Rick Brant 9 Stairway to Danger Page 6

  “And we have to go back again.”

  “What for?”Julius Weiss demanded.

  “We have to get a look at the engine serial number of that car,” Rick stated. “I don’t know how we can do it yet, but that’s the only way we’ll have of proving that it’s the hit-and-run car.”

  “There’s only one way we’ve thought of,” Scotty added. “One of us can cause a commotion, and when the men come out to see what’s happening, the other one can sneak in.”

  Parnell Winston rose abruptly. “Better not say any more,” he warned. “You spring ideas like that on us and we’ll have no choice but to tell you not to try it. Right, Julius?”

  “Absolutely,” Weiss agreed.

  The boys got down to work. The evening before, Rick had completed his cutout of the circuit and had stretched a piece of silk on a small frame. Now he put the circuit cutout on the silk, and systematically sprayed the silk with layer after layer of liquid plastic until he was certain that the coating was watertight.

  Then he let the last coat of plastic dry and lifted the circuit cutout. Where the cutout had been, the silk was still untouched. Everywhere else it was coated with plastic.

  Scotty, meanwhile, had cut a sheet of thin plastic to the right size. Rick took it, placed the silk screen on it, adjusted it carefully,then put clamps on to hold it in place.

  The next step was to mix finely powdered metallic silver witha special quick-drying resin glue. Rick took a fine paintbrush and painted the silk screen with a uniform coat of the mixture. Then he waited a few moments, removed the clamps, and lifted the silk screen off.

  On the plastic sheet, which was slightly smaller than a playing card, silver lines gleamed in the exact shape of the circuit. These printed silver lines were the wires of the small transmitter.

  The rest was easy but slow. Rick carefully glued the various parts in place. There were condensers, transformers, the microphone, a screw for the antenna rod, and a toggle switch. After they were in place, he soldered them to the silver lines.

  While he worked, Scotty ground out the dime-size hole in the front plastic cover where the microphone would rest.

  After lunch, Scotty took Rick’s plastic on which the transmitter was now complete, and mounted it with the plastic sheets which he had fabricated the day before. As each piece went into place, forming a box, he “welded” the pieces of plastic together by using acetone as a solvent. The last step was to insert the battery. It went home against the contact points Rick had wired into the circuit. Now only the antenna remained. A tempered steel wire a few inches long was thrust into place and the little control transmitter was complete, except for testing.

  The boys walked over to where Parnell Winston and Julius Weiss were fitting a completed unit to bolts on the tractor.

  “We’re ready for a test,” Rick announced.

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  The scientists looked up in surprise.“So soon?” Winston asked. “That’s remarkably fastwork . Julius, are we ready?”

  “Just barely,” Weiss said. He connected terminals to a twelve-cell storage battery, threw a switch, and said to Rick, “Say something.”

  Rick held the transmitter to his lips and asked, “Does it work?”

  Relays clicked in series through the unit the scientists had just mounted.

  “I’ll say it does!” Winston exclaimed. “Well done, both of you! How long will it take for the other units?”

  “Another day,” Rick said. “We have the silk screen now, and Scotty has the templates for the case. It’s just a matter of assembling the parts.”

  Weiss examined the little transmitter.“Fine. Now, I suggest you set the entire circuit in plastic. That will prevent any breakage, no matter how roughly it is handled.”

  “Good idea,” Rick agreed. “Do we have the stuff?”

  “You’ll find it in the supply box,” Winston said.

  The boys left the scientists to their work and rummaged in the supply box until they found what they needed, a can of liquid plastic and hardening powder.

  While Scotty took off the upper lid of the tiny box, Rick mixed some of the plastic with hardening powder. Then he poured the stuff into the radio until it was level with the top and put the box aside to harden. Once the plastic hardened, the control unit would be completely embedded, almost impervious to damage, moisture, or temperature.

  “Let’s go home,” Rick suggested. “Nothing more we need to do today.”

  They said good-bye to the scientists,then went outside into the bright sunlight.

  On an impulse Rick walked to the fence. He was curious about what the two men had been doing last night. He found the board they had pried loose and motioned to Scotty. “Take a look.”

  Scotty did so. He grinned.“Tight as a tick. They were making sure we didn’t get in that way again.But how? They didn’t do any hammering.”

  “Probably used screws,” Rick surmised. “Anyway, they did a good job of it.” He pushed at the board and it didn’t move at all.

  Scotty frowned. “When do we do our next job? We can’t stall too long. If that’s the car that hit Barby, we want to know it now, before it can get away.”

  “Maybe tonight,” Rick suggested. “Suppose we come down by boat?”

  “Depends.”Scotty looked at the sky. “Another dark night like last night and we could do it.”

  The plane was as they had left it. Just to be sure, Rick touched the Cub. The horn blasted. He cut the Page 34

  switch quickly and disconnected the wires.

  They stowed the stakes and wire in the luggage compartment, then Rick got in the pilot’s seat while Scotty spun the propeller. The engine caught. Scotty climbed in while Rick let it warm up.

  Rick gunned the plane and taxied down the field to the very end of the amusement park fence. He tested the controls and they reacted perfectly. He released the brakes and the Cub rushed through the grass, sluggish because of the drag. Finally the tail came up, and in a moment they were air-borne. Rick climbed for altitude, and at about eight hundred feet banked left on a course for Spindrift. The Cub slid around smoothly and Rick moved the wheel to level off. It didn’t respond!

  He put more muscle into it, but the wheel wouldn’t move at all. The controls were locked! Tentatively he tried his ailerons again, in the opposite direction. It was no use. They were frozen. He tried his elevators, gently at first, then hard. They were locked. So was his rudder. He looked at Scotty, his face white.

  “She’s frozen!”

  Scotty lost color. “What do we do?”

  Rick was already cranking his tab controls. “I’ll try to trim for level flight. You get as far away from me as you can.”

  Scotty was on the upper side of the plane. They were flying in a shallow bank of about 15 degrees.

  When Rick got his tabs fully trimmed, the angle was a little less, but they were still swinging in a wide circle.

  “There’s only one thing to do,” Scotty said. “I’ve got to get out and hang on the strut. That will balance us.”

  Rick considered. He had no suggestion to counter Scotty’s. One thing was certain. They couldn’t keep swinging in circles forever.

  He tried the controls again. From sheer habit he had kept his hand on the wheel and his feet on the rudder pedals, but both were useless. “Stand up as much as you can,” he said. “I’m going to slide under you. Maybe if we’re both on that side it will balance us.”

  Scotty did so and Rick slid under him. The horizon leveled somewhat, but still not enough. “We’ll have to do it your way,” he told Scotty. Only I’ll get out.”

  Scotty grunted. “If we ever land this thing, it will have to be done with the tabs. I can’t do that. I haven’t been flying long enough. You’ll have to. So I’ll get out.”

  Rick had to agree that his friend was right. He started to tell him to be sure to hang on tight, but realized Scotty would need no such instruction. He looked out and estimated their position. They were over the land, facing south.
He wanted to be over the water, facing north.

  “Sit tight,” he directed. “We’ll let the plane circle a little more, so we’re going in the right direction.”

  He had to marvel at Scotty’s calm tone of voice. “Exactly how much chance do we have of landing?”

  Rick’s own voice was pretty steady.“Poor, but not impossible. If we can get level, I’ll try to let us down Page 35

  on the tabs.”

  “Where?At Whiteside airport?”

  That had been Rick’s first thought, but he changed his mind.“At Spindrift. Frankly, Scotty, I don’t think we’ll make it. This kite is so light any breeze could knock us off course. I’d rather take my chances on dropping into the water than to smash into a house or something.”

  “You’re right!” Scotty said. “Well, give me the word and I’ll climb out.”

  Rick watched the horizon move slowly around. Fortunately, he had leveled off before banking. The plane had maintained altitude.

  “Get set,” he said.

  Scotty pushed the door open, using plenty of muscle to force it out against the wind.

  The compass settled on due north. “Now,” Rick called. His voice shook.

  Scotty swung out, his knuckles white as he gripped the door. His body had a tendency to fly back in the wind, but he hunched forward until he had both feet on the diagonal strut that ran from wing to undercarriage.

  Rick reached into the luggage compartment behind him, got a steel stake, and pushed it into the crack of the door just above a hinge. The door stayed open. But the plane swerved as the wind struck the door and Rick had to move quickly across the cabin and work the rudder trim tab until they were flying straight again.

  The breeze sweeping in through the door was cold, but both boys were sweating.

  Seafordpassed underneath. Rick sat upright and watched for Spindrift.

  Scotty was holding on for dear life, but he was in a more comfortable position now, one arm locked tight around the door frame. He had taken the precaution of lowering the window before opening the door.

  Why had the controls locked? Why? Rick knew he had tested them. Such testing was automatic.

  Besides, they had taken off all right. Going into the bank had locked them somehow. He tried the rudder pedals again and thought they moved the smallest bit.

  Brendan’s Marsh was below. They were on course. Rick went over a plan in his mind. He had justunder eight hundred feet to lose, using the elevator trim tabs.

  He knew perfectly well that he would never make the field at Spindrift. The margin was too close. But if he could gauge it to land in the water right off Pirate’s Field, they should be able to crawl out with a whole skin.

  There was only one small joker. To make a full stall landing in the water, he would have to get the tail down. That took elevator control. Also, he couldn’t even try it with Scotty holding on outside the plane.

  Scotty would have to come in. That meant the plane would hit the water with one wing low, which in turn meant disaster.

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  Spindrift loomed ahead on the horizon. Rick worked the tabs and the plane started letting down in a very shallow dive. He throttled back a little.

  Scotty raised his eyebrows. Rick bent toward him and yelled, “Be ready to get inside in a hurry when I tell you.”

  Scotty nodded. His face was red from the wind, but he was grinning. Rick thought his pal would probably grin into the faces of a firing squad if it ever came to that. It wasn’t far from it now. The crack-up, when it came, would be like driving head on into a stone wall at high speed.

  The altimeter registered the loss of altitude. They were down to five hundred feet and still losing. But Spindrift was coming closer. Rick began to worry. Had he started down soon enough? He sighted along the nose of the plane. No doubt of it, he was overshooting.

  He pulled back on the throttle and the nose dropped.

  Scotty grinned at him.

  The altimeter read three hundred feet.

  Scotty’s nerve was good, Rick knew. He shifted plans slightly and motioned to his pal to go out as far as he could. Scotty took a firm grip on the door with one hand and leaned far out. The plane banked a little, out to sea. Rick helped the move with the rudder tabs. Then, when they were about 30 degrees away from land, he called:

  “Scotty! Come on in!”

  Scotty’s teeth were chattering and his lips were blue. “Now what?” he asked.

  Rick was back in his own seat, and the plane was banking in toward land, but very slowly. “If I’ve figured it right, we should come in parallel to Pirate’s Field. When I give the word,” he instructed, “you hop into the luggage compartment. Keep on your own side, because I’ll be there with you. We’ve got to get the tail down if we want to come out of this.”

  “Got it,” Scotty said coolly.

  They weren’t banking fast enough. Rick moved the aileron trim tabs back to normal and increased the angle of turn. He saw with satisfaction that they would make it.

  The plane was low over the water now, so low that the altimeter was no longer trustworthy. Rick estimated about fifty feet. Spindrift was dead ahead. They had banked out and then banked back and the plane was approaching it from the sea.

  “We’ll just miss the end of the island,” Rick said with false calmness. This was going to be rough!

  The plane was settling toward the water rapidly. From the corner of his eye, Rick saw the cliff at the southwest corner of Spindrift flash past.

  “Here we goI ” he yelled.

  Scotty was gone in a dive, into the luggage compartment.

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  Then Rick cut the throttle, jerked back on the wheel with all his strength, and felt something give. He turned and went headlong into the luggage compartment, landing in Scotty’s lap just as the plane smashed into the water.

  There was an instant of whirling chaos as the plane gyrated and water flew. Rick thought he heard the crack and splintering of wood, metal, and fabric, then his forehead bounced off something and he sank back, limp.

  CHAPTER VIII

  Fifty Frantic Seconds

  The Cub struck the water with one wing low. The wing hit first, whirling the small plane around, pulling the nose into the water. During the instant before the propeller snapped, the engine was barely turning over because Rick had cut the throttle but had not killed the ignition. As the propeller gave, the engine raced wildly, the broken propeller shafts dragging the plane into the water like a motorboat screw. Then the engine was drowned into silence, leaving the plane standing nose down, with one wing off and the other dragging.

  Rick had been dazed by the impact but not knocked out. Helay across Scotty, limp, his head ringing.

  Cold water brought him to full consciousness and he began to struggle. A giant bubble broke loose and raced through the open window, taking most of their air with it. Rick fought his way headfirst to the door, and struggled to get through the window. Then he realized that Scotty was not moving!

  Water poured into the cabin, knocking him sideways with its force. There hadn’t been time to be afraid.

  Now a touch of panic gripped him and he kicked violently against the instrument panel, forcing himself back into the luggage compartment. His groping hands felt Scotty’s jacket. He took a firm grip and heaved, his feet braced. The plane was almost entirely under water, but some air remained trapped in the cabin.

  Scotty’s body shifted but didn’t come forward. Rick tugged again, desperation in his arms. He didn’t realize he was yelling his pal’s name until water surged up to his lips and he gulped a great, salty mouthful.

  He gagged,then gasped for air, lifting his head high. The cabin was almost full of water now as the remaining air seeped out. He fought to pull Scotty loose, using his legs for leverage. He shifted to get a better grip and one foot smashed through the plexiglass windshield and caught fast.

  In sudden panic he kicked violently, trying to free his foot. The plexiglass tore a great furrow in h
is leg and the water was suddenly cloudy with blood, but the foot came free. His groping hands found the back of the seat and he pulled himself upward. Holding with one hand he found Scotty’s belt and gave a heave that used most of his strength. Scotty came out of the luggage compartment and floated down on top of Rick.

  There was no air left. Rick fought free and began to let the breath out of his lungs in tiny driblets. He tried to move Scotty headfirst through the window, but the boy’s legs caught in the control column.

  Despairingly, Rick realized that he didn’t have breath left to do any more. His hands caught the window Page 38

  frame and he pulled himself outward, tangled for a terrible moment with the wreckage of a strut, and then shot to the surface. He reached it as the last of his air gave out.

  As he sucked in fresh air greedily, he caught a glimpse of men running toward the beach,then he surface dived, grabbed the fuselage of the plane, and pulled himself downward. Only the tail surfaces were above the water now.

  The trailing strut struck him across the chest. He grabbed it and used it for additional leverage, dragging himself downward toward the cabin.

  He had to get Scotty! He had to! He forced himself to think calmly as he fought his way toward the cabin door. Get the door open! That was it!

  He kicked frantically and felt the plexiglass of the window behind the luggage compartment. His eyes weren’t working well. Now that he needed desperately to see what he was doing, his eyes kept blurring.

  He felt for the cabin door, found it, then fingered his way back to the door handle. It turned easily, but the door wouldn’t open!

  He put both hands on the handle,then braced his feet against the side of the plane. One foot tore through the fabric, but the other hit a structural member and held. The door flew open, propelling him backward.

  He saw the broken strut sliding past and grabbed at it, held fast, then heaved himself forward again.

  The open door loomed blackly ahead. He had a clear view for an instant,then his vision fogged again.

  His groping hands touched cloth, then hair. He gripped the hair with all his strength and pulled back.