Meredith looked scared. “And I helped them without even knowing it. This is bad, man. I’m in big trouble.”
“Maybe Frank and I can help,” Joe said. “Let us have a look at that latest set of maps you brought for them and we’ll talk to the cops about what you did here today.”
“Hey, that’d be cool,” Meredith said. “I dropped the stuff up on the bank there.”
The four of them climbed up. Joe looked across the reservoir. Both the pickup and the wave-runner were gone. He wondered what the crooks were using the wave-runner for. They were fun for zipping around on—jumping wakes and stuff—but they weren’t very good for anything else.
Meredith found the papers in the grass and unrolled them. Then he used rocks to pin down each corner.
Frank immediately recognized these pages as the ones missing from the first set he and Joe had found. “Here,” he said to Joe. “Here’s where the yellow line branches out and disappears on the first maps we saw. On these you can see that they all lead to different parts of the reservoir. You can tell which storm drain leads directly from the dam to downtown.”
“Did you give Racine a copy of these?” Joe asked.
“Yeah,” Meredith said. “He grabbed it out of my hand when you guys came after us.”
“So they have everything they need to pull another heist,” Frank said. He studied the map. “We know the next false alarm is going to be at the suburban branch of New England National, but we don’t know which downtown bank is really going to get hit.”
“Unless . . .” Joe said. “Unless it’s not a bank at all.”
Biff crossed his arms. “What do you mean?”
Joe looked at Frank. “Dad said Herve DuBois stole the special ink used for U.S. currency. A month ago, somebody got hold of the printing plates at the mint. What else do you need for perfect counterfeiting?”
Frank remembered what Sylvia had said. “The micro-coded paper!”
“And Sylvia said they store it right here in Bayport. That’s got to be the next target!”
Frank scanned the maps, “Okay, okay, but where would you store something so important?” He held his finger over the middle of downtown Bayport, then moved it half an inch, to where he thought the very end of State Street would be. “The Federal Armory,” he said, pointing. “Of course! They’d store it at the Federal Armory. There’s a yellow line going right under it.”
“They’re going to hit it and use the storm drain to escape, like before,” Joe said.
Frank rolled up the maps. “We’ve got to tell Con,” he said.
• • •
The Hardys and Biff jogged back to the van, while Meredith got into his rusted car. He said he had to change clothes and get back to work. Frank and Joe promised to explain his situation to the police.
Joe held his T-shirt out the window as they drove, trying to get it dry. “You think DuBois will try to hit the armory today?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Frank replied. “There’s been a robbery each of the past two days, though. It would fit the pattern.”
“Think the police will listen to us?” Biff asked.
Joe pulled his shirt back in and put it on. “They’d better,” he said.
The tires squealed as Frank whipped into the police station.
The three friends ran inside, only to be stopped by the desk sergeant.
“Stop right there!” he said. “Who are you here to see?”
Con Riley stepped out into the hallway. “It’s okay,” he said, waving Biff and the Hardys forward.
They joined Con in the Situation Room, where at least ten other officers sat waiting.
“I told Chief Collig about your theory,” Con said. “We’ve got to respond to every alarm, of course, even if we think it’s a fake call. But we have officers here ready to respond to every downtown bank as soon as any call comes in.”
“It’s not going to be a bank,” Frank said.
“What?”
Several officers turned and scowled at the three teenagers.
Frank went to a desk and unrolled the maps. “We think the leader of the thieves is an international counterfeiter named Herve DuBois.”
Con looked doubtful. “Why would he rob banks?”
“It’s all a setup,” Joe said. “They want you running all over town while they go for the real target.”
“Which is?” one of the officers asked.
“The Federal Armory,” Frank said.
Laughter broke out all through the room, then quickly died down as Chief Collig strode into the room.
“What’s this about the armory?” he asked.
“It’s the next target,” Frank said. “That’s where the micro-coded paper is stored. The thieves are escaping into the storm drains. That’s why we haven’t been able to catch them.”
Now it was Chief Collig’s turn to have a hearty laugh. “Storm drains? Armory? You’ve got to be kidding, son. The armory is crawling with armed guards. No one would dare.”
He walked over to a giant wall map of Bayport. “Gentlemen,” he said, addressing his officers. “We expect a false alarm to come in from the outskirts, but the real target,” he continued, glaring at the Hardys, “will be one of the downtown banks.”
Frank started to protest, but the desk sergeant ran into the room.
“We got it!” he shouted. He held up a piece of paper. “We have an alarm at a branch office of New England National.”
Chief Collig smiled. “That’s our false alarm.” He pointed at two officers. “Wiggens, Marks, go check it out. Everybody else, go to the downtown banks you’ve been assigned. And be careful—these men are dangerous!”
The room became a frenzy of noise and motion as all the officers got up to leave. The first ones out ran smack into another officer on his way in.
“We’ve got another alarm!” he shouted over the commotion.
“Where?” Collig asked.
“The downtown branch of Bayport Savings.”
Collig clenched his fist in the air. “Just as I said it would happen.”
Frank looked over at his brother. How could he and Joe have been so wrong?
14 Into the Maze
* * *
“Biff,” Frank said. “Follow Con to Bayport Savings. If it turns out it’s really being robbed, make sure he puts a man at every storm drain nearby—especially those in the parking lot.”
“You got it, Frank.” Biff ran out after the officers.
As quickly as the Situation Room had become a beehive of activity, it became as still and quiet as a tomb. The Hardys were left standing completely alone.
“Do you still think it’s the armory?” Joe asked.
Frank paused, then nodded firmly.
“Okay, then. I say we go check it out.”
Outside, the downtown streets were bristling with the signs of a dangerous situation. S.W.A.T. team snipers were perched atop the taller buildings. Black-and-white cruisers and unmarked cars blocked the entrances to all the banks. Their light-bars flashed out warnings, but the sirens were silent.
Officers stationed themselves safely behind the open cruiser doors, and sternly waved pedestrians back. Everyone seemed ready for a showdown.
Frank started up the van.
“Take the side streets,” Joe said. “The police have the middle of State Street blocked off.”
Frank wove slowly through back streets until they were within a block of the armory. Frank stopped the van. He took a deep breath before getting out. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” Joe replied.
Unlike the area just a couple of blocks away, the area around the armory was calm.
Frank waited on the street, while Joe took the cement steps two at a time up to the front door. Before he reached the top step, a young man in camouflage fatigues had opened the huge wooden door. He had a black assault rifle slung over his shoulder.
“May I help you, sir?” he asked.
Joe stopped a few feet from the
soldier. “Ah, this may sound funny,” he said, scratching his head. “But we—that’s my brother and I—think somebody may try to rob you guys today.”
The soldier grinned. “You’re joking, right?”
“Ah, no. Do you mind if I speak to your commander?”
The soldier placed a hand lightly on the stock of his rifle. “I don’t think he has time for this.” The soldier laughed. “Thanks for your concern, though.” He stepped back inside and slammed the door.
Joe headed down the steps. “He seems to think everything’s okay.”
“That was a pretty mean-looking rifle,” Frank said. “I can see why he’s not too worried.”
Joe put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I can tell you’re still concerned.”
Frank nodded. “This has to be the target. Come on. I have an idea.”
Joe followed Frank back to the van.
Frank opened the rear gate and rummaged around. He pulled out a tire iron and a big flashlight. “You carry the maps,” he said to Joe. “Find the nearest storm drain.”
The Hardys soon came across a drain lid behind the dry cleaner next to the armory compound. Joe noticed the dry cleaner employees watching them from inside while Frank pried up the edge of the heavy cast-iron lid. “We’ve got an audience,” he said.
“Good,” Frank replied. “I work better with somebody watching.” He motioned for Joe to help push the lid aside. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll go first.” He stepped down on to the ladder and then disappeared into the darkness below the street.
Joe went next, pulling the lid closed after he was in.
It was dark as night until Frank clicked on the flashlight. The drain extended in both directions for ten or twenty yards, then branched into yet more tunnels. “Which way?” Frank whispered.
Joe sloshed over to the light and consulted the map. “Straight that way, then one branch to the left,” he said, pointing behind Frank.
They had taken only a few steps, when Joe heard a noise.
“You hear that?” he asked. “It sounded like voices.”
Frank nodded.
They tried not to make splashing sounds as they walked. Coming to the left-hand branch, they saw light streaming out of the tunnel. Frank killed the flashlight. They crept to the junction. Frank peeked around the corner.
He darted back quickly and grabbed Joe by the shirt. “We were right,” he whispered. “Take a look for yourself.”
The brothers traded places. Joe leaned forward. What he saw amazed him.
A wave-runner sat about twenty-five yards away, floating under a ragged hole in the top of the tunnel. Behind the wave-runner, chunks of rock and cement were stacked in a pile almost five feet high.
Joe turned back to Frank. “DuBois and his gang are in there right now and the armory guards don’t even know it.”
“It’s a great plan,” Frank said. “I should’ve figured it out when we saw the wave-runner at the reservoir. Those things only need a few inches of water.”
“Yeah,” Joe agreed. “A wave-runner to get around fast under here, and a jackhammer to go up through the floor. I’ll bet they went directly into the vault. DuBois could’ve been working on that hole off and on for the past two days. No one had a clue what was going on.”
Joe peered around again. “I see only one wave-runner, though. It looked like the trailer at the reservoir could hold two.”
“Don’t forget the false alarm at New England National,” Frank said. “I’ll bet the guy who set it off is already jetting back to the dam.”
The voices grew louder.
Joe pulled back to keep from being seen. Slowly, cautiously, he looked around again. He watched as first one man, then another, hung from the jagged hole and dropped down into the shallow water.
“It’s Herve DuBois and the tattooed guy, Bobby Knapp,” he whispered to Frank.
Each man had a thick tube wrapped in plastic strapped to his back. It looked as though they were carrying three-foot-wide rolled-up carpets, but Joe knew the packages were really rolls of micro-coded paper.
The next thing the Hardys heard was the wave-runner rumbling to life.
Frank gripped the tire iron and steadied himself.
The howl of the engine grew louder. Frank made ready to swing the tire iron.
The jetcraft burbled out of the connecting tunnel, its single headlight shining a yellow square along the wall. DuBois was driving, and Knapp rode behind him. DuBois spotted the Hardys immediately. His eyes grew wide with surprise and anger. Then he steered straight at them, gunning the engine.
Frank jumped back. He pressed himself close to the cool curve of the tunnel wall.
The wave-runner rocketed past, brushing his legs and shooting out a thick arc of dirty water.
Seconds later the sound of the engine was gone. The only trace of the theft was the rippling and sloshing of the water against the storm drain walls.
Joe wiped his face. “Man, that was close.” He got the map out. “They’re headed back to the reservoir.”
“Quiet!” Frank said. He pointed down the tunnel in the opposite direction from where the wave-runner had gone. A yellow rectangle of light played along the walls. It gradually grew brighter.
Frank pushed Joe forward and into the connecting tunnel, where they could hide. He dried his hands on the front of his shirt and hefted the tire iron. “I’m not going to miss this time,” he said.
They heard a low rumble, like a speedboat idling. “It must be our friend Eddie Racine,” Joe said, “on his way back from setting off the alarm at New England National.”
It didn’t take long to prove Joe right. Eddie came chugging by at a leisurely pace, and as soon as he came into view, Frank clocked him with the tire iron.
Joe caught him as he fell from the wave-runner. “He’s out cold,” he said. Joe didn’t want Racine to drown in the tunnel, so he hoisted the thug over his shoulder and, with Frank’s help, pushed him up through the jackhammered hole and onto the floor of the armory vault. “There,” he said. “Have a great nap.”
By the time he dropped back into the drain, Frank was already on the wave-runner. Joe clambered on behind him. Frank pulled the throttle and they were off, zooming through the tunnel.
They had to stop twice for Joe to check the blueprints, but soon Frank was sure they were getting close to the reservoir.
He cut the engine and glided around a corner. Up ahead, they saw DuBois’s wave-runner. It was roped to a ladder leading up to an oversize drain cover.
Even through the thick cement walls, Frank and Joe could hear the thunder of the sluiceways above them. “We’ve got to be almost directly under the dam,” Frank whispered as he climbed up the ladder.
With a mighty push, he lifted the drain lid up a single inch and held it there. Circling around like a submarine captain surveying the horizon with a periscope, he scanned the area above. He couldn’t see much; it was dark, except for an eerie green glow.
“Looks clear,” he said. “Wait a second . . . is that a chair?”
He shoved the lid out of the way and climbed out. He found himself in the control room of the dam. Generators hummed in the background. Valves and dials lined the walls, and two chairs sat next to a glowing computer console.
In the dim light, Frank recognized the shape of a man sitting in one of the chairs.
Frank jumped. “Who’s there?”
The man made a grunting sound, but didn’t move.
“Joe, quick! Hand up the flashlight!” Frank grabbed the light and aimed it at the chair. It was a man all right. He was older and balding, and he was bound and gagged.
“Get up here, Joe!”
“I’m up,” Joe said. “What is it?”
Overhead lights flickered on. Frank spun around. A door at the far end of the control room opened and Herve DuBois stepped in, followed closely by Bobby Knapp and a tall, thin man in khaki shorts and a red knit shirt.
Joe lunged forward. “Alex Stendahl!”
&nb
sp; In a flash, Knapp had his knife out, the blade inches from Joe’s throat. Joe backed off.
Stendahl held up a hand signaling Knapp to remain calm. He eyed Joe. “If it isn’t Jim Harper. Or is it Joe Hardy? How’d you find us here? Where’s Racine?”
“He’s back at the armory,” Joe said bitterly. “Dreaming about printing millions in counterfeit bills.”
Stendahl pursed his lips. “That means you know our plans.”
Frank tried to signal Joe to keep quiet, but his brother didn’t notice. “We know the bank robberies were just a cover,” Joe said. “A plan to fool the police while you pulled off the real heist.”
“That’s enough,” DuBois said. “We’ve got to hurry to stay on schedule.”
Joe kept his eyes fixed on Stendahl. “You had me going,” he said. “I thought Sylvia set up the bank jobs, but it was you, wasn’t it?”
Stendahl laughed. “Herve here made it a good show by giving me this bruise on my head during the robbery. We had the cops completely fooled. Too bad you and your brother didn’t stay fooled as long as they did.”
He gestured toward the man in the chair. “Since you know so much, Joe, you’re in the same boat as our friend from the junkyard, Ron Quick. He’s about to go for a swim, and I think you and your brother should join him.”
15 Weathering the Storm
* * *
“I already had a swim today,” Joe said. He brought his left forearm up, knocking Bobby Knapp’s knife hand into the air. As Bobby reeled backward, Joe smashed a right into his jaw. The knife clattered to the cement floor.
Knapp’s mouth leaked a trickle of blood, but he recovered his balance and came back at Joe.
Frank was on Herve DuBois in an instant. He flashed out a side kick. DuBois jumped clear. Frank stepped right into a spinning back kick. DuBois ducked.
“You’re quick for such a tall kid,” DuBois hissed. “But how’s your defense?” He came at Frank with a windmill-like flurry of punches and kicks. Frank neatly blocked each one.
Then DuBois made a mistake. He tried a spinning backhand punch. When Frank ducked, DuBois’s fist flew past and his jaw was exposed. Frank hit him with two quick rights, dropping him to the ground.
The Crisscross Crime Page 9
