The Flying Stingaree Part 24

"Ready."

The three hurried down the pier to the houseboat, where the boys took guns from their spear box. Each chose a high-powered gas gun, operated by a carbon dioxide cartridge, and selected the spears that would cut the biggest holes. There would be time for only one shot.

"Get on the floor in the runabout when we cast off," Steve directed. "If there are any watchers, I want them to see only one man."

The boys cast off, then climbed in as Steve backed into the creek. They crouched on the floor and adjusted the straps on their face masks until the fit was tight. There was no conversation. Rick was so excited it was hard to sit still. As they began the crossing of the Little Choptank River, Steve gave them instructions. "When we get opposite the creek mouth, the engine is going to stutter and kick up a lot of smoke. The boat will drift into the smoke and out again. You'll have a few seconds to go over. I'll pretend to work on the motor, and finally get it started, but running rough. Then I'll take off and pretend I'm heading home. Okay?"

"How are you going to make smoke?" Rick asked.

Steve reached into his breast pocket and produced a small bottle. "These are chemicals that smoke when they touch water. Got your plans all made?"

Rick looked at Scotty. "We'll have to stick our heads up once in a while. I'll lead, since I know the creek as far as the cove. When I think I'm lost, I'll head for the north bank, making a sharp turn. That will be your signal to stay put, while I look. What I'd like to do is bring us out in back of the duck blind. We can pick our spots then and cross the creek when we're ready."

"Got it," Scotty agreed.

Steve reached down a hand and squeezed their hands in turn. "Good luck, kids. And no unnecessary chances. If shooting starts, get underwater again. We'll have guns, but you'll have only single-shot spear guns."

"Good luck," the boys said in unison. They put on the masks and turned the valves that started the oxygen cycles. Rick grinned at Scotty through the gla.s.s, and knew that his grin was strained. Scotty grinned back and held up his hand with thumb and forefinger making the signal for "Okay."

"Be ready," Steve said.

Rick checked himself once again to be sure all was in order. Weight belt, knife, compa.s.s, spear gun with safety cap on, mask fitting tightly, and the pack in place. He got ready to jump on Steve's command.

The outboard slowed, raced, slowed, raced, back-fired, slowed. Steve's hand went over and trailed chemical in the water. The boat turned, and Rick saw the smoke cloud rising. The boat went into it, and the motor cut out.

"Go," Steve said.

Rick stood upright and went over the gunwale in a dive, knifing toward the bottom. He felt the pressure wave as Scotty followed and reached a hand upward to meet his pal. His hand touched Scotty's arm, found the hand, and gave it a squeeze. Then, with a glance at his compa.s.s to orient him, Rick started the long swim.

It was odd to be wearing the oxygen lung. The sound of bubbles from the customary compressed-air Scubas was missing, and the silence was strange. Then Steve started the motor of the runabout and Rick heard the broken rhythm as the motor skipped. He knew that Steve probably had turned the carburetor mixture to too lean or too rich. Either would cause the motor to run rough. He kept moving, his fins keeping a steady stroke. The motor sound grew distant, and finally faded entirely.

Rick usually depended on pressure to tell him location, but the creek was too shallow for any strong indication on his ears. He kept going until the visibility and brightness told him he was in the shallows, then steered out into the middle of the stream again.

He thought they must be halfway to the mansion, but wasn't sure. He gave a pair of swift kicks to alert Scotty, then turned sharp left, rolling over on his back. He could see the water surface clearly. Rising a little, he lifted his face above the water for a brief second, then went back under.

Now was the time to get behind the duck blind. Rick swam back to where Scotty waited, and plucked at his shoulder. This time he started off close to the north sh.o.r.e, heading directly for the duck blind. His course was straight. In a few moments he found himself among the pilings and turned to put the blind between himself and the mansion on the opposite sh.o.r.e. Scotty followed.

Rick lifted his head cautiously. He saw only the marsh gra.s.s and the back of the blind. He tapped Scotty, who rose until his head was level with Rick's, his face only a few inches away. They pulled off their masks.

"We can swim under the blind and look out the front," Rick whispered.

"There's enough brush to give us cover. We'll each pick our own spot and go to it. Sound all right?"

"Okay. Better fix our guns right here, though."

It was good advice. Rick removed the safety cap from his spear, making sure the barbed shaft was properly seated. Now he needed only to flick off the safety catch and fire. Scotty did the same.

"You go right and I'll go left," Scotty suggested softly. "Be better if there's a little spread between us. We'll also want to find places where we can look out. There's some weed along the sh.o.r.e, and I think I remember a brush pile around a stake near the right-hand edge of the lawn. One piling is there. There's a bunch of old pilings off to the left where the original pier was. I can see if there's cover there. If not, I'll find something."

Scotty had worn his waterproof watch. It was just four minutes to eight.

Time to get going.

The boys shook hands, grinned at each other, and pulled their masks back on. They ducked under the blind, side by side, and swam to the front of the structure where brush from last year's cover remained.

Cautiously Rick peered out, then sucked in his breath. A truck had been wheeled out of the barn. It had a dish antenna on top. And next to the truck, a ma.s.s of black plastic was slowly inflating. A flying stingaree!

Rick looked quickly for a spot to which he could swim. Near the edge of the cut lawn was the piling Scotty had mentioned. It was tall, with a light on it for night navigation. Rick realized he had seen it on earlier trips, but had not noticed it particularly because his attention had been on the house and its occupants. Slightly upstream from the tall piling were a series of stakes, saplings pushed into the bottom to indicate the limits of water deep enough for a boat. Around three of the pilings brush and gra.s.s had gathered, picked up from the current. The middle pile was highest. Rick decided to head for it.

Scotty was also searching for a hiding place. Apparently he found one that was satisfactory, because he gripped Rick's shoulder for a moment, then submerged. Rick saw him as a shadow, hugging the bottom.

Now was the time. Rick took a deep breath to quiet his taut and shaky nerves, then sank to the bottom and began the last leg of the trip. It was only a few dozen yards to the sapling he had chosen. He reached it and glanced upward. The ma.s.s of debris made a black blotch on the bright surface of the water. Moving with infinite caution and using the sapling as a guide, he swung his legs under him and rose to a sitting position.

The debris was still above the level of his eyes, so he swung his legs back again and knelt. The kneeling position brought his head to just the right level. He lifted his face and looked at the debris. Working cautiously, he brought a hand up and poked a hole through. His fingers enlarged the hole until he could see sufficiently.

The flying stingaree was tugging at the rope that held it! The shape was almost perfect, Rick thought, but he doubted that it had been designed to look like a sting ray. More likely it had been picked to look as little like a conventional balloon as possible. Well, it had served its purpose.

Merlin, alias Lefty Camillion, and his electronics wizard were fitting a rocket into a loop on a plastic strap that dangled from the balloon.

Rick couldn't see it clearly, but thought it was a replica of the one he had recovered.

There was sound from the truck containing the dish antenna. Rick pulled his mask away to hear a little better and heard a loudspeaker, rebroadcasting something.

"... reports no aircraft within range limits. We are now at thirty-one minutes and counting. On my mark the time will be zero minus thirty exactly."

There was only the crackle of the loudspeaker. The set was tuned in on the Wallops Island command frequency, Rick realized. That was how Camillion and company knew when to release the balloon, and when to trigger the rocket!

Camillion's bodyguard was manning the rope holding the balloon. It was attached to a ring on the truck. As Rick watched, the bodyguard let out more line and the balloon rose slightly, tugging at the rope, and moving toward Rick. The tail hung down almost to the ground, the rocket hanging at an angle at its end.

The loudspeaker voice said, "Stand by. Mark! Zero minus thirty."

The bodyguard reached up and cut the rope!

Rick saw the flying stingaree heading directly toward him, rising slowly, caught by the ground wind. He brought his spear gun into position and rose to his full height, snapping off the safety catch.

Oblivious to the yells from the lawn, he aimed and fired. With a sharp hiss, the spear flashed through the air--into the balloon and right through it!

The balloon didn't even falter. It would take time to lose sufficient gas to bring it down. The wind swept it right toward Rick, still rising.

As it pa.s.sed over him, the dangling rocket would be almost within reach.

Rick didn't hesitate. He saw the track of the balloon curving, as the wind s.h.i.+fted direction downstream over the water. He threw himself to one side and forward, dropping the spear gun, one hand outstretched. The rocket slapped into his palm and his fingers closed around it. The jerk pulled him forward and he grabbed with his other hand, missed, and grabbed again. This time he caught the rocket, and both hands gripped tight.

The flying stingaree lifted him, dragging him through the water. Rick spun around at the end of the line, and caught a glimpse of the bodyguard raising a pistol to shoot at him! Then the scene whirled and he saw Scotty, standing in water to his waist, spear gun lifted to fire.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _The flying stingaree lifted him!_]

Rick saw the spear leave his pal's gun, and he whirled his head in time to see the bodyguard looking down with horror at the shaft protruding from his side.

The boy didn't see the piling. His last quick impression was of the bodyguard falling forward, then there was a stunning impact as the side of his head met creosoted wood and darkness flooded in.