Edge of Destruction

by Franklin W. Dixon

  Before Frank or Joe could make a move, their dad stepped forward. He was shielding them now and looking up at Trask.

  . "Hey, that's nice, Fenton, real nice," said Trask. "You've lived a lot longer than your kids, so now you're going to give them some extra time. I'm sure they'll appreciate it for the rest of their lives, all one minute more."

  Then Trask paused, as if having second thoughts. "But maybe I shouldn't waste you first. I mean, it might be fun making you watch your own two kids get it."

  But Trask didn't have the pleasure of watching Fenton Hardy plead or squirm. He stood in front of Trask without wavering, his gaze level and hard. Finally, Trask shrugged, tiring of his game. "Okay, Fenton, I'll be Mr. Nice Guy. You get it first, and you can just think of what your kids will feel like when they watch you go."

  Trask extended his arm. He aimed directly at the center of Fenton Hardy's forehead. At a distance of less than four feet, there wasn't a chance in the world of his missing the target.

  Hardy, lips drawn tight, stared into the gun barrel without flinching. '

  Frank and Joe felt sick to their stomachs. They couldn't hear to watch what was going to happen, yet they couldn't tear their eyes away from their last look at their dad.

  Trask's eyes shone happily. "I won't say it's been nice knowing you, Fenton. But it's sure going to be nice killing-"

  To Frank and Joe, braced for horror, the sound of the phone ringing was louder than a pistol shot.

  Trask was startled as well. His gun hand held steady, but his face swiveled around to look at the ringing phone.

  That was all Fenton Hardy needed. He lunged for Trask's gun, grabbing the barrel with both hands and using every ounce of his strength to wrench it from his iron grip.

  But that still left Trask's other hand free - free enough to' smash into Fenton Hardy's jaw. Still clutching the gun, he crashed backward against a wall, and then collapsed in a heap.

  Trask snickered loudly and went after Hardy, his hand out to snatch the gun back.

  But before he could take two steps, Joe hit him around the knees in a perfect low tackle. Joe had brought down charging fullbacks with tackles just like it. But all he succeeded in doing then was stopping Trask's forward movement.

  The guy's built like a brick wall, was the only thing Joe had time to think before Trask grabbed him and tore himself loose. Roaring, he pitched Joe against the wall.

  Joe half-stunned, desperately tried to clear his head. At the same time, he watched Frank deliver a perfect karate chop to Trask's upper arm. The chop looked as if it could have felled a tree, but all it did was make Trask grunt. Trask's other arm hooked around toward Frank in a vicious counterpunch that Frank barely dodged. But he couldn't duck Trask's kick. It caught him on an ankle and sent him sprawling.

  "Hey, Nick baby, look at me!" Joe yelled just as Trask was raising his foot for another kick that would have laid Frank's head wide open.

  But the crook did what Joe hoped he would, he hesitated and turned to face Joe. Joe butted him in the pit of the stomach with the top of his head, his legs pumping like pistons.

  He has to go down now, Joe thought, hearing the whoosh of Trask's breath as it was knocked out of him. But he had hardly finished thinking that when he felt Trask's fist cracking against his jaw.

  Joe saw stars. Through them he made out the phantom shape of Frank charging Trask once again. But Trask smashed Frank.

  The Hardy boys were beside each other then, both of them reeling on the floor as Trask stood over them, grinning. The boys tried to move when Trask reached out to grab them, but their battered bodies weren't able to follow the commands of their clearing brains.

  Then each of them was being lifted off the ground, Frank in Trask's left hand, Joe in his right. They heard Trask's voice, harsh with paid and rage. "You punk kids figure two heads are better than one, I bet. Let's see how good your two heads are when I smash them together."

  Frank and Joe tried to struggle, but their bodies still would not obey. .

  All they could do was brace themselves for the violent agony they would feel when their skulls were smashed together. All they could do was ready themselves for the inevitable blackout.

  But their luck held.

  "owwwwww," howled Trask. Then his voice turned dull. "Ugh," he grunted.

  Frank and Joe felt themselves released from his grip as, with a surprised look on his face and like a huge falling tree, Trask slowly toppled over.

  Behind him Fenton Hardy stood with Trask's gun raised, ready to strike a third blow if necessary.

  "I thought for a second he wasn't going to go down," Fenton said. "He's got a head like a rock. You kids okay? Good thing I came to in time." "I've got nothing that a couple of aspirin won't cure," said Joe, rubbing his sore chin.

  Frank looked down at Trask. "When he, goes back to jail, they'd better not let him get at that bodybuilding equipment again."

  "Hey, he didn't stand a chance," said Joe. "Not against us." He grinned at his dad. "All three of us."

  Then the Hardy’s noticed something they'd put out of their consciousness during the fight. The phone was still ringing. "Let's see how well I can imitate Trask's voice," Fenton Hardy said.

  He picked up the receiver. "Yeah," he growled. "What do you want? And make it quick. " He listened for a minute. "What do they look like?" he rasped.

  Another silence. The investigator hung up without saying goodbye.

  "It was one of Trask's men," he said worriedly. "He said they were being attacked at all their guard posts. But before he could tell me who was doing the attacking, the line went dead."

  "Maybe the cops got to them," said Joe. "Doesn't seem likely," said Frank. "The guy would have said that right away."

  "I've got a better idea," said their father. "The mob must have traced Trask up here. And now they're coming to get him."

  "It figures," said Joe, nodding. "I bet they captured some of Trask's men downtown. It wouldn't have taken much to make them talk."

  "The mob isn't coming just to get Trask," Frank thought out loud. "They're coming to get us too. No way they'll leave any live witnesses around." '

  "We have to get out of here fast," said his dad. "And lug big boy here with us," said Joe, looking down at the unconscious Trask. "What a pain. Maybe we should just leave him here for his old pals to take care of."

  "Forget it," said his dad. "We're working for the law, not the lawless."

  "Just a thought," said Joe. "Come on, Frank, help me move man-mountain here."

  He bent to grab Trask by one arm. Frank bent to grab the other, but the sound of someone trying to open the door made them both straighten up fast.

  "Too late," their father said. "We're trapped."

  He leveled the gun at the door. "The only thing we can do," he said, "is try to take as many of them with us as we can."

  "Right, Dad," the boys said. But it occurred to them that what they really were saying was goodbye.

  Chapter 17

  AN AX SMASHED through the door around the lock.

  The door swung open and Frank and Joe shouted at the top of their lungs, "Don't shoot!"

  But they shouted their warning in opposite directions.

  Frank shouted at his dad, who was standing facing the door with his gun leveled. Joe shouted at the open doorway, where, gun in hand and in the same firing position, stood Peter Jones.

  Both men lowered their guns, and both Hardy boys breathed a sigh of relief.

  Jones stuck his gun into the belt of his seersucker suit. Over his shoulder, he said, "It's okay. We're among friends."

  He entered the room followed by six men. All were carrying weapons. One of the men was a wiry Latino in a gray sweat suit. The other five, three of them black, two white, all of them bearded and two with hair in ponytails, wore old army fatigues.

  "Meet my strike force," Jones said after the Hardy boys introduced him and their dad to each other. "Carlos here was once a lightweight contender. And each of these vet
s makes Rambo look like a Boy Scout. Those crooks didn't know what hit them. We took the entire arsenal we're carrying from them. As soon as we lifted a gun from the first one we ambushed, the rest came easy."

  "Lucky for us you decided to attack when you did," said Frank. "If that crook hadn't made that desperate phone call, we'd be lying there the way Trask is now. Except that we'd be dead."

  "It wasn't luck, it was underground people power," said Jones proudly. "You probably didn't notice it, but there was an old woman nesting down in the old City Hall subway station. She saw Trask herding you onto the uptown tracks, and she figured it might have something to do with the struggle up here. So she gave us a call, and I got our act together."

  "We'd better get our act together," Fenton Hardy told his sons. "Your mom and Gertrude are still in danger. First thing we do is call the Bayport police and alert them to the situation. They can surround the house." Fenton Hardy was smiling when he put down the receiver after talking to the police. "I should have known that a couple of crooks couldn't get the best of Laura. When they tried some funny business, she laid them out cold. Then she contacted Collig and had him lock them up with the understanding, of course, that he'd keep the whole operation quiet until I told her my assignment was finished." "So Trask was lying when he said his men were holding Mom and Aunt Gertrude captive," said Joe.

  "Why so surprised?" asked Frank. “Ever since we went underground, nothing's been quite what it seemed. I've been feeling like I wandered into Alice's Wonderland." "Yeah," said Joe. "This whole case was a great big web of lies, which reminds me," he added, "what did happen to Ian? How did he die?"

  Jones's face went slack. "Heart attack," he said sadly. "The doctor's drug was too much for him. If he'd been stronger, Ian would be with us now, celebrating." "Which we can do now, thank goodness," said Mr. Hardy. He picked up the phone again. "I can hardly wait to tell Sam Peterson the good news. This whole thing must have been like a nightmare for him."

  But Peterson still had one last concern.

  He explained it two hours later in a very private meeting in his office. He’d asked Fenton Hardy, Joe and Frank, and Peter Jones to stop by.

  "When the media start asking questions,” Peterson said after his secretary had, left the room, "it’s going to be hard to explain what happened. I mean, I appreciate the help that the underground people provided, but officially they’re not even supposed to be living down there much less doing the job of the police."

  "Which wouldn't exactly help your image when you run for mayor, right, Chief?" said Peter Jones with a smile.

  "That, too, of course,” Peterson acknowledged.

  "I think I have away out of your dilemma," Jones said, his smile warm. “And out of a lot of other people's dilemmas as well."

  "Oh? What's that?" asked Peterson with keen interest "I'd be glad to have my people provide eyewitness testimony to how the police made an underground raid at Grand Central and Caught the Trask gang. The raid was astounding, they'll testify, its success hinging on the help of undercover Cops disguised as underground people. That should go a long way in making you a hero. It might also make you a mayor."

  "And why would you do all that for me?" Peterson asked. His eyes narrowed slightly.

  "I can see you've started thinking like a politician already," said Jones with a grin. "You're right. I do want something. I want a strong commitment from you. If you're elected mayor, I'd like you to be sympathetic to the city's homeless population. Some people prefer to live underground, but most of them are forced to. And I think it's the city's job to help bring these people into the light again. Do you agree to help us?" "I agree," said Peterson. "And I also agree with what you said and want to help." "Will you put it in writing?" asked Jones.

  "I may sound like a politician, but you sound even more like a lawyer," the chief said, chuckling. "Sure, I'll put it in writing. In fact, I'll do even more than that to assure you I'll keep my word. How would you like a job in my administration if I'm elected? I'll need people like you around me. People who can keep me in touch with everyone in the city I'm supposed to serve."

  "Chief," Jones promised, "you have yourself a new aide, and I think you're going to have a whole bunch of very effective new campaign workers." Jones and Peterson shook hands firmly. The Hardy’s looked on.

  "I guess we can be getting back to Bayport," Fenton Hardy said then. "We're leaving New York in pretty good hands."

  "Before you go, you have to promise me something," Peterson said. “At least your kids have to."

  "What's that?" asked Frank.

  "In a few years, when you're considering jobs, think about joining the New York City Police Department," said Peterson. "You're the best prospects I've seen since the old days when your dad and I put on uniforms."

  "Chips off the old block, Sam," Fenton Hardy agreed, placing a hand on each of his sons' shoulders. "Chips off the old block."

  "Come on, we're a couple of high school kids," said Joe. "We just want to have fun. No more crime fighting for us."

  And now it was the Hardy boys' turn to exchange great big grins.

  The End.