on said. "Security
makes all reference checks, including employment, and Tom Preston will
handle your cases personally."

Dismal rubbed against Gordon's leg. The scientist slipped him a scrap of
cheese from the salad, then looked guiltily at Mrs. Brant.

"John Gordon! How many times have I told you not to feed Dismal at the
table?" she exclaimed in mock anger.

Gordon looked sheepish and hung his head. "I'm sorry. Anyway, boys, I'll
advance you funds. You fly to Las Vegas as soon as possible and apply to
Lomac for jobs."

"To who? I mean, to whom?"

"Lomac, Rick. The base is run by a contractor, an engineering firm by
the name of Logan and Macklin, Lomac for short. They hire all but a
handful of scientific personnel, like project directors and their chief
assistants, who come from a variety of places, including government
agencies, universities under contract to the government, and so on."

"Do we apply in Las Vegas?" Scotty asked.

"Yes. Lomac's recruiting office is there. I'll give you the address.
However, the base is some distance away, so you'll need transportation.
I suggest a jeep. You can pick one up secondhand after you arrive. I'll
give you sufficient funds. Also, prepare to hang around Las Vegas for a
while. It will take at least a week to process your papers."

"Are we supposed to know you once we get there?" Rick queried.

"Only casually, because of the Spindrift connection. You know who I am,
but you don't know me well because you've never worked on a project of
mine. I'll find occasion to talk with you privately as needed."

"Another question," Rick said. "Have there been any more sabotage
attempts besides the two you mentioned?"

"No. Those first projects went off in fast order, but the next shoot
isn't scheduled for about two weeks."

Scotty asked, "What's the name of this base? You haven't told us."

Gordon looked grim. "I hope the name isn't prophetic," he said. "The
base was named for the dry lake where the rocket pads are located:
Scarlet Lake."

CHAPTER III

Las Vegas, Nevada

Rick and Scotty picked up their luggage at the baggage counter, then
paused to survey their surroundings. McCarran Field, the airport for Las
Vegas, Nevada, was modern and attractive. But there was no mistaking
that this was desert country. Beyond the airport they saw the barren
mountains of the Charleston Range, and behind the motels clustered
around the airport, they saw flat desert, thinly popul