Strategic Moves (8 page)
Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
***
Joe didn't remember going to sleep, and he didn't remember waking up. He remembered lying down and talking to Frank and Ziggy, and the next moment he realized that the room was dark and he was wide awake. He turned his head and saw Frank standing in front of one of the small front windows. The curtain was pulled open slightly, and a thin beam of moonlight highlighted his brother's features.
"What is it?" Joe asked in a whisper, trying not to awaken Ziggy.
"I think someone just panicked," Frank replied in the same low whisper.
Joe swung his legs over the edge of the cot, rose, and walked to the window. Frank stepped back to let Joe look out through the crack.
"I heard a car pull up," Frank explained. "Then two car doors slammed."
Joe looked through the crack. Joe could make out the tall form of Fitzhugh talking to two men. Joe recognized them immediately. One was Howard Markham. The other was Chris St. Armand.
"Do you know that Salisbury Plain is the legendary battleground of King Arthur and his knights of the Round Table?" Ziggy asked Joe as they approached the tour buses.
"Really," Joe said with a sigh.
All through breakfast, Joe, Frank, and Petra had listened to Ziggy as he gave them a verbal guided tour of Salisbury Plain and Stonehenge. Ziggy loved British history, Petra explained, especially medieval history, and considered the Tuesday tour to Salisbury Plain the highlight of his two-week stay.
The students climbed aboard three buses. Frank, Joe, Ziggy, and Petra sat in the back on the bench seat that ran the width of the bus. Frank sat next to Joe, who sat next to Ziggy.
Petra sat on the other side of her brother. Joe started to plan a way to get Ziggy to move so he could sit next to Petra.
Fitzhugh and Lewis sat in the front of the bus.
"I think what we've stumbled on," Frank said in a low voice so only Joe could hear him, "is the makings of a conspiracy. We're not looking for some clandestine terrorist group."
"We have found the terrorists, and they are among us," Joe quipped.
"Right."
"Do we keep this to ourselves?" Joe nodded toward Ziggy and Petra.
"We don't know who else is involved." Frank wiped the dust from his sunglasses with his shirttail and then held them up to the morning sunlight to check for cleanliness.
"You think the Gray Man is a part of this?" Joe asked.
"Why not?" Frank slid his sunglasses on and leaned back in his seat. "If the East and West become best friends, high-powered spies will be obsolete."
"You don't expect me to believe that all of this is happening so some spies can keep their jobs," Joe stated.
"I know it sounds crazy." Frank yawned.
"Crazy? Try ludicrous."
"Just the same, we can't trust anybody, not even the Gray Man. Agreed?"
"Agreed."
Frank sighed, and Joe could tell by the heavy breathing that his older brother was almost asleep.
Joe tapped Ziggy on the shoulder. "Trade seats with me, Ziggy," Joe said. "Frank wants to talk over last night's game with you."
"Sure," Ziggy said, and hopped up.
Joe was in Ziggy's seat before Ziggy realized that Frank was asleep.
"Gotcha," Joe said, pointing his finger at Ziggy like a pistol.
"I'll get even," Ziggy warned, smiling and sitting next to Frank.
By the time the buses arrived at Stonehenge three hours later, Frank had gotten a good nap, Ziggy had gotten more excited, and Joe had gotten Petra's home address.
Ziggy had understated the beauty of Salisbury Plain, which was a span of low, rolling, grassy hills. Ziggy had pointed out to Petra and Joe the many chalk carvings of horses and other animals in the sides of the hills left by Celtic and Anglo-Saxon warriors.
Ziggy was so excited about Stonehenge that he tried to be the first one off the bus.
Frank rubbed his sleepy eyes and waited to be the last off the bus. He stepped down and removed his sunglasses to get a clearer look at the ancient megaliths known as Stonehenge.
The massive stones were gray and worn down by wind and rain and time. Several stones lay on the ground and looked like large altars. Others seemed to be stuck into the ground haphazardly, at various angles, without any rhyme or reason. Some formed giant gateways, with one huge stone placed across two upright ones. The entire place was a marvel of engineering.
Lewis was speaking to the group as Frank walked up behind the students. Joe and Petra were at the rear of the crowd, but Ziggy was nowhere to be seen.
"Where's Ziggy?" Frank whispered to Joe.
Joe pointed. "Up front."
Frank stood on tiptoe and saw Ziggy at the front of the crowd, listening intently to every word Lewis was saying.
"Stonehenge stands ten miles north of the city of Salisbury and has existed for almost four thousand years. During the last century," Lewis droned on, "Stonehenge has received the greatest amount of damage from war, pollution, and people who have defaced the stones.
"The only modern structure is the iron railing used to keep people away from the stones. Although most tourists are forbidden to get too near the stones, I have received security permission to allow you students to roam freely once I have finished my lecture. Now ..." Lewis continued, speaking on the four-thousand-year history of the stones from the beginning to the present day.
"Brother," Joe moaned after a few minutes. "I could get this stuff from a textbook."
"Yes," Petra agreed. "Mr. Lewis has a way of making this beautiful site quite boring." She turned to Joe, a sly smile on her face. "Shall we begin our tour early?"
"Just what I was thinking." Joe returned Petra's smile.
Joe and Petra slowly backed out and away from the other students.
"Where are you going?" Frank whispered to Joe.
"To get a better look at the stones," Joe answered, and he and Petra disappeared behind one of the megaliths.
Frank didn't know what Joe was up to, but he didn't like his younger brother taking such chances, especially since he suspected that Fitzhugh was a rogue agent.
Frank made his way among the other students, noting the bored, restless looks on their faces, and stood next to Ziggy.
"Isn't this fascinating, Frank?" Ziggy whispered when he noticed Frank next to him.
"Uh - huh." Frank sighed. Listening to Lewis was like playing a scratchy old record that skipped.
"It's almost as if these stones are giant chess pieces," Ziggy whispered.
Frank smiled. "Played by ancient Druid mystics and Celtic priests."
"This gives me an idea." Ziggy took a small notebook from his pocket, sat down on the grass, and began scribbling. "Would you like to play chess tonight?" Ziggy didn't look up.
Frank knelt beside Ziggy. "Are you kidding? You were leading me to slaughter before our little accident last night."
"Yes, but I think you will find tonight's game fascinating." Ziggy scribbled on.
"What are you working on?" Frank leaned over to look at Ziggy's notebook.
"Excuse me, gentlemen," Lewis said loudly. "But would you mind paying a little more attention to the lecture."
"I'm taking notes," Ziggy lied, smiling at Frank.
Frank stood up. "Sorry," he mumbled.
They spent another fifteen minutes listening to Lewis before the group was dismissed to explore the stones.
Frank was eager to find Petra and Joe, but he didn't want to leave Ziggy, who still sat on the grass scribbling in his notebook. Also, Frank wanted to examine the stones himself. He would hate to have come all the way to England without getting a good look at one of the world's truly great mysteries.
***
An hour later they were all on the buses, headed to the city of Salisbury to eat lunch before returning to Oxford.
Frank explained to the others that Salisbury was famous for its many spires and the orderly way the city had been laid out in a grid. Although Salisbury had been designed hundreds of years before, the city still followed the same basic plan.
"Nice and orderly and logical," Frank concluded.
"There's that steel-trap mind again," Joe said with a laugh.
Frank frowned at his younger brother.
The students were allowed to eat at any one of the many pubs and sidewalk cafes, as long as they were back at the buses by one-thirty.
Frank, Joe, Ziggy, and Petra decided on a small cafe away from the main street. They scanned the menu.
"I wonder where Fitzhugh is going," Frank said.
Joe looked up. Fitzhugh was on the other side of the street, walking quickly. He disappeared inside a shop with its name hand-printed in white letters on the picture window: Stonehenge Antiques.
"I think I'll check out some of the local artifacts," Frank said to Joe. "Order for me."
Frank glanced both ways and then crossed the street. He didn't know what, but something about Fitzhugh bothered Frank.
Frank walked up to the old shop and pushed open the door, causing a bell to clang.
"May I help you?" asked a short, bald man from behind the counter. He had been leaning on the counter, reading a newspaper. His skin was wrinkled and mottled, and he looked to be in his seventies.
Frank glanced around the small shop, which was cluttered with rusted tools, old baby carriages, and stained tables. An assortment of stuffed animals hung on the wall.
"I'm with the students from Oxford," Frank explained. "I'm looking for Mr. Fitzhugh, our program director. He just came in here."
"I'm sorry," the old man said. "You are the only customer I've had in the past hour."
"I'm sure I saw him come in here," Frank insisted. "A tall, broad man with dark eyes."
The old man slowly shook his head. "No. As I was saying, you are the only living soul I've seen in an hour."
"Thank you," Frank said with a sigh, and left, the bell clanging again.
Frank spotted Joe across the street at the café. Joe nodded his head. Frank shrugged his shoulders, then pointed to an alley.
Frank walked into the alley, which ended at a brick wall. He knew Fitzhugh had gone into the shop and then disappeared into the back of the store, but why was the old man hiding that fact? Frank wanted to find a side door and perhaps sneak in.
He walked to the middle of the alley. There was an olive drab door on rusty hinges. Must be the one, Frank thought. He put his hand on the knob and turned. The door was locked.
"Look who we have here, Chris," came a voice from behind Frank.
Frank spun around. Howard Markham and Chris St. Armand stood at the head of the alley.
"We have ourselves an alley cat," St. Armand sneered.
"Hi, guys," Frank said calmly. Then to St. Armand he said, "Tear up any rooms lately, Chris? Or do I call you Agent St. Armand?"
"What?" St. Armand asked, puzzled.
Frank pulled the Zippo lighter from his pocket and held it up.
"Where'd you get that?" St. Armand spit the question out.
"On the floor where you left it," Frank replied.
"Give it back to him," Markham ordered.
"No," St. Armand said. "I want to take it away from him - after I tear him apart piece by piece."
St. Armand started down the alley, a dark scowl on his face.
Frank moved to the center of the alley and took a defensive karate stance. St. Armand was the same height and build as Frank. And although he was Network trained in fighting, Frank knew a few tricks, too.
St. Armand stopped five yards from Frank. He laughed. Then he reached over his back and inside his jacket collar. He drew out a short but shiny and deadly Japanese sword.
"Piece by piece," St. Armand hissed.
Frank backed up to the brick wall at the end of the alley. St. Armand approached slowly but with confidence.
"I understand you're good at fencing, Hardy," St. Armand said. "How are you with real swords?"
St. Armand swung the sword in a horizontal arc, the razor-sharp silver blade hissing through the air.
Frank jumped back and hit the wall. The blade came so close to Frank's face that he could feel a slight breeze from its edge. St. Armand followed through with his strike, swung the blade over his head and then down. Frank shifted to one side and crouched down. The blade hit the wall, sending sparks and small sharp shards of brick flying in all directions.
Frank lashed out with a kick to St. Armand's right kneecap. St. Armand's right knee bent to the side and then back, forcing St. Armand to back up.
St. Armand grunted.
Frank knew he hadn't broken the knee, but he could tell by the grimace on St. Armand's face that the blow had caused a good deal of pain.
Frank grabbed a crate and threw it. St. Armand slashed at the wooden crate, shattering it with his sword.
"You're next, Hardy," St. Armand fumed as he approached Frank.
"Hey! Chris!" Joe yelled from the head of the alley.
St. Armand spun. Markham lay on the ground, unconscious, Joe standing over him. Joe stepped over the older man and walked toward St. Armand.
St. Armand turned back to Frank, but Frank had already made his move. A solid right to St. Armand's left cheek knocked him to the ground. St. Armand tried to raise his sword, but Frank stepped on St. Armand's wrist.
Frank put his full weight on the wrist until St. Armand opened his hand and let the sword fall out. Frank grabbed the sword and pointed it at St. Armand.
"Stand up," Frank ordered.
"You okay?" Joe asked as he joined Frank.
"Yeah."
St. Armand stood, favoring his right leg.
"What brings you to this neck of the woods?" Frank asked.
"I'm looking for antiques," Joe said. "I saw you go into that shop, then come out and walk down this alley. Then these two came out of the shop and followed you. You set a nice trap."
"I didn't trap them. I didn't even know they were in the shop. The only one I saw was an old man sitting behind the counter."
"Lucky for you," Joe began, "that I'm a detective."
Frank smiled and shook his head.
"Now what?" Joe asked, looking at St. Armand and then at Markham, who was still unconscious.