Tom Swift and His Triphibian Atomicar (15 page)

The morning sun revealed that the entire encampment had motored eastward into the hills, presumably only hours before the
Queen’s
arrival. "We didn’t see any sign of them in the hills yesterday, but that was from the air," noted Tom. "We shouldn’t have any problem if we use the atomicar."

In his halting English, Ishad Rullza, the Baluchi, asked if Tom wished him to go along. Tom explained that there would be no need at present. "But you will be of great value to us when we begin our real work," Tom said.

Tom and Bud followed the trail of thick tires, easily visible, into the hills. They found themselves on a crude road that was sometimes indistinguishable from a washed-out gully as it wound upward. "I’d say the ol’
Silent Streak
has really proved herself!" Bud declared with a grin. "The gravitexes keep us from slipping or tipping, and when we get to a big pothole or a break in the road, we just air-hop over it."

Presently Tom halted the atomicar. A tall, turbaned man on horseback waited immobilely in the middle of their crude roadway.

"Jaywalker!" Bud grumbled humorously. "Wait’ll he sees us take the sky route over him."

Tom shook his head. "He may have some information about the workers. Let’s see if he understands English." He used the exterior speaker, wondering if the man would be startled or fearful. "
Good morning!
" Tom said in a friendly tone. "
Do you speak English, sir?
"

The man nodded in a half-bow of confirmation. His voice now came through the speakers in the passenger cabin. "I do indeed. Are you by chance Mr. Swift?"

Tom was pleased and amazed! "I sure am!"

"So I thought. I have been a guest at the camp of the workers. I know they were expecting you, and they told me something of your great flying ship and your automobile that floats in the air."

"They moved their camp, and we’ve been trying to locate them. Do you know what happened?"

The man nodded again. "It is my privilege to say, Yes. I am Gursk, a trader of fine cloth by profession, well known to the villages. I came yesterday to the camp and was made welcome. Late in the day, there came a warning by radio, from the only town close by, called Pagh Komr. One of our great storms of rain and wind was coming. There would be danger of—you say,
flash-flood
. Blessed was my presence, for I told them of this road, which leads to higher ground, the valley of Dirri. A treacherous path, but not too far for them to go with their trucks and machinery."

Tom and Bud exchanged glances. Did Gursk’s account really make sense? But perhaps the difficulties involved only the man’s limited grasp of English. "Let me try something," Bud whispered, taking the microphone from Tom. "Say, Mr. Gursk, who was in charge of the camp—the man who okayed the move? Do you recall his name?"

The two Americans tensed as Gursk stood silently, not answering. Then suddenly he said: "Yes, I do remember. The name was Eigon Corger, an odd name for an American."

"That’s right," Tom muttered to Bud. "We might as well trust the guy. We’re pretty well protected inside the
Streak
."

"Sure, Skipper. Unless they throw spears!"

Gursk rode back up the trail, which had a number of forks that might have led them astray. In less than an hour they descended into a small valley. Tom and Bud were overjoyed to see the tents of the workers camp and a row of flatbed trucks and jeeps. Gursk led the
Silent Streak
directly to the edge of the camp. As the workers began to gather excitedly, Tom exited the vehicle and offered his hand to their guide. "You’ve been very kind, Mr. Gursk."

The man did not shake Tom’s hand, but only bowed and backed away. "It is my privilege to serve you."

As Gursk rode off, Tom spoke to the muscular chief of the camp, Eigon Corger, explaining what they had been told. "We haven’t seen any sign of that rainstorm," Tom said.

"Neither have we," Corger declared irritably. "Guess that’s the way it is with weather reports." Bud then asked why they hadn’t maintained contact with the
Sky Queen
. "Why? Hey, we’d have loved to, pal! But the camp shortwave unit went dead on us yesterday just after we got the message from whatchacallit Pagh Komr. Got one of my guys workin’ on it, but couldn’t spare the time yesterday, what with all the takin’-down and settin’-up."

The camp was humming with midmorning activity. Tents, metal shacks, and prefabricated mini-warehouses had already been unloaded from the trucks and set up. Two midget bulldozers manned by Kabulistani workmen were busily smoothing out an airfield. "I wonder if they’re Baluchis like our pals," Bud commented. He and Tom had given Corger a brief account of their recent adventures.

"Nope," said Corger. "You wouldn’t want to use Baluchis in this kind of work—more than likely they’d just wander off. These guys belong to the Zadthar tribe. Real reliable."

Corger knew that per Provard’s orders he was to cooperate fully with Tom, and the young inventor had decided that there was no immediate need to relocate again to another site. They could change the order of the camp’s initial run of tasks, which involved creating a usable base from which to make surveying forays into the range of hills. After making a report to the
Sky Queen
from the high-flying atomicar, Tom spent the rest of the afternoon and evening checking over every detail of the camp setup. "Now that it doesn’t matter, since we can use your car unit, my guy tells me our camp radio’s still dead and he can’t figure out why," Corger told Tom. "Have to buy a new one. Never know what happened to it, I guess. Used to say a tube blew out, but they don’t use
tubes
no more."

Tom and Bud were issued a tent. As darkness fell, they fell asleep gratefully on their air mattresses.

Some time after midnight Tom was awakened by a disturbance outside in the camp. He jumped from his bunk, pulled on khaki slacks, and stepped into his trek shoes. He hurried outdoors, Bud following sleepy and barechested.

In the bright glare of the dynamo-powered floodlights which ringed the little camp, Provard crew members and hired native workers could be seen rushing out of their shacks and tents.

"Tom!" Bud gasped, snapping wide awake and pointing off into the distance. Something small, glinting with reflected stars, was just disappearing over the summit of a nearby hill. "Tom, that’s― "

"I know, flyboy." The young inventor’s face was agonized, beaten. "The
Silent Streak
. We’ve been
carjacked!
"

"I TELL YA, Swift, I been workin’ big engineering operations like this for near thirty years, and I never,
never
had such headaches in my life!" Eigon Corger rubbed his eyes and stared off into the night sky. "Don’t ask
me
how someone got into your car. Were the doors locked?"

Tom replied with chagrined bitterness. "I didn’t think it necessary, frankly. I didn’t expect anyone here to even know how to operate it."

"Yeah, well—surprise. It was an outsider, pretty sure of that, anyway. Couple of my men saw someone come sneakin’ down from the hills and they spread the alarm. Said he climbed right into the car like he owned it, and took off."

"Did they recognize the guy?" Bud asked. "Could they describe him?"

"Oh sure, the floodlights caught him pretty good, and he was only over at the edge of the camp. Tallish, the usual robe-and-turban outfit, some gold teeth showin’ in his mouth. Guess he grinned at ’em the whole way through."

Bud exclaimed, "Tom, it’s gotta be
Mr. Gold-Tooth!
The smokebomb guy."

Corger chuckled hollowly. "Kid, we already know his name. You mean you guys didn’t know who I meant? Sorry. The man I’m talkin’ about is Gursk."

Tom groaned in disgust. The man who had led them to the camp had been one of their mysterious enemies! "Mr. Corger—it looks to me like the rainstorm business was a hoax."

"I think so too. But what was the point?"

"I’m afraid quite a few things that have happened lately haven’t had a ‘point’," responded Tom wryly. "It might have to do with his wanting Bud and me—and the atomicar—to be separated from the
Sky Queen
, which can’t land in this little valley." But the young scientist-inventor added that the camp’s isolation would only last for as long as it took Slim Davis to suspect trouble and come hunting for them. "The cycloplane can land here easily. So I suppose we don’t have too much to worry about."

"So that’s what you
suppose
, hunh?" But Corger had another and less reassuring idea. "Now chew on this. The guy’s got the camp relocated to a much more vulnerable spot. With or without the shortwave, we’re pretty cut off here, more so than out on the plain."

"I get it now," Bud pronounced. "Gursk and his henchmen could start picking us off from the hills—or lobbing grenades."

"Sure. Or dropping bombs on our heads from your fancy flying car!" snorted Corger.

Morning dawned pale and hopeless. Joining Mr. Corger and a few of the others, the two disconsolate Americans ate a halfhearted breakfast of tinned bacon and potatoes with gravelly coffee, cooked over a blazing campfire.

"Uh-oh! We ain’t alone, boss," one of the Provard engineers said suddenly to Corger. His keen eyes had detected a movement on the skyline.

"I see ’em," responded the crew chief. "Could be the locals keeping an eye on us. They’d be Zadthars too, like my guys."

Tom conned the hilltops through binoculars and made out at least two figures—evidently lookouts watching the camp.

The morning light began to creep down the hills into the valley. Suddenly a flare shot up and burst with a
Bang!
that echoed back from all sides!

Was it a signal?
Were the campers about to be attacked?

Tensely Bud eyed the cliffs from which the flare had appeared. "What if they jump us?" he muttered. "I’ll bet they’re in cahoots with Gursk. Man alive, Tom, I’d like to charge right up there and take ’em on!"

"Uh-huh. And if they’re what you suspect, flyboy, you’ll get a nice round hole in you for your trouble. There’re probably ten we don’t see for every one we do."

"I’d guess all these hills around us are full of them by now," remarked Corger. "Waiting’s about all we can do, boys."

The eerie silence grew nervewracking. The only sounds were the chirping of insects and an occasional distant screech of a hunting hawk.

The daybreak hour passed slowly, with no further incident. The lookouts seemed to have vanished from the barren cliffs—at least none could be detected through binoculars. A degree of cheerfulness returned with the rising sun, and all three felt somewhat foolish about their fears of the early morning.

"No bombing run or sniper fire," Tom remarked with a wan smile. "It’s a cinch someone’s interested in us, though."

"Maybe it’s the Kabulistan branch of the Tom Swift Fan Club!" Bud joked, high spirits back in place.

The two from Shopton stood with a knot of workers watching one of the Zadthari—a young man named Arrib, who had sat with them at breakfast—as he used a bulldozer to clear a patch of brush, just beyond the edge of’ camp.

BOO-OO-OOM! The ground shook beneath their feet as hunks of earth and stones exploded through the air and showered down in all directions!
The brush-laden patch of ground beneath the bulldozer had erupted like a bomb!

Project men ran from all corners of the encampment, exclaiming in shock and fear. When the billow of dust began to clear, the patch of brush was now a gaping hole, ten feet wide. Down inside it Tom and Bud could see the blackened, smoky hulk of the bulldozer, overturned.

Eigon Corger was first into the crater. He scrambled to the far side of the bulldozer, reappearing in moments, face grim and troubled. He spoke softly to a couple of the tribesmen standing nearby, who put their hands to their faces despairingly. Then he faced the boys.

"Arrib’s gone," he said simply. "Didn’t have a chance."

Abruptly new shouts were heard in the camp, and fingers pointed skyward. Tom and Bud flinched as a shadow passed across them.

"
I am here. Look up. I am Gursk!
" came an amplified voice from above. The atomicar! The scarlet vehicle was drifting slowly across the valley, not very high. "
And now you know what I have done. Dirri is mined, on all sides of your camp. My friends and I, we have set them out with great care, and now you have been shown with what deadly efficiency they work. Yet I led you mercifully, Tom Swift, in perfect safety, across the one place where the mines were made inactive. But now, by a signal, those landmines have also been made deadly. And so you see, you can not leave, Mr. Swift. Nor anyone.
"

Tom yelled furiously at the top of his lungs, assuming Gursk had activated the exterior microphones as well as the speakers. "You’ve murdered a man, Gursk! What are you after?"

"
That, Mr. Swift, is not your business or concern. I only say this—do not leave the camp, not one of you. Ah, but alas, perhaps your scientific friends will come to rescue you from out of the sky. You are expecting this, are you not? In that case our watchful instruments will detect them and detonate
all
the mines together, every one. What terrible destruction all about you, surely many deaths, eh? And oh my!—perhaps even an inquisitive hawk will cause this to happen. Very sad, very sad.

"Yet you are known to be most clever, boy. At least there is a chance that, by signs and gestures and even thrown rocks, you will prevent any crossing of our prison wall of air. I shall be anxious to learn the outcome."

The atomicar banked, climbed, and vanished across the hills.

The Provard Project camp was stunned, horrified, anguished. Tom learned that some of the men were not only of Arrib’s tribe, but were of his own family. Now their mourning was joined to terror for their own lives!

Eigon Corger had a few things to say, and he said them, loudly. Then he stalked over to Tom and Bud. "Did I mention something about
headaches?
Okay, Swift, here we are, stuck in a valley in Kabulistan with bombs all around us and everybody getting hysterical. The
hysterical
part, I’ve seen before. Men go nuts and start shootin’ up the place. Hear me? Now I’ll wait calmly while you tell me what Asa Provard told you to do in this situation!"