Tom Swift and His Atomic Earth Blaster (17 page)

Landis seemed to squirm with pleasure. "Did I? I
appreciate
your saying so, Ivor!"

Bronich nodded. "Indeed yes. Of course, you are rather a lunatic, but Kranjovia will take care of you."

"With a bullet!" Tom pronounced sardonically.

"No, no, Tom, you must be careful," Bronich remonstrated. "We will preserve you for now, for whatever uses we may put you to. But who knows, if you anger us, we may do something wasteful and unpleasant." Giving Leeskol a short nod, Bronich turned and left the igloo, saying, "Now to oversee Detar and the others. Be good!"

Leeskol took out a cigarette. "Do you mind, Jerry?"

"No," replied Landis. "But you know, it’s hard on the gums and yellows your teeth."

"When that happens, perhaps you will make me dentures, doctor." Leeskol lit up and breathed a long puff of smoke. He glanced across at Tom and Bud. "Ah well, boys—that Bronich! Horrible fellow, isn’t he? I’ve had to spend weeks in his disagreeable company. A typical Kranjovian. We Croats have no use for those boorish people."

"But you don’t mind helping them!" Tom observed.

Leeskol tried, and failed, to blow a smoke ring. "Nonsense. I mind a great deal. But you know, the pay is decent, and they offer good medical and dental. Now, I know you have a million questions, Tom. I’ll spare you the drudgery of trying to trick me into revealing our great master-plan. I don’t mind telling you about it. If you can stop it, why not? Kranjovia is not my worry, and my pay has already been deposited.

"You want to know what we are after, surely. Well, the leader-without-peer of Kranjovia, Ulvo Maurig, General-Secretary of the Party, has spent his life transferring to his extended family as much of his country’s wealth as possible. I’m afraid they have become dependent on it. But fifty years of The Party has depleted the natural wealth of that ancient land. All that is left, it seems, is the promise of high-grade iron from a newly discovered site in the Gunta Mountains. And now comes my old buddy Thomas Swift, threatening to undercut the value of that ore by tapping the core of the earth! Tsk-tsk—a problem to be overcome. Do you see?"

"Very clearly," said the young inventor calmly. "But of course we’ve known all that for some time."

"No! You amaze me constantly," joked Leeskol. "But do forgive me for doubting what you claim."

"Well," said Tom, "we
did
discover the jamming transmitters—the one in Dr. Jerry’s big crate, and the others on the supply jets placed by his accomplice in Swift Enterprises security. We left them operational, of course, to draw you out."

Landis’ eyes grew round as saucers. "Now I
know
what you’re thinking, Drurga, but—"

Leeskol ignored him. "And
how
did you unravel this scheme of my brilliant patrons, I wonder?"

Tom chuckled. "Easily. When Jerry appeared in the hangar deck, the whole thing came clear. There’s
no way
our security people, with their detection instruments, would have failed to discover him back in Shopton—unless someone was working with him on the inside, secretly. And of course I knew the jamming devices
had
to be planted inside the
Sky Queen
and the other jets. You can’t blanket the whole polar icepack from one transmitter without tipping your hand."

Jerry Landis looked at Tom with an almost worshipful air. "Wow! That’s
great
thinking! Drurga, maybe we should consider switching sides—do ya think?"

But the mercenary, alarmed and nervous, only shook his head. "Yet here you are, Tom Swift, at our mercy, about to be handcuffed and foot-cuffed to your dear friend and drowned in ice water. And though you know of our ‘in’ in your security department, you do not yet know of
the other,
the one close to you who disclosed to us your mission into the earth, known only to a very few trusted associates. You do not know who it was. Perhaps it would be kindest not to tell you."

"Never mind, Leeskol. I
want
to tell him!"

The voice came from Tom’s side—the voice of Bud Barclay!

TOM SWIFT’S world spun around him as he gaped at his best friend, boggling in unbelieving shock.

"It’s true, genius boy," said the dark-haired young pilot, stepping forward. "It’s what you’ve been suspecting all along, after all. At first they tried to blackmail me, but after a while I came to realize what a pain it’s been living in your shadow, stroking your ego by calling you
genius boy,
having to come up with all those gee-whiz juvenile quips day after day. And
Shopton!
I’m supposed to
live
in that little pinprick after growing up in San Francisco? Man, did it ever get
old!"
Bud glanced at the two armed men in cynical amusement. "Aw, close your mouths, guys, before birds start nesting. Besides, Landis, even if they cut Leeskol here out of the loop,
you
knew about it. Bronich told me."

Bud shook his head in thoughtful disgust, leaning against the duplicate blaster’s control unit.

"Out of loop?
Out of loop?
I do not
tolerate
such treatment!" exploded Leeskol furiously. He glared at Jerry Landis, who began yammering a whining denial.

"Cut it, you two!" commanded Bud. "Get the cuffs on Swift before he faints dead away. Turn around, Tom."

"I gather you finally saw the light, Bud," Tom muttered.

Bud’s grin sparkled over his shoulder. "You’re not the only one who gets to be bright around here."

Leeskol abruptly stiffened. "That sound—what is…?"

With a crackle the atomic sun burst upon the interior of the igloo, a blinding blue-white sun that slammed the eyes as a hundred sonic booms would slam the ears. Trying vainly to shield their eyes, Leeskol and Landis shrieked and collapsed to their knees. Face turned away from the ruined blaster’s sputtering arc-field, eyes narrowed to slits, Bud took two bounding steps, and then a third—a smooth kick-off step that sent Landis’ rifle skittering off across the ice. The dentist yelped in pain—Bud’s kick had caught his knuckles as well.

Meanwhile Tom Swift, crouched and running backwards, had managed to butt the blinded Leeskol in the midsection. The scientist-for-hire fumbled with his weapon, but a series of powerful uppercuts from the young inventor, delivered with closed eyes, introduced Leeskol to unconsciousness.

"I don’t think I can find that kill switch!" Bud shouted. But in a moment Tom had deactivated the duplicate earth blaster and the arc-field had evaporated, leaving behind ten minutes of purple after-images.

Tom and Bud stood looking at one another, their captors down and disabled. Then they embraced warmly as the close friends they had always been.

"Tom, you didn’t really think—I mean, all that junk I said—"

The young inventor barked out a laugh. "Flyboy, you’re a better actor than I thought! But when I saw you heading for the control panel—and then you had me turn away—!"

Bud Barclay shared Tom’s laughter, gleefully. "Yeah, and how about when you said I’d
seen the light,
and I said I was being
bright!"
He paused. "But I figured you’d know I was play-acting when I said you’d been suspicious of me. As if we could
ever
mistrust one another—
genius boy!"

Tom turned away from his pal. "Let’s not forget we’ve still got Bronich and company running around out there."

They picked up their enemies’ rifles and warily approached the igloo doorway. For the first time they noticed that Camp Pluto was alive with strange sounds—sharp outbursts of noise.

"Bud!" Tom exclaimed. "People are screaming and yelling somewhere!"

Suddenly an unfamiliar figure—one of the Kranjovians—staggered across their field of vision. He seemed to have acquired a large, wriggling appendage on his backside. Cursing in Kranjovian, he collapsed into the snow in a frantic, struggling heap.

"Good night!" cried Bud. "It’s the huskies!
Colonel Eagle Friend’s turned the dogs loose!"

It was so. Klootch and his muscular cohorts were charging back and forth across Camp Pluto with fangs bared, and the Kranjovian invaders, taken by surprise and unable to draw a bead on the fast-moving targets, were falling under their powerful jaws.

"Attention Kranjovians!"
boomed an echoing voice from the Flying Lab’s external public address system.
"This is Arvid Hanson, speaking on behalf of Tom Swift Enterprises! Your leader, Bronich, has surrendered to us, and is ordering you to throw down your weapons and assemble next to the flagpole. Here he is to tell you this himself."
A series of orders in the Kranjov language followed.

"Bet he’s adding a few choice phrases not authorized by Arv!" Bud remarked.

Events followed one another—swiftly. The Kranjovians were taken prisoner and held in one of the ice igloos. Bronich and one of his lieutenants, in fear of their own lives, showed Tom and the project team where the thermite devices were buried, and how to safely disarm them. Meanwhile, Hank Sterling disabled the jamming transmitters on the
Sky Queen
and the supply jets.

"Listen, Tom," Bud said. "If you knew where the jammers were all along, why’d you go flying around in the
Queen
to try to get out of range?"

Tom’s face lit up with mischief. "Pal, I
didn’t
know about ’em! I literally figured it out on the spur of the moment, right there in front of Leeskol." He added sheepishly: "Guess I haven’t been thinking too clearly over the last few weeks—for some reason."

There had been no fatalities among the canine troops, but several of the huskies had been wounded, or had suffered sprains or broken bones. Tom thanked George Eagle Friend for having risked his beloved dogs to save the camp, and the project. "It was time for their exercise anyway," he said simply as Tom shook his hand.

Tom immediately contacted Swift Enterprises, then the United States government. The "plant" in Harlan Ames’s department was quickly identified and arrested, and a formal protest was lodged by the United States against the Kranjovian authorities—who disavowed all knowledge of Bronich’s actions.

In half a day, a police force from three nations had landed at Bronich’s concealed base, peacefully apprehending those few who remained there.

Tom asked Ames over the radio if the wayward Enterprises employee had been involved in setting the lethal trap for Tom and Bud in Tom’s laboratory. "Let me give a preface first," replied the security chief. "Bronich’s operation started out as routine surveillance of American technology, progressing to mayhem when the Kranjovian government decided to eliminate you for fear your digging machine might allow the U.S. to compete against their iron-ore plans. It went in a new direction when he got wind of the Antarctic project. Our turncoat, Devlin Meaks, did what he did because he became convinced Kranjovian operatives would retaliate against his family members if he refused. He took orders directly from Bronich. It was Bronich who supplied him with the high-tech devices, developed by Leeskol, that allowed Meaks to foul up your home detector system—in hopes of placing a bug, which they were never able to do—and to remotely override the earth blaster controls in your lab. It was Bronich himself, by the way, who launched those torpedoes in Lake Carlopa."

"I suppose the purpose of that was to allow Jerry Landis to come across as a hero," commented Tom.

"Right," Ames confirmed. "Bronich and Leeskol exploited Landis’ delusions from day one, periodically meeting with him at the Excelsis Club, where Landis signed them in as guests under assumed names."

"And the contact bomb in Pine Hill?"

"Planted by your rival Charles Picken, a man with a big mouth, a big ego, and a big thirst for alcohol. His secretary turned him in while you were in your involuntary ‘radio silence.’"

"Then that leaves one
big
question…" Tom began.

"I know, Tom—you want to know who was leaking project information. I’ve been building up to it."

"Don’t try to tell me it was Bud!" Tom declared.

Ames’ voice was quietly apologetic. "I had no business allowing Steve to spread suspicions like that. Especially since they were completely wrong. No, skipper, we know who the culprit was. Bronich is singing like an opera star right now."

"So who?"

"Well, Tom—it was Chow Winkler!"

The young inventor couldn’t believe his ears! For a moment he could not speak.

Harlan continued hastily, "But he’s not to blame. You see, it turns out that our favorite cowpoke
talks in his sleep!
Bronich managed to place a listening device in Chow’s boarding house—guess he has real faith in those things!—and that’s how he learned about the deep-down dig. I haven’t had the heart to tell Chow."

Tom sighed. "I won’t either. But maybe we can teach Chow to sleep on his stomach." He paused, then added: "No, forget it!"

That conversation with Harlan Ames occurred later on, just prior to Tom’s return to Shopton. Days before, the main interest had been the ultimate fate of the atomic earth blaster and the molten iron project.

Even before the dogs had been rounded up and returned to their kennels, Tom had resumed the monitoring operation in the
Sky Queen
control compartment. He had immediately grabbed the signal record that was steadily issuing from the lithosonde output printer and had begun to scan what had already fallen on the floor.

"Bud!" he shouted triumphantly. "The blaster’s working perfectly! It’s down more than ninety miles now!"

All thought of the attack was forgotten as Tom focused his attention on the progress of the blaster. Watching the dials carefully, he made slight adjustments of the triangulation ‘mix’ from time to time, as the computer reeled out a steady record of the drill’s progress and also estimated pressure and temperature data.

As the critical moment drew near, Tom announced, "Seventeen-hundred degrees Fahrenheit, everyone!"

"Wow!" gasped Bud. "How deep is the blaster now, genius boy?"

"It’s down over one-hundred-sixty miles!" replied Tom.

A surge of anticipation spread through the camp as the men gathered around the control post. Feeling that tension, Tom felt a need for some open air. "We still have more than a half-hour," he noted. "Care to join me, Bud?"