Disaster for Hire

by Franklin W. Dixon

  "It is a frightening thing that we are dealing with, but I feel lucky to have such strong, brave men to help us. Have you been involved in such matters before?"

  Chet shifted his feet, looked at Frank and then away, and mumbled, "Not real often — not at all, hardly. Well, maybe a little."

  Frank put a hand on Chet's shoulder. "Alma," Frank told her gravely, "you're looking at a real hero. Why, he saved my life once already this trip, and two days ago, I saw him take a knife away from a vicious criminal."

  Alma's eyes gleamed. "I knew it," she whispered. "A tiger."

  "Come on, Frank," Chet muttered, squirming in his chair. "Cut it out, will you?"

  "Alma!" Aleko rumbled, giving her a dark scowl. "Enough of this foolishness! This is not the time or place."

  There was a quiet tap on the door, and Kaliotis stepped inside. "We must leave at once. I have taken the necessary steps," he said. "Now we'll go to where the group is preparing to leave, but we must hurry. On the way, I will tell you what has been learned about Peter's present whereabouts. Hurry!"

  The group followed him outside and piled into an elderly Volvo.

  Kaliotis headed away from the newer, central district of Salonika and toward the waterfront. The areas they went through became shabbier and shabbier.

  "Where are we headed?" asked Frank.

  "It is what is called a 'safe house,' " said Kaliotis. "There we are gathering those who will go to help your brother, and there we will make our plans to rescue Peter Stamos. We will be there soon."

  Shortly afterward they pulled up in front of a seedy, run-down building with metal shutters covering its windows. The stucco walls had faded until it was impossible to tell what color they had been.

  "This is it?" Chet looked doubtful.

  "This is it," answered Kaliotis. "You don't want a safe house to call attention to itself, do you? This place blends with its neighbors."

  "That doesn't say much for the neighborhood," noted Chet as he and Frank left the car. With Kaliotis in the lead, they entered a dim hallway. Kaliotis opened a narrow door and stood back, gesturing them in.

  "Be careful going down the stairs," he cautioned. "They are steep and the light is poor."

  Frank led the way down the flight of creaky steps and into a cellar lit only by a couple of low-wattage bulbs in wall sockets. They found a number of men cleaning and loading pistols and automatic weapons.

  "Looks like you've got a real task force here," Frank observed to Kaliotis.

  Then his eyes fell on what seemed to be a bundle of clothes piled on the floor against a wall. As his eyes got used to the lack of light, Frank realized with a jolt that he was staring at the bound and gagged body of Peter Stamos.

  Frank spun around to discover that most of the guns in the room were now aimed at him and his friends. Kaliotis had led them directly into the hands of the opposition!

  Chapter 10

  PRYNNE, JOE, PHIL, Clea, and Andreas stared unhappily at the ruined ATV. Joe slammed down the hood. "We need new wheels," he said.

  Prynne took off his glasses and wiped them with a handkerchief. "There's a very nice Mercedes just around the corner," he said.

  Phil shook his head. "There'll be guards— and I'll bet they won't be ready to lend it to us."

  "Then I guess we'll have to persuade them. Got any ideas?" Joe turned to Prynne.

  The agent shook his head. "The problem is getting close enough without getting shot."

  Joe took Prynne's arm, leading him back to where their four prisoners lay tied. Joe pointed to one of them. "He looks just about my size. With his clothes and that knit cap of his to cover my hair, I could pass for him."

  "Maybe at a distance," Prynne said dubiously, looking at the prisoner's stubbly face.

  "We could all walk around the curve with me holding you at gunpoint as captives," Joe went on. "We'd get as close as possible to the Mercedes, then all we'd need was some sort of distraction to let us rush the guards."

  Joe smiled. "Phil could make a very loud distraction with the explosives in the ATV. Let me try this guy's outfit on for size."

  When Prynne and Joe walked back to the others, Joe was wearing a pair of baggy khaki pants, a grimy black sweatshirt, and a black knit cap. "Well, what do you think?" he asked. "As a fashion statement," said Phil, "it's the pits. Is there a point to this?"

  Joe swiftly outlined his strategy, then turned to Phil. "We need an explosion—something with a lot of noise and smoke but no damage. It should go off forty-five seconds from the time we start walking toward the Mercedes."

  Phil examined the area, marking a spot with his toe. "About here, you'd get lots of echo, and it'd be harmless." "Excellent," Prynne said. "You stay here with one of the AK-forty-sevens. When your explosion goes, fire a few short bursts, just to add to the noise and general confusion. After that, act at your own discretion. Understood?"

  Phil nodded and went to work.

  "You know," Joe said, "it would be a good idea if I knew a few words in their language."

  "Serbo-Croatian." Prynne nodded. "Let's see, I'll teach you. 'It's all right, these are prisoners,' and 'Help! Come quickly!' That'll be enough for our purposes."

  While Prynne was drilling the phrases into Joe, Clea came up with a handful of mud, which she smeared over Joe's cheeks, jaws, and chin.

  "It will look like the face of an unshaven man, from perhaps thirty yards," she said.

  Joe shrugged. "If we get that close and Phil's bomb hasn't gone off, we're in trouble anyway."

  "It's ready." Phil picked up his AK-47.

  "Right." Prynne started out of the cleft. "Phil, we'll be expecting your explosion forty-five seconds from when we go around the turn."

  "You got it," Phil answered. "Good luck, guys."

  A moment later, Prynne, Clea, and Andreas appeared around the curve, their hands clasped behind their heads. Joe came just behind, carrying an AK-47 and muttering his two Serbo-Croatian phrases under his breath. The Mercedes stood about one hundred and fifty yards away, with two men guarding it.

  "Slow down," hissed Prynne. "We don't want to get too close too soon."

  The guards had by now caught sight of them. One yelled something.

  "Don't answer yet," whispered Prynne. "Make a show of not being able to hear him."

  On they trudged, and the guard called out once more and brought his gun up to his shoulder.

  Joe waved one arm over his head and shouted out what he hoped would pass for assurance that everything was all right. The guard lowered his gun and called out something else.

  "What's he saying now?" whispered Joe.

  "He wants to know where the others are. Try the first phrase again."

  Joe repeated the first line as they moved steadily closer.

  Fifty yards. The guard shouted out more sharply, and both men now trained their AK-47s on the approaching group.

  Forty yards. Suddenly the roar of an explosion filled the air, followed by the rattle of an automatic weapon.

  Joe spun around, yelling to the alarmed guards. He kept his face turned away and fired a couple of short bursts in the general direction of the blast. The three "prisoners" moved aside.

  The two guards came running up. Joe let the first go past, then tackled the second man. He caught him at knee level from behind, cutting him down and sending the man's AK-47 skittering away.

  The other guard turned back, his gun wavering as he tried to find a shot that wouldn't hit his comrade. Before the guard had a clear shot, Prynne rushed in to knock the gun aside. The man pulled free but Prynne drove a shoulder into him, sending both of them sprawling into a gully.

  Meanwhile Joe tried to pin his man, but the gunman kicked out, sending Joe flying. After a bone-jarring landing, Joe struggled to rise. He turned to see that the guard was scrambling for his fallen AK-47. With a desperate lunge, Joe caught the man's foot, and Clea darted in to snatch up the weapon.

  The man now tried to kick loose and grab for Clea, but Andreas jumped
in, kicking him hard as he could in the stomach. The guy sagged to the ground, while Joe took the AK-47 from Clea and covered him.

  "Where is Mr. Prynne?" Clea asked, "and that other man?"

  "I was hoping someone would ask," came Prynne's voice from alongside the road. They peered into the ditch. There lay the gunman. On top of him sat Prynne, holding a gun.

  "Way to go, Mr. Prynne!" Joe exclaimed, as Phil came running up.

  "How are you all doing up there?" Phil wanted to know.

  "Everything's under control," Joe replied. Prynne looked up at the students, and they suddenly noticed that he was pale and sweaty. "My leg," Prynne said. "I think I've torn a ligament in my ankle. That means I won't be doing any long-distance walking for some time. Could someone give me a hand?"

  Joe helped Prynne over to the Mercedes, while the others took the guards to join their fellow captives. Then, taking the radio and the captured guns, they piled into the liberated car and resumed their northward journey with Joe at the wheel.

  Prynne watched the barren countryside roll by for a while and then spoke up. "What worries me now is that whoever set up that ambush is likely to take another shot at us. I wish we could get off this main route."

  From the back seat, Clea spoke up. "There is an old road leading directly to the ruined fort."

  "Our rendezvous is an abandoned shepherd's hut, right on the border," Prynne said. "Do you know it?"

  "I don't know the cabin," admitted Clea. "But it should not be hard to find."

  Prynne sighed. "I had hoped to make that hike myself, but under the circumstances Joe will have to undertake it, if he's willing."

  "It'll be a pleasure," Joe said with a grin. "Clean mountain air, beautiful scenery—and I've never seen Yugoslavia. I wouldn't miss it."

  "And I will go with you," announced Clea.

  Before Joe could protest, Prynne nodded. "You'll need a guide," he said. "But there is the possibility of a great risk."

  "Don't worry, Mr. Prynne," Joe answered, "I'll look after her."

  Clea smiled. "We will look after each other."

  The road began to climb until at the crest of a hill they saw the fort. Some of its walls were crumbling, but one tower stood intact, rising about twenty-five feet. The only way to the top of the tower was a narrow set of steps. It was an easily defended stronghold.

  With Andreas and Clea helping Prynne, they brought their gear up the stairs. Joe and Clea began preparing backpacks for their hike.

  Phil, who was standing lookout, seemed troubled. "How will anyone coming to reinforce us know where we are? That turnoff we took — there's no way we would have found it without Clea's help."

  "Ah!" Andreas exclaimed. "I can go back to the place where the road meets and show them."

  "What do you mean, 'go back'? You might drive right into the enemy," said Joe.

  "Not drive — run!" Andreas said. "I can do that distance in less than one hour."

  "And when we raise Salonika on the radio, we can advise any relief force to look for him," Phil added.

  "It sounds like our best choice," Prynne mused. "Phil and I will hold down the fort here, while Joe and Clea are — " He stopped abruptly and held up a hand for silence. "We have company."

  Phil darted to the wall nearest the road. He called back over his shoulder, "Two cars — ten or more guys with guns getting out of them."

  Joe joined Phil. They watched as the group of men fanned out and began to search the area. Prynne positioned himself near the top of the stairs. Shortly afterward a couple of heads peered up at him. Prynne fired two rounds, and the heads vanished.

  "Joe!" called Prynne. "How are they armed? Can you tell?"

  "I saw more AK-forty-sevens," Joe replied.

  "Nothing heavier? No mortars or any kind of artillery?"

  "No, just small arms."

  Prynne let out a sigh of relief. "Then they can't get up here, and we can't get out. Except we have to get you out of here, somehow."

  Clea had been exploring the walls. Now she called out, "Joe! Andreas! Over here. I think I've found a way out, if we can keep those men occupied on the other side."

  She pointed down the wall, saying, "Do you see the vines here — the way the stones in the wall are uneven? I am sure we have enough footholds and handholds to get down."

  Joe surveyed the immediate area, which was almost halfway around the fort from the road. At the foot of the wall, the ground sloped down, but not too steeply. There were scattered boulders, and stunted trees and bushes.

  "Once we're down," he said, "it looks as if there's enough cover to let us work our way clear. I think it's our best shot."

  Leaving Phil to patrol the wall, Joe outlined the plan. Prynne listened, and when Joe finished, he thought it through for a second.

  "It'll have to do," he muttered. "Are you set to move out?"

  "Whenever you say," answered Joe, and Clea and Andreas nodded.

  Prynne looked at his watch. "In one minute Phil and I will open up with a heavy covering fire. Give us fifteen seconds to catch the enemy's attention, then make your move. Good luck." Gravely, he shook hands with each of them.

  A minute later Prynne and Phil opened up on their side of the fort, firing in frequent, short bursts. The force beneath the walls began firing back. After counting off fifteen seconds, Clea, the most experienced climber, swung herself over the top of the wall.

  She made her way carefully, using the tiny crevices between the stones of the wall and the climbing vines. Joe noted the route she took, impressed by her strength and agility, as well as her nerve. He looked over at Andreas.

  "Here goes nothing," he said. "See you on the ground floor." Joe swung himself over and began the difficult descent.

  Below him Clea had reached a point only three feet from the ground.

  But as she dropped, some bushes a few feet from her rustled. Out stepped a man with an old Tokarev pistol — a scout for the attacking party. And he had Clea dead in his sights!

  Chapter 11

  THE CELLAR WAS dim, musty, and bare. The men who had kidnapped Frank and the others obviously had faith that they couldn't escape because they removed Peter Stamos's gag and ropes and left his friends unbound. The prisoners were alone now.

  As soon as the door had closed, Frank began a quick but thorough search of their dark cell. There was a single, small window, set high into a wall, and protected by a thick steel grill. As a source of light, it was too dirty to be of much use; as a possible escape route it was entirely hopeless.

  Moreover, there was nothing — no carelessly dropped tool or removable length of pipe — nothing that could conceivably serve as a weapon.

  Alma huddled, weeping, in a corner, with Aleko hovering over, trying to comfort her.

  "What — what will they do to us?" she asked in a shaky, whispery voice.

  Aleko knelt before her and put his hands on her shoulders."

  "I will not let them hurt you," he said. "They will have to kill me first."

  At this, Alma's tears built into sobs that shook her whole body. Chet approached the terrified girl. He bent down and spoke in a calm, casual voice.

  "They're not going to do anything to us, Alma. All they want is to keep us out of the way for a while."

  She looked up at Chet, wanting to believe him. "Do you think that we are safe?" she asked.

  Somehow Chet managed a comforting smile. "Sure, they'll probably hold us until tomorrow and then let us go. Why don't you try to get a little rest?"

  She smiled quickly and leaned her head back against the wall, closing her eyes.

  For the first time Aleko looked at Chet without hostility. He muttered in gratitude, then began pacing, smacking one massive fist into his other hand with a loud crack.

  Moving away from Alma so as not to disturb her, Aleko whispered fiercely, "Frank, I do not know how he could do this."

  "Who? Kaliotis?" questioned Frank.

  "When we were little, we called him Uncle Nicholas. How could
he turn on those who gave him love, gave him life? When his parents were killed and his brother taken, he was a small child who would have died if the Stamos family had not taken him in."

  He stared at Frank, his burst of anger spent. "I cannot understand it. It is — it is the worst of crimes."

  Just then the door at the head of the stairs was flung open, and some men clomped down the steps. Two carried automatic pistols, the third had an Uzi. Fanning out, they trained their guns on the five students.

  Then a fourth figure clomped noisily down the wooden steps as everyone watched silently. He surveyed the group with an ugly smirk. And Frank realized that his thin, ferret face was a familiar one — he'd been the ringleader in the attack at the restaurant. Chet gasped and whispered, "Frank! That's the guy from the ship, the one who — "

  "You will be silent!" snapped the man in a cold, cutting voice. He looked over to one of the armed men and in the same chilling tone commanded, "Get a brighter light."

  "At once, Theo," responded the other, who hastily trotted back up the steps, reappearing a moment later with a long, multicelled flashlight that he handed to Theo.

  Theo played the light slowly over the five young faces. Stepping forward, he grasped Frank's collar and jerked him forward a couple of paces.

  "Well, well, my meddling young Yankee friend! You have a nasty habit of sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong. I think the time has come for you to pay for your interference."

  Frank stared straight into Theo's eyes, refusing to show any fear, concentrating on breathing deeply and evenly.

  "Pay?" he said. "Sorry, I didn't think to bring much cash. You take credit cards?"

  Switching the flashlight to his left hand, Theo lashed out with his right, catching Frank on the jaw with his open palm and sending him reeling into the wall. Alma gasped, and Chet took a step forward, but stopped when the Uzi was swung around and pointed straight at his chest.

  "Enough of this foolishness!" Theo said, slapping the long, heavy flashlight into his palm like a policeman's nightstick. "We have some questions for you." He pointed the flashlight at Frank. "You will answer them immediately and save yourself and your friends unpleasantness."