Perfect Getaway

by Franklin W. Dixon

  He then closed the door and turned the shower up full force. The din of the water hitting the aqua-colored plastic shower stall filled the bathroom.

  Frank put his mouth close to Joe's ear. "Whisper. I don't think any bugs they might have in here could pick us up."

  "This looks bad for Marcie's dad," Joe whispered back. "This operation sure seems to be set up to help crooks skip out."

  "Right—and maybe it does even more than that," Frank answered. "It looks too elaborate for just an escape outfit. But we can worry about that later. Right now we have to worry about ourselves. We're in these people's hands, and unless we convince them we're their kind of guys, they're going to start squeezing really hard."

  "Yeah, we've got to get our story together," whispered Joe. "I bet that's why they put us in here before the interview, so that if we tried to come up with some story, their bug would pick it up."

  "You just figured that out?" whispered Frank.

  "Okay, okay," Joe said with more than a trace of annoyance in his whisper. "If you're so smart, how do we explain how a couple of teens like us are loaded with cash and on the run from the law?"

  "They were expecting Marcie's dad," whispered Frank. "So I think we should tell them that we were in on his embezzlement scheme."

  "Sure, we really look like corporate types," Joe hissed sarcastically.

  "Come on, Joe, the answer was sitting right there on Sally's desk."

  Joe sat patiently, waiting for his brother to get to the punch line of what he was sure was a joke.

  "I'm not kidding. We can claim that we were hackers for hire," Frank told him. "We can say we helped Mr. Miller rig his company's computers so he could get the money out of the country."

  "And that when the cops grabbed him, we grabbed our share of the money—" Joe exclaimed.

  "And ran," said Frank, finishing his brother's sentence.

  Frank turned off the shower and opened the bathroom door. "Hey, that was great, Joe," he shouted into the other room. "You want to take one?"

  Joe left the bathroom, then called back toward Frank, "Nah. You took too long. We're going to have our interview in a few minutes. Hope it doesn't drag on — I want to clear out of here fast. I can practically feel Uncle Sam breathing down my neck."

  "What could they want to find out?" Frank asked as he came out of the bathroom. "The color of our money should have been enough."

  "You can't blame them for checking us out," answered Joe. "In an operation like this, you have to be extra careful."

  A minute later Bob opened their door without bothering to knock and beckoned to them to follow.

  "Wait a sec," said Frank, and went to pick up the attache case. "We'd better keep this with us."

  Bob shrugged and said impatiently, "Let's go."

  He led them down a hall to another room and opened the door. "Here are the two you wanted to see, sir," he said and gestured with his M-16 for the Hardys to go inside.

  As they stepped into the room, they heard Bob leave and close the door behind them.

  In front of them was a short, squat, balding man with a mustache. He, too, was wearing unmarked fatigues, but his whole presence indicated that he was an officer in whatever kind of force this was. He wasn't sitting behind his desk, but on top of it. One gleaming boot was tapping against the desk front as he looked the Hardys up and down.

  "So you are Frank and Joe," he said. It was not a statement but a challenge.

  "Right," said Frank.

  "And who are you?" asked Joe.

  The man smiled. "You can call me Alex."

  "Glad to meet you, Alex," said Joe, extending his hand. "Now, how soon can you get us out of here?"

  "Ah, you young people, always in such a hurry," Alex said with a sigh, ignoring Joe's outstretched hand. "In fact, you seem quite young to want to take one of our vacations, much less be able to afford it."

  Frank had decided that the best way to weather this confrontation was to get this guy on the defensive, so he started talking fast and loud. "Look, I don't see why we have to go through this third-degree. The lady on the phone said there'd be no questions about our past."

  Alex smiled. "It wouldn't be good for business to allow any undercover cops to travel along our underground railroad, would it?"

  "If you lied on the phone," said Joe, "how can we trust you about anything?"

  Alex sighed. "Come on, kid, you might be young, but you can't be that dumb. Who can you trust in this world? Nobody. But if it makes you feel any better, we'll keep our part of the bargain once we clear you. Not out of any sense of honor, but because it's good business. The only way we can keep getting customers is to have them pass the word that we give good value — a new start with a new name in a new place."

  Frank pretended to think it over. Then he nodded. "Makes sense. Okay. Marcie Miller is a friend of ours. We met her father at a Halloween party, and he and I got to talking computers. When I told him about how some friends of mine had managed to get into the phone company's computers — "

  Joe interrupted, continuing the story. " — he said that such a thing could never happen to his company's computers, that they were state - of - the - art. Later that night we tried it, and they were easy. They had a mainframe set up to take orders over the phone lines, and their security system was a joke. We could have wiped them out."

  "But we didn't," interjected Frank. "We just got into the interoffice e-mail — that's electronic mail — system and left Miller a message. The computer wouldn't work for anyone in his company that day until — "

  " — they said please," said Joe, laughing out loud.

  "Sounds good," said Alex. "But that's nothing to make you start running."

  "What came afterward wasn't just fun and games." Frank's face sobered. "Miller told us we were the answer to a businessman's prayer. Working together, with us slipping bogus orders into the computer at night and him moving the money during the day, we really took a bite out of the company. But it looks like he got too greedy and careless. We picked up our last payment just before the cops came to take him away.

  When you called, it sounded like the answer to our prayers."

  Frank smiled at Alex, then at Joe. When he and his brother were on the same wavelength, it felt as if nothing and nobody could beat them.

  "Well, Frank and Joe, you seem to have — " Alex began.

  Just then the phone rang. Alex picked it up and listened. Then his eyes narrowed and he said, "Thanks. I'll take care of it."

  Without even a glance at the Hardys, he put down his phone, slid off the desk, and opened a drawer. Frank and Joe looked at each other uneasily. Alex's mood had clearly just changed— and it didn't look as if it had changed in their favor. When they looked back at Alex, they saw a .45 in his hand, pointed at them.

  "There's one thing you didn't mention, Frank and Joe," he said, a smile spreading slowly across his face. "Maybe you wanted to be modest. But let me tell you, it's a great big thrill to meet the famous Hardys."

  Chapter 5

  "WHO'RE THEY?" SAID Joe with a puzzled look.

  "Come on, you must have heard of them," said Alex. "They're Fenton Hardy's kids, and they like to play at being detectives like their old man."

  "Oh, those Hardys," said Frank.

  "What do we have to do with them?" asked Joe.

  The door to the room opened. In walked Bob, his M-16 in one hand and a magazine in the other.

  Alex glanced at its cover. "Hmm, Advanced Computer Abstracts. So, you're into computers Frank?"

  "What if I am?" said Frank defiantly, then stopped. He suddenly had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  "You're not even going to ask me how I knew this magazine was yours?" asked Alex with a gloating smile. "But I suppose you don't have to. You must realize that your name is on the address label pasted on it. A little careless, Frank. But I guess even the brightest boys make mistakes."

  Frank didn't have an answer. He said feebly, "You went through our bags w
hile we were down here."

  "Too bad you didn't think of it sooner," said Alex.

  "What are you going to do with us?" asked Frank, trying not to look at his brother. He could imagine the look that Joe was giving him.

  "Do you have to ask?" inquired Alex, lowering his gun so it was pointed directly at Frank's heart.

  Frank refused to give Alex the satisfaction of seeing him cringe. He kept his face expressionless and braced himself.

  "Relax," Alex said. "You have a few more hours—until it gets dark. Then you can take a trip with a couple of our men to a neighboring key. It doesn't have a fine mansion like this one on it. In fact, it doesn't have anything on it but quicksand. We find it very handy. It's as though Mother Nature has given us the perfect disposal machine."

  Then he turned to Bob. "Take them away."

  "The cellar?" asked Bob.

  "The cellar," said Alex. "You can leave that attache case here. Money won't do you any good where you're going."

  Bob herded Frank and Joe at gunpoint down the broad stairway to the first floor, then down a much narrower set of steps to an underground passage lined with wooden doors. It was dimly lit by a few light bulbs crudely installed on the ceiling.

  "Surprise, huh?" said Bob. "Upstairs was where the owners lived the good life in the old days. Down here is where they used to stick slaves who got too uppity. To teach them a lesson, if you know what I mean."

  They reached the end of the passage. Bob made them stand against the damp plaster wall next to the last door.

  "Turn your pockets inside out," he instructed sharply. After they had dumped the contents of their pockets onto the floor, he said, "Open that door and get in."

  They heard him slide the outside bolt shut.

  "Hey, it's pitch black. What about some light?" Joe shouted.

  "Get used to the dark. Pretend it's quicksand," Bob said, his voice muffled by the thick door.

  Long minutes passed in the silent darkness.

  Then Frank heard Joe whisper, "Think he's gone?"

  "Probably," Frank whispered back. Then he said in a more normal tone, "I don't think we have to worry about bugs down here."

  "I don't know if I should trust your judgment after your brilliant move with that magazine," Joe said sourly.

  "Look, I'm sorry," Frank said. "I was in the middle of an article, so I packed the magazine, intending to finish it and then chuck it. But things happened too fast, and it slipped my mind."

  "Which leaves us slipping into quicksand— unless we can find a way out fast," said Joe. "Let's start looking."

  A light flashed in his hand.

  "Good, you've got your penlight," said Frank. "I knew you'd manage to palm something when that goon made us empty our pockets."

  "Yeah," Joe agreed. "What'd you get?"

  "This," said Frank, and showed Joe his Swiss army knife.

  "We're in business," said Joe.

  Frank knelt in front of the door. He examined it, his brow furrowed, concentrating. "Too bad it doesn't have a lock. There's nothing to pick. We have to get at that bolt."

  He tested the wood with the tip of the longest blade on his knife.

  "We're in luck," he said. "It's old and soft. I could pick it away with my fingernails if I had the time."

  "But we don't," said Joe. "Get to work."

  "Right," said Frank, and began gaining access to the outside bolt, while Joe provided light with his penlight. With the blade, Frank gouged out wood on the edge of the door; then he used the miniature saw on the Swiss army knife to remove larger chunks. Half an hour later, the metal of the outside bolt was exposed.

  "Let's hope they've kept it well oiled," he said, and used the tip of his strongest blade to try to slide the bolt open.

  It wouldn't budge.

  "Back to work," said Frank, gritting his teeth and cutting at the wood again to widen the opening.

  "Hurry it up," urged Joe. "They'll be coming for us any second."

  "Thanks for the information," said Frank, wiping away the sweat that beaded his forehead.

  Finally the hole looked large enough. "Let's see if I can reach it now," Frank said.

  He managed to insert a couple of fingers into the hole and make contact with the metal of the bolt. The surface was rough and rusted. He tried to move it. It wouldn't budge. Finally he gave one last try—and felt it move just a fraction.

  "I think I've got it going," he said, "But my fingers are starting to cramp."

  "Let me take a crack at it," said Joe.

  They exchanged places.

  "It's moving, all right, but not much," Joe grunted. "It's really stiff." He withdrew his fingers and shook them to relieve the ache.

  They traded places three more times, until Joe finally said, "That does it." He gave the door a push, and it swung open.

  "Whew," said Joe. "That's cutting it close."

  "I hope not too close," said Frank. "Let's see if we can make it out of here."

  Swiftly they moved down the passageway and up the narrow stairs to the first floor. Joe went first, eager to be on the move. But he was cautious enough to stop midway up the stairs, and listen. At the top of the stairs, Joe slowly eased his head around the corner.

  "Coast's clear," he whispered over his shoulder. "Let's go."

  He raced for an open door. Frank was right on his heels.

  They entered a recreation room that held a Ping-Pong table, a pool table, card tables, video games, a giant-screen TV, and soft-drink and snack machines. It, too, was deserted.

  "Nice setup," remarked Joe. He went to a soft-drink machine and pressed a button. A plastic cup descended and was filled. "You don't even need change for it," he said, taking a long swallow. "They live pretty well here."

  Frank shook his head impatiently. It was good to keep cool in tight spots, but sometimes Joe overdid it.

  "We've been lucky so far," Frank said, "but let's get out of here before our luck runs out." Then he exclaimed, "Hey! What the — "

  In one lightning motion, Joe had dropped his soda, grabbed a ball from the pool table, and let the ball fly—right at Frank.

  There wasn't time for Frank to duck. He barely had a chance to blink as the ball whizzed by his ear. A clunk followed, and Frank wheeled around to see a young man in a white uniform toppling like a felled tree. Behind him, in the doorway of the room, another man in white stood with his mouth open in surprise.

  The second man didn't get a chance to make a move. Frank connected with a karate chop. The man dropped to the floor, out like a light.

  "Not a bad fastball, considering I haven't pitched since August," said Joe, crossing the room to join Frank near the two unconscious men.

  "Glad your control was on," said Frank, rubbing the ear the pool ball had almost brushed.

  "Trust me," Joe said. "They came through the door too suddenly for me to warn you. I had to move fast."

  "And we have to get out of here just as fast," said Frank, but then he stopped himself in mid-movement. "On second thought, let's take time for a quick change."

  He bent down to unbutton the clothes of the man at his feet.

  "Got you," said Joe, nodding and following Frank's lead.

  Minutes later Frank and Joe were clad in white suits that were a little too large and black patent shoes that pinched. Their own clothes had been torn into strips and used to tie and gag the two unconscious men.

  "Now, let's find a way out of here," said Frank.

  "Easy," said Joe as he raised a large window.

  Although it was dark out, a full moon lit the cloudless sky, and the Hardys had to be careful to stay in the shadows of the shrubbery that bordered the side of the mansion.

  "What now? The fence around this place is going to be tough to get over. Bet that wire on top is electrified," Joe said as they edged around the mansion toward the rear.

  "Quick," Frank whispered suddenly. "Hit the ground!"

  Joe had heard the same noise Frank had. They lay on their stomachs, hold
ing their breath, as a group of about twenty men came out of the darkness on an asphalt path fifteen yards from them.

  The men passed the spot where Frank and Joe were lying and entered the mansion through a rear door. Frank and Joe lay quietly for a couple more minutes before getting to their feet.

  "That explains why the mansion was deserted," whispered Joe. "Most of the help was back there. Wonder what they were doing?"

  "As long as they're not hunting us, I'm happy," said Frank. "Whatever they're doing, we have to get moving. In a little while, all those guys will be hunting us."

  "Let's see how fast you can go," challenged Joe. "Bet I can still beat you in the two hundred."

  "You're on," said Frank, assuming a sprinter's crouch.

  The two of them tore over the open lawn behind the mansion toward the asphalt path, and then raced along it.

  At the point where the path entered a grove of mangrove trees. Joe came to a halt with a three-yard lead over Frank.

  "As slow as ever," Joe panted as Frank stopped beside him.

  "Make it five miles, and then see who's ahead," Frank answered automatically, looking behind them. There was still no sign of pursuit. And no fence ahead of them. He looked at the path. No telling where it led.

  "Come on," Frank said, and they walked through the grove and emerged from the trees.

  "Wow! Look at that," said Joe, stopping to stare at the view that opened out before them.

  The path descended to a wharf that jutted out into the sea. Beyond the end of the wharf, the moonlight formed a ghostly ribbon on the smooth water. Ghostly in the moonlight, too, was a sleek white yacht, moored to the wharf.

  "Maybe we won't have to swim for it after all," said Joe. "Not with a beauty like that to take us over the water."

  "It's worth checking out," said Frank. "I don't see any sign of life aboard. Maybe we can hijack it."

  "Sounds good," said Joe, already moving toward the wharf.

  "Careful, this wood is old — watch out for squeaks," whispered Frank when they reached the pier.

  "Okay," Joe whispered back. "But there's no danger that I can see. Nobody is — "

  A sudden beam of light froze him with his mouth open. Almost as quickly as the light had gone on, it went off.