"Have to get out of here," Frank said as they rushed along the tree-lined streets. "Do you have any ideas?"
Pia shook her head. "We have nowhere else in the neighborhood."
Frank scowled. "No place to hide. Can we get back to the crowds?"
Again, Pia shook her head. "Wisconsin and M streets are behind us. The police are blocking our way."
"We may as well stop running. It will only call attention to ourselves."
They slowed their pace to a fast walk. Joe kept glancing over his shoulder. But so far there were no signs of pursuit.
"For once," he said, "luck is on our side. Maybe we — "
At that moment, a police cruiser turned the corner three blocks ahead of them. Then it was coming straight at them, slowly, its searchlight playing on both sides of the street.
Chapter 11
FRANK AND JOE stared at each other in panic. They had only seconds to come up with a plan. "Back—into those bushes," Joe hissed. Frank didn't even hesitate. He slipped into the shadows.
As the car approached, Joe folded the astonished Pia in his arms, turning her away from the street. He slipped off her glasses and, as the police car came up, started kissing her. They stood that way for a long moment, until the searchlight caught them. Pia jumped away, half-blind and blinking, the picture of surprise.
A policeman leaned out the car window, trying to hide a smile. "Sorry to bother you, kids. Someone tried to break into a store a couple of blocks back. We're looking for them. Did anyone come running past you?"
Pia shrank back in fear. But to the policeman she just looked embarrassed. Joe was left to answer the question. "Uh, well, I didn't see — I mean, I don't think so," he said. "Um, I didn't notice — "
The policeman's grin grew broader as he listened to Joe's fumbling explanation.
"Stop digging yourself in any deeper, kid. I guess you didn't see anything."
"I - I thought I saw someone passing," Pia said timidly. "I didn't really look. It could have been a man or a woman. But they were heading in that direction." She pointed back the way the police car had come.
The policeman nodded. "Thanks. We'll get some units over there. And, kids, why don't you use Lover's Lane?"
They could hear the cop's laughter as the car started off down the street. But through the window Joe could see that he was already talking on the radio.
"What have you done?" he asked in a furious whisper. "The police are already behind us. Now they will be searching ahead of us as well."
"I - I thought they would turn around and go away," Pia stammered.
"Your thinking was not right," Joe muttered. "As you saw."
"They are gone?" Frank asked.
Joe looked down into the shadows. With his stained face, Frank was completely camouflaged.
He grinned at his brother. "I think pretty fast, no?" he asked.
"That reminds me," Pia said. She shook Joe's hand. "That's for saving us, Josef." Then she gave Joe a ringing slap across the face. "And that's for trying something like that without asking me."
Joe rubbed his cheek, while Frank tried his best not to laugh.
"There's no time for this." Pia quickly slipped her glasses back on. "We have to get out of here."
"But where?" Frank asked. "Police to the east, police to the west."
"We go north," Pia said. She hesitated. "I have a friend who lives up that way."
Frank kept a careful poker face, in spite of his excitement. He remembered Pia's slip earlier. Her "friend" had the power to change ANWO's plans. It had to be the Dutchman. But why would the brains behind the hijacking have such an obviously inexperienced contact?
Actually, it made a strange sort of sense. Who would pay much attention to a radical-cause groupie? Pia made the perfect cutout for the Dutchman. And, with luck, she would lead the Hardys to her boss.
They set off along the streets, taking a zigzag route. Sometimes they even circled around blocks. Frank gave Pia a look. "Are you trying to confuse us?" he asked.
She shook her head. "It's standard procedure. To make sure no one is following us."
Joe shook his head. "If anyone was following, we'd already be arrested."
Pia shrugged but continued with her strange route. Several times, they saw police cars in the distance. None of them ever came close.
After leading them in a circle around the Naval Observatory, Pia looked over her shoulder, still checking to make sure they weren't being followed. "Good," she said. "Everything's okay. Now we head down Massachusetts Avenue, across the bridge, and out of Georgetown."
They were three blocks from the Massachusetts Avenue Bridge when they saw the roadblock.
It was discreet, a couple of police cars off at the side of the road. But it was clear that the cops were checking everyone who crossed that bridge.
"Over," said Pia, turning abruptly. "We'll try the Buffalo Bridge on Q Street." They walked a block and turned onto Q Street.
The cops were waiting there, too.
Pia stood very still, staring at the collection of police cars. "They'll be covering every bridge back into the city, won't they?" Pia whispered.
"Looks like it," Joe agreed.
Frank began thinking furiously. "These bridges," he said, "they go over a park as well as Rock Creek."
"Rock Creek Park," Pia said.
Frank remembered crossing the M Street Bridge, farther south. It cut across a ravine with a creek below. "There was an autobahn — how do you say? A freeway down there, too," he said. "We must get over that."
"What are you saying?" Joe asked.
"We go into the park, climb down to the creek, and cross it," said Frank.
Pia nodded eagerly. "We should try it under the P Street Bridge," she said. "Someone told me that Washington's army crossed the creek there, marching down to Yorktown."
"Good," said Frank. "First we must get into the park."
Getting in wasn't too difficult — a quick climb over a fence. Getting down to the creek was tough. The ravine walls were steep and heavily overgrown. And the darkness didn't help.
"Can't even see where I'm going," Joe muttered in his brother's ear. "This stupid — whoooah!" He slipped on a rock and tore through some bushes.
By the time they finally reached the creek, each of them had a good collection of scratches and scrapes.
"There is the freeway. On the other side of the water," said Frank, scouting out the territory.
"Yeah. There's the bridge where it crosses over the creek. So we can follow the creek under the freeway and cross the creek itself." Pia patted him on the shoulder. "Good thinking, Franz."
Frank grunted noncommittally. "After we cross the water, then I will be happy."
"At least there are no police," said Joe.
"No sense in waiting." Pia turned to the Hardys. "Let's go."
All three slipped off their shoes and hung them over their necks. Their socks went into their pockets, and they rolled up the legs of their pants.
"Careful," said Frank. "Watch your feet."
They edged into the water. Pia winced. "Cold." She shivered.
Frank just grit his teeth and kept moving.
The water was soon up to their knees and slowly crept higher the farther they moved. Even with their jeans rolled, it was obvious that they were going to get soaking wet.
They continued to slosh their way through to the far side. Then, after pausing for a while to let their soggy clothes dry a bit, they put their shoes back on.
"We're aiming for Sheridan Circle," Pia said. "Maybe we can walk beside the freeway and then climb up."
Frank and Joe just shrugged. The climb down hadn't been fun. Somehow, they suspected a climb up would be even worse.
Pia led the way through the underbrush, guiding herself by the gleam of headlights on the freeway nearby. Finally, they reached the grassy margin of the freeway.
"Just a couple of blocks now," Pia said.
"How high up?" asked Joe. "We still must climb the ravine."
"It's worth it," Frank whispered. "At the end of it, we meet the Dutchman. And when we get him ... "
The brothers caught up with Pia, who had suddenly stopped. Then they saw why.
Parked by the side of the road was a car — a large black car. It looked horribly familiar. So did the man leaning against the fender — their old friend, Roger O'Neill.
They could see the look on his face in the intermittent beams from headlights — the smile they had seen before.
"Well, well, well," O'Neill said, crossing his arms. "Now, why did I expect to see you here?"
Chapter 12
FRANK AND JOE glanced at each other. How had O'Neill followed them? He must have known about the tunnel. And when the cop reported seeing the kids near the store, he could have added it up and tailed them.
But no more time to wonder; in about three seconds, O'Neill would open his mouth. Pia would find out that they weren't Franz and Josef, and she'd never lead them to the Dutchman. Even if she informed on her leader, considering O'Neill's track record, he'd lose the guy. Or worse, he would blow the plan.
There was only one thing to do. Frank stepped forward. "I do not understand, sir." He looked pleadingly, desperately, into O'Neill's eyes. "We were just walking."
O'Neill leaned back on the fender. His nasty smile only grew larger. "Yeah. Through the water. Stop giving me this innocent act. I've got you, dead."
He drew himself up, reaching under his jacket for his gun. "You are under — "
"Schwein!" Joe burst out. If he was going down the tubes, he decided to go down in character.
O'Neill jerked out his .38 Special. "You little creep!" He swung the pistol up and caught Joe on the side of the head. Joe crumpled to the ground. O'Neill brought the gun around for another blow.
Frank had no choice. He launched off on his right foot, his left foot sweeping up. The high kick caught O'Neill in the forearm, swinging the gun off course.
Twisting around, O'Neill aimed at Frank. But Joe threw himself at the government man's knees. They both went down in a heap, O'Neill clubbing Joe again.
Frank jumped forward, and O'Neill revealed his own martial-arts training. He launched a snap kick at Frank's head. This wasn't a blow meant to stun. It could injure, even kill.
Frank barely saw the foot coming at the side of his head. But O'Neill's timing was off. There was the briefest hesitation in his attack, and that saved Frank's life.
He scrambled desperately away, and O'Neill's heavy shoe just grazed his ear. Frank jumped back. As O'Neill regained his feet, the gun came up again, and this time Joe was in no shape to help. Frank tried a desperation play, his right leg sweeping around in a circle to catch O'Neill behind the knees.
The government man toppled to the ground. Frank swung him around, one arm immobilizing O'Neill's gun hand. His fingers reached for the pressure points in the neck. Seconds later, the agent sagged, unconscious.
Frank felt no triumph. If he had had troubles before, he had major ones now. Breaking and entering—or, rather, exiting—and now attacking a federal officer. If Frank couldn't free the hostages after all this, he'd probably be better off flying away with the hijackers.
Pia bustled in and frisked the unconscious government man, digging out his wallet. While she withdrew to examine the papers, Joe came over from the car, carrying a couple of pairs of handcuffs. "We're in luck," he whispered. "The car's empty."
Frank shook his head again. "I'm still not thinking straight. It never even occurred to me to look."
Joe grinned. "I think I know why he didn't want Peterson or his driver around. Looks like O'Neill wanted all the glory for capturing us."
"Well, I don't know how this will look on his record." Frank jerked O'Neill's wrists behind his back and cuffed them. He used the other pair of handcuffs on the government man's ankles.
"Help me get him in the car," he whispered to Joe. "Then we've got to get out of here."
"Right," said Joe. "Somebody is sure to report your roadside karate demonstration."
As the Hardys tucked the government man into the backseat of the car, Pia reappeared with O'Neill's ID in one hand and his gun in the other.
"U.S. Espionage Resources," she said flatly, bringing up the gun. "He deserves to die."
"No time," Frank said quickly, smacking the barrel with the flat of his hand, forcing it down. "We must get out of here. And a shot will make more people remember us."
He took out his handkerchief and wrapped it around the pistol, taking it from Pia. "No fingerprints," he said. Then he took the wallet. "And no identification."
Winding up, he flung both gun and wallet far off into the underbrush. "Now, we climb."
The ascent up the other side of the ravine was a nightmare. Now gravity was against them, and they were already tired. They were covered with sweat by the time they reached the top. Frank's face showed thin streaks of white where the sweat had cleaned away some of the ground-in dirt.
Just as they reached the top, the scream of police sirens cut the air. They looked down to see three cruisers pull up beside the black car.
"You were right," Pia told Frank. "We had to get out of there."
"And now we must get out of here," Frank said, agreeing. "Where do we go?"
"We're almost there," Pia said. "Follow me."
She led the way out of the park, cutting around a large house. "The Turkish Embassy," she said. "Good. Here's Sheridan Circle."
They stepped onto the street and saw a large open space before them. In the center was a bronze statue—the Civil War general Sheridan on his horse, leaning back and swinging his cap as if to rally his troops.
"Which way?" asked Joe.
"Around the general," Pia answered with a grin. She seemed very sure of herself as she led them past houses—more like mansions—around the circle. Frank saw lots of brass plaques.
"This is the south end of Embassy Row," Pia explained as they passed the buildings. "Romania, Ireland, Guatemala, Cyprus — "
"All next door to one another," Joe whispered. Frank gave him a look, telling him to knock off the commentary.
"The house we're heading for isn't quite so large," Pia explained. "But it is connected to one of the embassies." Her eyes became guarded once again. "The person we're going to see has powerful friends."
I'll bet, thought Frank, wondering which country was willing to help the Dutchman in America.
He had no time for other thoughts. Pia had darted down another street and stopped in front of a house that didn't look like a mansion — at least, not a very rich mansion.
She ran right up to the front door and pressed the bell. Even though the windows were dark, the door was opened immediately—as if she were expected.
Standing framed in the oversize doorway was a short, pudgy man in a sweater too large for him. His forehead was high, fringed with thinning blond hair. He had fat round cheeks, like Santa Claus, but they weren't a healthy pink. They were pale, sallow, almost yellowish. He had the look of a man who spent too much time indoors.
Quickly, he beckoned them in, then shut the door. His lips were curled in a smile, but jowls sagged at the sides of his face, pulling the smile down. His nose was short, and his glasses slid to the tip of it. His chin was weak, too small for the cheeks and jowls.
But his eyes were sharp, a sparkling blue. They darted from Pia to the Hardys as he laughed. "Ah, Pia, my poor, poor dear. You look as though you've been playing in the mud." He glanced again at Frank and Joe. "And who have you been playing with?"
"Franz, Josef," she said, "meet — Karl."
Those sharp eyes took in Frank and Joe again. "Franz? Josef?" He started speaking to them rapidly in a guttural language. German? Dutch? Frank couldn't tell.
Pia touched his sleeve, looking hurt. "I don't understand what you're saying. And didn't we agree? All members of the cause will speak English."
"Ah," said Karl. "But I did not know I was speaking to members of the cause." His eyes narrowed behind his h
eavy lenses. "Which is strange. I thought I knew everyone in the cause."
Frank kept his face carefully blank, hiding his excitement. They must be very close to the Dutchman now. This guy would have to be a special lieutenant. Maybe the guy they were looking for was right in this house!
"Lonnie had just recruited them," Pia explained.
"Lonnie is under arrest." Karl sounded as if he were having just an ordinary conversation, but both Frank and Joe noticed that his right hand had not left the pocket of his sweater. They knew he had a gun in there.
"I know," said Pia. "They came and warned me. Otherwise, I'd have been arrested, too!" She raised her arms, showing off her bedraggled state. "Why do you think we look like this? We've been on the run!"
Karl's hand almost came out of his pocket. "You were followed here?" His accent became much stronger all of a sudden.
Pia shook her head. "We gave them the slip.
But we had to wade across Rock Creek. And on the other side, a government agent was waiting! Franz took him out." She smiled and gave Frank an admiring gaze. In fact, Frank realized with embarrassment, it was more than admiring.
"He knocked the guy out and left him tied up in his car. Then we came here." Pia turned all business again, looking at Karl. "I think we've finally found just the people we need for the reinforcement action."
Karl smiled. "I believe you may be right," he said to Pia. His right hand finally came out of his pocket — empty. He rubbed it against his other hand with a dry, rasping sound. "But you must think I am a terrible host. Please wash up, and I will get you something to drink. Then we will discuss business, yes?"
Frank left the bathroom feeling one hundred percent better. His clothes were still damp from the trip across the creek, but at least he was clean. He had managed to remove all the dirt from his face.
He followed the scent of brewed coffee into the kitchen. It was a large room, with a huge, round oak table in the middle. Frank's stomach rumbled when he saw a silver tray piled high with thick sandwiches. Beside it were cans of soda and cups for coffee.
But the wooden chairs around the table were empty. Frank stood by one of them, hesitating.
Hostages of Hate Page 6
