"Right, Dad. So long!" Tom hung up and reported the news to Bud. "What kind of underwater gear will we use?" Bud inquired. "I'm not sure myself," Tom admitted. "Guess we'll have to take along a variety of equipment and play it by ear." Before proceeding with his search plans, Tom phoned home to inform his mother of his arrival. Mrs. Swift was sympathetic when she heard of the failure to recover the probe missile. "I'm sure you'll locate it," she said encouragingly. "Some of your cooking will sure help brighten the picture," Tom replied with a grin. As he put down the receiver a moment later, he told Bud, "You're having dinner with us tonight, pal. Fried chicken and biscuits." Bud licked his lips. "Lead me to it!" Chuckling, Tom began drawing up a list of supplies for the expedition. Bud helped with the details, after which Tom phoned the underground hangar and the Swifts' rocket base at Fearing Island to give the orders for the next day. Crewmen were also detailed for the trip. It was six o'clock when the two boys finally piled into Tom's low-slung sports car and drove to the Swifts' big, pleasant house on the outskirts of Shopton. Sandra, Tom's blond, vivacious sister, greeted them at the door. "About time!" she teased. "We were beginning to think you two had taken off somewhere." "Think I'd leave town while you and that fried chicken are in Shopton?" Bud grinned. "What a line!" Sandy's blue eyes twinkled. "I know it's the fried chicken you're really interested in." "Where's the rest of that 'we' you were referring to?" Tom inquired. "I'm sorry, Tom," Sandy said in a mournful voice. "Phyl couldn't make it." As Tom's face fell, she burst out giggling and a second later Phyllis Newton emerged from the kitchen. Brown-eyed, with long dark hair, Phyl was the daughter of Tom Sr.'s old comrade-in-arms and lifelong chum "Uncle Ned" Newton. Like Sandy, she was seventeen. "You didn't think I'd miss this rare evening, did you, Tom?" she said, laughing. "After all, it isn't often we see you two." Sandy and Phyl liked to needle the boys about their infrequent dates, due to Tom's and Bud's busy schedules. Mrs. Swift, slender and sweet-faced, gave Tom a hug and greeted Bud warmly. Over the delicious dinner, the conversation turned to the mysterious thief missile. "Who on earth could have fired it?" Sandy asked. Tom shrugged. "No telling--yet. There's more than one unfriendly country which would give a lot for the data picked up on our Jupiter shot." "You aren't expecting more trouble, are you?" Phyl put in uneasily. Tom passed the question off lightly in order not to alarm his mother and the two girls. But inwardly he was none too sure of what his survey expedition might encounter in trying to locate the lost probe missile.