Mr. Swift approved heartily.  “Good idea, son.  In the meantime, I’ll see what I can accomplish with Ole Think Box here.”

Tom notified Uncle Ned of the delivery sites.  He requested that because of the urgency of the situation, Swift planes transport the Quakelizors.  Mr. Newton promised to have five cargo jets loaded and prepared for take-off from the construction company airfield.

Next, Tom turned to the job of rounding up flight crews.  He decided that Hank Sterling, Arv Hanson, Art Wiltessa, and a crack Swift test pilot, Slim Davis, would each captain a plane.

Tom was just hanging up the telephone when Chow wheeled in a lunch cart, bearing sizzling servings of steak for the two Swifts.

“How’s Ole Think Box comin’ along?” Chow inquired.

“All right now, but he went berserk a while back,” Tom replied with a chuckle.

Chow eyed the robot apprehensively and made a hasty exit.  Both Tom Jr. and Tom Sr. were amused.

As they ate, the two scientists continued their discussion on how to equip Exman with senses and the power of speech.  Several minutes later, when they were finishing dessert, Bud came into the laboratory.

“Tom, what’s this about you hopping off somewhere to install a Quakelizor?” he asked anxiously.

“Don’t worry, pal.  I’ll need my usual copilot,” Tom said with a grin.  “Just didn’t have time to call you before lunch.  We’ll be flying down to a place called San Rosario in the Caribbean.”

At one o’clock Tom briefed the flight crews and technicians.  Slim was provided with three men who had worked on the original model of the quake deflector.  After making sure that every man knew his job, Tom had the groups flown by helicopter over to the Swift Construction Company airfield.

Tom and Bud’s cargo jet was the second to take off.  On signal from the tower, the big workhorse thundered down the runway and soared off into the blue.  Soon it was spearing southward above the waters of the Atlantic.

Presently Bud drew Tom’s attention to some blurry specks of light on the radarscope.  “Looks like a formation of planes, skipper.”

Tom studied the blips for a while.  “Guess you’re right.  It’s sure not a flock of sea gulls!” The young inventor frowned.

“Worried, Tom?” Bud asked quietly.

Tom shrugged.  “It could be a routine military flight.”

He increased speed and climbed for altitude.  But the blips on the radarscope showed that the planes were coming steadily closer.  It was clear that they were targeting on the Swift cargo jet.

Tom switched on the radio.  Presently a voice crackled over their headphones: 

“Calling Swift jet!” The voice was heavily accented.

“Brungarians!” Bud muttered.

Tom made no reply to the radio challenge.  Again came the voice: 

“Calling Swift jet!  Make emergency landing on the water!”