Because of his father’s absence in Washington, the burden of administering the vast experimental station now fell on Tom’s youthful shoulders.  Telephone calls, letters, and other detailed work occupied him until noon.

Chow broke in, bringing a lunch tray with milk, a hot chicken sandwich, and a chocolate eclair.  Tom ate hungrily.

“Kind o’ peps up the ole supercharger, eh?” said Chow, lingering to chat.

“Sure does,” Tom agreed.

“Wal, jest remember that, an’ don’t go missin’ any meals—­or sleep, either,” Chow advised as he gathered up the tray.  “A brainy young hombre like you needs plenty o’ rest an’ vitamins to keep from burnin’ himself out.”

“I’ll remember.”  Tom grinned affectionately as the leathery-faced old Texan took his leave.  The Swifts had first met Chow when they were on an atomic research expedition in the Southwest.  Chow had become so attached to Tom that he had returned to Shopton with the Swifts as a permanent employee.

Soon after Chow left the office, the telephone rang.  Tom took the call and had just finished talking with Harlan Ames when Bud came strolling in.

“Any more news on that nut who jumped you this morning?” the young flier asked.  “Ames told me about it.”

“Not yet, but there may be soon,” Tom said.  “Harlan just phoned and said he’d had a call from Washington, asking us to stand by the videophone at one-thirty sharp.”

Ames arrived in person shortly before the scheduled time.  Moments later, a red signal flashed on the control board of the Swifts’ private TV network.  Tom flicked on the videophone and two men appeared on the screen.

One was Blake, the Swifts’ Washington, D.C., telecaster.  He introduced the other man, a calm-faced, balding individual in a dark suit.

“This is John Thurston of the Central Intelligence Agency, Tom,” Blake said.  “He thought it might be better to discuss this with you face to face.”

Tom, Bud, and Ames were also visible to the pair in Washington.

“Glad to know you, sir,” Tom said, and introduced his companions.

“We’ve identified the man you captured this morning,” Thurston began.  “He’s in the United States on a French passport under the name of Jacques Renard.  But we’ve just learned from the International Police Organization that he’s actually a Brungarian.  His name is Samson Narko.”

Tom and Ames exchanged startled glances.  In the past, certain Brungarian factions had been responsible for some of the most fiendish plots ever perpetrated against the Swifts.

“Unfortunately, that’s not all,” Thurston went on.  “Interpol believes that Narko is also a member of the same rebel outfit with whom you’ve had trouble before.”

Tom was dismayed by the news.  “I sure thought that group had been smashed!” he said.  Soon after Tom had balked their attempts to seize the satellite Nestria, the rebel ringleaders had reportedly been arrested and tried for treason.