Diplomatic Deceit

by Franklin W. Dixon

  Chapter 14

  Joe turned to Nadine, standing beside him in the darkness of the closet. "Do you mean - " he began, but she clamped a trembling hand over his mouth.

  "Not so loud!" Her voice was a nervous hiss. "We don't want him to hear us."

  They stood in silence for a moment, until Paul's footsteps receded into the distance. "He's in the rear bedroom now," Nadine said.

  She eased the closet door open, peeking around it to check that the coast was clear. Silently, she beckoned Joe out of the closet. Then she shooed him out of the apartment.

  "You've got to get out of here," Nadine told Joe outside in the hallway. "This whole situation is getting too dangerous for you." She dug in her bag.

  "What are you doing?" Joe asked.

  "Looking for the key," she explained. "In about two seconds I'll walk into the apartment, all innocence. I warned La Béte's people that the police were coming and ran away. I haven't seen you since, don't know anything about you, and don't want to know anything more."

  Now it was Joe's turn to grab her arm. "And what about the people La Béte is holding? The real Berots?"

  "Look, I don't want them to die," Nadine said. "But if the others find out I've been talking to you, I'm the one who'll get killed. Understand?"

  "You hardly told me anything. What we've got to know is where the Berots are being kept." Joe's eyes bored into hers. "You said it yourself, Nadine. Stealing is one thing - killing is another. Are you going to let those people die?"

  "I-I'll try to find out." Nadine glanced around, getting more and more nervous. "You can't stay here. If Sylvie turns up and sees you, I'm dead. Get it?"

  She looked pleadingly at Joe's stubborn face. "How about this? I'll call you tonight - seven-thirty - with everything I've found out. Okay? But now you've got to go."

  She pushed at his chest, and Joe finally left. As the door swung shut, his last view of Nadine showed her leaning beside her door, sighing in relief.

  ***

  Joe sat by the phone that evening from seven-thirty until eight o'clock. Nadine never called.

  Callie was sitting on the couch of the Hardys' hotel room. Frank paced the floor, looking at his brother every once in a while. "Okay, Joe, spill it. Why did you make us sit around here and stare at the phone with you. What's going on?"

  "Time for a council of war," Joe finally said.

  As Joe was sharing his information, Frank suddenly got up from the couch. "Okay, so the guy that Berot - "

  "Paul," Joe corrected him.

  "Whoever. The big ugly guy has to be La Whoozis - La Béte." Frank smiled grimly. "At least we have a name for the guy who's been trying to kill us. The question is, what sort of heist is his partner going to pull off tomorrow night?"

  "I'm not sure what," Callie said abruptly, "but I think I know where it's going to go down. I followed Mrs. Berot, or Sylvie, to a costume shop today. Didn't one of those diplomatic brats mention a costume ball coming up this weekend?"

  "That's right - something in honor of the Lafayette sword."

  "Which Mr. Berot is supposed to be in charge of," Joe added.

  "You don't think - " Callie said. Joe shrugged. 'There's only one way to find out."

  ***

  The weather seemed a little cooler the next morning as Frank and Joe stepped into the chancery of the French embassy. The reception area of the office was a little disordered. A tall stack of gleaming white parchment envelopes leaned at a dangerous angle on the reception desk, where a young blond woman was slipping cards into them.

  "Hey, she's cute," Joe said to his brother, loud enough to make the girl look up from her work.

  Frank just took a deep breath. Was it hormones that made Joe act like an idiot sometimes? His younger brother was suddenly acting like the cool guy from situation comedies - the type who doesn't realize he's a real jerk.

  "Seems a shame that a pretty girl like you has to work so hard on a Saturday morning," Joe said, resting both hands on the desk to lean over her.

  The receptionist's green eyes inspected him for a moment as her hands continued to slip cards into envelopes, apparently working on autopilot. "These are last-minute invitations to a costume ball - "

  "Right, right," Joe said, still looking into her eyes. "Being held at the - the - " He snapped his fingers as if the answer were right on his tongue. "The headquarters of the Continental Order. We are displaying the Sword of Lafayette at their museum."

  "Sure - the Lafayette sword. Mr. Berot is in charge of that."

  The blond girl nodded. "He's a member of the Continental Order. His great-great-great-great-great-grandfather was a navy officer who helped in your revolution. As the eldest son in his family, he belongs to the Continental Order. It shows how long the friendship between France and America has lasted."

  "Of course," Joe said as if he were a member himself. "I guess this will be some party, huh? A chance to start all sorts of friendships."

  "The ambassador will present the sword in a private ceremony, and then, on with the party." The girl frowned as she ran out of envelopes, and opened the desk drawer for more. She also glanced at the desk clock. "You're early, you know," she said.

  Joe gave her a big smile and leaned closer. "Hey, I think I'm just in time. Tell me, have you got a date for this big hoedown?"

  As he watched his brother grin expectantly, Frank suppressed an urge to throw up. If Joe pulled this one off, Frank knew he'd be hearing about it for years to come.

  The girl behind the reception desk put her hand over her mouth. For a second Frank thought she was coughing. Then he caught the faintest sound of giggling. She was struggling not to laugh in Joe's face!

  "I - I'm sorry," the girl finally managed to say, her cute little nose wrinkling as she fought to keep a straight face. "But you see, we have a rule here - we're not allowed to date the help."

  Joe looked as if somebody had just socked him in the head with a hammer. "The - the help?" he stammered.

  The girl stopped laughing now. "You're the messengers, yes? Here to pick up and hand-deliver the last-minute invitations?"

  "Uh, no." Joe suddenly straightened up, mortified at being taken for a messenger boy. One arm knocked over the pile of envelopes stuffed with invitations.

  Oh, great, Frank thought, having a hard time holding back his laughter, too. I'll never be able to tell this story, because Joe will die of embarrassment.

  He held back, afraid to move as Joe scrambled to gather up the papers he'd knocked over. Joe picked some up, dropped them, then finally delivered a big, untidy bundle into the arms of the receptionist, who came around the desk to collect them.

  Frank bit his lip, afraid he'd laugh out loud.

  "No," the young woman said, looking into Joe's beet red face. "I guess you aren't a messenger."

  "Actually," Joe said, looking at Frank for help or support or anything, "we hoped to see, um, Monsieur Berot - "

  The young woman shook her head, checking a large appointment book on the desk. "I'm sorry, but I don't have an appointment listed for you. And on weekends - "

  Her hand went to a phone, but then Joe started shaking his head. "No, no, that's okay. I'll, uh, talk with him early next week."

  He slunk off toward the exit, with Frank trailing behind. As Joe opened the door, however, he stopped for a second, looking back. "Um, I hope you have a nice time at the party."

  The girl looked back with a totally straight face. "Thank you."

  Joe slouched out, with Frank in hot pursuit, shaking his head. "How could you make such a stupid spectacle - " he hissed.

  His words were drowned out as soon as the door closed - by Joe's laughter.

  Reaching into his jacket, Joe pulled out two gleaming white parchment envelopes.

  "The spectacle worked, big brother. We've got our invitations to what may be the theft of the century."

  Chapter 15

  "I feel like an idiot," Joe whispered. The cab he was riding in stopped short, and for about the fiftee
nth time that evening, he was jabbed in the ribs by his own sword.

  It was supposed to hang beside his hip from a sash. It completed the outfit of his Continental Army officer's uniform. But in the cramped confines of the cab, it turned into a dangerous item every time they hit a bump.

  Frank Hardy smoothed down the lace of his Virginia planter's outfit. "Calm down, Joe. You'll look fine when we get there."

  "Right," Callie added, struggling with her own costume. "At least you don't have to worry about these stupid hoops sending your skirt flying up whenever you sit down."

  "I'm just glad we get to wear masks," Joe complained. "Did you see the looks we were getting in the hotel?"

  "That's just because we got into a cab instead of a limousine," Callie said. "It looks like everybody who's anybody knows about this costume ball."

  "We should be glad we found costumes today," Frank said.

  "Right," said Joe as the cab stopped and he got jabbed again. "Glad."

  The cab left the expressway and began driving along the wandering roads that bounded Rock Creek Park.

  "This is a nice neighborhood," Callie said, looking out the window at tree-covered estates hiding mansions.

  "It ought to be," said Frank, who had spent the afternoon reading his guidebook. "The Vice President's house is around here - and so is the Russian Embassy."

  "How fascinating," Joe told his brother. "How about the place we're heading?"

  "It's an old mansion overlooking Rock Creek, which the last owner deeded to the Continental Order."

  "And what's this order?" Callie wanted to know.

  "It's sort of a veterans association, founded by the officers in the Continental Army," Frank said. "About two thousand four hundred men joined after the Revolutionary War. Membership passes down through each family to the oldest living son descended from the original officer."

  "What about the house?" Joe prompted.

  "There's a ballroom on the ground floor - that's where the party will take place," Frank went on. "The museum is on the second floor. It's full of paintings and memorabilia from the Revolution. That's where the sword will probably wind up." He looked at the other two. "You understand what our jobs are?"

  Joe nodded. "I'll keep an eye on the Berots and try to keep them from getting near the sword." He gave his brother a hard look. "I mean, we are assuming this guy is here to steal the sword."

  Frank shrugged. "It's something beyond price for a collector. And a mad collector is the only kind of person I can imagine paying the freight for the kind of operation we've stumbled onto."

  "Anyway, you guys will be trying to get ahold of Maddy - I mean, Nadine," Joe went on, looking at Frank and Callie. "I hope you have better luck than I did, finding out where the real Berots are."

  Callie smiled grimly. "Don't worry. After all she's pulled on me, I'll be happy to talk to her."

  The cab passed an old-fashioned graveyard, then pulled up to an iron gate. Security guards checked their invitations, then waved them in.

  Frank paid the fare and adjusted his mask. "Well, we're in."

  "I still feel stupid," Joe groused, setting his sash and his sword by his hip.

  "Better smarten up quick," Callie advised, "before we start tangling with these thieves."

  They stepped into the mansion and followed the sound of music to the ballroom. Spacious halls decorated with colonial flags and statues of Revolutionary War heroes led them into a vaulted room at least thirty feet high. A spectacular staircase led up to a musicians' gallery - that was where the music came from.

  The ballroom looked like the set from an elaborate historical movie. Hundreds of people were standing around in colonial garb. Men in silks and satins, wearing powdered wigs, talked and danced with women in lace gowns, elaborate hairdos, and glittering jewels.

  "We shouldn't feel stupid," Callie whispered, trying not to stare. "I think we should feel tacky."

  "Forget about that," Joe said, adjusting his mask as they started circulating through the crowd. "We've got to find the Berots."

  "There - by the entrance," Frank suddenly said.

  Three people had just come in - a tall, thin, hawk-faced man in a white uniform, a middle-aged woman in a dazzling gown, and a younger woman in a simple blue gown and a white-powdered wig with ringlets. All of them wore masks.

  "We didn't plan on recognizing them in costumes," Callie said. "But I think those are the people we want. Look at the widow's peak on the man."

  The woman scanned the growing crowd and rubbed her hands nervously.

  "That's her little gesture. I saw her do that all the time I was following her yesterday. They're definitely the phony Berots," Callie said. "Now let's see if we can talk to Nadine."

  Joe, Frank, and Callie started across the room, making their way around flouncing skirts and dress swords that stuck out at just the right height to trip them.

  The swirling crowd hid them until they were almost on top of the false Berots. Then, as luck would have it, the glittering mob parted - and Nadine saw them coming.

  Apparently, their costumes weren't as good as some of the others, because Nadine recognized them right away. Her face went pale as she turned to her supposed parents and excused herself. Then she dashed out the door.

  The Hardys and Callie reached the double doors that led to the ballroom and saw Nadine trying to get down the now crowded hallway. It wasn't easy in the wide gown she wore. She glanced desperately over her shoulder as they came closer, then scuttled down a short flight of stairs. She ran down another hall, made for a door, went through, and slammed it in their faces.

  Frank and Joe halted. " 'Ladies,' " Frank read. "We can't chase her in there."

  Callie's hands balled into fists. "I can."

  She burst through the door, giving the Hardys a momentary glimpse of a lavish pink and green interior. The door closed, and immediately after came some very unladylike shrieks - thankfully muffled by the thick walls. Then came a couple of loud thumps. Frank and Joe studied the ceiling, feeling very conspicuous.

  The door opened to reveal a somewhat bedraggled Nadine. Her powdered wig was slanted at a strange angle, and two of the ringlets now hung in her face. Callie sailed along behind her, with a satisfied smile on her face. "Here we are, back again," she said as if nothing had happened.

  "I was a little worried for you, Callie," Frank said, moving to make sure Nadine didn't try another run for it.

  Callie's smile got bigger. "Let's just say Nadine was the one you should have worried about."

  With her back to a marble wall and the three American kids surrounding her, Nadine wilted. "Okay, I found out what you wanted to know.

  The real Berots are being held in a bad part of town." She rattled off an address. "The theft is supposed to happen tonight, but I still don't know what's supposed to be stolen." She bit her lip. "It's getting scary, guys. I think La Béte was talking to Paul about getting rid of me afterward - one less to worry about in the getaway. The guy is crazy."

  Frank repeated the address to Nadine, who nodded. "Down in the southeast area. We'd better get going." He grabbed Nadine's hand and put it into Joe's. "You'll have to keep Nadine here - and keep an eye on the fake Mr. Berot," he said. "We're off on a rescue mission."

  "But first," Callie said with a grin, "a moment for fashion." She took hold of the wig on Nadine's head and twisted it so it sat the way it should. "Much better," she said. Then she and Frank hustled for the exit.

  They were lucky enough to hail a cab that was dropping off another couple. The driver gave them a surprised look when they gave him the address.

  "You want to go there - looking like that?" the man said, staring at their costumes.

  "We don't have a choice," Frank told the man. "It's a matter of life and death."

  Looking very doubtful, the driver set off.

  Frank-could understand the guy's doubts when they reached their destination. It was a large, dilapidated building that hadn't seen fresh paint or a clean-up cre
w in years.

  "Only warehouses around here," the driver said. "You sure you got the right address?"

  "I'm pretty sure," Frank said, looking around the deserted streets. "We're supposed to find some people here and bring them back to the party. Look, can I pay you something extra to ask you to stick around? I think it will be hard to get another cab in this neighborhood."

  "Hard?" the driver said. "Try impossible." He shook his head. "This isn't a place where I'd like to hangout."

  "Please?" Callie said. "What we're doing is very important - if it works out, we've got to get right back where we came from."

  "All right." The driver shrugged. "I'll wait a couple of minutes."

  Looking like ghosts from another era, Frank and Callie ran for the warehouse door. "Locked," Frank reported, looking at the rusted steel gate that blocked their entrance.

  "What a surprise in this neighborhood," Callie said. "So how do we get in?"

  Frank scanned the front of the building. "Wait a second. The gate on that loading dock isn't pulled down all the way."

  They climbed to the top of the dock and examined the door. "I think I can slip through under there," Frank said.

  "But there's no way I can fit under there," Callie said, shaking her huge skirt.

  "I'll go in and check the place out - if there's no guard, I'll open the door."

  Callie didn't look happy, but she didn't have a choice. "Okay," she finally said. "But be careful." She tried to smile at him. "Remember, we've got big deposits on these costumes."

  "I'll try not to get mine dirty." Frank gave her a quick kiss. Then he slid through the opening under the door, blinking in the darkness of the warehouse interior. Slowly, he could make out enormous rows of shelves with empty alleys between them. He also realized that there was a very faint light off in one corner of the warehouse.

  He was making his way to the source of the ghostly glow when he became aware of a sound behind him. Whipping around, he realized it was the sound of footsteps - heading away from him, back toward the loading bay door!