"You Yanks ain't as smart as you think you are," Bert sneered, "comin' back here and all." He glanced at Jenkins. "Looks like we caught ourselves a couple of kidnappers."
"Right, Bert," Jenkins replied. "We're going to be heroes."
The men raised their guns and pointed them at the Hardys.
"Night-night, gents," Bert said, smiling, showing his teeth.
"Are you ready to die for the Gray Man?" Frank asked Jenkins.
"I'm ready to die for my country," Jenkins replied. "Just as you're about to do."
"What if the Gray Man isn't working for his country? What if the Gray Man is working for the Soviets?" Frank looked deep into Jenkins's eyes, searching for a reaction, but the agent was a veteran and his poker face was blank, hard as stone.
"You're an amateur," Jenkins said to Frank, his voice flat.
"That may be true," Frank replied. "But I'm not a traitor."
"What do you blokes mean?" Bert asked.
"We mean that someone has been manipulating events from the first day, trying to cause an international incident," Joe said.
"That's crazy," Bert blurted.
"Exactly," Frank said. "That's why Joe and I have been trying to stop it."
"Who's behind it?" Jenkins asked.
"We're not sure," Joe said. "Ever hear of a Network agent named Chris St. Armand?"
"Yeah," Jenkins said.
"He's here in England," Frank said.
"Impossible," Jenkins shot back.
"Why?" Joe could see a rising doubt in Jenkins's face.
"He was canned from the agency," Jenkins explained.
"What about Fitzhugh?" Joe asked Bert.
"What about him?" Bert kept his pistol at waist level, pointed at Joe.
"How much do you trust him?" Joe lowered his arms slowly.
"Fitzhugh's retired, only used on special occasions. He's a fine chief." Bert's voice lacked the confidence to back up his words.
"We're concerned only with the safety of Ziggy and Petra," Frank said. He, too, lowered his arms.
"We returned to find out if Ziggy was safe," Joe added.
"He's safe," Bert replied.
"He's gone with a Soviet operative to a safe house. He'll stay there until this is over," Jenkins said.
"Who's the agent?" Frank asked. "Krylov?"
"No," Bert said. "The young one."
"Aleksandr!" Joe exclaimed.
"That's the one," Bert said.
"Where's this safe house?" Frank asked.
"I think we ought to call Mr. Gray and find out what to do with these two," Jenkins suggested, glancing at Bert.
"Yeah," Bert agreed. "I don't like the look of things." He made a move toward the phone.
"You call Mr. Gray, and you'll be putting the lives of two young Soviet nationals in danger," Frank warned.
Bert's hand was inches from the phone, hovering above it, his bulldog face showing uncertainty and indecision. He unclutched and clutched his gun. Then he moved away from the phone.
"How do we know what you say is true?" Bert asked.
"This might help." Frank slowly slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out the lighter. He tossed it to Jenkins.
Jenkins caught it, turned it over, and read the inscription. "It's St. Armand's all right," Jenkins said to Bert. He put the lighter in his jacket pocket.
"Where's the safe house?" Joe asked.
Bert looked at Jenkins, who nodded.
"Fitzhugh wanted the Zigonev kid away from Oxford. He persuaded Krylov to have Aleksandr take the boy to a safe house near Stonehenge," Jenkins explained.
"Fitzhugh and Aleksandr, again," Frank hissed.
"That's too close to the antique shop," Joe added.
"Don't you see?" Frank asked the two agents. "Fitzhugh, St. Armand, Markham, and Aleksandr are all involved in a plot to destroy the relationship between the Soviet Union and the West."
"Why would they want to do that?" Jenkins asked.
"To save their jobs," Joe answered.
"I don't know if I trust these two," Bert said to Jenkins.
"What choice do you have?" Frank asked.
"How could we know about the antique shop and St. Armand unless we also knew about the conspiracy to kidnap the Zigonevs?"
"He's got a point," Jenkins said.
"A dull point," Bert countered.
Jenkins tucked his gun into his shoulder holster. "They may be teenagers," he said to Bert, "but they have a good rep within the Network. I'm willing to take a chance."
Bert reluctantly agreed. He uncocked his gun and put it into its holster.
"We'll take our car," Bert said. "I bet you two left it somewhere nearby."
***
The trip to the safe house took nearly three hours. Wednesday dawn was creeping over the English countryside.
Frank had wanted to see as much of England as possible during their two-week stay, but he hadn't wanted to see it in the dead of night while trying to rescue two Russian teenagers.
Bert had driven the entire way with Joe sitting at his side and Frank and Jenkins in the back. The four had had little to say to one another during the trip.
Bert parked the car half a mile from the safe house, which, Frank noticed, was another farmhouse without farm implements or animals. The house was set back from the road and was all but hidden from the highway by a windbreak of oak trees.
They circled around and came up behind the house. The early morning fog hid them as they crouched down and scampered up to the back of the farmhouse.
Frank could see that the house was made of stone, was small, and had only one story. A brown door sat in the middle of the back of the house with two windows flanking it.
They reached the back of the house without being seen and pressed themselves against the cold, wet stones.
Frank took short choppy breaths, every nerve in his body pulsing. He peeked in one of the windows. It was a bedroom, and it was unoccupied. He shook his head at Joe, who was near the other window. Joe peeked in and sent the same message back to Frank.
Bert signaled with his hand that they were going to go in through the back door. The two agents pulled their weapons out, flipped off the safeties, and cocked back the hammers.
Frank knelt and crawled to the back door. He took out his pocketknife and slid the blade between the door and the jamb. He pressed the blade against the bolt and pushed. It wouldn't budge. He applied more pressure, grimacing as he did so.
The knife blade suddenly snapped, but not before the bolt slipped out of its slot. The door popped open.
The breaking of the knife and the squeak of the door echoed in the back room.
Frank looked at Joe and the two agents. After a moment, he entered the back room, followed by the others.
It was a laundry room and pantry. Frank tiptoed to another door, opened it a crack, and peeked in. He stared into a sitting room: three armchairs, a coffee table, a fireplace, and an overstuffed couch.
On the couch, gagged and with their arms and legs tied, sat Ziggy and Petra. They appeared to be asleep.
Frank signaled to Joe, and the brothers crept into the room. Bert and Jenkins stepped in behind them, their guns pointed at a door on the far side of the room.
Frank first shook Ziggy awake. He awoke with a start and kicked out at Frank. Frank blocked the kick and give Ziggy a stern look.
Ziggy's eyes showed confusion, then recognition. Even though he wore a gag, Frank could tell that the young Russian was smiling. Frank untied Ziggy.
Joe woke Petra, who seemed to be in a state of shock.
"Joe!" Petra hoarsely whispered as Joe took off her gag.
Joe quickly pressed his finger to his lips in a signal for her to remain silent.
The door across the room suddenly burst open.
Frank turned. Fitzhugh stood framed in the doorway, an Uzi resting easily in his hands.
"Fitzhugh!" Bert exclaimed. "What the devil - "
Fitzhugh answered with an angry s
taccato burst of gunfire from the deadly machine gun.
Chapter 16
Frank shoved Ziggy down, while Joe grabbed Petra. All four of them landed behind the sofa, pieces of fabric and stuffing exploding around them as red-hot bullets from the Uzi tore through the furniture.
Jenkins and Bert fell to the floor and remained still.
Jenkins's Colt .45 was a yard away from Frank's reach, out in the open. Frank quickly snaked his hand out from behind the sofa, grabbed the pistol, and pulled it back in a split second.
Another burst from the Uzi shook the room and splintered parts of the wooden floor.
Frank pointed the .45 over the back of the sofa and fired in the general direction of Fitzhugh.
The Hardys heard a door slam, and then all was silent.
"Where is he?" Joe whispered.
Frank slowly raised himself up and peeked over the back of the sofa.
"He's gone," Frank replied, catching his breath.
"Joe?" Petra asked, her voice shaking with fear, her eyes full of panic.
"It's going to be okay," Joe replied with a smile, wishing he felt as confident as he sounded.
They all stood.
"Oh!" Petra cried out when she saw the bodies of Jenkins and Bert sprawled beside the door.
"Don't look," Joe said. He put an arm around her and led her into the laundry room. Frank and Ziggy followed.
"What now?" Ziggy asked.
Although Ziggy tried to sound brave, Joe read fear in his eyes, too. Ziggy was used to mapping out strategies and destroying opponents, but that was in chess, where no one really got hurt, let alone killed.
"We've got to get away from here, get help," Joe said.
"I wish I knew where Aleksandr was," Frank said.
"Aleksandr?" Petra's voice cracked.
"He is one of the kidnappers," Ziggy explained angrily.
"This gun's empty," Frank said, tossing the .45 aside. He crept over to the door, opened it a crack, and peered out. No one was in sight in the front room.
"What are we going to do, Joe?" Petra asked, holding back tears.
"We're heading for higher ground," Frank answered, pointing to a small hill half a mile from the "safe" house.
"Stonehenge," Joe said as he followed Frank's pointing finger to the giant ancient stones.
The morning sun hung behind the ancient stones, which appeared as black silhouettes against the mist. "There's a guard there. He'll be able to call for help," Joe said.
"My thoughts exactly," Frank agreed. "I wish that fog had stayed put a little longer."
Joe faced Petra. She was ashen, holding back tears, her lower lip trembling. She had every right to be frightened, Joe thought.
"Think you can run to Stonehenge?" Joe asked her softly.
"Y - yes," Petra replied.
"How about you?" Joe asked Ziggy.
"Yes," the young chess champion said.
"Looks as if you'll get to put your Stonehenge Strategy to a real test," Frank said with a slight smile at Ziggy.
"Let's ride," Ziggy replied. "We're burning daylight."
Frank nodded and pushed the back door all the way open. He looked outside. Fitzhugh was nowhere to be seen. Frank stepped out, held up a hand signaling the others to remain where they were, and looked up and down the length of the house.
"All clear," Frank said. His heart was pounding, and he felt as though it would burst through his chest. He could feel the veins in his temples pulse. His breathing was short and choppy.
They crouched as they scrambled away from the rear of the farmhouse. There was nothing to hide behind between the safe house and Stonehenge. The plain gently sloped toward the massive stones.
A car engine roared.
Frank turned.
A light blue British Ford sedan, its rear windshield a spiderweb of tiny cracks, was bearing down on them.
"Run!" Frank yelled, and they all dashed in a straight line for Stonehenge.
Frank turned. The car had stopped. Fitzhugh had gotten out of the car, followed by Aleksandr, St. Armand, and Markham. They all had Uzis trained on the group.
A burst of gunfire tore through the air toward them.
"Hit the ground!" Frank yelled.
Frank dived to the ground and slid through the ankle-high, dew-soaked grass for several feet. The ground popped and exploded as bullets from the Uzi hit the earth around him. Then the firing stopped.
Frank lifted his head and turned around. The gunmen were jumping back into the car, Aleksandr driving, St. Armand next to him, and Fitzhugh and Markham in the backseat. The car lurched forward. It looked to Frank as if they were heading back toward the highway. The only consolation was that Fitzhugh and company would have to circle back and around to get to Stonehenge by way of the road. It was a good two-mile drive, but still, they would have an easy time catching up to the foursome.
"Let's go!" Frank yelled.
He jumped to his feet. Ahead of him he saw Joe and Petra leap up and continue their sprint for Stonehenge. Ziggy stood, started to run, stumbled, and fell head first to the ground.
Frank reached him in seconds. He bent down to pull the young Russian to his feet. "Let's go, cowboy!" he said.
It was then that Frank noticed the blood on Ziggy's shoulder.
"Cannot ... go on," Ziggy moaned. His face was pale, and Frank could tell Ziggy was going into shock.
"Yes, you can," Frank ordered, his voice hard. "I'm going to beat you at chess, and you're not going to get out of it this easily." Frank helped Ziggy to stand.
"Oh, yeah?" Ziggy replied with a smile, trying to steady himself. "The only way you can beat me is if you have an extra queen up your sleeve."
"We'll settle this later," Frank said.
He and Ziggy ran for the stones. Ziggy was moving at half speed, keeping his right arm at his side. Frank could tell that one of the bullets had nicked Ziggy's right shoulder, doing just enough damage to make the arm painful and impossible to use.
Joe glanced behind him. He wondered why Frank and Ziggy were so far back. The wet grass and mud must have slowed them down, Joe thought.
Joe turned his attention to Stonehenge. They were three hundred yards from the ancient monument. He wondered where the guard would be stationed. He glanced at Petra out of the corner of his eye. She was keeping pace with him.
"Almost there," Joe panted.
"We can make it," Petra replied, her voice sounding strong.
Joe glanced back again. Frank and Ziggy were moving too slowly. The sedan had reached the highway and was speeding to Stonehenge. The teenagers would have to cross the highway to get to the ancient monument, and once on the open road, they would be easy targets for the gunmen.
A minute later, Petra and Joe had reached the highway. The sedan was half a mile away.
"Run across the road," Joe ordered Petra, pushing her out onto the deserted highway. "Find the guard. Tell him to call for help."
"I don't want to leave you!" Petra shouted back.
"I'm going to wait for Frank and Ziggy." Joe glanced down the road. The sedan was closing fast. "Go on!"
Petra stood still in the middle of the highway, unsure what to do. She turned her head toward the approaching sedan, then looked back at Joe.
"Hurry," he said. Petra raised her hand to wave, changed her mind, turned toward the stones, and ran as hard and as fast as she could.
Joe watched her until she was across the highway and among the stones. He looked to his left. The blue sedan was seconds away. He turned his attention to the ground and looked around him. He reached down and picked up a baseball-size, nearly round piece of granite. He wondered if it had once been a part of Stonehenge or was merely some leftover scrap from when the monument was built.
His attention was directed back to the sedan as it bore down on him. Markham was leaning out of the rear window, the wind pressing back his face and giving him an ugly, menacing smile. His hair flew straight back, and his Uzi was pointed at Joe.
The stone was heavier than a regular baseball, and Joe was an outfielder, not a pitcher, but he put all his weight and best aim into the throw.
The granite baseball hit the already weakened rear windshield and knocked a giant hole in it.
Aleksandr lost control, and the sedan swerved just as Markham opened up with the Uzi. Joe hit the ground, the bullets clipping at his heels. He rolled in the wet grass and sprang to his feet as the Uzi went silent.
Aleksandr was trying to regain control of the sedan. He twisted the wheel back and forth in an effort to straighten out the car. Joe watched as it hit an embankment, rode up high on the grass, and then flipped over. The sedan landed upside down, then slid and spun with a metal scream. Finally it stopped fifty yards down the road. Engine coolant hissed as it leaked out and struck the hot engine, some turning to steam and some hitting the asphalt road.
The occupants in the car remained still. Joe didn't know if they were dead or alive, and at the moment, he didn't care. He was just glad they weren't shooting at him.
"What happened?" Frank asked as he and Ziggy joined Joe.
"I just made the pitch of a lifetime," Joe said.
"Where's Petra?" Ziggy asked, his voice weak.
"She ran to Stonehenge to get help," Joe said. Then he saw the blood. "You've been hit!"
Ziggy straightened up in an effort to appear okay. "Just a scratch, pilgrim," he said, imitating John Wayne.
"Let's find Petra and the Stonehenge guard," Frank advised.
The three crossed the road at a trot, Joe keeping his eye on the sedan. Still, no one moved.
They hopped the iron fence that kept viewers away from the monument and headed for the inner circle of stones.
"Petra," Joe called out.
There was an uneasy silence, and then seconds later came, "Here, Joe."
"This way," Joe told the others, and he set off in a jog toward Petra's reply.
Petra was in the inner circle, at the easternmost part. The sun had risen just above the stones and was behind Petra, shining down on her blond hair.
"Petra," Joe uttered with relief and a smile.
"Joe," Petra said flatly, "I can't find the guard."
Strategic Moves Page 9
