Chapter 706:

A company that leases large advertising signs in Times Square provided a quarter of the US$250,000 to Superior as the exclusive right to its bottom or "earth-oriented" advertising space. It sends the offer by airmail and then delivers it to the post office.
In Washington, Senator Bobby Seybird determined that his red-haired secretary, Jan Jervis, had taken a suspension train in Superior and made a series of complaints over the phone, starting with the Interstate Trade Commission and the Brotherhood of Railways. . He asked the FBI to investigate the possibility of kidnapping and murmured that all this was a possibility of a communist conspiracy.
A little-known congressman from Ohio began to rumors that raising Superior was an experiment related to the US Earth Satellite Program. The National Aeronautics and Space Administration quickly denied.
At the end of one of the Pentagon's most complex mazes, two people talked in earnest in a seemingly efficient room. Neither of them wore uniforms, but the young man called another gentleman, or chief or general.
"We have determined that Sergeant Colt is on that train, right?" the general asked.
"Yes, sir. No doubt."
"Does he have anything?"
"He must have. The only key is here and on the other end. He cannot open the handcuffs or briefcase."
"The only known key is."
"Oh? How about that, General?"
"If we tell him how, the sergeant can open the briefcase and use the items."
"Do you think it's time to use it? I thought we were saving it."
"That was before Superior defected. Now, in the foreseeable future, we can use it more than it would theoretically be used."
"We can evacuate. Take him down by helicopter, or put down the parachute and let him jump off."
"No. Let him have luck. No one knows who he is. We will assign him there during this period and have him report regularly. Let's go to the message center."
Senator Bobby Sebold is 6-foot-2, muscular, 195 years old and 43 years younger. He wears short, steel-gray hair and has a dark skin all year round. He is a bachelor. He served as a fighter pilot in World War II, and his conversations were full of Air Force language, most of which are outdated. It is an excellent newspaper publication, and some of the press admires his fighting style, so he is called. The senator doesn't mind at all.
Currently, the senator is laying carpets in the spacious work space of the Senate office building he wants to win. He was at a loss. His inquiry to Jan Jervis was not aroused, or satisfied. He was in the alphabetical order of thought, and then continued to consider, and. He pointed with his finger. He has.
He believes that the Civil Aviation Patrol itself is a group of gentleman flyer pilots flying around on light planes. Although they do a good job, there is nothing in general that can inspire a former-38 pilot to win a series of ribbons in the Southwest. Pacific takes action.
Ah, but. There is an organization! Bobby Sebbard was one of the founders of private pilots. This is a difficult-to-fly organization that zooms into the wild blue canyon during weekends and holidays, with engines roaring, propellers rumble, and white silk scarves flying around. . The members are wealthy industrialists, aerobatics, athletes-aerial elites.
It is a paramilitary organization whose official rank follows the Royal Air Force model. Therefore, Bobby Sebold became the commander of the coalition by virtue of his record, charter membership and world-famous reputation.
The commander of the wing went into action. He roared into the intercom: "Miss Riley! Go to the airport. Let them charge up. Tell them I will go there and take off at 58.88 in the morning. One hundred people will do. Take my car."
The charger is a remnant of the war-38, a sleek twin-engine two-engine fighter, restored to its gleaming unpainted aluminum. In fact, this is an unarmed photo-reconnaissance version of the famous Pacific horse, a fact that the Wing Commander would rather ignore. In compensation, he wears a .45 belt every time he climbs into the cockpit.
Enter the business unit of the Midwest headquarters in Chicago. He barked, from a distance:
"Jack Paley? Captain Paley, that’s it? Bobby, yes. Now, commander of the wing. We have a mission, Jack. Fight for the blue squadron. North of Columbus-I'll be in half an hour after flying off. Can I give you the exact grid? Well, the estimated time of arrival or 20 o’clock Eastern Standard Time. Well, maybe that’s optimistic, but I hate seeing the day pass. It’s 11:45. What? Goal? Objectively classy! Know it?
Wing Commander Bobby Seberd picked up the Lindbergh-style helmet and goggles from the desk drawer, stroked the soft leather, and placed them in the dispatch box. He paid tribute to the back door used by Jan Jervis, paid tribute to him, not his secretary, and said loudly:
"Okay, let's pick you up."
He didn't know how to do it, but bold and coming soon.
Lee Bad Kot regretfully left Aris Garley.
"What is that?" he said.
"That's me-starving Alice Aris. You might be more brave. Even so, even that?"
"No, I mean I thought I heard a sound. Didn't you hear anything?"
"Frankly, I said angrily. I was totally attracted. Obviously you are not."
"This is great." The countryside from the edge to the golf course was empty.
"Well, thank you. Thank you for a bunch. This enthusiasm is beyond my ability. I must go now. I have a magnetic flux course at eleven o'clock. I just want to review it."
She tossed her shoulder-length blond hair, and then started again. Li Badi hesitated, looked suspiciously at the briefcase hanging on his wrist, shook his head, and followed her. The voice, no matter where it came from, never spoke.
"Don't be angry, Aris." He took a step to her left and grabbed her arm with his free hand. "It's just that everything is crazy and no one seems to take it seriously. Not only does a small town just get up and take off, but no one here seems very worried."
Aris squeezed the hand holding her arm, feeling very comfortable. "You have lipstick on your beard."
"Very good. I will never shave again."
She smiled and said, "Ah, it's finally here. I'll tell you what we should do. Let's see Ed Clark, the editor of Sentinel. Maybe he will give you some clever conversations."
The newspaper office is located in a crumbling one-story building on the street, which is near Broadway. It is at the front desk of an ordinary store, with various old standing cardboard posters on the windows, calling attention to church dinners, markets, racing cars and starring movies. The dusty banner urged the election of Alfred Smith as president.
There is no one in front of the shop. Aris led Li to the rear, where there was a tall, thin man with loose hair and gray hair.
"Good morning, Mr. Clark," she said. "What are you setting up-anti-Hoover flyers?"
"Hello. How are you doing today?"
"Super. Or should it be up there? I want you to meet Lee Badi Kurt. Lee Bad, Mr. Clark."
They shook hands, and Clark looked curiously at Li Bad's handcuffs.
"According to my theory, he is a corrupt person," Aris said, "and he has taken this as his resort town."
"Actually," Li Hao said, "Rigs National Bank will be worried if I don't contact them as soon as possible. Mr. Clark, I think you will know? Town?" By prearrangement, the message given will be forwarded To the Military Intelligence Service.
"I don't know anything other than the method-the bottle was thrown to the edge. Of course, the telegram and telephone lines were cut off. There is a radio station in the town that operates on campus, but this has been silent since the demobilization. At least there are no locals on my old Atwater Kent."
"Is no one doing anything?" Li Hao asked.
"Of course." Clark said. "I'm going to take out my paper-even more this morning-to do my homework. I work at a jeweler in Fort. I don't know how to deliver it, but no one told me to stop so I am doing it. I guess everyone is proceeding as before."
"That's what I mean. Business as usual. But what about people who do business outside the city? For example, what is Western Union doing? And the shipping company? And the factory? As far as I know, you have two factories, and soon the kitchen sink And chewing gum will be left in large quantities."
"You two continue to solve our destiny," Aris said. "I better go back to school. Wait a minute, Li Huai." She waved and walked out.
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