The silver aeroplane flew southeast in fair weather, across the small green islands called the Lesser Antilles. The sky above was clear, and the plane flew on to look for it.
The pilot, Harry Hansen, was an officer in the United States Navy, with twelve years' flying behind him. He stared hard at the sky in front of him, and at last saw the first thin clouds appear. He pushed a button and spoke into the radio.
'We're getting near, Dave. Any change of orders?'
OFFICES in the United States Navy didn't usually take orders from a foreigner, but that didn't worry Hansen. He was a sensible man. He liked to fly with men who we're good at their job-and who would help him to get the plane back home in one piece.
David Wyatt came forward to speak to Hansen and looked out at the sky. Already the clouds we're thicker and heavier. In a few more minutes the plane would be in the storm.
'We'll take the usual route in,' he said. 'We' ll follow the wind round in a circle, moving slowly inwards all the time. When we get to the south-west corner, we'all turn into the centre.'
'OK,' said Hansen. 'But I hope you get all the information that you need. I don't want to do this twice.'
Wyatt smiled. 'Neither do I.'
He went back down the place and fastened himself into his seat. The two men who worked with him were already busy.