JOE'S FACE TURNED pale, then brick red. "Are you accusing us . . . ?" He was so angry his voice choked off.
Butler looked him straight in the eye. "Did you really think I'd fall for that ridiculous mad bomber story? Nobody would waste a bomb on a pair of punk kids. But punk kids playing with the wrong toys might blow themselves up. Especially kids who get involved in politics."
"If you're trying to make us look like a pair of political crazies, maybe you should talk to Chief Collig." Frank's voice was quiet but icy. "We've worked on cases for him. He knows us."
"Oh, sure. I heard this song all the time in New York." Butler's lips started to twist into a sneer; then the poker face slid on, almost as if it hurt him to show any expression. "Human slime with important friends to cover for them. Even if they're caught red-handed, there're always people to say, 'Oh, Inspector, they're really good boys.' That does not impress me."
Joe's rage finally found a voice. "You do a real terrifying tough cop. Where do you get those lines? Watching 'Kojak' reruns?"
For a moment, Butler gave him a blank, almost startled stare. "Never mind where I get my 'lines,' "he snapped. ”Just remember this. I hear you two go around playing junior detectives. Well, don't get in my way. You're my prime suspects right now.
"If I catch either of you muddying up the waters, I'll arrest you for impeding an investigation. I'll do it so fast your heads will spin. And it won't do any good to go whining to your important friends to bail you out."
The corners of Butler's mouth went up two millimeters in the faintest of smiles. "I'm sure I'll have questions for you as I go on . . . lots of questions. And it goes without saying-don’t leave town.”
He turned back to the papers on his desk, as if the Hardys had disappeared.
Joe followed his brother through the office door, slamming it behind him. "That miserable - " He bit off the rest of what he was going to say. "Well, I can see that the cops are gonna be a lot of help!" He glared at Frank. "So what's our next brilliant move?"
"We borrow a car and head for the mall." Only Frank's eyes showed his anger. "But that guy just said - " "I know," Frank interrupted with a grin. "And I can't think of a better place to start impeding his investigation. "
Joe insisted that they check out the parking lot, even though it had been cleared of wreckage. "There's nothing," Frank said, looking at the large scorched spot on the concrete.
"Then why are we here?"
"We want to see if anyone remembers anything odd about Saturday - anything out of the ordinary."
"Out of the ordinary!" Joe burst out. "There was a political rally going on! How much more out of the ordinary do you want? Besides," he said, "the Saturday shoppers are long gone. How are we going to question them?"
"We're not," Frank replied. "I want to talk to the people who are always here - the store owners. They'd be the ones to notice something-or someone-out of place."
Their first stop on entering the mall was Mr. Pizza. The fast-food joint was the prime hangout, and the manager was an old school friend of theirs, Tony Prito.
Tony's cheerful grin wavered for an instant when he saw the Hardys. He stepped out from behind the counter, grabbing Joe's hand. "I didn't get a chance to talk to you at the chapel," he said as he led them to a table and they sat down. "Have they caught whoever was behind it?"
"I don't think the cops even have a clue." Joe scowled.
"It's hard to figure out who blew up the car if you don't know why," Frank said.
"Well, it was your car," Tony pointed out.
"Right. But was the bomb aimed at us?" Frank shook his head. "That's the question. For all we know, it could have been a random thing, some nut who just blows up yellow sedans."
"Yeah, but there are a lot of guys who might want to get back at you - or your father." Tony smiled. "Detectives who put people away aren’t popular with crooks."
"I got Dad's assistant working on that angle this morning," Frank said. "He's checking to see if anyone who might have a grudge against us, was recently released."
"Wait a second," Joe burst out. "Maybe the bomber knew that Iola and Callie were with us. Maybe he - or she - had a grudge against the Mortons or the Shaws."
He thought for a moment. "And the bomb was set in the middle of a political rally. Could the person have something against the Walker campaign?" He shook his head. "But Frank and I didn't even know there was going to be a rally.
We didn't know we were going to be at the mall. This doesn't make sense."
"Tell me about it," Frank agreed sarcastically. "Here's the thing I can't figure out-why the mall? If I were going to blow somebody up, I'd do it right in front of the person's house - a nice, unmistakable message. Why would this guy follow us to a crowded parking lot to do the job? It's got to have something to do with the mall." He looked up at Tony. "Were the cops around asking questions?"
"They gave us the once-over lightly. I was kind of surprised." Tony shrugged. "Maybe they'll be back today."
"Well, we want to ask some questions now," Joe said, leaning over the table. "Think you can give us a hand, Tony? Introduce us to some of the store owners?"
"Sure. Most of them come down here to get a slice for lunch. Hey, Jean," he called to the girl behind the counter, "I'm taking an early break. Be back in five minutes."
Tony led the Hardys up the mall escalators to the first floor of shops, then into the Builder's Paradise hardware store. "Dan Stone runs this place. He's a good guy, and he's president of the Mall Association. You can get all the help you need from him."
Stone turned out to be a friendly man in his late thirties. He was only too eager to help, and the Hardys spent most of the next two hours talking to store owners. None of them had noticed anything other than the bedlam of the political rally, but lots of them had things to say about the mall. Frank mentioned it as they took a shortcut to their car through Lacey's department store.
"Did you notice how many of those people complained about the security?" Frank stopped beside a mannequin in a low-cut gown to pull out his notebook.
"Do we have to stop here? It looks like you're trying to get that dummy's phone number," Joe said.
Frank paid no attention. "Every store owner we spoke to says he or she is being ripped off. Look at this list. Hundreds of feet of wire missing from the Audio-Video Den. Electric clocks disappearing from the Gift Shoppe. Mr. Stone losing wire clippers, electrical supplies ... " Frank suddenly went silent. "That's all stuff you'd need to build bombs."
Joe stopped dead in his tracks. As he turned to his brother, he felt a tiny tug on the sleeve of his jacket. A flash of movement caught his eye, a glittering something that cut through his jacket, whizzed past him, and stuck with a dull thud in the mannequin's plaster "flesh."
His breath caught in his throat as he stared at the silvery dart quivering in the dummy's chest. "It tore right through - "
Frank grabbed his arm. "Let's get out of here before they try another shot!"
Joe followed his brother, looking over his shoulder at the people around them. A typical mall crowd, hundreds of shoppers clogging the aisles - except that one of those "shoppers" was trying to kill them!
Chapter 4
THEY FOUGHT THEIR way through a mass of people, all intent on their shopping and hardly suspecting that a silent killer stalked among them. Frank turned back to Joe as they reached the men's department. "Spot anyone following us?" he asked. "Too many people," Joe responded, scanning the crowd. "But I don't - " Another dart hissed between them, burying itself into a pile of sport shirts. Joe banged his fist in frustration.
"Come on!" he snapped, muscling his way through the crowd, moving like a broken-field runner as he raced for the nearest exit. Frank kept close on his brother's heels, ignoring the annoyed looks he got from jostled shoppers. He threw a glance over his shoulder as they drew near the exit and the crowd thinned. There was still no trace of the mysterious gunman. Joe took advantage of the empty space to break into a run.
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br /> Before they reached the door, however, a store security guard bustled into their path. "Hold it, you kids. What do you think - " A silvery streak whizzed past them just as the guard brought a walkie-talkie to his lips. The man jerked back a step, stared in surprise at the dart sticking out of the shoulder of his red security blazer, then collapsed without a word.
Joe started to lean over the man, but Frank pushed him toward the door. "That's just what they want you to do. Go!"
They burst out the door, and Frank bolted off to the left. "There's the movie theater! If we make it around that corner - "
“IF!" Joe burst out, running hard on Frank's heels. The corner was at least fifty yards away, at the end of a plain concrete wall that gave no cover at all - not even a planter stand. "Great escape route, Frank."
"Save your breath for running," his brother replied.
Behind them, the boys heard screams and hub-bub, people responding to the sight of the collapsed guard. With luck, maybe a crowd would gather, blocking the door and giving them a few more seconds' lead. Joe's legs pumped, bringing him almost even with Frank. It was like a nightmare. He was running as fast as he could, but that corner didn't seem to be coming any closer. And behind them . . . surely by now the guy with the gun had reached the door of the department store.
The muscles between Joe's shoulder blades bunched in tension, expecting the sting of a dart' to tear into them at any moment. He started to turn his head. If anyone was going to shoot him, Joe Hardy was going to look his killer in the eye.
Frank must have picked up the change of rhythm in Joe's footfalls. "Don't turn! . . . Almost . . . corner." He gasped out the words.
Joe's head snapped forward. Sure enough, there was the corner! He poured on an added burst of speed, feeling his own breath burning in his throat, and then he was beside Frank, making the turn, just as another dart chipped the concrete at the corner.
Frank slowed down slightly once they had the cover of the wall behind them. He staggered a little as he led the way across a parking lot and up to the mall's six-plex movie theater.
"Good thinking," Joe wheezed. "With a dozen theaters to hide in, we're sure to lose this guy."
"Yeah," Frank said. "But how about this? If the guy chases us into the theater, he's walking blind into a pitch-black room - "
"And that gives us a chance to turn the tables on him," Joe finished. "Perfect!"
They reached the box office, and Frank dragged out his wallet, scanning the title board. "uh, two for the Bond movie revival-Theater Five.”
"But the film is almost half over," the ticket seller said.
"That's okay. We just want to catch the ending." Frank grinned at her as he shoved a couple of bills under the partition. He glanced back at Joe. "Our friend arrive yet?"
Joe had a quick impression of sunglasses, a black leather jacket, and jeans as their pursuer came around the corner, then jerked back. "He's here, but he's not coming into the open."
"Well, he's seen us. Let's make sure he sees where we're going." Frank took the tickets from the girl and headed swiftly into the theater.
"I picked Theater Five because it's the smallest," Frank explained as they handed their tickets to the usher. "If we're going to have a roughhouse, I don't want to give him much room to move around in."
As soon as they had slipped through the soundproofed doors of Theater Five, they were hit with blaringly loud sixties music. On the screen above them, Sean Connery was swinging a length of pipe at a heavy, muscular guy. Even though Connery was swinging with all his might, it didn't seem to faze his enemy.
"Turn away from the screen," Frank whispered. "We want our eyes to be used to the dark when this guy comes in. That means we've got eight seconds while he'll be effectively blind enough time to ambush him."
They positioned themselves on either side of the door and waited. Finally the door swung open, and a man stepped into the theater. The screen wasn't radiating much light, so they couldn't see his face. But even in the fuzzy darkness they could see the gun in the man's hand.
Frank struck first, his hand hurtling down like a blade onto the man's wrist. The gun flew from his grasp. Joe stepped in, throwing a punch at the man's stomach.
But even as Joe swung, the man twisted aside, driving his elbow into the pit of Frank's stomach. Frank folded, and the man launched a killing blow to Frank's neck, a blow that missed as Joe kicked desperately into the back of the guy's leg.
The leg buckled, but the man launched a claw like finger at Joe's throat. Joe hunched his shoulders and landed a solid punch into his assailant's face. The man staggered back, and Joe charged forward, butting with his head and knocking him to the floor. Joe jumped for a pin-down.
Even trapped on his back, the man continued to fight like a demon, trying to wriggle loose. A vicious blow to the bridge of Joe's nose had him seeing stars. He recoiled slightly, and his captive nearly twisted free. Joe slugged him again, and then they were grappling. Above them, the film music reached a crescendo, drowning out their grunts of effort.
Frank Hardy scrabbled frantically along the darkened aisle, trying to find the dart gun.
Then the theater doors opened again, and Frank saw another male figure-aiming another dart gun. "Joe! Down!" he screamed. He threw himself, knocking Joe flat just as the dart flew over their heads.
"Wha - ?" Joe said, dazed. "I thought you were on my side." Frank pointed at the outline of the new player I in the game, who was already loading another dart into his gun.
"Uh-oh," his brother said. "Let's get out of here. "
"You going to ask him politely to step aside?" Joe asked as Frank hauled him to his feet.
"I'd say this was an emergency. Let's use the emergency exit."
The soundtrack had grown much quieter, and movie patrons started turning around at the sound of voices behind them. "Shut up, you're ruining the flick!" A few even stood up and turned around. "What's going on back there?"
"Let's get moving before they block the aisle." Frank took off at full speed toward the screen, with Joe right behind him.
"Down in front!" patrons began to scream as the Hardys blocked their view, rushing toward the screen. Above them was a huge close-up of Sean Connery, his face twisted in a grimace of rage. Just ahead of them was the Exit sign.
Together, the Hardys hit the panic bar on the door, smashing it open. They tumbled through the emergency exit, out into brilliant sunlight.
"Come on!" Frank lurched into the parking lot, half-blinded. But three steps from the exit, he crashed into something. He stepped back, blinking, and then froze. Blocking their retreat was a long black car, rear doors open. "Get in," a cold, hard voice commanded.
Chapter 5
FRANK AND JOE hesitated just an instant-until a dart scored the paint on the fender beside them. "No choice," Frank said.
He and Joe got into the car. The door closed behind them, muffling the noise as the vehicle screeched away from the curb.
"What's going on?" said Frank in surprise. "I thought those guys were coming along."
"Looks like they thought so, too," Joe said, glancing out the rear windshield. Two figures sprinted from the theater emergency exit. One aimed a pistol, and they saw the gleam of a dart fly at them and bounce off the trunk of the car.
The smoked-glass partition hiding the front seat rolled down with a whirring noise, bringing both Hardys' heads front. "Don't jump to conclusions until you know all the facts, boys," said the driver of the car, turning around.
Frank and Joe sat in shock, staring at Arthur Gray.
"What are you doing here?" Joe finally managed to say.
"Rescuing you," Gray replied, turning back to the road. "From the looks of things, I arrived just in time."
"Yeah," Frank said, suspicion in his voice.
"You came along very conveniently. Too conveniently."
Gray smiled as he glanced in the rear-view mirror. "I took the liberty of keeping a discreet electronic eye on you."
"How?" Frank demanded. "Remember those cards I gave you? They're, not cardboard, they're plastic. And inside they're marvels of microelectronics."
"You bugged us?" Joe burst out.
"Not exactly. They're locator devices. We could plot your movements. When your movements suddenly became rather erratic, we knew something was up. So I came to collect you. And you're right. I'd say it was very convenient that I came along."
The car had pulled out of the parking area, and Gray poured on the speed.
"You know, I've had just about enough of this cloak-and-dagger stuff," Frank said. Gray didn't turn or even respond. "I want to know what's going on here. And I want it straight."
Still Gray didn't answer.
"Kind of tough, arguing with the back of somebody's head," Joe commented. "Do you hear me?" Frank said, reaching out to grab the man by the shoulder.
Before Frank's hand reached the front seat, the glass divider came up like a reverse guillotine. Startled, Frank jerked his hand back. The divider rolled back down.
"Sorry about that," Gray apologized. "Security measure. Although I am a bit surprised. Our files said your brother was the hot-headed one." "Ah, come on, give him a break," Joe said. Frank was staring. "Files?" he repeated. "Just who are you?" "Let's say I'm connected with the intelligence community," the Gray Man replied.
"CIA?” The government man shook his head. "Nothing so crude. The Network does more . . . delicate . . . information gathering."
"The Network, huh? CBS instead of CIA?" Frank was having a tough time accepting Gray's transformation from nerd to secret agent. His eyes narrowed in thought. "So that story about your company being a client of Dad’s that was all phony." He stared at the man. "I suppose even the name on the card isn't real."
"It's close to my code name," the government agent said. "Gray Man. World Import-Export exists. It's a cover company for the Network. And your father has given us some help from time to time. That's why I'm here. He's called in some favors, wants his family kept safely out of sight."
"While he does what?" Frank asked.
Dead on Target Page 2
