Tom Swift and His Diving Seacopter (9 page)

The old woman shook her head vigorously. Bud took out a dollar bill and laid it with the coins, but again she shook her head. He kept adding money but still she refused.

"Not for sale!" she insisted.

"Reckon you better leave this to me, son," said Chow. Reaching into his pocket, he took out a fake pearl necklace and several sparkling trinkets. "Now here’s somethin’ a pretty gal like you kin use a sight more’n money!" he told the woman.

Holding the necklace up in place under her billowing double chin, he went on, "Jest look there! Ain’t that gorgeous? ’Course they ain’t near as beautiful as your eyes an’ they don’t sparkle half so bright, but they sure do look first-rate on you!"

The woman blushed and smirked. "Far you, Senhor, I cannot refuse. Here—take the
piedra verde.
In old days, the strong warrior woman give this to the man she love best—just as I now give this to you."

The woman beamed and smiled, bending close to Chow as if she were about to kiss him. The former chuck-wagon cook took the carved stone and backed away nervously, handing it to Bud. Under his breath, he muttered to Tom and Bud, "Come on, let’s vamoose!"

"It will bring much good luck and save you from danger!" she called after them.

As the three North Americans hurried down the street, Bud asked Chow with a grin, "How did you happen to have that junk in your pocket, Chow?"

The Texan replied smugly, "You ought to know by now I never travel in Injun country without a few knickknacks fer trade goods." But he looked somewhat abashed. "Still, I reckon I shouldn’t’ve taken advantage o’ the poor thing that way."

Tom had turned the turtle-stone over and was carefully examining its underbelly in the light. "Don’t feel too guilty, Chow. I’d say you and she are about even."

"Whatcha mean, Tom?"

Tom held up the stone so Chow could read what was inscribed on it. "Well I’ll be ding-danged!" he gulped.
"Souvenir of Hotel Tortugas, Acapulco, Mexico!"

Tom and Bud broke into loud laughter, which Chow readily joined.

Following directions they had received from the owner of the café, they proceeded out of Porto do Moniz, eventually turning from the busy paved highway onto a narrow road which was only partially paved. Approaching the edge of a sheer cliff that overlooked the ocean, they sighted an old, rambling structure built in the style of a hacienda. Behind the house was a high concrete dome, evidently Taclos’ observatory. Wooden stairs led down the side of the cliff to a small pier, where a large, flat-bottomed boat, like a houseboat but much bigger, was docked. Tom noted that its roof bristled with electronic antennas of various types.

"If I got my directions straight, that must be Taclos’s house," said Tom. "That café owner mentioned that Taclos has a big telescope."

"I dunno, boys," Chow muttered. "I don’t trust a feller whose spyglass is bigger than his gun."

"Well, maybe he has a really big gun," Bud jibed.

"Let’s see who’s home," said Tom.

As they approached the house, a sound like a creaky hinge made them pause. After a moment a pair of men appeared from behind the house. They had their backs to the Swift party and were walking toward the cliff stairs.

Bud grabbed Tom’s arm and hissed in his ear. "I’ll bet anything that’s those two jerkfaces who tried to get info from the girls! Looks just like the description."

"And I’m pretty sure I saw one if them at Wickliffe Laboratories the day we went there," Tom said softly.

Bud acted instantly, without thought. He began sprinting toward the two at top speed.

The pounding of his feet on the gravel alerted the men, who spun around and reacted with surprise and alarm, redoubled when they saw Tom Swift standing further back.

"C’mon!" commanded Ferd Acton.

The men were already close to the stairs. Despite Bud’s athletic prowess as a star footballer in high school, they had the advantage. Before he could reach the fleeing figures they were already clattering down the rickety steps to the beach below.

"I wanna have a word with you boys!"
the dark-haired pilot yelled at his quarries.

The men paused at a landing some distance down. Kelt Price looked up defiantly. "Tell it to the fish, kid!" Then they continued down to the bottom, crossing the beach and boarding the boat. In moments the boat had puttered out to sea.

"Never mind," said Tom, standing next to his friend. "At least we know now that Wickliffe has been working with Taclos. Maybe he’s inside the house."

The three returned to the front of the decrepit structure and knocked. After several tries, a deeply tanned young man opened the door. He was about twenty years old and wore a comfortable-looking white cotton shirt and trousers. "Does Senhor Taclos live here?" inquired Tom.

"Ah,
sim,
Senhor. But he is not at home. I am Raca, his, as you say, servant." The young man’s dark eyes studied the visitors.

"It is most urgent that we talk to him," Tom insisted. "Where can we find him?"

"Alas, Senhor, he has gone away on a sea journey with Mr. Week-leef."

"I’ll bet!" Bud exploded angrily. "And they just left five minutes ago!" Raca did not respond, but stared at Bud with stoic politeness.

"It’s unfortunate that we arrived a little late," Tom said in soothing tones. "It had been intended that we would join them, along with Mr. Acton and Mr. Price."

Raca seemed to relax a bit.
"Sim,
his assistants. Regrettable that you were not here in time."

Trying to get something for their efforts, Tom decided on a random shot. "Do you know of the fireball that went down in the ocean?"

"But of course, Senhor. I will show you where." The servant invited the three into the Professor’s large, untidy office and showed them a chart of the sea floor. He pointed to a spot between Madiera and the Horseshoe Seamounts and read off the coordinates. "That is where the Professor is going with the others, to try to look at this meteor in his, what?—his big bell. Perhaps you could meet with them there, in a boat."

Worried, Tom asked, "Do you know if they’ve definitely found the site?"

"I think so," said Raca. "Then again, I am not told everything, Senhor."

Glumly the three made their way back through town, heading toward the cove.

"What’ll we do now, Boss?" Chow inquired. "Mebbe we should go there in the
Arrow
and ram ’em!"

Bud added, "I’m all for that, skipper!"

But Tom would not countenance such an aggressive approach. "We still don’t know—not to a legal certainty—that Wickliffe and the gang have broken any laws. They have the right to try to reach the object. Besides, I’m not so sure Raca was telling us the straight truth."

"How’s that, Tom?" Chow asked in surprise.

"Well, he says he isn’t kept informed of the details of his boss’s work, but he sure pointed to that spot in the ocean easily—as if he had picked it at random. And I noticed that there were no pencil marks on the chart near that point. Doesn’t really prove anything, but I’m not inclined to spend much time checking out Raca’s site."

Bud began to voice his agreement, but suddenly Chow brought them to a stop. "Say, am I loco? Ain’t this where the submo-copter’s s’posed t’ be?"

They stood at the entrance to a high-sided cove. The gentle surf washed over an empty beach.

"No, this is the wrong place," Tom responded hesitantly.

Bud pointed. "Skipper, I recognize those rocks up there. We’re in the right place. The seacopter’s been stolen!"

AS TOM GASPED in angry dismay, Bud groaned, "We should have guessed. They must have come here straightaway in Taclos’s boat." The three trotted down the beach to the water’s edge, to seek out any clues that the waves had not obliterated.

"I only hope Ham and George are all right," Tom said. "Wickliffe may have put them ashore somewhere down the coast before heading out to sea."

Chow tried to be reassuring. "Now listen, mebbe we’re gettin’ all het up fer nothin’. Might be them oceanography boys jest decided to pull out into the ocean fer some fishin’. You said Teller knew how to work the controls, Tom."

"Yes," Tom conceded. "I taught him the ins and outs yesterday. But I hardly think—"

The young inventor’s words were cut off by a loud, echoing
bang!
that made everyone jump.

"Thunder!" cried Chow. "Looks like a storm’s blowin’ in." The sky had grown overcast, and the wind had been picking up for some minutes. Even as Chow spoke, rain began to fall.

"Oh, great!" Bud muttered in disgust. "We not only lose the seacopter, but now we get rained on!"

Tom did not smile at his pal’s complaint. "This isn’t just a little rain. Look at that lightning out there. It’s a major squall!"

Conditions deteriorated by the second. Already dense, wind-whipped rain was stinging their faces. Plumes of water poured into the cove from the cliffs that loomed on three sides.

"Man o man, this is worse’n a Texas gully-washer!" Chow exclaimed through gritted teeth.

But a cry from Bud drew their attention seaward. A huge wall of water was sweeping toward them! They must find refuge!

"There’s no high ground here!" Bud exclaimed fearfully. The surrounding cliffs were too steep-sided, and already too slick with mud, to aid them. "That wave will swamp us!"

Shouting over the wind, Tom pointed to a line of tall palms twisting and fluttering a hundred feet further back. "We’d better shinny up those trees!"

The boys and Chow frantically clambered up the trunks of the thin, towering palms as best they could. They had not yet reached the fronds at the top when the enormous wall of water charged up the beach and hit the trees with the force of a bulldozer. The wind increased to a roaring shriek that whipped them far over at an angle.

The tree to which Tom was clinging bent almost double under the blast. As the angry waters swirled and foamed around it, he wondered tensely if the tree would be uprooted and he would be thrown into the raging stream!

But Tom and Bud’s problems were minor compared to those facing Chow. The rotund cowpoke had been unable to climb up more than a few feet when the tsunami hit. Foam surged around him and over his head. He was completely immersed in the wild, roiling river of sea water. The boys lost sight of him. A minute later they blanched. The Texan’s beloved ten-gallon hat was tumbling along in the surf, its owner nowhere to be seen!

Desperately Tom and Bud watched the wall of water roll inland. Their muscles ached from the strain of holding onto the serrated tree trunks.

Suddenly Bud shouted against the roaring wind, "The copter!"

Tom turned his face in the direction Bud was looking. The
Ocean Arrow
could be seen a thousand yards out at sea, beating its way forward through the gale. Would they see the stranded trio? And were the pilots friendly or hostile?

At the risk of losing their grip, the two waved frantically. At first it appeared as if the seacopter pilots, seen only dimly behind the viewpane, might fly past the cove without noticing them. But presently the ship turned and swooped up the cove toward the palm trees, its cushion of air flattening the rushing waves.

"They’ve sighted us!" cried Tom. "Hold on!"

But the flanking strip of palm bark that Bud was resting his weight on suddenly ripped loose, and the young pilot plunged down into the surf. Heedless of danger, Tom leapt in after him. Wrapping an arm about his friend, Tom found that he could force Bud’s head up into the air, but at the cost of thrusting himself down beneath the surface. Tom’s feet brushed the bottom, but he could not gain a footing.

The direction of the current had now reversed, and the invading waters had begun to withdraw.
We’re being swept out to sea!
Tom thought in a frenzy of desperation.

Suddenly he hit up against a soft, bulky object that blocked his helpless slide. Maintaining his grip on Bud, Tom was able to hold his position as the water level fell away around him. Soon he was gulping-in lungfuls of air, kneeling on the wet, tumbled sand.

Strong hands helped him to his feet. "How’re ya doin’?" came a familiar voice.

"Chow!"
Tom choked. "Was that you in the water?"

"Sure was, son," the cook panted. "May not be much of a tree-climber, but I kin hold my own in th’ water purty well. B’sides which, I ’as standin’ on a rock!"

Bud was already on his feet, knocking the water from his ears and grinning. He dug down deep into a pocket and drew out his green turtle. "Brought me luck after all!" he laughed, weakly.

The squall had passed completely, and the midday sun was already beginning to dry the beach. The
Ocean Arrow
set down near the water’s edge, and Tom was overjoyed to see George and Ham emerge from the top hatchway.

As the drenched expeditioners dried themselves, George gave an account of what had happened. "We picked up a radio report of a super-squall making for the town," the oceanographer explained. "So Ham here got the notion he ought to get the
Arrow
up off the beach and away from the waves."

"Probably a good idea," commented Tom appreciatively.

"Yes, but I had a little trouble steering her," admitted Ham Teller, red-faced. "We were twenty miles out before I figured how to work the jet gimbals."

"Blame your teacher!" Tom laughed.

Tom piloted the
Ocean Arrow
northward, toward their undersea hunting grounds. En route Chow served one of his aquatic dishes, a spicy and filling salad that earned a good deal of praise. "Sounds fine t’ my ears," the cook said proudly. "Almost makes up fer losin’ my hat!"

Arriving at the next sector of their predesigned search pattern, Tom settled down on the surface. Gyrostabilized, the ship barely rocked in the waves.

"If your calculations are right, the city of gold should be somewhere below us," Tom said on the intercom loud-speaker to the two oceanographers. "If we find the rocket today, we could be in Atlantis tomorrow."

"I’m expecting a big sign saying,
If you lived in Atlantis, you would be home now!"
joked George Braun.

Tom eased forward on the control wheel and the seacopter plummeted downward.