Perfect Getaway

by Franklin W. Dixon

  "How'd you find out?" asked Joe.

  "How do you think?" said Sam. "When I woke up from my little nap, I remembered I was supposed to bring those guys down in the hold their chow. I went to the galley and found out that Frank had already gone. After I chewed out the cook for breaking the off-limits rule, I went down to make sure Frank kept his mouth shut about what was down there. I guess you know what I found."

  "I guess I do," said Joe, his stomach sinking.

  "And I guess you know what's going to happen to you now," said Sam.

  "I really don't want to find out," said Joe, searching desperately for a way out of this jam. He hoped Frank was doing the same.

  Frank shrugged, apparently unconcerned, and said, "I suppose our luck had to run out sometime. You have to admit, though, we got pretty far."

  "And you're going to keep going far—all the way to the bottom of the sea," said Sam.

  "What're you going to do?" asked Frank. "Make us walk the plank?"

  "No, that would be too public," said Sam. "You won't leave this room alive. After I shoot you two, the only ones who will notice are the fish when you sink past them in the water."

  "Gee," said Frank, "I hate to make you miss any sleep while you're waiting for a chance to toss us over the side undetected. You've had so little rest since we left port."

  "Yeah, well, I can sleep all the way back to ; Florida on the return trip. Not that I wouldn't mind a little sack-time right now, but—" Sam paused to give a big yawn. "Yeah, wouldn't mind a," — he gave another yawn — "nap. Funny, I feel kind of — " He shook his head, as if trying to clear it.

  "Maybe you should sit down," Frank suggested. "You look tired. Really tired."

  "Maybe I will," said Sam, sitting down. "But don't you two get any — " Another yawn. "Remember, I still got this — " And as his eyes closed and his head slumped forward, the gun dropped from his fingers and clattered to the floor.

  "Whew," said Frank with relief. "Thought that stuff would never get to work."

  "Stuff?" said Joe. "What stuff? What happened?"

  "On my way back to the galley, I figured I'd look in on Sam to make sure he was still napping," said Frank. "He was gone, so I decided to use the opportunity to lift some sleeping pills from that bottle he put back in his drawer. I figured we could use them to knock him out before we jumped ship, since he was the only one who might stop us. Then, when I got back to the ' galley and he rang for coffee, I saw my chance to knock him out of action. I put in a triple dose. Luckily, he gulped down the coffee while he was questioning me back in his cabin. From then on, I had to hold my breath and pray he'd drop off before he knocked us off."

  "Think he'll sleep until we're off the ship and beyond his reach?" said Joe, looking down at Sam, who had slipped off the chair and lay snoring on the floor with a peaceful smile on his face.

  "From what he said about those pills, we stand a good chance," said Frank. He stooped down to pick up Sam's gun and concealed it in his shirt. "Come on, help me lug Sam back to his cabin. From what the cook said, he's known for liking lots of shut-eye. We have to hope that nobody thinks it too strange if he stays sacked out."

  As they hauled Sam down the passageway, they passed a crewman, who glanced at them curiously.

  "Sam here had a few too many," Joe told him. "I warned him, but he wouldn't listen."

  "Yeah," said Frank. "He's out like a light, and he weighs a ton. Wouldn't be surprised if he sleeps right through the unloading. Leave us to do his work for him." '

  "It wouldn't be the first time Sam pulled a stunt like that," said the crewman. "The guy drinks like a fish and sleeps like a log." The man looked at Sam, who by now was snoring loudly. He shook his head with disgust and continued on his way.

  "This may actually work," said Joe as they deposited Sam onto his bunk.

  "Don't my plans always work?" Frank replied with a grin.

  "I won't answer that," said Joe. "I want to stay optimistic."

  "You've got to keep the faith," chided Frank. ; "Now, let's go after those two guys in the hold. [ They should still be where we found them, since they're not supposed to show themselves to the crew."

  Again Frank was on target. When he knocked on the door of the cabin in the cargo hold, a voice answered from within, "Who's there?" "Sam," Frank answered.

  The door swung open, and a minute later the two men were backed up against a wall, their hands over their heads, their eyes fixed on the gun in Frank's hand.[

  Upon questioning, they gave their names as Dave and Mike.

  Frank could have gotten their last names, too — the fear in their eyes told him that. But their last names weren't what he was interested in. He wanted to find out just one thing.

  "Does either of you know where you're supposed to be going?" he demanded in a harsh voice. "Don't play games. Tell me the truth. I get very upset when people lie to me."

  "Hey, guys, cool it," Dave said hurriedly. "No sweat. I'll tell you anything I can."

  "Me, too," Mike seconded. "I'm just in this [ for the money. And there's no amount of money worth dying for."

  "Good to see that both of you are using your heads," said Frank. "Now, talk."

  "Trouble is," said Dave, "there's not much I can tell you. All I know is I answered an ad for adventurers only, and I was promised really good pay for two years' work if I followed orders and didn't ask any questions."

  "Same with me," said Mike. "The guy who hired me wouldn't tell me where I was going. I was just supposed to be picked up on a beach near Miami, which I was, by limo, along with Dave here. We couldn't even see out the limo windows. Next thing we knew, we were being grilled by some guy in a big old house, and then we were stuck down here and told to stay here until we were off-loaded. Honest, we're in the dark about this whole deal."

  "You've got to believe us," pleaded Dave, staring at the revolver in Frank's hand, sweat beading his forehead.

  "I don't know why I should, but I do," Frank said in a grudging voice.

  "You guys are lucky we're such trusting souls," said Joe, silently agreeing with his brother that the guys' stories made sense. "But don't push your luck. One wrong move, and we'll turn out your lights for good."

  "Yes, sir," said Mike.

  "Anything you say," said Dave.

  They were as good as their word. Frank and Joe quickly traded clothes with them, then tied them up and gagged them once again.

  "Luckily, they don't know where we're going, so they can't help anyone find us," said Joe.

  Frank nodded, then stifled a yawn. "Maybe we ought to join Sam in dreamland for a couple of ' hours. There's nothing to do now but wait for landfall at dawn."

  Joe found himself yawning, too. "Guess you're [ right."; "I'll set the alarm on Mike's watch to wake us at five," said Frank.

  "Hope there are no rude awakenings before that," said Joe soberly, climbing up into the upper bunk in Dave and Mike's quarters. Frank lay down in the lower one.

  It seemed like only minutes before the beeping of the watch woke them. They had barely washed up in the lavatory connected with the cabin when they heard the sound of men and machinery outside in the hold.'

  "Let's get out of here before somebody comes and sees these two tied up," said Frank. He started to hide the gun in his shirt again, then stopped and shook his head. He thrust it under the mattress of the bottom bunk. "We're better off without this. Dad always says that carrying a gun usually gets you into more trouble than it gets you out of. What we need is brainpower, not firepower."

  "Right," agreed Joe. "Anyway, we promised Dad we'd leave guns alone unless it was life or death." Then he added, smacking his fist in his palm, "Though muscle power can come in handy, and Dad can't complain about that."

  "Spoken like a true muscle-head," Frank said, then ducked a mock punch that Joe threw at him. Then sounds outside the cabin jerked them back to reality. This was no time for joking. It was time to save their skins.

  Frank opened the door and looked out cautio
usly. Crewmen were loading the crates in the hold onto wooden pallets, attaching the pallets to cables descending from the open cargo hatch above, and standing aside to watch them being lifted up and away.

  "Wonder where the stuff is going?" Frank muttered, leaving the cabin and signaling to Joe that it was safe to follow. Everyone was too busy to notice them.

  "We'll find out quickly enough," said Joe. "Let's get up on deck fast, before the activity slows down."

  Minutes later they stood on deck in the faint early-morning light. The yacht was anchored close to shore in a natural deep-water cove. On the shore, a tall crane was lifting the loaded pallets out of the hold and depositing them on the ground. There, men driving forklifts were picking up the pallets and carrying them into an opening in a thick tropical forest.

  "I can see why they picked this time of day to unload," said Frank. "There's enough light to see, but it's still dim enough for them to avoid easy detection. Their security never lets up."

  Just then a voice from behind made them wheel around. "Mike? Dave? About time you two showed up."

  A man in crisply pressed khakis with a gleaming leather belt around his waist stood facing them. He was slapping his hand impatiently against his thigh below a holster that hung from his belt. The expression on his face told Frank and Joe that his eyes, invisible behind dark aviator sunglasses, were glaring at them. Although he wore no sign of rank, it was clear who was in command.

  Both Hardys snapped to attention.

  "Sorry, sir," Frank said.

  "The guy on the ship was late waking us," said Joe.

  "I haven't got time to listen to your excuses," the man said. "Which of you is which?"

  "Mike here," said Frank.

  "Dave here," said Joe.

  "Okay," the man said. "Continue using first names only, but now you're Mike Seven, and you're Dave Eleven, to avoid confusion among personnel. Got it?"

  "Yes, sir," Frank and Joe responded in unison.

  "Now, lift your arms above your heads, both of you," the officer ordered.

  Frank and Joe instantly obeyed, and the officer quickly frisked them.

  "Good," he said, stepping back and indicating that they could lower their hands. "Some recruits disregard instructions and arrive armed, which is bad news for everybody. Some guys are too dumb to live."

  "Not us, sir," said Frank fervently.

  "We know how to obey orders," Joe seconded.

  "That's a very healthy attitude — healthy for you," said the commander. "Now, let's move it."

  He led the way off the yacht onto the gangway that stretched between the ship and shore. As soon as they were on land, the commander nodded to a crew of men in nearly identical khakis, who started unhooking the gangway, getting ready to wheel it away.

  The commander marched Frank and Joe toward the opening in the forest where the cargo was being taken. The light was still too dim for them to see what was in the jungle shadows.

  Only when they reached the edge of the forest could they see what was waiting for them.

  Waiting among the trees was a train — a small diesel locomotive with a passenger car and a string of five boxcars.

  "Put your eyes back in your heads — it's real," snapped the man. "All aboard."

  Frank and Joe climbed into the passenger car. It was the kind seen in old black-and-white European movies, with a passageway running beside several separate compartments. Each compartment contained seating for six, three seats facing three more.

  As they passed the first compartment, they saw Igor sitting inside, flanked by stone-faced men in khaki. He was trying to look at ease, but sweat was pouring down his face.

  "You two are in luck," the commander said. "You get a compartment all to yourselves. There aren't many passengers this trip. Make yourselves comfortable. See you in a couple of hours when we reach the ranch. Your orientation starts there."

  Frank and Joe sat facing each other on the faded blue plush seats of the compartment. Both peered out the window. All they could see was a thick rain forest of very tall trees.

  Frank slid open the window, stuck his head out, and looked upward. After several moments, he pulled his head in again. "Pretty clever. They've extended nets between the tops of the trees on both sides of the tracks and covered the nets with foliage. Looks like they've laced the top branches together, too. They've made sure that nobody can spot the tracks from above. It's as if we're in a tunnel."

  There was a gentle lurch, and the train started moving.

  "Remember how Alex mentioned their underground railway, Joe? I read about the original one — the operation that helped runaway slaves escape from the South before the Civil War," Frank said. "Guess you could call this the underworld railway."

  "Yeah, the Crime Rail Express," said Joe. "Just wish I knew where it was heading."

  Frank nodded in agreement as he squinted out the window, but he could see less and less as the light at the opening of the tunnel faded behind them. The train sped on, deeper and deeper into the darkness of the unknown.

  Chapter 10

  "BET YOU ALL are a mite curious about this railway," said the tall man in a cowboy hat and the now-familiar khakis. He had met them as they got off the train at a distant corner of the ranch.

  But even if the Hardys had not been told, they would have been able to guess that this man, introduced only as "Chief," was in absolute control of this huge highland ranch at the edge of the jungle.

  "Yes, Chief," Frank and Joe answered as they had been instructed to do.

  "Real interesting story, that railway," said the man. He was smiling with his mouth, but his eyes stayed hard. He kept Frank and Joe standing at stiff attention while he paced in front of them, the jungle a backdrop. He was making sure they knew who was in charge there. "It was built by an American about ninety years ago. He saw those little countries here in Central America all split by civil wars and fighting with each other, and he figured that a good, enterprising American could come down here and take charge. Carve out his territory, just like a man used to be able to do in the West before all the land got settled. Well, this fellow came down here and did just that. Built this ranch, declared it an independent country with himself as president for life, ran a railroad to the sea, and had himself sitting pretty. Trouble was, the folks down here got their act together and put this fellow in front of a firing squad, and that was that. The ranch, his little kingdom, went to seed, and the railway tracks were overgrown by jungle—until I came along. You might say I'm following in that fellow's footsteps, except I'm not making his mistakes. You see, I know how to protect myself. I know what to protect myself with. And you boys know what that is?"

  He looked at Frank and Joe, demanding an answer.

  "Guns?" said Joe.

  "Sure, I got them," said the chief. "But I'm talking about something more powerful. The most powerful thing in the world."

  "You don't mean atomic weapons?" said Frank, trying not to shudder.

  "Nah, don't need them with what I've got, though I expect I could get some if I wanted to," the chief said, his grin widening. "What I'm talking about is money. Money and information. That's all I need."

  Frank and Joe exchanged a quick glance. Once again, just when they thought they'd found the answer to some of their questions, they'd discovered that all they had was a new set of questions.

  "Yes, sir, money nearly does it all," the chief went on. "But I don't have to tell you two that. Money is what got you down here, right?"

  "Yes, Chief," Frank and Joe answered.

  "But I've got news for you," the chief went on. "All the money in the world can't get you out of here, and you remember that. Nobody leaves here before I say they can. Nobody leaves here alive, that is. You got that?"

  "Yes, Chief," the Hardys responded again.

  "Glad you got the message," said the chief. "Now, you boys follow orders, keep your noses clean, and maybe when your two years are up I'll figure I can trust you and let you go home. But remembe
r—one little foul-up and you two ain't going nowhere, except six feet under the ground."

  "Yes, Chief," said the Hardys, beginning to feel like broken records.

  "Okay, you can go now," the chief said. "Dimitri!" he called. "Assign these boys their duties." He turned and strode away.

  Dimitri, the man who had ridden on the train with them, walked over and joined them.

  "Did the chief give you his orientation speech?" Dimitri asked.

  "Yeah, if that's what you call it," said Joe.

  "That's what I call it," Dimitri said in a voice that made it clear that he didn't like wisecracking. Then he commanded, "Come with me. Time to get that cargo off the train."

  He drove Frank and Joe in a jeep to the boxcars, where men were loading the weapon crates onto a large flatbed truck.

  "Start sweating," he told the Hardys, and they joined the others working in the broiling heat. Even there in the highlands, on a plateau above the rain forest, it was clear that this was Central America. They could feel the sun directly overhead, beating straight down on their backs as they worked.

  When all the crates had been loaded, Frank and Joe climbed into the back of the truck with the other men, and the truck started rolling. It bounced along a dirt road that cut through lush grassland dotted with herds of cattle until it reached the bank of a wide, slow-moving river.

  Dimitri climbed out of the front of the truck and told the men to climb down from the back. He pulled a walkie-talkie and snapped it on. Frank and Joe, standing close to him, could hear him speaking in Spanish.

  After he had finished, he said, "Okay, men, we wait here. Shouldn't take long for them to cross over."

  Joe peered toward the other side of the river. Jungle grew down to the opposite bank.

  "Who are we expecting?" he asked.

  "Bandits. Guerrillas. Freedom fighters. Call them whatever you want," said Dimitri with a shrug. "They're our first line of defense and the main reason that no prisoner ever gets very far. We keep them supplied with arms and ammunition, and they guard our perimeter. What they do with the guns the rest of the time is their own business."