The Sinister Omen Read online

  An attendant loaded the bags and asked the trio if they had brought lunch.

  "Oh, dear!" Bess wailed. "Mother made us terrific sandwiches to take along, but we got so busy saying good-bye that we forgot them!"

  "Don't worry," the attendant said. "You get whole meals right over there, packed to take along on airplanes. When you're ready to go, just pick up something."

  He handed Nancy the ignition key. "It's all gassed and checked out. Did you file your flight plan?"

  "Not yet," Nancy replied. "But Til do that while my friends get the lunch."

  The girls separated. Nancy went into the office to clear the flight. When she came out and was walking toward the dock again, a man in mechanic's overalls came toward her. He had a cap pulled low over his face, and, after a quick glance at the girl, he turned his head away.

  When he had passed her, Nancy stared after him. He certainly acted strange, she thought. I wonder who he—

  "Nancy!'' came Bess's voice. "Come on, we're ready to leave!"

  Nancy waved and ran up to the dock, forgetting about the unfriendly mechanic.

  "I hope you brought your pilot's license," George said as she climbed into the copilot's seat.

  Nancy grinned. ''I did, but I'm not used to flying a seaplane. Once we're up in the air, I might not get us down again!"

  Bess spread herself luxuriously in the double back seat. "Then I suppose we'll be flying forever. As long as the weather's this beautiful, I won't mind."

  The engine started without a hitch and the shiny white plane leaped forward over the water. It gained speed, shuddering slightly as it skipped along. Bess gripped the back of Nancy's seat.

  "What's happening?" she asked tensely, trying not to let her voice tremble. ''It feels like the thing is falling apart."

  ''It's not!" Nancy shouted over the engine roar. "This is the normal way a seaplane takes off." She eased back the stick, and the plane gracefully lifted off the water and began to climb.

  "Thank goodness." Bess sighed.

  It was a clear, sunny day, and with George serving as navigator, holding the maps on her lap, they flew down the eastern seaboard. They passed New York City with its tall buildings, and saw the figure of the Statue of Liberty, on Liberty Island in the harbor.

  They continued along the New Jersey coast past Atlantic City and the long, slender spit of Cape May. After they swung out to sea to go around the restricted area of the great naval station at Norfolk, Virginia, they broke out the lunches they had bought at the airport.

  The engine's roar didn't encourage conversation but the girls were feeling so exuberant that they began shouting back and forth to one another anyway, in between bites of luscious sandwiches filled with roast beef, Swiss cheese, salami, and tuna salad.

  "That's Cape Hatteras,'' Nancy shouted, pointing down to her right. "Very bumpy down there if you're in a ship."

  "Why?" Bess shouted back.

  "I don't know. Something to do with the way the Gulf Stream comes up the coast and then veers off east. Anyway, it's always rough. And when they have storms, it's worse than anywhere else. Do you know what they call it?"

  ''What!'' George yelled.

  "The Graveyard of Ships."

  Both Bess and George went through the pantomime of shuddering.

  The plane performed like a dream, humming smoothly. The controls proved sensitive and responsive to Nancy's touch. The easy drone of the engine at last had its effect on Bess. With a full stomach, she fell asleep.

  Suddenly, just off the coast of South Carolina, the plane began to stutter and spit. Nancy's heart skipped a beat as she felt the craft buck slightly.

  "What's wrong?" George asked.

  "I don't know," Nancy replied as she worked frantically to nurse the engine back to a normal rhythm. "It doesn't make sense."

  "Do you have enough gas?"

  "Yes. I have a full tank—" Nancy stared hard at the panel. "Wait a minute. That can't be right. We've only covered half the flight. The gauge isn't working! I think we've run out of gas!"

  "What are we going to do?" George called, beginning to turn pale.

  Without replying, Nancy switched to the radio channel she knew would give her communications with nearby stations. "Charleston Tower, this is November four seven six five two. Mayday! Mayday! We're about five miles west of Charleston Harbor. I have no power and must land. Can you guide me? Over."

  There was silence and then a voice crackled over the receiver. "November four seven six five two, we have you on radar. Are you amphibious? Over."

  "No, this is a seaplane,'' Nancy replied. "A pontoon aircraft. Can you help me? Over."

  "How does the sea look to you? Over."

  "Choppy. Over."

  "We don't think you have any choice. Can you come down close to the island you see on your right? Over."

  "I'll try. Please alert air-sea rescue. Over."

  "Air-sea rescue has been alerted. You'll be all right. Remember to keep your nose up on landing. Good luck. Over."

  Nancy glanced at George and found her friend doing her best to keep calm. She even tried a smile. Nancy patted her hand.

  "We're going to make it. Don't worry."

  "I don't doubt it. But I hope Bess stays asleep until we land. If she wakes up and starts carrying on, I'm going to sit on her!"

  Nancy's face was tense since by now the engine had stopped altogether.

  "Here we go!'' she said. "Get into your life jacket, and then help Bess with hers. And start praying!"

  4. Nightmare Come True?

  "Oh, please let's not wake Bess up!'' George objected, struggling with her life vest.

  "If we have to swim for it, you don't want her to drown, do you?" Nancy challenged, as she kept the nose of the plane down slightly to insure they could continue to glide and not stall out.

  "No," George said, and turned toward the back seat. "Bess, Bess, wake up!"

  "Ummmm. Are we there yet?"

  "Well, we're not exactly there but you'll have to put on your jacket because we're landing."

  "Oh," Bess said. "Where?"

  "By that island down there."

  "Okay." Then, suddenly, Bess sat bolt upright. "Wait a minute. What happened to the engine?"

  "It stalled out. But it's going to be all right. Now put that life jacket on, hurry!''

  Bess quickly slipped into the vest. "I'm ready," she said weakly.

  ''Good girl," George said.

  Nancy only half heard them, for she was concentrating very hard on the controls in front of her. Keeping the stick slightly forward, she saw the ocean coming nearer. She flicked her eyes back and forth to the altimeter that indicated how high they were. She had been watching the needle move slowly from five thousand feet to forty-five hundred to four thousand and on downward.

  George had her hands braced against the instrument panel in front of her. As she saw the waves and whitecaps becoming larger and larger, she had to bite her lip to keep from calling out, "Pull up, Nancy!" But she knew the girl had to move the stick back at precisely the right moment, or all would be lost.

  If she did it too soon, the plane would stall and spin out or, at best, pancake flat and heavily into the ocean. If she pulled it back too late, the nose and pontoon tips would go in and they would probably cartwheel over the waves. Either way, it would be dangerous and frightening.

  The ideal way was to bring the plane in level with the waves, riding just a few feet above them, then gradually let the pontoons settle in.

  With the altimeter reading 100 feet, Nancy began easing back. Not fast enough! Hastily, she yanked on the stick and the nose came up barely in time to miss the waves. The plane leveled off and then began dropping toward the three foot swells.

  Baroom! The first wave slapped the pontoons like a cannon shot, causing a cry from Bess. The plane reeled, bounced into the air, glided a bit further, and came down again with another Barooom! But with no bounce. This time they were bobbing on the ocean's surface like a pretty, white
cork.

  "Oh, no,'' Bess called from the rear, struggling out from under a suitcase that had broken open and dumped clothes all over the seat. "Are we dead?"

  "No," Nancy said cheerily, "we're in South Carolina." Suddenly, she started as a face appeared outside her window. Then her surprise turned to a squeal of delight. "Mr. Blaine!"

  "Who?" said George.

  "Mr. Blaine. Fred Blaine. You know, the newsman from television? He's here in a little boat!''

  She opened the door and Fred Blaine peered in. He was gray-haired and distinguished-looking, with piercing but kindly blue eyes. "Nancy Drew! We never know when you'll be dropping in, do we?"

  "Mr. Blaine! What on earth are you doing here?"

  "Me? I live here. You've just landed in my front yard. I own this land right along the beach. That's my house over there. Didn't you know?"

  "Oh ... I didn't when I was coming down to land but now I remember Dad telling me you had built a new home here. Oh, what luck this is!"

  Fred Blaine had retired a year before from his job as a network newscaster. But as a veteran navy pilot and a lifelong lover of boats and the ocean, it was natural that he should make his home on an island close to the sea, where he kept a forty-foot sailboat and a motorboat. The Charleston Tower had contacted him when Nancy was going to land in the area, and he had been ready the moment she made her approach.

  As Fred Blaine helped the girls into his boat so they could go ashore, one of his two teenage sons, Robert, took charge of the plane. He towed it into the protected area of the Blaine dock.

  "I want to congratulate you, Nancy," Mr. Blaine said. ''That was one of the finest dead-stick landings iVe ever seen."

  ''It was?" Nancy was pleased but unbelieving. "It didn't feel like it from where I was sitting. I thought I almost tore the poor plane apart."

  "No, no." Mr. Blaine laughed. "One bump and you were in. Anyway, you know what they used to tell aviation cadets when they were training. Any landing is a good landing if you can walk away from it."

  "Or, in our case," said George, "if you can float away from it."

  "Right."

  Mr. Blaine chuckled. "Your pilot was cool all the way. But speaking of cool, it's terribly hot today. Let's go up to the house where Mrs. Blaine is waiting for us."

  Linda Blaine was an attractive, motherly woman with her long, gray hair done in an elaborately plaited bun. She took the three visitors in hand, hurrying them through the house and onto the patio on the other side. There she served them cold drinks and cookies.

  "I hope you'll stay overnight" she said. "We'd love to have you."

  Gladly, the trio accepted the invitation. After they had refreshed themselves and notified Señor Segovia of their delay, they reclined by the pool and talked with the Blaines' two sons, Robert and Edward. They were both handsome boys with dark hair and eyes who made it obvious that they wished their pretty young guests would stay for a week.

  Fred Blaine joined the group and sat down. "When you get to where you're going, Nancy," he said, ''I hope you report the people who were responsible for maintaining the plane. Your gas tank was flat empty and could not have been full when you started."

  "I know," Nancy said. "But I also have a hunch it was not the attendant's fault. Somebody followed us to the airport, you see." She told the story about the two cars and Susan McAfee. "Now I know why the second car was tailing us," she concluded. "And I even saw the guy who I think was responsible for draining our gas. He wore a mechanic's overall and had his cap pulled so low over his face that I couldn't recognize his features. He looked suspicious, but since I didn't see him near the plane, I didn't give it much thought"

  "Do you have any idea who he could be?" Mr. Blaine asked.

  Nancy explained that the culprit might be tied in with her father's work for Ricardo Segovia in Fort Lauderdale.

  Mr. Blaine stared at her in surprise. "You mean the business with the smuggled stamps?"

  "Yes."

  "Hm, that could be. You know, I had my collection stolen about two months ago. It wasn't all that valuable, but I had a few rather rare stamps. The insurance paid the loss, of course. But it can't make up for something that's been important to me."

  Nancy expressed her sympathy and suggested that maybe her father and Ricardo Segovia might recover the Blaine collection.

  "Perhaps," Mr. Blaine said. "But, Nancy, tell me, what is the significance of that frightening drawing on the side of your plane?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well, in the military, the pilots often have artists draw cartoon characters of movie stars or something like that on their airplanes. On your plane, there is this picture of a brooding, black vulture!"

  "What?'' Nancy gasped, instantly remembering the creature of her nightmare.

  "Yes, a vulture with its wings half spread, crouching. It's very low, almost underneath the plane, that's why you probably didn't notice it. But it's really spine chilling!"

  5. The Vulture Strikes Again!

  "A vulture!" Nancy repeated.

  "Oh, no," Bess said. "It couldn't be. Nancy, don't even think about it."

  George got up from her lounge chair and sat down anxiously next to the titian-haired detective. "It's all right, Nancy. I'm sure there's no connection."

  Mr. Blaine looked confused. "What connection? What are you talking about?"

  Nancy found it difficult to speak, and George, sensing this, patted her hand. "Well, it may seem silly," she said, "but last night, before we came down here, we all stayed at Bess's house. Just before dawn, Nancy had a nightmare. She said a vulture was chasing her!"

  Mr. Blaine smiled. "I know how you feel. I had something like that happen when I was working in television. I had a dream about being chased by a man who was dressed in black. Really terrifying. Well, a year passed and I was at a dinner where awards were to be given for journalism. I had been selected to hand out the little trophies. Suddenly, when I announced a certain name, a man got up, all dressed in black. I almost dropped the prize. He was the guy from my nightmare!''

  "And you had never seen him before?'' Bess gasped.

  "Never. He was a reporter for a paper in Pennsylvania. A perfectly nice fellow. I knew him for many years after that and one day told him of my nightmare. We had a good laugh about it. But absolutely nothing happened. To this day, he has never chased me."

  Nancy smiled at Mr. Blaine's effort to cheer her up. "I know you're right," she said. "It's silly to get upset about dreams or goblins on Halloween or any of that. But after somebody tried to make our plane crash and painted that vulture symbol on the side, I naturally feel a little funny about it."

  "You know," George said, "it could just be something the owner put on the plane, and we would never have thought anything of it if it hadn't been for the man draining our gas." All agreed that that was probably true.

  "Just the same" Bess said, "I'd rather not have it on the plane. I don't even want to see it.

  "I do," George declared, getting up.

  "So do I," Nancy added.

  "We'll take you," Robert volunteered. "You see, we noticed the drawing when we gassed up your plane. At the time, we didn't think anything of it."

  The girls thanked the boys and followed them to the dock, where the boats and their seaplane were moored.

  When they saw the vulture symbol, Nancy's heart beat faster again. It looked so much like the one in her dream!

  "Does it come off?" she asked.

  Ed began to scrape at it with his fingernail. "It's a decal," he declared. "Once we get the edges loose, it'll peel easily."

  In a few minutes, the offending image was gone. Nancy tried hard to put it out of her mind when the four young people returned to the Blaine house, where they spent a pleasant evening playing cards until bedtime.

  The next morning, they were up early and ready to leave by nine o'clock. The Blaine family took them to the dock and saw them off.

  "How about stopping by on your return trip east?" Ed cal
led out, giving George a longing look.

  "Oh, I-I'd love to" she said, waving good-bye.

  "We'll take you sailing!'' Robert promised, blowing a kiss to Nancy.

  She smiled as the white plane lifted off smoothly. Blessed with another beautiful day, they enjoyed more panoramic views of the coastline as they passed Savannah, Jacksonville, and the famous rocket launching site at Cape Canaveral, which reminded Nancy of another adventure the girls had had there. At the time, Bess and George had been involved in a car accident and Bess had narrowly escaped being nipped by an alligator.

  They laughed about it as they recalled those days, but all agreed they would prefer not to go through it again.

  Within a few hours, Nancy pointed ahead and announced, "There it is, friends. Fort Lauderdale! The Venice of America!"

  "Wow," Bess said, "look at all those canals!"

  The girls were breathless at the sight of the lovely city with the Intracoastal Waterway slashing through it from north to south. Hundreds of interlaced canals gave almost everyone a backyard with a water route to the sea. Farther to the west, the girls could see the vast space of the famous "River of Grass" called the Everglades. Containing swamps, mangroves, high swamp grass, and few forests of hardwoods and pines, it had received its name because, from the air, only the luscious vegetation could be seen. The fact was hidden that the Everglades for much of the year was an enormously wide river sweeping out of central Florida and emptying into the Gulf of Mexico.

  Nancy descended in a gentle circle as they passed directly over the Fort Lauderdale public beach. The three-mile-long strip was already beginning to fill up with thousands of students on spring break, and the roads leading into town were jammed with cars bringing still more young people to the vacation Mecca.

  Nancy landed the plane with just a few skips in the water next to the public seaplane dock. As they tied up and climbed out, they were met by a uniformed chauffeur, a tall, sad-eyed man with an olive complexion. He smiled and tried to appear cheerful but Nancy could see that he was troubled by something.