Read Brother Against Brother Online
Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
Brother Against Brother (6 page)
Frank Hardy had just circled his way through the woods so he would come out behind the cabin.
It was dead ahead, masked only by a few trees. He had just started for it, when he heard a twig snap nearby. To his strained nerves, the sound was as loud as a gunshot. Frank froze behind a tree. Twigs didn't break by themselves. They snapped when something—or someone—stepped on them.
Then came the explosion!
It blasted Frank like a rag doll, tossing him off his feet and back against the trunk of a tree.
Later he groggily opened his eyes. The last thing he remembered was the blast. He must have - been knocked out. The question was, for how long? He rubbed the back of his skull. His whole body was sore, covered with pine needles and debris from the explosion, He lay still, checking his arms, legs, and ribs for broken bones.
At last, he hobbled to his feet. Everything was quiet, except for the wind moving through the treetops.
He steadied himself, then moved ahead. Reaching the clearing, he saw that the cabin had been totally destroyed. Little remained but some shattered timber and stone, some bent and charred tin cans—and no signs of life.
"Too late — just a few minutes too late," Frank said to himself, not having heard the Jeep pull away. "I came so close to catching up with Joe, and now he's gone. No one could have survived this."
His hands were clenched so tightly, his fingernails dug into the flesh of his palms.
***
Joe led a shocked Rita back to the Jeep, which sat on the top of a hill. Below, smoke still hovered over the area where the cabin had been.
She tried to pull free, and he had to restrain her.
"I can't leave him there!" she said, her voice shaken.
"He's gone," Joe said roughly. "Dead, just like Iola," he added under his breath.
But Rita heard. "Who's she?"
Joe lowered his eyes. "A girl I loved. She was - killed in a car bombing." He helped Rita into the Jeep. Then he got behind the wheel. "I couldn't help her. But I can help you, Rita," he said quietly. "I can get you out of here, to safety."
She covered her face with her hands and began to sob. Her body heaved with each surge of grief. Joe leaned over and took her in his arms.
"We can't stay here," he told her gently. "Whoever set that explosion probably saw us leave and will come looking for us."
Afraid to make any noise, Joe released the brake and clutch, so the Jeep would roll silently down the hill. As it gained some speed, Joe nudged the brake pedal so it wouldn't go too fast.
He glanced at Rita. Her head was thrown back, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Joe steered the Jeep around some curves as it descended the hill. Reaching a flat stretch of road, Joe pushed in the clutch, threw the Jeep into second, and allowed the engine to drop-start and ignite.
Rita gained control of herself, taking deep breaths and wiping her eyes.
"There are some things you should know," she said in a choked voice.
"A whole lot of things, I bet."
She sighed. "It's true. Well, you know that Uncle Delbert is — was my father."
"Why all the secrecy?" Joe asked.
"Because there was a contract out on his life, that's why," Rita explained.
"Who was your dad, really?" Joe asked.
"My father's name was Mark Tabor," Rita said. "He was a businessman who was approached by some organized crime types. They wanted him to go along with a construction scheme to defraud the government out of a lot of money."
"Nice," Joe said sarcastically.
"Dad had a building supply business. Concrete and steel. The mobsters wanted him to overprice the cost of supplies needed for some big public building. Then the mobsters were going to charge the government for the inflated costs and pocket the difference. It would've meant millions and millions in illegal profits."
"But your dad wouldn't go along with it," Joe suggested.
"Well, actually," Rita said, "he did go along with the scheme. But only after he had notified the authorities. They asked him to help gather evidence."
"You mean, he was sort of a double agent," Joe said.
Rita nodded. "Right. After the mobsters were arrested, they figured that they'd get off, since there was no hard evidence against them. But they didn't know about my dad. He testified at the trial, and the mobsters were, convicted and sent to prison."
"Which put your dad's life in jeopardy," Joe said.
"Yes. During the trial, right before Dad was set to testify, my mother disappeared. Kidnapped." Her voice shook. "Murdered. When Dad hired a detective and found out that my mother was already dead, he went ahead." Rita began to weep again. "And now both of my parents are dead. And I hate the people who did it!"
Joe brought the Jeep to a stop. He held Rita, trying to console her, until she calmed down.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"You have nothing to apologize for," Joe told her.
"After the trial the authorities knew that his life and mine were in danger," Rita explained. "So, as part of the witness protection program, they gave us new identities. But the mobsters maneuvered for a new trial on a technicality, and started tracking us down so we couldn't testify. We ran—until we finally settled here."
"But someone just found your dad," Joe said.
"It won't do them any good," Rita said. "I know as much about the scheme as he did."
"I think they know that, too. That bomb was meant to kill both you and your dad."
Rita nodded grimly. "Well, they missed me. And I'll have my chance to convict them."
"Right," Joe agreed, starting the Jeep again. "But they'll have checked and know that you got away. And that makes you the new target!"
***
Back at the cabin, Frank Hardy prowled around the smoking remains. There was little that hadn't been destroyed. He found the twisted remains of a pistol and rifle and the charred bones of only one body! The skeleton was too small to be Joe's — Joe must have survived! There was no sign whatsoever that his brother had been in the blast.
Joe had to be alive! And the girl with him.
Frank turned again to the remains of the cabin for a closer look. Bending down, sorting through the rubble with a stick, he found the remains of a thrown satchel charge — an old-fashioned kind of bomb, but a professional one.
Frank looked out on the road. The Jeep was gone! That was how they got away, he decided. But why didn't I hear the Jeep? Then he remembered—he had been deep in the woods then, circling around to the cabin. Frank quickly retraced his path through the woods. If Joe had gotten away in the Jeep, Frank had to get back to his car—and fast. He burst out of the woods, and climbed his way up to the highway above. There he flagged down a passing car.
"Can you give me a lift to Cripple Mine?" he asked. "I was hiking, and got turned around."
"Hop in," said the driver, a middle-aged man with a grizzled beard. "Folks get lost around here all the time," he said. "They wander off in the trees and lose their bearings."
"Yeah," Frank said. "That's what happened to me."
"Well, you be careful next time," the driver warned Frank. "Most anything can happen here in the high country if you don't know what you're doing."
Frank nodded silently. Up ahead he saw the spot where he'd hidden his rental car. "This will be fine," he told the man.
The driver laughed. "Don't want to admit somebody brought you back, huh?" But he good-naturedly pulled off the road. Frank thanked him and got out. "Would you know where I can find a phone?" he asked, leaning back into the car.
"There's a general store, oh, six miles up the road. It'll be on your right, on the river side," the driver said. "You can't miss it."
"And the sheriff," Frank added. "Where is his headquarters?"
"Well," the driver said, "that would be in Corralville. As the crow flies, it's not too far. But it's quite a drive from here — the mountains get in the way."
"I understand. Thanks again," Frank said.
Frank waited for the motorist to drive away, then he climbed in the rental car. It was time, he realized, to report to his father what had happened.
He drove to the general store, which looked like an old fishing lodge. Pulling into the parking lot, Frank went inside.
A couple of old-timers were standing around, talking about the weather and trout fishing. They were dressed in plaid flannel shirts and corduroy trousers. Each wore a battered fishing hat complete with hooks and lures. Frank got a sandwich and a soda, then found a pay phone in the back.
He called home collect. His father accepted the call and immediately began to yell at him.
"Your twenty-four hours ran out this afternoon," Fenton Hardy growled. "You should have been home already. Now we're stuck here worrying about you, as well as your brother."
"Dad, I'm sorry, but there was no time to call. I had a lead on Joe and took off after him. I did see him and nearly caught up with him," Frank told his father.
"Where is he? And where exactly are you?" Fenton Hardy demanded.
"I'm in a general store in the mountains," Frank said. "I wish I could give you good news about Joe. But I just don't know for sure. Something terrible did happen. I found a cabin where, I believe, Joe was staying. Just as I was about to reach it, it was blown sky-high."
"What?"
"It was awful," Frank said. "I searched thoroughly and I'm almost positive he wasn't in it. But I think your witness might be dead. Did he live in a cabin?"
"He lived in a cabin about a mile from a place called Cripple Mine. And there should have been another person there — he had a daughter."
"Would the hit man have wanted to kill the daughter, too?" Frank asked.
"I would assume so, but let's not rush to conclusions," his father said worriedly. "A stove or gas leak might have caused that explosion."
"Dad, that explosion was no accident!"
"We can't know for sure," Fenton said. "I've just gotten word from a pretty good source that the hit man I sent Joe to warn the witness about is off the case. My source says it was just a wild-goose chase."
Frank shook his head. "Dad, I really think the man may have gotten to the witness. The explosion in that cabin was made by a satchel charge - very professional."
The silence that followed was so long, Frank thought he'd lost his connection. But Fenton Hardy finally spoke again. "In that case, we have no choice about keeping this secret. His daughter is in grave danger. I'm calling in the local police and the FBI right now!"
"Great," said Frank. "I'll get off the line." But even as he hung up, his brief flash of optimism faded.
There would be a lot of lawmen out looking for the hit man. But could they find him before he found the girl—and Joe?
It was late afternoon when Frank headed off toward Corralville, speeding along a steep and curving mountain road.
The sheriff was the nearest local law, and Joe would probably go there to report the blast at the cabin. It might be a slim hope, but it was the best one that Frank had.
As Frank drove, he weighed his evidence again. He was certain he had seen Joe going into the cabin. After the blast, he had found no traces of Joe in the rubble and debris. And the Jeep had disappeared.
Therefore, Joe couldn't be dead. He just couldn't be! Frank tried to shake that possibility from his mind, but it lingered like a bitter aftertaste. .
Frank pushed on a little faster into the now deepening twilight. The mountain road was unlit — a series of unending, twisting curves. Still, Frank kept his foot on the gas. When he finally hit a short stretch of straight road, he pushed the accelerator to the floor.
That was when his headlights caught something dead ahead in the road. Frank stared. A Jeep! It looked like the Jeep from the cabin!
He slammed on his brakes too late — surprise had slowed his reflexes. His car rammed into the rear of the Jeep, and Frank went bouncing against the steering wheel. Only his seat belt kept him from sailing through the windshield.
Frank tore loose from his belt and tried to open his door as the Jeep slowly rolled off the road, tumbling into a dry canyon floor below!
"No!" Frank shouted, struggling with his door to get out. He shouldered the door again and again, throwing himself at it until it finally gave way.
Frank slid out of the car and dashed to the trunk. Unlocking the lid, he rummaged for a flashlight. Badly shaken and aching from the crash, he limped to where the Jeep had rolled off.
"Hey! Anybody down there?" he shouted.
There was no response.
Frank flashed the flashlight beam down at the Jeep, which was turned over on its side. He played the light around, looking for any movement. But he saw nothing except the wreck itself.
Finding a sketchy path, he started down the steep hillside. The slope was slippery with gravel and bits of rock, and Frank nearly lost his footing more than once. For one horrible moment, his feet started sliding, and he had to grab a boulder to break his fall. The flashlight nearly went flying.
Finally hitting bottom, he found himself in a sandy ravine, perhaps a dried riverbed. Flashing the light back up at the road he inspected the steep, treacherous hill he had come down.
Then he limped toward the Jeep. "Joe?" He looked hard where the flashlight cast its beam, but saw nothing move.
He was almost afraid of what he'd find at the half-overturned jeep. But when he reached it, he found the Jeep empty. "This is weird," he said to himself. "If he's not here, where is he?" Frank swept the area with the flashlight again, but saw nothing but sand and brush.
The hood of the Jeep was loose, and Frank peeked in. "What's going on?" he muttered, staring at the place where the ignition wires had been torn out. That had to have been done by hand — the rest of the engine hadn't been damaged by the fall.
Leaning over the engine, Frank heard some noise from the road above. He turned the flashlight upward—but again saw nothing.
He turned back to the Jeep. Nothing.
