ghters, with almost contemptuous
ease, quickly surrounded the plane and forced him to comply with orders.

Bud whooped with laughter. "Just a sheep in wolf's clothing, eh,
buster?"

Minutes later, all the planes, including Tom's, landed at the airfield.
Four sullen-faced men, their hands up, emerged from the mystery jet.
Military police with drawn automatics herded them to the commandant's
office. Tom and Bud followed.

"Attempted aerial piracy, eh?" the commandant said when he heard the
boys' story. Turning to the prisoners, he snapped, "Who are you, and
what's the meaning of all this?"

The crew captain, a hard-looking, stockily built man of about
forty-five, rasped back, "We have nothing to say."

The commandant wasted no words. "Search them," he told the MP's.

Their wallets and various other items revealed little. The crew captain
was carrying a private pilot's license on which he was identified as
"Jack Smith." The names of the others, as shown on identification papers
of one kind or another, sounded equally false.

"Probably all forged," the commandant muttered, "but we'll check them
out."

He tried again to glean something from the prisoners, but they replied
with sneering evasions. The commandant reddened with anger at their
stubbornness. "All right. Take them to the guardhouse," he ordered.

As the MP's marched the hijackers off, Tom asked how their case would be
handled.

"The crime is a federal offense," the commandant explained. "Air Force
Intelligence will co-operate on the case, but the prisoners will be
turned over to a federal marshal."

Tom briefed him on the background of the situation, including the
Jupiter-probing missile mystery, then asked, "Could those men be
transferred to the Shopton jail for the time being so our own security
setup can take a hand in the investigation?"

The commandant nodded. "I'll arrange it."

As the boys flew back to Enterprises, Bud threw Tom a quizzical glance.
"How come you mentioned the Jupiter prober, skipper? Do you think those
hijackers were after information?"

Tom shrugged. "I'm wondering myself, Bud. If they were, it could mean
our enemy hasn't found it yet!"

When they arrived at the experimental station, Tom made a full report to
Harlan Ames, the slim, dark-haired security chief. Ames listened
thoughtfully but was as baffled as Tom.

"Are the men Americans?" he asked.

"I doubt it," Tom said. "They speak English well enough, but with a
fa