Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
Danger Zone (3 page)
"Marfield," he called out, reading from the Massachusetts section of the list. "Marion, Marlborough, Marstons Mills - "
"Wait!" Joe interrupted. "Marfield - that rings a bell. I think that was it. 'Fenton, will you call me as soon as you get to Marfield?' I'm not positive, but I'm pretty sure that's what she said!"
"That's as good a lead as any," Frank responded.
"And Dad told her he couldn't call - he had to remain strictly incommunicado. That much I do remember clearly!"
Frank looked levelly at Phil. "Joe and I are out of here. Can you destroy the bug? I don't care what you do to the wall."
"You got it," Phil answered, running inside.
"Great. The rest of you guys stick around, guard the house, make sure Aunt Gertrude is all right. We'll call from the road and give you a progress report."
While he was speaking Frank looked from Phil to Biff to Chet. Only Chet's face reflected the doubt they were all feeling.
"The fridge is full. Help yourselves," Frank added. All three of them nodded their agreement.
Frank and Joe ran inside and up to their rooms. They each threw some changes of clothing and a toothbrush into a duffel bag, checked to see that their aunt was still asleep, then headed back downstairs. As they barreled toward the back door Phil's voice called out from behind them, "Wait a sec! Take this. You may need it."
Frank turned around to see Phil holding the inductance coil out to him. "What about the other rooms in the house?"
"I checked the kitchen, the dining room, and your dad's office," Phil answered. "I did it quickly, but I'm pretty sure they're all clean. Biff found a hole hidden behind the living room couch, which is how they got the bug in. Obviously these guys didn't have time to cover their tracks; I have a feeling they only planted the one bug."
"Okay," Frank said, taking the coil. Calling out a hurried goodbye, he and Joe climbed into the van and took off.
Frank stopped briefly at the end of the driveway before pulling into the street. Instinctively he and Joe cased both sides of the street. There were four parked cars.
"Do you see any drivers?" Frank said.
"Nope, they all look empty to me," Joe said.
"We'll see about that." Frank stepped on the gas and took a left. He trained his eye on the rear-view mirror, but none of the parked cars followed them.
"Looks like we're alone," Joe said, glancing up and down the quiet intersections they passed. "But just in case, let's take the scenic route."
"Aye, aye, captain," Frank replied, taking a sudden right turn. As he wound quickly through the streets of Bayport Joe hung on to his armrest.
Ten minutes later Frank finally pulled onto a road that would lead them to the expressway.
"There," he said. "If anyone could follow that, I'll burn my driver's license."
Joe looked behind them. About thirty yards back was a dark blue Buick. "You'll burn it, huh? I wonder if there are any matches in the glove compartment."
"What?"
"Maybe I'm being paranoid, but check out the rear-view mirror."
Frank glanced up just as Joe spotted an abandoned gas station ahead of them. In the center island were two covered-up holes with dusty wires and hoses sticking out.
"Slow down," Joe suggested. He pointed to the entrance. "Turn in there."
Frank stepped on the brake, then turned. Gravel bounced on the cracked and broken concrete as the car rolled in.
Behind them the Buick quietly pulled over to the shoulder and waited.
"If there aren't any matches, I guess we could use the cigarette lighter on your license," Joe commented.
Without saying a word Frank floored the gas pedal and tore out onto the street. Tires screeched behind them as the Buick pursued.
"I don't know how this guy found us," Frank said, "but his luck is about to run out."
He took a sharp left onto a deserted road that ran past a cornfield. The Buick followed. Frank floored the gas pedal, putting distance between them and their pursuers. As the road curved to the left he momentarily lost sight of the car in his mirror.
Up ahead was a fork. Frank went right, then immediately turned right again onto a side street. He barreled down this road, then went left at a light that turned red just after he went through. A commercial area lay ahead, with shops lining either side of the street. Beyond it five roads fed into a traffic circle. Frank chose one of them, which trailed off into a residential area.
Keeping his eyes trained on the empty road behind them, Joe let out a whoop of excitement. "No way that guy can find us now!"
"Check the map," Frank said. "They're going to expect us to take the main expressway. Find us a different route."
A cry of disgust from Joe cut Frank off. "I don't believe it!"
Frank looked up and caught a glimpse of the Buick in his rear-view mirror. "How did he - "
Before he could finish Joe reached for the glove compartment. Yanking it open, he pulled out a pen and an old white envelope. In seconds he had scribbled a note and handed it to his brother. Frank held it up so that he could read it without taking his eyes off the road: "We're being bugged! The coil's going nuts."
Frank stole a quick look at his brother, who began rolling his arms as if to say keep talking.
"This guy's going to follow us all the way to North Carolina!" Frank said. Joe gave him an okay sign as he crawled into the rear of the van. "But I think I know a way to lose him. We'll take Kirkland Road and shoot into one of those dirt paths near the academy. I think I can get us back to the highway from there."
Joe plopped down into the passenger seat, holding a small electronic box with wires dangling from it. "Got it!" he said.
In the rear-view mirror Frank saw the Buick suddenly speed up. He swerved onto a sandy side road that cut between two marshes.
'You know what I think?" Joe said. 'This thing isn't a bug, it's a homing device! That would explain how he's been able to tail us so perfectly."
"Well, there's only one way to find out for sure," Frank said. "Let's ask him. It's time we confronted this guy, Joe."
With that, he stepped on the brake and forced the van into a ninety-degree skid. When it stopped it was blocking the road broadside.
"Let's get this guy, Joe," Frank said.
As Frank reached for his door handle he heard the Buick's tires squealing. He looked up to see the car careening toward them and then coming to a sudden, lurching stop. The sun, beginning to set in the western sky, glinted off a shiny metal object in the passenger window of the Buick.
"Duck!" Frank shouted.
Before the word left his mouth the van windows were being shattered with a barrage of machine-gunfire!
Frank dropped to the van floor, protecting his head with his arms. Above him shards of glass were being spit into the van. There was a sickening tuck - a - tuck - a - tuck of metal against metal as bullets raked the sides of the van. The guy with the machine gun didn't know it, but he would never penetrate the interior of the van. The sides were lined with thick sheets of metal.
Like a trapped animal Frank hunkered as low as he could with the pedals in the way and waited for the attack to be over. For a moment he forgot about Joe, forgot about their mission, forgot about everything except the possibility that the attacker would move in and shoot them.
When the attack finally stopped Frank was first aware of the immense silence. Then he noticed that his jaw ached from gritting his teeth, that his brother was alive beside him, and that the Buick was making a getaway.
He rose cautiously and peered out the driver's window. Its tires spinning on the sandy road, the Buick was in the middle of a U-turn. Frank stared, focusing on the small rectangular plate between the two taillights.
As it sped away Joe scrambled up from a crouch and joined Frank. "Did we make it," he asked, "or is this the big van in the sky?"
"We were lucky, Joe," Frank said. "They didn't aim for the tires."
"Yeah, that's because they were aiming higher - at us!" Joe replied. "We'd better check out the engine." Frank turned the key as Joe popped the hood. "Looks and sounds okay. We were really lucky. By the way, did you get the license number?"
"You bet." Frank reached for the dashboard and grabbed the note that Joe had given him. "Where's that pen you were using?"
Joe uncurled his fist to reveal a cracked ballpoint pen and his fingers smeared with dark blue ink. "Uh, right here."
A smile curled up on Frank's lips. "You weren't too nervous there, were you?"
"Cool as a cucumber," Joe remarked, holding out the pen. "Nothing more relaxing than a little late-afternoon strafing."
Frank took a rag from the back of the van, wiped off the pen, and wrote down NZE-809. "It was a Massachusetts plate."
"The plot thickens," Joe said. He rubbed his fingers with the rag, trying to wipe off the blue stain. "Unfortunately, so does this ink."
"There's got to be a way to find out whose plate that is." Frank tapped the pen agitatedly on the steering wheel. "Too bad we don't know any Massachusetts cops. They could give us access to the Motor Vehicle Department computer list."
"Well, we're near Chartwell Academy. Maybe there are some genius hackers there still." Joe smiled slyly, remembering how he and Frank had broken a criminal computer ring at the school.
Frank's face brightened. "That's it, Joe!"
"Hey, I was joking. We don't know anybody there. They've all been expelled - "
"Right. But we do know a pretty amazing hacker, and he happens to live in Cambridge, Massachusetts!"
"The Beast!" Joe exclaimed. "Of course!"
"Larry Biester, the pride of the Harvard computer science department," Frank said, grabbing the mobile phone. "He helped us crack an international spy ring, and I think he just might be able to help us with the DMV."
Quickly he dialed the Beast's number from memory. The phone rang twice.
"Hello," Larry's voice said. "I'm not in right now, but if you leave your name ... "
Frank exhaled with disappointment. "He's out."
" ... number and time of day you called, I'll get back to you. Just wait for the beep."
After a faint beep tone Frank said, "Hi, Larry, this is Frank Hardy. It's seven-thirty on Sunday. Call me back right away at - "
"Oh, hi, Frank," Larry's voice interrupted. Frank frowned. "Larry?"
"Yeah, it's me, live. Sounded like a real machine, huh? I'm trying to keep the administration off my tail for a couple of days. They're after me for some money."
"Oh," Frank said. "Listen, Larry, we need your help. I know it's a long shot, but do you think you can break the computer code on the Massachusetts Department of Motor Vehicles? I want to find out who owns a car with plate number - "
"Whoa, whoa! Stop right there!" Larry said. "I'm in enough trouble as it is. If any one of the university bigwigs finds out I've been - uh - free-lancing with the state government, I may be taking a semester off."
"It's important, Larry."
"Yeah? So's my diploma, at least to my parents."
"This has to do with my parents," Frank pressed on. "My mother, to be exact. Someone's kidnapped her. Whoever it is is trying to get my father, too - and they just came after us with a machine gun!"
There was stunned silence on the other side. "Whoa. When do you want the info - yesterday? You got it. Just give me two numbers - the license and your phone."
Frank passed on the numbers, thanked him, and said goodbye.
***
The illuminated digital clock on the dashboard read 12:33 a.m. as Frank exited off onto Marfield Road from the highway. It seemed as though the rest of the world had folded up for the night. The chirping of birds had long since faded away, and all he could hear was the monotonous trill of crickets and the engine's quiet hum. He felt as though he'd be lulled to sleep if it weren't for the cold night air that washed in over him from the shot-out driver's window. Beside him Joe had already fallen victim, bundled up in his jacket. His head lolled lazily to the left against the headrest, and his body bounced slightly with every dip in the road.
Joe had promised not to fall asleep during the five-hour trip, and Frank fought the urge to whack him on the shoulder as a reminder. But he knew that at least one of them should get some rest, so he left his brother alone. Besides, they were bound to reach a motel eventually.
"Eventually" turned out to be about ten minutes. As Frank drove along a sleepy section of Marfield Road a neon sign flashed "Marfield Motor Hotel" in the distance. He blinked twice to make sure it wasn't a mirage, then slowed down.
"'Vacancy,'" he muttered, reading the sign's bottom line.
There was a grunt from Joe's side of the van, then a muffled, slurred voice: "Don't worry. I've got my eyes on the exit signs."
"Well, no need to work so hard anymore," Frank replied. "We're here."
"Huh?" Joe sat up. "Marfield Motor Hotel? How did we - did I fall asleep?"
Frank pulled into the motel's driveway. "Halfway through Connecticut," Frank answered. "But it's okay. I've been enjoying the scenery and the nice, brisk windstorm."
"Arggh!" Joe arched his back as he stretched. "I feel like I've been in a trash compactor."
"I'm sure this place will feel like the Taj Mahal by comparison," Frank remarked. He parked the van far from the entrance so the owner wouldn't see the condition of the van. It could be hard to explain why they were riding in a car riddled with bullet holes.
Joe staggered out of the other side and looked around. The parking lot was nearly empty, and the windows of the squat white building stared blankly at them. Every few seconds, when the neon light flashed, the motel glowed purple.
"I'm not so sure about this place," Joe said. "You know, the back of the van isn't that uncomfortable."
"Come on," Frank insisted. "We won't get too far tomorrow if we don't get some sleep." He walked toward the door to the motel office. Above it hung a smaller sign. This one said "Open 24 Hours."
On the road behind them a lone car whizzed by in the dark.
Frank pulled open the screen door and walked into a small, empty room. A dozen or so keys hung from a pegboard behind a long, wood-paneled counter. On top of the counter was a metal bell with a button on top and a squeaking metal fan that blew a weak stream of air.
"Hello," Frank called out, slapping the button. A loud ding pierced the air.
"Yeeaahhh!" came a sudden scream from behind the counter.
"Down, Frank!" Joe shouted.
An unexpected bolt of fear shot through Frank. The two brothers ducked.
Above them a meek voice said, "What's going on? Is anybody there?"
Frank and Joe stood up. Peering over the counter was a short, slender man with wispy hair combed to cover a bald spot. "Uh, sorry about that," Joe said sheepishly. "You scared us. You see, we're kind of tired - "
"Well, that makes three of us," the man said crossly. "Do you boys realize it's almost one in the morning?"
Frank pointed toward the door. "But your sign says twenty-four - "
"Never mind," the man interrupted, pulling out a frayed, vinyl-covered ledger book. "Do you have a reservation?"
"No," Joe answered, "but it doesn't seem like we need - "
"You know, you're lucky. This is the only place in town that has any vacancies tonight." He opened the book and placed a pen inside it. "Sign here."
As Joe picked up the pen the man narrowed his eyes at him. "Say, you're not the fella who called a couple hours ago asking about vacancies, are you?"
"Nope," Joe said, signing two aliases, Peter and Jules Mansfield, just in case.
"All right," the man replied doubtfully, taking a key off the pegboard behind him and throwing it on the counter. "You're in room J. Checkout time is ten. Pay me when you return the key."
"Thank you," Frank said. As the two of them left Joe pointed to the mat in front of the door. The words Courtesy Is Contagious stared up at them.
"I guess the disease has been cured around here," Joe remarked.
Frank peered in the window to see the man disappearing behind the counter again. He followed Joe to room J, which was directly behind the large neon sign. When they shut the door, the room glowed a hideous shade of purple and then darkened as the sign did. Frank flicked on the light to reveal a square room with beige cinder-block walls, two beds, and a table with a phone.
"Taj Mahal, huh?" Joe said, his face suddenly purple. "I'm not so tired."
"Good," Frank replied, opening a drawer in the phone table. "Then you can help me figure out where we're going to look for Dad tomorrow."
He pulled out a phone book and dropped it on the bed. It hardly bounced. "I can see it's going to be a comfortable night," Joe mumbled.
Frank and Joe riffled through the phone book. It wasn't hard to find potential places; most of the industry in the area was centered around a few big technological companies. Before long Frank had compiled a short list of names and addresses on a sheet of Marfield Motor Hotel stationery.
"Foreman Aerospace ... the Center for Experimental Research ... Prometheus Computing," Frank said, reading the list. "I think that'll be a good start."
"Anything to get us out of here," Joe yawned. "I don't know about you, but I'm ready for some shut-eye, even if my dreams end up looking purple Frank put away the phone book and lay down on one of the beds. "See you in the morning."
"Yeah," Joe replied, flopping down on his bed. And as his head hit the pillow he was asleep.