"All right. Then we must assume that the brain scrambler—or whatever you call it—can operate only from short distances, approximately to the horizon. Tell your father he is to get out of town. Have him pack a bag, then deliver him to the New York JANIG office. We'll take it from there. Got it?"
Rick had it. "How do I make sure we're not followed?"
Steve paused. "That's a tough one. Air travel would be surest. Do you have any landing lights on Spindrift?"
"No. Besides, it's a short runway, and only a pilot who knew the island could possibly land at night."
"I've got a pilot who knows it, so forget going to New York. Rig lights of some kind. You can put lights on the roof of the lab building, I'm sure. Then put a pair of lights at each side of the runway's end, so he'll know how far he can go. If you have nothing else, soak newspapers in gasoline. He'll buzz the island. That will be your signal to light up."
"Is Mike Malone the pilot?" Malone had landed there before.
"Yes. He'll take over. Just deliver your father intact."
"If we can," Rick said slowly. "Steve, suppose the enemy activates their machine when they hear the plane? Suppose they suspect he's getting away and turn on the mind reader?"
"We'll have to chance it. Best thing is to move fast. Get your father in with Mike, and let them clear out. I'll tell Mike to put distance between him and you as fast as he can."
"All right, Steve." There seemed to be no other way.