Tom Swift Jr #35, Chapter 4: Project Desert Eagle

Over the next few weeks Tom Swift Jr. made rapid progress on his hyperplane design. One afternoon, however, he hit a snag. Irene noticed this the moment she stepped into Tom’s laboratory as saw the young inventor staring into space, doing nothing at all.

“Did you have a productive afternoon?” Irene asked, as she grabbed a stool and sat down in front of him.

“Hmmm,” Tom replied vaguely.

“I stopped by the physics lab after lunch,” the girl continued, while attempting to suppress a smile. “You’ll be glad to know that I was finally able to track down the switchboard operator and get her feedback on our reactor design! Her nephew’s three-year-old thinks we’re headed in the right direction.”

“Good,” Tom mumbled.

“It’s really terrific news,” Irene said enthusiastically. “Oh, and I also wanted to tell you that I have fish for sale.”

“What?” Tom said, startled. His eyes focused on Irene. “Fish?”

Irene laughed. “Ok, now I’ve got your attention. I was beginning to wonder there, skipper. Where have you been?”

“Wait. You got whose feedback on our reactor? Did I hear you right?”

“No, skipper, you didn’t. In fact,” she teased, “you didn’t hear me at all. You were lost in a world all your own. What’s going on?”

“I’ve been thinking,” Tom said slowly. “The heat transfer issue has me stuck. The math isn’t working, Ace, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

Irene nodded. “Right. So let’s start at the beginning. Explain to me the thought process behind Project Desert Eagle.”

Tom looked at her, puzzled. “You’ve been with me all along! You know the story as well as I do. Why would you want to hear it again?”

The teenage girl shook her head. “You’ve got it backwards. What I want you to do is retrace your steps aloud. Verbally explaining the big picture will help you think through it. You need to start over if you want to avoid endlessly thinking in circles.”

“If you say so,” Tom said. “Hmmm. Ok. What I want to do is build an aircraft that can achieve a hypersonic velocity. My target is Mach 15. I’m calling it Project Desert Eagle because we’re going to build the plane in the desert and, um, the name just had a nice ring to it.”

“Great!” Irene said. “Keep going. Don’t stop talking until you’ve run out of breath.”

Tom laughed. “Got it. Well, to move a plane at that speed you need an awful lot of power, so the idea was to build an airplane that runs on nuclear energy. The atom can provide more than enough power to get the job done. In fact, in theory it could keep the plane flying for months or even years.”

“But there are two problems, right?” Irene prodded.

“Right. Although, actually, they’re kind of tied together. In a traditional nuclear power plant, nuclear fission is used to provide heat, and that heat turns water into steam, and that steam drives a turbine, and that turbine produces electricity. That’s great for commercial power plants, but it won’t work at all for an airplane. We don’t want to produce a thousand megawatts of electricity. What we want is thrust.”

“And how are you planning on obtaining that thrust?” Irene asked.

Tom frowned. “That’s the problem. In a traditional ramjet design, the high speed of the vehicle forces compressed air through a tube. A spark from combustion heats the air, and the heated air is passed through a nozzle in order to accelerate it to supersonic speeds. This translates into thrust. A scramjet works on a similar principle, except the combustion is handled supersonically.”

“But you’re using nuclear power, not combustion,” Irene pointed out.

Tom nodded. “Exactly! Hence the trouble. We can generate all kinds of heat, but I can’t find a way to use it effectively. There just doesn’t seem to be a way to transfer the heat efficiently enough to achieve anything close to hypersonic speeds.”

“Right! That’s problem number one. What’s problem number two?”

“It’s really more of an engineering challenge than a problem,” Tom conceded. “A ramjet will only work if it’s already moving at a high speed. This obviously means you can’t use it to get off the ground in the first place. The plane is almost going to need two thrust systems – one to accelerate to a speed where the ramjet can kick in, and then the ramjet itself.”

“Only it’s technically not a ramjet, since no combustion is involved,” Irene pointed out. “You’ll need to think of a different name.”

Tom grinned. “I suppose that naming a nonexistent device is the least of my problems! Did anyone in the lab have any suggestions?”

Irene was thoughtful for a moment. “Dr. Campbell seems to think that your basic idea is sound. When I talked to him about the heat transfer issue he suggested using electric arcs to heat the air. Oh, and Dr. Sample said something about adapting the hyperplane for use in orbit. He seems to think you could carry aloft a supply of hydrogen and use it for thrusting in space.”

“That could work,” Tom mused. “I’ll have to give those ideas some thought. Maybe some kind of energy discharge could rapidly heat the air. And it would be cool if we could use the hyperplane to reach outer space.”

“So what’s the plan of action?” Irene asked.

“Well, the problem is definitely the heat transfer issue. I’ll build some models and will start experimenting. I guess there’s a couple different things we could try.”

Irene nodded. “I’ll keep working on the design for the aircraft itself. It’s a challenge to build a frame that is stable at both subsonic and hypersonic speeds. This isn’t really something that can be tested in a wind tunnel very easily. Arv Hanson has been so much help.”

“Who?” Tom asked.

“Arv Hanson – our chief model maker.”

Tom frowned. “I thought that was Hank Sterling.”

Irene shook her head. “No, no. Arv makes models. Hank makes patterns. They’re two different things.”

“Are you sure?” Tom asked. “Is there really a difference between a model and a pattern?”

“Think about it! If you want a model of your hyperplane you go to Arv, and he makes it for you. Arv is the one who made all those working models that are in your dad’s office. Hank, on the other hand, takes your dad’s inventions and makes them into patterns that can be reproduced. They do totally different things.”

“Maybe I do remember Arv,” Tom said. “Is he a tall, heavy-set guy, about six foot tall, blond hair and a mustache?”

“You’re thinking of Hank,” Irene replied. “Arv is the one with the square jaw.”

“I thought Hank had the square jaw,” Tom replied. “I was sure of it. Arv is the thin one with the twin five-year-old girls.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Irene said. A horrified look spread over her face. “You don’t suppose I spent the afternoon talking to Hank and thinking he was Arv, do you?”

“Could be!” Tom said cheerfully. “I bet they get that a lot, though. They’re twins from Bavaria, you know.”

“They are not!” Irene said. “Arv is ten years older than Hank. How could they possibly be twins?”

“Time travel,” Tom said mysteriously. “Or aliens. It could be the aliens.”

Irene reached over and shoved Tom off his stool. Tom, flailing around, lost his balance and crashed onto the couch behind him. Irene helped him up and shook her finger at him. “That’s what you get for being ridiculous,” she warned. “Next time I’m going to toss you out the window.”

Tom glanced outside. “We’re on the ground floor, Ace. I think I’d survive.”

Irene snapped her fingers. “Say, Tom, I almost forgot. A few days ago your dad asked me to tell you to drop by his office. He said he wanted to talk to you about something.”

Tom’s eyes widened. “He told you this a few days ago? And you just now remembered?”

“I wouldn’t fret it too much,” Irene said cheerfully. “I’m sure if it was super critical he would have called you, or something.”

Tom removed his white lab coat and hung it in the closet. He started to walk out the door, but Irene stopped him. “Hey, brains, don’t you think you should maybe call him first to see if he’s in?”

“Right,” Tom said. “Thanks.” He turned around and reached for the phone that was hanging on the wall, and lifted up the receiver. “Yes – I’d like to be connected to my dad’s office, please,” Tom said to the lady at the switchboard.

“One moment,” Molly replied. A minute went by, and then she spoke up again. “I’m sorry, Tom, but there’s no answer.”

“Thanks,” he said, and then slowly put down the receiver. A frown crossed his face. “That’s weird.”

“That he’s not in his office?” Irene asked.

“No, that nobody answered,” Tom replied. “Shouldn’t his secretary at least be in?”

“You mean Miss Trent?” Irene said.

“Right,” Tom replied. “Julie is a model of efficiency. I can’t imagine her leaving the office unstaffed during business hours, no matter what is going on. I’m going to go investigate.”

“Sounds like fun!” Irene said. “I’ll go with you.” She walked over to the closet, hung up her lab coat, and pulled out a double-barreled shotgun, which she proceeded to load.

Tom groaned. “Please, Irene, let’s not start World War III today. There’s no reason to get excited.”

“You never know,” Irene said darkly. “The forces of evil might be lurking about.”

“If they are then we’ll let Harlan Ames and his men take care of it. We have a whole department dedicated to the security of this plant. They can handle the bad guys. We don’t need to panic.”

“It doesn’t hurt to be prepared,” Irene replied cheerfully, hoisting the gun over her shoulder.

Tom smiled. “I know you better than that, Ace. You just like shooting things! If my dad ever went on another hunting expedition to Africa you would go with him in a heartbeat. But we’re in civilized lands, and the forces of evil are not threatening the citadels of peace. Put the gun back.”

Irene sighed, but she unloaded the weapon and placed it back in the closet. “Ok, Tom, you’ve got a good point. Let’s go.”

Tom and Irene locked the laboratory and walked toward the parking lot. For safety reasons the business offices were located on the extreme opposite end of the grounds, as far away from the Swifts’ laboratories as possible. Years of experience had taught the office personnel that it was best to be as far away as possible when something new and untried was about to be tested.

The two young scientists got into Tom’s red convertible, and they drove the short distance to the office building. Once inside Tom used his private access key to take the elevator to the ninth floor, which was reserved for the executive suites.

“It’s quiet up here,” Irene remarked, as they stepped out of the elevator and into the plushly-decorated hallway. The hallway stretched to the left and right of the elevator, and was lined with doors. On the walls hung pictures of famous Swift inventions, separated by awards or the occasional mirror. The office of Tom’s father was the last one on the right.

“You know, it is four in the afternoon on a Friday,” Tom replied, as they started walking down the hall. “Maybe they all went home early. There aren’t many people with offices up here, and those that do are rarely here anyway.”

Suddenly Irene grabbed Tom. She pointed to a large mirror that hung in the hallway. “Do you see what I see?” she hissed.

Tom turned his attention to the mirror. In the reflection he could see a portion of his father’s outer office, where Miss Trent sat. The door to his father’s private office was closed, but Miss Trent was slumped over her desk!

Tom froze. “We need to alert security,” he whispered.

“Quiet!” Irene replied. “I think someone’s coming.”

Tom paused for a moment and listened. He could hear a creaking noise, as if someone was going through some cabinets.

“In here,” Tom said, grabbing Irene and pulling her into an adjacent office. After they were inside he quietly shut the door behind him. “From here we can call – ”

As Tom turned around he suddenly realized that he had made a big mistake. A man with a crowbar was behind the desk, rifling through one of its drawers. Loose papers were strewn everywhere. By the condition of the desk Tom could tell that the man had used the crowbar to completely tear it apart. The intruder, however, had heard Tom enter the office. The moment Tom closed the door he looked up. The intruder’s eyes narrowed, and he tightened the grip on his crowbar.

Irene froze. Tom instantly leaped into action, jumping over the desk and tackling the intruder head-on. The man saw him coming and attempted to step back, but he tripped over a chair and fell backwards. Tom hit him just as the man was falling, and the intruder hit the ground hard. The crowbar went flying.

By this point Irene had recovered. She grabbed the crowbar and raced over to help Tom. The intruder was still struggling, but the fall had dazed him, and Tom was able to subdue him. He took off his belt and tied the man’s hands behind him while Irene picked up the phone on the desk to call for help.

As Tom finished securing the prisoner Irene put the phone down in disgust. “It’s dead,” she said.

“The line’s been cut,” Tom said, nodding toward the phone jack in the wall. “I’m going to have to go to another office to call Harlan. Can you handle the prisoner, or would you rather find a phone while I watch him?”

Irene gripped the crowbar tightly. Her eyes narrowed. “Go make your call, Tom. I’ll handle this.”

The prisoner let out a short, guttural laugh. “Just wait until I get loose, miss. I’ll – ”

“If I were you I’d lie still,” Tom said quietly, as he stepped toward the door. “She’s one trigger-happy girl, and a crowbar happens to be her favorite weapon. I’ve seen her do things that would make your hair curl. Even Dr. Freeman has nothing on her.”

The intruder’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t,” he said.

Irene knelt down and looked him in the eye. “Try me,” she whispered. “I dare you.”

Tom carefully stepped out into the hallway. He glanced up in the mirror and saw that Miss Trent was still slumped over the desk. He spied a phone next to her. I’ve got to make sure she’s ok, he thought to himself. The intruder must have gone through my father’s office first, and then started working his way down the hall when we surprised him.

The young man quietly made his way to his father’s office and stepped inside. The office was divided into two parts. The glass-walled outer office was where Miss Trent sat, and where visitors waited for their appointments. Behind the secretary was the door to his father’s private office. It was closed.

Tom walked over to the desk. Like the desk in the other room, it was in wild disarray. That crowbar made short work of this piece of furniture, he thought to himself. As he picked up the phone he took the secretary’s pulse. She’s alive, but unconscious, he thought to himself. He sniffed the air and caught a faint odor of chloroform. So that’s how he did it!

The lady at the switchboard connected Tom to Harlan Ames, and he quickly and quietly explained that there had been a break-in.

“We’ll be there in just a moment,” Harlan said. By his voice Tom could tell that he was deeply concerned. “I can’t imagine how he got through security, but I’ll find out. Are you positive that there are no other intruders?”

Tom was about to reply when he heard a noise behind him. He turned around just in time to see the door open. A stranger was standing in the door, holding an electric rifle. It was pointed straight at Tom’s head!