Survival Run (9 page)

The heavy weight smashed into Joe, forcing him to his knees. But it was hardly the bone-crushing impact of a massive boulder, which was what he'd guessed the object to be. Instead, it was some kind of ropy net, with oddly shaped patches of grayish green fabric attached to it and small tree branches lashed to it here and there.

Joe crawled and clawed his way out from under the thing. When he looked at the net sprawled across the gully, covering the entire Jeep, he finally realized that it was camouflage netting, the kind the Assassins used to hide their helicopter. A shape rippled under the net, and Joe remembered that his brother was still under there. "Frank!" he called out, lifting a corner of the net. "Are you okay?"

"I'll live," Frank responded as he struggled free of the ropy web.

Harsh laughter echoed down into the gully.

Frank and Joe both raised their heads at the same time.

"You!" Joe yelled, pointing an accusing finger at the curly-haired terrorist standing on the rim of the steep gully.

"You will have to learn to be more alert if you want to become Assassins!" the man shouted down.

"And you'll have to learn to be a better driver if you want to make it as a cabbie!" Joe shot back. "Is this your way of getting even because we didn't tip you after you took us sightseeing at the bottom of the Potomac?"

The man laughed again. "Put some rocks on top of the netting to hold it down, and make sure the Jeep is completely covered."

"What if we don't?" Joe responded defiantly.

The Assassin waved a stubby submachine gun at them. "Then I will shoot you. If you cannot follow simple orders, you are useless to us."

Frank and Joe shared a brief glance. "Just shut up and do what the man says," Frank said in a low voice.

The Hardys quickly secured the camouflage netting with heavy rocks at each corner. Up close it looked like a net with some junk stuck on it draped over a Jeep. From a distance Joe knew it would melt into the background, taking on the appearance of a thousand other lumpy patches of brush.

"All right, that's good enough!" the curly haired man called down. "Now get up here!"

Frank and Joe scrambled up the side of the gully. At the top another spectacular view greeted them. Grass and moss and rocks sloped down into a small, bowl-shaped alpine valley. In the distance the brooding, snowcapped spires of the Brooks Range pierced the sky.

The curly-haired Assassin picked up a small backpack and slung it over one shoulder. The camouflage pattern on the backpack matched the swirls and blotches of white and gray on the man's pants and jacket. Frank had been too distracted by the view to take note of the terrorist's outfit before. But as soon as he did, he instantly knew what the stark colors meant. The Assassin was wearing winter camouflage, and in the high mountains it was winter all the time.

"Let's go," the man said. He turned and trudged down the gentle slope toward the pond.

"Where are we going?" Joe asked.

"Not far," the Assassin responded vaguely.

As they hiked down into the small valley and worked their way around the pond to a level, grassy area, Frank had a question for their cabbie. "Why did you go into the Potomac with us? You could have been killed."

"I was supposed to bail out before we went over, but I couldn't get my door open." The curly-haired man then dropped the backpack and sat down on a large, rounded rock.

"Are we taking a break already?" Joe asked doubtfully.

"We're waiting," the man answered.

"Waiting for what?" Joe prodded.

"You'll see," the man said.

Joe sighed. "You're real spellbinding in the art of conversation. Do you have a name?"

The Assassin smiled. "You can call me Bill."

"I'm starting to see a pattern emerge," Joe remarked. "Bob, Boris, Bill ... What if our names don't start with the letter B?"

The man shrugged. "Your old names are not important. You will be given new ones."

While Joe was trying to pump the terrorist for information, Frank sat scanning the sky.

He spotted the distant helicopter before he heard the rhythmic whup whup whup of its whirling rotor blades.

The chopper swooped into the valley and touched down on the grass. Bill ran over to the cargo door, yanked it open, and jumped in. Frank and Joe climbed in after him, and the chopper lifted off as the curly-haired terrorist slammed the cargo door shut.

"Where are we going?" Joe asked again.

"Into the mountains," Frank told him.

"How do you know that?" the familiar voice of Bob called out from the pilot's seat.

"Simple observation," Frank replied. "Winter camouflage means there's a lot of snow where we're going. The only place with snow within helicopter range is on the mountains."

The pilot nodded thoughtfully. "Very good. I like a man with a keen eye. You will make a good Assassin if you prove yourself worthy - as your friend has done."

Frank didn't like the sound of that. Joe's entrance exam to join the terrorist group had been to kill the Gray Man. The Hardys had managed to fake that one with the help of the intended victim and some jerry-rigged special effects. If the Assassins expected Frank to kill someone, too, he had severe doubts that he and Joe could pull off a similar stunt again and without help.

Frank started to shiver but not from fright. He was cold. The helicopter wasn't built for comfort. As it climbed higher into the mountains and the temperature dropped, the cargo bay turned into a refrigerator. He wouldn't complain, and he knew Joe wouldn't, either. They had to be tough if they wanted the Assassins to accept them, and Joe was an expert at playing tough.

Peering between the pilot's and copilot's seats, Frank looked at the view beyond the curved windshield. Bob was skirting the edge of a bulging glacier and threading the chopper through a narrow, snowy pass with huge slabs of bare rock thrusting up on both sides. Heavy winds buffeted the metal bird, and more than once Frank was sure it was going to careen into one of the towering walls of granite.

Beyond the pass were more craggy, snowcapped mountain peaks. Frank thought he saw wisps of smoke rising from one of the peaks, but it was probably just blowing snow, swirling in the crosswinds. As the helicopter neared the jagged mountain teeth, Frank spotted a ledge on one of the peaks. At the back of the ledge was a wide-mouthed cave.

The pilot steered the helicopter toward the ledge. Now Frank could see a few figures moving around in the front of the cave, and he knew this had to be their destination.

After a bumpy landing on the windswept mountain shelf, Frank and Joe helped lash down the helicopter's landing skids. They covered the bird with a large white camouflage tarp that they tied to steel stakes driven into the solid rock.

Frank's hands were numb by the time they finished. He and Joe followed the pilot into the cavern mouth, which turned out to be a shallow cave. A number of crates were stacked up on one side of the cave, and a jumble of camping gear was piled up next to them.

Three tunnels fed into the cave. The pilot led the Hardys down the left-hand tunnel. Like the Assassins' other hideout in the mine shaft, the tunnel was lit by bare electric bulbs strung from the ceiling and powered by portable generators. Unlike the mine, however, Frank couldn't always stand upright in the tunnel. There were a lot of places where they had to stoop down or hunch over.

Frank noted a few other important differences, too. First, there were no timbers shoring Up the tunnel. So it was a natural tunnel, not one dug by men and machines. Second, the sides were bumpy but not rough. In fact, the surface was as smooth as glass in some places. Third, the tunnel was definitely getting warmer as they moved farther down the passage.

Frank remembered the wisps of smoke he had seen from the helicopter. Not smoke, he corrected himself - steam.

"Lava tube," he said out loud as the answer hit him.

Joe glanced back over his shoulder at his brother. "What did you say?"

"Lava tube," Frank repeated. "This tunnel was created by hot lava flowing out of a volcano. We're inside an extinct volcano."

The pilot stopped and turned around. "Not quite extinct," he said.

Frank frowned. "I didn't know there were any active volcanoes this far north in the interior of Alaska."

A slight smile appeared on the Assassin's lips. "There weren't." He started walking again. "Watch your step," he cautioned. "The footing gets a little tricky up ahead."

The tunnel angled down sharply, and the pilot braced his hands against the walls as he worked his way down the steep passage. Frank and Joe followed his example. After a few twists and turns, the lava tube fed into a wide, deep cavern.

Frank couldn't tell how big or high it was because the only light came from inside two tents pitched on the floor of the cavern. In the dim orange glow that filtered through the thin nylon walls, Frank could see a large bearded man standing guard outside one of the tents.

Joe saw him, too. "Say, Bob," he said to the pilot. "Did you know that somebody left us a little present to go with the Jeep?"

"Present?" Bob echoed. "What are you talking about?"

Joe described the booby trap that had almost skewered him.

The pilot chuckled. "It's not a very reliable method, but it's one of Boris's favorites. He does not approve of my decision to recruit you.

"Boris is entitled to his opinion, of course," he continued with a smile. "But discipline must be maintained."

The pilot strolled over to Boris, said something Joe couldn't make out, and then, without warning, slammed his fist into the bearded terrorist's stomach. Boris doubled over. The pilot grabbed his hair, yanked his head back, and spoke a few more words in his cool, casual tone, never raising his voice and smiling his inhuman smile the whole time.

"Boris is deeply sorry for his irresponsible actions," the pilot told the Hardys. "I will 133

consider appropriate punishment when this mission is completed. Right now we all have important work to do."

"Does that include us?" Joe asked.

"Of course it does," Bob responded. He nodded toward the tent Boris had been guarding. "Dr. Stavrogin is in there. You are to guard him until I return. You can take turns on watch. The other tent has cots and sleeping bags."

"What about guns?" Joe ventured.

The pilot continued to smile. "I don't think you'll need them just yet. I'm sure the two of you are strong enough to handle Stavrogin until Krinski verifies his equations. Then we can dispose of the old man."

Frank stared at the pilot. "You mean, kill him?"

The Assassin met Frank's gaze with his cold, unblinking eyes. "Exactly. And you will be his executioner."

Frank had seen this coming. He'd known he would have to prove himself to the Assassins. These guys were killers. If you wanted to join the group, you had to be a killer, too. So telling him to kill Dr. Stavrogin would be a simple, logical test in the twisted minds of the terrorists.

Before the two Assassins, Bob and Boris, reached the lava tube that led out of the cave' Frank's brain was working overtime. From what Bob had said, Stavrogin might have already divulged the formula that the terrorists had been trying to pry out of him. But with luck the Hardys might be able to save the physicist and stop the Assassins before they could use the information to build a hydrogen bomb.

A plan was forming in Frank's mind.

As soon as Bob and Boris were out of sight, Frank turned to his brother. "We have to work fast," he said in an urgent whisper. "The first thing we have to do is find out what Stavrogin told the Assassins."

They went into the tent and found the physicist sleeping fitfully on a cot. Joe woke him gently and introduced him to Frank.

"We're going to get you out of here," Frank told Stavrogin.

"It's too late," the physicist said glumly. "They know everything now. Somehow, they found out that I have a sister in Russia, and they even know where she lives. When they discovered that the equations I had given them were worthless, they threatened to kill her if I didn't give them the real formula."

He shook his head wearily. "I was so tired. They didn't let me sleep for days." He looked up at the Hardys with great pain. "What have I done?"

"You did what you had to do," Frank said softly. "Do you know anything about somebody named Krinski?"