into the eastern sky on its first long trip.
Andy finally fell asleep but in his ears was the steady beat of the Goliath’s engines, the sweetest music of all to him.
Bert had left a call at the hotel desk for 1:45 o’clock and he was at his receiving set promptly at two for the special meteorological report from Washington.
The report promised fair weather with a light west wind and an unlimited ceiling.
Bert copied the report in triplicate, placed one copy in his own files for a record and hastened back to the hotel with the other two. He awakened Andy and read the report to the assistant pilot.
“That means we sail at three,” said Andy, as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and hurriedly got into his clothes.
“I’ll go wake Dad and Captain Harkins,” he added.
“Here’s a copy of the report for them,” said Bert as he handed Andy the third tissue he had made.
Andy awakened his father and the commander of the Goliath and they agreed that weather conditions were ideal for the flight to Washington.
By two-thirty the hangar was ablaze with light as the members of the crew, their eyes still heavy with sleep, hurried to their posts. Motors were given a final going over, rigging was thoroughly checked, the water ballasts tanks and the water condenser at the top of the big bag were inspected. Finally the Goliath was pronounced ready to go.
At two forty-five the big doors at the end of the hangar started to roll back on their tracks and Andy, from his post in the control room, could hear the roar of engines as the army pilots, assigned to fly with the Goliath on any of its longer trips, warmed up their craft. Four of the army planes under the command of Lieutenant Crummit would accompany the Goliath on the trip to Washington.
The air corps board which was to pass on the performance of the dirigible climbed aboard. Captain Harkins took his place at the main control station and Andy’s whistle shrilled for the ground crew to take hold.
The whistle sounded again and the tractor-truck with the portable mooring mast lurched into motion and the Goliath moved slowly ahead. The big ship was walked out into the soft moonlight, which bathed it with its radiance.
Andy gave a general order for the 12 engine rooms to stand by. Then followed the order to start the engines and the night was broken by the subdued roar of the powerful motors.
“All lights out except the riding lights,” said Captain Harkins and Andy turned to the bank of switches to carry out the command. Only the shaded lights over the instruments in the control room and those in the engine rooms were left on.
Down the field Andy could see the sputtering stream of fire from the exhausts of the four army planes which were to escort them on the flight to Washington. They would take off as soon as the Goliath was clear of the field.
Reports checked back to Andy from the engine rooms indicated that every motor was functioning perfectly and Andy relayed the report on to Captain Harkins.
Bert, who had kept tuned in on Washington, hurried into the control room, a hastily penciled message in his hand.
Captain Harkins took the message, held it down under one of the shaded lights, and read it aloud so that everyone in the control room could hear.
“Weather from Kentucky east to Atlantic seaboard fair; light west wind; unlimited visibility.”
“The weather reports continues favorable,” said Captain Harkins. Then, turning to Andy, he said:
“Give the signal for the ground crew to let go.”
Andy stepped to the open window. In the moonlight below he could see the line of workmen stretched back into the shadows under the great hulk. His whistle shrilled the release signal. The ground crew let go their hold on the great gas bag and at the same moment the operator of the mooring mast released the automatic coupling.
There was only the slightest tremble as the Goliath started upward. The ground dropped silently away. Below Andy could see the streaks of flame from the exhausts of the fast army planes. A few lights glowed in Bellevue itself but the rest of the country seemed asleep. The Goliath rose to a level with the hills which enclosed the valley and drifted steadily upward, the beat of its engines muffled by the interior engine room as the powerful motors waited for the command to start driving the dirigible through the air.
“Tell the engine rooms to stand by,” said Captain Harkins. A moment later Andy got the command of slow speed ahead and he felt the Goliath gather itself for the trip through the night. The big ship felt steadier with the power on and he leaned from his window to listen to the steady monotone of the muffled exhausts.
Lights of the field drifted out of sight and they slipped over the hills on the start of their surprise visit to Washington. Gradually the speed was stepped up. Forty, fifty, sixty miles an hour they pushed their way through the moonlit sky, soaring through the heavens. The altimeter showed a steady climb and Captain Harkins kept the nose of the Goliath up until they had reached the ten thousand foot level. At that height the muffled sound of the airship’s engines could not be heard on the ground and it was doubtful if anyone would see the great silver craft slipping through the sky.
The army planes caught up with them, circled around once or twice, and then climbed five thousand feet above the Goliath, riding the high heavens in unceasing vigilance.
Bert came into the control room again and spoke to Captain Harkins.
“Washington wants to know what’s up,” said Bert. “What shall I tell them?”
Captain Harkins looked at his watch. It was three-thirty.
“Tell them they’ll have a surprise for breakfast,” he said, and Bert returned to his radio cubicle to dispatch the message.
The army inspectors were busy going over the Goliath, checking every detail of the airship’s operation, rate of climb, maneuverability, speed, engine performance, fuel consumption and the hundred and one specifications which Uncle Sam had decided must be met by the Goliath before it would be acceptable and the remainder of the federal appropriation paid to the National Airways.
With the engines thoroughly warmed to their task. Captain Harkins increased the speed until the Goliath was racing along at an even 100 miles an hour. There was no sense of motion or undue speed; only the ground slipping away beneath in an ever-changing pattern of lights and shadows. Occasionally the streaking lights of a train would be visible or a larger town could cast its reflection upward, but Captain Harkins shifted his course to avoid the larger cities. Some enterprising newspaperman might catch the muffled beat of the engines and take the surprise element out of their visit to the capital.