Tom Swift and His Subocean Geotron (7 page)

"Forget the speculation," snapped the youth heatedly. "We leave for Mexico in three hours. We’ll pick you up on the way."

"Do slow down when you do so, won’t you?"

The
Sky Queen
skimmed the air southward with a minimal crew—Tom, Bud, and Nee Ruykendahl, the latter under the discreet but keen watch of the former.

The neighborhood of Las Mambritas was barren, dry, pebbly. Finding a spot to set down the giant skyship was easy enough. As they descended they watched the play of late sunlight on the ocean, two miles west, interrupted now and then by small boats. "Fishing," Nee murmured.

Las Mambritas proved to be small and poor, a tired old man no bigger than an infant. Yet it was not the cliché dilapidated tortilla village of popular Gringo presumption. Some of the streets were newly paved and striped, there was a small but tidy business district of sorts, and even a trace of suburbia at the town limits. They found the station of the local
Policía
to be newly built, entirely modern.

Also surprising and modern was the Chief of Police. "Veracíta Jualéngro," the young, strongly constructed woman greeted them. "Uh-hmm, boys, a woman. Barriers fall all over the place. And the clattering sound you hear? Jaws dropping."

Bud grinned. "I was expecting a droopy mustache."

"I shave it off daily. Now then—Edgar Longstreet."

"We know you’ve been investigating, ma’am," said Tom politely.

"Yes. I told your man Ames the result.
No
result."

"It was at the new library that I was to meet him," Nee stated. "The employees knew nothing when I asked, but since then, perhaps..."

"No, sir," interrupted Chief Jualéngro. "No one saw anything, nothing worth seeing.
Si
? No screaming, no gunshots."

Tom said dryly, "That’s a relief. But ma’am—Chief—he had emailed Mr. Ruykendahl many times, and had referred over some time, several months, to living here in Las Mambritas. Do you know where he was staying?"

"Sorry, nope, we do not," she replied. "He was not at the hotels. In a trailer, an RV, as many do? Perhaps. He may well have come into town to dine, to buy food and things. But who would notice? We have our tourists. We circulated the photos provided; no one recognized him. It may mean nothing much. I have told this to Mr. Ames and others."

Nee Ruykendahl broke the uneasy silence. "We might as well be honest, boys. Not a good sign. Ed has not simply wandered off carelessly, I would say. Not a case of a simple missed meeting."

"No," pronounced Tom. "It’s as if he was never here at all."

"But what of his messages to me?" objected Nee.

Tom shrugged. "I don’t have an answer—yet. If we had some kind of molecular ‘scent’ specific to Ed, or some place to start from where we knew he had been recently, I could use my tracking device to trail him. But the sensitector can’t work from nothing."

"And
nothing
is what we have a lot of," Bud pronounced.

"Too bad he didn’t communicate by letters," remarked Nee. "You might have taken the trace from that."

Bud said, "I’d say we need to do a little non-electronic detective work, guys."

"I will accompany you and help as much as I can," declared Chief Jualéngro. "My badge here, even pinned to the front of a woman, has its power in our little Las Mambritas."

"Ah! Nice to hear," Nee commented. "And may we call you Veracíta?"

"No," she responded sharply.

"Oh."

"It is hard enough to command respect, señor."

As the four left the station, Nee muttered to the boys: "There was a time when being in the company of Ruykendahl was
entirely
respectable."

They made their inquiries, resuming the next day after sleeping the night in the comfort of the Flying Lab. By midafternoon,
nothing
was still
nothing
. "Look," said Tom, "just because Ed’s messages mentioned Las Mambritas doesn’t mean he was literally living within the city limits. As you’ve said, Chief, people live here and there nearer the beach."

"Even
on
the beach."

Bud grinned. "A nice life."

"Yet dangerous, I’m afraid," frowned Jualéngro. "There are always robberies. We do not patrol there, and people are vulnerable."

"Cousin Ed’s more likely to be checked in to a comfortable hotel," Tom noted. "But the hotel never heard of him."

They walked on along the town’s main street, keeping to as much shade as they could find. Chief Jualéngro seemed thoughtful, and said at last:

"It’s true that there is only one
nice
hotel in Las Mambritas. But somewhat further down, near the beach—there is a little motel, a place for tourists who don’t care to sleep on the sand, but who can’t afford the niceties. The bungalows—
casitas
—may be rented for the season. It’s beyond the town line, and I tend to forget about it."

Tom nodded hopefully. "Let’s take a look."

"Today our patrol cars are all in use. Not far to walk, though."

"A walk is nothing for we three young men," boomed Nee. "And of course you are accustomed to it, madame."

She gave him a sharp look. "I
never
go there."

Bud leaned close to Tom and whispered, "But Ed
does
like adventure."

They began their trek, Chief Jualéngro slightly ahead. As they neared the edge of the town’s more modern district, Bud heard his pal moan quietly and noticed that he was shaking his head in wry disgust. "What’s the matter, Skipper?" Bud asked. "Leave the water running back on the
Queen
?"

"When we pass that window up there, glance at the reflection—about a block back."

Bud glanced. "That man? Floral shirt?"

"He’s not a tourist."

"Trailing us?"

"Yeah, I think so," replied the young inventor. "He caught my eye. And you know something, flyboy? I’m
sure
I’ve seen him before!"

BUD BARCLAY slowed, drawing Tom back to allow Jualéngro and Ruykendahl to put in some distance. "Okay, tell me!" Bud hissed. "You mean you saw him in town earlier today?"

"I’m pretty sure he was in the lobby at the library, reading a newspaper, when we were talking to the staff. I didn’t pay attention. But I mean more than that, Bud," he went on in low tones. "I’m sure—well, I can almost
feel
that I’ve met him in a different context, a different place. Talked to him, even."

"But where?"

"My brain is working on it."

The two hastened forward and, without halting the group, told the Chief about the possible follower. "
C’ba
! He surely has a big pair of
audacities
on him, trailing a uniformed officer. He can see that I’m armed."

Tom kept his eyes on Nee Ruykendahl’s face as he said, "He’s staying pretty far back, so I’d prefer to just keep walking for now. It may give us a clue as to what he has in mind."

"Yes, and indeed he may just be another tourist," agreed Jualéngro. "I love them, but they are bothersome like flies."

Bud noticed Tom’s gaze.
He wonders if Nee and the guy are working together,
the youth thought.

As they proceeded, now among old adobe-clad residences at the edge of Las Mambritas, the man behind dropped further behind, and suddenly he was no more to be seen.

"But be on your guard, boys," advised Nee. "In the jungles the prey that stalks you may circle around to the front."

At last, after a lengthy trek along the beach, they arrived at a sprawl of very elderly cottages and a sign in broken neon:
Motor-Court Los Tres-Anos Especialidad.

"The years may be
especial
, but that sign has sure seen better days," Bud remarked.

"It has lost a good deal," stated Chief Jualéngro, "making the whole place a sour joke. In town we merely say ‘El Tres’ and look away."

There was something of an office, but nothing of an attendant at the counter—only an electric fan and a caged parrot, staring vacantly without greeting.

"Permit me to exercise some authority," stated Veracíta Jualéngro. She went behind the counter and leafed through the ledger she found there. "He was here!" she exclaimed. "Payment in cash—but this is weeks ago, upon arrival."

A young boy came rushing in. His indignation faded when he saw Jualéngro’s uniform. "Oh, Longstreet? Yes, the man in your photograph—
Si
!"

"He was staying here?" asked Tom eagerly.

The boy hesitated. "He came here a time ago, I forget, and paid for five weeks. I have seen him now and then. He rides a bicycle into town. But his
casita
is off to the side—I wouldn’t see him much anyway. Lately... Well, I don’t think I have seen him for quite a few days now. Maybe a week? Two? I mind my business."

"Then he’s gone," muttered Nee quietly.

"May we see his cottage?" Tom inquired.

Before the boy could reply, Jualéngro answered for him. "We may!"

The boy gave Tom a key and directed them. As they approached the cottage, fearful of what they would find within, Bud suddenly whispered. "The door!—not even shut."

"I hear sounds inside," said the Chief, drawing her weapon.

Bud rushed ahead impulsively, thrusting the door open but standing aside on the porch. As the door swung round into the wall, there was a muffled shout from inside.

With a passing glare at Bud, the Chief marched up to the open door and called out in Spanish, then English, "This is the police, in there. Please come to the door!"

An instant later a tall, slender figure stood blinking in the sunlight. "Wha—great—
Tom
!—?"

"Ed!" Tom rushed forward and greeted his amazed cousin with a bearhug.

Ed Longstreet grinned and gulped. "How in the
world
did you find me down here?—oh! Nee!"

"You set off some alarms, friend," said Ruykendahl.

Ed shrugged. "Come in. Hi ya, Bud. And—?"

Jualéngro introduced herself, and the four entered the casita and found places to sit among scattered clothes and stacks of unwashed plates. "Guess it isn’t detective work to see that I wasn’t expecting visitors," Ed declared sheepishly. "But what’s this about alarms? Are Mom and Dad worried about me?"

"They don’t know how to get in touch with you," Tom responded.

"Well—that’s
me
, cuz. They’re used to it."

The young inventor looked toward Ruykendahl and gave a slight nod. "I’ll tell the story," he began. "I like to talk. The sound of my voice, very motivating."

He told it. When it was concluded, Ed’s face was full of bewildered astonishment. "I don’t understand
any
of this, Nee—guys."

Bud chuckled. "That makes it unanimous."

"What happened that morning, Ed? When you were to meet Nee at the library?" asked Tom soberly.

"At the
library
?" The young traveler looked at his younger cousin with perplexity. "Look, Tom, Nee... this whole deal is new to me.
I never sent any of those emails!
"

"What!" exclaimed Nee.

Ed nodded emphatically. "The last time we talked was face to face, last summer, months ago! The object I had found on the cruise—you wanted to see if matched the one you had back in South Africa. Remember?"

"Of course. You kept it. You said you were going to have it cleaned."

"Sure, in Mexico City. I stopped there along the way to here, Las Mambritas. This is one of my now-and-then hangouts—beach life for a few weeks. Dad says I’m ‘getting my head together’; far as I’m concerned, I’m just sleepin’ late and not worrying about maps and timetables." After a pause, and a nodding grin from Bud, he continued: "Maybe I should have been in touch, Nee, but... I guess I wanted to relax for a while. I didn’t feel like getting up a meeting with you so soon."

Ruykendahl chuckled. "I’ve heard rumbles that dealing with Ruykendahl can be
strenuous
."

"I didn’t realize you thought comparing the objects was urgent. Just something we were curious about."

Chief Jualéngro tapped her hand on an endtable. "Let us be precise, Mr. Longstreet. You say there was no arrangement to meet in town? No recent exchange of messages?"

Ruykendahl pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. "Here—I printed these out."

Ed looked at them. "Not from me. Where did you get this net address for your replies?"

"Ah!—it was merely the return address on the earliest of the messages, after you had come to Mexico. So it said."

Ed shrugged. "Not mine. I haven’t even unpacked my laptop. I’ve been in one of my contemplative moods, guys. I wasn’t anxious to be in touch with
anybody
. And sorry to put a damper on the thrills and chills, but I didn’t get kidnapped either."

Tom rose to his feet angrily. "This is all some sort of hoax—a ruse from the beginning!"

Ruykendahl also stood. "I don’t much care for the way you’re looking at me, my friend. Do you imagine I be so foolish as to put together some nonsensical plot, and then sit here in this room with a police official, a woman with a gun, as it falls apart?"

The young inventor shook his head, subtly warning Bud to keep his own temper in check. "No. I’m not making an accusation. The person I most suspect isn’t in this room.

"There are some things I can’t discuss right now. But there was—you might call it an attempt on my life, last week. There’s some reason to think the person behind it is a man, an international criminal, named Comrade-General Li Ching. We’ve been his targets before."

"The man who calls himself the Black Cobra," pronounced Jualéngro. "He is well known in law enforcement. There have been rumors he was somehow involved in the world blackouts, the solar phenomena that affected the Nestria satellite for a time."

"We’ve heard the rumors too," Bud commented dryly.

"I’m sorry," Tom said, "but I can’t go into detail. But these artifacts have some scientific value that Li might like to exploit. How a phony ‘kidnapping’ fits in, I don’t know."

Wordlessly, Ed went to a portable travel-safe and opened it. He held up what was obviously the mate to Artifact A. "I’ve had this in my possession constantly. If this safe were opened or moved an inch without my entering the code, my cell would beep an alarm no matter where I was, up to ten miles. Anyone wanting to steal the object would have a lot of problems."