The Scarlet Lake Mystery: A Rick Brant Science-Adventure Story

"They made one. Mac told the dispatcher they'd left an important piece of gear at Careless Mesa."

So their hunch about Mac and Pancho had been right! But Rick still couldn't figure out how they were involved.

"How did you find out?" he asked.

"Easy. I checked the board. The dispatcher was sitting right there, so I just kind of wondered aloud what a tracking team would be doing off the base at night. He's a talkative sort, anyway, so he just handed me the dope."

Exactly twenty minutes later Rick and Scotty walked through the door into the barracks in which John Gordon had his quarters. They hadn't been inside before, although they had taken the precaution of locating it in advance. It wasn't like their barracks. Instead, it was divided into a series of individual rooms, occupied by the chief executives of the base.

Gordon was waiting, and with him was Colonel Tom Preston. Preston shook hands with them.

"Apparently John was right," he greeted them. "You two do have a knack of sniffing things out."

Rick looked at the thin partition. "Is it okay to talk here?"

"It is now. I've checked. The occupants of nearby rooms are out. We'll be able to hear if anyone comes in."

Rick immediately launched into a recital of their activities since arriving in Las Vegas. Now and then Scotty elaborated. A few times Preston interrupted to ask for clarification on a point or two.

"Good," he said when they had finished. "I'll see that Deadrock gets his parts back."

"Who is Deadrock Ogg?" Scotty asked.

Preston smiled. "Quite a character, isn't he? Normally he's a Forest Ranger. At the moment he's on loan to me, serving as my outside security officer. He did a good piece of work, getting that license number. We'll hand it to the FBI bureau in Las Vegas and they'll take it from there."

"He must have had advance information, to be at the right spot to get it," Rick observed.

"No more than you had," Preston told him. "We reached the same conclusion that you and Luis Hermosa did, about how stolen goods could get off the base. We've been watching from the inside, and Deadrock has been watching at the Steamboat end."

"Then you already knew about Mac and Pancho leaving last night," Scotty stated.

"Yes. But we really don't know any more than you two have found out. We're no closer to finding out who sabotaged the rockets – or who stole the transistors and the servomotors."

"What?" the boys exclaimed in unison.

Tom Preston's eyebrows went up. "You haven't heard? But of course you haven't, because you weren't here when we finished inventory. We're missing ninety thousand dollars' worth of servomotors."

"Suffering spacefish!" Rick groaned.

Scotty asked quickly, "When did it happen?"

"During the Orion shoot. Project Cetus had drawn servos the day before, and they were on the shelves then."

"The stock clerks." Rick began.

"Ran out to see Orion," Colonel Preston finished. "They've gone out to see every shoot since the first one. But all of them swear no unauthorized personnel got into the warehouses. Of course they can't be sure, because none of them kept eyes on the doors."

"Could any of the clerks be in on the thefts?" Scotty asked.

"If so, we have no evidence of it. But we have so little evidence it doesn't count for much anyway. Of course we have some ideas, and I suppose you do, too."

Rick and Scotty nodded.

Preston continued, "The thing that's clear to us is that there isn't just an Earthman. There's a gang. Someone sabotages the rockets. Someone else steals the stuff from the warehouse. Someone else – and it looks like Mac and Pancho – takes the stuff to Careless Mesa, or Steamboat, or both. And someone else – the gang that captured you – gets it at Steamboat and takes it to Vegas. Then, I suppose, still another man or group gets rid of it through trade channels."

John Gordon had been listening without comment. Now he spoke up. "The pattern seems to indicate sabotage, in order to create a diversion for thieves. I can't buy it."

The boys and Preston waited for his reason.

"The thefts are peanuts. Oh, not in terms of ordinary thefts. But it doesn't seem reasonable that anyone, no matter how greedy or crooked, would destroy ten million dollars' worth of rocket to steal goods only a tiny fraction of that in value."

Gordon's comments were an echo of what Rick had thought when the theft of transistors first came to light. He simply couldn't believe theft was the only reason. He had also rejected theft as a means of hampering operations. While loss of parts was a nuisance, it wasn't crippling.

"Then the Earthman – I mean the Earthman who sabotages the rockets – has to be a part of the technical staff," Rick said.

Gordon and Preston nodded. "Because only the project people have ready access to the rockets," Gordon agreed. "Have you found out anything suspicious about any of them, Tom?"

Preston shook his head. "I've studied their security background investigations until I'm half blind. There isn't a thing that has even a remote connection."

Gordon added, "Maybe finding the actual saboteur is the toughest part, but there are some things about the thefts that aren't clear to me. For instance, how did Deadrock Ogg know the car would be traveling without lights? He told the boys how he planted himself at the Pahrump Valley turnoff because the sedan would have to turn on lights there. How did he know?"

Rick had figured that part out. "At night, car lights can be seen for miles. The last thing in the world the thieves would want would be to attract attention to Steamboat. The only way to be sure would be to travel without lights. Turning them on during the run through the twisting roads into the valley wouldn't be too much of a risk, because the road can't be seen for long distances there."

Scotty asked, "But why did the men handle us so gently last night? They didn't rough us up, especially. And one of them said we could get loose."

"You didn't see them, did you?" Preston countered. "It was too dark. So there was no danger of your identifying them. Why add murder or mayhem to the list of charges when you gain nothing?"

John Gordon stirred restlessly. "We'd better end this meeting. If the boys are associated with us, and especially with you, Tom, it will mean an end to their usefulness."

"You're right, John." Preston looked at the boys. "The biggest value you have is as free agents. I won't try to keep you posted on all my activities. And don't bother trying to contact me, or John, about what you're doing. It's too dangerous – unless you turn up a definite lead. Meanwhile, go on as you have been. I'd say you were doing fine. Just be careful. These men may have been gentle last night when they had nothing to lose, but that doesn't mean it's a way of life with them. Now scoot. And try not to be seen leaving."

The boys shook hands and started out, but Rick paused at the door and said something that had been on his mind since the Orion disaster.

"There's one thing. Let's hope that when the Earthman finally trips up, it won't be in front of everybody, especially after a shoot that he's just sabotaged. Otherwise, we'll never get a chance to question him. He'll be dead – lynched on the spot by the rocketeers!"

CHAPTER XIII

Fly the Winged Horse!

Rick held a servomotor in place while Phil Sherman, one of the other technicians, bolted it securely.

"There you are," Phil said. "Anything else?"

"That does it. Thanks, Phil. I can wire it up now." Rick got to work, connecting up the newly installed servo. Like other servomotors it was tiny and powerful, translating electronic signals into mechanical actions. This particular one was no larger than a spool of thread, but it would actuate control tabs on the wings of Pegasus. Other motors ranged in size from even smaller to quite large ones about as big as a gallon can. The small ones were terrifically expensive, probably the reason they had been attractive to the Earthman and his gang.

When Rick was finished with the simple connections, he called Dr. Bond. The elderly scientist checked carefully, then nodded approval.

Phil Sherman stuck his head in the door. "Dick Earle wants everyone out front. Staff meeting."

Rick and Dr. Bond hurriedly disconnected soldering irons and went out to the main shed.

The Pegasus staff was gathering around Dr. Gordon, who was using a large packing case for a podium. Rick saw the section chiefs conversing in low tones next to Gordon's perch, and his heart pounded. Had the Earthman appeared again?

Then, as the staff finally collected and Dr. Gordon began, Rick relaxed a little. This wasn't about the Earthman, apparently.

"We are about to make a major schedule change," Gordon began. "However, until we consult with the Pegasus group, we will not know if the change is feasible.

"The Cetus group has run into a major roadblock. One essential piece of apparatus cannot be delivered on schedule, because of trouble at the factory where it's being made. In all probability Cetus will be held up about three weeks. Now, as some of you know, the Cetus staff had already begun work at the pad, and in the blockhouse. The question is, does Pegasus wish to take over the Cetus schedule?"

Gordon held up his hand as a murmur swept the Pegasus crew. "This does not mean you must shoot on their firing date. It merely means that you must be out of the way by the time they are ready to move in again. If you can, we will switch the schedule around and put you next. If you can't, it will only mean that your firing date must be delayed. It's up to you – specifically, it's up to your chiefs. However, we wanted you all to know about Cetus just to spike any wild rumors that might get started. The delay is not due to anything but a factory failure to deliver."

Dr. Gordon yielded his improvised speaker's stand to Dr. Howard Bernais, the project technical director. Dr. Bernais was administrative and technical head of the entire project. Presumably he met with the section chiefs fairly often, but he had an office near John Gordon in the main administrative building and seldom came to the project.

The technical director was a gray-haired, gaunt, bespectacled man who surveyed the staff through thick lenses. His voice filled the great shed, not that he spoke loudly, but because he had that indefinable something known as "command presence." Rick was impressed.

"We sometimes forget, we technical people, that we live in a democracy," Dr. Bernais began. "We're so used to taking orders that when someone offers us a free choice we're rather surprised. However, when John Gordon spoke to me about a change in schedule, I felt we should talk it over. If you, as the people who will make Pegasus live up to its name, are eager and willing, the change will work. If you have doubts, it may not."

The technical director peered through his thick lenses and located Lars Jannsson. "You have some difficult problems with the third-stage motor, Lars. Can you be ready?"

Jannsson turned to his crew for confirmation, then nodded. "We will be ready whenever you say, Dr. Bernais."

Robert Bialkin, head of the air-frame section, spoke up. "We're just about done anyway, Doctor. We have a few minor modifications of the airfoils, then we're finished."

"Good. Where is Cliff Damon?.. What shape are you in?"

Before Damon could reply, Prince Machiavelli put in an appearance. The little spacemonk had apparently decided it was too lonely in the workshop. Now he jumped from head to head, ignoring the surprised cries of the staff, until he landed on Rick's shoulder.

Amid the laughter, Cliff Damon said, "Here's one of our chief instruments to speak for himself. I think he's ready."

Dr. Bernais peered at the marmoset, then nodded gravely. "Just one suggestion. He will undoubtedly be man- or monk-of-the-week on the cover of a news magazine. Perhaps you should give him a crew haircut, so he'll look more like one of the staff." He held up his hand and the chuckles subsided. "Then you can be ready, Cliff?.. Good. Dick Earle! It's now up to you. How say you?"

Dick hesitated. Rick watched him, anxious to see what his chief would say. He cuddled the spacemonk in his arms and stroked the silky head.

"We'll have to put in plenty of overtime," Dick said finally. "I think we can make it all right, but it will put a load on the staff. What do you think, boys?"

Rick joined in the chorus of yeas! If every other section could be ready, electronics would be, too.

"There's your answer, Doctor," Dick Earle said.

"Thank you. Now I ask for a unanimous opinion. Can we fly our winged horse on this new schedule?"

The shout sent Prince Machiavelli skittering up to Rick's neck and down inside his shirt.

Pegasus was committed to flight!

The problem of the Earthman was looming larger, Rick thought. The next target for the saboteur would be his own project. The very idea made him a little ill. Pegasus was too big, too important to be sabotaged! But he recalled ruefully, Orion had also been too big and important. Of course no trace of the Earthman had been found by the Orion staff, but the servomotor theft seemed to tie the Earthman to the disaster.

"I'm going to be up to my neck in spaghetti," Rick told Scotty when they met for supper. "I don't see how there'll be much chance to look for the Earthman."

"It should be better than ever," Scotty objected. "For the first time, you'll be right on the target."

That was true, Rick agreed. He hadn't looked at it in quite that way. "What are your plans?" he asked.

"I'm going to concentrate on the warehouse. Remember what Colonel Preston said about the clerks? They swore they hadn't seen any unauthorized person entering while they were watching the shoot."

"But they couldn't have kept an eye on the warehouses," Rick objected. "Anyone could have sneaked in."

Scotty shook his head. "I don't think so. Of course they watched the shoots, but you can also bet they were turning pretty often to look at the warehouses. They must have seen some activity. Otherwise, why would they say unauthorized persons?"

"I can't imagine," Rick admitted. "What's your idea?"

"The only people who could go in and out without being noticed particularly, or challenged, would be members of the service staff."

"Like the postman?"

"Yes. Or telephone repairmen, or power men, or janitors, or plumbers. There must be a dozen different kinds of people who have the run of the base because of their duties. I'm going to keep an eye open to see who goes in and out regularly – and Luis Hermosa is going to help."

"Luis? How can he help?"

"The fire station has a good view of the warehouses. You know how firemen are. When they're not cleaning or making repairs, they like to sit out front. Luis is out of the infirmary and back on limited duty, and another pair of eyes will help. Once we establish who has free run of the warehouses, I'll try to see which of them have any connection with Mac or Pancho. Okay?"

"Sounds good," Rick agreed. "And I'll keep my red-rimmed eyes wide open down at the pad, too. We'll get something on this Earthman yet!"

CHAPTER XIV

Check Pilot

Rick had joined in the enthusiasm for moving up the date of the Pegasus shoot, but as he gazed around the project he began to wonder if they hadn't all been carried away. There were parts and pieces everywhere. He couldn't begin to make heads or tails out of all the confusion.

Fortunately, he didn't have to. Now that zero hour was closer, the confusion turned into order like a miracle.

Rick continued to work on the drone section. The drone mechanism was actually in two parts. The part on which Rick worked was to be installed in the rocket. The other part would be installed in the blockhouse where it would be operated by the drone pilot.

Dick Earle maintained a constant check on the work, and Frank Miller was always on hand. Miller had designed the drone system, based on principles developed by Dr. Bond and other pioneers. As Rick worked, he learned how the system operated. The drone pilot in the blockhouse sat at a panel on which normal plane controls were duplicated in miniature. In front of him were elaborate radar screens. The drone pilot watched the radar screens and "flew" the rocket. As he moved the controls, code signals were transmitted and picked up by the unit inside the rocket where they were translated into mechanical movements of the rocket's control surfaces by the number of servomotors.

Rick had to consult with Frank Miller several times, and he began to grow apprehensive about the design engineer's health. Miller's face was gray with pain most of the time, and he often held both hands on his stomach when he thought no one was watching. Rick mentioned it to Dick Earle.

"I know," Earle said. "I've tried to get him out of here, at least to see the doctor, but he won't go. He says there'll be plenty of time when the shoot is over."

Then, in the coolness of a Scarlet Lake dawn, Lieutenant Colonel Jerry Lipton, one of the Air Force's crack pilots, arrived in one of the latest jet trainers. The staff of Pegasus greeted him and got to work at once. The jet trainer would take the place of the rocket for testing purposes.

This was the field test of the drone system – the only time it would be checked in actual flight until the day of use. While Rick, Dr. Bond, and Dick Earle installed the flying portion of the system in the plane, Gee-Gee Gould, Phil Sherman, and Charlie Kassick installed the control section in the blockhouse.

The installation took all day. The sun was dropping behind the blockhouse when final checks were made.

A guard arrived at Dick Earle's summons and mounted watch on the plane. Another guard was always on duty at the blockhouse, and still another at the now fenced-in pad where the sections of Pegasus were being assembled.

The staff secured for the night. Test flight was scheduled for midmorning. Rick had asked, and been given permission, to see the test from the blockhouse. Jerry Lipton would run the blockhouse controls. Another test pilot, who was driving up from the big test station at Muroc Dry Lake, was due in the morning to serve as check pilot in the drone-controlled jet trainer.

Rick went back to his barracks filled with excitement. The flying horse was about to try his brains, if not his wings. Zero hour was getting close.

When Scotty asked how things were coming, Rick described their activities in enthusiastic detail. But Scotty only grinned. "I didn't want a connection-by-connection description of each circuit in the rocket. What I meant was, is there anything new on the Earthman?"

Rick shook his head. "I've kept my eyes open, but everything's normal as Sunday at home."

Scotty got serious. "Better be alert every second. Don't forget, boy. You're now sitting on the target."

"You're dead right," Rick agreed, somewhat subdued. "How are you doing?"

"Not bad. I have a list of eight people who go in and out of the warehouses regularly. They go in and out so often none of them would even be noticed. Also, I think I know how the transistors and servos were taken out."

Rick stared. "Honest?"

"I think so. Ever notice how the cleaning men work? They have carts. Big ones, made of metal. At one end is a kind of well, for brooms, mops, and the vacuum cleaner wand and tubes. But most of the cart is just a metal box. The sides open. They carry rags, soap, that sawdust stuff for the floor, and so on. Get the picture? The warehouse janitor could have had empty boxes all ready inside his cart. Then, in about two minutes flat, he could have changed them for full boxes."

"You've got something there," Rick said with excitement. "Any idea which janitor?"

Scotty nodded. "The one who gets the warehouses to clean most often is a character named Dusty Rhoads. He's in and out a dozen times a day, pushing his wagon. He empties the waste cans and sweeps up and generally puts things in order. No one even notices him."

"Have you reported this to Preston or John Gordon?"

"No. It's only an idea so far. No evidence at all. There's nothing to connect him with Mac or Pancho."

"Well," Rick said, "you're sure making faster progress than I am. There's absolutely nothing suspicious at the project, and, believe me, I'm watching closely."

Morning brought trouble, but not of the suspicious kind. Lieutenant Colonel Jerry Lipton walked into the project shed with a note in his hand.

"Test is off," the pilot said. "For today at least."

Dick Earle motioned to Rick. "Get Dr. Bernais."

Rick rushed to the phone and called the project technical director. Dr. Bernais promised to come over at once. He wasted no time, arriving almost before Rick had a chance to report back to Dick Earle. With him was John Gordon.

Jerry Lipton greeted them. "I'm sorry, gentlemen. The other pilot cracked up in his car last night on Route 66 just west of Barstow. He's not in bad shape, but he won't be flying for a week or two. We can get another pilot, but it will take a day."

"We can't spare a day," Bernais said forcefully. "Surely there must be something we can do!"

John Gordon rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "You've controlled drones many times, Colonel. Is there anything unusual about this job?"

"There is nothing unusual about the test we're going to run. There will be plenty unusual about the actual rocket flight," Lipton replied.

"Then the pilot who sits in the plane doesn't necessarily have to be what you might call a 'hot shot'?"

Lipton shrugged. "Not particularly. He only takes over if the drone control goes out."

"Then any pilot would do?"

"Any pilot who could handle the jet."

Rick wondered what Gordon was leading up to.

"Then why can't we find a check pilot here on the base?"

Rick now understood what Gordon was leading up to!

"We could do that," Lipton agreed. "Do you have any pilots on hand?"

Gordon turned suddenly and looked straight at Rick. "Don't I recall that you were flying your own plane when you worked on that job at Spindrift?"

Rick gulped. "Yes, sir. I fly my own plane. But it isn't a jet, sir!"

"What is it?" Lipton asked.

Rick named it.

"Ever fly a jet?"

Rick had, and for the moment he was sorry. Thanks to his friends at JANIG, he had been given an opportunity to try out a Navy jet trainer after the case of The Wailing Octopus in the Virgin Islands. Steve Ames had made special arrangements at the Naval Air Station when Rick wistfully said he would like to fly a jet just once.

Lipton studied him. "Hmmm. This jet is hotter than those trainers by a factor of three, except in landing. Since landing is the critical factor, I'll buy it. First, though, we'll take a little ride."

Rick was filled with mixed excitement and apprehension.

"I'll be glad to try, sir," he said, with more confidence than he felt.

The test pilot rode to the lake bed with Rick in the jeep. On the way he inspected the boy critically. "You're pretty young," he said at last.

"Yes, sir," Rick said, thinking that Lipton wasn't very old himself, especially for his rank.

"Remember the first rule of flying?"

"Yes, sir. Keep your nerve and your flying speed."

"Correct. Remember that, and follow it, and you'll have no trouble."

Lipton followed with a rapid-fire description of instruments, controls, and procedures that left Rick's mind reeling. Finally the test pilot produced a check list. "Think you can follow it?"

Rick swallowed hard. "Can I sit in the plane for a few minutes and study, sir?"

Lipton smiled. "Sure. Call me when you're ready."

Rick climbed into the pilot's seat and took the stick, put his feet in the stirrups, and started getting acquainted with the feel of the controls while eyes and brain concentrated on the incredible clutter of instruments that every pilot has to know better than the working of his own hand.

More study wouldn't help. It was now or never. He called to the pilot. "Ready, sir."

Lipton climbed up on the wing and motioned to Rick to put on the helmet and plug in his phones. There was a spare helmet-and-phone set in the rear seat for the Air Force officer. Rick switched the radio on and heard the soft hum of dynamotors. He cleared his throat and asked, "Do you read me?"