The sun was a glittering bronze disc in the heavens when Dave eased back the throttle and sent the Vultee coasting down toward the surface of the Albuquerque Air Corps Base. The rest of the trip had been completely uneventful. It had been nothing but a scenic joyride that both boys had enjoyed to the limit. But now that Albuquerque was down there their minds put aside the beauty of the trip and came back to more serious things. One attempt on their lives had been made. Would there be another at Albuquerque? Also, would Colonel Welsh’s agents at Albuquerque have anything new to report? The Chief of U.S. Intelligence had not described his two agents at Albuquerque, but both Dave and Freddy would know them instantly—that is, when the identifying sentence was spoken to them.
As he guided the ship down Dave impulsively slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out the slightly gashed copper coin he had taken from the dead Tracey. Colonel Welsh had given it to him just before they went out to the Frisco Air Base. He had also given one to Freddy Farmer. It was, Colonel Welsh had explained, a special SOS signal for U.S. Intelligence agents located in and around the Canal Zone. It identified its holder as a member of the Service, and all agents seeing it were to drop whatever they were doing and lend instant assistance, regardless. When found on the body of a wounded man, the copper disc was a silent order for the wounded man to receive medical assistance at once—as he might possess valuable military information that approaching death was striving to cheat him out of delivering.
Dave fingered the silver-filled copper disc, and stared down at it thoughtfully.
“I hope I never have to flash you,” he grunted. “You’re certainly no lucky charm. Not to poor Tracey, you weren’t. Yet—you did tell Colonel Welsh who Tracey was, didn’t you? Well, here’s hoping you don’t have to tell him the same thing—about me. And how!”
“I say!” Freddy Farmer suddenly screamed in his ear. “Land on the field, not under it, will you?”
Dave snapped his gaze front, gulped, and eased up the nose of the Vultee. He was unconsciously coming in very “hot,” and the surface of the field was much closer than he’d realized, so absorbed had he been with his thoughts about the copper disc.
“Just giving you an extra thrill, free of charge, pal!” he shouted back to Freddy. “Always aim to please the customer, you know. Okay! Mother Earth coming up. End of the line. There! Was that to your liking, sir?”
Dave settled the Vultee in a beautiful three-point, and gently braked it to a full stop. He sat there for a moment with his eyes on the Operations Tower. He got the flash to taxi in and sent the Vultee trundling along and down the cross runway toward the seemingly mile-long tarmac lined in back by an equally long row of massive hangars.
He finally slipped the Vultee in between a couple of bombers and killed the engine.
“I mean it, this time,” he said, turning around to Freddy. “End of the line, and all out. But sit here, if you like. Me, I’m going to report to the check-in officer, and then get me a bottle of pop, or something.”