“All right,” Mr. Taylor agreed, “here’s what we have. Two men seem responsible for both the stolen isotope and the missing blueprints. Eddie and Teena both saw the tall one called Simms on the college campus about a week ago. He must be familiar with our atomic-research department in order to know of the delivery, and to plan a method for stealing the isotope. In that case, he shouldn’t be difficult to trace.”
“Dad,” Eddie said suddenly, “doesn’t everyone who works around the atomic lab have an identification badge with his picture on it?”
“You’re absolutely right,” his father said, getting up quickly. “And we have duplicates of the pictures right here in our files.” He pulled a thick album from a steel drawer. He thumbed through to the ‘S’ section and opened it in front of Teena and Eddie.
“That’s him!” Eddie said, pointing almost immediately to the picture of the thin-faced man. His name was listed as Harvey Simms. Underneath the photo the man’s job title was typed in a single word—Custodian.
“Now I recognize him,” Mr. Taylor said.
“I’ve seen him working around. A quiet person. The kind you hardly notice.”
“That’s the way he would want it to be,” Mr. Ross said.
Teena and Eddie went through the entire book of pictures without recognizing any as the man called Roy Benton. Mr. Ross picked up the telephone and called the Acme Aircraft Company personnel department. He gave Roy Benton’s name and the description Eddie and Teena had furnished.
“See if you can get a line on such a person,” Mr. Ross instructed over the telephone. “Call me back as soon as you can.” He gave the number, and hung up.
“Now, then,” Eddie’s father picked up the conversation again, “after managing to steal certain blueprints during the week, the men would naturally pick Saturday—their day off—to schedule the pickups by the submarine. We’re still assuming, of course, that a submarine actually is being used. It seems the only logical means of getting in and out past our alert Coast Guard. By timing the patrols, they would know when to surface. They would know how long to allow for their divers to row into the bay, get the tube, and return to the sub before the patrol doubled back. It’s possible, even, that the submarine carries a small seaplane. After returning to unpatrolled water, they could launch the seaplane to deliver the cylinder to some surface vessel, or possibly to an island or other land base. The submarine itself probably stays around for other pickups.”
“Those are possibilities,” Mr. Ross admitted.
“I mention it,” Eddie’s father said, “only because, if it’s true, the tubes which have been picked up off the sand bar are already delivered. In that case, your blueprints and my radioisotope are no longer secrets. If not, however, both still must be on the submarine. No sub could shuttle back and forth to a foreign shore fast enough to make delivery and get back within a week’s time. This is only a guess, but they may lie a few miles offshore during the week as a safety measure and to conserve fuel. They come in and surface just outside the bay each Saturday, under cover of darkness. When they have everything they’re after, they’ll head home. Since they already have sufficient samples of the isotope, my guess is that they are now after the final blueprints. The small samples of the isotope are now used only as tracers to help locate the submerged cylinders.”
Teena’s father seemed immensely impressed by Mr. Taylor’s reasoning. “It so happens,” he said, “that the blueprints we discovered missing today—added to the others—complete the entire layout of our new secret missile-guidance system. In the hands of an unfriendly nation, there’s no telling to what improper use the guidance system might be put.”
“Then,” Mr. Jamison said, “this must be the end of their assignment—tonight’s delivery of the final blueprints.”
“That’s right,” Eddie’s father said. “That’s how it would appear.”
Mr. Evans came back into the room. “I’ve been arranging a little surprise party,” he said, with a rather tense smile. “I couldn’t help but overhear you, Mr. Taylor, while I was waiting for one of my calls. I think you’ve got that submarine angle pretty well figured out.”
“I spent a hitch in the Navy,” Eddie’s father said, smiling. “Operating seagoing vessels—surface or subsurface—falls into a general pattern.”
“True,” Mr. Evans agreed, “and I doubt very much that any submarine refueling tanker would be hanging around even several hundred miles out. Like aircraft traffic, shipping is run pretty well according to schedule. A wandering tanker would simply invite curiosity. But be that as it may, the immediate task is to capture that submarine—if submarine there is. We’re still going on guesses.”
“What do you want us to do?” Mr. Taylor asked.
“It won’t be necessary for any of you to do anything,” the FBI man said. “I’ve lined up all the assistance needed. Everything is set.”
“You’re going to arrest those two men, aren’t you?” Eddie blurted out. “They—they’re traitors!”
“They won’t go anyplace,” Mr. Evans assured him. “The important thing right now is that we don’t tip off our plans. Possibly they have various signals worked out with the submarine. Things have to go right on schedule, or we might lose the whole battle. Benton and Simms are small fish and can be landed any time we want. The big thing is the delivery of those blueprints and the isotope. That’s what we’ve got to stop.”
The telephone on Mr. Taylor’s desk rang. “It’s for you, Tom,” he said, handing the instrument to Teena’s father.
“File clerk?” Mr. Ross said, after listening a few seconds. “How about that! Thanks. No, don’t say a word to anyone.” He hung up, and turned to the FBI man. “Well, there’s your Roy Benton. A file clerk. New man. Been at Acme just a little over a month. Can’t figure, though, how he managed to get into the secret blueprint files. They’re kept locked up.”
“Professional spies have ingenious ways of working,” Mr. Evans said. “Anyway, it’s pretty plain now how both the radioisotope and the blueprints happened to disappear. One thing’s equally certain. This is all part of a carefully worked out plan. The job now is to stop that plan—and stop it tonight.”
“Oh, I’m frightened,” Teena said. “Spies, and submarines, and—and—”
“Aw, Teena,” Eddie said, “there’s nothing to be afraid of.” Yet he had to clasp his own hands tightly together to keep them from shaking.
“All right, everybody,” Mr. Evans said, looking at his watch, “within an hour everything will be set up. I’m not free to reveal our plan. However, since you are all involved in this thing, I have no objection to your witnessing the outcome. If an outcome there is. Remember, we’re going primarily on guesses. So, if you want to drive quietly out to the lighthouse, I’ve arranged—”
“Lighthouse!” Eddie exclaimed. “We know Captain Daniels. He’s a good friend of ours.”
“I know,” Mr. Evans said. “I talked to him on the phone. He’s a Coast Guard man, you know. And the Coast Guard is mighty important to tonight’s activity. You might find what goes on out there, and in the bay, extremely interesting to watch.”
“Can Teena and I go?” Eddie asked anxiously.
“Of course,” Mr. Evans said. “Without you two, we wouldn’t have a thing to be working on, would we?”
Eddie flushed with pride.
“Of course,” the FBI man went on, “you will have to ask your parents.”
Eddie looked pleadingly at his father. Neither Mr. Taylor nor Mr. Ross voiced any objection.
“All right,” Mr. Evans said, rising, “there’s no time to waste. I’ll see you folks a little later.”
He left the office. The others sat for a moment as though trying to catch their breaths over the rapid developments of the past hours. Mr. Jamison excused himself to report back to Drake Ridge.
“Tom,” Eddie’s father said finally, “we’d better call our wives and tell them we and the children will be home late.”
“Unfinished business,” Teena’s father said thoughtfully.
“That’s right. Unfinished business.”
Teena and Eddie, with their fathers, had hamburgers and milk at a roadside stand. As soon as it was dark, they drove toward the lighthouse. They parked the car off the paved four-lane highway which ran several hundred yards back from the rocky point upon which the lighthouse stood. The twisting, twin-rutted road leading to the lighthouse was much more suitable to a jeep than to a modern low-slung car.
They had no more than climbed out of the car, when a uniformed man stepped out of the darkness in front of them. Eddie gasped when he saw the rifle cradled in the stranger’s arms, poised ready for instant action.
“Halt and identify yourselves!” a voice challenged.
“I’m Steve Taylor from Oceanview College,” Eddie’s father spoke up quickly. “With me is Mr. Tom Ross. Also our two children.”
“All right, sir,” the voice said, more pleasantly now. “Been expecting you. Go ahead, sir.”
“Wowee,” Eddie whispered as they went down the dark road. “I wonder if there are guards all around here.”
“Probably,” Mr. Ross said. “They certainly set things up fast, didn’t they?”
Each time the lighthouse beacon swept around in its circle, it cast a temporary glow upon the road, making walking easy. When they reached the base of the lighthouse, they noticed several other shadowy forms moving about.
“That you, mates?” Old Captain Daniels stepped out to meet them.
“Hello, Captain Daniels,” Eddie greeted. “It’s us, all right. Our fathers are with us.”
Captain Daniels shook hands with the two men. “Quite a party they’re planning out here, isn’t it?” he said, seeming to relish the excitement.
“Apparently,” Eddie’s father said. “Although we don’t know just what they’re planning.”
“You will, you will,” said Captain Daniels. “But right now I’ve got to check my light. Darker’n a ship’s hold with a cargo of tar paper tonight, it is. Won’t be much to see—until things start poppin’.  Just don’t light any matches, or make undue noise. If you spot any strange lights, things may start happening. I probably won’t see you for a while. Can’t stop the light unless I’m up top.” He turned and started up the spiraling stairs.
“Stop the light?” Eddie said. “I wonder what Cap meant by that?”
“I don’t know,” his father said. “I suppose you can stop those lights from turning in a circle if you want to. Don’t know why anyone would want to, though. After all, the beam is aimed rather high so it can be seen by ships far off the coast.”
They waited over an hour. Except for the gentle sound of waves lapping the shore below, and a throbbing Coast Guard plane passing by on its patrol, an eerie silence filled the night. Looking seaward, there was nothing to see but solid blackness. Three times each minute the beacon from the lighthouse swept a path of white through the sky. Since it was aimed high, the beam didn’t touch the water in the bay.
“If anything is happening out there,” Eddie said, “how are we going to know about it?”
“I’ve been wondering that myself,” his father replied.
“You’d think they would spot some search-lights along the beach or something,” Mr. Ross said.
“They couldn’t very well do that, Tom,” Mr. Taylor said. “They would risk tipping off the whole trap. That Evans fellow impressed me as knowing what to do. His is a big responsibility, and there certainly wasn’t much time to weigh and measure things, but—”
“Look!” Teena said suddenly. “Isn’t that a light down there?”
Eddie’s eyes followed the direction of her outstretched arm.
“It sure is!” he said, dropping his voice to a tense whisper. “It’s flashing on and off!”
The light was only a pinpoint in the distance. It flicked off and on in a pattern of dots and dashes which Eddie guessed was some kind of a code. The beam was directed seaward.
“Eddie,” Teena said, “isn’t that light about where the old fisherman’s shack is?”
“I think so,” Eddie said, trying to judge in the darkness about how far down the coast the shack was from the lighthouse.
“I figure you’re right,” a voice spoke behind them. All four turned. They couldn’t make out the stranger’s face in the darkness, but they could see that he was in Navy uniform. As the lighthouse beacon swung around, Eddie saw lieutenant’s bars on his shoulders, and the crossed-anchor insigne of the U.S. Coast Guard on his cap. “Now we’ll wait exactly twenty minutes.”
“Wait for what?” Eddie asked.
“We’re not sure,” the officer said. “But in twenty minutes we spring the trap. Might catch some big game, might catch nothing. Please stay right where you are. Keep your voices low. No lights of any kind.” He turned and went toward the lighthouse tower.
The Coast Guard officer had just left when Teena grabbed Eddie’s arm. “Look!” she whispered, pointing out across the dark bay.
Eddie sucked in his breath as a small light far out on the water flashed three times quickly, then stopped.
“Something’s moving into the trap, all right,” his father whispered.
It was unbelievable to Eddie that twenty minutes could be such a long time. No one spoke. Nor were there any other flashes of light to indicate any kind of activity going on. Occasionally, Teena’s father consulted the luminous dial of his wrist watch. Eddie wondered if he, too, found that twenty minutes was an awfully long time.
Then, as the tension inside of Eddie mounted to the point of bursting, the darkness was shattered by a sudden rush of activity.
It began when the enormous beacon in the lighthouse tower stopped rotating as the beam pointed out across the bay. Then, amazingly, the great finger of light was lowered until it flooded the outer edge of the bay in a brilliant blanket of white.
The sight revealed in the dazzling light caused all four of them to jump to their feet. In the deep water beyond the bay, and approximately half a mile offshore, the deck and superstructure of a submarine stood out plainly on the surface of the calm water. Even at that distance, Eddie could make out the frantic scramble of men pinned in the blinding grip of light.
Then he saw the small rubber boat moving in toward the sand bar of the bay. Three figures were plainly visible in it. Two had been paddling. But the paddles were now frozen in the light. The third figure was dressed in what looked like a skin-diving outfit. The light reflected on the glass face plate pushed up onto his forehead. Suddenly the two men with the paddles swung about and started pulling frantically back toward the submarine.
“That sub will try to dive!” Eddie’s father said quickly.
“But the men in the rubber boat?” Teena said. “They can’t—”
“They’ll be left behind,” Mr. Ross said tensely.
But whatever method of escape was intended, it was quickly blocked. Out of the night came the throbbing roar of aircraft. Then two dark shapes circled into the glow of light from the lighthouse beacon.
“Coast Guard planes!” Mr. Taylor said.
Adding to the brilliance, the Coast Guard aircraft dropped magnesium flares directly over the surfaced submarine, then continued their circling.
A new pulsating sound was added to the night scene as two helicopters swept past the lighthouse and slanted directly toward the submarine. Each helicopter carried two large barrellike objects under it.
“Depth charges,” Teena’s father said. “If that submarine tries to dive it’s a goner.”
Apparently the commander of the submarine realized the futility of escape. A white flag caught the light, as someone on deck began waving it wildly.
More flares blossomed out as the aircraft circled around for the second time. Suddenly two Coast Guard patrol boats nosed into the lighted area. One of them fired a warning shot over the bow of the undersea craft. The white flag began to wave more urgently than ever.
The action had taken less than five minutes. Eddie’s mind whirled with excitement. And then, almost as suddenly as it had started, it was over. One of the Coast Guard boats swept into the bay and picked up the men in the rubber raft. The larger boat swerved in and lay alongside the submarine. Eddie could see the crew of the submarine being transferred to the launch. A few remained, while several armed Coast Guardsmen boarded the submarine.
Within a few minutes the patrolling aircraft buzzed low over the scene for the last time, then disappeared into the darkness, returning to their base. The helicopters swung back inland. The unused depth charges were still racked securely beneath them.
“Boy, that was some timing,” Eddie’s father said, as the chop-chop-chop of the helicopters faded into the distance. The submarine had started to move up the coast in the direction of the U.S. Coast Guard depot.
The flares sputtered out, and all was quiet once more on the water. Suddenly the beam from the lighthouse slanted up to its normal position, then began to revolve slowly in its familiar fashion.
“Well, folks,” the Coast Guard lieutenant said, coming up behind them, “show’s over for tonight.”
“And a real show it was,” Teena’s father said admiringly. “That was some display of teamwork.”
“All part of our training,” the officer said, obviously pleased the way things had turned out. “We keep the wheels greased. When they have to turn, they turn smoothly.”
“Tonight’s proof positive of that,” Mr. Taylor complimented.
“My instructions,” the young officer said, “are to escort you to the Coast Guard depot. Those taken into custody should be there by the time we arrive. You may have a few questions to ask.”
Teena and Eddie rode with the lieutenant in the gray sedan with “U.S. Coast Guard” printed on its doors. Their fathers followed in Mr. Taylor’s car. Gates opened as they entered the Coast Guard depot a while later. They were escorted into a large briefing room.
 Mr. Evans, of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and a Captain Foster, of the U.S. Coast Guard, stood before the group. There were many strange faces in the room. Some of the men were in uniform; some were not. Eddie supposed most of them were government or police officials of some kind.
Under close guard over to one side of the room were two dozen or more men. They were all strangers. Their uniforms, although of a seaman’s variety, were completely unfamiliar to Eddie.
There were also several men in civilian clothing being held under guard. Among them Eddie saw the two unlucky fishermen he had come to know as Harvey Simms and Roy Benton. They scowled darkly at him. Eddie scowled back.
Mr. Evans seemed to have caught the exchange of glances. “Remember,” he said to Eddie, “I mentioned that we should have no trouble grabbing them whenever we wanted to. Well, we got them. A few others, too. Simms and Benton were sitting outside that old fisherman’s shack, still holding the battery lantern they used to signal the submarine.”
“Boy, oh, boy!” Eddie exclaimed.
“Now, gentlemen,” Mr. Evans went on, turning to the main group, “please regard all that is said here as confidential until it is officially released through the proper channels. If you are wondering why these two young people are sitting in on this hush-hush session, I take great pride and pleasure in informing you that, without their alertness and curiosity over certain suspicious actions, that submarine might now be on its way seaward carrying two secrets very precious to this country’s security.”
Eddie blushed but felt mighty good. Teena looked at her hands, trying to hide the pleased smile on her lips.
“Mr. Taylor and Mr. Ross,” the FBI man said, “this should also please you. We found two more of those sealed metal cylinders inside the submarine.”
“Then they hadn’t delivered them!” Eddie’s father said with obvious relief.
“That’s right. In fact, the submarine commander has admitted that they have been lying about thirty miles off the coast during the week. Tonight was their third trip to the bay. Incidentally, it was scheduled to be their last. They had plenty of the secret radioisotope, and today’s blueprint delivery completed the main set on the new missile-guidance system they also were after. If we hadn’t set the trap tonight, we would have been too late—another reason for appreciating the alertness on the parts of your son, Eddie, and Mr. Ross’s daughter, Teena.
“Now,” Mr. Evans continued, “we haven’t had time to solve who was behind all of this, or why. We have our ideas, of course, but it’s going to take considerable investigation to draw a full and clear picture. At the moment, I’m not free to reveal to what country that submarine belongs. I did think, though, that you two gentlemen deserved to know that the isotope and the blueprints are safe.”
“It will be a long time, I imagine, before either Mr. Ross or I will hear better news,” Eddie’s father said.
“In order not to delay nuclear research, nor to hold up production at Acme Aircraft,” the FBI man said, “we’re sending the tubes with you under armed guard to your laboratory, and you can take over from there.”
“With great pleasure,” Teena’s father said.
“And I believe, gentlemen,” Mr. Evans went on, “that’s probably your main interest at the moment. The rest of it you will doubtless read about in your newspapers within a day or two. I imagine the lights and commotion out around the bay a while ago attracted plenty of attention. Even with the naked eye, it would be simple to identify a submarine lying on the surface. Newsmen are crowding the gates outside right now. They’ll get their story as soon as we’ve filled in a few gaps and get a release from Washington. All I ask is that you do no talking about it until it has been cleared for the press. All right?”
“Of course,” Mr. Taylor said.
“We won’t say a word,” Eddie promised fervently.
“No, sir,” Teena backed him up.
“Well, then,” Mr. Ross said, rising, “I guess you won’t need us any more.”
“We’ll call you if there’s anything else,” Mr. Evans said by way of dismissing them. “Before you go, though, I do want to thank you all for your fine co-operation. Particularly you two young people.” He smiled again at Teena and Eddie. “This may sound awfully big—and it is—but you’ve both done a great service for your country. As long as we have alert young Americans like you two, this country’s future is in good hands.”
A burst of applause went up. It seemed a strange place for it, there in the briefing room. Eddie found it almost impossible to conceal the pride that puffed up inside of him. Teena was grinning, too, as they got up to follow their fathers outside.
Both of them took a last look around the room. They saw the group of sullen men in strange uniforms. They saw the tall man and the fat man, whose clumsy efforts at being fishermen had first aroused their suspicions. They saw the pleased looks on the faces of the FBI agent, the Coast Guardsmen, and the others in the “friendly” side of the room. They saw their fathers walking toward the door, carefully carrying the all-important metal tubes.
Neither Teena nor Eddie could find anything to say. Then they were outside. The stars blinked overhead. Every few seconds the circling beacon from the distant lighthouse swept its white finger across the sky. The cool breeze from the nearby ocean gave added zest to their high spirits.
“Isn’t it wonderful how everything worked out, Eddie?” Teena said finally. “And to think that we were some help.”
“Yep,” Eddie said. “It all worked out great, didn’t it? Really great.”
Walking proudly, they followed their fathers toward the parking lot.
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“Parittaṁ dārumāruyha,
yathā sīde mahaṇṇave;
Evaṁ kusītamāgamma,
sādhujīvīpi sīdati;
Tasmā taṁ parivajjeyya,
kusītaṁ hīnavīriyaṁ.
If you’re lost in the middle of a great sea,
and you clamber up on a little log, you’ll sink.

Pavivittehi ariyehi,
pahitattehi jhāyibhi;
Niccaṁ āraddhavīriyehi,
paṇḍitehi sahāvase”ti.
… Somamitto thero ….
Dwell with the noble ones
who are secluded and determined
and always energetic;
the astute who practice absorption.