Free Footprints Under the Window by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

have to admit that!” Frank grinned.
    The agent nodded. “We’ve already had you cleared. You have a right to know the basics of the project, considering your involvement and cooperation in the Footprints case. And because your own lives stand in considerable danger.”
    Frank and Joe waited tensely.
    â€œIn simple terms,” Dykeman continued, “Micro-Eye is building a powerful satellite camera.”
    The boys leaned forward, their interest doubly aroused. “How powerful?” Joe inquired.
    â€œOne so strong in range and definition it will be capable of telescoping terrain from the highest altitudes. Even”—he chuckled—“a baby’s footprints on a gravel path.”
    â€œWow!” Joe repressed a whistle. “A camera like that would have terrific military value! No wonder spies are after it.”
    Mr. Dykeman explained that after secret project drawings were found missing, the satellite camera’s completion had been delayed by “decoy” work undertaken at the plant.
    Dykeman held up the familiar spool of film. “Fortunately, whoever took these pictures fell for some phony blueprints. But we cannot delay the project any more. The government is pressing us.”
    Frank spoke up thoughtfully. “Since the code name of this spy ring is Footprints, maybe there is a link with the Huella Islands.”
    â€œHuella,” Joe repeated, then snapped his fingers. “You’re right. Huella is Spanish for ‘footprint’!”
    Mr. Dykeman and the boys studied a detailed map of South America. Like jagged footprints, the small Huella island group extended north off French Guiana.
    Since the dictator there is unfriendly to the United States, he may well be a party to the plot,” Joe suggested.
    â€œPerhaps,” Dykeman agreed. “We’ve discovered that there is great dissatisfaction among the people, even though Posada did away with the infamous prison colony on the island as a concession to them.”
    â€œHave you any idea who took the pictures?” Frank asked Mr. Dykeman.
    The agent motioned the Hardys to accompany him. He led them downstairs and across the yard some distance from the building.
    â€œTo answer your question, Frank,” he said in a low tone, “we’re turning this place upside down for clues. There are several hundred employees, including engineers and technicians. We’re running a check on everyone. So far, no suspects. The outside concessions for food and laundry service are kept to restricted areas, and there are constant spot checks at the gate.”
    â€œHow about the guards?” Joe inquired.
    â€œThoroughly screened, and all trustworthy,” the agent declared. He added that the men’s posts were frequently shifted as a double check.
    â€œYou think we could have a look around?” Frank asked, glancing over at the main plant.
    â€œI was just about to suggest that.” Mr. Dykeman fastened visitors’ badges to the boys’ lapels.
    â€œThese will allow you the run of the place,” he said, smiling. “Stop back at my office if you come up with any hunches!”
    Minutes later, Frank and Joe were touring the interior of the one-story plant, which hummed with intense activity throughout its extensive interior. Technicians, intent on their work, scarcely looked up at the boys.
    The Hardys were impressed by the steady vigilance of the guards stationed in every department. “How could anybody take unauthorized pictures with them around?” Joe murmured.
    â€œSeems impossible,” Frank agreed.
    Next, the young sleuths walked through the grounds of the complex. At the isolated maintenance building they were stopped by a heavy-eyebrowed, mustached security guard. He apologized.
    â€œSorry, boys. Didn’t see your badges at first.”
    After examining the steel fences, the Hardys went back through the main plant.
    Joe shook his head. “I