Some high-flying skywriters were at work. _Welcome Superior--Drink Pepsi-Cola_ their message said. Don dressed quickly and hurried to the brink. Alis Garet was there among a little crowd, bundled up in a parka. "Is that the Hudson River?" she asked him. "Where's the Empire State Building?" "Yes," he said. "Haven't you ever been to New York? I can't quite make it out. It's somewhere south of that patch of green--that's Central Park." "No, I've never been out of Ohio. I thought New York was a big city." "It's big enough. Don't forget we're four miles up. Have you seen any planes besides the skywriters?" "Just some airliners, way down," she said. "Were you expecting someone?" "Seeing how it's our last port of call, I thought there might be some Federal boys flying around. I shouldn't think they'd want a chunk of their real estate exported to Europe." "Are we going to Europe?" "Bound to if we don't change course." "Why?" "My very next words were going to be 'Don't ask me why.' I ask you. You're closer to the horse's mouth than I am." "If you mean Father," Alis said, "I told you I don't enjoy his confidence." "Haven't you even got an inkling of what he's up to?" "I'm sure he's not the Master Mind, if that's what you mean." "Then who is? Rubach? Civek? The chief of police? Or the bubble gum king, whoever he is?" "Cheeky McFerson?" She laughed. "I went to grade school with him and if he's got a mind I never noticed it." "McFerson? He's just a kid, isn't he?" "His father died a couple of years ago and Cheeky's the president on paper, but the business office runs things. We call him Cheeky because he always had a wad of company gum in his cheek. Supposed to be an advertisement. But he never gave me any and I always chewed Wrigley's for spite." "Oh." Don chewed the inside of his own cheek and watched the coastline. "That's Connecticut now," he said. "We're certainly not slowing down for customs." A speck, trailing vapor through the cold upper air, headed toward them from the general direction of New England. As it came closer Don saw that it was a B-58 Hustler bomber. He recognized it by the mysterious pod it carried under its body, three-quarters as long as the fuselage. "It's not going to shoot us down, is it?" Alis asked. "Hardly. I'm glad to see it. It's about time somebody took an interest in us besides Bobby Thebold and his leftover Lightnings." The B-58 rapidly closed the last few miles between them, banked and circled Superior. "Attention people of Superior," a voice from the plane said. The magnified words reached them distinctly through the cold air. "Inasmuch as you are now leaving the continental United States, this aircraft has been assigned to accompany you. From this point on you are under the protection of the United States Air Force." "That's better," Don said. "It's not much, but at least somebody's doing something." The B-58 streaked off and took up a course in a vast circle around them.