The Flying Stingaree Part 25

CHAPTER XIX

Lucky Lefty

Rick awoke to fiery agony. His face was burning, the flames searing his flesh. He tried to reach a hand up to ease the pain and found the hand gripped firmly. He struggled, and Steve's voice said, "Take it easy, Rick. We'll be through in a minute."

The boy subsided and gritted his teeth. If Steve was there, it was okay.

But why didn't Steve put out the fire?

"Don't move," Steve said sharply. "I don't want to hurt you any more than I can help."

Rick closed his eyes and fought the pain. He heard Steve say, "Give me the spray can." Then something cool and soothing spread over his face.

An arm circled his shoulder and raised him to a sitting position. He opened his eyes and looked into Scotty's worried face. Rick managed a grin. "It's okay," he said hoa.r.s.ely.

"If being alive is okay, then it's okay," Scotty said with relief. "But you're a mess, boy."

Rick looked up dazedly. Steve was smiling at him, and next to Steve, Orvil Harris! "Glad you're all right," the boy murmured.

"Thanks, Rick. I'm glad you finally came around. You had us worried for a bit. And, Rick, meet my cousin Link."

A tall, gaunt man stepped forward. "Howdy, Rick? How do you feel?"

"Woozy," Rick said honestly. "Help me up, somebody."

Scotty lifted him, then guided him to a lawn chair. "Sit down. You're too weak to stand."

Rick subsided gratefully. He could see better now, although it was nearly dark. There were other people seated in chairs on the Calvert's Favor lawn. Camillion, his electronics expert, and two others. At full length, covered by a blanket, was the guard. He looked up at Rick, his eyes dull and malevolent, but he said nothing.

"What happened?" Rick asked.

Joe Vitalli stood behind Camillion and company, his riot gun ready. The JANIG agent was wet up to his armpits. Chuck Howard came into sight from behind Rick, and he carried an open first-aid kit.

"You jumped for the balloon," Steve reminded him. He motioned to the bodyguard. "This one tried a pot-shot at you and Scotty nailed him with a spear. Then you smashed into the piling and got knocked out. The piling was rough. Your mask was ripped off and your face dragged along the wood just enough to take the skin off and leave you full of splinters. We were taking the biggest splinters out when you came to.

How does your face feel?"

"Awful," Rick said. The soothing effect of the antiseptic spray was wearing off and the pain was returning. "Where's the balloon?"

"On the ground behind you. Scotty got to you first, and with his weight on it, the thing finally came down." The young agent grinned admiringly.

"We had to pry your hands off the rocket. Never saw such a stubborn cuss in my life. Out cold, and still holding on."

"Persistent," Rick said weakly. "Not stubborn. Did you round up the whole gang?"

"The whole lot."

Lefty Camillion glared at Rick from a chair on the other side of the small circle.

"Why did you do it?" Rick asked. "What did you hope to gain?"

The syndicate chief shrugged, but kept his silence.

"I can shed a little light," Steve said. "Some of it is speculation, but it stands up. Lefty knew his appeal against the deportation order was almost certain to be turned down. Within a few weeks he'd be on his way out of the country. The FBI has been trying to get the full dope on Lefty, and one thing they found was that expensive living had taken most of his money. He needed cash, in other words. This was the way he chose to get it, collecting the data transmitted by the research rockets from Wallops and selling it."

Rick shook his head, then winced. "It's a crazy idea," he said. "I don't know why. I just know it is. I could tell you, but I can't seem to think."

There were sirens far away, but getting closer. Scotty put a hand on Rick's shoulder. "Don't try to think now, old buddy. The ambulance is coming. Plenty of time to talk when you're feeling better."

Rick nodded weakly. It was getting very dark. He closed his eyes and leaned back. Scotty kept a hand on his shoulder.

The ambulance, led by a state trooper, pulled into the grounds. An attendant and an intern jumped out. "Who's hurt?" the intern asked.

"This one first," Steve said. "Then the one on the ground."

Rick felt a hand grip his chin and opened his eyes. The intern was examining his face with a strong flashlight beam.

"Messy but superficial," the intern said calmly. "I'll bet it hurts."

"You win," Rick muttered.

"How did it happen?"

Steve described Rick's accident briefly. The intern nodded. He s.h.i.+ned the light into Rick's eyes and watched the pupils contract. "Possible concussion. We'll check at the hospital." He knelt and took a roll of cloth from his bag and unwrapped it to disclose hypodermic needles in a sterile inner wrapper. He fitted a needle to a syringe and found a bottle of alcohol and a vial of sedative. Working swiftly, he wiped the vial top and Rick's arm with alcohol, then drew fluid into the syringe.

"This will help the pain," he said, and pressed the needle into Rick's arm.

"Now," the doctor said briskly, "let's look at the next one. What happened to him?"

"Fish spear in the side," Steve replied.

Scotty and the attendant helped Rick to the ambulance. He lay down on the stretcher gratefully and closed his eyes. Scotty stayed with him while the attendant went to help with the bodyguard.

"Quite a party," Rick said faintly.

Scotty covered him with a blanket. "You missed most of it, but I'll give you the details tomorrow. How are you feeling?"

"Groggy." Rick's eyes were closed. He was never sure at what point he drifted off into deep slumber. He knew only that he had no recollection of the bodyguard being placed next to him or of the ambulance leaving Calvert's Favor.

Rick awoke to bright daylight. The pain in his face had subsided to a faintly aching stiffness and he felt fine. He knew from the surroundings that he must be in a hospital, probably at Cambridge. He groped for the call bell and found it wound around the bedpost. He pushed it. In a few moments a nurse came in.

"Well," she greeted him, "how are you this morning?"

"Hungry," Rick replied promptly.

The nurse, a pleasant-faced woman of middle age, smiled. "That's a good sign. Let's see what we can do. Ready for visitors?"

"Send them in," Rick said cheerfully. "Or is it just one?"

"Two." The nurse went to the door and beckoned. "I'll send in some breakfast," she said, and left.

Rick's hand touched his head gingerly. The right side of his face was bandaged, the pad held in place by tape that crossed his forehead and circled down under his chin. He probed gently and discovered that the sorest places were his temple and an area just in front of his ear.