Trouble in the Pipeline

by Franklin W. Dixon

  "I'll get this going a little better. Tea okay?" They both nodded.

  "I bring folks here for the fishing," Virgil explained as he busied himself with the tea. "Every month in the summer I have a new group."

  He chatted about his copter and the fish and game as the Hardys quietly sipped the hot, sweet tea.

  Abruptly in the middle of a good fishing story Virgil stopped, his head bent toward a window and his eyes unfocused. He was listening. "Someone is coming." Frank and Joe heard nothing, but they followed Virgil outside. The dogs were all standing up and looking in the same direction. Virgil stared off into the sky.

  "What are we supposed to be hearing?" Frank asked.

  "A chopper — maybe more than one," Virgil said. "Maybe someone looking for you?" He looked at them intently.

  Frank shrugged. "Could be," he said. He and Joe exchanged nervous glances.

  "I hear it now," Frank said. They watched as Virgil lifted his arm to the sky.

  "There they are, three of them!"

  The dogs began to whimper with excitement, but Virgil didn't seem to notice. He kept his eyes on the choppers.

  "Are they coming here?" Joe asked.

  "Don't know," Virgil said, shading his eyes. "Looks like they're flying a search pattern. They're moving slow and low to the ground."

  The distinctive shuddering whirr of helicopter rotors, grew louder and louder. The choppers were zigzagging back and forth, but Frank realized they were probably following the path of the river.

  "Hmm," Virgil said, slightly surprised. "I think I recognize them." He squinted into the sun. "Yes—North Slope Supply. I thought they went out of business."

  "What are they?" Joe asked.

  "A small company," Virgil replied, still keeping his head raised to the approaching craft. "Small construction projects — they work for larger companies as subcontractors."

  Frank and Joe nodded. The choppers must have noticed the camp, since they were coming toward them. The hovering machines couldn't have been more than a hundred feet above the ground.

  Frank and Joe could see the North Slope Supply logo emblazoned across the sides of all three copters. The noise became almost unbearable as the choppers came closer. The wind from the whirling blades felt hard and unpleasant against their faces.

  When the copters were about forty feet above the ground, the side door on one of them slid open abruptly. A man stood framed against the interior darkness. In his hands was a submachine gun with a string of shiny brass cartridge cases flying from the chamber.

  Flaming death was spitting from the gun's muzzle, and it was aimed at the boys and Virgil.

  Chapter 5

  FRANK AND JOE lunged directly under the hovering chopper to get out of the line of fire. Virgil sprinted for the sod house, zigzagging across the open space. Unable to take aim at the Hardys, the man in the chopper followed Virgil with his heavy weapon.

  His bullets stitched the earth, but because of the position of the chopper and Virgil's quick and erratic movements a hit was impossible. The Hardys could hear the gunner yelling at the pilot to spin the copter around.

  As the bird began its turn Joe pointed to the fishing boat lying on its side. They dashed from under the shadow of the chopper, ducking and weaving as Virgil had. Halfway to the boat they were hit with clods of earth as bullets ripped up the ground behind them. The chopper was zeroing in—and fast. The sound of the copter got louder, and they could feel the shadow on their backs.

  "Hit the dirt," Joe yelled. They dove apart, belly-flopping on the ground and rolling away as a burst of fire marched between them. The chopper overshot, and they sprang the last few yards to the cover of the fishing boat.

  Catching their breath, they peered around the craft to see what was happening. The choppers must have been talking to one another by radio. The machine gun was silent as the chopper hovered nearby. The other two were hovering out of firing range.

  Suddenly the copter on the attack flashed toward the sod hut. Frank and Joe saw Virgil running around to the back of the house with a fishing spear in his hand. The attack chopper was stalking him.

  Keeping the house between himself and the enemy above, Virgil was playing a cat-and-mouse game with the machine gunner. He ran, luring the chopper this way and that. Then he'd duck inside or leap through a window just as the gunner must have thought he had a clear shot. Once Virgil disappeared, the pilot had to guess where he'd jump out next and maneuver the helicopter into position.

  Virgil burst through a window and rolled across the ground with a spear.

  The chopper was caught out of position, and Virgil jumped up and ran to its blind side. In a split second he snapped the spear forward. The razor-sharp projectile left his hand with the force of a missile and pierced the fiberglass housing on the chopper's engine, burying itself in the gearbox.

  At first it seemed as if the blow had had no effect on the hovering craft. The gunner continued blasting the sides and roof of the hut as Virgil dived around it for cover. Then the chopper began spinning in an erratic bobbing and weaving pattern. It limped off a safe distance and landed.

  But as soon as it moved off another copter started toward them. "Let's run for the hut," Joe suggested.

  "Too chancy," Frank replied. "They know we aren't armed, so they won't be cautious."

  Suddenly Virgil burst out of his house, zigzagging toward his dogs. He ran by each one and unhooked it from its tether. The new chopper didn't pay much attention. It hovered in front of the fishing boat as Virgil sprinted back to the house.

  "We've got to think of something," Joe said. "They'll pick us off like fish in a barrel." He ducked back behind the boat, knocking his head on a large wooden box mounted in the bow of the boat. The lid fell open, and a jumble of marine equipment burst out — lines, nets, a can of engine oil, and a flare gun with flares.

  "Is this what I think it is?" Joe asked, showing it to Frank.

  "Uh-huh. Does it work?"

  "We'll soon find out."

  Joe peered over the edge of the boat. The chopper's pilot and passenger were on the ground now, moving toward the sod hut. Only the passenger had a gun, and he was obviously more concerned with Virgil and his possible stash of weapons than with the boys.

  Taking aim, Joe launched a flare into the open door of the sitting chopper. It exploded inside the enclosed space like a bomb. Blinding light and thick smoke came belching out. The two men whirled around at the sneak attack and began to back away, pointing their weapons first at the house, then at the boat.

  The last chopper played it safe. Since it was the only bird able to fly, its pilot put down at a safe distance. The one crew member jumped out and went running to help his friends. As he was crossing the open space Virgil shouted something from the door of the hut.

  His sled dogs suddenly sprang to life, charging the crewmen.

  And at the same time a huge explosion erupted from the helicopter with the flare burning in it. Flames had reached the fuel tank, and the whole chopper was being blown to pieces.

  "Let's go!" Joe shouted. He and Frank leapt out from behind the boat. Virgil had the same idea. With the enemy momentarily startled and pinned down by the dogs, they made a run for Virgil's chopper, Tanook leading the way.

  Gunshots cracked as they dodged across the clearing, but there was so much smoke in the air there was little danger of being hit. They clambered into the helicopter and took off, rising above the dark, billowing clouds. Tanook was whimpering in the back as they rose from the ground.

  "Will the dogs be all right?" Frank asked.

  "No one in Alaska will shoot a dog," Virgil said. He glanced down at the clearing to make sure what he said was true. Frank and Joe looked down, too. They could see the enemy running for the one good chopper. The dogs pursued them, barking and growling, but they stopped short of attacking.

  Virgil headed for Prudhoe. Even at some distance, they could still see the plume of smoke rising from the burning chopper.

  "We'll
go in over the mountains," Virgil was saying. "Who knows how fast their copter is."

  They looked back. The last North Slope helicopter was in the air and coming after them. It was bigger than Virgil's, and probably faster.

  "What'll we do if they catch up with us?" Frank asked.

  Virgil shrugged. "First try to lose them. If we can't do that, then we'll worry about being caught." He turned the copter abruptly and began to drop closer to the ground.

  "I know these valleys," he said. "If we can get behind a mountain, we can hide from them, put down, and disguise the chopper. They may be faster, but we're quicker. There's a difference."

  Virgil looked grim, but he couldn't resist turning on the stereo. A heavy rock beat came thudding dramatically from the speakers, drowning out the sound from the engines and rotor. Joe turned to Frank, grinning. "Music to escape by," he mouthed. It was like a movie soundtrack. There they were, swooping across the Brooks Range, pursued by a helicopter while listening to the same music they'd heard at Lisa Shannon's party.

  "This is something else," Joe cried, taking in the scenery and keeping an eye on the approaching chopper. "Virgil, they're gaining on us."

  "Not much I can do," Virgil responded. He craned his neck around to see the enemy. When he realized how close they were, he hung a hard right and dropped into a narrow valley.

  "Better try it now," he said. But the North Slope chopper was right behind them and seemed to have no trouble keeping up.

  Suddenly Virgil leaned forward and began to fiddle with the throttle controls. He tapped the gauges, muttering to himself.

  "What's wrong?" Frank asked.

  "Doesn't feel good," he said, adjusting two more knobs. "It's like we're running out of fuel, but that's not possible. I filled it up this morning."

  Frank and Joe felt helpless.

  "No," Virgil said grimly. "Something's definitely wrong. We're losing altitude, and the fuel is way down." The engine skipped and sputtered. Joe leaned back in his seat and tried to see the enemy. Little drops of moisture appeared on the window next to him.

  "Hey, it's raining," he said, tapping on the glass. But it didn't make any sense. The sun was out. There wasn't any moisture on any of the other windows.

  The engine began to cough more and more. Joe looked up to see what was happening. Not a cloud in the sky. What he did see was a stream of fuel pouring out of a bullet hole in their gas tank.

  "We've got a leak," he said over the sound of the music, which must have masked the gunshots. "It's coming down my side."

  As Virgil glanced over to see the growing stream roll down the window, the engine stopped for a good five seconds. The music shut down, and the chopper began to fall like a stone.

  Chapter 6

  THE SUDDEN SILENCE was eerie. No music, no rotor. Just the click of the engine ticking down as it cooled. The plunge to the earth felt the same as if they'd been on a good roller coaster—but a lot less fun.

  "Hold on," Virgil said calmly. He flipped a switch and began to pull on a knob on the control panel. "Let's hope this works." Virgil's face was tense as he turned the ignition off and then back on again.

  "What are you doing?" Joe asked, his voice tight.

  "Got a reserve tank," Virgil explained. "Never use it. Don't know if it's full or how the line is."

  The starter cranked over and over, but the engine only coughed and died. The ground came closer and closer. They were over a forest in the middle of a deep valley. Joe was already picking out their crash site as Virgil cranked the starter once again.

  "Do you have any chutes?" Frank asked.

  "Nope." Virgil had already considered the alternative of jumping and dismissed it.

  Then, with faint rumblings and stirrings, the engine suddenly began to turn over. "She's catching." Virgil smiled. "Feel her? There she goes!"

  Frank and Joe felt the sudden surge of power as the blades bit into the air and lifted the chopper out of her death plunge. They were down low enough to watch treetop branches wave in the sudden blast of air.

  "We'll have to put down real soon. There's not much in this little tank, and once it goes, that's it." Virgil scanned the area for a place to land in the dense forest below.

  Frank's mind was churning. How would they get out of this and get back to Prudhoe? They had to find Scott, bring him home if they could. Instead, they were in the middle of nowhere, on the run in a damaged helicopter, pursued by unknown thugs dead set on killing them. It was starting to make him mad.

  He looked up. "I've got an idea. Virgil — do you have any rope? Any tools aboard?"

  Virgil nodded. "In the back. There's a big coil of rope and a complete tool chest. Why?"

  "Find a clearing, a small clearing."

  Virgil and Joe looked over at him.

  "What are you talking about?" Joe burst out. "That's what we're doing!"

  "I mean a really small clearing, just big enough for two choppers—and one trap."

  "You'd better talk fast," Joe said.

  Quickly Frank described what he had in mind. Virgil and Joe listened intently. Then Virgil began to grin.

  "Sounds like it's worth a try. Let's go." He swung the chopper around and headed for what Joe pointed out as the only good place to land. The North Slope chopper was still following, but at a safe distance. Maybe its occupants feared some kind of trick.

  Virgil put the bird down as close to the trees as he could, the rotor blades whirling only inches from branches. To the left, only a slightly larger space remained. There was no place else for the other chopper to land.

  "Let's go," Frank called. "We don't have much time. Don't let them see what we're up to."

  He grabbed the tool chest, throwing his parka over it to conceal it from their enemies. Joe had the coil of rope under his jacket.

  "Come on, into the woods," Frank urged them. Virgil and Joe ducked into the cover of the trees.

  "What's first?" Virgil asked, peering up at the North Shore copter through the branches.

  "Pick a tree on the other side of the clearing and get a rope around the top of it. Then we make a cut in the trunk with the saw."

  "Right!" Joe burst out into the clearing.

  "Get back!" Frank yelled.

  Joe plunged back under the canopy of leaves. "What's the matter?"

  "Don't let them see you," Frank said as he started pushing his way around the perimeter of the clearing. "We want them to think we've made a run for it."

  "This looks like a good one," Virgil said, tapping a tall tree on the opposite side of the tiny meadow.

  "Too tall," Frank responded, staring up at the top. "It would land on our chopper, too."

  "How about this one?" Joe called out, standing next to a slender, dark-barked tree a few yards in from the edge of the clearing.

  "That's better," Frank said. "Looks just the right height. And the fact that it's in from the edge is good. Not so obvious. Can you climb it, Joe?"

  With the rope wrapped diagonally around his torso, he began to shinny up the tree trunk.

  "How high do you think we should put it?" he called down.

  "That's about right — right now," Frank yelled up.

  Joe slipped the rope off and tied it snugly around the trunk. He dropped the end of the rope to the ground and came down as easily as he'd gone up.

  "Okay. Now let's cut a V on the side opposite the direction of the fall," Frank said. Grabbing one end of the saw, he and Virgil removed a wedge from the back of the tree. The upper half of the tree was now standing on a quarter of its trunk.

  They could hear the enemy chopper circling down closer. Virgil looked up. "They've been trying to figure out what we're up to," Virgil said. "I guess they've decided we ran. Now they have to come down to find out which way."

  "Let's get this thing finished," Frank said.

  Taking the end of the rope, he trailed it along behind him as he headed back to the other side of the clearing. It wasn't easy keeping the rope clean and yet remaining hidden in t
he trees. Joe and Virgil followed.

  "Okay, Joe. Loop it through a branch on this side, and then let it go slack. The rope has to lie flat. We don't want them to see it." Joe went up with the rope and was back in a flash.

  "Okay, all set!" he said.

  They positioned themselves at the end of the rope. The North Slope chopper hovered just forty feet over the clearing. They were within easy firing range. The Hardys and Virgil could see the machine gunner and two friends with revolvers peering around the edge of the open door.

  "This is it," Joe said.

  As the chopper lowered itself into the final fifteen feet of descent, Frank gave the signal. They pulled the rope tight, lashing it firmly around the trunk of the tree. The enemy pilot never saw it. But the chopper certainly felt it.

  The rope snapped up from the ground, right under the helicopter's belly. It caught one of the wheel struts, making the copter tilt. That put more weight on the rope, and the cut tree toppled, knocking the helicopter out of the air. The chopper smashed to the ground, one of its rotor blades flying off with a metallic twang.

  Frank and Joe ran up to the open door of the helicopter. Five men lay piled in a heap. All were alive but unconscious. Joe gathered up the guns and threw them into Virgil's chopper. Frank checked the copter's pilot, who was out cold but breathing. His last act had been to cut off the engine before crashing.

  "Okay," Frank said, jumping down. "Let's patch our fuel tank and siphon their gas off. These guys'll be all right."

  Virgil was already at work on the fuel tank. Once he gave the okay, Joe used a length of rubber hose to suck the fuel out of the North Slope chopper and direct it into Virgil's.

  "Let's hope the patch holds," Virgil said over the noise of the engine as it lifted them up over the mountains. They didn't have to worry — the tank held all the way to Prudhoe.