Perfect Getaway
Page 2
"If we must, we must," said Frank.
"As I mentioned in our last conversation, the fee for our club will be seventy-five thousand dollars, to be paid in bills no larger than one-hundred," the woman continued smoothly.
"Needless to say, we cannot accept checks or credit cards."
"Of course," Frank agreed. "Now, if you'll tell me what I'm supposed to do, where I'm supposed to go."
"We will be sending you by messenger a map of southern Florida," said the woman. "On the map you will find a spot marked on a beach. That is where our representative will rendezvous with you tomorrow afternoon, if that is convenient for you."
"It's fine," said Frank. "The sooner the better."
"Most of our clients feel that way," the woman said. "Now, just one more detail. What will your name be?"
"Name?" said Frank.
"An essential part of our special Perfect Getaway plan is to leave your old self behind, including your name," said the woman. "From the moment you join us, we don't even want to know your old name or anything about you. In fact, we prefer to have merely a new first name for you. We and our clients have found that this is the best possible arrangement for all of us. In fact, after this call is completed, all record of your present name will be deleted from our files."
"I get it," said Frank. "What nobody knows can't hurt anybody."
"Exactly," the woman said. "Now, if you'll give us a name we can use for you ..."
"What about—Frank? I think that has a nice ring to it."
"Fine, Frank," said the woman. "Well, if there's nothing else — "
"Uh, there's one other thing," said Frank.
"What's that?" asked the woman.
"I've got a partner," said Frank. "He's looking for a Perfect Getaway, too. In fact, he needs one very badly. May I bring him with me?"
"Please hold, sir, while I check with my supervisor," said the woman. A few moments later, she came back on the line. "Yes, we can accommodate your partner. That will be a total of one hundred fifty thousand dollars. And remember, nothing larger than hundred-dollar bills."
"No discount?" asked Frank indignantly. "A group rate, perhaps?"
"Wait a moment, I'll have to check," said the woman. Another pause followed. "Yes, we are able to offer you a special rate of one hundred twenty-five thousand dollars for two."
"That's more like it," said Frank.
"And what is your companion's name?"
"His name now or his new one?" asked Frank.
"His new one, of course," said the woman.
"Of course," said Frank. "What about, er, Joe? That should be easy for him to remember."
"Joe it is," said the voice. "Now, do you have any more questions?"
"Just one," said Frank. "What kind of clothes do we wear?"
"Dress as casually and inconspicuously as possible, for obvious reasons. And don't bother bringing much luggage. Perfect Getaway will provide you with a new wardrobe suitable for wherever your Perfect Getaway will take you."
"All included in your fee?" asked Frank, doing his best to sound like a suspicious customer.
"Of course, sir. One payment covers all."
"That sounds fine," Frank said.
"We'll do our best to take care of your every need," said the woman. "A satisfied customer is our best advertisement. As you said yourself when you contacted us, you got our name through a personal recommendation."
"Yes, that's right, I did," said Frank. "Well, so long. And thank you."
"Thank you," said the voice. "And we hope you have a Perfect Getaway."
There was a click, then a dial tone. Frank stared thoughtfully at the speaker in the middle of the desk before he hung up the receiver.
"So we're heading down to Florida," Joe said finally. "Great. We'll go home, pack our duffel bags, and get to the bottom of this Perfect Getaway stuff."
"Not so fast," said Frank. "I set up that meeting in Florida to keep our options open—but maybe we should tell the police about this."
Frank turned to Marcie, then hesitated. "Look, Marcie, I hate to say it, but this doesn't look good for your dad. I mean, apparently he got in touch with this Perfect Getaway outfit right before he was arrested. Plus, he had that attache case filled with the hundreds. We may be breaking the law if we don't inform the authorities. It could be important evidence in their case against him."
Much to his relief, Marcie didn't get mad. But she also didn't give up her position.
"Dad would never try to run away from anything," she said with absolute certainty. "There has to be another explanation. And I'm not saying that just because I'm his daughter."
"Frank, let's keep our options open, as you suggested," Joe said. "There has to be something we don't know. And I say we go down to Florida and find it before we present the cops with more evidence that makes Mr. Miller look guilty."
Frank still looked doubtful. "I appreciate the way both of you feel. But feelings aren't facts."
"Right," said Joe. "That's why we should go down to Florida—to get the facts."
"You have to," pleaded Marcie. "You two are the only ones who can help clear my dad."
Frank shrugged. "Okay. We'll go for two reasons. First, I can't picture your dad as a crook. And second, I wonder if Mr. Tanner called Perfect Getaway, too."
Joe grinned at Marcie. "I had a feeling he'd go. He doesn't like sitting around doing nothing any more than I do. And if it means taking a few chances — well, it's not the first time we've done it."
Frank couldn't dispute that. But he said soberly, "I want one thing understood. If we do find out that your dad was planning on vanishing, or if we find out anything else against him, we'll have to go to the cops with what we dig up. We can't be part of a cover-up."
Marcie nodded and said, "I understand, but I know there isn't a chance in the world you'll find out anything bad about him."
"Great, we're all set," said Joe. "We've got enough cash to convince Perfect Getaway that we're genuine and even to buy our airline tickets."
"I'll take care of the tickets," said Marcie. "I'll pay for them with a credit card. I'd go down with you, except that Dad might need me around, and I'm sure you two know what you're doing."
Frank was already leafing through a telephone book looking for the phone numbers of airlines with Florida routes. "Let's hope we can get a flight. Bookings over Christmas are tight."
"You can travel first class," Marcie said. "There are always seats available there."
"Money," said Joe, picking up the attache case. "Wonderful what it can do."
***
The next day, though, as Joe sat with Frank in the locked backseat of the limo speeding toward an unknown destination, he wasn't so sure about the power of money.
He patted the attache case on the seat between Frank and him and said, "This money got us into this dungeon on wheels. Let's hope it can get us out."
Frank signaled Joe to be quiet while he turned on the car's television set. Turning up the volume, he leaned over and whispered to his brother, "Be careful. The driver may be listening to make sure that we're the right guys."
Joe nodded his understanding.
Frank continued, "Things are happening faster than I expected. I thought we'd just make contact with Perfect Getaway, then wait while they made plans. Whatever we did, I thought we'd have time to call Marcie and fill her in. That way if something went wrong, we could count on some help showing up."
"Too late for that now," muttered Joe. "One item this limo lacks is a phone in the backseat." He shivered, and it wasn't because of the air-conditioning. "We've worked without a backup before, but when we climbed into this car, I felt as if we were entering another world. Like we were cutting all ties to the past, to everything we know. Creepy, huh?"
"You're not the only one who's spooked." Frank nodded in agreement.
"I wish we'd had time to let Dad know what we were doing," said Joe, referring to their father, the famous private detective Fenton Hardy.
Joe glanced at his watch. "We've been traveling for more than an hour. Wonder how much longer it'll be?"
"Not much—unless this limo can go underwater," said Frank. "We started out going south, and the car hasn't made any turns. That should put us at the tip of Florida—or beyond."
"What do you mean, 'beyond'?" asked Joe, glad to see that Frank's powers of observation and deduction hadn't been left behind.
"This highway continues as a causeway, linking all the tiny islands that form the Florida Keys, all the way to Key West," said Frank, looking at the map of the area that Perfect Getaway had sent.
Suddenly he stiffened. "The car's turning," he said.
"And slowing down," added Frank as he turned off the television. "We must have left the main highway."
The car continued at a slower speed. Then, after about ten minutes, it came to a stop. They heard the driver's door open.
The Hardys waited in tense silence for the car's back door to open or for the locks to click open.
"Why isn't Jeeves letting us out?" Joe asked nervously.
"Maybe he's gone to check with his boss. Or to get some help. Or both," Frank said speculatively.
Another three minutes of silence passed, while Joe watched the numbers on his digital watch change.
Then the lock clicked and the car door swung open.
Jeeves was there, and with him was a tall man with his hair shorn in a military crew cut. His clothes were military, too: sharply pressed green fatigues and polished army boots, and he carried a standard M-16 infantry rifle. But when Frank looked closer, he saw no insignia of rank or unit on the man's sleeves, and no name was stenciled on the strip of white material above the shirt pocket. Whatever army he belonged to was a private one.
Frank glanced sideways at Joe. Joe was checking the guy out, too, and doubtless had reached the same conclusion.
"If you will leave the car now, gentlemen, and accompany Bob here," Jeeves said, stepping aside to let them out.
Frank and Joe climbed out of the car and found themselves standing in front of a white-columned mansion that looked like it came straight off a movie set of the old South. But there was one thing different in this set. Through the breaks in the tropical mangrove trees edging the property, the Hardys could see a high wall topped by barbed wire.
Bob saw them trying to get their bearings, and motioned with his rifle. "Let's go. No sense in you looking around here. You ain't staying. This is just your jump-off spot."
Jeeves, gun in hand once more, couldn't resist adding, "Bob is quite right. You won't be staying—unless, of course, you are here under false pretenses." He smiled, clearly pleased with himself. "In that case, this place will be your final destination." His grin grew more ghoulish. "Or should I say, your eternal resting place."
Chapter 4
"FIRST WE TAKE care of business," Bob told the Hardys as he pressed the buzzer to the door of the mansion. Another man in fatigues and carrying an M-16 opened the door and waved them through.
The interior was a surprise. The outside of the mansion looked straight out of the South before the Civil War, but inside everything was strictly contemporary. The lighting was indirect, the walls were painted in soft pastels, the carpeting was thick and springy underfoot, the furniture was modern and sleek. It was like walking into an expensive international-style hotel.
Bob herded the Hardys into a room that had been turned into an office, where a pretty young woman was sitting behind a free-form desk. Its top was uncluttered except for a computer.
The young woman looked up at them, smiling automatically. When she saw two teenage boys approaching her instead of the middle-aged men she had expected, the smile wavered for an instant. She quickly replaced it. "Hi. I'm Sally," she said coolly. "If you'll tell me your names, we'll get you checked in."
Frank recognized her voice. She was the one he had talked to on the phone at Marcie's.
"Hi," he said. "I think I spoke to you before. I'm Frank. And this is Joe."
"Hi, Frank and Joe," Sally said suspiciously. She punched their names into the computer and looked at the monitor screen, which Frank and Joe couldn't see. Then she said, "Glad you arrived on time. Everything is so much simpler when our clients obey instructions. That will be one hundred twenty-five thousand dollars, please."
Frank put the attache case on the table and opened it. "Shall I count it out, or do you want to?"
"I'd be happy to, sir," Sally said.
As she picked up the first bundle of bills, her whole manner changed abruptly. The unconvincing smile vanished from her face, her eyes focused like high-intensity lights on the bills, and her fingers moved as quickly as if they were machine parts, flipping through the bills amazingly quickly. After she had counted the bundle, she separated several bills from the rest and examined them with a penlight and a magnifying glass, which she took from a drawer.
"What's the matter, don't you trust us?" Frank asked quickly, suddenly wondering himself about all those hundreds. Were they funny money?
"Nothing personal, sir, just routine," said Sally automatically, not bothering to look up. She took another bundle of bills from the case and repeated the counting and checking.
Frank and Joe waited. The only sounds in the office were the rustling of the bills and Bob clearing his throat behind them. Neither Frank nor Joe turned around, but both could picture the M-16 in his hands. And they could be sure he was holding it ready.
Finally Sally looked up from the bundles of bills piled neatly on the desk in front of her. Her smile was switched back on. Whatever doubts she might have had about Frank and Joe seemed to have vanished.
"Everything seems to be in order," she said. "Now, what do you want to do with your remaining cash?" She pointed to the bundles of bills still in the attache case. The case was still about three-quarters full. "Would you like to deposit the money in an account with us? Or do you prefer to keep it with you?"
"If it's all the same, we'll keep it with us," said Frank.
"I understand perfectly," Sally said. "In fact, most of our clients prefer to keep their cash on hand. We cater to a very self-reliant kind of person. Survivors, that's how we like to think of them."
"Yes, well, it's a hard, cruel world out there. That's why we want to get away from it all," said Frank, fishing for information. "Just like all your other customers, right?"
But Sally only smiled politely and said, "Bob will show you to your suite now. I'm sure you'll want to freshen up. I hope you don't mind, but you two will have to share a suite, since you're being given a discount. Of course, if you wish to pay a bit more — "
"One suite will be fine," said Frank.
"Well, then, I hope you enjoy your stay." Sally snapped shut the attache case and pushed it toward Frank.
Frank tried one last probe as he picked it up. "I hope this stay won't be too long. I mean, we've got to be moving."
"All in good time," she said. "There are a few formalities. But don't worry, I assure you that you won't be disturbed here. We are very secluded."
"Yes," said Joe. "I saw the fence out front. Can't say I liked it, though. Reminded me too much of a prison."
"It's for your own protection, sir." Sally smiled. "Bob, if you will escort our guests to their suite."
"Let's move it," said Bob. None of Sally's good manners had rubbed off on him. "You've got half an hour before your interview."
"Interview?" said Frank.
"What kind of interview?" asked Joe.
Bob cut off further conversation with a gesture of his gun.
He led them up a curving stairway and along a hall to a door on the second floor. "Make yourselves comfortable," he said. "I'll be back for you in half an hour."
Frank and Joe entered their room, and the door closed behind them. They weren't surprised to hear it being locked from the outside. They had already gotten the idea t
hat they weren't totally trusted.
As soon as they were inside, Frank caught Joe's gaze, put his finger to his lips, then tapped that finger against his ear.
Joe got the message: just like the limo, the room might be bugged.
"You know, this place is gorgeous," Joe said in a loud voice as he began to check out one side of the room for listening devices, looking behind paintings, on the backs and bottoms of pieces of furniture, in vases, and under rugs.
"Perfect Getaway is really giving us our money's worth," said Frank, checking out the other side.
Working their way around the room, they met on the far side, where they both shrugged and gestured to signify that they had found nothing.
Frank's eyes darted around the room, checking to see if they had missed anything. Then he glanced up and pointed at the old-fashioned chandelier hanging from the high ceiling. Joe nodded.
"I think I'll get some exercise," Frank said. "I need to work out some kinks from the trip."
"Good idea," said Joe. "Me, too."
He watched Frank get a chair and position it under the chandelier. Frank stood on the chair, then squatted down and made a stirrup with his hands. Joe nodded, recognizing a gymnastic stunt they had worked up the year before in a skit for a school show. Joe backed up a couple of steps, propelled himself forward, and leapt when he was about a yard from Frank, his right foot landing in Frank's linked hands. Frank heaved upward as Joe pushed off from his hands, and a second later Joe was standing on Frank's shoulders. Careful not to lose his balance on the chair or disturb Joe's balance on his shoulders, Frank straightened up slowly. It worked. Joe was up high enough to inspect the chandelier. He peered into it and saw a miniature black receiving device.
Joe leapt down, hit the carpet, and did a neat somersault, just to finish the routine off right. "Good workout," he said loudly. He pointed to the chandelier, put his finger to his lips, and nodded.
"Time for a nice, hot shower," said Frank. He went into the bathroom, and Joe followed him.
"Great shower, needle-point spray!" Frank shouted, as if Joe were still in the other room.