Danger Zone (8 page)

Frank's jaw dropped open. The name MUX was all too familiar. He hadn't expected to encounter that organization again - at least not with the same name. It had been a multinational front for a band of technology pirates in New York City, and he and Joe had sent them packing. The last Frank had heard, the leaders had been exiled overseas.

Now they were back, their tactics slimier than ever.

The click of footsteps on the marble lobby floor alerted Frank to someone approaching. He tucked the letter back into the file cabinet, closed it, and dived under the desk.

Frank could see two pairs of shiny black shoes enter the room. They stopped at the door, and Frank heard it click shut. Then he heard the unmistakable voice of Karl Straeger: "If all continues to go well, we'll achieve our goal this evening."

"But what about Hardy?" a younger man's voice piped up. "You told me he wasn't cooperating."

"Fenton Hardy will have no choice, of course. Matyus is giving him a chance to stew a little, to think about the consequences of his stubbornness, to imagine the horrible things that might be happening to his beloved wife. I think he'll cooperate very soon. I've decided the raid is to be at three o'clock at Prometheus - with or without Hardy's help."

"I don't think it's a good idea to wait. What if he goes after Matyus?"

"I'm sure he's spent every waking hour trying." He chuckled. "But his chances of finding the Iron Maiden are slim, and even if he did, its defenses are state-of-the-art."

The Iron Maiden. Frank had no idea what Straeger was talking about, but if he could call his dad.

"So where do I fit in?" the younger man queried.

"You are to lead the raid at Prometheus at precisely three o'clock. By that time I'll have flown to Bayport. You'll supervise the transport of the merchandise to me at the Iron Maiden, which sits far out in Bayport Harbor. Then, provided all has gone well, we'll take care of our - ah - collateral."

Frank shuddered. So that was it. His mother was being held on a ship in Bayport Harbor! Did his dad know? Was it possible he or Joe could have found out? It didn't seem likely.

He had to get to a phone as soon as Straeger and his sidekick left.

But they didn't head out the doorway. Instead they circled around the desk, Straeger beside the young man. Frank saw the back of his trousers, then his shirt, then the silvery mane.

Don't turn around! Frank thought. If Straeger angled a couple of degrees to his right and looked down, Frank would be caught.

There was a jangle of keys. The door to the inner office swung open. Then, as quickly as they had arrived, Straeger and his young assistant disappeared into the other room.

Frank wasted no time. He scrambled out from under the desk and across the office to the outer door. Carefully he leaned against it and slowly turned the doorknob. It squeaked as he pushed it open - a tiny noise, but it sounded like a siren to him. He slid through, casting a final glance over his shoulder.

When he was in the lobby he pushed the door shut and heaved a sigh of relief. He was safe.

Or so he thought.

"Hey, you!" an angry voice barked from across the hallway.

Frank wheeled around to see a guard approaching him - Todd Brewster!

"What can I do for you?" were the first words that came out of Frank's mouth.

"For one thing," Brewster retorted, "you can tell me what you're doing in my uniform!"

Gliding away from the dock in a rented Laser sailboat, Joe adjusted his sail and tacked right. He had dropped Tony and the powerboat off and checked in with his dad before renting the Laser.

The steady wind filled his sail, and he picked up speed. The tide was coming in, and the water was high; he wouldn't need to worry about sandbars. He looked left to see the old yacht fading in the distance. Tacking back and forth, he set a circular course around the yacht, well out of its sight.

Before long he could barely see the dock. He was out past the yacht, just short of the narrow inlet that led to open ocean.

There he dropped anchor.

"Time for a costume change," he said under his breath. He reached under his seat for the wet suit he had rented and slipped it on with his oxygen tanks. Fitting his mask into place, he rolled off the boat into the water.

He swam underwater toward the yacht, letting the incoming tide do most of the work. The thrum of the engines guided him, and in minutes he saw the ship's dark hull just before him.

Hang on, Mom, he thought. I'm almost there.

Joe was suddenly gripped by doubts. What if his mother wasn't aboard? What if the yacht had nothing to do with the kidnapping? Maybe it was a spy ship, or just some rich electronics whiz who treasured his privacy. Were the kidnappers holding his mother somewhere else?

And if the yacht did belong to the kidnappers, what then? A wet suit was great against the cold and wet, but it wasn't going to be much help against bullets.

Joe propelled himself forward, trying to cast those thoughts from his head. He swam alongside the starboard hull toward the stern. There he saw a long, taut anchor cable angling down and out of sight.

He followed it to the surface and emerged. The yacht was larger than it looked from a distance - at least fifty feet. There was no sound coming from the deck, but he wasn't high enough to see it.

He hoisted himself up the cable. The ship listed slightly with his weight, and Joe felt dread run down his spine.

No one seemed to notice. Joe swung his legs over and found himself on a secluded section of the yacht behind the wheelhouse. He silently removed his flippers and tanks, stashing them behind a stack of canvas folding chairs. Then he tiptoed across the deck toward some stairs. All around him the network of antennae felt like a spindly steel forest.

He looked down the stairwell. There was a well-lit hallway at the bottom but no sign of life.

The metal stairs felt icy cold on his bare feet as he climbed down. At the bottom the narrow corridor was lit by a string of bare light bulbs hanging from a jury-rigged electrical cord. The stark white walls were scuffed and dirty.

Some yacht, Joe thought. It was more like a prison barge.

He walked slowly down the corridor, his feet vibrating from the low, monotonous hum coming from the engine room. The door to the room was half-open. Eyeing it carefully, Joe walked slowly toward it. The doors to his left and right were closed.

He had a feeling that if his mother was on the boat, she'd be somewhere down there.

He reached out to the door on the left. Slowly he curled his fingers around the knob and, bracing himself, pushed it in.

Stacks of cardboard boxes greeted him. Some were open, revealing cans of food, first-aid supplies, housewares, and books.

Joe shut the door and turned to the one across the hall. He could hear something inside - a rustling of papers; the crackle of radio static, maybe. Again he twisted the doorknob gently - slowly.

The latch made a hollow pop as he pushed the door open.

"Captain?" a gritty voice called out.

A chair scraped on the floor. Through the crack between the door and the frame Joe could see a pistol lying on a table across the room. He knew he couldn't get to it first; it was too far away.

He turned and ran into the engine room. As he pulled the door shut behind him he heard the clatter of footsteps in the hallway.

"Captain?" the voice repeated.

Now the mechanical hum from the engines closed around him like the noise from a nest of giant bionic wasps. Behind him a network of steam pipes stretched from floor to ceiling. He backed away from the door, looking for a place to hide.

There were more footsteps, all coming closer. Joe dived behind a dense thicket of gears and pulleys in the middle of the room.

The door swung open. Light poured in again, outlining the broad silhouette of a man. Joe waited, rock-still, as the shadow passed from left to right and disappeared into a corner of the room.

Instinctively Joe backed off to his left, making sure to stay out of sight.

A flash of searing pain ripped through him. A scream exploded upward into his throat, where he caught it and choked it back. There was a faint smell of burning rubber. For an agonizing moment his eyes saw a mottled pattern of red and black.

He spun around, his teeth clenched, and saw that he'd backed right into one of the steam pipes. A small section of rubber wet suit clung to the spot, melting.

From the opposite corner of the room he heard the voice. "What do you think I did, chewed my way through the metal?"

The shock of recognition made Joe forget his pain. It was his mother's voice!

"I left the door open so I could hear you," the male voice said.

"And it shut when the ship rocked," Mrs. Hardy said matter-of-factly. "It's not the first time it happened."

The shadow began to move left again. Without answering, the man walked out of the room, leaving the door ajar.

Joe waited for the footsteps to recede, then sprinted around the machinery.

Trapped like an animal in a locked metal cell, Mrs. Hardy looked up.

"Mom!" Joe whispered.

"Joseph Hardy," his mother said, "that was the riskiest, most wrongheaded thing you've ever done." She smiled. "And I'm proud of you."

"Don't talk too soon," he said. "We have to figure out how to get you out of here."

Mrs. Hardy gripped the steel bars and peered out at her son. "It isn't going to be easy to get through this," she said.

Anger welled up in Joe. He looked around for something to help him open the door. Next to the cell was a metal table stacked with magazines. It might have made a good battering ram if it hadn't been bolted to the floor. Above them a cardboard box marked "Stemware" stood on a shelf. The side was ripped, exposing a small circle of glass. That wouldn't help, either.

"They told me your dad agreed to do what they wanted," Mrs. Hardy said ruefully. "Is that true?"

"I don't know," Joe answered. "That last time I talked to him - "

He was cut off by the sound of feet in the corridor.

"Hide!" Mrs. Hardy whispered. She grabbed a magazine and pretended to read it.

Joe dived behind the machinery, making sure to avoid the steam pipe.

With a heavy metallic clank the door crashed open. Footsteps thumped into the room, and a deep voice said, "Where is he?"

There was a momentary silence. "I beg your pardon?" Mrs. Hardy replied. "Where is who?"

"The young man in the wet suit!"

Joe cringed. How could they have seen him? Closed-circuit TV? Joe immediately thought of the ripped stemware box. That wasn't the bottom of a glass sticking out - it was the lens of a camera! How could he have been so stupid?

He leaned to the left, hoping to see a path of escape. He could feel the heat of the steam pipes radiating behind him.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Mrs. Hardy said.

Joe slowly peered around the machinery. He could see a clock on the wall that said five after two, then the edge of the door.

"Captain Matyus, looks like we didn't get rid of all the mice on board!"

A red-haired man stepped into Joe's line of sight. Joe looked up into his face, which was twisted into an unfriendly grin.

"A mouse, eh?" the deep voice of a man who must have been Captain Matyus said. The redheaded man laughed and stepped out of the captain's way. Joe began to get up.

By the time he was on his feet he was staring down the barrel of a revolver. Holding his finger on the trigger was the captain, a burly man with a salt-and-pepper beard and the physique of an aging prizefighter.

"Looks more like a rat to me," Captain Matyus remarked. "It's too bad these mammals think with their emotions and not their brains. No matter what happens, they can always find their mothers."

"You sound just as phony as you did over the scrambler," Joe shot back.

"Ah, well," Captain Matyus said, ignoring Joe, "let's not let his efforts go unrewarded, gentlemen." He motioned Joe toward Mrs. Hardy with his pistol. As Joe walked across the room the red-haired man pushed him into the cage and locked it. Then he walked into the hallway, where four other men were peeking in.

Captain Martus backed into the doorway and grabbed the knob. "Quite a lovely family reunion. I must call Fenton Hardy and tell him about it," he said to the others just before he pulled the door shut. "I hope the brig will be cozy enough for the two of you. If it's not, don't worry. I don't believe either of you will be with us that much longer."

"Your uniform?" Frank said indignantly. "Just because we wear the same size, it doesn't mean - "

"Mr. Hardy!"

Frank spun around at the sound of Karl Straeger's voice. The silver-haired man stood in the doorway of the security office, smiling benignly.

"Remarkable that you got a job with us so quickly," Straeger continued. "And what a coincidence that you ripped your sleeve in the same place that Mr. Brewster did."

"Who are you, Straeger?" Frank said. "Or is that some sort of made-up name that MUX gave you?"

Straeger raised his eyebrows. "Well, it looks as if you've been doing a bit of research, have you? Perhaps we should have a talk." He gestured toward his office. "Come in. I believe you know the way around."

Before Frank could step toward the office Brewster gave him a shove. Frank stumbled and caught himself against the doorjamb.

"Curb your aggressions, Todd," Mr. Straeger snapped. He looked at Frank and shrugged. "He has a tendency toward violence, you see - and an unfortunate, murderous temper. Which can be a bit embarrassing but is often quite handy. Although I have an agreement to report all antisocial acts to his parole officer, Todd and I have an agreement of our own."

Brewster gave a low chuckle. "You make me sound like some kind of animal."

"I can see MUX is doing its usual job of hiring only the best," Frank said, calmly walking into the inner office and finding Straeger's assistant, a short man, waiting there.

Brewster turned from Frank to Straeger, confused.

"Rest your weary brain, Todd," Straeger said. He took a pipe off the desk and then sat in an armchair in the corner. "Yes, MUX is alive and well, thank you, and I am pleased to be a member of its espionage department - an organization that could give you a few pointers, I'm afraid to say."