The Crowning Terror (11 page)

"You read computer and technical journals, Frank," his uncle replied. "I'm surprised you don't recognize the material."

"What could be so valuable that Starkey would go to all this trouble for it?" Frank snapped his fingers. "Of course. Fiber optics!"

"Fiber what?" Joe asked.

"They're used in communications, Joe," Hugh explained. "A vast improvement over wires and cables. This particular fiber is the next generation of fiber optics, one hundred times better than the batch in current use."

"So what's it doing in the shape of an Incan crown?" Frank asked. "No, let me guess. Starkey, or one of his agents, stole the fiber from the laboratory where it was being developed."

"Right," said his uncle Hugh. "And Espionage Resources was brought in to investigate, so he covered his own tracks. He's worked that way to steal American technology before. That's what tipped us off to him."

"Us?" Joe said. "I thought you were retired."

"I was," he said. "But I was asked back. They needed someone who knew the organization, someone whom Starkey wouldn't expect."

"So Starkey arranges the State Department-sponsored art exhibits through the Carlyle Museum," Frank continued. "He dummies up what he steals to look like artifacts or art, and gets things out of the country that way."

"As near as I can figure it," said his uncle, "the objects are then 'stolen' on tour by the people he's selling to."

"So everyone thinks that art is being stolen, not technology?" Joe asked as they approached Hugh's building.

Hugh nodded. "And low-grade art, at that. Low priority. No one's ever that interested in tracking it down. It's cheaper just to write it off."

"And the real art?"

"As near as I can figure, it ends up in Starkey's private collection." Hugh's voice tapered off, and his breath became uneven. Suddenly he pitched forward, nearly losing his footing. Frank caught him and kept him from falling. "Poison. Starting to eat through me. I'll be all right, though. Get me upstairs."

Quickly they carried him through the front door and into the elevator. When they reached the condominium, the Hardys stretched their uncle Hugh out on the living room sofa. After a few moments the color'began to flow back into his cheeks.

"We've got to find Starkey and force him to give you the antidote," Joe said, but his uncle raised a hand to silence him. He reached for a cordless phone on the coffee table in front of the couch.

Hugh pulled up the antenna and punched in the phone buttons. After a moment the phone clicked. "Starkey? I've got something you want, and you've got something I want. Let's meet." Starkey's voice was muffled, and neither Joe nor Frank could make out the words. "I know the place. See you on the Embarcadero in an hour."

Hugh pressed the antenna back into the handset and hung up the phone. "We've got a lot of work to do," he said. "I'm going to wire myself and try to tape Starkey admitting to everything. One of you will have to hold the recorder." His hands shook, but there was resolve in his eye. He went to his desk, opened it, and pulled out a small radio-microphone and some surgical tape. Pulling off his shirt, he fastened the mike to his chest.

"This is too dangerous," Frank said. "Starkey will take the crown and leave you to die. I can't go along with this plan."

Smiling, Hugh told Joe, "I guess that makes you my sound engineer." Hugh dug a small tape recorder from the drawer and handed it to Joe. "There are some keys in a jar on the bookshelves, Frank."

"I know. I found them before," Frank said. "What are they for?"

"A car in the garage around the corner," his uncle replied. His hands shook as he put his shirt back on. To Frank's surprise, the wire didn't show beneath the shirt. "Why don't you bring it around? Stall one fifty-three."

Frank glowered at him and said nothing. "Come on, Frank," Hugh pleaded in the same kidding way he had once nudged Frank to go fishing when Frank was a boy. "Play along with me."

Shaking his head doubtfully, Frank took the keys and left.

Hugh picked up the crown and slipped it into his pocket, then winced and grabbed at his side. Joe moved to help him stand, but his uncle waved him away and straightened himself.

"I don't think you can do this," Joe said.

"I've got to," he answered. All humor was gone from his voice by then. "My life depends on it."

Joe stared at him for a long time. Finally he pocketed the recorder. "Then we'd better get going." Hugh clapped him on the back in appreciation, and together they went to the elevator.

"Well, well," called a mocking voice behind them as they stepped onto the street. "Fancy meeting you here."

Starkey was leaning against the limousine, his elbows propped casually behind him on the roof. Inside the limo sat Oleg, Feodor, and Mickey. All of them held guns, and all the guns were aimed at Joe and Hugh.

"How did you — ?" Hugh stammered in surprise. "I just called you at your office."

"You've never heard of a car phone?" Starkey said. "I've been sitting around the corner since the robbery, waiting for your call." Suddenly his eyes grew dark. "I've always been one step ahead of you, Hunt. And now it looks like you're all out of steps."

He moved over to Hunt and patted him down. When his hand hit the mike, his face grew dark, and he tore open Hugh's shirt and ripped the microphone from his chest. It fell to the pavement, and he ground it under his heel.

"Enough tricks. Where's the crown?" he demanded.

Somberly, Hugh pulled the crown from his pocket and handed it to Starkey.

"Where's your brother?" Starkey asked Joe.

Joe shook his head. "I don't know."

"It doesn't matter. We'll deal with him later," Starkey said. He opened the limo door. "In."

As he and his uncle climbed into the limousine, Joe glanced down the street, looking for Frank and the other car. If he sees us, Joe thought, we've still got a chance.

"Don't even think it," Starkey said, noticing the hope on Joe's face. "Your chances are all used up."

He slammed the door. Then clenching his hand around the crown and grinning triumphantly, he got into the front seat, and the limousine drove off.

The Embarcadero stretched along the waterfront of San Francisco, from Fisherman's Wharf to the Oakland Bay Bridge. It was a neighborhood filled with docks and warehouses. A particularly seedy warehouse was the limousine's destination. Two men appeared from the shadows to slam the warehouse doors shut after the limo was safely inside.

Mickey got out of the car, opened the back door, and escorted Joe and Hugh Hunt out. To Joe, the warehouse looked immense, although he did know the shadows of the crates made it appear larger than it was.

"The Carlyle Museum's warehouse," Hugh said with a note of grudging admiration. "I figured you'd be using it, too."

"You've been out of the business quite a while, Hunt. How is it you know so much about my operation?" Starkey asked as he, too, stepped out of the limousine. Feodor and Oleg followed him.

"You mean you don't know?" Joe blurted out in amazement.

Starkey's eyes narrowed. "Know what?"

Joe wanted to kick himself, but he saw he had snagged Starkey's curiosity, and he could use that to keep himself and his uncle alive, at least for a few more minutes. "Nothing," he said. "What I want to know is why you picked on my uncle."

"I had my reasons," Starkey said, smirking. "Now that you're not wired, I suppose there's no reason to keep it from you. I picked him because he's Hugh Hunt."

"That's not much of a reason," Joe said, all at once wondering why Starkey hadn't bothered to tie them up. But then, scanning the warehouse, the reason was obvious. He counted ten armed men in addition to Starkey, Mickey, and the two fake Russians.

"You've never had to live with it!" Starkey angrily exploded. "The man's a living legend in espionage. His shadow hung over us the whole time I was in training and in the field. 'This is how Hugh Hunt would have handled it,' they'd say. 'That's how Hugh Hunt would have handled that.' Well, look at him now. I've handled you, Hunt, I've killed your reputation and I'll take your life, and I'll finally wipe out your shadow for good."

"Jealousy," Hunt said in an unconcerned voice that made Starkey's eyes flare with rage. "You had a good little scam going here, Starkey. All you had to do was get that crown out of the country, and no one would have been the wiser. Why risk such a cozy setup just to get me?"

"You? You're nothing," Starkey replied. "I did it to save me. Espionage Resources is being investigated. I couldn't afford to get caught with the crown, and it wasn't time to get it out of the country."

"So you disguised your cronies," Hugh said, pointing at Feodor and Oleg, "as Russians, and made it look as if I'm working for them. I steal the crown, you catch me, and you kill me for resisting, right?"

Slowly Starkey nodded.

"Then you get the fiber optic wire back, you're a big hero because you smashed a smuggling ring, and I'm a clay hero who turned rotten."

"That's how it would have gone down, if it hadn't been for him and his brother," Starkey said, glaring at Joe. "But I can still pull it off. I've got tapes of your little friends linking you with the Russians."

"But there aren't any Russians!" Joe objected.

"There are people in Washington who think there are Russians everywhere," said Starkey.

"But it still won't work," Hugh said. "What about your clients? They might get a little cross about not getting their merchandise."

"The crown can be lost during the arrest," Starkey said with a shrug. "Your body will be enough to take the heat off me. I'll just lie low for a while, and then it can be business as usual."

"Except for one thing," said Hunt. "I still have some friends in the espionage community, and they're on to you. They hired a special investigator." He sat casually on a crate. "Know who they sent to get the goods on you, Starkey?"

"Do tell," Starkey said. His eyes were twinkling because he thought Hugh was bluffing. "Who?"

"Me."

Starkey's eyes widened slowly, filled with despair. His lips opened and closed, but only a soft moan came out.

Joe peered into the shadows. Now his uncle had angered Starkey too much. The government agent had no reason now to keep them alive. Somewhere, he knew, there must be a way out. But everywhere he looked, armed figures loomed in the darkness, on the floor and even on the catwalks.

He blinked. At the back of the warehouse, one of the figures suddenly fell over. When the figure stood up, it was shorter and thinner than before. Slowly it grew larger, and Joe realized it was moving toward the front of the warehouse. But then he got distracted.

Starkey started screaming obscenities at the top of his voice. Mickey stared at his boss with horror. Starkey screamed until his throat would take no more. Then he just stood still, shaking, his face red with rage. "Mr. Starkey!" Mickey cried. "What does it matter?"

"It's no good," Starkey said as if he were explaining something to an idiot. "They sent him, don't you see? If we kill him, they'll swarm all over us. They won't buy a frame, not for a minute." Rubbing his forefinger back and forth across his mouth, he began pacing.

Joe watched the shadowy figure glide through the darkness, approaching another of Starkey's guards. Somewhere in the distance, he heard a buzzing, but paid no attention to it.

"I've got nothing to lose now," Starkey said, stopping in front of Hunt, whose breathing had become extremely labored. "They'll come after me sooner or later. But in the meantime, I'm going to have the pleasure of watching you die."

Hugh coughed. "It's going to be a long wait. I'm not due until tomorrow night."

Starkey roared with laughter. "I've been one step ahead of you all through this game. I knew you'd steal the crown ahead of time, so I had my men tell you the poison worked in about three days."

He smiled grimly. "It really works in a little more than two. You've got approximately a half hour."

"No!" Joe cried. He lunged at Starkey. A pistol butt cracked down on his skull, and he fell and rolled. He lay on the warehouse floor, staring up the barrel of Feodor's gun. The buzz grew into a dull rumble.

Starkey fished a small vial from his coat and held it up to the light bulb that dangled from the rafters. "You want this, Hunt? It's the antidote. I want you to die knowing your cure was six feet away, and you couldn't get to it."

Hugh staggered off the crate and swung at Starkey, who easily backed away. The older man sank weakly to his knees, and his hands dragged on the floor.

Taunting him, Starkey dangled the antidote. "You'll never taste it," he said. "Never."

"Yes, he will," said a voice from the back of the warehouse. Frank Hardy stepped out of the darkness, and, with the click of a safety being switched off, lowered an automatic rifle at Starkey.

"You really are sloppy, Starkey," Frank said. "A child could have followed your car. You should drive something nondescript."

"Maybe I wanted you to follow me," Starkey said. "I knew you were out there somewhere, and now I have all the 'loose ends' together."

Frank smiled. "But I have the gun."

"Ah," said Starkey. "But I've got you outnumbered." Frank flicked his eyes from side to side. A dozen guns were aimed at him. Starkey raised a hand and pressed his thumb and middle finger together. "All I have to do is snap my fingers, and you're history. I'll give you to the count of three."

Frank stared at him and didn't lower the gun.

"One," Starkey said.

Frank said nothing. The rumble sounded like thunder now.

"Two."

Why doesn't he drop it? Joe wondered. He knows there's no chance. But his brother stood firm. The rumble became a roar.

"Three!" Starkey shouted, and fingers throughout the warehouse tightened on triggers.

A dozen motorcycles crashed through the warehouse doors. The black-leather-clad riders 'were Chinese.

It was Charity's gang, led by Tony.

Joe kicked his foot out, catching Feodor in the ankle. As Starkey's man cried out in pain, Joe's hand shot to his wrist, catching it and tugging Feodor forward. Feodor dropped as Joe's fist hammered into his jaw. He collapsed in a lump.