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Authors: Franklin W. Dixon

BOOK: The Arctic Patrol Mystery
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“We'll give Gummi a call. Maybe he can explain,” said Frank, and dialed their new friend's number. “Hey, what's all this crazy name business in Iceland?” he asked Gummi. “We can't find anybody by the name of Hallbjornsson under H.”
Gummi laughed loudly. “People are listed by their first names in the telephone book,” he said, and explained that the last name changed with every generation.
“Take me, for example,” he said. “My father's name is Bergs Anderson. That makes my last name Bergsson. If I have a son, he'd be called Gudmundurson, and my daughter Gudmundurdottir. It's a holdover from the ancient Scandinavians. We still use it here.”
“So we have to look under Rex, is that it?”
“Right. Good luck.”
The boys thumbed through the directory. No Rex was listed.
“It looks as if we'll have to scan each page in search of Hallbjornsson,” Joe said. “Rex might be a nickname.”
About a half hour later Frank said, “Look! Here's an Ingrid Hallbjornsdottir. Maybe she's his sister.”
They called Gummi again, who picked them up ten minutes later and drove them to the address. It turned out that the woman had no brothers and had never heard of Rex Hallbjornsson.
“Back to the phone book,” Joe grumbled.
“Tell you what,” Gummi said. “I'll help you look, and if we come up with any more leads, I'll call them from your hotel. This way we might save ourselves a few trips.”
“Great idea, Gummi,” Frank agreed. “You can question those people in Icelandic.”
The boys drove back to the hotel and divided the work by getting three telephone directories. Each boy checked a different section. When they finished they had found two more Hallbjornsdottirs and one Hallbjornsson. Gummi called him. The man knew nobody by the name of Rex. Calls to the two women proved to be equally futile.
Since it was getting late, the Hardys said good night to Gummi. “Would you take us to the airport tomorrow morning?” Frank asked. “We'll have to pick up a package arriving on the early flight.”
“Sure thing. I'll be here on time.”
Next morning after breakfast the boys went to the lobby. Gummi was just coming through the revolving door. “How's this package coming? By air express?” he asked.
Frank said he did not know. They would inquire after the plane had landed.
At the airport the boys went to the waiting room and watched the passengers stream in to claim their baggage.
Suddenly Joe grabbed Frank's arm and turned him toward the door. “Look who's here!”
“Can it be?” Chet blurted.
“Sure it is,” Frank said excitedly. “Hey, Biff Hooper!”
CHAPTER IV
Astronauts'Salute
GRINNING broadly, Biff Hooper greeted the Hardys and Chet, then handed Frank a little black box which he carried under his arm.
“Oh boy, am I glad to see this!” Frank said. “Thanks, Biff.”
“Your dad phoned me,” Biff said. “He didn't want to send it by air express.” Then he squared his broad shoulders. “Besides, he thought you might need me!”
“That sounds ominous,” Joe stated. “Does Dad think there'll be any trouble?”
“Couldn't say,” Biff replied, glancing about the airport building.
Frank beckoned to Gummi, who had been standing in the background. After introductions were made, Biff claimed his baggage and the five went out to the jeep. On the ride back to Reykjavik, Frank asked Biff if he had noticed anyone following him.
“No, I didn't see anybody.”
Back at the hotel, Biff moved into Chet's room. After he had freshened up, Gummi suggested lunch at the Hotel Borg. “It is in the center of town on the plaza,” he said, “and if you like seafood—”
“That's for me!” Chet said quickly.
“Okay, let's go.”
They were downtown in no time at all, and after Gummi parked the car, they entered the ground-floor restaurant, which looked old-fashioned by American standards. The waiters were young, no older than the Hardys, and they moved about with ease and aplomb. Gummi ordered a seafood tray and mentioned something else to the waiter in Icelandic.
“Yow, yow!”
the waiter replied, grinning.
“What's
yow, yow?”
Chet wanted to know.
“It means yes, yes, spelled
ja,”
Gummi told him.
“I knew I'd learn Icelandic
eventually—yow, yow, yow!”
“And don't forget, no is
nei.”
The waiter brought a small plate of yellowish dried fish, cut into small bits.
“It's
hardfisk,”
Gummi explained, “and a specialty of Iceland. You put butter on it and eat it like this.”
Chet put a piece in his mouth and started to chew. “Tastes like wood splinters,” he complained.
“Keep chewing,” Gummi advised.
“Hm! Now it tastes good—it melts in your mouth.”
When everyone had tried the
hardfisk,
the waiter arrived with a platter of ten different kinds of seafood; sild herring, small shrimps, caviar and other delicacies.
“Iceland is not a bad place for a detective case,” Joe remarked. Just then they heard the sound of horns. The boys looked out the window.
“I think the astronauts are driving by,” Gummi said.
Half rising from the seats of their booth, they looked out onto the street. A car came by, with two small American flags fluttering at the front fenders.
“They're our astronauts, all right,” Frank said. “I recognize them.”
Three men were riding in the back seat. The one in the middle held his head low, with his cap well down over his eyes.
“That one must be Major Kenneth McGeorge,” Frank said. “They're probably on their way back to Keflavik for their trip home, now that they know what the moon looks like.”
“Next trip for them the moon,” Joe said.
“I know they'll make it,” Gummi said. “They're great guys.”
Chet Morton, as usual, ate more than anyone else. When he had finished the last morsel of shrimp, Gummi Bergsson said, “In regard to your insurance case, I have a suggestion. You should see Anders Sigurdsson at the Foreign Office. Tell him your problem. He might be able to help.”
The Foreign Office was located on a small hill near the center of town. The two-story building looked like an oversized bungalow. Gummi waited outside with Chet and Biff while the Hardy boys entered. They were ushered to an office on the second floor, where a short, smiling, gray-haired man greeted them. The boys told him their problem.
“So you're looking for Rex Hallbjornsson,” the man mused. “I have never heard of him, but that's not unusual. I would suggest that you put an advertisement in our five daily newspapers.”
“Five newspapers in a city of seventy-five thousand?” Frank asked in amazement.
“That's right. Icelanders like to read. In fact, there is no illiteracy in our country. Also, these papers are sent to other towns on the island.”
“We'll follow your suggestion, Mr. Sigurdsson,” Frank said. “Thank you very much.”
“Not at all. Come back if I can be of more help.”
Frank and Joe left the building, stopping at the front door to survey the small city which lay before them. Traffic kept to the right side of the road, as in America, and the narrow streets were filled mostly with European-made autos.
Frank scanned the view from left to right, where the road led down to the waterfront. Suddenly he backed into the doorway. “Joe, duck!”
A German-made Taunus car drove slowly toward the front of the building. Its driver had long blond hair and a flowing mustache ! The man pulled to the side of the road and scanned Gummi's jeep.
“That's the fellow who had us paged at the airport!” Frank whispered.
“He must have found out what hotel we're staying at and is trailing us,” Joe said.
The man's eyes went up the long walk to the door of the Foreign Office, but he could not see the Hardys.
“Something's fishy,” Frank stated. “Maybe he has something to do with the guys who were trying to kidnap me.”
“Never can tell,” Joe replied. “We'd better be careful until we find out who he really is.”
As they watched, the Taunus moved off slowly, turned the corner into Austur Straeti, and disappeared.
The Hardys hurried to the jeep.
“Did you see that guy?” Joe asked Gummi.
“Sure did. Come on. We'll follow him.”
Traffic was heavy, and soon the Taunus was out of sight. “He might have driven down to the harbor area,” Gummi said. “Let's try that.” He made a few turns but could not pick up the man's traiL
“He gave us the shake,” Gummi said in American lingo. “Where do you want to go now?”
“I saw a newspaper office at the head of Austur Straeti,” Frank replied. “Let's go back. I want to place an ad in all the local newspapers.”
“Okay, I'll take you to each one of them. Hey, this detective stuff is great!”
It took the rest of the afternoon to place the ads in the five dailies. Frank kept it short.
Will Rex Hallbjornsson please contact the Hardy boys at the Saga Hotel and collect insurance money due him.
Gummi translated it into Icelandic.
“Do you think it's wise to mention money?” Biff Hooper asked.
Frank shrugged. “It might be the only way to get him to reply.”
“Sure, what have we got to lose?” Joe said.
On the way back to the hotel, Biff pointed to a cluster of huge tanks sitting on the hill in the center of Reykjavik. “What a place to put gas tanks!”
Gummi laughed. “Gas tanks? Those are filled with hot water.”
“What for?”
Gummi explained that the tanks were located over boiling springs of water, which surged up from the depths of the earth. “The hot water is stored and piped into every home in Reykjavik,” he said. “We don't have any heating problem here.”
“Quite a system!” Biff remarked.
“And you're always in hot water!” Chet quipped.
“Throw him out!” said Biff.
“Careful of me,” Chet replied, and banged his seat with a karate chop.
“What a clown!” Biff said, laughing.
Gummi had some chores to do for his father and left the Bayporters at the hotel. That evening after dinner the Hardys unlimbered their radio, because they expected a message from their father.
“Don't forget there's a four-hour difference in time,” Frank said. “I have a hunch Dad won't transmit until night, when the atmosphere is clear.”
The boys fiddled with the set, tuning in various stations. They were rewarded at midnight when they received a coded broadcast from Mr. Hardy. Frank quickly attached the decibel unit to the radio and started the conversation.
Mr. Hardy talked about the opening baseball game in the major leagues. “The Yankees scored three in the ninth to win their game,” he said. “With good pitching they should have a great season.”
It sounded casual enough. The boys had decided not to reveal their suspicions concerning the blond stranger. They would wait until they had some constructive evidence.
When Mr. Hardy signed off, Frank went to work on the decibel counter. The peaks, visibly recorded on the tape of the machine, were transposed into letters.
Then Joe took out the codebook. “Here, give me a pencil, Frank!”
Frank pulled one out of his pocket, and his brother began to decode the message word by word. At the end of the first sentence, Frank and Joe gasped in amazement. One of the U.S. astronauts missing! It couldn't be true. But there were the words:
Ken McGeorge has been lost in Iceland!
CHAPTER V
The Boiling Pit
THE news of Ken McGeorge's disappearance hit the boys like an avalanche. Their hearts beat wildly as they continued to decode Mr. Hardy's message:
Keep your eyes open for any clues to McGeorge. Chet and Biff must be sworn to complete secrecy. Space program at stake.
Mr. Hardy added that he had obtained clearance from Washington for his sons and their friends to help.
Chet had been standing with his mouth open. Now he blurted, “But—but—we just saw the three astronauts on their way to Keflavik!”
Frank snapped his fingers. “Remember the fellow in the middle? He had his hat pulled down low over his face. I'll bet he was a stand-in for McGeorge!”
“That's right,” said Joe. “Obviously the government doesn't want the news to leak out. It might jeopardize the whole
NASA
program.”
“What a mystery you got yourselves into this time!” Biff Hooper exclaimed.
“Now the pieces fall into place,” Frank said. “Dad must have been working on this case before we left. Remember, Joe, the mysterious call from the White House?”
“Right. And those two men who visited him in the middle of the night were probably government officials!” Joe briefly told Biff and Chet about the occurrences in the Hardy home.
“He went to Texas just before we flew to Iceland,” Frank concluded. “Probably checking out McGeorge's co-workers and friends.”
“If we're going to find the major in Iceland,” Joe said, “we'd better work fast. If he was kidnapped, they might force information from him.”
“Now we're all going to take a pledge of secrecy,” Frank said. He slapped his hand on the table. Chet came forward with his, then Joe, and finally Biff.
“Not a word to anybody, through thick and thin,” Frank said.

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