Rick Brant 1 The Rocket's Shadow

by John Blaine

  Then a girl’s voice, surprised, said, “Oh, hello. I didn’t know there was anyone in this old building.”

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  Rick and Scotty reached for each other at the same moment, their faces white.

  “Barby,” Rick choked. She had entered the building and was in the outer room!

  Kogan’s voice came through the door again. “I’m sorry, miss. I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

  “You must be the watchman,” Barby said. She sounded completely calm. “Would you answer some questions?”

  “What kind of questions?” Kogan asked suspiciously.

  “About the building. You see, my church club is looking for a nice place to hold a charity bazaar. We’re going to have booths and games and prizes-everything, and some of the girls are going to bake cakes and cookies. And . . .”

  “She’s stalling for time,” Scotty whispered. “She knows we’re here.”

  Rick nodded silently, in an agony of fear for his sister. If Kogan found out who she was . . .

  “The joint’s already rented,” the guard said. “You can’t hold your whatsis here. Now run along, miss.”

  “But can’t I please look around? I’m sure the owner would let us use it for just two nights.”

  Dismal barked in the outer room.

  “Oh, here’s Diz,” the boys heard Barby say. “Isn’t he cute?”

  Kogan was silent for a long minute, while Rick’s forehead beaded with sweat. Then the guard said,

  “Say, I’ve seen that pooch somewhere before.” And then he bellowed, “I’ve got it! It’s that kid’s dog.

  I’ve seen him at the airport. Listen, who are you?”

  “Why,” Barby faltered, “I—that is, I—“

  “You look like him,” Kogan said ominously. “Wait a minute, don’t get too close to that door. Just move over to the other side of the room, sister.”

  “I think I’d better be going,” Barby said. There was sudden fright in her voice. “Come on, Diz.”

  “You ain’t goin’ anywhere.” Kogan sounded sure of himself.

  Rick could almost read the guard’s thoughts: Scar-face would have only high praise and perhaps a reward if Kogan captured his sister.

  “Please let me go!” Barby sounded terrified now.

  “Don’t be in a hurry,” Kogan said. “Come on. Don’t try to run, now. Ow!” He let out a bellow. “Kick me in the shins, would you?”

  Scotty’s solid frame smashed against the door. It wouldn’t budge. He whirled to Rick, a wild look in his Page 83

  eyes. “We’ve got to get out!”

  Rick heard Barby’s scream of fright, and on the instant, he left the floor in a wild leap, his hand up-stretched to the dangling light fixture. His hand just brushed it—he missed. He fell back to the floor.

  “I’ll get it,” he said through clenched teeth. He crouched, then shot ceilingward again. His hand closed around the socket and held fast. The jerk almost dislocated his arm, but the wiring yielded and he landed in a heap on the floor, the socket in his hands.

  Scotty grabbed the loose wiring and threw his weight on it. It ripped loose and tumbled in a mass to the floor. Then he and Rick combined their weights in a jerk that snapped the wires loose from the junction box high overhead.

  Rick took the socket end of the wire and wound it around his waist twice.

  Scotty ran to the window and crashed his foot through it, kicking at the broken pane until it was free of jagged edges.

  From outside the door they heard the sound of running feet and Kogan’s yell to Barby to stop before she got hurt. Rick took the wire in both hands and lay flat on the floor, his feet braced against the wall under the window.

  Scotty was out the window in an instant, and there were long seconds when the wire bit cruelly into Rick’s body and scored deep lines across his hands. Then the wire went slack and he rose, pulling it from around him. He ran to the door and put his ear against it.

  “Those kids are getting away,” Kogan shouted. “Don’t move, you!”

  Feet pounded toward the door. The guard had heard the window shatter. Rick bent low, ready to rush him.

  The key grated in the door. The moment daylight showed through, his shoulder smashed into the panel.

  The door crunched into something solid and he heard a muffled grunt from Kogan, then he was through the opening, sprawling headlong with the force of his rush.

  “Rick!” Barby screamed.

  He managed to catch a glimpse of her, behind the rocket cylinder, before he whirled to face Kogan just as the guard pulled the Luger from his pocket. Rick started forward and the pistol muzzle steadied on a direct line with his head.

  “Don’t try it,” Kogan said harshly.

  Rick stopped, breathing hard.

  The guard got to his feet, the pistol unwavering on Rick’s head. “Where’s the other one?”

  “He flew out the window,” Rick answered. “Just like a little bird. And he’ll be back with the cops.”

  A slim hand slipped into his. He turned and managed a smile for a very frightened Barby. “It’s all right, Page 84

  sis,” he said. “He won’t do anything.”

  Dismal trotted over and whined a greeting. Rick bent and fondled his ears, listening for any sound from Scotty. Was he imagining things or had he heard the soft scrape of footsteps just outside the door?

  Kogan gestured with the pistol. “Back against the wall, both of you. And don’t make a false move, or I’ll blast you.”

  Rick gasped as Barby took a step toward the guard “You wouldn’t dare,” she said defiantly.

  Kogan’s hand lifted menacingly, and in that moment Dismal decided to take a hand.

  With a low snarl, the little dog leaped for the man who was menacing his young mistress. His teeth clamped firmly into Kogan’s leg and he held on.

  Rick started forward, but Scotty was quicker. He came across the room in a mad rush and his shoulder battered into Kogan’s midriff. The gun flew across the room and the guard went backward. His head crashed against the wall. He jerked once and slid to the floor, unconscious.

  Scotty turned to Barby. “Are you all right?” he asked anxiously.

  The girl nodded, eyes wide. “Where did you come from?”

  “I was waiting outside the door. Thanks to Diz, I got a chance to do something.”

  “Let’s get out of here,” Rick said urgently.

  “Just a minute.” Scotty picked up the Luger. He leveled it at the unfinished control section of the rocket, and orange flame spurted from the muzzle. The crash of the shot sounded in Rick’s ears, followed by the tinkle of glass.

  Four times more, Scotty pressed the trigger. Then, not content with the damage he had done, he went to the cylinder and reversed the pistol, hammering with the butt until the delicate mechanism was a tangled mass of torn wiring and broken tubes.

  “Let them repair that,” he said grimly. “Come onr kids. Let’s get out of here.”

  Rick kept a firm grip on Barby’s hand. He shook his head at the fury in Scotty’s face. It was the first time he had ever seen his friend really angry. He hoped Carlos and the others wouldn’t return. Scotty was in a mood to shoot straight and fast.

  Outside the building, Scotty turned to them, and his face was its usually friendly self. “I don’t like mugs who try to put their hands on girls,” he said. “It makes me lose my temper.”

  “Were you angry?” Rick said grinning weakly. “I wouldn’t have known.”

  “Stop it, Rick,” Barby commanded. “I think Scotty was wonderful!”

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  CHAPTER XIX

  Rick’s Gadget Works

  Hartson Brant paced the floor of the living room before Rick, Barby, and Scotty. They sat on the floor, while Dismal, the hero of the day, sat enthroned in the chair.

  “You might have been killed,” Rick’s father said, “chasing off after those men like that!”

  “But it had to be done, Dad,” Rick pointed out.
“And we have the goods on them now.”

  “Have you?” Hartson Brant stopped his pacing and looked at his son. “I’m not so sure. You found the laboratory, yes. But having a lab isn’t illegal. Those men might even be able to squeeze out of holding you prisoner. Didn’t you trespass? And didn’t you smash their equipment?”

  “But they shot at the plane,” Rick protested. “And they tried to force me down with that stolen biplane.”

  “Even those things would be hard to prove,” Hartson Brant said, “unless we can find out the name of the traitor.”

  “I have some ideas, Dad,” Rick said thoughtfully. “First, the messages on the barn. We know now that they were written with special paint. We know it took special lenses to read the messages. If we could find those lenses, that would tell us something.”

  “Do you think the traitor would leave them lying around?” Hartson Brant asked dryly. “And there’s one thing we haven’t considered. Even if we catch the traitor, we still won’t have the top man.”

  “Why couldn’t the traitor be the top man?” Rick was puzzled.

  “We must assume that they are trying to wreck our experiment in order to leave a clear field for a rocket of their own. Evidently, through this traitor, they have kept abreast of our developments, planning to use our knowledge to complete their own rocket. That means they are after the Stoneridge grant of two million dollars.”

  “That’s right, Dad,” Rick agreed. “I can’t think of any other answer.”

  “The traitor could not apply for the grant in his own name, don’t you see? The fact that he had been working with me would point the finger of guilt at him immediately. That means the gang is led by an outsider, a scientist with some reputation. The traitor and the others are mere hirelings, working for a share of the two million.”

  Scotty spoke up. “Couldn’t Scarface be the leader, sir?”

  “I have never known a man such as you describe,” Hartson Brant said. “And I know every scientist working in this field. No, I’m afraid the identity of the top man is still a secret.”

  “We should certainly have those men picked up, though,” Rick suggested. “The police could get them when they return to the factory.”

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  “I’ll phone immediately.” Hartson Brant walked out to the switchboard to call the Whiteside State Police.

  “There’s one thing you haven’t explained, Barby,” Rick said. “How on earth did you wind up at the factory?”

  “Well,” Barby answered, “I listened in while you were talking to Scotty. When you didn’t come back right away, I thought you were having some fun Dismal and I should get in on, so we took a boat and went over. I never dreamed-“

  “I guess you didn’t,” Rick said.

  Scotty suddenly snapped his fingers. “The love letter. We forgot about that.”

  “I didn’t,” Rick said. “Anyway, Jerry has it. I doubt that it will tell us much.”

  “That code stops me,” Scotty remarked. “And why did they change the sign from ‘Smoke’ to ‘Drink’

  and back again?”

  “I think it was to tell the traitor there was a message for him,” Rick said. “He couldn’t take the chance of being seen looking through binoculars every day, and that way he would just have to look at the barn and see if there was a message. If so, he could get the glasses. There was no danger of anyone’s noticing the word change except for aircraft, and then only if a fellow flew over it every day, as I did.”

  “That was where they slipped,” Scotty agreed.

  “If only we could find the traitor with those lenses on him, or find them in his room.”

  “Well, why don’t we try?”

  Hartson Brant came in at that moment. “Try what?”

  “To find the lenses, Dad,” Rick explained. “We can search for them while all the men are at the lab, if you’ll try to keep them there.”

  Mr. Brant considered. “I don’t like it. But I suppose there’s no other way. I’m going to the lab right now. The police will be here shortly.”

  “Just a minute, Dad,” Rick said suddenly, “I’ve been wanting to ask you. How does it happen that everyone on the staff has a copy of Psychiatry Simplified? That was the code book, you know.”

  “It was clever of our man, whoever he is, to use that book. Dr. Judson Chambers, the author, is an old friend. He sent us all autographed copies.”

  “I wish there had been some other explanation,” Rick said. “It might have given us a clue.”

  “Concentrate on finding the lenses,” Mr. Brant said. “I’ll go along to the lab.”

  Rick posted Barby at the front door with instructions to run and warn them if anyone came from the lab and then he and Scotty went to the long corridor from which branched the combination bedrooms and Page 87

  offices of the scientists.

  Again Rick felt guilt at prowling through the belongings of men whom he respected and liked; but. as his father had said, there was no other way.

  Weiss’s room was the first stop. “Look everywhere,” he told Scotty. He reached for a desk drawer and began searching. As he inspected the last drawer, he noticed the curled bit of scotch tape stuck to the edge.

  “Scotty, Weiss wasn’t lying,” he said, indicating the tape.

  “Then he did try to trap the traitor.”

  “Yes, but don’t forget he’s the only one besides Dad who has binoculars,” Rick reminded him.

  “We’ve never seen him use them,” Scotty pointed out. “And they’re not here now.”

  “And neither are the lenses,” Rick said.

  They moved to the next room.

  “Zircon’s,” he said.

  “We saw him reading the key book to the code, remember?”

  “But everyone else has a copy, too, so that’s nothing against him.”

  “Lenses would be, if we could find them,” Scotty commented.

  Rick went through the desk, while Scotty searched the other furniture in the room.

  “Nothing,” Rick said as they finished. “That leaves only one more place.”

  They went down the corridor and into the last scientist’s quarters.

  “Look!” Scotty exclaimed as they closed the door.

  There, on top of a bookcase, were Weiss’s binoculars.

  “Now,” Rick said excitedly, “if only the lenses are here, too!”

  They searched the big room twice before giving up, refusing to believe the lenses would not be in this last place. Then Rick dropped into a chair. “No luck,” he said. “We’re sunk, Scotty.”

  “And right up there are the very glasses used to read those messages,” Scotty said unhappily. “I’m sure of it. If only the lenses were with them!” He reached idly for the glasses.

  Rick sat bolt upright. “Let me see those.”

  He flicked a finger over the end of the binoculars, right where the lens mounts were fitted. “Does this metal look scratched to you?”

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  “No, but the lens mounts look newer than the rest.”

  “Maybe they’ve been painted recently.” Rick scratched at the paint covering and, to his amazement, a large flake came loose, disclosing older paint underneath. “They have been painted,” he said. “Do you think new lenses have been added?”

  “Holy smoke!” Scotty exclaimed. “Do you think this is what we’ve been looking for?”

  “They must be,” Rick said. “But why couldn’t I read a message on the barn when I looked through them?”

  Scotty shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “Wait! I’ve got it!” Rick ran from the room with Scotty close behind. Down the stairs they went and across the orchard. Rick headed for the tidal flats, sprinting as fast as he could go.

  They brought up at the bluff, a little breathless, and Rick put the glasses to his eyes. The barn came into focus, and the sign. “Scotty,” he choked, “look!”

  Scotty took the glasses and held them on the sign.

&nbs
p; There, in blue letters against the white of the sign, was the message: BEAT IT!

  “Don’t you see?” Rick said. “When we caught Stringfellow here, the sign said ‘Drink White Cream,’

  which was the normal reading. There was no message then!”

  “Then why did he have the glasses trained on it,” Scotty objected.

  “I don’t know for sure, but if he were the one who dropped the radiation shields, he’d have suffered from a slight burn that could have affected his eyes. Besides, he missed a lot of sleep. Maybe he couldn’t see the sign without the glasses.”

  “Sounds reasonable,” Scotty answered, “put there would have been a message left on the sign from the day before.”

  “The paint is special stuff,” Rick said. “Maybe the chemical evaporates in a few hours. The cans were tightly covered, remember. That way, they could repaint almost every day without painting over the old numbers, because they’d have faded. Remember, we didn’t hear them painting out an old message.”

  “Then it’s Stringfellow!” Scotty declared.

  “Right,” Rick said grimly. “He’s the one who sold us out for a cut of that two million.”

  They ran back to the laboratory, and as they reached the door, they could see the scientists inside, working on the final stages of the moon rocket.

  Hartson Brant came to them as they entered.

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  Rick hesitated. “How are things going, Dad?”

  “If nothing more happens,” Mr. Brant replied, “we should be able to launch on schedule tomorrow night.”

  “Nothing more will happen,” Rick said, and he looked straight at Stringfellow. “We’ve found the traitor, Dad.”

  Stringfellow came to his feet, startled. “Who is it?” he asked huskily.

  Rick took the binoculars from behind his back. “Do these answer your question?”

  A faint trace of alarm appeared in Stringfellow’s eyes, but he was immediately composed again. “No, I don’t think they do.”

  “We read the secret message on the barn,” Rick snapped. “Your friends have flown the coop. They’ve left you holding the bag.”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea of what you’re talking about,” Stringfellow said icily.