Frank grinned in triumph. "That could be the buoy they had on the plane we fell from, or one exactly like it. We may have tied these guys into the attempt to kidnap us. Now all we have to do is see what they're waiting for."
Virgil cut the engine and drifted. Because they were so low in the water, they were hidden by waves most of the time. They sat still with poles in their hands, but with both eyes on the plane.
Their work was soon rewarded, for the sea suddenly erupted yards from the plane. And a black hulking form lifted out of the waves like some sea behemoth. Frank and Virgil watched in stunned silence.
Shedding tons of seawater, the metal sea monster revealed itself to be the superstructure of a submarine. A hatch opened, and a man clambered along the sub's deck, holding a chain.
One of the men on the plane tossed a line to him, and he towed the plane up next to the sub.
A second man emerged from the hatch. Frank could see right away who it was. The sun picked out his blond hair, marking him as Sandy White.
"That's the guy who wired us to the polygraph," Frank whispered. "He's the president of North Slope Supply."
"Are you sure?" Virgil asked.
"Positive," Frank said. White was giving orders to the man who'd fastened the ropes. Then he stopped, his eyes scanning the horizon. Frank had the uncomfortable feeling that White had spotted them.
White moved to the plane and reached out. The pilot tossed him something. For a second White held his hands up to his eyes. Then he turned to the sailor, who quickly turned and disappeared down the hatch.
White's hands went back to his eyes. This time, sunlight reflected off the polished lenses. "Binoculars!" Frank said. "He has spotted us!"
A crew of four came tumbling out of the hatch, dragging something. Frank recognized it as an inflatable boat and an outboard motor.
"We'd better get out of here," he said. "If they catch us, White will recognize me."
"Okay, here we go," Virgil said.
He gunned the motor, turning the boat south as they heard another engine ripping into life behind them. "That sucker inflates fast," Virgil said.
Frank looked around, his mouth set in a straight line. "It moves fast, too."
The inflatable craft was tiny but high-powered. And it was gaining on them with every second.
Chapter 11
WHEN JOE ARRIVED in Prudhoe, the first thing he did was change hotels once again and get some sleep. Then later that day he set himself up on a stakeout.
When quitting time came for Trans-Yukon, Joe was reading a newspaper, sitting on a low wall across the street from their offices. He kept his face covered while keeping an eye on the workers. Finally Cindy Velikov opened the heavy glass door and stepped out into the late-afternoon sunshine. She buttoned her coat as she strolled across town on foot.
Joe followed her, but it wasn't easy to keep his distance. Her steps were small compared to Joe's normal impatient stride. He had to force himself to maintain a leisurely gait and stop frequently, as though he were basking in the warm weather.
She went into a grocery store, but Joe didn't dare to go inside. When Cindy came out she had a small brown bag of groceries in her arms. She continued to walk, now into a residential area.
After a few more turns she walked up to the back door of a small red ranch house. Joe walked past. He went to the end of the block, checking to make sure he wasn't being tailed. Then he walked around to the back door and knocked.
She stood behind the screen, staring out at him. For a minute she didn't know Joe. Then, after she recognized him, she smiled broadly and opened the door.
"Joe Hardy!" She grinned.
Joe smiled back. "That's me," he said. "I hope you don't mind. I followed you home because I want to talk to you."
"No, I don't mind," she said. "Come in."
Cindy opened the door, and Joe stepped into the kitchen. The floor was terra-cotta tiles, and the appliances were all new. White cafe curtains covered half the window above the sink.
Cindy laughed. "What are you staring at?"
"Sorry," Joe said. "I guess I was a little surprised—your kitchen looks so modern."
"I guess you were expecting a log cabin with a water pump in the kitchen and an outhouse." Her eyes twinkled as she spoke. "We are part of the United States, you know - just bigger and better." She made a sweeping gesture with her hands, reminding Joe of what he'd said about New York City. They laughed.
"So, what would you like to talk to me about?" she asked.
Joe came straight out with it. "I want to find out about what's going on with your company."
Cindy nodded. "Okay," she said. "But I think we'd better take a walk. My father will be home soon, and I don't want him to hear this."
She picked up her coat, and they left through the kitchen door.
"Oops," Cindy said, turning around. "I'd better leave my dad a note, so he doesn't worry." She ducked into the kitchen again and was back a moment later.
They headed out to the street, both with their hands in their pockets. Joe spoke first.
"I never thanked you for warning us that night," he said. "Did you hear anything from your side about what happened to us?"
Cindy shrugged. "No. I thought you'd left the state."
"We almost did—the hard way. A bunch of guys jumped us and threw us on a plane. We barely escaped."
"You should have left when I warned you." Cindy turned to Joe. "My boss isn't a very nice man."
"So why do you work for him?"
"Jobs aren't so easy to get up here. I've had this one for a few years, and I'm saving money to go to college." She shrugged. "And Mr. Hammond wasn't always this way."
"What way? He seems friendly."
"Sure, he's friendly. But I think he's involved in something crooked. He's been hiring weird people we don't need, and firing men who've worked for him for years. The place has really changed over the last six months."
"How do you know all this?" Joe asked.
"I update the personnel records, so I see. everything that's going on. Mr. Hammond thinks I don't pay any attention, but I do. We were letting people go because of money problems, then all this weird hiring began.
"But I can't prove that anything wrong is going on," Cindy continued. "And also, no one who's suspicious wants to be labeled as a trouble maker. This is a small town," she said, glancing around at the little houses that lined the streets. "And we have just a few big companies. Mr. Hammond is a powerful person here. He knows all the other bosses. If the men who got fired grumble too loudly, they won't get any work."
Joe saw what he was up against. "You said it wasn't always like this — so who changed things? Who's spreading the bribes around?"
"I have no idea." Cindy shook her head. "At first I thought it was just a trickle of guys from the lower forty-eight states, up here looking for work. In hard times, they'll pay for their first job."
"Does that make sense?" Joe asked, trying to imagine how anyone could afford to do such a thing.
"For some of them, it does. When jobs are scarce up here, people are willing to do just about anything. See, the pay is very high. If you're willing to live cheaply here, you can save quite a bit."
"You mean a guy could come up here, bribe someone to get a job, make a living, and still save money?"
"Exactly. They do it all the time. It's not a comfortable life, but they can make a bundle, even with the bribes they have to pay."
"You said 'at first.' Do you think it's just a guy here and there paying Hammond for jobs?"
Cindy shook her head, her blond hair brushing her shoulders. "It's been happening too regularly. And the people all wind up getting the same job."
"What job?" Joe asked.
"I don't know exactly what they call it. Trans-Yukon has a contract to maintain parts of the pipeline. They cut brush, scrape ice off — even clean the inside of the pipes. It seems like that's the job that the bribes were about — the inside job."
"You m
ean people actually go into the pipe to clean it?"
Cindy nodded. "It's a really dirty job, but it's got to be done—to make sure everything's okay."
Pieces began coming together for Joe. "Millions of dollars of oil flow through the pipeline. Suppose somebody could go up in the mountains where no one is around and sabotage the whole operation?"
"There's a security system," Cindy said. "The pipe has to be guarded."
"Well, if I was going to pay Hammond for a job, I'd want to be a guard on the outside, rather than do the dirty work inside."
"There's one other thing. I heard about some kind of a deal between Hammond and White going down on Sawtooth Mountain tomorrow morning."
"Guess who'll be there to greet them," Joe said, curious.
They'd arrived in the business district of Prudhoe, just a few blocks from the waterfront.
"Would you like to walk over to the water?" Cindy asked.
"Fine," Joe said. He was still trying to figure how North Slope and Scott Sanders fit into the story.
The docks weren't pretty. They were a jumble of serious industrial equipment spread along a cold, flat, unfriendly coastline. Still, there was something exciting about walking past the huge tankers, pipes, and pumps. It gave the feeling of important business being conducted, even at the edge of the world.
Joe and Cindy stopped on the street that looked out over the busy port. The sound of engines and the heavy clang of hammers beat through the air. It was just past seven o'clock in the evening, but the sun was high and the light was reddish gold.
"I've lived here all my life," Cindy said. "My father is a descendant of the original Russian settlers. My mother was the daughter of an air force captain stationed here. She died a couple of years ago."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Joe said.
"This is all I know. I'd really like to get out of here. You know, see the world. I feel as if I know next to nothing."
"Well, there's plenty to see," Joe said. "It seems to me you know a lot about things around here."
"Maybe too much," a rasping voice hissed from behind them. When they pivoted around, they were smack up against a huge, towering guy.
"Maybe Mr. Hammond should hear just how much you know about things around here." The man had a thick wool cap pulled down over a square, fleshy face. When he took his hands out of his pockets, Joe stared. These were the biggest hands Joe had ever seen, thick and broad, with bulging knuckles and callused skin. If this guy made a fist, it would nearly be the size of Joe's head.
"Come on, you two," the man growled. "We've got a date with Mr. Hammond."
One huge paw shoved at Joe's shoulder, forcing him to walk in front.
Joe's fists clenched. How could he not have known they were being tailed? He was furious.
"Don't try anything, pal," the thug warned. "I'm holding on to the girl's arm right now. But I could just as easily grab her neck." He laughed. "You wouldn't want that, would you?"
Chapter 12
"PLEASE, JOE, DO what he says." Cindy sounded terrified. When Joe glanced back, he saw the tears that lined her eyes.
"Keep walking," growled the man. "Never mind what's going on back here." Joe forced himself to step out. He could hear Hammond's goon wheezing as he lumbered along behind.
Joe's mind flicked frantically from one plan to another. He had to nail this guy. But how? He was stuck out front, and the guy had Cindy for a hostage. Anything Joe might do to let Cindy get away would get him creamed. But he couldn't just run for it and leave Cindy. Nor would he be delivered to Spike Hammond, all wrapped up like a Christmas present.
Somehow, he had to get the edge on this guy. He'd have to watch and hope for an opportunity.
The streets they were on now, down by the docks, were narrow and gray. Low buildings, mostly warehouses, squatted under the arctic sky. Many of the roads were dirt—grass, moss, and lichen grew wherever cars and feet hadn't trampled them.
"Turn here," Hammond's goon commanded.
Joe followed his directions. They were walking away from the waterfront and toward the center of town. It was quiet and deserted, but not too far off they could hear the sound of music and men's laughter. Maybe there was a chance after all.
To set things up, Joe decided on a little distraction. "So tell me," he said over his shoulder as he continued to walk, "does Hammond give you a piece of his action?"
"None of your business."
"Hammond's raking it in with his bribe scam," Joe went on. "I hope you're getting some."
"I do all right. I'm on retainer," the goon said in a proud voice.
"Like a lawyer," Joe said. "But I bet he doesn't pay your medical expenses."
"Why should he?"
"Because someday someone will knock your stupid head off, and the doctors are going to have to sew it back on."
Joe had timed the zinger perfectly. They'd just reached an area with fast-food joints, stores, video-game parlors, and a movie theater. Man-mountain couldn't do anything to him here.
He could hear the thug's teeth grinding together. "Just keep your mouth shut, punk. I'll take care of you later."
They were passing a video-game parlor as a crowd of men came spilling out onto the sidewalk. They were laughing and cheering as two of them broke into a sparring match. The fighters held their fists high and danced in circles around each other, ducking and weaving, flicking hard knuckles toward grinning faces. It was all in fun — none of the jabs were connecting. But the crowd made a big thing out of each near-miss.
One of the fighters lost his balance and bumped into Joe. A chance! Joe spun the off-balance boxer back into Cindy and the goon. The guy found himself with his arms around Cindy, and before he could get loose, Joe jumped in.
"Keep your hands off my friend's girl," he yelled, taking a huge wind-up with his right hand. The punch was more like a slap. Everyone in the street heard the crack of Joe's hand on the boxer's cheek.
The crowd became quiet — too quiet. They were mad. It was one thing to have a friendly sparring match with a buddy. It was another to see some stranger haul off and slug that buddy in the face.
"Get him!" somebody yelled, heading toward Joe. "Fix that punk's face for him!"
Joe stood his ground in front of Cindy as the crowd surged forward. He took some punches but also threw a few good ones, to keep these guys good and angry. Retreating a bit, he risked a look back toward Cindy. Hammond's goon still held her arm in a tight grip.
Jumping behind the confused thug, Joe yelled, "Come on, pal, I'm not fighting them all for you. She's your girl, after all."
Figuring the goon was with Joe, the crowd began to jostle him. Man-mountain shoved them away, but they shoved back and then began throwing punches. It was perfect. He lost his temper, dropped Cindy's arm, and waded into the crowd, slugging at everybody.
While the thug was busy getting mobbed, Joe grabbed Cindy by the wrist and pulled her down the street. "Come on! Now's our chance!"
As they ran the yelling and groaning faded behind them. Joe glanced back as they rounded a corner and saw that the goon had belatedly realized what was going on. He was pulling out of the fight.
Joe and Cindy ducked around another corner and found themselves in a narrow back street, barely wide enough for a single car. Joe led the way, running as fast as he could while towing Cindy. He tried the first door they came to, hoping to duck before Hammond's thug could see where they'd gone. The door was open, so they stepped inside, yanking it shut behind them.
Their hiding place was dark, with flickering light glistening in the air behind them. Joe stared around in confusion until it hit him. They were standing behind a movie screen. The flickering light came from the film being projected onto the thin silvery sheet in front of them. They were standing in the back of the movie theater, looking at the reverse images of the film.
"We'd better get away from the door," Joe whispered. "Follow me."
They tiptoed along the back wall to a dark corner on the far side o
f the stage. As soon as they reached it the outside door banged open, and the thug peered in.
Joe looked around for an escape route. An iron ladder, mounted on the cinder-block wall, was just to his left. He silently motioned for Cindy to climb up. As soon as she reached the catwalk at the top, Joe followed.
Once they were on the dark catwalk, he whispered in her ear, "We had to make our move before his eyes adjusted to the dark."
They both stared down as their pursuer searched the backstage area. The images from the film swam across his clothes. Music blared loudly from speakers placed directly behind the screen. The thug reached the dark corner where they'd stood a minute before. And Cindy gasped out loud. Too loud. The guy glanced up.
Joe climbed over the railing and dropped on top of the man standing below. He made a perfect landing, knocking the guy flat to the floor. Immediately they began to grapple. But thanks to his huge bulk the thug quickly got the upper hand, pinning Joe to the floor.
With a quick jerk Joe managed to get his hands free, and he clapped them together hard over the thug's ears. The pain threw the guy off balance, and Joe took advantage of that to shove him back onto the floor again.
Leaping to his feet, Joe jumped on him. But the thug was a born street fighter. He rolled aside and lunged toward the wall, where a large flashlight hung from a hook. Grabbing it, he swung it viciously at Joe's head, catching him on the ear.
Joe staggered, his ear ringing, his vision going red. He was two seconds from being out cold— but he was also madder than he'd felt in a long time. Ignoring the pain, he waited for the guy to swing again, and when it happened, he ducked. The flashlight passed over his head, leaving the goon wide open.
Putting all his weight behind a solid uppercut, Joe caught the guy right on the chin. He toppled slowly to his knees, the fight knocked out of him.
Joe yanked the flashlight from the man's hand, pushed him to the floor, and sat on his chest. "Now talk," he whispered angrily. "What's Hammond up to?"
"I don't know," he groaned.
"You'd better stop stalling," Joe warned, his voice covered by the soundtrack from the film.
Trouble in the Pipeline Page 6
