Cap'n Mike quickly hauled the Sky Wagon to the pier
"Got it all worked out, have ye?" The old captainsnorted. "Where's the fun in that? Like to do things my own way."
Rick hurriedly backtracked. "All right, do it anyway you like. We just want the information."
"What for?"
Rick sighed. "Can't tell you, Cap'n."
"Must be I got untrustworthy since I saw you last."
"It isn't that. It's a—well, it's a government matter."
Cap'n Mike smacked his thigh with a calloused hand. "I should 'a' known! All right, Rick. I'll do it. Then maybe I can get my congressman to tell me what I've done."
Rick made a great swing around Whiteside, pointing out the houseboat to Cap'n Mike as he passed North Cove, and landed off Pirate's Field. Scotty was waiting.
After greeting the old seaman, Scotty said, "The girls are watching from the attic. When do we get started?"
"As soon as Cap'n Mike is fixed up."
Cap'n Mike was pretty self-sufficient and required little attention. A cup of hot coffee, a jug of fresh water, a little bait and a rowboat, and he was on his way. Fortunately, the Spindrift boat landing was not in sight of North Cove. Cap'n Mike sculled slowly along the shore. He would emerge at the cove, surprising the houseboaters.
Rick checked on the girls. They were engaged inmaking themselves comfortable on an old bed they had dragged in front of the window from which North Cove could be seen. He borrowed the glasses and looked at the houseboat, then handed them back, satisfied. They could see everything that went on.
Barby had her plastic set in place. Rick checked, and found that she had forgotten to turn it on. He grinned at her embarrassment.
"I'll call you from downstairs, and again when we get set on the mainland. Good luck."
The girls echoed the wish.
Cap'n Mike was fishing, allowing the rowboat to drift slowly in the direction of the cove. Rick watched awhile, and was satisfied. If anyone could put it over, Cap'n Mike could.
"Now," he asked Scotty, "how do we get to Whiteside without attracting attention?"
Scotty scratched his head. "I don't know. Unless you want to walk. We could cross the tidal flats and hike to town."
Rick vetoed that. "Too far and too slow. The barber would have time to cut twenty heads of hair before we got there."
"How about asking Jerry to come for us?"
"You've got it! He could come down the wood road and pick us up right behind the island. He knows the way." Rick went into the library and called theMorning Recordnumber. Duke Barrows answered. Rick explained that they had to get toWhiteside by the back way, without volunteering why. Duke hesitated, then agreed to send Jerry.
Rick smiled as he hung up. "Duke will get a story out of this somehow," he said. "He's so curious he could burst a seam. Come on. Jerry will get started right away."
Just before nine o'clock the boys and Jerry arrived at the newspaper office. Jerry was about to burst with curiosity, but he wasn't going to let it get the better of him. He hadn't asked a single question all the way from the wood road back of Whiteside into town.
Duke Barrows was apparently taking the same tack. He looked up as the boys entered, grunted, then continued working on the following day's editorial.
"Something just occurred to me," Rick said, after greeting the editor. "Isn't this pretty early for you and Jerry to be at work? I thought a morning paper didn't open for business until afternoon."
"We never sleep," Duke said, without interrupting his work. "What do you think this is,The New York Times?"
"Never occurred to me," Rick said politely. "Although the quality of the paper is about the same."
The editor looked at Jerry. "When he talks like that, he wants something. What is it?"
"Search me. I don't know what these two want, and I don't know when they got deaf. Notice they're both wearing hearing aids?"
Duke hadn't. The boys grinned at his look of astonishment.
"What we'd like," Scotty said, "if you care to co-operate, is to have someone take a look at the barbershop. We want to know if the new barber is on the job."
Duke sharpened his pencil with loving care, using a penknife. "I won't ask why you can't take a look yourselves," he said finally. "It's pretty obvious."
"Not to me," Jerry objected.
"It should be. They don't want the barber to get a look at them, because he saw them in Washington. They don't want him to know they're interested, or that they know he's in town."
Rick started to ask how Duke had known that much, then realized that the editor had simply drawn the correct conclusion from the few words that had been said before. Again Rick gained a clear insight into how a little information can be built up into a lot. No wonder Steve and his people had so much trouble protecting official secrets.
Duke put his pencil down and rose. "It happens that I need a haircut. Stand by." At the door he paused. "Anything else you want to know?"
"We want to know about his massage machine," Rick said urgently. "Find out all you can, Duke. Please? Particularly if it has any electrical connections besides the wall plug."
Duke studied them thoughtfully for a long moment, then turned and left.
Jerry watched his boss leave. "He's kinder to you two than I would be," he stated. "He didn't ask a single question, even about the hearing aids."
Rick considered. There was nothing secret about the Megabuck network, except that he and Barby would use it for a mind-reading act. Jerry was trustworthy; he wouldn't give the act away.
"Promise you'll keep it to yourself," Rick asked, and at ferry's excited nod he took the tiny receiver from his ear and handed it to Jerry.
The reporter held it to his own ear, moving closer to Rick because the cord was just long enough to reach from ear to inner pocket.
Rick said, "Barby, say hello to Jerry."
Apparently Barby did, because Jerry gave a surprised start.
"Can I talk to her?" Jerry asked.
Barby answered the question herself. The microphone, built right into the little unit, was very sensitive and Rick's thin jacket did not muffle it very much.
"I'm fine," Jerry said.
Rick grinned.
Scotty could hear both sides of the conversation through his own set. Now he broke in. "Any sign of activity yet?"
"Cap'n Mike is fishing right near the houseboat. I can see the people on the houseboat, but they're just having breakfast on the rear deck. Where are you?"
"In the newspaper office. Duke has gone to check on the barber."
Rick held out his hand and Jerry gave him the earpiece, grinning. "What a rig!" the reporter marveled. "Where did you get it?"
"Built it."
During the next half hour, while they waited for Duke to return, Rick told Jerry the story of the Megabuck Mob, omitting only what followed when Steve Ames arrived.
Then Duke returned, freshly barbered, trying to scratch his back. "One thing about this new barber," he greeted them. "He's no better at keeping hair out of your shirt than Vince is. Why is it that barbers can't cut hair without getting it into places where it itches?"
Rick smiled sympathetically. He knew how it was. No matter how careful a barber tried to be, it seemed impossible to get a haircut without a shower of hair clippings down the back. Usually they lodged where it was impossible to scratch.
Duke rubbed against the doorframe. "It's Vince Lardner's day off," he began.
Rick tensed. If the houseboaters were going to contact the barber, they would naturally try to choose a time when they could see him alone. Maybe there had been an earlier contact, and the barber had told them he would be alone today. That might account for the houseboat's moving closer to Whiteside.
"Vince had gone fishing." The editor grinned. "I suspect that's the only reason he got a helper, anyway, so he could go fishing more often. There isn't really enough work in town for more than one barber."
"Did you look at the massage machine?" Rick asked anxiously.
The editor nodded. "It's nothing but a hood, with three ordinary massage gadgets inside. Vibrator heads, I think they're called."
That tallied with the description Steve's agent had given. "Did you examine it closely?" Rick pursued.
"Yes. There's only one cord attached—the power cord. But I did notice an interesting thing. Set around the edges are little disks, like round covers. I started to lift one up, but the barber asked me to stop. He said the machine is adjusted very carefully and I might upset the adjustment."
"Tough luck," Scotty said, disappointed.
"Oh, I don't know." Duke's eyes twinkled. "I got enough of a look to see two tiny holes in the piece of stuff the disk covered. The stuff was black, probably plastic. Like telephones are made of."
"In other words," Rick said slowly, "you saw holes for electrical plugs?"
"I think so. I don't know what else they could be."
Rick and Scotty exchanged glances.
"What does it mean?" Jerry asked.
Rick answered. "We don't know. And I'm not kidding. We really don't know."
"I believe you," Duke said briefly. "Okay. I've done my bit, including getting my hair cut. Anything else?"
"We'd like to stick around," Rick replied. "Jerry already knows about this, but Barby is watching a houseboat anchored in North Cove. If anyone leaves the houseboat for the Whiteside pier, she'll call us. We'll take over at the pier. It just might happen that the houseboater will pay a call on the barber."
Duke didn't comment, but Rick knew the editor's mind was at work. "Make yourself at home," Duke said, and went back to his editorial writing.
Now and then Barby called, wanting to chat, but Rick discouraged her. He was reasonably sure the enemy wouldn't be listening in on the extremely short wave length on which the Megabuck network operated, but there was no use taking any chances. After each conversation he identified the sets with his own amateur call letters, even though it was unlikely anyone could hear the conversation. The little sets operated essentially on a line of sight because of the short wave length used. They couldn't be heard beyond the horizon, if they were heard that far.
After an hour of waiting, Barby called in high excitement. Cap'n Mike was aboard the houseboat! The boys waited anxiously for some further report, but Barby was only able to say that the old seamanhad departed after a ten-minute visit and was now fishing again.
At noon Jerry and Scotty slipped out for a sandwich. When they returned, Rick and Duke went to eat. According to Barby, all was quiet.
Around one o'clock Cap'n Mike returned to Spindrift and reported a friendly conversation with the houseboaters. They had anchored in North Cove because someone down the coast had told them fishing was good around there, which was a true statement.
The retired skipper had only one additional comment, which Barby relayed. The folks had been friendly, but he thought they were a little nervous, and anxious to get rid of him. He had no other information of value.
At midafternoon Jerry went on a brief sortie, came back, and reported business was slow in the barbershop, which was not unusual for a Tuesday. The barber was reading a magazine.
Rick and Scotty were restless. The chairs in the newspaper office were hard, and they had exhausted the reference materials on the bookshelf.
Duke Barrows looked up from a story he was editing and grinned. "Espionage isn't as adventurous as some folks would like you to believe. It's generally nothing but sitting. And waiting. Just as you're doing now."
Rick grinned back. Duke was telling him nothing he didn't know. He had waited like this before.
Barby called urgently, "Rick! The pram is leaving. One man in it, and he's just starting the outboard motor!"
"All right," he said swiftly. "Let us know which way he goes."
In a moment Barby answered. "He's going to the pier!"
"Roger. We're moving!"
The plan of action had been set in advance. Scotty hurried out, while Rick settled down to wait. Scotty, using Jerry's car, would locate the houseboater at the pier. Rick would stand by, ready to take over as necessary.
A short time later Scotty called on the Megabuck network. "I'm in the pier parking lot. He's tying the pram up."
"Can he see you?"
"Not unless he comes over and inspects the cars."
"Okay."
After a few minutes, Scotty reported again. "He's hiking in the direction of Whiteside. Thumb out. He wants a ride."
"Don't give him one," Barby interjected urgently. "He might recognize you."
"He's hitchhiking," Scotty explained. "He doesn't even know I exist."
"What are his chances?" Rick asked.
"Good. There's a fair amount of traffic."
Rick waited, alert for Scotty's next report. It came almost immediately. "I'm moving. A truck picked him up. Stand by."
Then soon afterward, "We're coming into the outskirts of town."
Rick walked from the newspaper office to the sidewalk and leaned casually against the building, eyes on the direction from which the quarry and Scotty would come. He felt just fine. The little network was taking all the strain out of shadowing. He thought of the many times when such communications would have come in very handy indeed.
"Moving down Main Street," Scotty reported. "Watch it!"
Rick saw a truck come into sight and slow as it neared the barbershop. A man got out, thanked the driver, then stood looking around. He spotted the barbershop, but instead of going in, he went to the window of the Sports Center and stood quietly, ostensibly inspecting equipment. Rick decided he was just looking the street over before making contact.
"I'm on him," he said quietly for Scotty's benefit. "He's casing the street. He'll probably go into the barbershop any minute now."
Scotty drove down the main street, and as he passed the barbershop, he reported, "There's a man in the chair. Maybe our friend is waiting for him to leave."
"We'll see."
Rick's plans had not gone beyond this point. The objective had been to see whether the houseboaters made contact with the barber. But now he realized that a simple contact wasn't proof of anything. Who was to say that the houseboater hadn't really wanted a haircut?
If only there were some way of overhearing the conversation....
Jerry Webster came out and stood beside him. "See your man?"
Rick gestured. "In front of the Sports Center."
"What are you going to do now?"
"I was just wondering the same thing."
Jerry grinned. "Don't tell me you don't have a complete plan! Why, I thought by now you'd have the barbershop wired for sound."
Rick stared at him. Wired! Why not? And it wasn't too late, if Jerry would help.
"Will you do something more for me?"
Jerry looked martyred. "Might as well. I'm in this up to my neck, anyway."
Scotty joined them. He had parked the car around the corner. "What's happening?"
"Just had a brain storm," Rick told him. He explained rapidly, and the two started to chuckle.
"It should work," Scotty agreed. "Go ahead. I'll take over the watch. Hey! There he goes."
The houseboater had just walked into the barbershop.
Rick ran to the next corner and into the grocery store. He hesitated briefly, then picked out two boxes of cereal, and added a box of sugar. He had them put into a bag, paid for them, and hurried back.
Inside the newspaper office, he took out his scout knife and carefully slit the top of one cereal box. He removed the little radio from his pocket, unplugged the earphone, and put the radio on top of the cereal. He borrowed cellophane tape and taped the box shut, then he put both boxes of cereal back in the bag with the sugar on top.
He handed the bag to Jerry. "Do your stuff."
Jerry took it and hurried out the door. Rick and Scotty watched as he went up the street and turned in at the barbershop.
Scotty shook his head. "All I can hear in the earphone is a crackling noise."
"Probably the paper bag," Rick said. "It would crackle as he walks."
They waited impatiently. Presently Jerry emerged without the bag and walked down the street to join them.
"The man in the chair is about done," he reported. "The one you're after is reading a magazine. I said I'd be back in a few minutes, left the bag, and walked out."
"There's the other customer now," Rick said. A man had just emerged from the barbershop and was going up the street in the opposite direction. "Good!They'll talk fast now, because they'll be afraid you'll come back."
"I still hear the crackling noise," Scotty objected. "Someone's talking in the background, but I can't hear it because of the snapping and popping."
Rick swallowed hard. Was something wrong? "Let's see." He borrowed Scotty's earpiece and held it to his own ear. For a second he listened, horrified. It sounded like the Battle of Bull Run!
Barby broke in faintly through the noise. "Rick! I've been listening. What's that noise?"
He explained quickly. "We planted one unit in a box of cereal and Jerry put it in the barbershop."
Barby gasped. "In a box of cereal? What kind?"
"Crummies. Your favorite."
"Oh, Rick!" The girl's voice rose to a wail. "Don't you remember the commercial? Crisp, crackly Crummies! The cereal that sings for your breakfast!"
He got it, then. "Okay, Barby." To the others, he said unhappily, "Well, it was a great idea. Only I forgot one thing. I didn't pick a quiet breakfast food. That noise is the radio settling through the Crummies—the loudest cereal on the market."
The three looked at each other helplessly. There wasn't a thing that could be done about it.
"Noisy breakfast food," Scotty said unbelievingly.
Jerry promised, "I'll never eat it again!" The reporter straightened his coat and tie and gave his hatbrim a jaunty flick. "Well, here I go for my haircut. Might as well do something constructive."
The crackling, popping, snapping continued unabated. "Listen to it," Rick said hopelessly.
Three quarters of an hour later, when Jerry brought the bag back, the Crummies were still crackling happily. Not a word of conversation had been overheard.
Barby, Jan, and Scotty were kind to Rick, which annoyed him considerably. If they had scolded him for bad judgment, called him a chucklehead, or even ignored him, it would have been all right. But they all had to reassure him and tell him it could have happened to anyone, and so on, and on. All of which made it unbearable.
He was more sure than ever that the houseboaters and barber were connected, but he still had no clear evidence. Of course he had made a report of the day's activities to Steve, who at least hadn't tried to be nice about it.
"An agent can't always think of everything," was Steve's comment. "But he can try. Sometimes, when he fails to take a factor into consideration, he gets away with it. Sometimes he fails. Sometimes he ends up dead, because of his poor judgment. Be glad your lives weren't hanging in the balance."
Rick took the lesson to heart. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice.
On the evening of the cereal fiasco, Parnell Winston returned to Spindrift after another visit to Dr. Chavez. He called Steve Ames and spent a long time talking to the JANIG agent. Then he called the project team and the boys into the library.
"We're on the track of something," he reported. "At least we think we are. It's so incredible that I simply can't believe it. If true, it means some unfriendly nation is so far ahead of us scientifically that we should all be trembling in our boots."
Rick had realized that only agents of a hostile country could be involved in the actions against the project team. Everyone present had known as much, without a word being spoken. Only another country could gain from disruption of the project.
"Chavez and I have run a series of EEG's on Marks. We now have the records of EEG's on the other two team members, and Steve has managed to turn up a pre-project EEG on one which gives us a basis of comparison. Now, to comprehend our tentative hypothesis, you must understand something of what is known about the brain."
Rick prepared to listen without much understanding. The field in which Parnell Winston worked was new and strange to him, and while he understood some of the basic theories, he got lost when Winston got highly technical.
"Our understanding of the human brain is fairlyrecent," Winston began, "and we're still only on the threshold of knowledge. In a way, we've just discovered the tools of research. The principal tool, of course, is electricity. Through it we can explore the electrochemical nature of brain processes."
Rick was with him so far. He concentrated hard, not wanting to miss a word.
"There's no point in reviewing the entire history of brain physiology. You all know of Pavlov's work on conditioned reflexes. And you all know that Fritsch and Hitzig demonstrated that, when electrically stimulated, certain portions of the brain show a response. You also know that Caton discovered many years ago that the brain itself produces electric currents."
Rick didn't know, but he intended to find out. There must be some works on brain physiology in the library.
"However, the important modern work started with Berger in the late 1920's. He found that the brain emits a definite pulse of activity, which was then known as the 'Berger rhythm.'
"Since then, Berger's work has been very much refined. We now know that the brain actually produces a number of clearly defined electrical rhythms. These rhythms have been used in medical diagnosis of brain injury. Walter, in England, has even developed a machine that will show whether or not people will get along with each other, by analysis of their wave patterns."
This was interesting, and Rick intended to find out more about it. But he began to wish Winston would come to the point.
"I might add that the rhythmic brain patterns seem to be highly individual. No two are alike, even in identical twins. However, each person shows a pattern that remains fairly constant, even over a period of years.
"With this background, you will understand when I report that the EEG's taken of our colleagues brains are completely abnormal. The EEG's were taken while they were awake. Yet, the most prominent pattern is the delta rhythm that is universally associated with sleep and some types of damage to the brain."
"Are there any other signs of physical damage?" Hartson Brant asked.
"No. All tests are negative. Spinal taps show no concussion, and there is no evidence of trauma of any kind other than psychic. Yet, the delta rhythms persist. In the one case where we have an EEG taken before the—incidents, let's call them—the pattern is entirely different. The scientist had a pattern of a well-known type which bears no resemblance to the EEG taken after the incident."
Dr. Morrison leaned forward. "What is your conclusion?"
"That our mysterious enemy has somehow caused damage of an unknown kind, by remote means. And that can mean only one thing: The damage wascaused electronically, probably by transmission through the air."
"Incredible," Weiss muttered, and the sentiment was reflected in the astonished gasps of the others.
"Let's consider the implications of Parnell's statement," Hartson Brant said slowly. "If he is correct, then the enemy has devised a means for causing brain disruption in an individual. A transmitted signal would inevitably strike countless others; there can be no such thing as a beam of radiation that strikes one person at a distance while missing all others. Therefore, this beam must affect only one person among many."
"But how can a beam be tuned to one person?" Rick asked.
"I don't know, Rick." Hartson Brant turned to Winston. "Do you?"
"No. I have only a hypothesis, and one so far afield from what we know of the brain today that I even hesitate to suggest it. Let me ask a question. If the enemy could have access to the brain pattern of an individual—and remember such patterns are no more similar than fingerprints—could the enemy then transmit a signal that would affect only that pattern?"
Julius Weiss objected. "The supposition is based on scientific knowledge that does not exist."
"So far as we know," Dr. Morrison added.
Parnell Winston held up his hands. "I'm as aware as any of you that the hypothesis assumes a knowledge of the brain that is incredibly far advanced. But let us consider the evidence. The three scientists who have fallen victim show the same signs of brain damage. Investigation indicates that they were different types who probably had dissimilar patterns. We also have the special case of Dr. Marks, who was drugged while on the train. The person who drugged him dropped soluble salt paste on the rug of his room. Can we accept the fact that the salt paste was used for EEG electrodes, and a recording made while Marks was under the influence of the drug? We can't prove it, but what other explanation can there be?"
Dr. Morrison shook his head. "Suppose we accept that theory. How does that account for the other two? They were under guard, and there is no evidence that they ever were drugged. If we accept your hypothesis, we must also accept the theory that the other two men somehow were given an EEG examination and their patterns recorded."
An idea was growing in Rick's mind. Suddenly he blurted, "That's where the barber comes in!"
"The barber's machine was examined by Steve's men and found harmless," Hartson Brant pointed out.
Scotty spoke up quickly. "Yes, but when Duke looked at it this morning, he found electrical connections! Why couldn't an EEG be taken with such a gadget?"
Parnell Winston considered. "It could," he said finally. "I would need to examine the machine, but in theory any gadget that fits over the head could be adapted for proper placement of electrodes. The recorder would be difficult to hide, however, unless it was in another room."
Rick sank back and looked at Scotty. No wonder the barber had wanted to give a treatment to Hartson Brant. The elevator operator's wink had told him that the scientist had been on the fourth floor, where the project team was located.
"Didn't you ever have your hair cut in the arcade shop, Dr. Morrison?" Rick asked.
"No, Rick. I used a barber in a hotel nearby, one I've patronized for years."
"But the other two did use the shop in the building," Scotty finished, "and Dr. Marks had no need for a barber, so they had to get at him some other way!"
"It seems reasonable," Hartson Brant admitted. "The pieces fall into place nicely. But we must first accept Parnell's theory that some kind of pattern can be transmitted that will interfere with normal brain activity. If we believe it, we must also believe that the enemy is so far ahead of us in brain physiology that we are hopelessly outdistanced. I can't believe so much progress could have taken place without some word of it leaking out."
Parnell Winston shrugged. "It seems incredible, Hartson. But we haven't another theory, much less a better one."
"We had better make sure no one takes EEG's of the rest of us, in any case," Weiss suggested dryly.
Rick added, "And don't get any haircuts until this is all straightened out!"
When the meeting broke up, Rick and Scotty walked to the front porch where the girls were listening to the music of a Newark disk jockey on Barby's portable radio.
"Lot of puzzled people in this neighborhood," Rick said. "Including me."
"And me," Scotty agreed. "And I'll bet I know the most curious one of all."
"Who?"
"Cap'n Mike."
Rick grinned. At least the rest of them had some information. Even Duke and Jerry had enough to know that national security was somehow involved. But the captain, who had the liveliest curiosity of all, knew the least.
As Rick dropped him off in front of the old windmill, Cap'n Mike had grunted, "When you can trust me a little more, you might tell me what this was all about."
Actually, Cap'n Mike's visit to the houseboat hadn't been particularly productive. He had little to add to the Coast Guard inspector's description, aside from his feeling that the houseboaters had wanted to get rid of him.
Scotty asked, "Why would anyone want to disrupt the brains of the project team? Seems to me that'sdoing it the hard way. Assassination would be a lot easier."
Rick shook his head. He had wondered about the same thing.
Barby and Jan motioned for silence. They were listening to a vocalist who happened to be Barby's favorite of the moment.
The boys stood silent for a few minutes; then, by unspoken agreement, turned and went back into the house.
Hartson Brant came down the stairs, dressed in a suit, with white shirt and tie. Rick stared at him. "Going somewhere, Dad?"
"Yes. Parnell Winston has disturbed me deeply, with the implications of his theory. I'm going to pay a call on an old friend in Newark, an associate of Chavez. I want to explore some of the electrophysiological background of his hypothesis. I won't be very late. Is there any gas in the car?"
"Almost full," Scotty said.
The boys went on upstairs into their adjoining rooms. For a few minutes Rick tinkered with his camera equipment, then he went back down to the library and searched the shelves for something to read. He finally settled on W. Grey Walter'sThe Living Brainand carried it back up to his room.
He sat down in the old leather armchair and manipulated buttons on one arm. The light brightened to reading intensity, and the back tilted to the most comfortable position. He had wired the chair himself, and it fit him perfectly. He settled down to read.
Time passed as he lost himself in the clear, exciting descriptions in Dr. Walter's book. He heard a bell ring downstairs, but paid no attention. Then Scotty stuck his head in the door. "Rick! Your mother's calling you."
Rick sat up swiftly. It was true, and his mother had urgency in her voice.
He dropped the book and ran to the stairs, going down them three at a time. A strange, dark-haired man was standing in the hallway, and his mother, Barby, and Jan were waiting for him with strained white faces.
"Your father has been hurt," Mrs. Brant said with false calm. "He's on this gentleman's houseboat!"
Parnell Winston worked as Hartson Brant described his experience.
"There really isn't much to it," Mr. Brant said. "I started out for Whiteside in the fast boat."
Winston focused a flashlight into one eye, then the other.
"I was on the north side of North Cove when the boat smashed into something. I was thrown violently into the water."
Winston tested the scientist's reflexes, using a finger instead of the traditional rubber hammer.
"Apparently I was badly shaken up, because my memory becomes unclear at this point. I do recall being fished out of the water, and when I came to enough to recognize my surroundings, I was in a strange room. It turned out to be the cabin of the houseboat."
"Do you remember any strange sensations, or smells?" Winston asked.
Rick listened, his heart pounding.
"None. The people on the houseboat were most considerate. One of the men insisted that I get into some of his spare clothes, and I did so. One of the women—the wife of the man who came here, I believe—made me a cup of hot consommé. They told me I was apparently whole, no broken bones."
"They were very pleasant and helpful," Rick admitted.
The houseboaters had done just the right things, including coming to Spindrift for help rather than bringing the scientist home in the slow-moving and rather uncomfortable pram. Instead, Hartson Brant had waited on the houseboat while one of the men brought the pram to the island with a request that someone follow him back in a more comfortable boat.
Rick and Scotty had done so, and were almost limp with relief at finding the scientist apparently unhurt and comfortable.
"How does your head feel?" Parnell Winston demanded.
"Rather stuffy," the scientist admitted. "I'm finding it difficult to collect my thoughts. Parnell, why all these questions?"
The cyberneticist rubbed his bushy eyebrows with both hands, a habit he had when agitated. "Hartson, as you know, I am not a doctor of medicine. However, I do claim competence as a physiologist, and consequently bodily reactions are familiar to me. I believe you have been drugged."
"Drugged?" Rick's heart stopped momentarily.
"Yes. I've looked for the mark of a hypodermic needle, but there is none. If I'm correct, the drug was a light one, possibly amytal. Your reflexes are slower than normal, even taking the accident and subsequent shock into account, and your pupils react slowly."
Rick came to a sudden decision. He went to the desk and picked up the phone.
"What are you doing?" Hartson Brant demanded.
"I'm calling Steve Ames. We need help."
In a few minutes Rick had the agent on the wire and was giving him the details of the accident over the scrambler system. He concluded, "If Dad was drugged by the houseboaters, as Dr. Winston thinks, that means the enemy has his brain pattern!"
Steve Ames asked, "Is Winston there?"
"Yes."
"Ask him a question for me. Would the brain waves be considered quasi-optical?"
Steve meant would the waves be of such high frequency that they would act like light. Rick put the question to Winston.
"Tell Steve the answer is a qualified yes."
Rick repeated the information.
"All right. Then we must assume that the brain scrambler—or whatever you call it—can operateonly from short distances, approximately to the horizon. Tell your father he is to get out of town. Have him pack a bag, then deliver him to the New York JANIG office. We'll take it from there. Got it?"
Rick had it. "How do I make sure we're not followed?"
Steve paused. "That's a tough one. Air travel would be surest. Do you have any landing lights on Spindrift?"
"No. Besides, it's a short runway, and only a pilot who knew the island could possibly land at night."
"I've got a pilot who knows it, so forget going to New York. Rig lights of some kind. You can put lights on the roof of the lab building, I'm sure. Then put a pair of lights at each side of the runway's end, so he'll know how far he can go. If you have nothing else, soak newspapers in gasoline. He'll buzz the island. That will be your signal to light up."
"Is Mike Malone the pilot?" Malone had landed there before.
"Yes. He'll take over. Just deliver your father intact."
"If we can," Rick said slowly. "Steve, suppose the enemy activates their machine when they hear the plane? Suppose they suspect he's getting away and turn on the mind reader?"
"We'll have to chance it. Best thing is to move fast. Get your father in with Mike, and let them clear out. I'll tell Mike to put distance between him and you as fast as he can."
"All right, Steve." There seemed to be no other way.
Rick turned to his father and Winston, and repeated the conversation.
"He's right, Hartson," Winston said. "You're in good enough shape to travel. Better get packed." The cyberneticist looked at Rick. "What did you call the enemy gadget? A mind reader? That's an odd name."
"I didn't think about it," Rick told him. "The name just popped into my mind. But doesn't the enemy machine read the patterns in peoples' minds, then erase them?"
"As good a name as any, I guess," Winston agreed. "Well, let's tell the others. Then you have work to do getting ready for the plane, Rick."
Mrs. Brant, after making sure that her husband was no more than slightly dazed, had been forced to turn her attention to Barby and Jan. The two girls were on the verge of sheer hysteria with fear for their fathers. Scotty had joined Mrs. Brant, in an effort to soothe the girls' frayed nerves. Now, as Rick opened the library door, he could see that the two pretty young faces were tear-streaked, but as calm as could be expected under the circumstances. Scotty looked worn out. Rick could only marvel at his mother. She could always be relied upon in a crisis.
Mrs. Brant listened to her son's report, thennodded firmly. "Steve is wise to insist, Rick. I'll help your father pack."
Rick beckoned to Scotty. "We have work to do. Let's start with the lab."
On the way, he filled Scotty in on the details of what had happened in the library. Then he asked, "How did you get the girls calmed down?"
Scotty shook his head wearily. "It wasn't fun. The poor kids are scared stiff. Remember they haven't been exposed to stuff as we have. To them, our stories are just exciting fun, because we leave out the rough parts. Now they're getting a taste of this business the way it really is."
"Did you say that?"
"That, and a thousand other things. Nothing did much good, and Mom couldn't make any headway, either. Another ten minutes of tears and the island would have been under water, honest. Finally I got rough. I told them we were all in this, and they were only creating a nuisance that complicated things and didn't help at all. Then Mom chimed in. You know how she does. Never raises her voice. She said real courage consisted of being terribly frightened, but trying to remain calm in spite of it. Then she said she was rapidly becoming ashamed of both of them. That did it. They stuck their chins in the air, wiped off the tears, and actually managed a smile."
"Good for them!" Rick exclaimed.
Inside the laboratory they went at once to thestockroom. Floodlights were stored there, among other items. Extension cords were plentiful, and there were electric outlets on the roof. In a few moments the boys had strung the lights and Rick had readjusted the board downstairs, so that all the lights were on a single circuit. That way, they could all be switched on or off at once.
Joe Blake came to watch. Rick explained what he was doing, and told Joe of Steve's conversation.
"I know," Joe said. "Steve called me on the radio. He didn't want us shooting Mike down for trying to land without warning. But how come you can cut circuits in and out like this?"
"We never know when an experiment will call for electric power in some unexpected place," Rick explained. "The main board is set up so we can do just about anything we need to. We can feed normal current in, or 440 volts, and we can cross-link the circuits any way we like."
Scotty checked Rick's work, then took the switch handle. He touched the contacts briefly, and there was a quick pulse of light as the roof lighted up and went dark again.
"I'll stand by here," Scotty said. "You stand by at the end of the runway. Are we going to use gasoline?"
"We'll have to. It would take a while to run power from the house and hook up lighting units. Gasoline will be quicker and easier. Let's go."
There was a supply of gasoline for the boats. Rickgot a five-gallon can while Scotty collected newspapers. Two trash cans served as containers. The cans were filled with newspapers, then drenched in gasoline and placed at the last possible point of runway that could be used. If Mike overshot the containers he would land in the sea.
Rick worried about the problem of lighting the containers without getting burned, then went to the workshop and selected rags. He twisted the rags loosely and tied them together, poured gasoline into a bucket and soaked his rag fuse. The last step was to insert one end of the fuse in each can. When the time came, he would be between the cans, and he would light the center of the rag string. The fire would travel rapidly, because of the gasoline.
In case Mike was delayed for any great period, Rick kept the gasoline handy. He might have to wet down the cans and fuse again. He had forgotten to ask where Mike would come from, and Steve hadn't volunteered. Probably he would come from Washington, which meant about an hour's flying time in the plane Mike would use, a fast little four-place job that Rick had long coveted. But Mike wouldn't be ready for take-off instantly. Time had to be allowed for Steve to give him instructions, to get from wherever he was to the airport, and then get the plane gassed and ready. Allow another hour. That meant two hours in all.
Inside, Rick was still scared. How did they know the electronic mind reader wouldn't be activated atany moment? He hurried into the house and went upstairs to where his father was packing. He couldn't do anything, and he knew it. But it helped, just being near the scientist. Apparently Scotty felt the same. He had joined Hartson Brant, too. But Barby, Jan, and Mrs. Brant had preceded him.
The scientist smiled. "Never had so much help packing before."
The smile was strained, and Rick thought he knew why. He had seen his father face great physical danger without losing a bit of his composure. But the insidious weapon that could read all reason out of minds was far more horrible to a man like Hartson Brant than any physical danger could be. Bullets, knives, and clubs may leave bad wounds, or they may kill. But what chance is there for anyone with a damaged brain?
Scotty looked at his watch and held it up for Rick to see. Nearly an hour and three-quarters had passed since the call to Steve. Rick gestured to Scotty and urged, "Hurry, Dad."
"I'm ready." The scientist closed his bag. Barby got to it first and lugged it down the stairs, refusing Scotty's offer of help.
The boys went to their stations while the others waited on the porch. Rick checked to be sure he had matches, then worried because a wind had sprung up. Suppose it blew his match out? He was about to go borrow his father's lighter when he heard the far-off drone of a plane. There wasn't time now! He held the matches in his hand, ready.
The drone grew nearer, rising to a high whine. The plane was diving! Suddenly it was overhead and gone with a crash of sound. Rick saw its lights head out to sea. Mike was making a tight turn to come in for a landing.
Rick's lips formed the words. "Now, Scotty! Now!"
And, as though he had heard, Scotty threw the switch. Lights flared on the lab roof, outlining it clearly. Rick struck a match and held it to the saturated cord of rags. Flaming gasoline ran along the cord in both directions, ran up the sides of the cans. There was a loud whoosh of exploding gasoline, and both cans were ablaze. Rick ran away from the heat.
Mike came in low and fast over the lab roof and slapped the plane down on the turf. In a moment he applied the brakes and the wheels whined their protest as they dug up grass. Then the plane was rolling to a stop directly in front of the house.
The pilot jumped out and called, "Hello, gang! Come on, sir. No time to waste!"
Hartson Brant kissed Mrs. Brant and the girls, found time to pat Rick's shoulder, and climbed in. Rick took the suitcase from Barby and handed it to the scientist. The door closed and the plane was whirling, catching them in its prop blast. Mike taxied back fast to the laboratory, turned the plane and revved up, holding on the brakes. Rick saw Scottyemerge from the lab building and go right back in again as the prop wash caught him. Then the plane was rolling ... and lifting. Mike skimmed low over the burning trash cans, banked out to sea, and was gone.
Rick felt a sob rising in his throat and resolutely squelched it. He walked to the burning cans and dropped covers on them. Scotty cut the lights on the lab building.
Had they made it? They wouldn't know. Not until Steve reported that the scientist was safe.
On the porch, Barby asked, "How soon will we know?"
Rick was proud of her. Her voice had trembled only slightly. "Probably not until tomorrow, Sis. Come on. Let's all hike off to bed. It's been a rough evening."
"All right. Rick, we still don't know for sure, do we? About the people in the houseboat?"
"Not for sure. But we have a pretty good idea. How else would Dad get drugged?"
"Mightn't they have given him a sedative?" Jan asked. "That would have the same effect."
Rick hadn't thought of that. He admitted it was possible.
"I wish the radio trick had worked," Barby said sadly. "I wish we had some way of getting a radio on the houseboat. Then we could listen in on everything they said."
"No way of doing it," Rick said. He was very tired."Forget it for now and let's all turn in. We can talk some more in the morning."
Steve Ames phoned at five o'clock in the morning. Rick had been sleeping lightly, his rest broken by nightmares that he couldn't remember when he awoke. He got to the phone in the hall. "Just a minute," he said. "Let me get downstairs to the switch."
The entire family was close on his heels as he went into the library. He threw the scrambler switch, then asked anxiously, "Yes, Steve?"
"Just had word, Rick, so I called in spite of the hour. Your father is safe inside the compound at Los Alamos. He's all right. And just as a precaution, he'll spend most of his time in a shielded area where no radio signal can penetrate. Now go on back to bed and get some sleep."
Rick thanked him gratefully. Los Alamos! That was one of the two main atomic energy weapons laboratories. No place in the United States was more closely guarded. Now he could be sure his father was safe as anyone could be.
He repeated the conversation to his anxious family. "Now," he said, echoing Steve's advice, "let's get back to bed. Perhaps we can really sleep for a change."
He did sleep. It was nearly noon before he awoke. He got up sleepily and found Scotty had just barely preceded him and was now taking a shower.
Downstairs, things were apparently normal. Mrs.Brant and Mrs. Morrison were at work on lunch, but since an hour was too long to wait, Rick had a bowl of cereal and a glass of milk. He was careful not to choose Crummies. Scotty settled for three doughnuts and milk.
"Where are the girls?" Rick asked. "Still asleep?"
"They've gone swimming," Mrs. Morrison replied. "They should be back soon, though. They've been gone over an hour."
"I could use a swim myself," Rick admitted.
"Not me," Scotty said. "Wait until afternoon and I'll join you. That cold water would shock me into a state of galloping goose pimples the way I feel now."
Rick had forgotten how cold the water was. "Okay. We'll wait. Let's go over to the lab and take down the lights. I want to clean up the trash cans, too."
They walked leisurely over to the laboratory and stopped for a moment to chat with Joe Blake. Then, before starting on the lights, they walked around behind the lab building.
The laboratories were built on a promontory that sloped inland toward Pirate's Field, which was just above sea level. The raised area ran around the seaward side of the island, so that the Brant house was on high land, too. On the north side, the land sloped down toward the boat landing.
Rick stood on the edge of the low cliff and looked for Barby and Jan. They weren't in sight.
"They must be using lungs," Scotty said. "Watch for bubbles."
No bubbles were visible, either. Rick checked carefully and began to worry. It was a calm day with little wave action, and the bubbles from the lungs should have been clearly visible. Surely they wouldn't swim so far the bubbles couldn't be seen on a day like this.
"Let's check," Rick said.
The boys hurried to the room where the Scuba equipment was kept. Two lungs and the blue and white equipment were gone. So was the cart. A quick look at Pirate's Cove showed no cart in sight.
Where could they have gone? The boys hurried to the front of the lab building again and found Joe Blake still getting a bit of sunshine.
"Did you see the girls?" Rick asked hurriedly.
Joe nodded. He motioned across the island. "They came and got aqualungs and hauled the cart across to the north side. They're probably swimming over there."
Rick doubted it. He doubted it very much. The currents on the north side kept the bottom stirred up and visibility was too poor for diving.
Without the need of exchanging a word, Rick and Scotty were suddenly running. As they passed the house Rick had a sudden thought. He went in and ran up the stairs to his room, grabbed his radio unit and turned it on.
"Barby!" he called frantically. "Barby!"
There was no answer. Tucking the unit into his pocket, he ran out and joined Scotty again. If Barby had her set she wasn't using it.
"Come on." He led the way to the boat cove and stopped short. The speedboat was there, and so was the Scuba cart, but the rowboat wasn't. Anxiously he scanned the water. There was no sign of the girls.
Where were they? Where? The thought struck him. He remembered Barby's comment of the night before.
Had they gone to the houseboat?
Scotty ran to the speedboat and yelled, "Come on!"
"Wait!" Rick called. "Let's not go barging off without knowing what we're doing."
Scotty turned, puzzled. "What do you mean?"
"The girls have some kind of plan, and we don't know what it is. If we go barging around in the speedboat, we might throw a monkey wrench into the works."
"But we can't just stand here and do nothing," Scotty said desperately.
"We won't. Go get the plane warmed up and wait for me."
Rick hurried into the house and ran up the stairs to Barby's room. Working fast, he went through the dresser, then through the shelves in her closet. Not finding what he wanted, he paused to look around in case he might have overlooked a possibility.
He didn't know where girls kept things, and hesuspected that sometimes the places weren't the same as boys might pick. But he could see no possible place that he hadn't searched.
That meant Barby had her Megabuck unit with her, unless she had left it somewhere else in the house.
He plugged in his earphone and called. "Barby!"
There was no reply. His lips set grimly. No use wasting time here. He ran from the house, hearing the sound of the Sky Wagon as Scotty warmed it up. Joe Blake was not in sight. Rick hurried into the lab and found him watching Professor Morrison who was checking some calculations on the lab's small computing machine.
"Joe, step outside with me for a moment, please."
Outside, Rick explained that the girls were missing, then asked, "Can you get the plane frequency on your receiver?"
"Sure. It's an all-wave job. What's the frequency you use?"
Rick told him, then explained, "We don't know what's going on, so we want to be prepared. If some of your Scout leaders can move down the coast to North Cove and keep an eye on the houseboat, Scotty and I will search from the air. If we see anything, we'll let you know on the plane's radio. You won't be able to talk back, but at least you can hear us, and you can let the Scouts know."
He wished his mind had worked faster. Then he could have taken Scotty's Megabuck unit and givenit to Joe. But there was no time now, and this other arrangement probably would do as well.
"I'll pass the word to the gang on the mainland right away," Joe agreed.
Joe went back into the lab while Rick ran to Pirate's Beach. Scotty was waiting, the plane's engine turning over. Together, they launched the Sky Wagon, then climbed in, Scotty in the pilot's seat.
As Scotty took off, Rick tried Barby again on the radio. "Barby, this is Rick. Can you read me?"
There was no reply.
"Better fly as though we were heading for Whiteside," Rick suggested. He rubbed his palms on his handkerchief. They were damp with nervous perspiration. He was not as calm as he looked.
Scotty swung around on course and Rick scanned the water as they passed over the north side of Spindrift. There was no sign of the rowboat yet.
The plane traveled in a straight line right across North Cove. The houseboat was at anchor a few hundred yards offshore, and the pram was tied up to the rear rail. There was no sign of life.
The boys reached the Whiteside pier without seeing the girls or the boat. Scotty put the plane into a tight circle and looked at Rick helplessly. "Now what?"
"They can't have gone far," Rick mused. "Not in the rowboat."
"They had the aqualungs," Scotty pointed out. "They must have expected to use them."
"Right. But how? If they planned to get aboard the houseboat, they wouldn't be using the aqualungs. Or would they?"
"Search me."
"Wouldn't they just row up to the houseboat on some excuse or other? I wish I'd looked. Barby might have taken those clothes Dad wore home last night."
"We can't just float around and talk," Scotty said urgently. "Let's do something."
Rick felt the same way. "Okay. Throttle down and go slow. We'll scan the whole coastline from here to Spindrift."
Scotty did so, holding the little plane barely above stalling speed. Rick leaned out and traced the shore with anxious eyes.
The plane turned and twisted as Scotty followed the coastline as accurately as he could. They reached the upper tip of North Cove and swung into the cove itself.
Scotty tapped Rick on the shoulder and pointed. A man and a woman had come out of the houseboat and were watching the plane.
"Wonder where the other pair is?" Rick asked. There was nothing they could do about the people on the houseboat now. Let them wonder what the plane was doing. Rick turned his attention back to the shore below.
The plane traveled the length of the cove's shoreline and rounded the southern tip. They passed overa section where the woods came right down to the water. Birches leaned far over. Rick caught a glimpse of what might have been the rowboat, then the plane swung and he lost it.
"Circle," he said quickly. "I think I saw something!"
Scotty gunned the Sky Wagon and threw it into a tight turn. Rick watched carefully as the clump of birches came into view. There was a boat under them, all right. He wished for the binoculars, but they were probably at the attic lookout where Barby and Jan had spied on the houseboat.
He had no real doubt. He was sure the boat was the Spindrift rowboat.
"Circle over the island," he called to Scotty, then reached over and took the hand microphone from the instrument panel rack. He turned on the radio and waited a moment while it warmed.
"Joe, this is Rick," he said. "Rowboat under a clump of birches just south of North Cove. Have the boys go there and look it over. See if the girls are in the woods. We'll watch for sign of the girls on the water."
To Scotty, he directed, "Over the cove. Circle the whole area. We'll watch for their bubbles. Joe's men will check the woods."
The plane turned obediently. Presently they were moving in a wide circle with the houseboat as a center. A slight surface wind had arisen and the water in the cove was a bit choppy, but not enough to obscure bubble tracks made by Scuba divers below.
"See anything?" Rick asked.
"Not a trace. Can you see the water around the houseboat well enough?"
"Yes. No bubbles in the vicinity." Rick dried his palms again, then mopped his forehead. He was becoming thoroughly frightened. Where were they?
He checked his Megabuck radio to be sure it was on and called, "Barby. Where are you?"
The air was silent, except for the slight background hiss that was always present.
"Look right under the houseboat's gunwales," Scotty urged. "If they're directly under it, the bubbles would rise along the sides."
"Why would they go under the houseboat?" Rick asked.
Scotty shook his head. "Why did they come over here in the first place?"
Rick had no answer. "Let's go over to the shore. Joe's men ought to be at the rowboat by now. Maybe they found the girls."
Scotty banked around and headed over the clump of birches. In a small clearing behind the clump they saw two men in Scout uniforms. The men looked up, and one spread his hands wide in a gesture that said nothing of importance had been turned up.
"There's only one thing to do," Rick said decisively. "We've got to check on the..."
He stopped as though a hand had clutched his throat. Barby's voice, in his earphones!
Rick pulled the unit from his pocket and turned up the volume. He couldn't hear her well.
"It's Barby," he said swiftly. "Circle!"
Rick strained to hear. She was talking to someone. "... It won't do the slightest bit of good to keep us here, because my brother will know where we are."
The signal faded as she talked. Rick turned the little radio unit, trying to keep the volume constant.
"You'd better let us go," Barby was saying. "You'll get into a lot of trouble if you don't."
Rick groaned. Her threats would do about as much good as a bunny threatening a wolf pack. Where was she? On the houseboat?
Suddenly he realized ... he had the key in his hands!
Barby's voice was high-pitched and frightened now. "What are you doing? Why are you putting that plastic cap on Jan?"
Rick turned the radio unit as the plane circled. The sweat stood out on his face. Unerringly, the axis of the built-in antenna pointed to the houseboat.
There was no longer any doubt!
"Land!" he yelled. "Land next to the houseboat!"
Scotty slammed the throttle in instant response, and as the Sky Wagon dived toward the water he cast a quick look at Rick. "What did you hear?"
Rick was already slipping off his shoes, getting ready to jump. "On the houseboat!" he choked. "They're using the mind reader on the girls!"