"What kind of underwater gear will we use?" Bud inquired.
"I'm not sure myself," Tom admitted. "Guess we'll have to take along a variety of equipment and play it by ear."
Before proceeding with his search plans, Tom phoned home to inform his mother of his arrival. Mrs. Swift was sympathetic when she heard of the failure to recover the probe missile.
"I'm sure you'll locate it," she said encouragingly.
"Some of your cooking will sure help brighten the picture," Tom replied with a grin. As he put down the receiver a moment later, he told Bud, "You're having dinner with us tonight, pal. Fried chicken and biscuits."
Bud licked his lips. "Lead me to it!"
Chuckling, Tom began drawing up a list of supplies for the expedition. Bud helped with the details, after which Tom phoned the underground hangar and the Swifts' rocket base at Fearing Island to give the orders for the next day. Crewmen were also detailed for the trip.
It was six o'clock when the two boys finally piled into Tom's low-slung sports car and drove to the Swifts' big, pleasant house on the outskirts of Shopton. Sandra, Tom's blond, vivacious sister, greeted them at the door.
"About time!" she teased. "We were beginning to think you two had taken off somewhere."
"Think I'd leave town while you and that fried chicken are in Shopton?" Bud grinned.