Highway Robbery (7 page)

Frank wanted to warn Joe and Tony about the hijackers having guns, but one of the toughs pointed his automatic straight at him.

"Put the mike down," he shouted. "Now."

Frank obeyed.

"Climb down from there." The speaker was the one Frank assumed was the leader, the tallest member of the gang. "No funny stuff this time. We'll just wait until your friends show up."

Pat glanced across at Frank, as though she expected him to have some kind of plan and wanted to know what it was.

"Just do what they tell you," he said quietly. "Don't make waves."

They climbed down, and Pat surveyed the winding, narrow road they were on. "You're going to have a tough time taking this rig down to the main road," she said.

The second gunman laughed. "Who says we're gonna do that, lady?"

"Shut up!" barked the first man. "Don't get sociable with these two. Or their friends. Just do your job."

A moment later the van appeared, with Joe at the wheel. Joe thought Tony might try taking the bad guys on, so he reached out to stop him.

"Not against guns, Tony. That would be a bad move. Be cool, all right?"

Tony nodded, but he glared at the gunmen as he climbed out of the van.

The other two members of the gang now drove up in a pickup truck. The traffic barriers and signs were now loaded in the back of the truck. One of the two walked up to the group of prisoners and stood in front of Frank.

"Hello again, wise guy."

Although the man wore a mask, Frank recognized his short, barrel-chested build immediately. He resisted the impulse to reply, "Hello, Turk," knowing that if he did so, it would be the end of him - and of Joe, Tony, and Pat. He remained silent.

"Stay and cover them," the head man called over to Turk. "Let's get busy."

Two of the gang members wrestled with the fallen tree, lugging it to one side of the road. The leader knelt down and went under the rig, where he started fiddling with the hookups between tractor and trailer.

"Can you tell what he's doing?" Frank whispered to Pat.

Pat nodded, suddenly looking pale and frightened. "He-he's cutting the hoses," she whispered back. "The ones that run from the cab to the trailer's air brakes. But there's a backup safety system. It cuts in whenever the regular air brakes fail. It's automatic, unless - "

She stopped as the tall masked man moved to the back of the trailer, having finished with the hoses up front. There he went to work with a small acetylene torch and a hacksaw.

"Oh, no," she whispered, biting her lip.

"What? What's going on?" asked Joe.

"That guy, whoever he is, knows trucks. He's wrecking the cylinders, so the backup brake system won't work, either. But I don't understand! They won't be able to drive the rig in that condition!"

"Cut the chatter!" ordered the short goon who was guarding them.

Climbing out from under the trailer, the boss of the operation now called the two who had been moving the tree. They had succeeded in shoving it over enough to clear a narrow passage on the road.

"Lose the van," he said.

A gunman got into the Hardys' van and started it, then drove into the undergrowth beside the road, where it would be hidden from anyone driving by.

"Check the brakes," the second hood was told. Climbing into the cab of the truck, he got in the driver's seat and started the engine. He checked the readings on a couple of dials.

"Pressure is all the way down to zero," he called.

Joe had been watching their progress with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Suddenly he realized that with the boss's attention focused on the truck, there was only a single guard to contend with, the one he assumed was Turk. He flicked a glance at Frank, and his brother's slight nod showed that he agreed that this was their best chance to turn things around.

Joe saw Frank barely shift his eyes. Frank was signaling that he would go for the gun. Joe lay three fingers flat on his leg - go in three seconds.

Their sudden leap was perfectly coordinated. Joe hit the unsuspecting Turk just below the knees and drove him back and down. Frank wrenched the automatic pistol loose from his grasp. The maneuver worked perfectly.

Before Frank could move with the gun, however, a snarling voice came at him from behind.

"Turn around - slow, and hold it right there!"

Frank saw that the hood who had been moving the van had finished his task and was now standing next to Pat Mulvaney, with his automatic pointed at her head.

"Put the gun down, or she gets it first," he said, cocking the gun with a threatening click.

There was nothing else to do. Frank dropped the gun and raised his hands. Joe did the same.

Turk jumped to his feet and pulled Frank around roughly by the shoulder.

"You asked for this, wise guy," he said in his raspy voice. He drew back his right fist, but before he could throw the punch, Turk's arm was seized in an iron grip by the leader.

"Cut it out," said the bigger man. "You shouldn't have let them jump you. Now, let's get this over with, and try not to foul anything else up. And you," - he pointed a finger first at Frank, then at Joe - "any more dumb stunts and we'll shoot the four of you and leave you right here. Don't think we won't."

"We know you would," replied Joe. "But you can't blame us for trying."

The gang marched their four prisoners over to where the Lombard truck stood.

"You and you," said the boss, pointing to Joe and Tony, "in the sleeping compartment. Come on, move it!"

As in most long-distance trucks, the space behind the seats in Pat's rig was big enough to hold a small bed. A driver on a long haul could pull over and crawl in for a few hours' rest, or one of a team of drivers could catch some sleep while the other drove.

Tony and Joe were a tight fit in the compartment. Handcuffs were used to fasten them securely to stanchions in the frame of the cab. Frank was forced into the right-hand seat and cuffed to the inside door handle. Finally, Pat was led at gunpoint to the driver's seat and shackled to the steering wheel.

One of the gang climbed up on the driver's side and shoved into the seat beside Pat, keeping the door open. The head man got up on the right side. His automatic was trained on the four prisoners in the cab.

The hood in the driver's seat started the truck. Slowly he drove it forward, climbing up a fairly steep grade. Eventually the road leveled off and made a bend. Frank saw that the road was beginning to descend the hill, twisting and turning, clinging to a sheer rise on the right side. To the left of the road was a steep drop. Some of the turns were very sharp.

The masked driver revved up the engine to build up some momentum. But before the rig could build up much speed, he and the leader jumped clear.

The truck had been left in neutral, and it began to roll faster, spurred ahead by the weight of a fully loaded trailer. From his passenger-side seat, Frank had a bird's-eye view of the steep hills and the rocky gorge that bordered the road. He fell against the door as the rig took a curve.

He thought to himself, I could really enjoy this scenery - if we weren't riding through it in a runaway eighteen-wheeler - with no brakes!

Pat, shackled to the wheel, put the rig in gear and tried to control the huge, heavy machine to keep them from flying into the gorge on their left. Despite her best efforts, the truck continued to build up speed.

Frank strained at the door handle to which his handcuff was attached, but the handle held firm. He grabbed the chain with both hands and yanked, but he only succeeded in scraping some skin off his wrist. The door handle didn't give an inch.

"How are you doing?" he yelled to Pat over the noise of the engine.

She was staring grimly straight ahead. It was obvious that she was using all her strength and concentration, fighting to control the steering wheel and to keep the truck's speed down as much as she could with the transmission.

"The trouble is the trailer!" she shouted back. "All that weight - either it's going to push us off the road, or it'll fishtail and drop and pull us down after it."

"Can you unhitch the trailer?" Joe called from the sleeping compartment.

"Not from inside," she replied. "There's a hand-operated backup system, a crank that you turn to retract the kingpin from the fifth wheel, but - "

"Where is it?" Frank asked.

"Behind the cab, just below the frame that holds the fifth wheel in place."

"Could I get to it from here?"

"From here? You mean while we're moving?" Her eyes widened, and she shook her head. "Frank, that's crazy! It'd be suicide to try something like that!"

"It'd be suicide not to do anything at all!" Tony yelled. "When this truck goes over the edge, you know that's going to be bad for our health!"

"I'm going for it," Frank called out. He opened the door. "At least this cuff ought to keep me from falling under the wheels!"

As he swung his body out, the wind hit him in the face with powerful force. Close behind him was the steep rise of the hill. Trees and brush jutted out close to his body. A tree branch whipped across his back as he pressed his stomach flat against the body of the tractor. He hung on tight, feeling the harsh rumble and bumping of the huge vehicle, and made himself take slow, deep breaths to stay calm.

With his left foot Frank groped for the first foothold on the side of the cab. He gripped the door frame and lowered himself cautiously, while stretching to get a look behind and beneath, where tractor and trailer joined.

"I see a handle sticking out down there," he shouted, trying to make himself heard over the engine and the rushing wind. "That must be it."

His right hand was anchored to the door handle by the handcuffs, but he reached his left hand back, extending himself as far as possible. He missed the crank by a couple of feet. It was obvious that he couldn't possibly reach it that way.

The truck hurtled around a sharp turn, and Frank's door flew wide open. For a moment he dangled just above the onrushing asphalt road. Grabbing frantically for the door frame with his left hand, he pulled himself back against the side of the cab.

"I'll never get to it this way," he gasped. "Unless - wait a second ..."

"I can't hold us on the road much longer!" screamed Pat.

Again Frank stretched himself out as far as he could, but this time, instead of reaching with his arm, he extended his left leg as far as it would go. His foot hit the crank handle! He gave it a push, but the handle wouldn't budge. He shoved harder, trying to get all his weight behind it. Branches flew by, some hitting him. Finally, he kicked at the stubborn handle in frustration.

The crank turned! It moved an inch, and then, with Frank's next desperate lunge, it moved farther. When he had pushed it as far as his foot would reach, he hooked his toe around the crank near the pivot and pulled it around toward him again. Alternately pushing and pulling on the handle, he turned the crank around three times. It seemed to take forever, and his body was aching with the strain.

All of a sudden there was a bump, and a slight gap appeared between the tractor and trailer. They were unhitched! Frank hauled himself back up and into the seat.

"Got it!" he cried triumphantly. "We're clear!"

Pat gave the tractor a little gas, and a space widened between the two parts of the rig. As they swung around the next turn, Pat and Frank looked back just in time to see the trailer hurtle wildly off the road and crash down into the trees and bushes of the gully below.

Frank craned his neck around to watch the trailer fall as Pat, free from the trailer's weight, was now able to shift down into the lowest gears and slow the tractor.

"Frank! Brace yourself!" called Pat.

He spun back around to face front, cushioning himself with his knees and free hand as the tractor bumped to a stop against an earth embankment. There was no serious damage to either vehicle or the four imprisoned passengers.

For a moment they all sat, silent.

"Oh, boy!" Tony whispered faintly.

"You're some kind of driver," Joe told Pat.

Pat pointed to the windshield, to where, not a hundred yards ahead of them, the road went into a hairpin turn.

"We would've gone over, right there," she said. "No way could I have made that turn."

No one had anything to say. Each of them just stared at the turn, until Pat spoke again.

"Frank, just behind your seat, there's a toolbox with a hacksaw in it. Let's see if we can't cut loose from all this hardware. Then we'd better head back to Bayport and get someone out here to deal with this rig."