"Appleton, Victor - Tom Swift Jr 12 - In the Race to the Moon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Appleton Victor)

the speaker so Tom could hear Bud's voice.
"Here he comes again!" the young pilot said. Bud's next words were drowned
out by the whine of a diving aircraft.
Tom grabbed the microphone. "Bud! Are you all right?"
"Whew!" They could hear Bud gasping with relief. "Yes, I'm all right, pal-so
far! But I wouldn't take any bets if he keeps on buzzing me!"
"Is the plane armed?" Tom asked tensely.
"Doesn't look so. At least he hasn't fired at me yet. Just keeps riding my tail
and making passes at me."
"What's his game?"
"Search me," Bud's voice replied. "I called him on the radio, but he won't
answer. Looks as
16 THE RACE TO THE MOON
if he's either trying to force me down or make me fly off course. Oh-oh-!"
Again came the roaring drone of a plane.
"Wow! Almost brushed wings that time!" Bud reported in a rage-choked
voice. "If I ever get my hands on that hotrock-"
"Any idea who he is?"
"No. He's still masked."
"How about the plane itself?" Tom inquired.
"A Hammond Jayhawk, probably souped up."
"Keep your chin up, Bud. I'll come after you in a fast jet!"
"Don't bother, skipper. I think I can-"
Bud's voice faded and Tom waited no longer. Orders to the radio operator
tumbled from his lips and he was out the door like a shot. He sped to the hangar
in a jeep. An emergency jet, always kept on ready stand-by, had been rolled out
into position for take-off.
Tom hastily donned a flight suit, climbed aboard, and was soon roaring down
the runway. Once airborne, he set a course for Fearing.
"Tom Swift to Bud Barclay!" he called over the mike. "Can you read me.
Bud?"
There was no response! Had Bud been forced down by the masked pilot?
Would he be taken captive and flown to some undisclosed place? If so, was it
because of Bud himself or because of the electronic brain he had on board?
Tom thrust these unpleasant thoughts aside and tuned his radio to the
Fearing private wave length. "Any news of Bud?" he asked anxiously.
SOS TO ENTERPRISES 17
"No," came the answer. "After we got the message about him, we sent up a
plane. Haven't had any word from the pilot yet."
Clenching his jaw grimly, Tom flicked on his search radar and kept his eyes
alert for aircraft. But there was no sign of either Bud or the mystery plane.
Minutes later, Tom was over the Atlantic. Fearing Island loomed ahead
through the clouds. The Swift rocket base was a thumb-shaped stretch of sand
dunes and scrubgrass, closely guarded by drone planes.
Nearing it, Tom again asked for news of Bud. The answer was simply, "Swift
landing requested." What did it mean? That Bud was landing, or that he himself
was wanted? Tom wondered.
"I'd better go down," he decided, his heart pounding with worry.
He asked for clearance and came down through the overlying shreds of mist.
Several huge cargo rockets dominated the island, their needle noses pointing