The Scarlet Lake Mystery Part 23

"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."

d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k 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?"

"All right, Rick. Follow your check list and start the blowtorch going."

Rick mopped sweat from his face and went through the starting procedure.

The jet flared into sudden life with a roar.

"Ready to taxi," he said.

"Roger. Proceed when ready."

Cautiously Rick fed throttle, aware of the tremendous power under his hand--power that could be deadly if misused. Using the brakes he turned the jet and then let it roll forward to the edge of the black strip that marked the runway.

"Ready to take off, sir," he said.

"Roger. Fire away."

He made a quick survey of the sky to be sure no other aircraft were in the vicinity. There was no control tower with which to check out. Now!

He made himself relax a little and pushed the throttle to take-off position.

Fast acceleration snapped him back against the seat. The jet began to wander a little and he corrected automatically, and almost overcorrected! With infinite care he straightened out again, just as the plane was air-borne. Eyes riveted on the horizon, he felt for the switch that pulled up the landing gear and felt the plane spurt ahead as the drag of wheels and struts was removed.

Lipton's voice came through the phones, relaxed and a little amused. "No need to treat this bucket of bolts like a baby, Rick. You've got power to burn. Go, man! Make like a bird!"