Gilbert Mathews was at the head of the ladder, checking in every man as he came aboard. Harry reported and was checked off the list. He turned to his friends from Bellevue.
“I can’t say very much,” he told them. “Everything is sort of choked up in my throat. Bert, old scout, I’ll be tuning up for your messages. Don’t forget me.”
“I won’t,” promised the Goliath’s operator.
“So long, fellows,” said Harry and he turned and hastened down the ladder to the deck of the Neptune. He paused for a moment and waved before stepping inside the steel hull.
When they returned to their hotel, Blatz stopped at a newsstand to buy an early edition of one of the morning papers. They were so much more comprehensive than the Rubanian papers to which he had been accustomed and he thoroughly enjoyed reading them. In the quiet of his room he digested the news of the day. A story on an inside page caught and held his attention. The dateline was “KRATZ, Rubania.” The story told of the growing unrest against the regime of Dictator Reikoff, adding that this bad feeling was centered in the powerful air corps, the largest unit of the Rubanian army.
Blatz knew what they meant. Reikoff had been making unjust demands of his airmen and he was sitting on an open powder keg which was likely to explode with disastrous results to himself. Blatz almost wished that revolution would sweep the country and rid Rubania of its dictator. He was thoroughly disgusted and out of sympathy with the task to which he had been assigned, that of destroying the Goliath, and he would welcome any opportunity to escape but as long as Reikoff lived and ruled it would mean death for Blatz if he failed to carry out his mission.
Andy stepped through the door which connected the double room.
“Any objections to our returning to Bellevue in the morning?” he asked.
“No, why?” replied Blatz.
“Oh, there’s no reason for us to stay on longer here but I thought you might have some business over on the east side to transact.”