Edge of Destruction (8 page)

The door swung open.

Joe and Frank barely noticed the man who opened it because they were staring past him at a man rising from behind a desk.

The guy looked like a body builder who had been stretched to six and a half feet. He was wearing a black T-shirt and black jeans that showed the enormous muscles of his arms, shoulders, chest, and thighs. Even his head looked like an enormous muscle, with its shaven skull gleaming in the light from the naked overhead bulb.

Salt and-pepper hair bristled over the top of his shirtline. Who was this awesome character?

The same answer crossed both Frank and Joe's minds. But neither of them could believe it.

No way this rock-hard man could be the mountain of fat they had seen in the yellowing newspaper photo. No way they could be standing here staring at Nick Trask.

"Don't tell-me who you kids are," the man said with a thick New York accent. "Let me guess. The Hardy boys. Congratulations. You moved faster than I figured you would."

"Hardy boys?" said' Joe, putting on a tough New York, accent himself. "Who you talking about?"

"You got us mixed up with somebody else, mister," said Frank with the same accent.

"Come on, kids, don't waste my time," said the well-preserved hoodlum. "If you're not the Hardy boys, I'm not Nick Trask."

"You, Nick Trask?" said Joe.

"Don't kid us," said Frank. "I mean, I heard stories about him. You know, like he's a legend in the neighborhood. A real big shot. And from what I heard, a real tub of lard too."

"That was a long time ago," said Trask. "Over twenty years you can build a lot of muscle if you pump iron day after day, getting in shape for when you get out.

"I was the youngest boss in the organization," he said. "I lived high, ate and drank everything I pleased. A great life. But two guys took it all away from me. Peterson and Hardy."

"Hey, Mr. Trask, you got the wrong guys. We ain't no Hardys," said Frank. "We was just fooling around in that office, you know, for kicks, when your guys jumped us."

"That's right, Mr. Trask, sir," said Joe. "You let us go, and we won't say a word. I mean, we think you're something. In our neighborhood you're a regular hero." Trask turned to one of the phony cops. "Frisk these punk kids. Fast."

The man did as he was told. He came up with an old clipping about Trask that Joe had accidentally left in his pocket.

"Nice try, kids," said Trask. "I didn't even need this to know who you are. I already figured you, went back home to get at your dad's files when the people I sent to snatch them didn't report back.

"When I figured you had your hands on the old clippings, I knew you'd use the city computers to check me out," Trask went on. "Well, both you kids were too smart for your own good. You didn't stop me from wiping out my records. And you gave me a bonus by giving me you."

"What good is having us going to do you?" said Frank.

"I ain't sure yet. But I'll figure out some - " Trask paused, and a smile made his face even uglier. "I just got an idea." He turned to the phony cops. "Go get the doctor. He's in the lab. I got a job for him. We installed a lab in the subbasement of the building next door. Pretty neat setup, huh?" said Trask.

A minute later his two men returned. In their custody was a slim, dark-haired man with a small goatee and big, bulging eyes. The man wore a spotless white lab coat, but his hands were stained multicolored by chemicals.

Joe took one look at him and thought he was a mad scientist, right out of central casting. The guy's voice was mad, too, a different kind. Angry mad. "I was just coming in to see you, Trask," he said. "I told you two days ago, I need more supplies. And the company will not give me what I need if I do not pay. Do not promise me that you will have your men hijack the stuff. They have already made too many mistakes in what they have stolen."

"Look " Trask started.

"I do not want excuses," interrupted the doctor. "I want to continue my experiments. You promised to give me all I need if I gave you what you want. I fulfilled my part of the bargain, and now you must keep your part. Or else no more virus."

"Your lab stuff is costing me a fortune, von Reich," Trask growled.

"You did not seem to worry about cash when we worked out our plan in the cell," the doctor said.

"How was I to know about inflation?" Trask muttered.

"Your financial problems do not interest me," the doctor said coldly. "I don't care how you get it, but I want my money. If you want to call our deal off, I can continue my experiments elsewhere."

Joe and Frank expected Trask to twist the doctor's head off. The look in his eyes said that he wanted to. Surprisingly, however, Trask forced a smile onto his face. He laid a huge hand on the doctor's narrow shoulder in a calming gesture.

"Hey, Doc," he said, "don't get mad. You'll get your money, and so will everybody else, as soon as the city comes through with the twenty million. And that will be just chicken feed compared to how much we'll rake in once we take over the whole underground. We'll be able to loot any store we want, transport any drug, set up illegal gambling, the works. We'll be as rich as kings. All we need is that twenty million to really put us into business. Just be patient a little while longer."

"I'll be patient, but still I need more money for my suppliers," said the doctor. "And they deal in cash only."

"Okay, okay," snapped Trask. "How's this?" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of bills. Slowly he peeled them off and dropped them into von Reich's waiting hand. First hundred-dollar bills, then fifties, then twenties. Trask stopped with over half the roll still in his hand.

"That's all?" demanded the doctor.

"I got other expenses," Trask said quickly. He stuffed the roll back into his pocket, but not before Frank and Joe caught a glimpse of the top one.

It was a single. The boys exchanged glances. They both realized that the bankroll had big bills on top, but the bulk of them were small. It looked as though Trask had a cashflow problem.

The doctor, though, seemed satisfied. "Okay, for now we are back in business. I will go back to my work."

"First I got some more of my work for you. A couple of new patients, sons of Mr. Hardy," Trask said. "They need treatment real bad."

"Treatment A or Treatment B?" asked the doctor, a hint of a nasty smile edging across his thin lips.

"'treatment A," said Trask. "We'll save B for the big moment."

With guns leveled at them, the Hardy boys followed Dr. von Reich out of Trask's headquarters. They were escorted down a short corridor and into a room filled with laboratory equipment.

"You first," the doctor said to Frank... "Lie down on the table."

Frank glanced at the gun trained on him. He shrugged and then obeyed.

Furtively Joe looked sideways at the gun trained on him. He couldn't make a move. One of the phony cops strapped Frank down on the table, then stepped back.

Meanwhile the doctor had filled a hypodermic I with a solution drawn from a tube stored in a refrigerator. Both Hardy boys knew what the solution was.

Despite himself, Frank grew pale. The doctor, smiling with evident enjoyment, held the instrument in front of Frank's eyes for a moment so that Frank could get a good, long look at it.

"What's the matter, little boy, afraid of a tiny needle?" the doctor asked mockingly. "Do not worry. You will hardly feel it. And then, I promise you, you will feel nothing at all." Before Joe's horrified eyes, von Reich plunged the needle into Frank's arm. Almost instantly Frank's eyes bulged with shock and then closed just as fast, his face and body going slack.

"Just lay him on the floor. It will not bother him in the least," the doctor told one of Trask's men.

Two minutes later Joe was the one strapped on the table.

He steeled himself so he wouldn’t flinch when the doctor gave him a close-up of the needle. But he couldn't help shuddering inwardly when he heard the doctor's words: "As the saying goes, young man, like father, like sons."

BLACKNESS. That was all Joe saw. But he was sure he was awake. He was sure he had his eyes open.

Maybe this was what Virus A did to you, he thought. Maybe it took away your sight and made you think you were conscious when you were really still knocked out. Was he running a fever? He didn't think so. But to make sure, he put his hand on his forehead. Or at least he tried to. He couldn't move.

He seemed to be tied up hand and foot, lying on what felt like the concrete-floor of a pitch-dark room. But he had no idea what kind of room he was in. Then the total silence was broken as he heard footsteps moving toward him. He tensed. He felt a foot collide with his side. Next a hand felt his face, forehead, nose, gagged mouth.

"That you, Joe?" It was Frank's voice that was whispering. Joe felt the gag being taken out of his mouth.

Before Joe could say anything, Frank said hoarsely, "Keep your voice way down. This place might be bugged."

"Always playing it cautious," Joe teased softly. "See if you can untie me." Frank untied Joe's wrists, then the rope around his ankles.

"Easy as pie," whispered Frank. "Whoever tied us up was never a Boy Scout. I think this underground living is getting to Trask's boys. They're getting sloppy."

"You were tied up too?" Joe asked. He tried to rub the circulation back into his wrists and ankles. "How did you get loose?"

"When I came to, I rolled along the floor, hoping I'd run into some luck," said Frank. "And I did. I hit a wall. Then I made my way along the wall until I reached a doorway. The door was locked, but it was set far enough into the wall to leave a hard edge exposed. I used the edge to saw through the ropes around my wrists. The rest was easy."

"Do you think Dad is tied up in here?" wondered Joe. "I doubt it. I covered a lot of territory in here before I found you."

"How long do you figure we were knocked out?" asked Joe.

"No idea," said Frank. "That Virus A is strange. It put me out like a light, but now I don't feel bad at all. How about you?"

"All I feel is starved," said Joe.

"We're really in the dark about everything," mused Frank.

As if in answer to this, light from an overhead bulb flooded the room. .

In that first flash of light Joe and Frank stared at each other. Their faces were streaked with grime, their hair was dusty, their clothes looked like dirty rags, but no one else was in the dusty concrete room.

They didn't have time to talk. Without saying a word, they gave each other a nod, then dashed toward the door. There they pressed themselves against the wall on either side of the doorway.

Just then the door swung inward.

The two fake cops entered.

"Hey, where did those - ?" was all the first one had a chance to say before Frank leaped on him from the rear. Joe took on the second man.

Three minutes later the Hardy boys had the unconscious men tied up and gagged.

"Quick!" said Frank. "Let's get out of here!"

They left the room, closing the door behind them, and found themselves in a dimly lit corridor that seemed familiar.

"I think the lab we were given the shots in is down there," Frank said. They headed toward where Frank was pointing.

"This looks like it," said Frank as he and Joe stood facing the closed door.

Joe took a deep breath. "Here goes nothing," he said as he pushed the door open.

We've hit the jackpot, was Frank's first thought when he looked inside.

Inside the room, Dr. von Reich was without bodyguards, though he was not alone. Sitting in a chair, looking pale but wide awake, was Fenton Hardy.

The doctor was standing with his back to the boys in front of Mr. Hardy, a hypodermic in his hand. He was poised, ready to give the injection. Mr. Hardy was not tied up, but he was making no move to stop the doctor. Frank ran across the short distance and grabbed von Reich's wrist, forcing him to drop the needle to the floor. Joe, meanwhile, wrapped one arm around the doctor's neck and pressed his other hand across the doctor's mouth.

"Make a sound, and listen to your neck snap," Joe threatened. Frank closed the lab door and quickly returned to the doctor and frisked him.

"He's clean," Frank said, hurrying to his father's side.

"No funny business or we'll lay you out," Joe warned. Then he released the doctor.

"Dad, are you okay?" Frank asked.

He had reason to be concerned. Fenton Hardy had remained sitting in the chair. There was an expression in his eyes that his sons had never seen before. A bewildered, confused look.

"Okay? Yes, I'm okay," he said, but his voice was not reassuring. It was low, indistinct, as if he were having trouble getting his words out. "It must have hit him harder than it did us," said Frank.

"You were figuring on shooting Dad up with more Virus A, huh?" he snarled. "And hitting us with it, too, I bet. That's why you sent the goons to get us. Well, unless you give us the antibody that cleans the bug clear out of Dad, I'm giving you a shot of your own medicine or should I say your own sickness."

Fear was apparent on von Reich's face, but the doctor couldn't resist giving the Hardy boys a superior sneer. "I thought you two were supposed to be bright. Hasn't one of you figured it out by now?"

"Figured what out?" asked Joe, looking at Frank: for some clue about what the doctor was hinting at.

His brother didn't fail him. "I think I know," Frank said. "And what do you know?" asked the doctor.

"Virus A doesn't exist," said Frank. "That would explain why we made such complete recoveries. And why Dad will, too, once he shakes off the effects of the drug you used on him." "So you do have some semblance of intelligence, after all," the doctor said in an oily voice. “ How reassuring to learn that not all of our young people are a bunch Of - "

"Hey, wait!" Joe broke in unexpectedly. "What about Ian, the old guy we found underneath Grand Central? He didn't make a complete recovery." "That's right," Frank agreed, turning from Joe to glare at the doctor. "The man's dead." Dr von Reich seemed genuinely puzzled. "I'm telling you the truth. There is no Virus A. I used a drug, not a virus. I don't know why he died."