"They're all real people, and real card numbers," Frank explained. "That's one of the things that's making it so hard to crack this case — the crooks are using real credit card numbers—like a second card. None of the numbers are phony."
"But how do they get the numbers?" Joe wanted to know.
"I think it's possible for someone to tap into a company's computer line and retrieve information without removing it from where it's stored," said Frank. "Something like going into an office and reading files without taking the files out of the office."
"It's a new kind of theft," added Montague. "They're stealing information rather than goods. It makes it a much harder crime to crack."
"I guess we should pass this information on to Boulton," Frank suggested.
"I'll take care of it," Montague said. He dialed the phone next to him. After a pause, "Hello, Chief Boulton, please. This is Alfred Mont — Hello — Hello!" He clicked the button up and down. "The line's gone dead."
"Could have been the storm." Alicia sounded as if she wanted that to be the reason.
"Sure." Joe quickly agreed to keep her from getting anxious. "Must have been the storm."
"I still think we should take a copy of this disk to Chief Boulton," Frank said. "Will you and Alicia be okay here alone?"
"Sure," Montague replied. "I've got the revolver, remember?" He slipped another disk into the computer and hit some keys. "Here's a copy. In the meantime I'll try to clean up some more information from the original."
"Since the rain has stopped," Joe said, "we can take the mopeds. You two can have the car in case anything happens.
"Fine," Montague agreed.
They said their goodbyes, and once again the two brothers were on the road, headed for Hamilton.
Not five minutes from the Montagues' villa Frank saw the all-too-familiar black BMW in his rear-view mirror. A piece of lightweight plastic had been secured over the hole in the windshield.
"Joe," he shouted over the roar of the two bikes, "we've got company!"
Joe looked over his shoulder. "I guess they cut the phone lines just to get us out of the house." He let out the throttle on his bike.
Frank couldn't hear his reply over the roar of the two bikes going full out. But at a top speed of fifty miles per hour, they were no match for the BMW. The boys were exposed and defenseless on their bikes.
The strip of road they were driving along was narrow, with no place to turn off. They were riding single file now, Frank's bike faltering a little and lagging behind.
Frank looked over his shoulder and saw that the BMW had closed the distance between them to less than fifty feet. He leaned over the front of the bike to cut wind resistance and to make himself a smaller target for the bullets he expected would be flying at him.
He didn't expect what did happen. The car, going at least thirty miles an hour faster than the bike, rammed into the back of Frank's moped. The bike flipped. And suddenly Frank found himself spinning in midair, flying over the top of the speeding BMW.
Chapter 10
JOE CRINGED AS he heard the sickening crash of his brother's bike flipping over again and again until it bounced off the highway and stopped. He turned in time to see the black car come to a halt. He jammed on his brakes, leaned far to the right, and turned the bike 180 degrees. He twisted the throttle, downshifted, popped the clutch, and lurched forward in the direction of the crumpled bike.
Then he noticed his brother, who was lying motionless in a large bush by the side of the road about forty feet behind the BMW. Mickey and Croaker had gotten out of the car and were sauntering over to Frank's body.
"Hold it!" Joe yelled in rage as he sped toward them.
"I knew we wouldn't have to go after you!" Mickey shouted. "You'd come back for what's left of this guy." He lifted Frank behind the legs, and Croaker was ready to take his arms.
Joe drove right up to the two men, flying off his bike and landing on Mickey like a rodeo star in a bulldogging contest. His bike went sailing past them. It leaned over until it fell to the pavement, sending sparks everywhere and sliding off the side of the road. Mickey hit the ground hard. Joe lashed out with his fist and caught him with a blow to the jaw. Then he spun around as Croaker was about to grab him from behind. He threw a right into the short thug's midsection. His arm was back, ready to land a knockout blow when someone grabbed his arm.
"I got him, Del," his new attacker announced.
"Nice work, Gus." The two thugs had joined Mickey and Croaker. As Joe struggled to break the hold on his arm, he remembered those two names. Frank had said they were back at Kruger's. With a desperate yank, Joe pulled free— just in time for Del to put a chokehold on him.
"For old times," Gus said, lashing out and punching Joe in the stomach—knocking all the air and fight out of him.
"Lock him in the trunk before I kill him," Croaker ordered as he got up off the ground, his voice even gruffer than usual. "And hide the bikes." He pointed to a small clump of greenery near where Frank's bike had landed. "This time the Hardys are going to disappear without a trace!"
"What about this one?" Mickey asked, standing over Frank's body.
"Throw him in the back seat. He won't give you any trouble — he's dead!"
Joe tried to look over his shoulder at his brother as Mickey opened the trunk. Gus spun him around, and Joe twisted frantically, struggling to see.
"I've had enough of this," Croaker growled as he placed his hand against a nerve on Joe's neck. Joe collapsed, unconscious.
When Joe awoke, his stomach ached, and his shoulder felt as if it had been stepped on. His head was swimming. And he was rocking back and forth, back and forth. Then all at once he knew the rocking wasn't in his imagination. He was on a boat, thrown in the bilge. Looking at the emptiness of his surroundings, he thought about Frank then for the first time.
Before he could go over what had happened, or try to figure out what was about to happen, a door opened on the other side of the room. Joe recognized Mickey. "Enjoy your trip!"
The thug cackled as he shoved a body into the room with Joe.
"Frank!" Joe yelled. In spite of the fact that his older brother was bruised, bloodied, and dazed, he'd never looked more welcome to Joe. "I thought you were dead!"
"I know," were Frank's first words. "Mickey was gloating about the way Croaker announced I was dead. That was Croaker's idea of a joke. He knew I hadn't been killed, but he was trying to get to you."
"He's a real piece of work — " Joe swallowed the rest of his words. "But you're okay?"
"I'll live, maybe." Frank forced a grim smile. He said he was black and blue, and his body hurt all over. "They said they didn't want me to die before they had a chance to kill me properly." He looked at his brother. "You all right?"
"Yeah. I wasn't hurt or anything. I was just given a nice, long nap." He paused, running his teeth over his lower lip. "Well, what do we do now?"
"I don't know," Frank admitted. "I checked out this room thoroughly before they brought me topside for a few questions. Did you see what's in those boxes?"
"No." Joe shook his head, still a little groggy. "I just got here." He got up and walked over to one of the boxes his brother had pointed out. "Wha - do - ya - know!" he said as he pulled out a handful of bright new credit cards, all stamped with names and account numbers.
"And all the other boxes are filled with the same," Frank informed Joe, pointing out the other ten or so boxes that were scattered throughout the room. "There wasn't enough time to stamp the load of credit card blanks you found on the Sea Mist earlier. So this is probably the delivery we were supposed to get Dad the information about."
"Well, we're certainly right on top of things." Joe scratched the back of his neck. "If the Sea Mist did come from Puerto Rico, like it showed on the maps I saw, then the boat brings in a load of blanks from there, drops them at Kruger's, and then takes a load of stamped cards wherever we're going now." "Yeah," Frank added. "Wherever." "Any ideas?" Joe asked. "Feels l
ike we're on the open seas, and when I was topside I saw we were headed right into the setting sun, so we're either going due west or southwest." "Are we on the Sea Mist?" Joe asked. "Couldn't tell. The only close-up look I ever got of the Sea Mist was from underwater. I'd guess from the way she rides that she's about a sixty-four-footer."
"We must be headed to the U.S. mainland, though," Joe figured.
"Quite right, boys! ' Mickey had opened the door just in time to catch Joe's remark. "But you won't see the mainland again. We have a scientific project in mind for you. You're going to get a firsthand look at how things—and people — disappear in the Bermuda Triangle!" Mickey let out a sinister laugh as he gave the brothers time to understand what he meant.
Joe hated Croaker, but he liked Mickey even less. He slowly started to move away from Frank. Maybe while Mickey's attention was centered on one of the brothers, the other could somehow overcome him.
A revolver appeared in Mickey's hand. "You keep moving like that," he said to Joe, "and you're never going to hear the end of my story."
Joe froze while Mickey continued. "You've caused us a lot of trouble. We even had to send a diver down to fetch your camera from that MG, in case you happened to get a picture of the boat. And we got a bonus — the life preserver! I didn't even know that was missing."
He grinned at them nastily. "Too bad you didn't hold on to it. You'd find it handy where you're going. Before we rendezvous tomorrow with some friends, we're dumping you overboard. This time we'll know there's no chance you'll show up again. And without any bodies, the police can't be sure of a crime." His laugh echoed off the bare walls. "And the final joke is that we'll buy a couple of thousand dollars' worth of merchandise in your names with your credit cards before anybody even knows you're missing!"
He looked crazed as he backed out of the room and stopped suddenly in the doorway. "I almost forgot. They say bad things happen in threes. Well, tomorrow by this time there'll be three of you sharing an ocean grave."
The sound of the slamming door echoed throughout the room until it was finally muted by the sound of rushing water outside the bulkhead. Joe and Frank looked at each other without speaking. There was one light in the dim room — a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling attached to a long cord plugged into the far wall. There wasn't much they could use to escape and overcome their captors.
Frank was the first to break the silence. "Who do you suppose the other person is?"
Joe's face was tight. "Think about it. Who else do we know who's working on this case?
Montague!"
As if on cue, the door opened again, and someone was shoved into the room. "Company!" a voice yelled out. Frank and Joe watched as the person stumbled into the light.
"Alicia!" they shouted simultaneously. Joe rushed up to her and grabbed her by the shoulders. Her eyes were red, her face pale, but she didn't seem to be hurt. "Did they — "
"I'm fine," she interrupted. Her smile assured the brothers that she was okay.
"What happened? How did you get here?" Frank asked.
"After you left, I started wondering about the phone line. At first I thought maybe it had been cut to trap us in the house. Then I wondered if Kruger's plan was to get both of you out of the house.
"You couldn't go very fast on those bikes. I decided to follow you in the car in case you needed to get away quickly. Dad said he'd wait at home in case something happened and we missed one another.
"I practically rammed into that black BMW you had told me about, and then I saw your bikes. But I didn't see either of you. I tried to turn around, but before I could get out of there, the passenger door swung open, and this big guy turned off the ignition key and grabbed me.
"They forced me into their car and asked me a lot of questions. I didn't say anything, so then they took me with them. They questioned me topside, and when I wouldn't tell them anything again, they brought me down here."
"I'm glad to see you, but I'm unhappy that you're here," Joe burst out. "Does that make any sense?"
Alicia grinned. "I understand."
"They didn't try any rough stuff?" Frank asked in a soft, concerned voice.
"No — they didn't even search me." Alicia's grin grew wider as she reached behind her. "I've had this all along." She pulled something out from her baggy jeans.
"The revolver!" Joe stared in amazement.
"Dad said I should take it just in case."
"Fantastic! Let's invite Mickey back in here, threaten him with the gun, and then take over the ship," Joe said.
"Not so fast," Frank cautioned. "If Mickey forces us to use this gun, that would warn the others. Besides, remember what Mickey said about a rendezvous tomorrow. We need to find out where that meeting is."
"But they're going to dispose of us before then."
"Look. There's no way we can reach Florida by tomorrow, so the rendezvous must be at sea."
"We've got to figure out where the rendezvous is, and then find a way out of this mess. It shouldn't be too difficult to pick the lock on this door — the only real problem is how to overcome the crew."
"Are there just the four of them?" Joe asked.
"I only saw two," Frank answered.
"There are three," Alicia confirmed. "The short, fat guy with the funny voice stayed behind."
"Croaker," Joe said. "Did you happen to notice the name of the boat?" he asked excitedly.
"The Sea Mist."
"Great. Then I know how to get to the wheelhouse and the captain's cabin."
"Good," Frank said, feeling more confident now. "Tonight the boat will probably be on automatic pilot, and we'll know the direction of the ship. Picture that as a straight line from Bermuda to someplace on the U.S. mainland — "
"But you said we won't reach the mainland," Joe interrupted.
"That's not the important thing," Frank said. "If one of us can get to the wheelhouse and reset the pilot—heading us off course— we'll be able to find the rendezvous point."
"How?" Joe wanted to know.
Frank drew a line in the dust on the floor with his finger. "Let's say this is the original route." He ran his finger partway along the same line, then turned off at an angle. "Here's where we turn the ship during the night." He extended the line.
"But tomorrow morning they'll discover they're miles off course," Joe said.
Alicia chimed in, understanding Frank's plan, "And they'll have to plot a new direction. And where that course crosses the original course is where the rendezvous is set."
As Alicia spoke, Frank drew a new line that intersected the first. "X marks the spot!"
"It's a big triangle," Joe said.
"That's why it's called the triangulation method. It's really nothing more than geometry."
"Once we know where the meeting place is," Frank added, "we can contact the authorities and head back to Bermuda. Got it?"
"Got it!"
The three were not interrupted again as they sat quietly and discussed their plans. No one had even brought them any food. It was after five when Frank said it was time to move. He picked the lock on the door in about fifteen minutes, using the wire from one of Alicia's barrettes. Joe crept out and found his way up to the wheelhouse. Everyone was asleep, and he wasn't seen. The wheelhouse was empty, and Joe had no trouble setting the automatic pilot for a different course. He then returned to their prison.
"Done," he said when he reentered the room.
"Any problems?" Frank asked.
"The only problem I had was coming back here without going after those hoods. It seems crazy not to take care of them now that we're free."
"We need to know that rendezvous point," Frank emphasized once again. "We're too tired to think clearly now anyway—let's get some sleep. Then we'll figure out a plan in the morning before anyone comes back."
There was nothing to do now except wait. The three captives flattened out some boxes to lie on. Joe took the revolver from Alicia and slipped it under one of the boxes. Then they all huddl
ed together on their hard, makeshift bunks and went to sleep.
The sharp sound of a piercing alarm woke them a couple of hours later. "What's that?" Alicia asked, startled.
"The radar warning system," Frank informed them. "It probably means there's something in the boat's path. It's a warning to the captain to take the boat off automatic pilot and steer a new course."
"Then they'll find out the automatic pilot has been tampered with."
"Let's see — " Frank looked at his watch. "It's almost seven A. M. We've gone far enough off course to calculate the rendezvous point once they set the new course."
The alarm stopped, and the trio could feel the boat turn sharply to port. Then, without warning, the door to the room was unlocked and slammed into the bulkhead.
Mickey burst into the room, gun in hand. "So, somebody was playing captain in the middle of the night, huh? Did you really think that if you set a course for the Carolinas, the boat would reach land before we got up in the morning?"
Joe was searching for the gun he had taken from Alicia a few hours earlier, but it had slipped under one of the box flaps. He started to reach for it.
"You! Tough guy!" Mickey said, looking at Joe. "Stand up!" Joe got slowly to his feet as Gus and Del stalked in.
"Over against that wall. Gus, tie him up. Now you, handsome," he said, nodding at Frank. "Stand up, turn around, and put your hands behind your back. Del, take care of him."
"I'll take care of him, all right."
"Just tie him up—that's all."
"Why don't we just toss them overboard right now?" Gus asked.
"Because we want to wait for local radio contact with the other ship. What if the FBI found out our rendezvous point, and our boys aren't there but the Coast Guard is? We might need some bargaining power."
Frank and Joe were securely tied with rope, then thrown down on the deck like sacks of potatoes. Then, after Gus and Del left, Mickey went over to Alicia, grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her toward the door.
"We'll take care of your girlfriend, lover boy. The next time you see her, you'll both be twelve thousand feet underwater!"
The Number File Page 6
