The Flying Stingaree: A Rick Brant Science-Adventure Story

"Now," the doctor said briskly, "let's look at the next one. What happened to him?"

"Fish spear in the side," Steve replied.

Scotty and the attendant helped Rick to the ambulance. He lay down on the stretcher gratefully and closed his eyes. Scotty stayed with him while the attendant went to help with the bodyguard.

"Quite a party," Rick said faintly.

Scotty covered him with a blanket. "You missed most of it, but I'll give you the details tomorrow. How are you feeling?"

"Groggy." Rick's eyes were closed. He was never sure at what point he drifted off into deep slumber. He knew only that he had no recollection of the bodyguard being placed next to him or of the ambulance leaving Calvert's Favor.

Rick awoke to bright daylight. The pain in his face had subsided to a faintly aching stiffness and he felt fine. He knew from the surroundings that he must be in a hospital, probably at Cambridge. He groped for the call bell and found it wound around the bedpost. He pushed it. In a few moments a nurse came in.

"Well," she greeted him, "how are you this morning?"

"Hungry," Rick replied promptly.

The nurse, a pleasant-faced woman of middle age, smiled. "That's a good sign. Let's see what we can do. Ready for visitors?"

"Send them in," Rick said cheerfully. "Or is it just one?"

"Two." The nurse went to the door and beckoned. "I'll send in some breakfast," she said, and left.

Rick's hand touched his head gingerly. The right side of his face was bandaged, the pad held in place by tape that crossed his forehead and circled down under his chin. He probed gently and discovered that the sorest places were his temple and an area just in front of his ear.

Steve Ames and Scotty came in and greeted him with wide smiles. "The nurse says you're hungry," Steve said. "Sounds like the old Rick."

Scotty asked, "How about crab cakes for breakfast?"

"Bring 'em on, followed by a dozen steamed clams and an order of fritters," Rick replied. "How's the bodyguard?"

"Well enough so his disposition is pretty nasty," Steve reported. "He'll be here for at least a week before the jail cell opens wide. Seriously, Rick, are you all right? Apparently there was no concussion."

"I'm fine," Rick assured him. "But I'll bet this bandage makes me look like a survivor of Custer's Last Stand."

Steve and Scotty drew chairs up to the bed. "One last look by the doctor and we'll take you home," Steve told him. "If you feel up to it."

"What'll I do for clothes?" Rick asked.

"They're in your closet," Scotty replied. "We brought them with us. Last night we took your gear home after the hospital folks peeled you out of it."

"Good." Rick looked at his two friends. "Now suppose you tell me what happened last night? I must have been out like a light while the excitement was running high."

Scotty nodded. "I'll start. I was behind one of the pier piles when the bodyguard cut the balloon loose. I jumped out for a clear shot, but by then you had put your spear through the thing. I was going to add mine for good luck when I saw the bodyguard reach for the old equalizer and draw a bead on you, so I shifted targets. I looked back at you just in time to see you dangling from the stingaree like an extra tail. And right then you went boom into the piling. But would Brant ever let go of evidence? Not you, ol' buddy. There you dangled, limp as a wilted banana while the balloon drifted along with you. I started toward you as fast as I could go, which wasn't very fast with water up to my waist."

"Wish I could have seen it," Rick said with a grin.

"So do I," Scotty assured him. "Camillion and his friends were also somewhat interested in you. They started down the lawn, and I was sure they'd get to you before I could. Only then Joe and Chuck stepped out of the bushes not ten yards from where I'd been hiding, and yelled to the lads to hold fast and get their hands high. Steve stepped around the corner of the barn with a .45 in his mitt and emphasized the point. Lefty and company got the idea and skidded to a stop with all brakes locked. I put on more speed, and Steve joined the chase."

"I didn't see you hit the piling." Steve picked up the story. "But I heard it. When I saw that the boys had things under control with their shotguns, I stepped on it and got to you a few seconds after Scotty had grabbed you by the waist. When I saw your face, I had a few bad moments until I could take a closer look. You were a bloody mess, to put it mildly, with more than a few splinters adding color. But I could see your manly beauty wasn't gone forever. We pried you loose from the rocket and stretched you out on the lawn. Your pulse was pretty good and you were breathing steadily, so we gave you a few whiffs of oxygen from Scotty's tank for good luck."

Rick could appreciate how worried his friends must have been in spite of their half-humorous report.

"Lefty spoke up," Steve continued. "It was the only time he spoke. He's said nothing since. He said, 'There's a first-aid kit in the kitchen.' We got it, and went to work on you. Of course we put in a call to the police, and asked for an ambulance. Joe Vitalli kept a watch on the crowd and Chuck went into the barn while we pulled splinters out of you. He found Orvil, and he also found Lincoln Harris."

"I remember meeting him," Rick nodded. "I was too groggy to be surprised."

"He was okay. They hadn't mistreated him. Link said he had gone up the creek just in time to see them launch a balloon with a rocket on it, and they got the drop on him with rifles, then grabbed him. His curiosity got the better of him. He'd heard about the people at Calvert's Favor and decided to take a look, the waterways being free to all navigators. Orvil had a bump on his head, but otherwise was all right. Lefty hasn't talked, but I suspect he had plans for their release, once he was safely out of the country."

"Where is Lefty?" Rick asked.

"He and his friends are in the local jail. You know, Lefty is a chump. But he's also an excellent example of what happens to people when they start operating in unfamiliar fields."

"Why is he a chump?" Rick demanded.

"Because every bit of data he went to so much trouble to collect was his for the asking, if he'd only waited until it was processed."

The light dawned. Rick knew at once what Steve meant. "That's what was trying to get to the surface in this addled brain of mine last night. Of course! Wallops Island is an unclassified launch site. Everything about the launchings is reported in scientific publications! But, Steve, the Soviet Embassy was interested in buying the stuff!"

Steve chuckled. "Sure, but not for a very high price, I suspect. The Reds are so suspicious they can't believe that a country like the United States can afford to give away data. They'd buy the tapes just to make sure we weren't holding back information they could use."

"Even a casual investigation would have told Lefty the data from Wallops firings is published by scientific publications," Scotty pointed out. "How could he have been so stupid?"

"He fell into a natural trap," Steve answered. "Most people think there is military secrecy connected with rocket firings. They don't make a distinction between the civilian space agency and the military services. But the law does. It says the National Aeronautics and Space Administration is required to report on its scientific findings."

"And it does," Rick concluded. "Dad has already written a report on the instruments for measuring solar X rays. The scientists who actually use the instruments will also write a report on the data they obtained."

"That's it," Steve agreed. "What's a little more puzzling is why the electronics expert didn't know. I suspect he has been concerned only with the design of telemetry equipment and not with any actual launchings or space experiments."

"Maybe he did know," Scotty offered. "He might have kept quiet just to get money from Lefty for doing the work on intercepting the data. You know we had the clues, but it never occurred to us there might be a connection between Wallops Island and the stingarees, because who could imagine going to all that trouble to intercept open, unclassified data you can get by asking for it?"

Rick had to laugh. "Whether he knew or not, it's still a joke on Lefty, and on us for not suspecting the connection. And poor Lefty won't have a nest egg to take back to Europe with him."

"He won't need a nest egg," Steve corrected. "Lefty violated the law by kidnaping Link and Orvil. I don't know whether we can make a federal espionage rap stick or not, since the data he was collecting was unclassified. But we'll try. Anyway, he won't be going back to Europe. He'll end up in a Maryland prison, or a Federal one. Either way, it'll be some years before he has to worry about money."

"Lucky Lefty," Rick said. "A cell of his own, plenty of food, and no worries about money. We did him a favor."

Steve grinned. "Just don't expect any gratitude for a favor like that!"

CHAPTER XX

Hunt the Wide Waters

The cruising houseboat Spindrift moved sedately across Eastern Bay, off the main Chesapeake Bay, toward the town of Claiborne. It was a lovely day with a blue sky dotted with occasional fair-weather clouds. The temperature was in the low eighties, the wind gentle, and the water warm.

Rick Brant sat on the bow of the houseboat, with his feet dangling over. Next to him sat Jan Miller. His sister Barby, with their mother and father, were relaxing in deck chairs on the sun deck, while Scotty piloted the boat.

Now and then the bow dipped, and the spray splashed up in a cooling shower. Rick enjoyed the feeling of the cool spray, and the taste of salt on his tongue. Jan did, too. Rick thought she made quite a picture with her white bathing suit and golden tan contrasting with her dark hair. His one regret was that he couldn't swim with Jan, Scotty, and the family. Both Jan and Barby were expert Scuba divers, and he had looked forward to spearfishing with them in the bay. The girls had brought their own Scuba equipment in the luggage compartment of Hartson Brant's car.

Rick's bandages had been reduced to a single jumbo-size gauze patch, but his folks would not allow him to go swimming until his face was entirely healed. He knew they were right, though he chafed under the restriction. Even so, swimming was really only a small part of the fun of houseboating, and the ban on swimming wouldn't last long.

Jan had put on a fresh bandage for him after breakfast that morning, and remarked in her soft voice, "It will be completely healed in another day or two, Rick. You can go swimming then."

Meanwhile, he had found an acceptable substitute. Steve Ames was a subscriber to Bowhunting Magazine, and in a back issue Rick had found an article on fishing for sting rays with bow and arrow. Steve had loaned a bow, and Rick had invested in fishing arrows and a reel for the bow. So far, he had found only one sting ray, and in his excitement he had failed to take into account the refraction of the water. He aimed where the ray seemed to be – but wasn't.

Rick's pretty, blond sister called down to him. "Rick! There's a sand bar at the tip of that point."

He looked to where Barby was pointing and saw a good-sized sand bar extending out under the water. "I see it, Sis. Thanks. It will be a while before we get there."

Jan smiled at him. "Going to try again?"

"You bet I am. Got to catch up with you somehow."

Jan had bagged a ten-pound rockfish underwater on the day before, and they had baked it in a driftwood fire on a beach at Poplar Island. Rick was as proud as though the catch had been his own. He had been Jan's diving instructor and had taught her how to stalk a fish.

"You can catch up day after tomorrow when the folks will let you dive," Jan assured him.

"Can't wait that long," Rick replied. "I'm going to find a fifty-pound ray right now."

"Go get your bow," Jan said. "I'll join the others and we'll all spot for you."

Rick got to his feet and gave Jan a hand up. He went down the catwalk to the cabin while she went up the ladder to the top deck.

The bow was in the closet. Rick checked the string, then strung the bow and selected two arrows. He went out on deck and stopped at Scotty's side. "Looks like a good place. Cruise slow and easy and be ready to maneuver. If there's a ray there, I want it."

"Okay. Go for broke, Robin Hood. What I can't understand is why you don't shoot for something edible."

"Can't," Rick said cheerfully. "Edible-type fish don't hang around waiting for boats to bring bowmen close."

He climbed the rear ladder to the upper deck and joined his family. Hartson Brant smiled at his son. "Next time we let you go off by yourself don't get involved in mysteries. Then you won't have to bowhunt inedible sea animals."

"It's fun," Rick returned. "I'd want to do it even if I could spear fish. Want to take a shot?"

"I'll take a shot after you've boated your first ray."

"Fair enough," Rick agreed.

Mrs. Brant asked, "Where are we going, Rick?"

He pointed to the peninsula. "Around that land. There's a creek on the other side called Tilghman Creek. The cruising guide says there's a good anchorage just inside. If it looks all right, well spend the night there. If not, we'll go across to the Wye River. Tomorrow we'll go down the Miles River to the town of St. Michaels and put in supplies."

The scientist smiled at his wife. "It's nice to relax and have our children do the work and the thinking, isn't it?"

"It's too good to last," Mrs. Brant returned.

Barby and Jan were standing far forward, close to where the cabin top curved downward to the forward deck. Rick joined them.

"This is fun!" Barby exclaimed. "Rick this houseboat was the best idea you ever had!"

"We all should have traveled down together," Jan said. "Then the whole family could have been in on the case of the flying stingaree."

"That will be the day," Barby replied. "When Rick Brant lets us in on any real adventures, I'll know the world is coming to an end." Her tone changed suddenly. "Look, we're getting into shallow water. Keep a sharp lookout!"

Rick went down the ladder to the foredeck and tied his arrowhead to the fish line wound in the reel on his bow. He nocked the arrow and got ready to shoot. He looked up at the two pretty girls standing above him. "Let out a yell if you see a dark blot."

Barby gave him a scornful look. "Of course we'll yell. Did you think we were standing here waiting for flying saucers to land?"

The houseboat plowed through a patch of sea grass and emerged over sandy bottom. Rick kept careful watch, but he knew the girls would see the first sign of a ray before he did, because of their higher vantage point.

Steve would enjoy this, he thought. The JANIG agent was back in Washington, his vacation interrupted again because of the work that remained on the case of Lefty Camillion. Lefty was in jail, too, along with his friends.

Rick shook his head. He was still amazed at the mobster's stupidity in creating such an elaborate setup to get data that was his for the asking. Apparently it just hadn't occurred to Lefty that a rocket range could be without secrets.

If there had been secrets, though, the system was a good one. By using the combination of a balloon and a rocket, Lefty got his equipment high enough to intercept Wallops Island telemetry, and he did it without anyone suspecting he was launching rockets. The rockets and balloons dropped into the ocean, unseen – or, if seen, the first thought would be that they had come from Wallops. The shape of the balloons also kept anyone from suspecting that the theft of data was the real purpose. It was a fine scheme, even though it had all been unnecessary.

The girls let out a yell that startled Rick from his reverie. Scotty immediately throttled back, and the boat's momentum carried it forward. Rick watched the water, and finally saw a dark blur on the sandy bottom ahead and to the left. He drew, then waited until he saw the dark patch move. This time he allowed for the water's refraction. He loosed the arrow.

The stingaree felt the impact and reacted violently. Its tail lashed up to strike with sharp barbs at the intruder. The tail lashed the arrow shaft without effect. The ray's wings moved in a rippling motion like that of some weird flying carpet. It flashed upward, and into the air, then crashed back on the surface of the water again. It dived, heading for the bottom.

Rick kept the drag on his reel, letting the ray fight against the braking action. The fish didn't give up easily. It had the primitive nervous system and great vitality of its relatives, the sharks, and it fought long after an edible fish, like a rockfish, would have given up.

When the ray moved toward the now stationary boat, Rick reeled in line. When the ray showed a new burst of energy and started away, Rick let it fight against the drag, pulling out line.

The girls were down on the foredeck with him now, and Scotty had joined the Brants on the upper deck in order to get a better view of the fight.

Finally, the ray tired. Rick drew it in close to the hull and waited while the vicious tail lashed futilely. Jan took the gaff that Scotty handed down to her and gave it to Rick. He hooked the sea beast and lifted it from the water.

"Stand clear!" he warned. "I don't want either of you getting hit with that tail!"

The girls hurried up the ladder to safety, and Rick lifted the stingaree to the deck.

It was a small one, weighing about fifteen pounds. The wet, leathery body glistened, and the kite-shaped wings flapped like those of some fantastic bird.

Scotty looked down at the ray. "You caught a cripple," he said. "There's something wrong with it."

Rick looked up. He knew the answer, but he asked the question anyway, grinning. "Yes? What's wrong with it?"

"It can't fly," Scotty said.