The brand had burned down, and flames licked at Frank’s hand as he moved toward Joe.
He didn’t notice the heat.
Frank studied the faces as he passed the rows of men who, though they wore the same garb as the Rajah’s followers, were older than most of them. The faces were hard and merciless, and beneath each tunic showed the telltale bulge of hidden pistols. The Rajah’s bodyguards.
If I could just get to a gun, Frank thought.
He had no more time to think. He was standing before Joe. Every eye was on them. The chanting had become a shriek, the only sound in the world. From the corner of his eye, he could see the bodyguards fingering their guns, and the Rajah was grinning mirthlessly and nodding. The chanting went on and on.
Mouthing a silent prayer, Frank thrust the firebrand at Joe.
Suddenly he spun, hurling the wood at the bodyguard standing to his left. The man screamed as the flames brushed him, and jumped back. For a moment, everyone watched him, and Frank leaped in the air. He smashed out with his foot at the bodyguard to his right, striking him in the stomach. The guard doubled over.
Frank caught the man in mid fall and flipped him around. The bodyguard slammed against the ground. In a flash, Frank reached into the man’s tunic. Out came a .357 ‘Magnum, and Frank fired it once in the air. The chanting stopped.
Frank backed around the pole, keeping the gun trained on the Rajah. “Stay back,” he warned.
“Anyone so much as breathes hard and your leader gets it.” To Joe, he said, “You okay?”
“A little bruised, but otherwise pretty good,” Joe replied. “Too good to hang around with these creeps any longer. Ready to go?”
“As soon as I get you untied,” Frank said. He tried to loosen the knot at Joe’s wrists, but he couldn’t afford to look at the rope. If he took his eyes off the Rajah, even for a second, or if he moved the gun slightly, it would be all over.
Frank didn’t mind fighting the bodyguards if it came to that, but he couldn’t face the prospect of fighting the cult. Despite what he had seen in their eyes moments before, they were only frightened innocents at heart.
Keeping his eyes riveted on the Rajah, Frank whispered into Joe’s ear, “As Soon as I shoot, run for the van. Understand?”
“But I’m still tied,” Joe whispered back. “How-?”
“Just do it,” Frank murmured. Then, to the Rajah, he shouted, “Come here! Now!”
The Rajah’ stood still, his mouth dangling slightly open. His lower lip trembled, and there was, at last, fear in his eyes. Are his followers looking at him? Frank wondered, though he dared not turn his head to check. Can they see that he’s only a man, and a rotten excuse for a man at that?
“Come here,” Frank repeated. “Don’t make me kill you.”
The Rajah walked forward, through the corridor of bodyguards. His eyes shifted left, then right, then left again, but there was no escape. No way could he push his men aside before Frank fired.
“Do not - ” the Rajah started to say and then paused. His confident smile locked back into place, and he spoke steadily. “Do what you want with me, devil, but do not harm these holy souls.” He spread his arms out, waving at his followers, and continued walking toward Frank.
He’s good, Frank thought. He’s really good. A true showman, even in the face of death. Then a terrifying thought hit him. What if he knows? What if he figured out I wouldn’t gun down an unarmed man? That all this is an act?
No, he assured himself. If he knew that, Joe and I would be prisoners by now. Or worse.
When they were less than an arm’s length apart, Frank grabbed the Rajah by the shoulder, spun him around, and wrapped an arm around the Rajah’s throat. But as he did so, he lowered his gun. As one, the Rajah’s followers lunged.
Frank fired his gun once. The Rajah stiffened and his eyes bulged, and Frank pushed the Rajah’s slumping body away as the man fainted at the roar of the shot. The bullet ripped through Joe’s ropes. Joe was free.
“Go!” Frank screamed and fired a round of shots over the heads of the crowd. The Rajah’s bodyguards scrambled for cover, fumbling for their guns, and the cultists shrieked and scattered among the lodges.
Joe dashed for the black van. Oddly, no barred his way. I guess they just weren’t expecting us to make a break for it, he thought. The Joe Hardy luck, it seemed, was holding up. He reached for the door handle on the van.
The door burst open, smashing into Joe and knocking him off his feet. Dazed, he shook his head to clear the aim, and dimly he saw a man stepping out of the truck.
“Vivasvat,” Joe said. “I thought I’d have to leave without getting another crack at you.”
“You aren’t going anywhere! boy,” Vivasvat said. He crooked a finger at Joe and motioned him forward, challenging him- “Come on, boy. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Joe vaulted up, headfirst, and butted Vivasvat in the stomach. Though the wind was knocked out of him, Vivasvat grabbed Joe by the ears and swiftly jabbed his knee up, smashing Joe in the Adam’s apple. Joe staggered back, barely remaining on his feet.
“Come on, boy,” Vivasvat taunted. “Come on.”
Joe moved cautiously, his hands clenched into fists and his left arm raised for protection. “Come on,” Vivasvat repeated, and he laughed. Joe feinted with his left hand. Vivasvat knocked the hand aside, but in doing so opened himself up to Joe’s right. Joe swung, putting all his strength behind the jab.
With a chuckle, Vivasvat stepped aside. Caught off balance, Joe lurched forward, and Vivasvat cupped his hands together and smashed them against the back of Joe’s head. His knees weak, Joe staggered toward the black van.
In the corner of his eye, Joe saw Vivasvat coming up behind him. But he was still stunned. Vivasvat’s blows were expertly ‘placed, and though Joe was a fine amateur boxer, he could see he was outclassed by the Rajah’s henchman.
Vivasvat swung again, and Joe brought both arms up in front of his face, fending off the blow. He fell back against the side of the van. Rest, he said to himself. Concentrate. Let him tire himself out and wait for the right moment.
A fist slammed against his temple, and another on his chest. A third blow smashed into his arms, and he felt the strength drain from them. They were useless now, dangling by his side Vivasvat smiled and put a hand under Joe’s chin, steadying his head. “There,” Vivasvat said. “That’s just the way I want to remember you, wimp.” He drew back a fist, aiming the killing blow at Joe’s face.
As Vivasvat swung, Joe suddenly jerked his head to one side. Vivasvat screamed, and Joe heard bones crunch against the tempered steel side of the van. He swung a right uppercut into Vivasvat’s stomach, and the man doubled over. Joe slammed both hands down on Vivasvat’s neck, and Vivasvat dropped to the ground and lay still.
Taking a deep breath, Joe climbed into the van and started the motor. He was too tired to hear the screams of the Rajah’s followers or the gun battle going on between Frank and the Rajah’s bodyguards. He switched on the lights and drove the van onto the battlefield.
“Over here!” Frank shouted, and Joe saw him huddled against one of the lodges. Bullets smacked into the van, but they had no more effect than Vivasvat’s hand had. Joe drove the van to the lodge and hit a-switch on the dashboard. The back door of the van swung open, and Frank leaped in. “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “What about Holly?” Joe asked. “We can’t leave without her.”
“We can’t take her,” Frank said with a sigh.
“She tried to trap me for the Rajah. She doesn’t want to go, and if we take her against her will, it’s kidnapping. Let’s go!”
More shots were fired as the black van pulled away, and Frank stared out the back window.
The Rajah’s followers were coming out of hiding, screaming at the van and cursing. At the forefront of the mob was Holly. Frank could barely hear her above the din.
“I want to go, too!” she was yelling. “Take me with you, Frank! I want to go, too!”
“Stop!”
Frank cried. “Back it up! She wants to be rescued.”
“All right!” Joe said. He slammed on the brakes and spun the van around. They sped back the way they had come.
Shrieking, the Rajah’s followers hurled themselves out of the way. Only Holly stood in their path, illuminated by the headlights and swaying slightly, tensing for action. As they zoomed past, Frank threw open the side door. His hand went out and locked onto Holly’s wrist, and she was pulled from her feet and into the van.
“We did it!” Frank exclaimed as he slammed the door shut. “Let’s go.” The van roared into the night, followed only by slugs from the guns of the Rajah’s followers.
In the grass next to the Rajah’s home, Vivasvat nursed his broken hand. He sat there, crying until a shadow fell over him. The Rajah stood there, a curiously self-assured expression on his face.
“This is your fault,” Vivasvat said. “If you had let me handle it - “
“Everything that has been done has been my will,” the Rajah said. Serenely he drew a pistol from his tunic. It was the same pistol Joe had carried when he entered the camp.
“I have no need of you anymore, my friend,” said the Rajah, looking down. “Now that Strand is within my grasp, I am afraid we must say goodbye.”
The Rajah fired six times, and each time, Vivasvat jerked. When the last shot was fired, Vivasvat fell on his back, his mouth and eyes open. The Rajah tapped the body twice, but there was no response. He went into his home, shut and locked the door, and dialed the phone. After a dozen rings, someone on the other end answered.
“Pickwee police?” the Rajah said in a grieved tone. “This is the Rajah. I regret to say that my commune has been invaded. One of my charges was kidnapped, and my assistant was murdered… . What? Yes, the murderer left his weapon here. I’m sure his fingerprints are all over it.”
“His name? I only heard it once. But I believe he called himself Joe Hardy.”
Chapter 7
“No ONE’S FOLLOWING us,” Frank said. He gazed out the back window of the black van, but only the gravel road and silent forest showed in the red glare of the taillights. Beyond that was nothing but darkness.
Clouds had moved into the area, blotting out the moon and stars. If anyone was following them, they were doing it without lights, severely limiting the chances of catching up. Aside from dull thunder in the distance, the only sound was the ricochet of gravel off the van’s underbody as it sped down the mountain.
“No readings on the sensors,” Joe said, glancing at the readout from their surveillance equipment as he drove. “There’s no one within half a mile of us, if the infrared scopes aren’t on the fritz. We did it!”
“That was some stunt you pulled, brother, going in there in disguise,” Frank replied. “Why didn’t you stick to the plan?”
“Sometimes you have to play these things by ear,” Joe said, laughing. “Go with whatever works, that’s what I say.”
“It didn’t work,” Holly said, in a voice so low it could barely be heard. Both Hardys raised their eyebrows in surprise. Those were the first words Holly had spoken since they’d left the commune, but she wasn’t making any sense.
“Shhh,” Frank said comfortingly. “You’re safe now, Holly. No one’s going to hurt you anymore. “
“No, you’re wrong,” she said. She sat back against the wall and drew her knees up until they pressed against her chin. She wrapped her arms around her legs, and fatigue and fear reddened her eyes. “You’re wrong about everything. The Rajah hasn’t let us go. He’s toying with us. I know he is. Just like I know my father sent you.”
Frank shook his head. “It’s not true. He doesn’t know we’re here, and neither does our dad. We came here because you needed help and we could give it. And you don’t have to worry about the Rajah, either.”
“Yeah, you make too big a deal about him,” Joe said. “He’s not so tough.”
“You don’t know anything about him,” Holly snapped. “He’ll catch me, and he’ll take me back, and he’ll destroy you. I should never have left the commune.”
Joe smirked, though he made sure to keep his face turned away from Holly. She’s nuts, he thought. That creep’s got his followers so wound up they think he can do anything.
“I’ll tell you what, Holly. There’s a village a little way down the mountain, called Pickwee. We’ll get in touch with the police there and have them escort you home. Then the Rajah won’t be able to get his hooks into you again.”
She winced at the mention of home and uncurled her body, shivering. “Hold me, Frank,” she said, and he put his arm around her shoulder. She rested her head on his chest and sighed.
“I don’t want to go home,” she declared. “I don’t ever want to see my father again. Just let me stay with you, Frank.”
Frank’s mouth dropped open. For once, he didn’t know what to say. In the driver’s seat, Joe grinned, and the black van continued down the mountain.
The town of Pickwee had existed since the Revolutionary War. Originally one of the few coach stops in the Appalachians, it had become the home of a number of shops that served the farmers in the mountains. As a result, the town closed up when the sun went down, with only a bar and a gas station staying open late in the evening.
Joe pulled the van into the gas station and up to a pump. No one was around, and if not for a light on in the office, he would have thought the station was closed. He tapped the car horn twice, but there were still no signs of life.
Finally, after Joe had climbed out of the truck and started pumping gas himself, a dark-haired man in a checked shirt and blue jeans sauntered out from behind the station.
“What’s your hurry, young fellow?” he asked Joe.
Inside the van, Frank heard the man. Holly had fallen asleep, using his chest as a pillow. Carefully he slipped out from under her, cradling her head in his hands. He lowered her head to the floor, and when he stepped out of the back door, she still slept peacefully.
She looked angelic, a child, but Frank couldn’t think of her as a child anymore. She was warm and soft, and … He rubbed his eyes and tried to think of Callie, but her face kept blending in his mind with the face of Holly Strand.
Frank shut the back door and locked it. The station owner looked at him, then at Joe, then back at Frank, and he stepped back, suddenly wary.
“I ain’t got no money, if you’re thinking of robbing me,” the station owner said. “You kids ain’t looking for trouble, are you?”
“We’re looking for a policeman,” Frank said. “Any idea where the police station is?”
“Heck, that’s closed this time of-night,” the manager replied. “Don’t need it much up here. Sheriff Keller, he’d be in the bar by now. A fellow just ran over there with a message for him, matter of fact.”
“Thanks,” Frank said. He looked around. The bar was a block away, a brick building with tiny windows and a flashing neon sign in front of it. “Cruise on over and wait for me when you’re done filling up, Joe.” Joe nodded.
As he neared the bar, Frank heard shouting. There was also muffled music, the sound of a jukebox turned low. Through the window, Frank could see a burly, bearded man pacing back and forth. He was screaming at no one in particular, and his long blond hair bobbed up and down as he walked.
His back had been turned when Frank entered, and before he noticed, Frank slipped around him and up to the bar.
“Don’t worry about him,” the bartender said to Frank. Like the screaming man, the bartender had a beard, though his was dark and crinkly. Between his teeth was a toothpick, and he leaned against the bar, leafing through a magazine.
“That’s Hobart. He’s harmless, unless you step on his toes or try to steal his stuff. What can I get you?”
“I’m not old enough to drink,” Frank said. “I’m looking for Sheriff Keller.”
“You came to the right place,” the bartender said. “Sheriff Keller’s the coffee guzzler in back.” He pointed to a row of booths along the back
of the barroom. In one of the booths sat two men dressed in police uniforms. The older, who must have been fifty, had graying hair and a wiry mustache. Keller, Frank guessed. He wore no tie, his collar was unbuttoned, and he wrapped his hands around a cup of coffee and drowsily listened to the younger man.
The second man looked barely older than Frank, and unlike the older man, he wore a strictly regulation uniform. Even his badge looked freshly polished. He was waving his hands and talking excitedly, though he was making a point of keeping his voice down.
Frank sauntered-over to the booth, but he froze as he heard what the younger policeman was saying: “… murder at the hippie camp up there, Sheriff. Couple of fellows burst in with this black van and grabbed a girl. Shot one of their high muckamucks on the way out. S’posed to be heading this way.”
“I don’t guess you got any names to go with all these stories?” Keller asked. He looked tired and impatient with the younger man, but Frank could tell from his tone of voice that he was getting interested in the case.
The younger man pulled a sheaf of notepaper from his pocket and thumbed through it. “Yeah, it was … Joe something or other. “He searched the last sheet of paper without luck. “I must’ve left it back at the station.”
He rose from the booth and ran out the door. Frank breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the policeman heading away from the filling station and the van parked there. He was about to leave the bar himself when Keller glanced at him and barked, “You’re a little young to be in here, aren’t you? Let’s see a card.” “I just came in for information,” Frank said.
“Card!” Keller barked, and held out his hand. Frank dug his identification from his wallet and dropped it in Keller’s palm. “Frank Hardy, huh? Had some private dick named Hardy nosing around here a couple weeks ago. He just wanted information, too. Know him?”
“Nope,” Frank lied. He stepped around the booth so he could look out the door of the bar at the gas station. Joe was just pulling the van away. “Just a coincidence, I guess.”
“Uh-huh,” the policeman said, and gave Frank’s identification back. “Just what kind of information do you want?”
Cult of Crime Page 4
