Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
"That we're only amateurs," said Frank and Joe in chorus.
"Frank. Joe." It was Morton Prynne, now supported by two Greek soldiers in fatigues. "You're a couple of very remarkable young men. And you have some remarkable friends."
Joe stepped forward. "And you're a tough dude, Mr. Prynne. Take care of that leg, now."
"Joe," said Clea softly, coming toward him. Joe smiled and stuck out his hand.
Clea ignored the hand, reached up, and kissed him softly on the cheek.
"I'll try not to think so badly of Americans," she said, smiling. "Or, at least, I will always think very well of one young American man."
Joe looked into those deep, dark eyes. "Clea, you're something else. There's no one I'd trust more in a tight spot, male or female."
Frank pulled Joe to one side. "Can I believe my ears? Or am I hallucinating?"
Joe glared at Frank. "Hey, give me a break! There's an exception to every rule, and she happens to be it."
Frank nodded, pretending to consider Joe's statement very carefully. "Well, then, can I tell our friends back in Bayport that you now realize that there are women who can stand up to men in physical endurance and clutch situations?"
Joe said, "That can only be revealed on a need-to-know basis." He grinned. "And I hope that is something no one will ever need to know!"