Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
Survival Run (2 page)
"I'm sorry about the ... misunderstanding with the police. I heard someone in Forrester's office and didn't want to take any chances. I'm still a little rattled by Solomon Mapes's murder. All this business with the Assassins and the Network - I didn't expect to get involved in an international conspiracy."
"We understand," Frank said. "I'm sure we'll all breathe a lot easier when this case is over."
Eddings's eyes focused on Frank. "This case is over. With Mapes dead and Forrester behind bars, the luggage theft ring is out of business."
"That's just the tip of the iceberg," Joe protested. "There's a lot more going on here."
"I don't care," Eddings snapped. "Your father assured me that you boys wouldn't get involved in anything dangerous. Instead, you almost got yourselves killed!" He paused and took a deep breath. "Anyway," he began more calmly, "whatever else may be going on, there's nothing you're going to do about it. You two are officially off the case. I believe I told you that earlier. Well, now I'm putting you on the next flight back to New York."
"You can't do that!" Joe exclaimed.
"Yes, I can," Eddings replied sharply. "Your plane takes off in fifteen minutes. I've sent someone to pick up your bags. They'll be on the next flight. They may even get to New York before you do. I'm sorry I couldn't put you on a nonstop flight, but I wanted you out of Atlanta, before you could get into any more trouble. So you'll just have to put up with a brief stop in Washington."
"Washington, D.C.?" Frank responded. His tone was casual, but his brain was on full alert.
"Yes," Eddings said, glancing at his watch. "You should get going. I'll have one of my security guards escort you to the gate. We wouldn't want you to miss that plane, would we?"
"Don't worry," Frank said with a smile as he stood up. "We wouldn't miss it for the world."
***
Gina walked to the departure gate with them. "This is kind of an awkward way to Say goodbye," she said, glancing back at the guard who was following them from a polite distance. "I guess we'll never know what the Assassins were after."
"Well," Frank responded, "you're half right, anyway. This is an awkward way and place to say goodbye." He leaned closer to her. "But Joe and I are still on the case," he added in a whisper.
Gina was obviously puzzled. "What do you mean? Eddings just fired you."
Joe chuckled. "Getting fired never stopped us before." He had seen the light in his brother's eyes when Eddings told them about the extra stop their flight was going to make. "And we never said anything about going home. We only agreed to get on the plane."
Gina's gaze shifted between the two brothers. "I get it. The flight makes a stop in Washington, and that's where Stavrogin lives."
Frank nodded. "That's right."
"Then I'll take the next flight and meet you there," Gina said.
Frank put his hand on Gina's shoulder. "You've been a great help, but - "
Gina brushed his hand away. "But what?" she snapped. "This means a lot more to me than it does to you."
"I know," Frank replied softly. "Try to understand. One of our advantages is that we look like just a couple of average teenagers. If you were with us, people would notice us more."
"You mean I'd be in the way," Gina said flatly. "I guess you're right," she said after a long pause. "Just promise you'll call me if you find out anything about Solomon's killers."
Joe held his left hand up, his right on his heart. "We promise," he said solemnly.
Gina punched him in the shoulder. "This is serious," she protested.
"Don't waste your time," Frank told her. "The word serious isn't in Joe's vocabulary."
***
The flight to New York was uneventful - except that the Hardys got off in Washington and "forgot" to get back on. A cab ride and a short walk later, Joe and Frank were outside Dr. Stavrogin's office at the Georgetown University physics department. Frank knocked on the door and was mildly surprised when he got a response.
"Come on in," a voice called out. "It's open."
Frank opened the door and found himself staring at a cramped cubicle cluttered with papers and stacks of books. A blackboard covered one wall, and cryptic equations covered the blackboard.
"If you're looking for Dr. Stavrogin, you'll have to come back. He's on vacation." A young woman's head appeared from behind the single desk in the room. "Don't ever drop anything on the floor in here," she said with a wry grin, running a hand through her tousled red hair. "It'll take you a week to find it."
Joe cleared his throat. "Are you Denise Wallner, Dr. Stavrogin's assistant?" he asked.
"It's hard to assist somebody if you can't find him," she answered. "Dr. Stavrogin took off on a fishing trip to Alaska two weeks ago, and that's the last I heard from him."
"Is there any way to get in touch with him?" Frank asked.
Denise shook her head. "He has a cabin in the middle of nowhere, and there's no phone. He told me he'd call in once a week when he went to town to pick up supplies, but he hasn't called yet. I'm starting to get a little worried."
Frank studied Denise closely for a moment and decided to take a chance. "What I'm about to tell you may sound unbelievable, but please try to believe it. Dr. Stavrogin's life may depend on it."
When Frank finished telling Denise about the Network and the Assassins and the leather case, she only stared at him silently.
"Do you have any idea what these terrorists might want with Dr. Stavrogin?" Frank asked.
"I'm afraid I do," Denise Wallner replied in a measured tone that reflected her concern. "But I'm not at liberty to discuss it."
"We know Dr. Stavrogin went to Fairbanks," Joe said. "Could you tell us where his cabin is?"
"It's about an hour north of Fairbanks," she said. "Outside a small town called Big Bear."
Joe turned to Frank. "I hear Alaska is beautiful this time of year."
"I guess we'll have to go to find out for ourselves," Frank said, smiling at Denise. "Thanks for the address."
They left the building and started across the campus. "We'll probably have to leave the campus to find a cab," Frank remarked.
"No, we won't," Joe responded, breaking into a jog and waving a hand in the air. "Taxi!" he shouted.
"We're going to the airport," Joe told the driver as he and Frank got in.
The driver grunted, and the cab lurched away from the curb.
"I guess we lucked out," Frank said to the driver. "I didn't think we'd find a cab on campus. Did you just drop somebody off?"
The driver's only reply was to reach behind him and slide the Plexiglas window shut between the front seat and backseat.
"Not very friendly, is he?" Joe remarked.
"At least he's not a talker," Frank said. From the backseat he couldn't get a very good look at the driver, except for his curly black hair.
Frank's eyes shifted to the license on the dashboard. He studied the driver again and leaned over to his brother. "Is it my imagination, or is the guy in the picture a lot fatter than the guy behind the wheel?"
"Maybe he lost weight," Joe suggested.
"You're probably right," Frank said uneasily as the cab sped across the Francis Scott Key bridge and onto the George Washington Memorial Parkway.
That was when Frank realized what was bothering him. "Hey!" he shouted, rapping on the Plexiglas window. "Don't you want to know which airport we're going to?"
Joe frowned. "Is there more than one?"
"Yes!" Frank responded frantically, pounding on the plastic barrier that separated them from the driver. "Washington National and Dulles. How did he know which one we were going to?"
The cab swerved onto an exit ramp, and the tires screamed into a tight turn.
"Maybe he's new in town," Joe offered lamely. "Maybe he didn't know."
"Maybe he doesn't read English, either," Frank said as the cab smashed through a wooden barrier with a sign that announced Bridge Closed for Repairs.
Joe's hands pawed at the seat cushions.
"What are you doing?" Frank snapped.
"Looking for the seat belts," Joe snapped back.
A cluster of construction workers scattered as the cab whisked past them. Joe's hands stopped moving and dug into the seat cushion as the cab plowed through another barrier and rocketed toward a wide gap in the guardrail. A workman with a blowtorch dived out of the way as the cab soared up through the breach.
"We're in trouble!" Frank yelled to his brother, grabbing his arm.
Joe didn't have a chance to answer. His stomach jumped into his throat as the bridge fell away and the dark blue Potomac rushed UP to meet them.
The cab hit the water with a violent jolt, pitching Joe out of his seat. His head smacked into the Plexiglas divider, and the world started to go gray. Sheer willpower kept him from blacking out. He knew the cab would be his coffin if he passed out right then, They weren't underwater yet, but they were getting there fast. He shook his head to try to clear it and checked for his brother.
"Get off me!" Frank groaned.
Joe saw then that he was sprawled on top of Frank. "We've got to get out of here," he said as he untangled himself from his brother. Water was rushing in around the edges of the door frames. It was already ankle deep, and it was cold. Joe tried to open one door, but it was jammed shut. He put his shoulder against it and started to shove.
"Don't do that!" Frank snapped, grabbing Joe's arm and jerking him away from the door. "You probably couldn't open it anyway because of the water pressure. But if you could, we'd get trapped by a wall of incoming water, and the cab would sink like a rock with us still in it."
"We're sinking now!" Joe shot back, eyeing the rising water level in the cab.
"I know," Frank said. "We have to wait until the water comes in almost all the way to the top. Then we take a deep breath from the last bit of air and roll down the window or open the door.
"Wait a minute," Joe said, pointing to the driver slumped over the steering wheel. "What about him?" He tried to open the sliding divider, but it was locked or jammed. He Pounded his fist against the hard, clear plastic barrier. "Hey! Wake up in there!"
"That's no good," Frank said. "He's out cold."
"He sure picked a great time to take a nap," Joe muttered, leaning back in the seat. He swung his feet up and smashed his shoes into the Plexiglas. The bottom of the divider popped loose.
Working together, the Hardys pried the divider up enough for Frank to haul the unconscious driver out over the back of the seat. When the water reached the proper level, Joe rolled down the window and swam out. Treading water, he took the driver's limp body from his brother. Finally Frank scrambled out of the sinking wreck, too.
The river continued to fill the cab as it slid to the bottom of the Potomac. The gurgling noise of the rushing water sounded like a grim chuckle as the dark river claimed the doomed cab. A few strong, steady strokes took Frank away from the swirling vortex.
"What now?" Joe panted, struggling to keep his head and the inert cab driver's above water.
Frank reached out to help his brother with the heavy burden and felt something slap against the side of his face. As he started to brush it away, he saw it was a rope. Looking up, he saw several construction workers in orange hard hats peering down from the bridge that arced overhead.
"Grab the line!" one of them shouted. "We'll pull you up!"
Frank and Joe tied the rope around the cab-driver's chest, and the workers pulled him up and out of the river. When the line came back down, Frank insisted that Joe go next.
Two pairs of strong hands grasped Joe as he clambered onto the bridge. A brawny, bearded guy tried to lead him away from the edge, but Joe wouldn't budge. He shook himself free, got down on his hands and knees, and watched intently as the construction workers threw the line down to Frank. When Frank reached the bridge, the first pair of hands to pull him to safety belonged to Joe.
Frank gave his brother a weak smile, which quickly faded. "Where's the cab driver?" he asked, alarmed. He grabbed one of the construction workers. "What happened to the guy with the dark, curly hair? He was unconscious when you pulled him out of the water."
"Your friend woke up and took off," another worker answered. He leaned over, rubbing his knee. "He was acting kind of crazy. I told him he should wait for the ambulance so the paramedics could check him out. I even tried to hold him. I figured he was a little delirious. He gave me a kick in the leg that I didn't see coming, and then he was gone."
A siren wailed nearby, and an ambulance nimbled onto the bridge, followed by a police car.
A paramedic jumped out of the ambulance and put a bandage on Joe's forehead while Frank spoke to the two police officers. Frank was convinced the missing driver was an Assassin but didn't mention that to the police. Instead, he stuck to the details of the deadly cab ride.
By the time the officers had finished their questioning, the Hardys' clothes were much dryer. The paramedic said the bump on Joe's head wasn't serious, so the boys decided to head for the airport. One of the construction workers offered to give them a ride.
When they were finally alone in the airport, Frank and Joe talked about the things that had been left unsaid in their conversation with the police.
"That was no accident," Joe muttered as they waited in the ticket line. "That cab driver wanted to kill us. I'll bet he was an Assassin."
Frank nodded. He knew it was more than possible that an Assassin would sacrifice his own life to complete a murder mission. The terrorists were hardcore fanatics, loyal to the death. "We must be close to something big."
"Brilliant deduction. The only question is, what?"
"There's only one way to find out," Frank said. He stepped up to the ticket counter and handed the clerk a credit card. "Two tickets to Fairbanks, Alaska, please."
***
The last leg of the flight to Fairbanks was a condensed course in Alaskan history and geography. Frank absorbed every word of the talkative pilot's friendly lecture over the intercom. As they passed over the Alaska Range in the vast wilderness of Denali National Park, the pilot pointed out Mount McKinley off to the west. Even from a great distance the whitecapped peak was stunning, rising almost four miles into the crystal-clear air.
For Joe the highlight of the trip came after the plane was on the ground and they were inside the airport terminal. "Look at that!" he marveled, pointing to an old biplane hanging from the ceiling. "How would you like to tour Alaska from the cockpit of one of those?"
"We'll have to settle for a cheap rental car," Frank said.
But they ran into their first obstacle when they tried to rent a car.
"There isn't anything on four wheels available within a two-hundred-mile radius," Frank said as he trudged back from the car-rental booths.
"Let's take a cab into town," Joe suggested. "Maybe we can buy a cheap used car."
Frank stared at his brother. "Buy a car?"
"It would have to be a really cheap one," Joe responded. "It's worth a try."
"Okay," Frank relented. "The Assassins are up to something, and a college professor has vanished. What choice do we have?"
They walked out of the terminal to find a cab. Joe saw one in the distance and stepped off the curb to flag it down. But as the cab pulled up, a large motor home rumbled past and suddenly swerved in front of the cab, bearing down on Joe with its horn blaring.
Joe leapt back onto the curb, and the motor home screeched to a halt. The side door swung open, and Joe heard a familiar voice.
"Get in," the voice ordered.
Frank and Joe glanced at each other.
"What are you waiting for?" the voice demanded. "If you don't get in right now, you're going to be sorry you ever came to Alaska."
