"Unless you want to be swept up by the ushers after the midnight show."
"All right. We're getting a big payment up on Sawtooth Mountain in the morning. That's all I know. The boss wants everything to go smoothly," the goon mumbled.
"Who's giving you the money?"
"I swear I don't know. Different people every time."
"You'd better be telling the truth," Joe growled. "Now get over there by the ladder."
The man crawled across the floor and leaned against the wall. Joe motioned for Cindy to come down. They undid the goon's belt to use to tie him to the iron bars of the ladder and shoved a handkerchief into his mouth.
TUrning on the flashlight, Joe escorted Cindy around the edge of the screen, down the steps, and up the main aisle of the theater.
"We look official, don't we?" he joked. "Just like an usher and a customer."
There was no one in the lobby out front. They left the light on the ledge outside the box office and stepped out into the bright night.
"I've got to get in touch with Frank. Do you know anyone with a ham radio?" he asked.
"Yes — my father," Cindy said excitedly. "He keeps it in the basement."
He grinned. "Great. Let's go!" Once again they were running through the streets.
Cindy's father wasn't home, but Joe was able to get the set going. He put out a call every five minutes for over two hours, but there was no response.
"This isn't good. I know Virgil keeps his radio on." He tried a few more times, but he was getting anxious. "We've got to get ahold of them."
Cindy left him twiddling dials on the radio set. "I'll make some supper." But she'd hardly reached the kitchen when Joe came bounding up the stairs.
"We've got to go to the airport. I just talked to the guy who flies the weather plane. He's a friend of Virgil's, and he'll take us out over the ocean to find them."
Cindy turned off the stove and got the keys to her dad's car. She drove like a pro to the airport, where they found the pilot sipping coffee in front of the hanger.
In less than ten minutes they were in the air, scouting the gray waters of the Arctic Ocean. Joe's eyes were getting tired when he saw something floating in the water.
"What's that?" he asked, pointing.
The pilot glanced over. "First iceberg of the season." He dipped the plane for a closer look.
But floating behind the ice was a boat. Joe trained his binoculars on it. Yes, he recognized that boat — it was Virgil's.
And it was empty, drifting aimlessly on the cold vastness of the silent sea.
Chapter 13
SEVERAL HOURS EARLIER Frank and Virgil had been speeding through the rough waters, trying to outrun the inflatable speedboat.
"There's no way we're going to outrun these guys," Virgil shouted over the noise of the churning engine. Ice-cold water sprayed up from the bow of Virgil's little fishing craft as it bounced over the waves. Tanook, who'd been lying peacefully on the floor of the boat, was up now, his nose pointing anxiously into the wind, his ears flattened against his head.
Frank looked back. Their pursuers seemed to be flying over the water.
"That must be some kind of a high-tech machine," Frank shouted. "If we can't outrun it, what do we do?"
"We need to find some pack ice," Virgil yelled.
"It might give us an advantage." He scanned the horizon for icebergs.
They plowed through the choppy seas. Frank clung to his seat, not only to keep his balance but also to keep his leg as straight as possible. He didn't want to tear open his wound by falling when the boat hit the trough of a wave. Virgil, meanwhile, had stood up in the stern, one hand on the tiller. His dark eyes squinted into the gray distance.
He sat abruptly, steering the boat on a new course. "Ice," he said briefly. They quickly reached a cluster of icebergs, and he nosed the boat in, looking for a crack between the huge chunks. Finding one, he drove the boat into the narrow passage. The sides of the boat scraped along the ice, but by keeping the engine going, Virgil was able to nudge some of the smaller ice fragments away.
"We might be able to hide in here," he said, running the engine slower. "They'll be afraid to come in."
The pack ice glistened around them, white and blue. Some pieces were tall, towering over the boat, giving them protection not only from the wind but from their pursuers. Other pieces were flat, riding in the water like traveling islands. Virgil drove the boat skillfully through the little channels between the chunks.
Once they reached the shelter of several big bergs, Virgil cut the engine altogether, and they drifted. They could hear the engine of the other boat bearing down on them.
"I think we'd better give them one more look at us," Virgil said.
"What for?" Frank asked. "Aren't we safer in here?"
"Uh - uh," Virgil said. "They've got to think we're dead. So we'll pretend to capsize."
"How're you going to . . .?"
Virgil gunned the boat back out into the open water. The attackers were within firing range, bouncing along on a high crest. Two shots rang out, then Virgil banked into a steep turn and circled the first part of the ice pack. Suddenly they were on the other side of a tall berg.
"The last thing they saw was our turn," Virgil said. "That's very dangerous in this water. Now—we have to move fast." He cut off the engine. "Unravel that fishing line. We've got to set up a trick."
They drifted up against the edge of the ice. Virgil leapt out and drove a metal spike deep into the granular snow that covered the surface of the berg. Then, taking the transparent fishing line, he tied one end to the stake and the other to a hook protruding from his boat at the water line. He made sure the stake was set securely, then covered it with snow. Then he took a weight and tied it to the line.
"Good. That'll make it sink," he said. "Okay, everybody out." Frank and Tanook jumped onto the iceberg. Frank was hobbling. Tanook was wagging his tail and looking from Virgil to Frank.
"I hope this works," Virgil said. "I'm going to make it look like we tipped over." With an empty plastic container, he shoveled water into the boat. When a substantial puddle had collected on the bottom, he shoved the boat away and toward the open passage to the sea. The wind and the waves pushed it the rest of the way into open water. The fishing line was completely invisible.
"Okay, let's hide," he said. "This way." They hurried across the relatively flat surface of the iceberg, their feet crunching the snow.
"Tanook first," Virgil said. He picked out a place where Tanook could hide. After making the dog lie down, he began covering him with snow. In a few minutes, Tanook had completely disappeared.
"Stay!" Virgil commanded. Tanook did not move. "Good boy!"
Virgil walked away, feeling for the depth of the snow with his feet. When he found a place that he liked, he motioned for Frank to lie down.
"You hide here. The snow will protect you."
Frank lay down, warm in the heavy parka Virgil had given him. With large chunks, then handfuls of finer powder, Virgil proceeded to bury Frank, leaving him airholes.
"Okay?" Virgil called.
"Fine!" Frank replied, making sure his leg was in a comfortable position.
"Just in time. Here they come."
Frank heard Virgil burrowing into the snow next to him. Then the brrr of the pursuit boat's engine reached his ears. It sounded as if they were circling Virgil's abandoned boat. Frank hoped they wouldn't find the transparent lifeline, or worse, run afoul of it. If their propeller cut it, Virgil's boat would be adrift for real.
The engine drone moved back and forth in front of the ice pack. They must be looking for our bodies, Frank thought. Then he heard nothing. The engine had been cut off — it hadn't died away. Moments later the sound of human voices broke the silence.
Then came the crunch of footsteps on the snow. What if they see our footprints? Frank suddenly thought.
Judging from the direction of the voices, the men from the sub had landed quite a distance from whe
re Frank and his friends were hidden.
"We check it out," one voice said in a thick accent. "Is better to be sure."
Frank heard rattles and scrapes — someone was climbing the little hill in the center of the ice island. A new voice asked something in a foreign language.
"Remember orders — we talk English," the first voice growled. "I see nothing here. We go back to sub — get ready for the drop at Sawtooth."
Next came a skidding sound, then the crunching and squeaking of feet on snow.
"Probably drowned, those kids," the second voice said.
So, White recognized me, and figures Virgil must be Joe, Frank thought. Good. We have another surprise to hit them with. He lay as still as possible as the voices drew nearer.
Suddenly they were very close.
"Footprints?" one man said.
They stopped to examine the tracks. "Could be seals—or polar bears."
"Seals, I think. No polar bears here. Or kids, either, I think — not unless they throw their boat away."
The searchers laughed. "We go back, tell about drowned boys."
Frank heard them walk away with relief. But wait a second — they were heading toward Tanook.
How could a dog — even as intelligent a dog as Tanook — remain under the snow? Frank was thinking to himself. "Please, Tanook, be good," Frank muttered under his breath. "Please!"
From the sound of things, Tanook did remain still—right until one of the searchers stepped on him. Frank heard a yelp and a growl, a wild yell from one of the men, and then a gunshot.
Frank pushed his way up to peek from his hiding place. Tanook must have gone for one searcher's wrist—since he could see a revolver on the snow. The man was howling, nearly drowning out Tanook's growls.
The other crewman kept circling the struggling pair, trying to get a good shot at Tanook. The dog was twisting and jumping so much that it was hard to take aim. Frank saw the man raise his gun, then lower it, afraid of shooting his comrade.
Then Tanook switched his grip and lunged for the man's throat. The man reeled back, throwing his hands up to protect himself. Tanook smashed into his chest. The other man took steady aim at the dog, and then Frank leapt up from his snow grave with a shout.
The man with the gun whirled toward Frank and snapped off a wild shot. At the same time his buddy pushed Tanook away—and tottered off the iceberg.
He hit the freezing black water and had time for one desperate cry before he went into shock. Perhaps it was merciful. The man's white face was stiffening even as he sank below the surface.
Everything had halted for that horrible moment. Even Tanook stood still, staring at the water as if he couldn't believe what had happened.
The remaining seaman looked shocked, but he was well trained, and he knew his business. His gun hand was rock steady, the revolver aimed dead on target — right at Frank's heart.
Chapter 14
VIRGIL SPRANG FROM his hiding place like a missile launched from an underground silo. Now the gunman had to turn and face yet another enemy. He didn't know which way to point his gun.
Tanook crouched and growled, his teeth bared. Frank turned sideways so he'd be a smaller target. Virgil began to speak to Tanook in his native language.
The man with the gun spoke. "You come with me," he said nervously, pointing the gun first at Frank, then at Virgil, all the while keeping an eye on Tanook, who was creeping closer.
"Come and get us," Frank said boldly.
The man glared, then fired at Frank—and missed. His revolver was a snub-nose, and Frank was a good thirty yards away. Virgil hit the ground at the sound of the gun. That was wise, since the gunman whirled, squeezing off a shot in his direction. The bullet whizzed inches above Virgil's prone body. The gunman turned on Tanook. Too late.
Tanook was leaping as the gunman snapped off another shot. Tanook twisted in midair and came in at waist level, his teeth sinking into the wrist of the guy's gun hand.
With Tanook holding the gun down, Frank had a chance. He bent his good knee and hurled himself across the snow to join in the struggle. The man was still clutching his pistol, fighting to grab the gun with his free hand. That's when Frank landed, flattening the guy.
"Nice work, Tanook," Frank said, patting the dog. The man's body was limp, and Tanook let go of the wrist. Frank took the gun.
"Only one bullet left," he said, glancing in the chamber. Then he looked down at the man who lay unconscious in the snow. "Sorry to gang up on you, pal, but we had no choice."
"Who is he?" Virgil asked, staring at the man's pale face.
"He works for Sandy White, that's all I know. When he was talking with his buddy, they mentioned something about Sawtooth. Does that mean anything to you?" Frank asked as he knelt down to check the man's vital signs.
"Yes. There's a mountain called Sawtooth."
"I think that'll be our next stop," Frank said. "We've got to figure out, once and for all, what White and Hammond are up to. Let's get your boat and head out of here."
Virgil shook his head. "We'd waste time — better take their boat." He looked around worriedly. "Maybe the ice walls kept in the sounds of the gunshots. If not—well, sound travels pretty far over open water. I'd like to be out of here. We can leave my boat for Sleeping Beauty here."
After checking the amount of fuel left in the inflatable speed boat, they started the engine and headed for Virgil's fishing camp. It was a fast but uncomfortable trip.
Joe's face was grim as he sat deep in thought aboard the weather plane. What had happened to Frank and Virgil? The abandoned boat, floating in the middle of the ocean, was a haunting sight. He hardly dared think about it.
"You've got to take us to Sawtooth Mountain. Can you do that?" he asked the pilot.
"Sure can. But there's no way I can land. You'll have to jump. I've got some chutes in the back."
"I don't think Cindy should jump," Joe said, looking at the girl beside him. "Maybe you should go back to Prudhoe."
"No way!" Cindy shouted. "I'm not going there. They know where I live, and chances are that fat guy got away and told Hammond I was with you."
"But you could hang out at a friend's house until this thing gets settled," Joe suggested.
Cindy fixed her eyes on Joe. "Read my lips," she said. "The answer is N - O. I'm going with you!"
"Okay, if that's what you want," Joe said, throwing up his hands. "It's not going to be much fun. Your boss likes to play hardball."
"Ex-boss," Cindy told him.
They climbed into the back of the plane and strapped on parachutes. Joe had to show Cindy how to do it and teach her how to pull her cord.
"I'll be right with you," he said. "It's easy. Don't be afraid. And when you land, keep your knees slightly bent."
Cindy nodded and bit her lip. It was clear she was scared but determined to go through with the jump anyway.
"We'll be there in a few minutes," the pilot said.
"What time is it?" Joe asked.
"About two in the morning. You'll have to wait for a while once you get there."
"That's okay. We'll find a hiding place where we can keep an eye on things. If you don't hear from us in a day or two, would you come looking? And tell Virgil, if you see him."
"Will do," the pilot said. "We're coming up on Sawtooth now. Get ready to jump."
Joe slid the side door of the plane open, and a fierce rush of cold air hit him like a wall. Taking Cindy's hand, he walked her to the edge of the door. He gave her a reassuring smile, then held her hand as they dived out of the plane.
They fell through the pale sky for only a few seconds before pulling their rip cords. Joe had no idea where they'd land, but he figured it would look like much of the Brooks Range—rocky, treeless tundra covered with arctic moss and wild blueberries. The only danger could be the occasional stand of white spruce, which could reach a height of twenty feet. But the trees usually only grew in sheltered valleys, and they were supposed to land near the summit of Sawtoot
h Mountain.
Joe could see the ground coming up fast now. It was hard to tell what it looked like. With only half light, the terrain looked flat. But Joe knew that was an illusion. As he got closer he saw they'd be landing right on the side of the mountain.
He hit first, drifting up into the slope of the hill. He kept his balance and landed perfectly.
Instantly he looked up for Cindy. There she was, drifting out of the sky under the webbing of her chute. She looked a little like a fly struggling in a spider's web. She moved her legs in anticipation of the landing and held on to the lines for dear life.
When she hit the slope of the mountain, Cindy hit hard. But Joe had disengaged himself from his own chute and was running to help her. She would be bruised, but basically unhurt.
"Gather up your chute and follow me," he said. "We're going to climb."
They collected the billowing folds of their parachutes like huge armfuls of laundry. Then, tucking them under their arms, they clambered up the steep, rocky slope of Sawtooth Mountain.
At the peak they found a safe hiding place — a rocky ledge, out of the wind and, even more important, hard to see from the air. They would be mostly covered by a huge boulder that perched on the side of the slope.
"This is perfect," Joe said. "We can get some sleep here, and we won't have to worry about being seen." He began to spread out his parachute.
"You mean you're going to try to sleep here?" Cindy asked in disbelief. "It's so rocky!"
"It's perfect. Protected, cozy — we've even got blankets."
Joe lay down on his parachute and then rolled himself up in it. Cindy reluctantly did the same. They were so tired that despite the rocks and the roar of the wind they were both sound asleep in a few minutes.
They were awakened in the morning by the whirr of an approaching helicopter. Crouching close to their rock, Joe and Cindy watched as the chopper landed on the desolate mountaintop a few yards away from them. Four men got out, including Spike Hammond. They stood around their silent copter, staring off into the sky.
A few minutes passed. Another chopper came rattling in from the north and landed even closer to Joe. He crept around the boulder to get a look inside the pilot's bubble. The pilot was alone— but Joe did see a MAC-10 submachine gun leaning up against the copilot's seat.
Trouble in the Pipeline Page 7
