by John Blaine
“Don’t try anything, Gizmo,” he said sharply. “And take it easy. If we get into a wreck, we won’t get to where we’re going in time.”
“Very smart,” their captor approved. “Just relax, boys, and we’ll have a comfortable ride.”
“It took a gag like this to get us,” Scotty said bitterly. “You tried twice before and missed.”
“Tough luck,” the stranger admitted. “We were careless the first time. The second, you were lucky. We weren’t equipped to fight a battalion of Marines.”
“Because the whispering box only carries a couple of charges?”Rick asked quickly.
“You’d like to know, wouldn’t you?”
“There’s a lot we’d like to know,” Scotty replied. “Where are you taking us?”
“To your friends.”
“Why?” Rick demanded. “We can’t do you any good. We’re just a couple of junior assistants. What do you want us for?”
Flat Nose chuckled. “We need you. Do you think we’d go to so much trouble if we didn’t? Keep on going down Fourteenth,McLean .”
Gizmo obeyed orders. The taxi proceeded downtown through theFourteenth Street traffic. They crossedPennsylvania and continued on past theWashingtonMonument and the Department of Agriculture. In a short while they were crossing thePotomac
intoVirginia .
“Swing right,” Flat Nose commanded. “Go upriver.” He glanced at his watch. “Go as far asKeyBridge , then turn around and come down the river again. Cross
theMemorialBridge back to the city.”
Gizmo growled, “What is this, a joy ride?”
“Just killing time.Do as you’re told and you’ll be okay.”
“Better do it,” Scotty said. He turned to their captor. “Have you got a name? We might as well get acquainted. I guess you know who we are.”
“You bet I do. I’ve been camped on your trail ever since we almost got you near the hotel. If you want something to call me, make it ‘Nails.’ That’s my nickname.”
“Nails,” Rick repeated. “That’s a funny name.”
“What’s funny about it? How about your own name? Where I come from, arick is
something they put hay on.
Gizmo was driving up the parkway on theVirginia side of the river. As they moved along at a moderate speed, a police cruiser drifted past. The officer on the passenger’s side looked over at them.
Nails’s affability vanished. “Don’t try anything,” he snapped. “Just sit tight and look pleasant.”
Rick and Scotty did. There was nothing else they could do. The cruiser pulled ahead of them and continued on its way.
“Let’s stow the chatter,” Nails said. “You’ll have plenty of chance to talk later, when you compare notes with your pals.”
“Are you going to keep riding around until dark?” Scotty asked, ignoring the order.
“That’s what it looks like to me.”
“Bright boy,” Nails said.
Rick calculated. His watch told him it was almost six. It wouldn’t be fully dark until abouthalf past eight . “That’s more than two hours from the time you picked
usuplSuppose we’re not there in time?”
Nails grinned. “You’ll have to excuse me, kids. I sort of exaggerated a little.” He added quickly, “But don’t get any ideas. I wasn’t kidding. We have to get where we’re going by a definite time, and you have to be with me. Otherwise, Weiss and Zircon get it in the neck.”
“Why can’t we go directly there?” Rick demanded. “It won’t do us any good to know where your headquarters is. You wouldn’t be stupid enough to let us get away so we could use the information.”
Nails motioned with his thumb toward the back window. “Didn’t you kids know we were being trailed? Sure. There was a guy in a blue coupe following you when I picked you up. We have to wait until dark to get rid of him.”
For an instant hope flared, then it died as quickly. The only way anyone could be trailed successfully was to keep them from knowing they were being followed. Nails knew about their shadow-which was more than Rick or Scotty had known. Steve must have put a tail on them for their own protection.
Rick slumped down in his seat. In a little while they would have the answer to the riddle of the missing scientists. They might have the answers to a lot of riddles. But it wouldn’t do them the slightest bit of good.
CHAPTER XIV
Dead End
The man in the blue coupe drove with one hand while he held a microphone to his lips with the other. Three cars ahead, he could see the taillight of Gizmo McLean’s cab.
“It’s getting darker,” he said. “If they’re going to try anything, it will be pretty soon.”
He spoke in clear, understandable English instead of using the cryptic code numbers used by most police transmitters. Built into his radio was a word scrambler that reduced his messages to unintelligible sounds. At the receiving end, a similar device unscrambled the frequencies so the listener heard the message just as it was transmitted. The device
prevented eavesdropping by anyone equipped with a short-wave set. Only radios manned by Steve Ames’s men were equipped with that particular type of scrambler.
Steve’s voice came through the loud-speaker in the blue coupe. “What’s your present location?”
“We’re onConnecticut Avenue , proceeding towardChevy Chase Circle . The next
corner will beChesapeake Road .”
“Are you sure they know you’re on their tail?”
“They haven’t pulled anything queer, but I think they know.”
The man in the blue coupe was sure that no other reason would have kept the taxi driving around in circles until darkness started to fall. Not until the street lights came on did the taxi head outConnecticut Avenue as though finally starting for a destination.
Steve Ames’s voice came through the speaker again. “Keep your eyes open, Dave.
They’re apt to try something at any time. I’m at the corner ofConnecticut Avenue andMilitary Road . If you get this far, I’ll swing in behind you.Watch for Bill in the tan Mercury. He’s coming upConnecticut trying to overtake you. Once he passes, let them lose you if they try. Bill and I will take over.”
Dave picked up his microphone and acknowledged. “Okay, Steve. I think we’ve got
‘em boxed.”
It was fully dark now, but the lights onConnecticut Avenue enabled Dave to see the taxi.
He kept a few cars between them just as a matter of principle, although he was sure there was no longer a need for secrecy. He was just as sure that some sudden maneuver would be made to lose him. He grinned. If the driver would only hold off until Bill passed, or until they reachedMilitary Road so Steve could take over, it wouldn’t matter. He would even play dumb so they could “lose” him with no trouble.
The taxi went ahead at a moderate speed, stopping for all the lights. Dave trailed along, keeping his distance but prepared to move faster if necessary.
They reached a long stretch between two street lights. The taxi picked up a little speed.
Dave looked ahead and saw that the next light was green. He picked up speed a bit, too, but let the taxi pull away from him slightly. He knew they wouldn’t make the green light.
Sure enough, while the taxi was still two hundred feet from the light, it changed to
amber, then to red.
But the taxi kept on going, right through the light,It swerved to avoid a bus, straightened out, and shot ahead!
Dave pushed the gas pedal to the floor and went after them. The intervening cars blocked his way. He started to swing past when he saw the taxi suddenly cross the avenue and shoot down a side street.
He relaxed and grinned, content now to wait for the light. He had been brought up in this part ofWashington and he knew every street in it. What the taxi driver or whoever was directing him evidently didn’t know was that the streetwas a dead end, nor did it have any alleyways where the car might turn off. He had only to wait and th
e car would come out again. It had to come out. If it didn’t, he would know that the people in the cab were in one of the houses on the street or had taken to walking. In either case it was all right. In a matter of minutes they could throw a net of men around the area.
The light changed. Dave pulled ahead and swung to the curb opposite the street down which the taxi had turned.
A car came out, but it was a convertible, the top down. A man and a woman were in it.
Dave waited patiently. A moving van came out followed by a khaki Army car. There was another long pause, then a coupe came out.
Dave began to wonder. They would have discovered by now that it was a dead end. He waited for a pause in the avenue traffic, then swung his coupe around and went down the street.
He drove slowly, inspecting the houses as he passed. There were only a few. He picked up his microphone.
“Steve, this is Dave.”
“Go ahead.”
“I’m onColway . It’s a private street, dead end. They came down here about five minutes ago. They haven’t come out.”
“Right.Bill, did you get that?”
A new voice came on the air. It belonged to the operator in the tan Mercury.“Got it, Steve. I’ll be there in a few minutes. I’m on the avenue heading that way. I just
passedChesapeake .”
“Okay, Bill. Step on it. Dave, keep looking. I’m coming down the avenue to meet you.
Keep in touch.”
“Right.”
The houses were set some distance apart. Cars were parked on the street, but none of them were cabs, Dave could see the woods where the street ended, and he began to worry. He should have seen the cab by now.
He stepped on the gas. At the end of the street he stopped, suddenly frightened. Had he lost them? There was no way out. They must be in some garage.
But he knew they weren’t. They had known they were being trailed. They wouldn’t try to hide in a garage where they could easily be located again. He was sure the four people in the taxi had not been in any of the cars that came out of the street. And even if they had been hiding in a baggage compartment or crouching in a rear seat, where was the cab?
He reached for the mike again.
“Steve, this is Dave. They’re gone!”
“Gone?” The reply came swiftly. “They can’t be gone! Where did they turn off?”
“They didn’t,” Dave said. “There isn’t any place for them to turn off. But they’re gone!”
“Think, man!”Steve sounded urgent. “If they’re gone, where did they go? Taxis don’t vanish.”
“This one did,” Dave said miserably. He had turned around and was driving back towardConnecticut Avenue , surveying every house as he passed. He was certain they wouldn’t have driven into a garage, trappingthemselves . He was equally certain they couldn’t have turned off anywhere. Then where had they gone?
It hit him.
“The moving van!”
He still had the mike in his hands. Steve had heard.
“What moving van?”
“It came out of the street,” he said quickly. “They must be in it! Steve, I’m going after them. Bill! Youlistening?”
“Go ahead. What does the van look like?”
“A yellow one.No name on it. Watch for it, Bill. I’m on my way!”
“Get going,” Steve said. “Keep in touch! I’m coming down to cover that street.”
Dave punched a button on his dashboard. His headlights turned red and a siren under the hood began to wail. He pushed the pedal to the floor and hunched over the wheel.
The van had gone downConnecticut Avenue toward the city.
He spun around the corner of the avenue. Cars scattered before the wailing siren. Traffic lights flickered past. Police officers came from nowhere to hold up traffic for his mad rush down the avenue.
“Bill,” he said into his mike. “Use your red lights so I’ll know when we meet.”
“I’m using them. We must be close.”
Down the avenue he saw the red gleam of headlights and slowed his speed. He swung to the middle of the road and saw Bill do the same. The cars met, edged together.
Bill, a stocky man, leaned across the intervening space. “No moving van passed me, Dave.”
Dave picked up his mike. “Steve, Bill and I met on the avenue. Neither of us saw the van.”
Steve’s voice shook with anger. “Get going, both of you. Quarter the streets. Find them or I’ll take the hide off you myself!”
“Okay,” Dave said. He moved off, siren screaming. Bill headed down the nearest side street.
Dave felt sick. The two kids were his responsibility. Steve had set him to guard them.
Now their captor had neatly tricked him by driving the cab into the back of a moving van. He could see the setup perfectly. The brains behind this thing had figured all the angles. If the taxi hadn’t been able to meet the van on the dead-end street, the big truck
would have gone to another rendezvous. They would have kept it up until the trick had succeeded.
Dave searched the near-by streets as fast as the siren and reckless driving would let him but deep down he knew it was no use. They wouldn’t find the van again. Or, if they did, it would be empty and abandoned.
The whispering box gang had succeeded again.
CHAPTER XV
Reunionin Capture
It was dark inside the moving van. Rick could see lights now and then that filtered through a small window behind the van driver’s seat. He, Scotty, Gizmo, and Nails were still in the taxi.
Nails had directed Gizmo’s every move once they reached upperConnecticut Avenue .
They had run the red light, swung sharply into a side street and, at Nails’ order, Gizmo had snapped his lights off and on.
At the end of the street, a moving van waited with its great rear doors open and two steel channels leading up to the opening. It had been the work of a moment for Gizmo to drive the cab up the ramp. The steel channels were swung inside the van by the driver and another man, the taxi wheels had been chocked so they couldn’t move, then the doors had closed.
Rick could see at once what the result would be. To the man in the blue coupe who had followed them through their time-killing wanderings, the taxi would seem to vanish. He guessed that the trick would be discovered, but by that time the van would be on its Way without a pursuer.
He slumped in his seat, completely dejected. In the darkness around him he could hear the soft breathing of the others. No one talked. There wasn’t anything to say.Nails wasn’t handing out information.
They would be taken to the gang headquarters, and presumably they would see Weiss and Zircon,After that, Rick didn’t know what to expect. If he could only guess why the gang had gone to so much trouble to get Scotty and him, he might be able to speculate about the future. For a while he pondered the possibility of their ganging up on Nails. It
would be easy to subdue him and strap him up with their belts, but that would gain nothing. It would only place Weiss, Zircon, and Bertona in danger.
The van bumped and swayed along. He thought they must have leftConnecticut
Avenue . It felt like a second-class road, full of bumps.
Just to make conversation, he asked: “Suppose you hadn’t lost the blue coupe at that red light, Nails? Your trick wouldn’t have worked.”
Nails chuckled.“Why not? We’d kept going instead of turning down the side road. Then your pal McLean would have done some fancy twisting and turning, running a few more red lights until the coupe was far enough behind so we could double back without being spotted. Getting a break on the light just made things easier.”
“Your luck is going to turn one of these days,” Scotty said quietly. “You’ll find yourself in tough luck that will end up with the whole gang of you in a Federal prison.”
“Our luck will turn,” Nails acknowledged. “We know that. But before it does, we’ll make a final cleaning and shove off. And you kids are going to help.�
��
“Not on your life,” Rick protested. “You’ll get no help from us!”
“We’ve got it. Just keeping you out of sight for a while will be all the help we need.
Now stow the gab.”
Rick fell silent, thinking over what Nails had said. It was interesting to know they were planning one final job. Where would it be directed? He stirred restlessly. Somehow they would have to get free to warn Steve Ames and the others! But they couldn’t make a move until they were sure Weiss and Zircon wouldn’t be placed in danger by any sudden act.
There were no more lights coming through the small window in the front of the van.
Rick guessed they were on a sparsely traveled road, one without street lights.
The van swerved and they bumped along for perhaps ten minutes, then they swerved again in a half-circle and stopped.
“Everybody out,” Nails directed.“And watch yourselves! We don’t want to have to put a slug in any of you.”
The van doors swung open. Rick opened his door and got out, squeezing into the narrow space between the side of the van and the side of the cab.Nails was right behind
him. Gizmo and Scotty followed.
Through the now open rear of the van Rick saw flashlights. In their reflected glare he could make out trees.
“Jump down,” a voice directed.
Rick obeyed, and saw the glint of a flashlight on a shotgun barrel. He swallowed. Scotty and Gizmo leaped to the ground beside him.
“This way,” Nails directed.
He led them around the front of the van to where a darkened house sat in the woods. It was a big, Victorian mansion, shabby and neglected. Once it had been the home of persons of wealth. A wrought-iron fence sagged with rust and age and a once-beautiful lawn was grown over with weeds and tall grass. They followed Nails up broken steps to the front porch. He swung the door open and took them into a musty hall.
Inside, behind hanging curtains, Rick saw the flicker of lights. A man came out of one of the rooms carrying a kerosene lamp.
