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"A Navy sub, maybe?" suggested Zimby. Bud shrugged. "Let's find out." He ordered a change of course, hard to the right, and gunned the jets to bring the jetmarine directly on the mystery object's trail. "It's a sub, all right," he said a short time later, listening again over the hydrophones. "Pretty close to Fearing Island, isn't it?" put in Mel Flagler. "That's a government-restricted area."
At last, after winning its confidence with several bits of fish, the boys succeeded in snaring the porpoise. Tom clambered onto the Sea Hound's deck and helped Zimby haul their catch aboard. "Quacking" reproachfully, it was lowered through the hatch and placed in the tank, which was then pumped full of salt water.
Arv Hanson would captain one seacopter, Mel Flagler the jetmarine, while Zimby Cox, Chow, and four crewmen would accompany Tom in the Sea Hound. Because of their sonar-blinding systems, Tom realized there was a chance of the ships losing contact with one another especially if their analyzer sonars developed trouble.
Tom questioned. Zimby grinned wryly. "We might not be here if they had detected us. But I'm pretty sure they didn't. Anyhow, they gave no sign." Tom was doubly elated at the news. His antidetection gear had evidently worked perfectly in a showdown test with the enemy, even at close range.
What happened to you fellows?" Zimby confirmed Bud's guess that they had taken off in pursuit of the enemy craft. "We figured Bud and Mel could make out on their own," Zimby explained. "And we thought the sub's course or actions might tip us off to its nationality. Also, if it tried any sabotage or mine-planting, we could radio the Navy."
"The sub's submerging again," he reported. "That'll give us a clear field. Zimby, you and Mack keep an eye on that baby while we're gone, and be plenty careful she doesn't spot you!" "Roger! And take this roll of wire to tie up your prisoners." Hastily Bud and Mel changed into swimming trunks and donned hydrolungs.
"No, she surfaced," Mel reported. "Can't make this out yet, but it could be another sub." Bud turned the controls over to Zimby Cox. Then he rushed to the scope and examined the blip. "Seems to be moving away from us on a westerly course. It's about two miles from here." He donned the hydrophone earset and listened. "It's no seacopter, nor a jetmarine either," he announced presently.
Tom and Bud donned flippers and belt, and helped each other strap on his ion-drive jet. "Down we go, into the wilds of sharks!" Bud chortled lustily. "Watch your step, Tom." "Just make sure you come up again in one piece," Zimby said with a grin. "Also, don't get carried away with that ion squirt gun and take off on a round-the-world underwater cruise." "Who knows?" Tom joked.
Repeatedly the two boys dived to jab and slash at the shark's soft underbelly. Both were nearly exhausted when the monster at last went limp and floated slowly up toward the surface. Pale with shock and fright, Tom and Mel jetted back to the Sea Hound. Zimby Cox was startled by their faces when they clambered aboard and ripped off their masks. "What happened to you two?" Tom told him.
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