by John Blaine
“Don’t stint on clothes,” he told the girls. “Well carry the extra stuff for you.”
“Then it’s settled,” Winston said. “By the way, Rick, I forgot to give you a message. A call came in for you while you were still at the lab. Phone this number.” He handed a slip of notepaper to the boy.
Rick looked at the number, then ran for the phone. Scotty saw the intent look on his face and asked,
“What is it?”
Rick read him the number. Scotty whistled. “JANIG,” he said softly. “That’s Steve Ames’s private phone number.”
JANIG was the Joint Army-Navy Intelligence Group responsible for protection of secrets in certain American installations at home and abroad. Spindrift’s scientists, and both boys, had worked with Steve Ames, one of the top agents, on several occasions.
Rick dialed theWashington number directly. In a moment Steve answered.
“This is Rick, Steve.”
“Let’s scramble.”
Rick threw the switch that turned the conversation into electronic gibberish for the benefit of any wiretappers.“Just got your message, Steve.”
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“Lomac sent in a request for confirmation of security clearances for a pair named Brant and Scott. Does that mean you’re going toNevada again?”
“Yes. We just found out, Steve. Gordon and Winston are here.”
“ Mmm. Gordon will be working at the new plant near Indian Springs. Will you be with him?”
“That’s right.”
“Good. Keep your eyes and ears open. I can’t give you anything definite, because I don’t have it. But information has been leaking out of that project. Can do?”
“Can and will,” Rick agreed.
“Good. Locate Captain Aster. He’ll be your contact.”
Rick acknowledged the instructions and hung up. He turned and met the interested glances of his friends.
“Steve wanted us to know Lomac had asked for confirmation on our security clearances,” he explained.
“He asked if we’d keep our eyes open as usual.Just routine.”
He should have known better than to withhold anything. The excited eyes in the two pretty faces before him said clearly that the girls knew there was more to it than that. For them, this had just become more than a trip, it had become an expedition to excitement.
Rick suddenly wished the two weren’t going. He and Scotty could operate better alone, and there was always the possibility of danger to two headstrong young females. But it was too late. They were committed. Barby and Jan would go if it meant walking all the way.
CHAPTER IV
Aspen Lodge
Rick Brant oriented himself by the radar installation that sat like a huge soap bubble atopCharleston Peak , then banked the Sky Wagon slightly northward to pick up Aspen Lodge. According to the map John Gordon had marked, the lodge was on the northeast shoulder of the range just above the lower edge of the timberline. The timber was a mixture of pines and aspens.
Scotty, who held the map on his knees, pointed to a twisting dirt road two thousand feet below. “That must be the access road.”
Rick followed the twists and turns with his eyes until the road entered the timber, leaving the desert behind. He caught a glimpse of a red roof, and sideslipped to lose altitude.
“Bumpy,” Scotty commented as the plane bucked and bounced.
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Rick adjusted his trim tabs. “It always is in this area,” he replied.
The hot air from the baking desert rose in a maze of currents which roughly followed the contours of the land. Above the mountain range, the hot desert air swept upward, mixing with the cooler air from the forests. Turbulence was always heavy.
Scotty counted aloud as the cabins in the timber came into clearer view.“One large, four-no, five-smaller ones.Fits the description.” He focused binoculars on the terrain below. “Hey, they must have heard us. I see the girls and the Winstons.”
The Spindrift party had flown toLas Vegas the day before, while Rick and Scotty had taken three days for the trip, flying the southern route to avoid crossing the highRockyMountain passes. They had leftAlbuquerque at dawn on the last leg, and it was not yetnoon . Rick was satisfied. The trip had been smooth and comfortable.
Rick saw the group below and waggled his wings, then swung in a wide curve toward Indian Springs.
Either Gordon or Winston would meet them at the Air Force field.
Rick turned to the radio frequency Gordon had given him and picked up his microphone. “This is Lomac Fox How Four.” To save clearance difficulties, Gordon had also arranged for Rick’s plane to be given a Lomac identification number, FH-4. “Indian Springstower, this is Lomac Fox How Four.”
The tower responded at once. “Lomac Fox How Four, this isIndian Springs tower.”
“Request permission to land,” Rick said. “We are approaching on a heading of 354 degrees, about ten miles from tower.”
“Roger, Lomac Fox How Four. Use runway four. Wind is 5 knots, 15 degrees. No other aircraft in your vicinity. A Lomac follow-me jeep will pick you up.”
Rick acknowledged, then added, “This is the first time into your base.Request permission to circle the field once for orientation.”
“Roger, Lomac Fox How Four. Check in again when you get into the landing pattern.”
Rick acknowledged, then throttled back to lose altitude for the landing. Scotty pointed ahead.“On the button. There’s the field.”
“Got it.”Rick dropped to a thousand feet and held the plane on course until the field was almost below, then banked in a circle around it. The boys watched with interest. It was not a big installation, but it had one long runway that extended into the desert for a good two miles. The other runways were normal.
From his chart and from the huge number painted in white on its end, he identified the runway he was to use.
Most of the buildings were on the highway side of the installation, but one long, low, obviously new aluminum shed was set off by itself. As he passed over, he saw that it was completely surrounded by its own high, chain-link fence. His pulse quickened. That was where he and Scotty would work. In front of the new building was a helicopter pad on which four choppers sat, rotor blades drooping like hound-dog ears.
Rick completed the circle and lined himself up with the runway. He contacted the tower, then cut the Page 16
throttle and the Sky Wagon dropped into its approach.
“Wheels down and locked,” Scotty reported.
“Okay.”
In a moment the plane touched down lightly, and Rick let it roll to where a jeep was waiting on the taxiway. He swung in behind the jeep, which had a huge sign mounted on a frame.Lomac, and, in even larger letters, FOLLOW ME.
The jeep led them toward the cluster of buildings on the highway and turned them over to a ground man who directed Rick into a hardstand next to a building that bore the Lomac identification. Two other small planes were already there. As he killed the engine and locked the brakes, John Gordon walked toward them with a welcoming grin.
The Spindrift scientist had arranged everything. The boys checked in, were entered on the payroll and told to report in the morning, signed the security forms and had then: pictures taken for badges.
“Tomorrow morning we’ll start with a project briefing,” Gordon told them, “then turn you over to the section chief who’ll be your boss. His name is Ray Harmon, and he’s an electronics engineer we borrowed from thePacificMissileRange . Better get here byeight o’clock , which means you’ll have to leave the lodge by seven-thirty at the latest.”
“Won’t you be with us?” Rick asked.
“No. My quarters are here on the base. But I’ll be seeing you after hours, too-now and then. Tonight I’m the duty officer, so take my jeep and head for the lodge. Tomorrow we’ll requisition you some wheels of your own.”
Theboys unloaded baggage from the plane and into the scientist’s jeep, leaving only Rick’s rocket belt.
“Something new on theNevada scene,” Rick observed. “Looks like a portable lunch wagon.”
Scotty chuckled.“With sandwiches at prices suitable for a robber gang. Do you suppose they’re descendants of Frank and Jesse James?”
Rick rememberedLas Vegas prices from their previous trip. “Isn’t everyone out here?” he asked.
They turned off Route 95 onto Route 52, which, if followed to the end, would lead them intoDeath Valley . The road climbed steadily, and began to twist and turn as they approached the top of theCharlestonRange . A wooden sign at a turnoff directed them to Aspen Lodge, and they swung into a one-way dirt road, made one way by its narrowness. Now and then they passed a turnout. If two cars met between turnouts, one would have to back up.
The road, little more than a cart track, climbed steadily until they were in the timber. Tall pines were mixed with stands of aspen, and it was cool in the comparative shade. Then the path turned through a thick grove and they were suddenly at Aspen Lodge.
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Barby and Jan had been waiting. They jumped to their feet and vaulted over the low porch railing on the front of a small cabin-a feat made possible by wearing riding pants and white shirts that Rick recognized as his. No wonder he had been short of shirts when he packed.
Scotty drove to meet the girls, who immediately climbed aboard and directed him to the most distant cabin in the row of five. “That’s where the Winstons live,” Barby explained. “They’re waiting with cold drinks.”
While the girls chatted excitedly about their trip, Rick surveyed the lodge. It was quiet, clean, and very nice. He saw that it was situated on a kind of wooded bench on the mountainside. Below the lodge, the mountain dropped away to the desert slopes. Above it, the mountain climbed steeply toward a rocky peak.
The lodge property consisted of the main building and the five cabins. The cabins were on a kind of lane in front of the main structure. Next to the one nearest the big building he saw a duplicate of the Jones Boys panel truck they had passed.
The cabins were sheathed with pine logs, the bark still in place. Each had a small front porch and a natural stone chimney that indicated a fireplace inside. Rick was pleased. The effect was nice. He saw that a swimming pool was situated just behind the cabins. It wasn’t a big one, but it was adequate.
The Winstons greeted the boys warmly, and Mrs. Winston poured fresh limeade which they took gratefully. But Barby couldn’t wait for them to drink it all.
“Bring your glasses with you,” she directed. “Well show you your cabin.”
Outside, Barby pointed to each of the cabins in turn. “That one on the end belongs to the Jones Boys.
They have two lunch wagons, and they sell food and stuff to the workers at the bases around here. The next cabin belongs to Mr. and Mrs. Carstairs . They’re elderly people, and they spend all their time in the woods taking movies of birds and animals. The one in the middle is yours,then comes ours, and the Winstons are at the other end. Come on, we’ll show you yours.”
Jan led the way, and held the cabin door open with a flourish. “We hope you like it.”
Rick and Scotty stepped in, followed by Barby. Rick’s glance swept the room. Although anyone not knowing him would have assumed he hadn’t really seen much, the training he and Scotty had received from Steve Ames of JANIG registered every detail. He could have drawn a very accurate sketch of the room and everything in it.
It was a single, large room, with two day beds against opposite walls. The fireplace was large enough for good-sized logs and occupied most of the back wall. A pair of natural pine dressers stood on each side of the entrance door. In the middle of the roomwas a round oak table and four chairs. Two comfortable chairs with reading lamps flanked the fireplace.Across the back corner to the right of the fireplace hung a curtain. Rick lifted it and saw that it concealed a small refrigerator, cupboards, a work-table, and a two-burner alcohol stove.
The walls of the cabin were smoothly plastered and hung with Indian rugs, a pair of deer antlers, an ancient powder horn, and a peculiar-looking stuffed animal head with horns. But Rick’s eyes were attracted to a pair of framed photographs on the fireplace mantel. He grinned. They were photos of Barby and Jan looking their most glamorous,which , he admitted, was considerable. The pairwere Page 18
duplicates of those on his father’s desk at home. They might even be the same ones.
“I see we have pictures of the native inhabitants,” he said.
Scotty inspected the photographs closely. “Interesting types, aren’t they? Notice the low foreheads and beady eyes. The cephalic index seems to be about the same as that of the famous Caledonian knothead tribe. But the ear ornaments puzzle me. Probably cheap trade goods.”
Rick nodded soberly. “I imagine they traded rabbit skins for those.”
Barby stamped on his instep. It hurt, and Rick yelled, “Hey! Cut it out.”
“Native girls short-tempered,” Barby said. “Kick big white brother in shins. Seriously, those pictures aren’t just so you can admire our beauty-although you can if you want to.”
“No,” Jan added. “They’re to remind you that we’re here, and if the two of you go traipsing off without us, it’s going to mean trouble.”
“We want you to promise something,” Barby said firmly.
Rick looked at her suspiciously. “What?”
“Well, we know you have to work, and that you’ll probably do your stuff for JANIG on the job. But we want your promise that after working hours, you’ll include us.In everything.”
Rick considered. He wouldn’t promise lightly, because he kept his promises, and Barby knew it. Steve Ames hadn’t really given them an assignment. He had only asked them to keep their eyes open. It was highly unlikely that they would be doing anything about the information leaks after working hours. Even so, he had to allow for the possibility. His eyes met Scotty’s. Scotty shrugged.
“I can’t give you a blanket promise,” Rick said at last. “We can’t be sure what may happen. But I’ll promise this much: we’ll include you whenever we possibly can, and I expect that will be just about all the time, or at least most of it.”
“Does that mean whenever you see a little excitement ahead you won’t include us?” Jan asked.
Scotty took a hand. “He doesn’t mean that at all. Only sometimes we may have to take off directly from work and go somewhere. I don’t know, and neither does Rick.”
Rick remembered one such trip into the desert, when he and Scotty had found themselves stranded in a ghost town. Good thing the girls hadn’t been along then. “Take it just as I said it,” he repeated. “We’ll include you whenever we possibly can. Okay?”
“If you mean it exactly that way,it’s okay,” Barby said. “Now come on. We’ll show you the main lodge and you can register, then we’ll have a swim.”
Rick looked around appreciatively as Barby led the way. Aspen Lodge was just about perfect. If the girls stayed at the lodge, he and Scotty wouldn’t need to worry about them. They’d be safe and out of trouble in these cool and lovely surroundings.
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CHAPTER V
Project Ramshorn
Rick and Scotty were not the only new employees. They gathered with several others in the main office of the project building they had seen from the air, while John Gordon and three other men waited for them to find seats and quiet down.
The boys had picked up their badges at the main gate, where they were told to report to Building Ten. It had turned out to be the one surrounded by the chain-link fence, and an Air Force guard had examined their badges with care, comparing the photo
s with their faces before he let them in. Security, Rick thought, was probably pretty good.
Now a tall, lean man in workman’s khaki trousers and open shirt took the floor. “My name is Murphy.
I’m Lomac’s Administrative Director for this project, which means you new men come under my jurisdiction. However, you will report to the technical crew for assignments, and to me only for equipment-and your pay.”
The new men chuckled. Pay was important; that was one of the reasons why they were here, in the middle of theNevadaDesert , in the heat of summer.
“We’ll get down to specifics in a moment,” Murphy added. “But first, I want to introduce the Scientific Director for this phase of the project, Dr. John Gordon.”
Gordon sat on the edge of Murphy’s desk and let his glance roam over the new men. “You are all technicians,” he began. “This and any other similar project depends on men like you. The scientists and engineers can come up with beautiful plans, but they’re worth nothing unless the technical folks can carry them out. We think you can work more intelligently if you know how your tasks fit into the overall project, so I want to outline briefly what Project Ramshorn is all about. The general project classification is secret. The actualdesign of some parts, and the capability of the system, are both top secret.”
The scientist went to a blackboard at the rear of the office. A series of rollers, like wall map rollers, were at the top of the board. Gordon pulled one down like a curtain.
Rick whistled softly. Instead of a chart or a map, Gordon had pulled down an artist’s conception of something like a cross between a rocket and a plane. It was long, with a pointed nose, and perfectly smooth except for tiny control surfaces, like wings that had never developed.
“This is Ramshorn,” Gordon said. “It is a nuclear-powered ramjet, of a radically new design. If it works-and we think it will-it will have virtually unlimited range. That means it can approach aggressor territory from any direction. It can carry ten hydrogen bombs, each one self-propelled and guided, and capable of traveling five hundred miles after launching from Ramshorn. The nuclear ramjet will have a cruising speed of Mach 5.”
