On leaving the hospital after questioning the agent of the Gerka, Andy, Bert and the secret service chief walked over to Andy’s office. There they discussed plans for additional precautions in the guarding of the Goliath.
“I’m convinced now,” said Andy, “that the plane we sighted this afternoon was a Rubanian ship. Either the pilot had made a non-stop flight across the Atlantic or he stopped at some remote place where there was little chance that news of his landing would spread, took on additional fuel, and continued here.”
“The fact that we were up sky-larking may have prevented a bomb attack on the Goliath,” said Bert.
“That’s possible,” conceded Timms, “but I doubt that Rubania would dare to use such an open and violent method. An air attack would mean war with popular sentiment of the world with the United States.”
“A more likely explanation,” said Andy, “is that the agent who is to carry on the actual campaign of destruction against the Goliath arrived in the plane we sighted.”
“I’m inclined to believe as you do,” Timms told Andy. “Our first step, after doubling the guards around Bellevue, will be to trace this strange craft. I’m hopeful that the radio appeal will bring results.”
“I know it will,” said Bert confidently.
“Dad will be back within a day or two,” said Andy, “and I’ll be mighty glad to turn the responsibility of this whole affair over to him. When he’s back on the job, we’ll take a whirl at finding this unknown agent of the Rubanian Gerka who is to destroy the Goliath,” he told Bert.
Timms was busy with a long-distance call to the department of justice in Washington, informing his chief there of the latest development at Bellevue. When he finished, he turned to talk with Andy and Bert.
“Half a dozen army pursuit planes, fully equipped for combat, will drop down here tomorrow morning,” he said. “They’ll remain until the Goliath is ready to take the air and after that at least two of them will accompany the big ship on all of its trial flights. In addition, an anti-aircraft battery with complete night lighting equipment will arrive before sundown tomorrow.”
“That ought to insure us against the success of any attack from the air,” said Andy.
“From the air, yes,” conceded Timms, “but our danger will lie from an attack within. Everyone who comes on the reservation from now on will be doubly checked.”
By ten o’clock that night every possible precaution to safeguard the Goliath had been taken. The military guard around the grounds of the National Airways reservation had been doubled, and extra watchmen had been placed at the hangar. It didn’t seem humanly possible for anyone to get within the lines without discovery.
Descriptions of the mysterious plane had been broadcast hourly from the principal radio stations and a mass of information had been received, telegrams having been relayed from the radio stations to which they had been sent.
These messages were checked, one by one, against the large map which had been hung on one wall of Andy’s office. On this map had been worked out the probable course of the strange plane. It had come out of the northeast, swung over the home of the Goliath, and then darted away in a southeasterly direction, heading toward the mountains.
Telegrams which failed to indicate a plane in this general line of flight were consigned to the wastebasket. The few that might furnish information were studied carefully but in a majority of cases the description of the plane which the sender of the message had seen failed to come close to that of the machine they sought.
Timms found several messages which appeared worth telephone calls to the senders but on each occasion he was doomed to disappointment.
“I thought you said we’d have some definite news before midnight,” he told Bert.
“There’s nearly two more hours,” replied the radio operator hopefully. “I won’t concede defeat until the last minute.”
Timms snorted and turned to another handful of telegrams that had just been forwarded. He was half-way through the pile when an exclamation brought Andy and Bert to his side.
“Read that,” said the secret service agent, tossing a yellow sheet to them.
The message had been sent from Alden, a small town in the mountains of southeast Kentucky.
“Plane crashed near here early tonight. Description appears to tally with that broadcast. From wreckage it must have been a low-winged monoplane, painted gray. No trace found of pilot.” The message was signed by Frank Hacke, editor, the Alden Advocate.
“Who said the radio wouldn’t bring results?” demanded Bert. “This message looks like a real tip.”
“It does,” agreed Timms, reaching for the phone and placing a long distance call for the editor of the Alden paper.
Half an hour elapsed before the operator was able to get the call through and Timms fumed with impatience. When the wire was finally cleared for his conversation, he fairly leaped at the telephone. Question after question was fired over the wire and Andy and Bert, from the very tenseness of Timms’ attitude, knew that the secret service man was getting valuable information. His final words were highly significant.
“I’ll be there as soon as possible. If I can fly in, have auto lights turned on to mark the boundaries of a field that is safe for a landing.”
Timms banged the receiver on the hook and turned to Andy and Bert.
“We’ve found the wreckage of the gray plane,” he said. “It smacked into the side of a mountain about three miles from Alden. The editor of the paper was one of the first ones to reach the scene but they were unable to find any trace of the pilot. We’ve got to get to Alden at once for we mustn’t let that flyer get away. He’s the man who is slated to bring about the actual destruction of the Goliath.”
The words rang through Andy’s head. The pilot had somehow escaped in the crash. It was possible to crack up a ship without injury but it was more likely that the man they sought had jumped while the plane was in flight, drifting down in his chute and leaving the plane to crash to its own destruction.
Andy heard Timms asking if he could fly him to Alden that night. He replied almost mechanically and then hastened out of the office and down the field to rout out several mechanics, who rolled his red sportster out on the concrete apron and checked it thoroughly. The motor sent echoes blasting through the stillness of the night as Andy himself tested it.
He was joined several minutes later by Bert and the secret service agent.
Timms climbed into the forward cockpit and Bert started to crowd in with him.
“Sorry, Bert,” called Andy. “You’ll have to stay on the ground this trip. The Ace is only a two-place job and I can’t afford to overtax its capacity tonight. I’ll need all my speed and climbing ability in dodging over the mountains.”
Bert was keenly disappointed but he knew the truth of Andy’s words and he dropped back to the ground.
“I’ll warn Alden that you’re coming by air,” he said, “and they’ll be sure to have a field marked in some way.”
“Fine,” yelled Andy. “See you tomorrow.”
Flame licked around the exhaust vent of the motor as Andy opened the throttle. The Ace came to life with a quick flirt of its tail. The riding lights gleamed sharply in the night; then were swallowed in the haze of dirt swept up from the field by the wash of the propeller.
Alden was just a little under an hour of fast flying from Bellevue and Andy opened the Ace up until they were skimming through the half clear night at a hundred and twenty miles an hour. The lights of Bellevue disappeared as if blotted out by the hand of an unseen giant and they were alone in the sky.
Andy had plotted a compass course and he followed it closely for Alden was tucked away in the mountains and he could easily miss the village if slightly off course.
By the end of the first half hour the clouds had cleared and a thin moon tried vainly to dissipate the blackness of the night. Lights on the ground were few and far between with midnight almost at hand. The air was raw and Andy snuggled deeper into the sheepskin he had donned for the trip. He checked the time and compass again. Alden should show on the horizon any moment if his calculations were correct. Another two minutes passed and he sighted a glow of light to the left. He nosed the Ace over and dropped lower.
Lights below flashed on and off. He blinked his riding lights and those on the ground answered. There was no way of detecting the direction of the light wind and Andy had to take a chance that there were no bad ground currents. He skimmed over the field to determine its length. It appeared to be on a side-hill for level stretches of land were few and far between in that section of the state. The field was long enough for an easy landing and he cut the motor and slid down the invisible trail.
He was going in too fast and he opened the throttle and zoomed into the sky for another try. The second time he stalled all the way down, drifted over the top of the car whose lights marked the near end of the field, and dropped to an easy landing. He swung the Ace around and taxied back over the uneven field. A group was waiting when they climbed down from the cockpits.
Fred Hacke, the editor, stepped up and introduced himself. With him was Sheriff Jud Barnes, a six foot two man of the mountains who was proud of his great, booming voice.
“Get in my car,” said the sheriff, “and I’ll run you over to the hill where that airplane busted.”
For half an hour they bounced over a rough mountain road and were glad enough when the sheriff stopped the car and led the way through a patch of timber. The grade was steep and they were compelled to rest several times. Finally they came to a small clearing, crossed this and just beyond saw a darker mass against the trees. The sheriff turned his flashlight on a tangled pile of cloth and metal, the broken remnants of the machine Andy had chased only a few hours before.
The editor and his party came up and they made a thorough inspection of the wreckage. Motor numbers and the name of the maker had been filed away, the plates on the fuselage had been removed and every means of absolute identification taken off. In spite of this Andy and the secret service agent were positive that the plane was of Rubanian make and that an agent of the Gerka had been at the controls when it had been sighted at Bellevue.
“We haven’t found the flyer yet,” said the sheriff. “Maybe he spilled out somewhere before the wreck. We’ll search the hills in the morning.”
“I don’t think it will do any good,” replied Andy. “The chap that was flying this machine undoubtedly took to his parachute. He may have landed some miles away. If the controls were locked before he jumped, the ship could have cruised alone for three or four minutes on a quiet night like this.”
“We’ll have a look anyway,” said the sheriff, and Andy and Timms decided to remain at least until noon to see if the searching parties discovered anything of importance.
They returned to Alden, took a room at the hotel, and slept until dawn. Andy went out to the field where they had landed and went over the Ace carefully while Timms accompanied the sheriff into the hills.
The secret service agent returned at noon and announced that the search had proved fruitless. There were no more clues, either at the scene of the wreck or in the nearby hills, and they decided to return to Bellevue at once.
Andy got the Ace off the improvised airport without trouble and they headed for home through the bright rays of the spring sun. As they sped over the tree-covered hills, Andy flew mechanically, his mind busy on the new problem which confronted them. There was no question now. The Goliath was in serious danger and every means at their command must be used to protect the great airship, destruction of which would mean the ruin of the National Airways, which had invested millions in its construction. But more than the mere financial loss which it would mean was the month of labor by the loyal crew, the years of planning on the part of his father and Captain Harkins, and his own love for the great craft.
An attack from the air was improbable for the Rubanian agent had wrecked his own plane deliberately. Whatever happened would be caused by someone who had easy access to the hangar and Andy resolved that he would be doubly vigilant in the days to come.
When Andy taxied the Ace across the field at Bellevue and up to the concrete apron, he found Bert waiting for him. The radio operator was nearly bursting with curiosity to learn what Andy and the secret service chief had found at Alden.
“Control yourself, Bert, control yourself,” grinned Andy as he hoisted himself out of the cockpit and slid to the ground.
“You can’t blame me for being curious,” replied Bert, “when I’ve been marooned here for the last twelve hours while you’ve been chasing excitement all over southeastern Kentucky.”
“That’s just it,” said Andy. “We were only chasing. We didn’t find a thing to give us thrill.”
“No trace of the mysterious flyer?” asked Bert.
“Nary a sign,” replied Andy. “We found where his plane had attempted to bore its way through the side of a hill but he had evidently dropped out some time before in his chute. He’s probably securely hidden waiting for a chance to bring about the destruction of the Goliath.”
“That won’t be an easy thing to accomplish,” said Bert. “The guard lines have been tightened so a bird can hardly fly over them without being stopped. The army planes came in before noon and any flyer who violates the department of commerce regulations by flying over this air reservation will find a handful of slugs singing through his wings.”
Andy nodded grimly as he looked at the group of army machines in front of a hangar further down the field.
“We’re ready for business now,” he said. “I’d like to meet the officer in command.”
“He’s a fine fellow,” enthused Bert. “Not much older than we are. His name is Lieutenant Jim Crummit of Selfridge Field, Mich. He’s one of the ace pursuit flyers of the air force and the rest of the fellows with him are not far behind when it comes to handling a plane with a machine gun on the business end of it. They’re just itching for something to happen.”
“I’m afraid they’ll be disappointed,” said Merritt Timms, who had just emerged from the cockpit, having experienced some trouble in unfastening his safety belt. “They would have had plenty of fun if they had been here yesterday but from now on the game will be played on the ground or aboard the Goliath when it goes on its trial flights.”
“Here comes Lieutenant Crummit now,” said Bert, stepping forward to greet the tall young officer in command of the detachment from Selfridge Field.
Bert introduced the lieutenant to Andy and the secret service agent, who cordially welcomed the army man to Bellevue.
“Our field is a little bumpy but we’ll try and make up in hospitality what we lack in air accommodations,” said Andy.
“The field is O.K.,” smiled Lieutenant Crummit. “A couple of the boys came in too fast and bounced a little high but they’ll soon get over that. We’re all glad to be here where we can watch the completion of the Goliath.”
“I understand several ships will be detailed to accompany us on all trial flights,” said Andy.
“Those are the orders direct from Washington,” said the lieutenant. “Now, somebody tell me what all the fuss is about?”
They walked over to the office where Andy and the secret service chief explained in detail every event of the preceding twenty-four hours.
“That does look serious,” said Lieutenant Crummit, “especially since you have an admission from the agent of the Gerka you caught here that an attempt was to be made to destroy the Goliath. At least you can feel reasonably safe from an air attack. Anti-aircraft equipment with night lights will be in tonight and the unit also carries special microphones for the detection of planes in flight. Any craft approaching here will be known while it is miles away and we can give it a warm reception.”
Assignment of the army flyers to quarters had been held up pending Andy’s return and he arranged for them to have accommodations at the hotel, six of the construction foremen agreeing to give up their double rooms and move over to the company houses on the reservation proper.
It was late afternoon before Andy was alone in his office with an opportunity to go over the day’s mail There were several important looking letters on top but he shuffled through the stack until he came to one in his father’s familiar writing. He slit it open and read it eagerly. It was with a real feeling of relief that he learned his father and Captain Harkins would return late the next day, coming in on a special National Airways plane. His father wrote that final arrangements had been finished for all of the delicate apparatus which was to go into the control room of the Goliath and that, unless there were unforeseen developments, everything was now lined up so that construction would be completed ahead of schedule.
The afternoon freight train brought the anti-aircraft unit, with its searchlights, field pieces and other equipment. The twenty-five men of this company were housed in company quarters, which had been vacated only the week before by a crew which had finished its work.
Before nightfall Bellevue had been turned into a truly military camp with its strict guard around the grounds of the National Airways plant, the army planes ready to take the air at any time of day or night, and the great searchlights, crouching under their shrouds of canvas, eager to send their searing blue-white beams tracing through the night sky.
“When a fellow looks over the field now,” said Bert as they walked to the hotel for supper, “he realizes just how valuable the Goliath is to Uncle Sam.”
“We’ve got the jump on them now,” said Andy. “Dubra failed in his attempt to damage the hangar and is now in our hands. That means the ‘inside man’ on whom Reikoff had counted for cooperation with this newcomer from Rubania is out of the picture and our guard lines have been tightened until it is almost physically impossible for anyone to get through. But even with all those precautions, we’ll continue to keep our eyes and ears open.”
Supper that night was a jolly affair, with introductions of Lieutenant Crummit and his companions to the engineers and foremen in charge of the building of the Goliath. The army flyers were keenly interested in the construction of the great dirigible and Andy enjoyed Lieutenant Crummit’s practical inquiries on the stability of the big gas bag, what it was expected to do when in the air and its availability for war-time use.
“We know in a general way,” he said, “but nothing very definite has appeared on the actual capability of the craft.”
Andy had an enthusiastic second in Bert and they went over a complete outline of the Goliath and its range, both in peace and war times, for the army men. By the time they were through, supper was over and the group broke up in twos and threes and straggled into the lobby of the old-fashioned hotel. The air was chilly and a great fire had been built in the fireplace. Lights were low and there was a general spirit of comradeship in the room. The radio had ceased its accustomed blare and a really excellent orchestra, devoid of the usual advertising propaganda, was playing familiar airs.
Someone started humming and in another minute the room was filled with lusty voices that took up the refrain. For half an hour they enjoyed the impromptu concert until a messenger boy came in with a telegram for Bert.
The young radio operator looked surprised as he fingered the yellow envelope, turning it over as though half expecting to find the address of the sender on the back.
“Now who under the sun could be telegraphing me?” he asked.
“Better open it and find out,” suggested Andy.
“A most original proposal,” replied Bert tartly. “It’s from Harry Curtis,” he cried as he read the message. “He’s going to the North pole as radio operator for Gilbert Mathews on the submarine Neptune.”
“My gosh,” Bert continued in the same breath. “That means we’ll meet Harry at the North pole sometime this summer.”
“Well, that is a coincidence,” said Andy, who had met Harry Curtis the year before. Bert and Harry had served the department of commerce together and were close friends, a friendship which had not dimmed by their separation. Andy had taken a liking to Harry on their first meeting. Harry had visited at Bellevue during the preceding summer and their friendship had developed rapidly.
“What a thrill we’ll have saying ‘hello’ to each other in the Arctic,” he said.
“But that isn’t all,” added Bert. “It seems that your father and Mathews have agreed to keep in touch with each other by radio so Harry has been ordered here to check up on our radio equipment with me. We’ll arrange for complete synchronization of the sets so that we’ll be able to get through to each other at any time.”
“That sounds like Dad,” said Andy. “He’s always looking ahead and planning for any emergency. It will take careful timing to bring both the Neptune and the Goliath to the pole at the same time. Believe me, Bert, you’re going to have an important job when the Goliath finally sticks her nose into the air and heads north.”
“I’m commencing to realize how really important it is,” said Bert soberly.
“Hey, wait a minute,” he added. “I almost forgot one of the most important parts of this telegram. Harry said he was starting at once for Bellevue.”
“Good,” said Andy. “Where was the message sent from?”
“New York,” replied Bert.
“That means it will be tomorrow afternoon before he arrives,” reasoned Andy as he mentally outlined the train schedules between the metropolis and the isolated Kentucky valley.
The group in the hotel lobby broke up, most of the men going to their rooms to write letters or read while a few gathered around a chess board. Andy had some correspondence to finish and he walked down to his office. Reports for the day showed better than average progress had been made on the Goliath and he wrote these into the permanent record of the construction of the mammoth craft.
For an hour he worked at his desk, catching up on the mail which had come in that morning. All of it was routine with the exception of another short notice from the war department that Herman Blatz, the civilian observer from Friedrichshafen, would arrive at Bellevue the next day. It added that every courtesy of the National Airways plant should be made available to the newcomer.
The note irritated Andy. He was inclined to be suspicious of any newcomer now but he realized that he would have to master that feeling for they were deeply indebted to Doctor Eckener for his many contributions to the advancement of dirigibles. Andy filed the letter from the war department and was about to leave his office and return to the hotel when the blast of a siren cracked the night wide open. It was shrill, penetrating, alarming—the kind of noise that creeps up and down the spine and makes the short hair at the back of the neck stand straight up.
Lights flashed on in the anti-aircraft battery down the field. Hangar doors swung open. Mechanics popped out of beds and into their clothes. Canvas hoods were ripped off the searchlights and the dynamos hummed with energy.
The microphones had picked up the sound of an approaching airplane. Propellers of the army planes spun. Flame whimpered around the exhaust stacks. Ammunition belts were fed into the black, deadly little guns.
Andy ran along the line of fighting planes. They were poised; eager for the word to go. Every other light in Bellevue had been put out. There was only the occasional flicker of the exhaust of one of the waiting planes. He felt out of the picture; the army was in command. He stopped beside Lieutenant Crummit’s plane and the army officer leaned down.
“Room enough in here if you want to pile in and see this shindig,” he shouted.
The invitation was followed by the acceptance in action and Andy vaulted into the cockpit of the speedy fighter. It was lucky they were both slender but even then it was a tight squeeze.
“How do you know when to go?” asked Andy.
“The plane was ten miles away and heading this way when the ‘mike’ picked it up,” replied Lieut. Crummit. He glanced at his wrist watch.
“The searchlights will go on in ten more seconds. We’ll start up the minute they fasten on anything.”
The words were hardly out of his mouth when the night awoke to a blue-white brilliance as the searchlights sent their beams soaring into the sky. Back and forth moved the giant fingers of light, each one covering a certain area. Any plane near the reservation was certain of detection.
There was a cry from Lieutenant Crummit.
“There it is,” he shouted as he gunned the pursuit ship. It seemed to Andy that they jumped straight into the air, so fast was the rise of their craft. Up and up they went, the brilliant light from below pointing an unerring path toward the plane they sought. It was a black biplane, fast and streamlined.
The pilot was twisting and turning to get away from the pursuing beams of light but his task was useless with the army pursuit ships rising from below in an angry swarm.
They were at two thousand feet in no time and level with the craft they sought. Lieutenant Crummit pressed the trigger of his machine gun and a stream of tracer bullets coursed through the night, singing past the machine ahead.
Andy saw the pilot turn a desperate, terror-stricken face in their direction. Someone in the forward cockpit was waving. They drew closer. The plane was giving up. A white handkerchief was being waved by the passenger.
Lieutenant Crummit drew closer and signaled for the black biplane to follow him down. The pilot waggled his wings to indicate that he understood the order and they began the strange descent, Lieutenant Crummit and Andy in the leading plane, then the strange biplane followed by the five other army ships.
The operators of the searchlights changed the direction of their beams, turning them on the field to make it easy for the night landing.
As soon as their own plane had stopped rolling, Andy leaped out and ran toward the black biplane. Lieutenant Crummit was only one stride behind and in his right hand he carried a service automatic.
Andy was astounded to hear a familiar voice from the black plane.
“What kind of a reception is this?” was the demand and he looked up into the face of Harry Curtis, radio operator of the Neptune, whom they had not expected until the following day at the earliest.
“Who is this fellow?” Lieutenant Crummit wanted to know.
Andy explained that Harry had been ordered to Bellevue to plan for the radio communication between the Goliath and Neptune during their Arctic trips and Lieutenant Crummit broke into a broad smile.
“At least we gave you a real army welcome,” he chuckled. “It’s lucky one of the other boys didn’t reach you first, though. This is restricted flying territory and he might not have sent his first burst of tracers alongside just as a warning.”
“I was scared to death,” confessed Harry, who had climbed down from the plane just in time to receive a hearty greeting from Bert. “Believe me I sure scrambled around trying to get a handkerchief out of my pants pocket.”
The civilian pilot of Harry’s plane came in for a severe reprimand from Lieutenant Crummit, who warned him not to repeat the offense again.
Dynamos for the searchlights were turned off, planes wheeled back into the hangars and Bellevue turned on its lights once more. They had had their first night alarm and the army men on the job had proved their ability to handle the emergency.
Andy, Bert and Harry talked until far into the night, discussing the proposed meeting of the Goliath and the submarine Neptune at the North Pole.
“There’s no doubt in my mind,” said Andy, “that the Goliath will be able to make the trip on schedule. What I’m wondering about is the tin fish.”
“You can cease worrying right now,” replied Harry. “The Neptune isn’t a cast-off navy submarine refitted for a polar cruise. It’s a long-distance underwater cruiser of the latest type and only a multi-millionaire explorer like Gilbert Mathews could afford to operate such a craft. Believe me, it’s some boat.”
“And believe me,” added Bert, “the Goliath is some airship. Wait until you see it in the daylight. Its size will fairly take your breath away.”
“I can believe you easily enough,” replied Harry, “for the eastern newspapers have been carrying a great many feature stories about the Goliath. Only the National Airways haven’t been giving out a lot of actual facts and with reporters barred from the plant here, they’ve had to guess at part of the stories they’ve been printing. Everyone is anxious for an actual view of the big ship.”
“You’ll be in on all of the previews,” Andy promised, “and if you stay with us long enough I can promise you several trial flights.”
“Bert and I will probably be through in a month,” said Harry. “Then I’ll have to hop down to Brooklyn and make the final adjustments on the set aboard the Neptune. After that’s done I may be able to get back here for a few days. I’d certainly like to go along on the trial runs.”
There were no more alarms that night and finally the three young enthusiasts ceased talking and dropped into deep slumber.
The next day was clear with a warm sun and a definite note of spring was in the air. Birds, on their northward flight, wheeled over the hangar and the grass was a fresher, brighter green.
Andy made the rounds at the hangar with Harry, an eager observer, at his side. Assembly of the main gondola was starting, a task which Andy was to personally supervise. In this large car would be located the control room and the passengers quarters with their individual staterooms, dining salons and lounging quarters. Quarters for the crew were built inside the hull and in the middle of the ship between the banks of gas cells.
Harry was properly impressed with the size of the Goliath and exclaimed at the engineering progress which had been made in its construction.
Andy explained how the double-strength duralumin had increased the strength of the frame to such a point that a disaster such as had befallen the Shenandoah could not strike the Goliath.
“How many passengers will you be able to carry when the ship goes into transcontinental service?” Harry asked.
“We’ll have sleeping accommodations for 200,” replied Andy, “and during daytime runs between large cities will be able to carry an extra 100.”
“Will the fares be pretty stiff?” asked Harry. “Not as much as you would expect. They will average railroad plus Pullman.”
“In that case,” said Harry, “you can be sure of capacity business for a good many years.”
“We’ll have to if National Airways is to break even on the operation of the Goliath,” said Andy.
Bert, who had remained in the office to check over blueprints on an especially complicated piece of radio equipment for the Goliath, hurried up.
“Andy,” he said. “Herman Blatz is here.”
“Who?” asked Andy.
“Blatz,” repeated Bert, “Herman Blatz. He’s the civilian observer from Friedrichshafen.”
“Of course,” grinned Andy. “I’d forgotten the name for a moment. What does he look like?”
“Fine looking sort of a fellow,” replied Bert. “He’s just about our own age; not quite as tall as you are and dark; brown eyes and hair that is almost coal black.”
“If you don’t mind running back to the office,” said Andy, “tell him that I’ll be along presently. I want to make sure that the assembly of the gondola starts smoothly.”
Andy became engrossed in the direction of the subforemen and their crews and he even forgot Harry, much less the newcomer who was waiting for him in the office.
An hour later Bert returned.
“What’s the idea?” he demanded. “I thought you said you’d be along right away. Blatz has been cooling his heels for more than an hour.”
“Sorry,” grinned Andy, who had been helping with the assembly. “I was so interested I forgot all about him. I’ll come along with you.”
The young engineer crawled out from beneath the duralumin frame on which he had been working, wiped his hands on a piece of waste, brushed off his dungarees, the universal uniform of engineers, foremen and mechanics at the Bellevue plant.
Andy stepped into his office, blinked his eyes to accustom them to the dark interior, and looked into the face of Lieut. Serge Larko, secret agent of Alexis Reikoff’s Grega, who had been assigned the task of bringing about the destruction of the Goliath. But Andy was to know the visitor as Herman Blatz, civilian observer from Friedrichshafen, and he stepped forward with a cordial greeting.
“We shall be delighted to have you with us,” said Andy, “and I must apologize for my tardiness in greeting you. We have just started the assembly of the main gondola and I have been giving it my personal supervision.”
“The Goliath is that near completion?” asked Lieutenant Larko, who from here on we shall speak of in his new role as Herman Blatz.
“We’ll be making trial flights in less than two months,” replied Andy enthusiastically.
“It was well that I arrived at this time,” said Blatz, “for I will be able to remain long enough for the trial flights.”
“The war department communications indicated that you would probably accompany us on the test trips,” said Andy.
“Yes,” replied Blatz. “Europe is greatly interested in the Goliath and I feel it a rare privilege that I have been assigned here.”
The young German’s pronunciation of English was clear and precise, his words close-clipped in the Teuton manner.
“I understand that you have been at Friedrichshafen some time,” said Andy.
“Yes,” replied Blatz, who dreaded questions about the Germany airship base. He wondered how much this young American might really know about him; how much he might suspect for he had sensed instantly that Andy was suspicious of every newcomer.
“I spent a year at Friedrichshafen,” said Andy. “It is possible that we know a number of the same men there. Do you recall Bauer and Schillig, who were the aces of the navigation class in 1929?”
“The names are familiar,” replied Blatz, “but I went through navigation the preceding year.” Harry and Bert came into the office and Andy introduced the German expert and the radio operator of the Neptune.
“You are going to carry a submarine radio operator on an airship?” asked Blatz.
“Oh, no,” replied Bert quickly. He was about to explain that the Goliath and the Neptune were to meet at the North pole that summer but a warning glance from Andy silenced him, and he added, rather lamely.
“Harry and I were department of commerce operators and he’s down here helping me with the final assembly of the set for the Goliath.”
“Very fortunate. I’m sure,” said Blatz.
“You understand,” said Andy, “that there are certain construction secrets which I can not divulge?”
“Of course,” replied Blatz, “and I assure you that you need have no worry on that score.”
Andy suggested that they make a tour of the plant and Blatz readily assented for he was anxious to see the Goliath. He had received some idea of the size when he had flown over at sunset two days before and glimpsed the hangar. As they walked toward the huge structure, he wondered who had chased him in the red plane. He had been tired after the long flight across the Atlantic and had lost his way after striking the Atlantic coast. He had not intended coming as close to Bellevue but when he finally got his bearings he was less than a hundred miles away and he could not resist the temptation. But it had been a foolish move for a little red plane had darted out of the shadows below and pushed him hard before he had escaped into the coming night. Another hundred miles and he had slipped out of the cockpit of the Blenkko which had served him so faithfully in the long flight from Rubania, and had dropped through the night in his chute. He had clutched a suitcase with fresh clothes and his precious identification papers as Herman Blatz in his arms.
The landing had been easy and after washing the grime of the long flight off in a nearby creek, he had changed clothes; then burned his old clothes, the parachute and the suitcase. Into the fire had gone everything which would identify him as Lieut. Serge Larko of the Rubanian air force on special duty as an agent of the Gerka. Out of the timber and onto the highway had stepped Herman Blatz, who had hitch-hiked to the nearest town where he had rested for a day, bought a fresh wardrobe, and then continued by train and auto to Bellevue.
A suppressed excitement gripped his whole being He had done the seemingly impossible, flown the Atlantic and made his way into this carefully guarded dirigible plant, thanks to the clever subterfuge Reikoff must have used in getting permission for a civilian observer to visit Bellevue. He would get in touch with Boris Dubra, the mechanic who was a member of the Gerka, at the first opportunity.
They entered the hangar and Blatz stopped involuntarily. Andy had expected that reaction and it told him that the newcomer was a true airman for the majestic bulk of the Goliath usually struck those who were viewing it for the first time speechless.
“It’s inspiring,” gasped Blatz. “I never dreamed an airship could be so large.”
“Of course it looks larger in the hangar than it really is,” said Andy, “but we’re rather proud of the Goliath.”
“Friedrichshafen has never done anything like it,” said Andy. “Or, for that matter, has anyone else in the world.”
“You’re right,” nodded Blatz. “I wonder that you ever tore yourself away from here and came out to meet me.”
“I’ve just about lived with the Goliath,” admitted Andy, “for Dad and Captain Harkins have been forced to make many trips to see about materials. They will return this afternoon to greet you.”
“I look forward to meeting two such famous men. The honor is great.”
They continued through the hangar, Andy pointing out and explaining the progress which had been made on the component parts of the great airship.
“One of the pleasantest years of my life,” said Andy, “was the one passed at Friedrichshafen. I recall the day I went up in one of the small dirigibles, the Strassburg, I believe. Karl Staab was at the controls and a wind squall hit us. It pushed us clear across Lake Constance and we were lucky to get home the same day. Karl was a great joker but a wonderful navigator despite that.”
“Yes, you’re quite right,” nodded Blatz. “He always enjoyed a good laugh.”
Andy’s eyes narrowed and he looked closely at the newcomer. He started to say something; then thought better of it and quickly switched the conversation from reminiscences of days at Friedrichshafen to the present.
Andy, Bert, Harry and Blatz lunched together at the hotel where Andy introduced the German expert to the heads of the construction staff at Bellevue. Blatz was accorded a warm welcome and after lunch resumed his tour of the plant with Andy.
In mid-afternoon a National Airways plane dropped in from the north. The army flyers, warned of its coming, did not roar into the sky in angry pursuit, but squatted beside their planes and watched the cabin monoplane skid to a stop in front of one of the smaller hangars.
Andy excused himself and ran toward the plane. The first man out of the cabin was his father, and Andy received an affectionate greeting.
“Everything going O.K. son?” asked the vice president of the National Airways.
“We’ve had a little excitement. Dad,” replied Andy, “but it didn’t affect the work on the Goliath. We’re well ahead of schedule.”
“Fine,” replied Andy’s father. “We’ll need all of the extra time for trial flights before we start our northward trip.”
“Then it’s definitely settled that we’ll meet the Neptune at the North pole?”
“Very definitely settled,” replied Charles. High. “The contracts were signed yesterday. Captain Harkins has our copies with him.”
The tall, bronzed airman who was the chief designer and captain of the Goliath stepped out of the cabin of the monoplane.
“Hello, Andy,” he said, extending his hand for a cordial greeting. “Have you started the assembly of the main gondola?”
“Work got under way on that project this morning,” replied Andy, “and the crews are making unusually good time.”
“I’ve decided on several minor changes,” said Captain Harkins, “but they need not delay the general construction work on the main car.”
As they walked toward the office buildings, Andy briefly explained what had happened during their absence, how Dubra had attempted to damage the hangar, the passage and pursuit of the foreign plane, the arrival of the army patrols and Dubra’s admission that an attempt was under way to destroy the Goliath.
“The wonder of it is,” said Andy’s father, “that some foreign power hasn’t made the attempt before. Now that we are fore-warned, there is little chance of success in damaging the big ship.”
Andy saw Herman Blatz waiting for him some distance away and he spoke to his father and Captain Harkins in low tones, explaining that Blatz had been sent to Bellevue on special orders of the war department.
“I can see no objection to that,” said Captain Harkins. “Doctor Eckener at Friedrichshafen has placed us deeply in his debt through suggestions on the improvement of our general design and one of his observers is welcome as far as I am concerned.”
“National Airways feels the same way,” added Andy’s father.
Andy took his father and Captain Harkins over to Blatz where he made the necessary introductions. They were soon engaged in a spirited discussion of the improvements in aircraft building which were represented in the Goliath and Andy left them to walk back to his own office.
The arrival of Blatz had disturbed him strangely. He had hoped that he would be able to welcome the newcomer with real cordiality but instead he found a mounting barrier of resentment rising between himself and the German.
Blatz’ story didn’t ring true. Andy had tested him that afternoon when he had recalled the incident at Friedrichshafen when he and Karl Staab had been blown across Lake Constance in the old Strassburg. Blatz had recalled knowing Staab when, in reality, there was no such navigator at Friedrichshafen. The whole story and the name had been invented by Andy to test Blatz. If, as he claimed, he had been connected with the Friedrichshafen plant for a number of years, he could not have remembered a man who did not exist. Blatz had agreed too readily. Andy’s suspicions were aroused and he promised himself an investigation.
When Herman Blatz, alias Lieut. Serge Larko of the Rubanian secret police, was alone in his room late that afternoon preparing for supper, he was torn between conflicting emotions. He had reached Bellevue safely. He was even inside the plant of the National Airways, accepted as a German civilian observer. The opportunity for him to wreck the Goliath might present itself at any moment but two mighty emotional forces were at work. One was his inherent love for anything man-made that could conquer the elements. Only that afternoon he had viewed the greatest of all airships and he quailed inwardly at the thought that his task was to destroy the mighty craft.
He heard the call for supper and descended to the dining room where he was seated at the head table with Andy, Bert, Harry, Andy’s father and Captain Harkins. There was a vacant chair at his left and he wondered who the late-comer would be.
Conversation at the table was devoted almost solely to topics centering around the Goliath and the young Rubanian airman reveled in the sheer joy it brought him. For the time he forgot his ominous mission and was light-hearted and gay.
Supper was half over when a quiet man slipped into the chair beside him. Andy turned and introduced the late arrival.
“Mr. Blatz,” he said, “I want you to know Merritt Timms, chief of the secret service agents here.”
Blatz acknowledged the introduction mechanically and Andy, watching his every move and facial expression, failed to see any note of alarm. It was well for Blatz that Andy’s eyes could not penetrate beneath the surface for Blatz’s mind was working rapidly.
The chief of the secret service agents at Bellevue seated beside him! Had he aroused suspicion already? Had there been a slip somewhere along the line; could these alert Americans know his identity and be playing with him, waiting for him to make a slip so they could send him to some military prison?
He knew the careful workings of the Gerka and he doubted that a slip had been made. That thought gave him some reassurance and his gay attitude returned.
They finished the meal and chairs were pushed back.
“I’m going over to the hospital,” said Timms to Andy. “Want to go along and hear what Dubra has to say?”
Andy darted a glance at Blatz. He saw the civilian observer start ever so slightly. It was hardly more than a tremor but it helped to verify Andy’s suspicions.
“I’ll go,” he replied. “Perhaps Blatz here would like to come with us?”
“Yes, of course,” replied the other. “Some mechanic hurt?”
“A little,” replied Timms. “A couple of bullets hurt him. He was an agent of the Gerka, Rubanian secret police organization, planted here to damage the hangar. He failed and the guards didn’t miss when he tried to escape.”
“I’m surprised to hear that,” said Blatz. “I didn’t suppose anyone would direct any destructive efforts toward the Goliath.”
“We’ll be surprised if anyone else does,” said Timms, “for we know that Alex Reikoff, dictator of Rubania, would like nothing better than to hear about the destruction of the Goliath. As a result, we’ve taken every precaution that is humanly possible.”
“That is wise,” said Blatz, “for in Europe we have come to fear Reikoff as a menace to the peace of the world.”
They were in the doorway of the hospital now and Blatz saw Andy’s keen blue eyes boring into him, probing as though questioning the truth of his words. He felt that his answers, especially the reference to Reikoff as a menace, had been well put.
A slight infection had set in on Dubra’s right leg and the Rubanian was restless with pain.
“Hello, Dubra,” said the secret service chief. “Just dropped in to see how you are getting along.”
“They’re killing me,” cried the man on the bed. “My leg hurts so.”
“They’re doing no such thing,” replied Timms. “The doctor here is making every effort to save your worthless life. Have you got anything else to add to what you said the other night?”
Dubra’s eyes were bright with fever but his mind was clear and he shook his head.
Blatz kept well in the background. He had lost the ally Reikoff had told him he would have. Dubra, over-anxious to cause harm, had been caught and wounded. His usefulness as an agent of destruction was at an end and Blatz would have to go on alone. Perhaps it would be easier that way.
There was no more information to be had from the wounded Rubanian and they left the hospital. When they returned to the hotel, Blatz excused himself and went to his room. Timms signified his intention to do likewise but changed his mind when Andy insisted that they take a walk together.
“What’s the idea?” the secret service chief asked when they were well away from the hotel and walking in the open.
“It’s Blatz,” said Andy. “There’s something about him that doesn’t ring true.”
The assistant pilot of the Goliath related the incident of the afternoon with the fake story of the adventure at Friedrichshafen.
“That sounds a little fishy,” admitted Timms, “but that’s not enough to accuse a man of being a spy.”
“I realize that,” admitted Andy, “but you should have seen him tonight when you asked me if I wanted to go to the hospital and see Dubra. Blatz’s face paled and he trembled ever so slightly. No one else noticed it but I had been watching him closely.”
“Still there is nothing definite,” insisted Timms.
“There’s enough so that I’m not going to let him get very far away from me,” replied Andy. “Can’t you start a quiet tracer through the secret service; find out where and when he landed; how he came to receive the permission from the war department and anything else your people in Europe can dig up?”
“It might be rather serious if your suspicions proved unfounded,” said Timms.
“I’m willing to take the risk,” replied Andy.
“Then I’ll see what can be done,” promised the secret service chief.
Events during the next month at Bellevue were quiet enough. Andy kept a close watch of Blatz, but the German observer’s conduct was model. He confined his activities solely to observance and taking notes on the parts of the Goliath to which he was allowed access and he made no move to delve into the military secrets which were a part of the giant craft.
Bert and Harry had been busy with the installation of the intricate radio equipment which was a part of the Goliath. Late in April they completed their joint task and Bert announced that the communications apparatus was ready.
Assembly of the gondola had been completed, motor crews were busy tuning up the 12 giant engines which were to provide the power and fitters worked overtime on the installation of the luxurious furnishings of the lounge and sleeping quarters in the passenger cabins.
The gondola of the Goliath was a two-deck affair. In the fore part of the lower deck was the control and operations room with the communications room just behind. The main lounge was located on this deck with the dining room and the chef’s quarters at the rear of the gondola. An enclosed promenade deck, encircled the lounge and dining room. The upper deck was devoted solely to passenger cabins, which were fitted like the staterooms of a Pullman. Every modern convenience for the comfort of travelers had been built into the gondola and the Goliath was truly a revelation in luxury.
Blatz was enthusiastic in his praise of the great machine and Andy was forced to admit to himself that his earlier suspicions appeared unfounded. He relaxed his vigilance somewhat and the secret agent of the Gerka sensed this change in the assistant pilot’s attitude. Between them a real friendship started to develop and it was only natural that Bert and Harry were included in this feeling of comradeship.
On more than one occasion Blatz proved his sound technical knowledge, which could have been gained only at Friedrichshafen, a fact which influenced Andy in quieting his suspicions. In addition, there had been no report from the Washington headquarters of the secret service and it appeared that Blatz’s record was all right.
Shipments of helium, the life-blood of the Goliath, were arriving daily from the Texas gas fields. The long, narrow cylinders were stacked in rows outside the hangar. When needed they would be trucked inside, the valves opened, and their contents would flow into the gas cells inside the duralumin hull. In this respect the United States led all the other nations in its precious supply of helium, a non-inflammable gas. Some of the Europeans were forced to use hydrogen, a highly inflammable gas, the use of which had resulted in some of the major dirigible catastrophes.
Work on the Goliath was well ahead of schedule and when Bert and Harry finished their work on the radio equipment, Harry announced that it would be necessary for him to return to Brooklyn at once for a final test of the equipment of the Neptune.
The submarine was to leave soon and Andy and Bert obtained leave to accompany Harry on his return east. When Blatz heard of the plans, he asked permission to accompany them. It would give him an opportunity to visit the American headquarters of the Gerka in New York.
“You might just as well make it a real holiday,” Andy’s father said when apprised of their plans. “One of our cabin monoplanes will be in tomorrow and I’ll see that you are given the use of it for a week. Then you can fly east together.”
The suggestion appealed to them and they accepted with enthusiasm. Two days later they were ready to depart. After stowing their luggage into the baggage compartment of the trim, fast National Airways monoplane, they each took farewell looks at the Goliath and then climbed into their places.
Andy was at the controls with Blatz in the seat beside him. Bert and Harry were sprawled in comfortable wicker chairs to the rear. The plane skimmed across the field and took off in a steep climb, circled the field once, and then headed northeast in a bee-line for New York.
The mountains, their crests covered with the fresh green of early spring foliage, reared their misty heads to the east. They would cut diagonally across them and Andy held the stick back and watched the altimeter climb. At five thousand he leveled off and settled down to the trip. They had plenty of gas to make it on one long hop.
Blatz was enjoying the trip, the rolling country beneath, the mountains which they were approaching and even the thrill of being in the air, which never grew old to him. His eyes sparkled and there was a bright glow to his cheeks. He’d like to get his hands on the controls and see how this American commercial job handled.
An hour later Andy turned to Blatz.
“Ever handled a ship like this?” he asked.
“I’ve done a little flying,” admitted the European.
“Think you could handle it?”
Blatz nodded eagerly and Andy slipped out from behind the controls which the other took over.
Andy watched him keenly and noticed that Blatz settled into his chair like a veteran. His touch on the controls was firm but light and, unlike the beginner, he did not over-control.
The air over the mountains was rougher and Andy wondered how Blatz would come through. His question was soon answered. A down draft swirled them downward three hundred feet in the twinkling of an eye. A novice would have been panic-stricken, but Blatz gave her the gun and flipped out of it nicely.
“Good work,” said Andy.
“More luck than anything else,” was the reply, but Andy was very much inclined to disagree. There was no question in his mind now. Blatz was not only a good dirigible man but he was an expert flyer as well. The long-allayed suspicions Andy had harbored in the first weeks the civilian observer had been at Bellevue were re-awakened. He would communicate his distrust to Bert and Harry when they had a chance to talk alone. Until now he had kept his misgivings to himself but he felt that it was time the others knew how he felt.
They lunched over eastern Pennsylvania with the plane clipping the miles off at 110 an hour. Sandwiches had been brought in a liberal supply but the cool air had whetted their appetites and the basket of lunch soon disappeared.
“Oh, boy,” said Bert. “Wait until I get to New York and sink my teeth in a big, juicy steak. Honestly, I’m almost starved. Those sandwiches were just teasers.”
“How long before we’ll be in?” asked Harry, who likewise confessed that the lunch had not satisfied his hunger.
“Another hour,” replied Andy, who was back at the controls. “Next time we’ll bring a restaurant along. From the way you fellows complain someone might get the idea you’d been working this morning.”
Fifty-five minutes later they dipped over the National Airways field on the Jersey side and Andy nosed down to land. Blatz touched his arm.
“If Bert and Harry won’t starve for five more minutes,” he said, “I’d like to see New York from the air.”
“We’ll manage to hold out another few minutes,” conceded the hungry pair, and Andy headed the monoplane east across the Jersey flats.
They dipped a wing in salute as the Statue of Liberty was passed and climbed steeply as they approached the Battery. On up town they sped over the canyons between the skyscrapers where hurrying crowds of shoppers were thronging the streets. The Empire State’s gleaming tower was ahead, then beside, and then behind them. The Chrysler spire glittered in the sun and they looked down on the crowds in Times Square. Central Park was a fleeting panorama. Then they were over the Hudson, back to Jersey and sliding down out of the skyway with motor idling. They touched gently and rolled to a landing in front of the main control station where the number of their plane was taken and they were assigned to a hangar. Andy taxied the monoplane down the line to the No. 5 hangar where mechanics were ready to take it in charge.
“How did you like your aerial view of New York?” Andy asked Blatz.
“It was marvelous, breath-taking,” laughed the other. “In Europe we have no city to compare with it. Your buildings; they go into the clouds.”
“I’ll say,” replied Harry. “I’ve been on the Empire State tower when the clouds were so thick you couldn’t see the street.”
They entered the main administration building at the airport, cleaned up, and then took a taxi for New York. Through Jersey City and under the Hudson they went in the Holland Tubes and then through the maze of mid-afternoon traffic to their hotel just off Times Square.
While Andy was registering for the party, Bert saw the sign above the door of the grillroom, and, with a “See you later,” departed to order the steak he had promised himself.
Andy, Blatz and Harry went up to their rooms, assured themselves that the double quarters were satisfactory, and then went down to join Bert in the grill.
“I ordered steaks for everyone,” said the radio operator of the Goliath. “Anyone have any objections?”
There was no vocal protest and the steaks were placed before them a minute later.
“I’ve got to go over to the shipyard and report that I’m in town,” said Harry. “Anyone like to run over to Brooklyn now and see what the Neptune looks like?”
“Count me in,” replied Bert. “I want to see what kind of a tin can you’re going to use in your attempt to reach the North Pole.”
“How about you two?” asked Harry, turning to Andy and Blatz.
“I’ll be glad to go in the morning,” said Blatz, “but just now I’m a little tired. I’ll stay here at the hotel, rest a while, and then perhaps stroll out and look around the city a bit.”
“You’ll have to count me out, too,” said Andy. “I’ve a few errands that must be attended to and the sooner they are out of the way the more time I’ll have to spend over at the shipyard.”
Harry and Bert departed, after promising that they would return early in the evening so they could enjoy a show together. Blatz went up to their double room and Andy sat down at a writing desk to pen several important notes. He had been writing not more than five minutes when he looked up and saw a familiar figure going through the main doorway. He recognized the German civilian observer. But Blatz had just said that he was tired and was going to his room to rest?
Without waiting to ponder the question, Andy picked up the note he had been writing, stuffed it in his pocket, and hurried toward the entrance.
It was late afternoon and dusk had settled but he reached the street just in time to see Blatz step into a cab. There was something furtive, mysterious in the other’s manner and Andy decided to follow. He motioned for a cab cruising by to stop. The driver was an alert, keen looking fellow and he responded instantly when Andy spoke to him.
“Keep that cab ahead in sight,” said Andy, “and there’s an extra five for you.”
Gears meshed harshly as the cab lurched ahead and Andy started on one of the strangest adventures of his life.