Tom Swift and His Triphibian Atomicar (16 page)

Before Tom could respond, two of the workers, American engineers, began to shout at Corger abusively, incoherently. In moments the commotion began to spread to the rest of the crowd.
Great space, they’re about to riot!
Tom thought in dismay.

Corger whirled and faced the louder of the two engineers. "I won’t have it, Mike," he stated coldly. "Not just now." Before Tom could stop him, he lashed out a fast uppercut that knocked the man head over heels.

"Cut it out, Corger!" Tom snapped, grabbing the crew boss’s arm and jerking him away from the cowering man. "That’s not going to help any!"

"Then tell us what is!" someone else retorted. "I sure don’t want to be the next guy who steps on one of those mines!"

"First, second, what does it matter?" put in a mechanic named Tillotson. "Even one’s too doggone many for comfort if we don’t know where it’s planted! Gursk says to stay in the camp—so just where is the border, huh? Where
exactly?
"

Tillotson’s words were backed up with a murmur of agreement. Seeing the Americans’ worried reactions, the hired Kabulistani workmen, some of whom had not grasped Gursk’s threat, began to chatter loudly. Tom gathered that they were pleading to be paid off at once—so they could leave!

"Quiet! Everyone!" Tom shouted. Turning to Corger he said, "Please tell them they have nothing to worry about. I’ll check over the whole camp area myself and map out every single landmine—
if
there really are any more. Most of what Gursk said could be to terrorize us and keep us put. In the meantime, warn them to stay right where they are!"

Bud grinned. "
Sounds
good, anyway. I’m bursting with confidence! What’re you going to do, Skipper?"

"What
can
you do?" Corger joined in.

"You’ve heard of mine detectors, haven’t you?" Tom countered.

"Have you got one?"

"I’ll make one."

Corger frowned in skepticism. "Tom’s really good at this stuff," Bud Barclay reassured him.

After deep thought and a few calculations in his everpresent notebook, Tom hurried to the tent where the disabled shortwave unit was housed. Cannibalizing various components he quickly rigged up a simple, but highly sensitive, detection circuit. He fitted it into a flat plastic case and jointed on a length of rigid pipe-tubing—thus making a long-handled pancake probe. To this, he wired a set of earphones from the shortwave console. "Here goes!" he told Bud.

The American crewmen and hired workmen looked on appreciatively. Side by side with his pal, Tom began the slow process of probing the camp grounds, working gingerly outward toward the perimeter. In twenty minutes he heard the first buzz over his earphones.

"There’s one, Bud. Mark it on the map Corger made."

They prowled along slowly and cautiously, noting one mine location after another. Hours later, they had returned to their starting point. "Okay, fellows!" came Tom’s hoarse, weary shout. "That’s all of them next to the camp. I guess it’s all clear if you stick close by."

The milling camp broke into thunderous cheers, and the faces of the workers were wreathed in smiles of tearful relief. Even Eigon Corger set aside his gruffness for a moment. But as for the young inventor himself, he could feel the cold drops of perspiration trickling down his back.

Seeing his chum’s limp-rag reaction, Bud gave his shoulder a squeeze. "If I hadn’t known what a scientific whiz you are, pal, I’d be a quivering mass of jelly by now! You should consider doing this for a living!"

Corger approached them. "You’ve proved yourself, Tom, and we’re all mighty grateful. But the problem’s far from solved. Like the man said, a bird could set the devilish things off any time."

"That was probably a bluff," Tom said.

"Yeah. But your people could fly in looking for you two."

Tom managed a weak grin. "Not now. Before I began making the mine detector, I was able to get the radio unit working—I’d guess Gursk managed to foul it up while he was here. Anyway, I’ve already spoken to Slim Davis. I explained what had happened, and told him to hold off for now."

Bud boggled at his friend. "Fantastic! And when he radioes Arv and the police― "

Tom cut him off. "No. I asked him not to contact anyone at all. We don’t need any well-intentioned folks thinking they can outwit Gursk’s system and accidentally blowing up the whole valley."

"Might smart, crewcut," growled Corger with gruff appreciation. It seemed young Tom Swift had now proven himself twice over.

Night fell on the imprisoned camp. After supper, Tom drew Bud aside, whispering to him to act casual. "Got something to tell you, flyboy."

Behind one of the storage structures, Bud said quietly, "I figured you’d be working up a plan, genius boy. So
give!
How do we get out of here and bring in the cavalry?"

Tom smiled back at him—tensely. "Gursk’s cronies weren’t as thorough as they thought they were, Bud—more likely they just didn’t think things through. There
is
a way out of the camp! And we’re leaving
now!
"

"I’M ALL ears," whispered Bud excitedly. "But if it’s super-dangerous, which I’m sure it is—you can leave
those
details out, please.
I
don’t need headaches any more than Corger."

"It’s the landmine that went off, the one that killed Arrib," Tom explained. "I took a look at the hole it made and went around it with the detector. The blast was so huge because the first mine set off several others around it!"

"I get it! They forgot that if one of the mines actually went off, it’d take others with it—put a hole in their perimeter!"

"In other words, Gursk ended up accidentally clearing that spot of landmines." Tom gave a brisk nod, eyes darting to detect any listeners. "I’ll take the detector along, but I think we now have a safe little path to walk out through. There may be more mines further out, but it’d be very logical for Gursk to have put most of them close to the border of his ‘safe ground’—see? They’d be set more closely together right at the perimeter, like fence posts. And that’s
just
where the mine went off."

"I take it you don’t want to tell anyone else."

"Not
those
hotheads. Basically, it’s the same reason I didn’t want Slim to pass the word along," said Tom. "That, and—well,
what if I’m wrong?
"

Bud gulped. "A little too much info, Tom. Let’s get going."

A few minutes and the mine detector showed that Tom’s misgivings were groundless. There were no landmines between the crater area and the first of the hills that surrounded the Valley of Dirri. They paused in the deep night shadows and Bud asked: "Now what? To the
Sky Queen
?"

"I’d like to. But not by the road we came on—
if
we could even manage to figure its twists and turns where it forks. Whatever Gursk and his guys are up to, they’re certain to be keeping watch on the road for any would-be groundlevel rescuers."

"True. Didn’t think of that."

Tom sat down on a low rock and thought intently. At last he said: "If I remember our map download well enough, if we head south over these hills, we’ll hit a dry riverbed that eventually reaches that town Gursk mentioned."

"And then?"

"And then the next step!—whatever it might be."

Tom and Bud worked their way across the hill in shadow, as well as the next and the next. By the time morning hit, they were trudging along the ancient rock-riddled watercourse, stumbling from ache and weariness. "Flyboy, I’ve been thinking about Gursk’s hoax," murmured Tom presently.

"Getting the camp to move, you mean?"

"Right. As I recall, there are plenty of isolated valleys like Dirri in these hills, with road-paths leading to them from the plain. But there’s one thing about Dirri that makes it stand out."

"What?"

"According to the details in that bogus book of Ed’s, it’s smack in the middle of the corner of the Turq’ha Nur where the Amir’s Mine is supposed to be located!"

Bud whistled softly. "Then... then
what?
Gursk feeds the info to Ed, moves the Provard camp near the mystery mine—and then pens everybody up in a minefield. Other than the word ‘mine’ there’s nothing that links it all together."

"I’ll tell you one thing, pal—it’s not just coincidence."

"Yeah. I hear scientists don’t believe in that."

Another hour passed, and the sun blazed hot on their foreheads, already sunburnt.

"
Stop, you!
"

The harsh voice barked down from above them, from a gully-wash between two low hillocks. Several men in the traditional robed garb of Kabulistan stood with rifles pointed!

"
Up here, you both! Come now or we shoot!
"

"Then I guess we’ll ‘come now’," said Bud softly.

"They could be friends," Tom pointed out as they climbed.

"Sure, professor. Another one of those
theories
."

There were four Kabulistanis in all, and it was clear they spoke no more English than what the youths had already heard. But the gestures of their rifles were not only adequate but eloquent. They forced Tom and Bud up the gully and deep into the hills. Finally, after weary hours, they descended next to a rushing stream with the hulk of another of the old Soviet tanks rusting on its banks. "Those Russian guys really got around," Bud observed sourly.

The tribesmen motioned for the boys to clamber up onto the top of the tank, then down its circular hatchway. Inside was a metal ladder extending downward well past the body of the tank and into the ground itself. Light shined up from below.

Tom was first to set foot on the floor of the rocky, cavelike tunnel at the base of the ladder.

"Ah, here we go now. Welcome, my friends! Welcome to the Amir’s Mine."

The voice was booming, hearty, and familiar—as was the handlebar mustache. "Hello, Mr. Wayne," Tom said very calmly.

"Not surprised?"

Bud answered. "You were just one on a list of five or so. That works out to one-fifth surprised."

Simon Wayne roared with laughter. "You’ll have to admit, son, it’s an original way to bag guests!"

They were standing at the high end of a twisting, downward-slanting tunnel braced with ancient black timbers and polished new steel girders. Bare lightbulbs hung here and there from a line draped overhead. Far in the background was a low, throbbing, rhythmic sound, machinery of some sort.

Wayne reached over to a small metal plate on the wall and touched a button. Instantly a panel swung shut above them, blocking most of the ladder shaft. "I should explain something right away, you two, lest there be any awkward misunderstandings. I’m unarmed. No guns are trained on you down here, nor will there be. And I’ll refrain from tying you up, handcuffing you, gassing you unconscious, that sort of thing. No need! Because, now here’s the point, when the hatch-plates that cover our several entrances are locked, the only thing that’ll make ’em open is my own vocal pattern saying a few code words into one of the wall mikes. Nifty, hmm? And here’s something really neat. If I should say the wrong words—
whoa!
My loyal employees come running from all directions to rescue their meal ticket. So just play nice, please."

Wayne motioned them forward in a chillingly friendly way. "Let’s stroll along this miracle of ancient engineering, shall we? Since I won’t have the opportunity to rant and rave in front of bound captives, I’ll use our walk to lay out my ingenuity for you to marvel at. After all, book authors never hesitate to show off all the picayune details of their convoluted plots. Why deny ourselves the pleasure in real life?"

"I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, Mr. Wayne. If you’re taking questions, you might start by telling me what’s behind Gursk’s actions," Tom said.

Wayne glanced at the young inventor curiously. "What’s the name? Gursk? Not one of mine."

Bud interjected sarcastically, "We call him Mr. Gold-Tooth. He’s a fun guy. Plays with smoke-bombs in airports."

"No doubt that’s some of your famous banter, hmm, Barclay? Nope, nope, means not a thing to me.

"Now let’s see. I’ve rehearsed this account so many times in my mind. Please be a good audience, won’t you?

"We could start with the Amir’s Mine itself and its terrible curse. Never happened, boys. That Englishman, the one who wrote the book, made up the whole bit to add some spice to his account. In actual fact, it was fighting between rival warlords that made continuing the mining operation impractical. So they sealed up the entrance not long after Dalton’s visit. And then they stupidly misplaced the detailed directions to finding it again. The sultan probably ended up regretting having beheaded everyone who knew anything about it. Behead in haste, repent at leisure.

"So—flash forward to a few years ago, when a business contact in this country—Europa Fabrikant has to bribe them, naturally—discovered that some of the locals had actually stumbled on the mine and were beginning to play around with the rubies without informing the authorities. I was quick to get involved, quicker still to revive the ‘curse of Shaitan’ rumor to get these superstitious people out of my hair."

"Was your company backing you?" Tom inquired.

Wayne laughed pleasantly. "No, old EF assumed I was here in Kabulistan just doing my job, like a loyal corporate subject. Actually I was engineering my own advancement up the ladder, so to speak. I made plans to resume mining operations. I have a nice little home office down here in the tunnel, which is exactly where we’re headed."

Bud interjected: "Okay, you say you had nothing to do with Gursk and his substitute book and all that. So how about Mirza?"

"Now
that
name I know! Gee, poor Mirza—wouldn’t have used him if I’d known what a demented fanatic he is. I planted him in Flambo’s retinue, mainly to keep an eye on Pan-Islamic Whatnot."

"You couldn’t have them running across the mine," Tom declared.

"Would have screwed up the operation! But now, boys, we get into some more complicated stuff, if you can believe it.

"I instituted a policy of buying up all remaining copies of that
Travels
book of Dalton’s, which seemed to be the only source of info on the location of the ruby mine, vague though it was. Smart business move, don’t you think? My boys responded to the bookseller’s advertisement about four hours too late—a certain Edgar Longstreet had already purchased said book and was en route to the United States."