Tom Swift Jr #35, Chapter 5: Agents of Evil

Tom Swift Jr. heard Harlan Ames shouting through the receiver he was holding, but Tom did not move. He kept his eyes fixed on the man standing in the doorway, who was coolly aiming one of his father’s antique electric rifles at him. The middle-aged intruder was wearing a very expensive black suit and tie, and had nicely-trimmed black hair and hazel-colored eyes. He looks exactly like someone who sits on a board of directors, Tom thought. I bet no one here even gave him a second look.

“May I?” the man said, gesturing for the phone. Tom noticed that he spoke with a slight Eastern European accent. The young scientist nodded and handed over the phone.

“With whom have I the pleasure of speaking?” the man said calmly, while keeping Tom under watch.

“This is Harlan Ames, head of security here at Swift Enterprises,” Harlan replied angrily. “What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

“At the moment I am holding Tom Swift Jr. hostage,” he replied evenly. “I suggest you hold off any sudden moves until I’m quite finished with my work. I would dearly hate to have anything unfortunate befall this promising young man.” Before Harlan could respond the man hung up the phone and then gestured for Tom to enter his father’s office.

Tom stepped inside and the intruder closed the door behind him. He’s made a real mess of this place, Tom thought. His father’s desk had been completely torn apart, and the intruder had apparently started rifling through the filing cabinets when he had been disturbed. Tom spied an expensive custom briefcase sitting on the desk, stuffed with his father’s papers.

“Nice suit,” Tom said aloud. “Was that hand-made?”

The man walked around Tom and faced him. He studied him for a moment, and then smiled. “You have excellent taste, young man,” he said at last. “This was made by one of the finest tailors in all of Brungaria. It costs was – well, it’s sufficient to say that it cost me dearly. But it was truly a worthwhile investment.”

“Brungaria,” Tom echoed. “I think I’ve heard of that country.”

“Oh, you needn’t act so naive,” the agent replied. “I’m sure you immediately guessed my country of origin. It’s not like the Swift’s haven’t had dealings with the Brungarians before.”

“Actually, I don’t think we have,” Tom said thoughtfully. “At least, not that I know of.”

The agent smiled. “Then there is much your father has not told you! I have known him for almost twenty years. But allow me to introduce myself.” He reached inside his suit pocket and pulled out a white index card, which he handed to Tom.

“Xanthus Quintin,” Tom read aloud.

“Exactly,” the agent replied. “And you are Tom Swift Jr., son of the famous and highly-respected Tom Swift. It is truly a pleasure to meet you at last! I was wondering if I would get a chance to talk with you while I was in your charming little town.”

“You have a lot of nerve coming here!” Tom said. “Anyone could have walked in on you at any moment. How did you ever think you wouldn’t be discovered?”

“Ah, but that is not true!” Xanthus replied. “I have done my homework. Everyone who has access to this floor is in southern Arizona right now, touring the property that will one day become your nuclear research institute. That is, everyone except for you. I knew there was a chance that you might drop by, but if you did, so much the better!”

Tom gasped. “The meeting! You mean it was this weekend? Oh man. I promised Dad I’d be there, too. He’s going to be so upset.”

“Apparently your share your father’s lack of organizational skills,” the spy replied. “Perhaps Miss Trent can lend you her secretarial services. One she recovers, of course.”

The Brungarian agent walked over to his black leather briefcase and clipped it shut. “I think I have everything I need,” he said quietly. “I do apologize for disrupting this fine office, but I am sure your father can afford the repairs. He is, after all, one of the wealthiest men in the world! His inventions have been quite profitable.”

Is this guy insane? Tom wondered to himself. Why is he taking so much time to get out of here?

“Of course, your father can be quite selfish,” Xanthus continued. He tapped the briefcase and smiled. “There are secrets in here that the world would love to have. At times it may be necessary to, shall we say, liberate some knowledge.”

“I think that’s usually called stealing,” Tom corrected.

Xanthus shrugged. “Your father is not above doing what is necessary to accomplish his goals. I am simply – following in his footsteps, you might say. Justice is balance. What he did to me, I will do to him.”

“Besides,” Tom continued, “this is a commercial organization. Anything we produce gets sold on the open market.”

The Brungarian agent smiled. “I very much doubt your government would be willing to allow your father to sell us your nuclear hyperplane! Yes,” he continued, noticing Tom’s startled reaction, “we are well aware of your exciting new project. But even so, it is not true that your father commercializes everything. This electric rifle, for instance, he has kept to himself.” He looked at it fondly. “Few people in the world have ever seen one, and fewer still have ever used one. His greatest invention has been kept locked in his office.”

Tom smiled. “Not really. That’s just a model. You did notice that all the inventions in here were models, didn’t you?”

Xanthus paled and looked at the rifle he was holding in shock. At that moment Tom made a dive for him. When the agent saw Tom leap toward him he dropped the briefcase and pulled the trigger. A brilliant flash of blue light flew out of the barrel of the gun. The bolt went harmlessly through Tom and struck the far office wall, disintegrating it in a blinding flash.

I knew it! Tom thought triumphantly, as he collided with the spy and sent the gun flying through the air. He had no idea you have to set the target distance before firing the bolt.

The gun had blown apart the wall that separated that office from the one adjoining it, and through the smoke and the newly-created hole Tom could see Irene staring at him in shock. As Tom fought to subdue the spy the agent caught sight of the girl, who had abandoned her prisoner and was running toward them brandishing a crowbar. With a last desperate effort the spy broke free of Tom, leaped across the room and grabbed the rifle, and fired. To Tom’s horror the bolt struck Irene squarely in the chest, knocking her backwards and onto the ground. She did not get up.

“Irene!” Tom screamed. Momentarily distracted, he did not see the agent take the gun and slam it against Tom’s head. Instantly everything went black.

* * * * *

“What happened?” Tom asked groggily. As he opened his eyes and tried to sit up he saw that he was still lying on the floor of his father’s battered office. Doc Simpson was kneeling beside him, looking at him with great concern. Behind him was Harlan Ames.

“You got hit pretty hard, son,” the doctor replied. Doc Simpson had been the chief medical officer at Swift Enterprises since Tom was a young child. “You’ve been unconscious for about twenty minutes. I think it’s just a concussion, but I’ll have to x-ray you to make sure. We need to get you to the infirmary immediately.”

“Wait,” Tom replied. Fear clutched his heart. “What about Irene? Is she – ”

“I’m fine,” a voice said. Tom turned his head and saw Irene sitting in a chair. “Well, mostly fine. The bolt ruined my brand-new sweater, blast it. Do you think I can claim that as a business expense?”

An immense feeling of relief flooded over Tom. He smiled. “Don’t worry about it, Ace. I’ll buy you a new one. But what happened?”

Harlan Ames reached over and picked the gun off the floor. “This weapon hasn’t been used in years. In fact, I’m surprised there was enough energy stored in it to fire at all. As best we can tell most of its power was spent in the first discharge, and there was only enough left to knock Irene out for a few moments. Someone was looking after you, son.”

“This time,” Tom said soberly. “Things could have gone very differently.”

Harlan nodded. “When I tell your dad about this I’m going to suggest we replace this particular invention with a nonfunctional model. You took a big risk when you jumped him. Please don’t do something like that again.”

Tom touched his head and winced. “Man, my head hurts. I sure hope this doesn’t become a regular occurrence.”

“Then let’s get you down to the infirmary,” Doc said. “Your head is going to hurt until I can treat it.”

Tom nodded as the doctor helped him to his feet. His eye caught sight of a black leather briefcase lying open on the desk. “You mean he left it here?” Tom said in surprise.

“He sure did,” Harlan replied. “We were actually out there in the hallway when we heard the rifle go off, so we started running. The intruder took one look at us and ran through the hole he had just blasted in the wall. He beat us to the stairs and then disappeared.”

“You mean he got away?” Irene asked.

“He had inside help,” Harlan replied. “We had men stationed on the roof, and they got ambushed. The scoundrel got clean away, but his assistant didn’t! He’s on his way to the jail now, and may yield some valuable information. Tom, do you feel like telling us what happened?”

“Can it wait?” the doctor said.

“It’ll just take a second,” Tom replied. He gave Harlan a quick run-down on what the enemy agent had told him.

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Harlan said at last. “Nuclear secrets are hot commodities, and I’m sure that the Brungarians would love to get their hands on what you and your dad have been working on. Now that they’ve tilted their hand, though, we can beef up security. We won’t let this happen again.”

“Brungaria,” Irene said sourly. “The sworn enemy of everything that is good and decent in this world. I should have known.”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Tom said. “Xanthus went out of his way to identify himself. That’s not how spies operate. He wanted us to know why he was here, Harlan. In fact, I think that mattered to him more than the information in that briefcase. There’s more to this than it seems.”

“Do you need a stretcher?” Doc Simpson asked, interrupting.

“No, I think I can walk,” Tom replied. “But one minute. Irene, you did a great job handling the prisoner. Thanks for looking after him for me.”

“Thanks,” Irene said, smiling. She hefted the crowbar. “It’s easy to watch someone who’s unconscious.”

A look of horror crossed Tom’s face. “You didn’t,” he said.

“Of course not!” Irene replied. “You know I’m harmless. The problem is the prisoner figured that out too, so I chloroformed him. He had some in his jacket when I searched him – which, incidentally, is something you should have done when you tied him up.”

“He must have used it on Miss Trent,” Tom said thoughtfully. “And you’re right, I should have searched him. Sorry about that. Oh, say, how is Miss Trent?”

“She’s fine,” Irene said. “She went home ten minutes ago. Knowing her, I’m sure she’ll be back in the office on Monday!”

As Tom was led out of the office by Doc Simpson he took one last look around. “She’s got her work cut out for her, Ace. How long do you think it will take her to get Dad’s office repaired?”

* * * * *

A week later Tom Swift Jr. was sitting in his sleek red convertible outside the Goddard residence. He glanced at his watched, frowned, and began tapping the steering wheel impatiently. C’mon, Irene, we’re going to be late, he thought. It’s already ten ’till six! Where are you?

The weather had been unusually warm that November, so Tom had the car’s top down and was enjoying what would probably be the last warm day of the year. The sun was beginning to set and the streetlights that lined the sidewalk were attempting to come on. Tom idly sat in the driver’s seat and looked around the neighborhood. He noticed that a few children were playing softball in the field across the street.

To pass the time, the young inventor grabbed a small notepad and a pencil out of the glove compartment box and began jotting down some ideas. He was soon lost in thought.

Ten minutes later he heard a door open, and looked up to see Irene getting in the car. Irene was dressed in a long black evening gown, and was holding a stylish black purse. “Thanks for waiting,” she said, smiling sweetly as she took her seat.

Tom shook his head, put the notebook and pencil back in the glove compartment box, and started the car. “We were supposed to be there are six,” he grumbled. “Do you realize that the restaurant is clear on the other side of town?”

“They won’t start without the birthday boy,” Irene replied cheerfully. “Don’t worry! We’ll get there.”

“You do look nice,” Tom admitted. He pulled the car away from the house and began driving down the road.

“Why thank you, young man,” Irene replied. “I was hoping you’d notice. So what were you working on? Mind if I look?”

“Be my guest,” Tom replied. The girl opened the glove compartment box and began leafing through the notebook. “I was just putting together some ideas for my dad. I finally found out what he wanted to talk to me about.”

“An alarm system?” Irene asked, as she studied the drawings.

Tom nodded. “Yup. Dad asked me to build something that is truly burglar-proof, so I’ve been giving it some thought. I’m thinking that something that’s radar-based should work nicely.”

“You’re going to use radar to keep Brungarians away? How is that going to work?”

“It’s simple,” Tom replied, as he merged the car onto the main road. “The system would scan for all human beings inside the Enterprise compound. Authorized personnel, however, won’t be detected because they’ll be wearing an amulet that will keep them off the scope. Unauthorized intruders, though, won’t have an amulet and will immediately raise an alarm. The best part is that no matter how the intruder got inside he’ll still show up the moment he sets foot inside the plant!”

“Very nice,” Irene commented. She put the notebook back in the glove compartment box. “But what happens if you have a traitor inside the plant that hands out amulets to enemy agents? Or what if they steal an amulet from an employee?”

“We’d have to control the amulets pretty carefully,” Tom admitted. “And I suppose there could be a problem if someone lost them. But at least it’s better than what we’ve got now.”

“True,” Irene replied. “When do you think you’ll have a working version?”

Tom shrugged. “Right now I’m just sketching ideas, Ace. It’ll take some time to make a system that can pick up on humans and screen out everything else, to say nothing of building the magical amulet. I doubt I’ll actually have a test unit until after the hyperplane gets off the ground.”

“I’m sure the Brungarian spies will appreciate that!” Irene remarked. “After all, why not wait until after the sensitive nuclear project is done to beef up security?”

“My point exactly,” Tom joked. “After all, what could go wrong?”

* * * * *

Thirty minutes later, Tom pulled the car into the parking lot of Gulliver’s. He drove up to the door of the restaurant then stopped the car, got out, and walked around the car to open the door for Irene. After handing the key to the valet the two teenagers stepped inside.

“Ah, Mr. Swift, your party has been waiting for you!” the hostess said the moment the couple entered the door. “Right this way, please.”

Gulliver’s was packed that night, as it usually was on Friday evenings. The western-themed establishment had been started a few years prior by Whiz Walton, a famous columnist from New York City. Few people had ever met the famous Gulliver but those who had never forgot the experience, for he was a truly awe-inspiring individual. The most startling thing about him was not his massive height or strength, or the hard-won scars that reflected a lifetime spent in the remotest parts of the world. His most unusual characteristics were incredible courage, unwavering loyalty, and an utter hatred of all that is insincere. Tom had wanted to meet him for years but the reclusive individual spent most of his time out west, taking care of problems that only he could handle.

The hostess led them to a room in the back of the restaurant. “It looks like we really are the last people here,” Tom remarked. Seated at the table were his parents, Irene’s parents, and his sister Sandra. His father was sitting at the head of the table.

“We were wondering when you’d get here,” Sandra teased. “We were about to go ahead without you.”

Tom smiled as he took his seat beside his father and across from his mother. Irene sat down next to him. “It’s wonderful to see all of you,” he said. “We really should get together more often.”

“I know,” Irene’s father replied. Mike Goddard took a sip of his sweet tea and then placed his glass back on the table. “We used to get together all the time. I don’t know what’s happened.”

“You’ve gotten busy, dear,” Mike’s wife Shasta replied. “I do believe we’ve spent most of the summer in New Mexico. The desert is nice, you know, but it’s just not quite like the mountains we have here.”

“I’m so glad you’re both home,” Irene said warmly. “The house gets awfully lonely sometimes.”

“So how’s the research going?” Mike asked Tom Sr.

“Excellent!” Tom replied. “I think I’ve found a way to modify tomasite to convert heat and radiation directly to electricity. I’m still in the early research stages, but if I can improve the efficiency it will open up an entirely new type of reactor design.”

“You didn’t tell me about that!” Tom Jr. whispered to Irene. “That’s amazing.”

She shrugged. “I didn’t know about it either. It must something your Dad came up with on his own.”

“I hope he can get it to work,” Tom remarked. “Can you imagine? Why, with miniaturization you could fit an entire atomic reactor inside a single capsule!”

“I’m afraid I’m a long way from that,” Tom’s dad commented. “But it’s an intriguing idea! My prototype ‘capsule’ is going to be several stories tall.”

“So how does it feel to finally be 17?” Sandra asked.

“I feel like I’m getting old!” Tom said, grinning. “Why, before you know it I’ll have morphed into a responsible adult that gets out of bed at a decent hour.”

“How terrible!” Irene said. “And to think I’m going to be an ancient, decrepit 18-year-old just two months from now. But I have a hard time believing that you have a quiet, sedentary life ahead of you, skipper. That just doesn’t happen to your family.”

Tom laughed. “You maybe right, Ace. So, tell me. What are you getting for dinner?”

“Do they have three-inch-thick steaks?” she asked.