The Lazarus Plot (3 page)

Two men dressed in black slacks, black sweat shirts, and black athletic shoes stepped forward.

They carried military assault rifles poised and ready. Frank and Joe raised their hands.

"I am glad to see you are being cooperative," said the voice. "Hugo and Fritz have nervous trigger fingers. Now we must have a quick examination of your persons. Hugo, frisk them."

While Fritz trained his rifle on the Hardy boys, Hugo took their hunting knives from their sheaths, then gave them a swift but professionally thorough going-over, from their ankles to their shoulders.

"Good, you are clean," said the voice. "Take them inside.” Hugo swung open the door, and prodded by Fritz's assault rifle, the Hardy boys went inside. From behind them the voice said, "Please do not turn around to look at me, unless you want a rifle barrel smashed into your face. Instead take a look around you. This building is unique. It was originally built ninety years ago by an eccentric millionaire, who later went bankrupt. It was converted into a mental clinic sixty years later by an even more eccentric psychologist, who went bankrupt in turn. It is now perfect for my organization to use. Not only did we buy it dirt cheap, but we are assured of privacy here. Our work demands a great deal of privacy."

"Pretty sloppy of you to leave your front gate unlocked then," said Frank. He got the answer he half-expected.

"It was no accident that the gate was unlocked-for you," said the voice. "Rest assured, it is locked now."

"So we walked into a trap," said Frank. "And Iola was the bait."

"I was told you were an intelligent young man," the voice said.

"So it was Iola!" Joe exclaimed. "She is here! Tell me where she - " Forgetting himself, he wheeled around to question his captor.

He didn't get to finish his question-or see who was doing the talking. All he saw was Fritz's rifle barrel slashing toward his face, while in "the background, a figure darted out of sight behind a high-backed chair.

At the same time, the lightning reflexes that made Joe an ace athlete went 'into action. Before the rifle barrel could touch his face, he grabbed it and pulled it, letting Fritz set himself off balance by his own forward momentum. Then he viciously shoved it away, sending Fritz sprawling" backward into Hugo's rifle.

"Run for it!" Joe shouted to Frank while he himself dashed through a nearby doorway and down a corridor. Behind him he heard shouts and running footsteps.

At the end of the corridor was a winding stair way. Joe went up it three steps at a time. On the second floor; he raced down another corridor, rounded a sharp turn, and found himself facing a closed door. The door was metal, in sharp contrast to the old wood of the house and the faded floral carpeting on the floor.

Joe heard the-footsteps of his pursuers. He hesitated for just a moment before grabbing the door knob and giving it a turn.

The door opened easily. Joe stepped inside and felt his knees go weak. Stunned, he could only gasp, "Iola."

She was sitting in a chair facing him, looking exactly the way she did when Joe had last seen her-her face, her hair, even the clothes she was wearing. But now there were electrodes fastened to both sides of her head. Leather straps bound her wrists to the arms of the chair. And her eyes stared blankly at Joe.

Iola wasn't alone. Four men were in the room. There were a distinguished-looking elderly man with a thick white crew cut and a livid scar across his pale forehead; a short, stout, middle-aged Oriental; a tall, thin youth in his twenties with a freckled face and horn-rimmed glasses; and a massively built man with a shaved skull. All wore white lab coats and the same startled expression as Joe barged in.

Joe, though, had eyes only for Iola. "What are you doing to her?" he cried. He clenched his hands into fists and moved forward menacingly. "Take those electrodes off her head! Get those straps off her wrists!" He didn't know what he was going to do if they refused-and he never got to find out. Too late he heard a sound behind him. Before he could turn, an arm snaked around his neck.

Then he felt a jabbing pain in his arm.

A needle was all he managed to think before the room and Iola's face blurred as Joe slid down the chute to oblivion.

Oblivion, Joe decided, was like a sleep without dreams. There was no way of telling how long he was out. It might have been a minute or a day later that he opened his eyes and saw Frank's face looking down at him with concern.

"I was hoping you had gotten away," said Frank. "No luck, huh?"

"I was hoping you'd made it, too," said Joe, putting his hand to his forehead, which was aching from the aftereffect of whatever drug had knocked him out. Then he said, "Ouch!" It wasn't his forehead that had pained him, though. It was his thumb. Only then did he notice' that his thumb was wrapped in a thick bandage.

The next thing he noticed was that Frank's thumb was bandaged in the same way.

"Our thumbs," Joe said. "What happened to them?"

"I've been wondering the same thing ever since I came to after they drugged me," said Frank. "All I know is how much it hurts-too much to risk taking the bandage off."

"Cautious as usual, but I guess you're right," said Joe. "Anyway, we've got more important questions to answer. Like where are we, and how do we get out of here? I can't even tell what time of day it is. They took my watch away, along with clothes. The sweatshirt and pants they put on me are two sizes too big. You're lucky. At least they left you with your clothes."

"They left me with my watch, too," said Frank, glancing at it. "It's ten P. M. We were knocked out for a whole day."

"Unless they fooled around with your watch to confuse us," said Joe. "In this room, there's no telling." His eyes traveled around the blank white walls of the windowless room. The only opening was a viewing window of unbreakable plastic in the metal door.

"Good thinking. We have to watch out for dirty tricks," said Frank, nodding. He looked around the room. "I can't see any way out of here. This must have been a high security cell for disturbed patients when this place was an asylum." "We'll have to wait until they take us out of here, and then make a break for it," said Joe. "One of us has to make it. It isn't only for our sakes. Iola is here. I saw her, right before they caught up with me."

Frank leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "That can only mean one thing. The Assassins are involved in this. They're the only ones who could have gotten their hands on Iola right before the car blew up."

"So you're finally convinced she's alive?" asked Joe.

"I can't deny the evidence," said Frank. "They must have yanked her away from the car door a split second after she opened it and a split second before that device triggered the bomb."

"It's like I told you-I never actually saw Iola get in the car," Joe said eagerly. Then he paused. "But why would the Assassins want to kidnap her?"

"Who knows what plans they have?" asked Frank. "The only thing we can be sure of is that they're still operating all over the world. Exposing one of their plots and nailing a few of their killers was like chopping one tentacle off an octopus." He set his face in determination. "We have to get out of here. We have to alert the Network."

"But first we have to rescue Iola," said Joe, a touch of anger in his voice. It was just like Frank to think of the Network first and Iola second. Frank had his dogged sense of duty to the Network-even though that top secret government agency and its contact agent, the Gray Man, had made it clear that they'd rather do without' the Hardys, if only the Hardys hadn't proved so valuable.

Joe was slightly mollified when Frank said reassuringly, "Of course we'll get Iola out of here. I'm not some kind of monster. But we have to make contact with the Network fast. We have to warn them about what's going on out here in the middle of nowhere."

"I guess you're right," said Joe reluctantly. "As long as Iola gets number-one priority." "Of course I'm right," replied Frank, and saw Joe's reaction to his smug tone, he again added, "And of course Iola comes first. But we can't just go with our emotions. We have to make plans to cover all possibilities. Like what if just One of us makes it out of here? What does he do then?"

"He has to waste a lot of time getting back to Bayport," said Joe. "That's the only place we can contact the Network from."

"We may not have that much time, if we don't want the Assassins to skip out of this crazy house," said Frank. "We have to figure out a way to-contact the Network from here."

"Look, you were the one who insisted we take a total break from crime fighting," said Joe. You decided to leave our connection with the Network at home. Without that modem the Network gave us, we're totally cut off from them."

"It was dumb of me, I admit," said Frank. "But look, give me a rundown of how you'll make contact with them. Not that I don't trust you. But I want to make sure you'll do it exactly right if I'm not around. The Network won't tolerate the smallest error. They're really strict about total security."

Joe nodded. That made sense. Frank was the one who handled the computer hook-up that connected them to the Network's central Washington office. But Frank had taught him how it worked in case of emergencies like this one. Joe went over the procedure in his mind, opened his mouth, and then closed it.

"What's the matter? Your mind go blank?" Frank said. "Take a couple of minutes. See if you can remember it without my helping you."

"It's not that. I can remember it perfectly," said Joe. "But there's a good chance this place is bugged. That drug must have messed up your head. You're usually the one who thinks of things like that."

"Of course I did. I checked the place out," said Frank impatiently. "What do you think I am? An idiot? Let's not waste any more time. They might be coming for us at any minute. Just tell me the procedure so I can feel secure."

Joe looked at his brother more closely. Frank actually looked angry. The drug must still have been affecting him, or else his nerves were shot Joe felt funny, being the cool, levelheaded one, instead of Frank. But if Frank wouldn't admit that there was no way to detect really sophisticated eavesdropping equipment, then Joe would have to be the one on guard.

"No dice," he said. "The Gray Man told us never to risk revealing the contact code. You know that as well as I do."

To Joe's amazement, Frank's eyes glowed with fury. Then he relaxed, and shrugged. "Okay, if that's the way you want it. Conversation over."

"Glad you've come to your - " Joe began. Suddenly the door swung open. Fritz and Hugo were there with their guns.

"Let's go," said Fritz.

Joe kept a sharp eye out for any chance to jump them, but they were too alert and professional. As they marched the Hardys down the corridor, they kept a perfect distance from Joe and Frank-too far away to be attacked, but not far enough away for the boys to escape.

"I wonder what's waiting for us" Joe said to Frank as they walked along.

"I have a strong hunch that they have a big surprise in store," replied Frank.

There was an odd mocking tone in Frank's voice, but Joe didn't have time to wonder about it.

"In there," said Hugo from behind them as they came to an empty door. As they entered, Frank said in the same strange tone, "Hi, Joe."

"Hi, Frank," answered the young man waiting inside.

Joe looked into the face of that young man and suddenly wondered if he had really come out of his drugged trance, or if maybe he was as crazy as the inmates at the Lazarus Clinic used to be. The young man he was staring at was himself!

FOR A SECOND, all Joe could see was his own face staring into his, as if he were looking into some kind of crazy mirror. Then he saw more.

He saw that the double facing him was wearing Joe's own clothes-which must have been why Joe was wearing the gray sweatshirt and pants.

He saw that his brother Frank, the real Frank, was not standing beside him, but was strapped in a chair in the center of the room. Frank was wearing gray sweat clothes, too, while his own clothes were on whomever it was who was posing as Frank. Joe didn't try to figure out what it all meant. Instead he shot out a right cross aimed at the chin of the double facing him.

But the double reacted just as fast, blocking the punch with his left arm and lashing out with a right hook.

Joe knew it was coming. He slipped it by pulling his head back sharply and dived at his opponent. He missed and hit the floor with a jarring crash.

His double leapt on him but did not make contact. Joe rolled out of the way in the nick of time.

The two of them lay sprawled' side by side on the floor. Then, at the same time, they jumped to their feet and stood facing off, panting and looking futilely for an opening in each other's defenses.

"That's enough," said a voice over a hidden speaker system. It was the voice of the unseen man who had directed the Hardy boys' capture.

A voice without accent or inflection. A voice that could have been produced by a computer or by somebody who wanted to give no clue to his identity.

"The experiment is over," the voice continued. "You two could keep fighting for an hour without either of you gaining an advantage. Joe Hardy! Number two is a success, a perfect replica of Joe Hardy number one, right down to the last reflex. Okay, men, take care of Joe One, before he exhausts himself trying to knock himself out."

Fritz and Hugo, who had been watching the fight with big grins, stepped forward and grabbed Joe by both arms. They shoved him into a chair next to Frank I. Frank II, grinning as well, used the straps on the chair arms and legs to tie Joe in.

Careful not to let his movements show, Joe flexed his muscles to test the straps. They held tight-no chance of a breakout. At the same time, he glanced around the room, and caught sight of the lenses of TV cameras in openings in all four walls, near the ceiling. Doubtless the cameras showed everything that was happening in the room to whoever was in command.

The voice came over the speaker again. Frank and Joe, listening closely, could detect a note of very human triumph in the mechanical tone.