“He’s in father’s office, the Secretary is,” Peter said excitedly. “Hurry up Gus, his office is probably empty.”
A swoop past the window revealed that the Secretary’s office was vacant, moreover that his desk stood close beside the window – and the window was open. “Duck soup,” Gus chuckled and landed lightly on the sill. Peter hopped off, grasped the heavy curtain and swung over to the Secretary’s desk.
“O.K.” Gus called softly, “wave your handkerchief when you want me. I’ll just cruise around.”
One upper drawer of the desk was open, so Peter dropped in. He landed on a small box which, he was overjoyed to discover, contained a number of capsules. On the cover was written One after each meal, Dr. Pulsifer. Peter extracted one capsule, then giggling slightly, dumped the box containing the rest into the wastebasket. At this moment he heard a rattling of the doorknob and had just time to duck down behind the desk clock when the Secretary of State entered.
The Secretary, looking very handsome but very worried, sat down at his desk and hiccupped slightly. His hand went to the drawer and rummaged around for a moment. Then he snatched the drawer open and searched it thoroughly.
“Miss Putty,” he shouted irritably, “who’s been messing in my desk? Where is my medicine?”
As Miss Putty rushed in and fluttered about, Peter stepped from behind the clock, holding the capsule.
“Here, Mr. Secretary,” he said quietly, “is the mysteriously missing capsule.”
“Good Lord,” the Secretary stuttered. “you aren’t – you must be Pepperell’s young boy – ”
“Exactly,” Peter said. “Peter Peabody Pepperell III. It’s quite a long name for anyone my size. I had the honor of meeting you at home – when I was larger. Now what I wanted to prove to you sir,” he went on as the Secretary slowly lowered himself into his chair, “was just this. Suppose that you were a certain foreign scientist, whose name can’t be mentioned, and that this capsule contained a certain deadly secret. Do you see how easily it could be swiped?”
He tucked the capsule under his arm, swung to the window sill and waved his handkerchief. Almost at once Gus lighted beside him.
“Sir, you will find the rest of your medicine in the wastebasket,” Peter called as he mounted. He waved pleasantly to the Secretary who still sat, openmouthed, in his chair and Gus dove off in a long soaring glide.
They returned home in high glee and sat for an hour or two on the dock, eagerly discussing plans for the European trip, which they now felt was assured. “If that deemonstration didn’t convince that there Mr. Secatary,” Gus chortled, “nothin’ will.”
The sun was low and Gus was about to take off for Baltimore when Mr. Pepperell came rushing down the path to the lake.
“Great news, Peter,” he called excitedly before he even reached them. “Your trip is on. The Chief has suddenly decided that your plan is entirely feasible. I worked on him all morning, but didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. Then after lunch he rushed in and said he was convinced it would work. Don’t know what got into him, but he’s all for it now. I’m taking a two weeks’ leave to make preparations.”
Peter slapped Gus on the back and Gus gave out a long Graw-w-w-a-k of pleasure. “Father,” Peter said, “I’d like you to meet my friend Gus. He’s really made all this possible.”
“It is a pleasure and a great honor,” Mr. Pepperell said solemnly.
“Pleased to meetcha, as they say,” Gus responded. “Be seein’ you tomorrow.”
CHAPTER 6
Total Mobilization
Next morning Mr. Pepperell plunged eagerly into his preparations. His first project was the building of a small car, to be strapped to Gus’s back. It would give Peter shelter from bad weather, a place to sleep, to carry extra clothes, food and water. Mr. Pepperell took careful measurements of Gus and retired to his workshop, from which he scarcely emerged for a week.
When informed of Peter’s plan Mrs. Pepperell and Barbara had both been quite upset at the thought of the risks involved. However, Mrs. Pepperell’s long training as a member of an Army family now stood her in good stead. Although she may have spent many unhappy hours when alone, in the presence of others she wore an air of cheery optimism.
She and Barbara busied themselves making a flying suit for Peter. For this Barbara sacrificed a long evening glove of the softest kid, which, when lined with moleskin, promised to make a warm and practical material. The cutting and stitching required much patient labor, but the result amply justified their efforts. Peter was delighted with it and Gus was loud in praise.
While the others were thus occupied, Peter and Gus spent most of their time down on the dock looking at pictures of foreign places and buildings. As they had not yet been told the name of the country to which they were going it was not possible to plan an exact itinerary. However Peter did make a long list of the things they most wanted to see if time allowed.
“It sure is somethin’ to be eddicated,” Gus said admiringly. “Now me, I got no eddication to speak of and I wouldn’t have known nothin’ about most of these here places, or where they was even. If I’d a gone over there by myself or with some of these iggorant fellers from Baltimore I’d a just blundered around and likely missed most of the best sights. Sure am lucky to have a eddicated pal like you along, Pete.”
Peter had many other things to attend to, too. The Resolute was laid up and her crew dismissed. Buck was made General of the Army. He had been somewhat hurt over Peter’s interest in flying, which had pretty well ended their rides together, but this appointment soothed his hurt feelings entirely.
Then there were a great many visits from young men of the State Department, who asked Peter endless questions and filled out endless forms. “Look,” Peter said, “I’m not supposed to take all those papers along, am I? Why Gus would never be able to take off with that load of junk, let alone get anywhere.”
“Oh, no indeed,” the young man assured him. “All your maps, instructions, credentials and so forth will be reduced on microfilm and rolled in aluminum tubes. They will be smaller than half a match stick and of course much lighter.”
With all these goings-on a week passed quickly, till one afternoon Mr. Pepperell emerged from the workshop with the car. It was the most carefully planned and beautifully executed model he had ever built.
To reduce wind resistance it was shaped rather like half a pear. It was made mostly of magnesium and therefore weighed almost nothing. The main part forward contained a bunk for Peter, under which were lockers for his clothes. Just aft of this was a compartment for food and back of that a small water tank. The main cabin which held the bunk was covered by a dome of clear Plexiglas and fastened to the extreme front was a small armchair. The bottom of the car was shaped to exactly fit the curves of Gus’s back and there were two light but strong straps to hold it firmly in place. These were fitted with safety buckles that could be unfastened in a second in case of an emergency. Just aft the food compartment was a tiny flagstaff.
Peter was wild with delight and Gus was so overwhelmed with admiration that he could only repeat, “Well now, ain’t that something, Ain’t that something.” Mr. Pepperell proudly opened all the lockers and explained some of the finer points.
“You will notice that I have made no provision for heating the car. I have, however, left the bottom open, under the main cabin. Fitting tightly as it does to Gus’s back the heat of his body should warm the car sufficiently. Also of course in. the daytime the sun on the Plexiglas dome will furnish a great deal of heat.
“Your water tank can be easily replenished. This series of grooves in the top of the car all run down to an opening in the tank. Simply remove the plug and the slightest shower or even a heavy dew will fill it quickly.”
“Well now, ain’t that somethin’,” Gus admired.
“I have filled the water tank,” Mr. Pepperell went on, “and placed in the car an amount of ballast equal to what your clothes, food, blankets and so on will weigh. Even then
I do not think it is very heavy.”
Gus picked up the car by one of the straps and hefted it with a practiced air. “Don’t weigh scarcely nothin’,” he pronounced. “Why Lord, I’ve carried five times the weight of that in my stummick, in the way of fish, ’thout any trouble. If necessary I could eat light and often, but even that won’t be necessary. Why’nt we give ’er a try?”
“I thought a trial flight would be a good idea,” Mr. Pepperell agreed. He and Peter quickly strapped on the car and at that moment Mrs. Pepperell and Barbara appeared. Barbara bore a tiny American flag, while Mrs. Pepperell carried a small vial of amber-colored fluid. As Barbara attached the flag to the staff Mrs. Pepperell announced, “This craft must be christened and christened correctly. What is its name, by the way?”
No one had thought about a name, so there was quite a discussion. Peter wanted it called either Gus or Joe DiMaggio, while Mr. Pepperell held out for something more dignified such as The 17 Freedoms or The Spirit of Tolerance. Finally Gus was appealed to.
“Well, I wouldn’t know,” he said, “but seein’ as Pete here figgered out the whole scheme, I’d sorta think it oughta be called Pete’s Ideer."
“Perfect,” Mrs. Pepperell cried. Her voice caught a bit, but she bravely pronounced, “I hereby christen you Pete’s Ideer," and smashed the tiny vial of champagne on the prow of the car.
Peter hopped aboard and settled himself in the seat. “All right, Gus,” he called, “let’s go.”
Gus took off from the dock on a long slant, caught a breeze and rose up and up in swift ascending circles. “How you doin’, Pete?” he called. “You and the car still there? Wouldn’t know it by the weight. Ain’t nothin’ at all, as they say.”
He banked and circled and dove, sometimes skimming the surface of the lake. He shot over treetops, landed on the water and took off again in a cloud of spray. He executed every maneuver he could think of while Peter, seated snugly in the chair, whooped exultantly. Finally, Gus swooped in to a spectacular landing on the dock where the eager family waited.
“Couldn’t be better,” he pronounced as Mr. Pepperell unstrapped the car. “No weight, no hindrance to flyin’, nothin’ wrong. Pete, I don’t mind telling you your old man’s an A number one mechanic. Why he wants to waste his time in that there State Department is beyont me. He could get a real job in the B & O shops any time.”
For the next few days the car, now neatly lettered PETE’S IDEER, stood on the living room table while Barbara and Mrs. Pepperell packed it. Tiny sheets, pillows and blankets were placed on the bunk. The clothes lockers were filled with clean shirts, underwear and pajamas. Peter’s evening clothes were included, for he would have to visit many of the Embassies, and the State Department was most particular about such things. Mr. Pepperell had even included a locker for towels, soap, toothpaste and a toothbrush.
The food compartment was packed tight with minute cans containing every sort of food, including chewing gum, salted peanuts, chocolate bars and a large “Thermos” bottle for hot cocoa.
As the small aluminum containers filled with microfilmed documents arrived from the State Department they were fastened by clamps to the wall of the cabin. At almost the last moment Barbara thought of a parachute, but Peter only laughed. “Why goodness,” he said. “Gus often drops a fish, just for fun, and catches it again before it’s dropped twenty feet. If I fell off he’d have me by the seat of the britches before I’d hardly started.”
Everything now being prepared, the start was set for noon of June 21st. On the evening of the 20th, Mr. Pepperell called Peter into the workshop for final instructions.
“Son,” he said, “of course you still do not know where you are going, and I cannot tell you. It has been decided that it would be much safer if you do not receive final information until reaching Europe. There might be a leak somewhere. Therefore you will proceed first to the American Embassy in London. A map of London in tube #1 shows the exact location. There will be a large American flag spread on the roof and they will be expecting you.”
“Oh, London. That’s grand,” Peter interrupted. “Gus has always wanted to see the Tower of London and I want to see them changing the Guard at Buckingham Palace and Big Ben and lots of things.”
“In London,” Mr. Pepperell went on, “you will receive some instruction and certain information. From there you will doubtless be told to proceed to another Embassy, probably in one of the Scandinavian countries. From there I think you will go to Paris. At each of these places you will pick up additional instructions. This may all seem silly, but we simply dare not have all our information in one place.”
“I don’t think it sounds silly,” Peter said, “I think it sounds wonderful. It’ll give us a chance to see so much more.”
“On the really vital point,” Mr. Pepperell continued, “that of actually securing this deadly menace, I cannot give you any advice at all. Once arrived at that castle everything will depend on your brightness and common sense. All that we can do is to pray for your safety and success and that we will all do, constantly. I have here, however, one small gift which may prove useful.”
He presented Peter with a tiny sword in a beautiful gold scabbard. It was not much larger than a large pin and was hung from a stout leather belt.
“This is not exactly an ordinary sword,” Mr. Pepperell explained. “It is really a small hypodermic needle, filled with the most powerful drug known to modern science. An infinitesimal amount of this drug will render anyone unconscious for at least twelve hours. I hope you will not need to use it, but if you ever should, jab it in firmly and give the hilt a slight squeeze. The effect is instantaneous.”
Peter thanked him and together they fastened the sword to a clip in the cabin of Pete’s Ideer. Then they went to bed.
CHAPTER 7
Wings over Manhattan
The departure next day was made with little ceremony. The State Department, being still afraid of a leak, wanted everything kept as quiet as possible. So there were only a few people there; the Pepperells, of course, and Barbara, their friend the Admiral and two of Peter’s Colonel uncles. Then there were the Secretary of State, the Assistant Secretaries of War, Navy and Air Force, each with a young man to carry his briefcase. The head of the F.B.I. was there, a Senator and a Major of Marines who had invited himself. Their chauffeurs, six Secret Service men, Sam the butler and the rest of the household servants formed a background audience.
Peter looked extremely handsome in his new flying suit. He didn’t really need it, for it was a rather hot day, but he wore it to please Barbara and his mother.
Everyone shook hands with everyone else, except the Major, and all admired the conveniences of the car, now completely loaded and strapped to Gus’s back. Gus himself was bored with the delay and eager to be off.
“Whyn’t we get goin’?” he grumbled to Peter. “What’s the sense to all this here flumdummery? I ben promisin’ myself a meal of them Hudson River shads fer the past week and I’d jest as soon get at it.”
Peter hastened the Secretary’s speech by kissing all his family and climbing up to his seat at the front of the car. As he did so there was a familiar rattling sound and he was delighted to see Buck and the army deploying in handsome order on a small lawn by the water’s edge. The Mephitis Old Guards marched with their usual faultless precision, the two field guns dashed smartly into position and prepared to fire. As the Secretary finished his speech Peter raised his hand and the guns barked out their salute.
“All right, Gus,” Peter said. “Let’s go.”
Without further ceremony Gus took off and made one swiftly rising circuit of the lake. They passed over the dock and its group of upturned faces and waving handkerchiefs. They saw two tiny puffs of white smoke and heard two faint bangs as the guns fired a final salute. A moment later the dock and the lake and the house had all vanished in the distance.
Gus took a northeasterly course. “Thought we might’s well go up the coast,” he explained. “Decent air a
nd avoids all them factories. No use gettin’ ourselfs all sooted up if we don’t have to.”
They soared over the beautiful green farms of Maryland and Delaware, over the glittering waters of Chesapeake Bay and Delaware Bay, crossed the southern tip of New Jersey and were soon sailing northward along the Jersey coast. Gus flew low, just skimming the tops of the breakers, while Peter amused himself looking through his field glasses at the crowded beaches, the great hotels and the colorful boardwalks.
In what seemed an incredibly short time they swept in over Sandy Hook, crossed the Lower Bay and were circling the Statue of Liberty. “Let’s take a breather, Pete,” Gus suggested as he lighted gently on the extreme top of Miss Liberty’s head, “while we look around and sort of coordinate our plans, as they say.”
Most of New York and the Jersey shore were dimmed by a bank of smoky haze, but the great skyscrapers rose grandly above it, their tops shining fairylike in the warm sun.
“You wanted some shad, didn’t you Gus?” Peter asked.
“Countin’ on it, countin’ on it considerable,” Gus answered. “How’d you care to take in a ball game, whilst I do a bit of fishin’?”
“Oh grand,” Peter exclaimed. “The Yankees are playing the Red Sox today and maybe Joe DiMaggio will knock a homer.”
“Likely two,” Gus chuckled. “O.K. Yankee Stadium the next stop.”
Gus knew the location of the stadium well and a few minutes later they landed on the roof of the grandstand, directly back of home plate. Peter removed his flying suit, which was uncomfortably warm, packed it neatly in the clothes compartment, got out his field glasses and settled himself snugly at the foot of a flagstaff.
“Ain’t you forgot somethin’?” Gus laughed. “Always heard’s how a ball game ain’t nothing without peanuts.”
Fabulous Flight Page 4
