Tom flicked off his mike and exchanged another worried glance with Bud. "We seem to be in a spot, pal!"
"And how! Especially if that crate's armed!" Bud muttered. "But what are they after?"
Tom shrugged. "The space plants maybe—or possibly our jet."
"Might even be us they want," Bud said. "Got any tricks under your magician's hat?"
Tom's brain was already racing to figure a way out. Suddenly he snapped his fingers. "Hey! I almost forgot!" he exclaimed. "Look in the locker, Bud, and see if we have the radio set that neutralizes all interference!"
Bud's face brightened. "Now you're talking!"
The set had been perfected during Tom's Cosmic Astronauts adventure, in defense against an Oriental enemy's jamming-wave generator. Bud found it in the locker, dragged it out joyfully, and plugged it into the power supply.
Meanwhile, the mystery jet had banked in a wide circle and headed west. As Tom stalled for time, it swooped back again and the same voice came snarling over the speaker.
"I warned you to follow us! Or would you prefer to be shot down?"
As if to back up the threat, a burst of tracer fire grazed Tom's plane.