Brother Against Brother (2 page)

Although there were a few hours of light left, the sun had already set behind the western hills. Joe quickly paid for a cold drink and some snacks, then returned to the car.

Through a tunnel, around a hairpin curve, and Joe glimpsed the real mountains. Bluish, tree-bare summits rising some fourteen thousand feet above sea level filled the horizon.

Joe drove on, but as the sky continued to darken, the scenery faded into shadow. Joe had to concentrate on his driving. The road had become steep and curvy and ran along the edge of a ravine. On his left was a slope of loose boulders and rock. On his right a river roared through a mountain valley. The sound of the rushing water filled the air.

After coming out of a curve in the late twilight, Joe was heading down a deserted stretch of road. In the hazy, dark distance, something — one of those strange picture-postcard animals — was standing in the middle of the road.

As Joe drew closer, the figure bounded directly into the path of his car. It was a man! Joe had to slam on the brakes and swerve to avoid hitting him.

He brought the car to a stop and jumped out, asking the man if he was all right.

The elderly-looking man had a hat pulled down low on his head with just a fringe of red hair hanging below. He was getting to his feet, dusting himself off.

"I'm okay, sonny," the man called as Joe walked back to him. "But my car is having a problem. I have a flat tire."

"I didn't even see you until the last possible moment," Joe said.

"No need to explain," the man said. "I'm just glad that someone was on this road. Thought I might have to spend the night out here by myself. You don't know what may happen in the wilderness once the sun goes down."

"Well, let me help you," Joe said, following the man to the edge of the road to where an old car was parked.

Joe walked around the vehicle. Its front left tire was flat.

"Problem is, I can't find my jack," the man explained.

"Hard to change a tire without one," Joe said with a grin. "I bet there's one in my car. Wait here. I'll be right back."

Joe headed back to the rental car, took the keys from the ignition and opened the trunk. He pulled aside the spare tire and found a jack, which he began to loosen from its mount.

Then he heard a soft sound behind him — a foot scraping on the road surface. Joe started to turn, to tell the old man that he'd found the jack.

That's when he saw the tire iron swinging at his head.

Joe tried to spin away, but he was just a second, too late. There was an explosion of light behind his eyes as the metal hit his skull. Then everything went black.

Everything was still dark when Joe came around — dark and stuffy. He had no idea where he was or how long he'd been unconscious. Gingerly, he touched the back of his head. He winced as his fingers probed a large welt — swollen, tender, and wet. He was probably bleeding.

After a moment, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realized that he was in the trunk of a car. A tire lay beside him, and the jack ground into his back. It had to be the jack he was just removing. He was in the trunk of his own car! He tried pushing against the hood, then pounding on it. "Of all the times to get nailed," he muttered.

Joe tried to twist his body so he could push the lid with both legs, but he was too groggy to make much of an effort.

"Hey!" he shouted.

He waited for a response, but heard only the wind rustling through pine trees and the sound of the river roaring below.

"Hey!"

He rested for a moment, trying to gather his strength. Then he heard something stirring outside.

With renewed effort, Joe pounded on the lid. "Open up!" he yelled. "In the trunk!" He kicked at the metal.

He stopped, waiting for a response. Instead, he heard footsteps move away, toward the front of the car. He felt the car shift slightly as someone climbed into it. Then, after a moment, the weight shifted again, as whoever it was got out.

"Hey! Back here!"

Suddenly the car moved. The brakes were off! Someone was pushing the car from the front!

"Stop it! I'm trapped back here!"

Slowly at first, the car slid backward. Then, gaining momentum, it moved faster.

Joe could hear the pavement under the car and knew when it hit gravel. Then he heard the car brush through weeds and bounce over rocks. The roar of the river became louder. He was heading for the lip of the ravine!

He started fighting with all his strength to open the trunk. But the hood didn't budge.

Then the car tipped as the rear wheels rolled free of the ground. Joe was thrown against the hood as the car teetered. ... "No! No!" he yelled.

Joe bounced around helplessly in the trunk as the car tumbled down the slopes of the canyon. He heard the windshield shatter, and a crunch of metal as the roof caved in.

Then the car backed into something large, springing the trunk lock. The lid swung up as the car bounced off a huge rock and flew high into the air. Joe had a look at where he was heading — into the boulder-strewn river of roaring white water!

"Any word yet?" Frank Hardy couldn't keep the anxiety out of his voice. "Has Joe called?"

His mother shook her head. "No word. This isn't like Joe. It's been two whole days."

"Where's Dad?" Frank asked, sitting down at the kitchen table in their Bayport home.

"Notifying the authorities of Joe's disappearance." Laura Hardy stared at her son for a long moment. "Frank, what's going on?"

Frank avoided her eyes. "Where's Aunt Gertrude?"

"Don't change the subject. I'm worried about Joe." Laura Hardy said sharply. She sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. "I'm sorry, Frank. I guess we're all wound up a bit too tight over this."

"It's all right, Mom," Frank said. "I'm worried about Joe, too." He reached across the table and took an apple from a bowl of fruit. But he wasn't really hungry. "I think I'll go for a run," he finally said.

The morning air was salty as Frank ran along the beach of Barmet Bay. Most mornings, before breakfast, Frank and Joe would run together to the beach and back. And, most mornings, Joe won.

Frank hated to admit it, but it drove him crazy. He spent his mornings exercising, doing weight training and karate workouts. Joe rolled out of bed an hour after him, and did nothing but play a little football or baseball. He was as good an athlete—or better—than Frank.

Joe jokingly referred to Frank as the brains of their operation and himself as the brawn. He was slightly shorter than Frank but stockier and more muscular. They made an excellent team. Frank sometimes wondered if the underlying competition between them was what made their team so successful.

Frank smiled, pushing himself to run faster. No, that wasn't it. They worked together so well because their abilities meshed perfectly. Because they were brothers. He'd hate to see what would happen if they ever found themselves on opposite sides.

Just as Frank returned home from his run, Fenton Hardy walked into the kitchen, where his wife was sipping coffee.

Frank poured himself a glass of juice and joined his parents at the table.

"Is there any news?" Laura finally asked.

Fenton Hardy shook his head.

Laura Hardy shrank in her chair. "In that case, I think I'll go for a walk. I could use a little fresh air, too," she told Frank.

Frank waited for his mother to leave before he asked his father, "Nothing at all?"

"No word from Joe," Fenton said. "And no word about the hit man, either." At a look from Frank, Fenton added, "I'm doing everything I can."

Frank gripped the edge of the table, trying to stay calm. "I should have gone with Joe. It wasn't a good idea to send him alone."

Fenton Hardy shook his head. "Two people traveling together might have attracted attention. We agreed on that. And Joe won the draw to go," Fenton reminded Frank. "If we're going to play might-have-been, I should have gone."

"Come on, Dad. Any hood would be sure to know you. They'd follow you straight to the witness: That's why it had to be either Joe or me." He shook his head. "Joe is just too hot-headed. If he got himself into something ... "

Fenton's eyes drifted toward the phone. "I hope not, Frank. The hoods on this case are very dangerous. Organized crime types."

"Are we going to sit here and do nothing?" Frank asked.

"I'll be in my study," Fenton said, abruptly rising to his feet. "Leave the phone line open, in case Joe calls."

The next hours were the longest in Frank's life. The kitchen phone never rang. All day Fenton shut himself up in his study. Frank could hear him talking over the private line, phone call after phone call. Laura Hardy came home and disappeared upstairs. Frank tried watching TV, then listening to music, but he couldn't get his mind off Joe.

When Fenton didn't show up for supper, Frank went to his study and knocked on the door. "I'm going after Joe," he told his father.

"I'm not sending another son out," Fenton Hardy told him firmly.

"Come on, Dad," Frank begged. "The only word we received today was some silly postcard that Joe sent two days ago! Besides, someone still has to deliver the warning to the witness."

The door opened. Fenton Hardy stared at his son. "I don't like your idea one bit," he said quietly. "But I will think about it." With that, he disappeared back into his study.

"Well, I'm not hanging around here," Frank said to himself.

He drove his van around aimlessly, up and down the streets of Bayport. All he wanted to do was help Joe. But he had to respect his father's wishes. At a train crossing, the barriers came down, lights flashing, bells clanging. Frank braked and watched the New York City express barrel past on the tracks. At least it was going someplace! He slammed the steering wheel in frustration. I'm beginning to act just like Joe, he thought.

As he was driving past the mall, Frank saw Callie Shaw, Chet Morton, and Liz Webling leaving the movies. Frank pulled up and waved to them.

"What do you say we go over to Mr. Pizza?" Chet suggested. "I'm feeling a little hungry."

"You're always hungry," Callie kidded him.

"That's how I maintain my figure." Chet chuckled, grabbing his middle. "Hey, Frank, why don't you come along?"

Frank shook his head. "Actually, I was hoping to take Callie away from all this."

Liz grinned and took Chet's arm. "I can take a hint," she said. "Come on, pal, lead me to that pizza."

Callie climbed in, and the van took off. The breeze from the window ruffled her blond hair as she looked at Frank. "Something's bothering you. What is it?" she asked.

Frank told her about Joe. "I want to go after him," he said.

"Sounds dangerous." Callie frowned. "Besides, you don't know for sure what happened to Joe. Maybe he's out of touch to avoid trouble. You should have an idea of what you'll be fighting before you jump in the middle of it."

"I guess you're right," Frank said, reaching over to squeeze her hand.

She shuddered a little. "I always get a bad feeling in this place." She looked out across the parking lot. "It's where your car blew up—with Iola." Her voice was very quiet. "I hope Joe's all right."

Frank sat quietly for a moment, his face set. I can't stand by and do nothing, he decided.

Callie was studying him. "Frank? Are you okay?" she asked quietly. But lost in his troubled thoughts, Frank didn't answer.