The Scarlet Lake Mystery: A Rick Brant Science-Adventure Story

by Harold L. Goodwin

  CHAPTER IV

  Scarlet Lake

  Rick and Scotty never found out what Big Mac meant by his crack aboutthe Earthman. He evaded their questions, apparently feeling that he hadsaid too much. Otherwise he was cordial enough. As the days of waitingto hear from Lomac passed by, the boys made the Spaceman Casino theirheadquarters, hoping to pick up information from the Scarlet Lake peoplewho hung out there.

  Men came and went, but Mac and Pancho were there every night. Once, Rickcommented on their nightly presence at the casino and said jokingly thatwork on the base seemed to allow plenty of free time.

  "We don't go back to the base every night," Big Mac said. "Pancho and Ido our job when there's work to be done. Other times we do what we want.If anyone at the base needs us, they know where to come."

  Rick thought that over. It seemed reasonable. He asked, "Is it okay toask what you do?"

  "Sure it's okay. We're radar operators. We track the rockets on a radarset from a field station." Big Mac pulled a red-checkered handkerchieffrom his pocket and blew his nose violently. "Good operators are scarce.That's why no one bothers us, so long as we're on the job when we'reneeded."

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  Scotty leaned over and picked up something that had dropped to the floorwhen Mac pulled out his handkerchief. "You dropped this, Mr. McCline."

  Rick identified it easily. It was a tiny transistor, an integral part ofmodern electronic apparatus.

  Mac took it in his big fingers. "Thanks. I must have stuck it in mypocket absent-mindedly while we were repairing the equipment."

  "Where do you go when you're on a field radar job?" Rick asked. "Justtell me to mind my own business, if I get into anything classified."

  "There's no classification on what we do," Pancho Kelly said. "Only theresults. We go to Careless Mesa. Everyone knows that."

  The boys let the conversation lag and ordered dinner. They didn't wantto seem too inquisitive. Constant questions would only make Mac andPancho suspicious.

  Later, as they rode through the star-studded night in their jeep, Scottysuddenly asked, "What do you think of Big Mac and Pancho?"

  Rick shrugged. He knew what had prompted Scotty's question. He had thesame feeling himself. "They're friendly enough, but I think it's an act.What I mean, is ..."

  "That they haven't any real interest in being friendly, they're justcordial for the sake of appearances," Scotty concluded.

  "On the nose, pal. I get the feeling they could switch from casualconversation to mayhem without batting an eye."

  Scotty thought it over for a moment. "Mac's the driving force of thepair, but I'd say they're equally tough. I'd guess Pancho is acombination of Irish and Mexican, both from his looks and his name."

  "Is Pancho a name? Or a nickname?"

  "Nickname. Usually short for Francisco."

  Rick thought back over the past few days, and their meetings with BigMac and Pancho. "Funny thing, Scotty. The casino is usually pretty busy,and mostly with men from Scarlet Lake. But instead of getting acquaintedwith many of them we always seem to sit near those two."

  Scotty gave him a sideways glance. "What about it?"

  "I think we do it instinctively," Rick went on. "Every time we walk in,they're deep in conversation. There's a kind of atmosphere about them,as though the talk is always very secret. None of the other men seemlike that. They're more--well, open. No secrets. Know what I mean?"

  Scotty nodded. "Now that you point it out, I do."

  "So I think we sort of gravitate toward them automatically. On a hunchthat we haven't even recognized, so to speak."

  "Because there's more to be learned from them than from the others?"

  "That's it!" Rick was glad he had finally put his feelings into words."We'll keep an eye on those two," he said emphatically.

  On the sixth day of their stay in Las Vegas, Lomac called. The boyshurried to the office and were told they could report to the basepersonnel office at once. They were given a map showing the location ofthe base. Scarlet Lake, they learned, was about two hours' drivenorthwest of Las Vegas.

  They packed hurriedly, checked out, and loaded the jeep. After a briefstop for gas, they headed out Route 95. Within a few minutes they hadleft Las Vegas behind and were in open desert country.

  The jeep was not capable of fast travel, and nearly an hour passedbefore they saw signs of civilization. It was the air force base atIndian Springs. They stopped for a coke, and topped off the gas tank.Rick bought a canteen and a desert water bag at the general store, andfilled both.

  A few miles beyond Indian Springs they saw the entrance road to theAtomic Energy Commission's Nevada Test Site, and the Sixth Army's CampDesert Rock. After that, there was no sign of civilization for miles.

  A few miles before the town of Lathrop Wells, Scotty spotted theirturnoff. The sign was small and inconspicuous. It simply read: "_ScarletLake_," and an arrow was painted underneath the name.

  The paving ended after a mile or two and became a very good dirt road.The jeep was climbing steadily now, and in a short time Scotty shiftedto second gear.

  "We must be nearly out of Nevada and into California," Scotty commented.

  "Almost," Rick agreed. "According to the map, the base is right next toDeath Valley." Suddenly he leaned forward as the jeep rounded a turn.Far below and still many miles away was the pinkish gleam of a dry lakebed. Scarlet Lake!

  "I see where they got the name," Scotty said.

  Rick grinned. "Scarlet Lake makes sense but some of the other namesaround here don't. Did you notice the town marked 'Steamboat' on themap? And not enough water to float a bar of soap."

  "See anything of the base?"

  "Not yet."

  Five miles later they began to see signs that Scarlet Lake was occupied.Black strips indicated aircraft runways. Then, tiny concrete squarescame into view. But not until they were in the valley, only a mile fromthe base, could they see buildings.

  The buildings turned out to be a few single-story administrative shacksclustered around a check-in point. A uniformed guard waved them into aparking lot and told them to report to Security for badges.

  They walked into the building marked "_Security Office, Badge Division_"and found a counter with another guard behind it. He took their namesand asked for identification, then directed them to stand with chinsresting on a tray. He slipped plastic letters into slots and formedtheir names, then took pictures with a fixed camera.

  "Sit down and wait," he said. "We'll have these for you in fiveminutes."

  Rick looked his surprise. "Can you process the pictures that fast?"

  "Don't have to. This is a Polaroid camera."

  Rick joined Scotty on a wooden bench. "I expected a barbed-wire fence.But there's no fence at all."

  "The whole desert is a fence, I guess," Scotty surmised. "The onlyaccess roads are probably guarded, and the only other ways to get intothe base would be by foot or horseback. No one could make it on foot,and anyone on horseback would attract instant attention."

  Scotty probably was right, Rick thought. Still, it wasn't at all what heexpected.

  In a few moments the guard was back. He handed them laminated plasticbadges with their names and pictures. At the bottom of Rick's were thenumbers one, two, and three. Scotty's badge had only the numbers two andthree.

  "What do these mean?" Rick asked.

  "Those are the areas where you're allowed to go. Area One is theblockhouse. Area Two is the main base and firing pads. Area Three is themachine shop and maintenance depot. You can go anywhere. Scott can goanywhere but inside the blockhouse. Sign these, please." He handed themforms in which they agreed to be bound by all security regulations,under penalty of the Espionage Act. They signed, and returned the forms.

  "Go through the gate," the guard directed, "and report to the receptiondesk in Building Five. That's personnel. They'll take it from there."

  They returned to the jeep and drove to the gate. The guard inspectedtheir badges, compa
red the pictures with their faces, then waved themon.

  "Taking no chances," Rick remarked. "There's Building Five."

  The personnel office gave them another map, showing installations andbuildings on the base itself, and assigned them to bunks nine and ten inBarracks Seven. Rick was told to report at eight in the morning to Dr.Gould in Building Twelve, while Scotty was told to report to Mr. Rhodesin Maintenance Building Twenty-three. They received a leaflet marked:"_Read This_."

  They followed the map for another three miles, leaving the gatebuildings out of sight behind a ridge of rock. Their map showed that themain cluster of buildings was three miles from the gate and nine milesfrom the blockhouse and the firing pads on the dry lake bed. Again, Rickbegan to appreciate Western distances.

  The boys found their barracks without difficulty, and moved into a roomcontaining four bunks. It wasn't elaborate, but it was adequate for acamp of this kind. It was clear that the other bunks were occupied, butat the moment their bunkmates were apparently out.

  Rick stowed his gear in the locker with his bed number on it, then satdown to read the leaflet. It was a directory of camp facilities, plus awritten lecture on security. He was allowed to say what kind of work hedid, and that was about all.

  "Let's look the place over," he suggested.

  They located the mess halls, the base movie house, post exchange, andpost office. There was also a laundry and a snack bar. Set off by itselfwas a recreation hall, equipped with TV sets, comfortable chairs, cardtables, and pool tables.

  Rick followed the map to the laboratory buildings, and was surprised tofind that they were enormous sheds, like hangars. Most of the doors werewide open, and he caught glimpses of shapes that could only have beenrocket sections. His pulse quickened. There was an atmosphere ofexcitement, of big jobs being performed. At least his quick imaginationtold him there was.

  Then, in one shed he saw the broken remains of a rocket. From its sizehe concluded that it must be the Viking that had crashed. The sightbrought sharp realization of the real job he and Scotty were here to do.

  Rick checked his map. "Our barracks has space for eighty bunks. And,according to this, there are twenty-eight barracks."

  "Interesting facts about Scarlet Lake," Scotty declaimed. "What aboutit?"

  "That's over two thousand men."

  "A lot of men," Scotty agreed. "What are you getting at?"

  "Needles in haystacks. Out of more than two thousand we're supposed topick one--the Earthman!"