Hostages of Hate

by Franklin W. Dixon

  Frank nodded. "They've got big problems. This plane is going nowhere, and they're about to lose their hostages."

  A babble of noise erupted from the crowd of passengers.

  "What do you mean?" A woman's voice cut across the noise.

  Frank turned to her, staring for a second. Then he realized why she looked familiar. Despite the stringy hair and the bags under her eyes, this was Pauline Fox.

  "The hijackers control the front hatch of the plane," he explained. "That's where passengers usually get on or off. But there are escape hatches in the tail."

  "They could shoot us as we get off!" the newswoman said.

  "We'll call to the cops first," said Frank. "Tell them what's going on in here. Then they can lay cover fire on the nose of the plane — keep the terrorists' heads down until everyone is off and safe. But first things first."

  Frank looked down at Habib, lying at his feet. "We need something to tie this guy up with." He turned to his brother. "And we need somebody to cover that front doorway. Joe, that's a job for you and your gun. See if you can find stuff to make a barricade. Everyone else, go back to your seats. Don't sit down. Stay on the floor. We'll need somebody from the plane crew to open those hatches."

  He grinned at Callie. "And I'd like you to come with me. We'll give the cops the good news, together."

  The passengers listened to these plans in a happy daze. They had spent so much time in mortal danger, they could hardly believe that they were safe now.

  They weren't.

  As two flight attendants opened the rear hatches, the whole plane began to tremble. A high-pitched whine filled the cabin — a whine that anyone who had ever flown was sure to recognize. It was just louder because so many of the windows were gone.

  It was the sound of jet engines starting up.

  The airliner jolted as it started moving forward, nearly throwing Frank and Callie out the emergency hatch.

  "Lars—the tall blond—said he was good at mechanical stuff," Callie said. "He just never mentioned that he knew how to fly one of these."

  Joe threw himself through the door into first-class and was met by a quick burst of fire. He jumped back to friendly territory. "The Dutchman's standing guard with the Uzi," he reported. "Looks like they piled up all the carry-on luggage in first-class to barricade the door to the cockpit."

  Frank looked out one of the shattered windows. "We're moving too fast to let people jump off," he said.

  "What I don't get is why they're doing this," Joe complained. "I mean, they can keep us aboard until they run out of fuel — " He jerked as the plane lurched through another turn. "You know, this Lars guy doesn't strike me as a very good pilot."

  "Good enough," one of the flight attendants said in a tight voice. "He's taxiing out to one of the runways. If he's good enough to do that, he's good enough to get us into the air."

  She stared at the broken windows. "And the cockpit has its own air system."

  Everyone's eyes went to the windows in slow horror.

  "Those guys will have a chance to escape and air to breathe," Callie said quietly. "But when the plane rises high enough, those broken windows will let all the air out of here. All of us will suffocate!"

  Chapter 17

  THE PASSENGERS BEGAN to crowd into the aisle, completely giving way to panic. Cries and screams filled the air, fighting with the whine of the jet engines. But the engine noise still dominated, growing louder as the plane picked up speed.

  Even though there was nowhere to go, people began pushing at one another. Then they began shoving and clawing. Some of the more desperate people began heading for the rear escape hatches. Better to jump to a possible death than stay aboard for a sure one.

  Callie looked nervously at Frank as the crowd headed their way. They were standing right in front of the hatches, directly in the path of what was rapidly becoming a mob.

  Frank's face was cold and remote. Callie knew that look. Frank was running over about a dozen possible plans to get them out of this. And from the frown on his face, she could tell none of them would work.

  Before the crowd got to within pushing distance, however, Frank snapped back to the real world. He turned his frown on the mob.

  "Out of our way!" screamed a heavyset woman. Her hair looked like a wad of collapsed cotton candy. Only its orange color helped Frank and Callie recognize Mrs. Thayer, the senator's wife. "You can't keep us here! We aren't going to stay and die like rats in a trap!"

  "You can't jump from a moving plane," Frank told her. "It's like leaping from a second-story window."

  But those people weren't ready to discuss anything rationally. More and more passengers pushed against those in the front ranks. They began advancing on Frank and Callie. "Let us off! Let us off!"

  Frank shook his head in disbelief. But as hands grabbed for him, he shoved Callie behind him. "Don't be stupid!" he shouted.

  Then a new chant rose from the back of the group. "Throw them off! Throw them out!"

  For a second, Frank stared. He shouted to the people, but they were making too much noise for him to be heard. He glanced at the weapon in his hand, and then he used it. A quick burst into the ceiling shocked the crowd into silence.

  "Look, all of you. This plane has two engines — both of them in the tail and both of them over these hatches."

  "So what?" somebody called.

  "Remember how a jet crashed some years ago because a flock of starlings got sucked into the air intakes for the engines?" Frank asked. "Those intakes are right up there." He pointed over his head.

  "We don't have many starlings handy," a voice said.

  "No, but we've got blankets, paper, pillows, and magazines." Frank stared into the faces of the crowd. "If we can starve those jets of air, we won't take off. It's a better gamble than jumping thirty feet onto the runway."

  "He's right," another voice cried out.

  "Yeah. Let's get that junk up here!"

  "Come on!"

  "Form a line," Frank called. "Pass the stuff along. And cut up the big stuff, like the blankets. We want it small enough to get sucked in but big enough to stick."

  He shouted up to the front of the cabin. "Joe, you stay on guard duty."

  "Just what I've been doing," Joe called back. "While you were busy discussing policy with that lynch mob."

  With a chance to do something to save themselves, the passengers went to work feverishly.

  Mrs. Thayer led the group in charge of tearing up the blankets. Her hairdo wobbled ridiculously as she reduced the blankets to long strips. "Ow!" she cried. "Third nail I've broken so far!" But she kept on tearing.

  Pauline Fox was searching through the seats, trying to find more things to throw into the engines. "Not my bag!" a woman cried as she picked up a canvas tote.

  "Honey, it's not going to be much use to you if we go up there." She dumped the bag onto a seat and passed it up the line, shaking her head. "The best story of my life, and I don't have a camera handy."

  "If you did, we'd be passing that up, too!" somebody called.

  Callie and Frank grinned at each other as they stood at the end of one line, tossing stuff as high as they could, past the jet intakes. "Look at all this—stuff," Frank grunted as he hurled torn blankets up.

  "I like this," Callie replied, tossing a set of plastic cards Frisbee-style into the engine. "They're the instructions on what to do in case of an emergency."

  Frank grinned at her. "Well, this is an emergency, isn't it?"

  The flood of items began to decrease as the searchers reached the seats at the back. Then it swelled as they started going over the cabin again, scavenging in new and more creative ways. Pauline Fox ripped the headrest covers off the seats. Mrs. Thayer and her crew started tearing the elastic magazine holders from the seats.

  "Hey, look what I found!" Professor Beemis called out. "The bag that terrorist was using to make his collection."

  "My money!" somebody else cried.

  "My pearls!" shouted a woman
.

  "Pass it up," said Frank.

  "What?" a roar of furious voices demanded.

  "The money is paper, just like the magazine pages," Frank said. "And the metal in the jewelry will do a real job on the vanes in the engine."

  "Expensive paper," one of the passengers muttered.

  "It'll all be worthless if we don't live to spend it," said Frank. He opened his own wallet, took out the bills, and tossed them into the intake. "Anybody else?"

  Everyone feverishly searched pockets and purses. Money, handkerchiefs, even used tissues appeared on the line.

  Habib's bag of loot came up to Frank and Callie. They tossed handfuls of bills up at the jet intake.

  "If these things go through, they'll make the airport people very happy," Callie said.

  "Probably look more like confetti than money," Frank said.

  "This had better start working soon," Professor Beemis called out. "We've reached the runway now."

  Stuff began appearing at a fever pitch as the plane prepared for its leap into the air. Callie and Frank found themselves throwing trays snapped from the chairs, seat belts, even people's shirts torn off and handed up the line.

  The jet engines revved faster. "Lars is preparing for his takeoff." Callie gritted her teeth.

  A low groan went through the group of passengers.

  "Wait a second! What's that noise?" asked Mrs. Thayer, shushing everyone.

  They all listened intently. There it came again—a clunk, a rasping sound that grew into a loud grinding noise. The whole plane began to shake wildly. Then the whine of the jets died away. The airliner coasted along until it came to a stop, about two-thirds of the way down the runway.

  "There's smoke coming from one of the engines," Professor Beemis reported, craning his neck out the window. "And the most unbelievable trail of garbage you ever saw, stretched out behind us."

  The passengers whistled and cheered. From the distance came the sound of sirens as police cars raced to barricade the runway. The airport's fire engines and crash trucks came roaring up, too.

  "They gave it their best shot, but we beat them," Callie said. "We've won!"

  "Not so fast!" a voice called from the first-class area. It was the Dutchman. "I have something you should see. Will you allow me into your cabin?"

  "What's up, pal?" called Joe. "You want to surrender?"

  "Let us just say I want to end this," the Dutchman shouted back. "I promise, no gun play. Here." A harsh black shape came flying through the doorway, clattering to the floor. Lars's Uzi.

  "We've got Habib's gun, and the Dutchman is clean," Joe said. "Unless Lars is toting a pistol in his back pocket."

  He shrugged. "We'll be ready for him." Stepping back and well to the side, Joe aimed his machine gun to cover the door.

  "Okay, Dutchman," Frank yelled. "Come on in."

  The pudgy figure of the head terrorist appeared in the doorway. "Wrecking the engines to ruin our escape." He shook his head. "I would never have thought of that. I'm afraid you've destroyed an International Airways plane, however." The Dutchman shrugged his shoulders, lifting up the briefcase he held in his right hand.

  "Why don't you put that case down?" Frank said. "I want to see what you've got hidden in your other hand."

  "Oh, gladly," said the Dutchman. He put the case down at his feet. In his left hand he held— Frank's detonator.

  "This is the bomb we brought aboard. And I think you know what I have in my hand." The terrorist's voice was almost gentle, as if he were lecturing on a minor subject.

  "You thought you were so smart, trading your detonator for ours." Now the Dutchman's voice hardened. "Using a different frequency to set your bomb off. You were too smart. Lars and I built a new detonating charge, using the plastique you crammed into my mouth. I won't be captured and made a fool of."

  He raised his hand, his thumb poised over the blasting button. "You see, it doesn't matter that you destroyed this plane. Because I will finish the job."

  Chapter 16

  CALLIE THREW HER arms around Frank, holding him close. They were just too far away to do anything.

  Joe Hardy threw away his gun and hurtled himself at the Dutchman.

  "Fool!" sneered the terrorist. He pressed the button on his detonator.

  Nothing happened.

  The Dutchman gawked at his hand. He pressed the button twice more — three times. Then he went for the briefcase bomb.

  But Joe was standing in front of him. "You were pretty brave with that bomb at your feet. Ready to blow us all to kingdom come. Let's see how well you do with these bombs." He raised his fists.

  "Now this one I call the Big Bang — " He rammed his left fist into the Dutchman's paunch. The terrorist gasped and folded in half, still clicking away with the detonator.

  "And this one I call the Big Boom. Now I'm going to lower it on you." Joe brought his right fist down on top of the Dutchman's head. The terrorist crashed to the floor.

  "All right, Joe, that's enough. He's lost it all, and he knows it. Let it go at that." Frank came down the aisle to join his younger brother.

  "Uh-uh," said Joe. He reached for the briefcase. "I'm going to open this and feed him every flavor of plastique that's in there. And I'll make sure he swallows it all."

  "No way." Frank put his foot on top of the case. "For all we know, they may have a booby-trap set in this so it explodes if it's opened. Leave him for the cops."

  Callie stood beside Frank. "That was really something," she said to Joe. "Jumping him like that. It's almost as if you knew the bomb wouldn't go off."

  "Well," said Joe, trying to look modest and heroic.

  Frank laughed. "He did know the bomb wouldn't go off. So did I. Right after the Dutchman said he had used the plastique we'd stuck in his mouth to make the detonating charge."

  "What?" Callie whirled around.

  "Come on, Callie." Frank grinned. "Where were we going to find any plastic explosive?

  Frank did have a little CN stuck to his hand after our fight with Lonnie, this crew's bomb maker. But not enough to do anything useful."

  "Sure, it was useful," Joe cut in. "I was able to match the exact same color and texture with the modeling clay I bought when you sent me out."

  "M - m - modeling clay?" Callie sputtered.

  "Yeah. Looked like CN, felt like CN — 'Course, it didn't taste like CN. But then, I guess our friend here never tried nibbling on any of his bombs."

  Callie was still in shock. "You mean, you had him thinking it was a bomb, and all along it was modeling clay in his mouth?"

  "You got it." Frank's eyes twinkled as he grinned.

  The Dutchman made a strangling sound down on the floor.

  "Sounds like he's still got it," said Joe. "Maybe he's got some caught on his tonsils." He went over and picked up his gun. "And now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go to visit our friend Lars."

  Apparently, Lars had lost all his fight when the big explosion failed to come. Moments later, they could hear Joe's voice over the last remaining loudspeakers. "This is your honorary captain speaking. The last terrorist has surrendered, and I've just spoken with the police. They're moving a set of passenger stairs up to the front hatch.

  Why don't you start lining up to get off this crate?" He laughed. "At least there won't be much in the way of luggage!"

  The passengers burst into excited chatter at the thought of finally escaping from the plane. Mrs. Thayer started trying to pat her hair into order.

  Pauline Fox stopped beside Callie and Frank. "I want to thank you, kids. First for saving my life. And second for giving me the story of my career! Wait till I catch up with my camera crew. If this doesn't win me an award — " She shook their hands and joined the line.

  As the passengers started filing forward, several stopped to thank the kids. "I don't even know your names, and you saved us all," one woman said.

  "We all worked together to save ourselves. If you hadn't helped stop those engines ... " Frank smiled and shook
his head.

  "Well, won't you at least go out ahead of us?" another passenger asked.

  Again, Frank shook his head. "I think the cops might get nervous if they saw anybody coming out of the plane with a machine gun. Besides, we still have these goons to guard."

  "We'll take care of them," a voice from behind him said.

  Frank turned around to find Roger O'Neill clambering through the escape hatch. "We set up a ladder back here," the government man explained. He moved a little stiffly, as if he had a bad set of bruises.

  A crew of policemen followed O'Neill. And after them came Fenton Hardy, with a look of fury on his face.

  "Uh - oh," Frank heard Joe whisper as he came to turn Lars over to the cops. "We're in trouble now."

  Fenton Hardy crossed his arms across his chest, glaring at his sons. "It's not enough that you run off like a pair of vigilantes when my back is turned. But then, after I specifically ordered you — "

  "They did save us, Mr. Hardy," Callie said, cutting in desperately. "They saved everybody on the plane."

  "I can understand your gratitude to these two," Fenton Hardy said to her. "What I can't understand is how they expected — "

  "Actually, Fenton, if you're going to blame anyone, it should be me." Agent O'Neill looked as if saying those words hurt him even more than his bruises. "I recruited them after we left the Hole - in - the - Wall. Because so many of the ANWO terrorists were young people, I thought they might be able to infiltrate the group. Everything they did — everything — was under my orders."

  Frank and Joe stared at the Espionage Resources agent. Why was he lying to get them off the hook? Frank had been expecting O'Neill to have them thrown in jail.

  Then the answer appeared from the crowd of cops behind O'Neill. A man in an airport security guard's uniform turned around. He was an ordinary sort, the kind of guy who disappears in a crowd. But this guy winked at the Hardys.

  It was the Gray Man.

  Frank and Joe immediately got the message. A little more interagency politics, a deal cut between Espionage Resources and the Network. And, although Espionage Resources might get the credit on TV, the Hardys suspected that the people who counted would know that Network agents had really gotten the job done.