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Authors: Franklin W. Dixon

Survival Run (4 page)

BOOK: Survival Run
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"So Stavrogin's a fusion expert," Joe said. "You don't think the Assassins are trying to corner the fusion energy market, do you?"

"That depends on the kind of fusion energy," Frank replied ominously.

Joe studied his brother carefully. "What do you mean?"

"I mean fusion can do a lot more than crank out electricity for your toaster oven," Frank told him. "An uncontrolled fusion reaction is what makes a hydrogen bomb."

Joe's eyes widened. "We can't let the Assassins get their hands on a hydrogen bomb!"

"If that's what they're after, I don't know if we can do anything about it," Frank said grimly. "It may already be too late."

Their search of the cabin didn't turn up anything that might lead them to Stavrogin or the Assassins, and they finally gave it up when Gina came looking for them. The Hardys filled her in.

"We can't quit now," Joe insisted as they walked back across the rickety bridge.

Frank stopped and gazed down at the stream. "Nobody said anything about quitting. We just have to figure out what our next move will be."

"I'm not sure I understand all this," Gina said. "Even if Dr. Stavrogin could make a bomb for the Assassins, wouldn't they need uranium or plutonium or something like that?"

"That's right," Joe chimed in. "And that stuff doesn't exactly grow on trees."

"Just because it's hard to get doesn't mean the Assassins don't have it," Frank pointed out. "We have to assume the worst."

Joe nodded up the road toward a cloud of dust. "It looks as if we may have company in a few minutes. A car's coming this way."

"Let's get back to the motor home," Frank said.

"It's just a car," Gina responded. "What's the big deal?"

"Have you seen any other cars on this road?" Frank snapped, grabbing her arm and moving her quickly across the bridge.

"Frank hates coincidences," Joe explained, trotting to keep up with his brother.

"I don't believe in taking unnecessary risks," Frank said, his attention on the approaching car. "Our visitors are driving a Jeep with a camouflage paint job. Would you like to hang around and ask them what they're hunting?"

Gina jerked her arm free from Frank's grip and peered at the car speeding down the road. "What are we going to do?" she asked. "We can't outrun them in the motor home, can we?"

"No!" Joe yelled, breaking into a run. "Our only chance is to lose them in the woods."

He didn't head for the trees, though. He sprinted to the motor home, jerked open the door, rushed inside, and bolted back out seconds later.

"Let's go!" he shouted, jumping on one of the dirt bikes and tossing a key to his brother. Joe jammed his key in the ignition slot of the motorcycle and slammed his foot down on the kick starter. The engine roared to life. He motioned to Gina, and she hopped on behind him.

The Jeep was close enough now for Joe to see the grime on the headlights and the two stone-faced men in the front seat. He noticed that Frank was having trouble starting the other dirt bike. His foot pumped up and down on the kick starter, but the engine only sputtered and died, sputtered and died.

"What's wrong?" Joe called out.

"I don't know!" Frank shouted back. He waved his hand in the air, gesturing toward the forest. "Go on! Get out of here! Don't wait for me!"

"No!" Joe bellowed. He gunned the engine, popped the hand clutch, and spun the bike around. The engine screamed as Joe took the bike onto the road and raced toward the oncoming Jeep, aiming the motorcycle right between the headlights. He bared his teeth in his best mad dog snarl and glared at the driver. At the last second Joe swerved away and zoomed past the Jeep.

He hoped the trick worked; he wouldn't get a second chance. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the Jeep skid to a halt.

His eyes shifted back to the road ahead. An accident now could be fatal. "What are they doing?" he shouted to Gina.

"They're turning around and following us!" Gina yelled in his ear. He could barely hear her over the whine of the engine and the rushing of the wind around them.

Joe slowed down and scanned the woods on either side of the road.

"They're catching up!" Gina cried out.

"Good!" Joe responded as he veered off the road onto a rutted trail that disappeared in the trees. "Are they still behind us?" he yelled, his eyes focused on the rough trail, weaving around potholes and boulders. The dirt bike wasn't made for two riders, so Joe had to be careful. If he rode it too hard, they might take a very ugly spill.

"Yes!" Gina told him. "And they're still gaining on us!"

Joe stole a quick look over his shoulder and saw the Jeep's knobby tires rolling easily over the rocks and ruts that had slowed him down. He couldn't play it safe anymore. He was going to have to push the bike to the limit. He crouched low over the handlebars and leaned hard into a sharp turn around a high rock outcropping.

"Look out!" Gina screamed as they came out of the curve.

Joe's head reared back, and he slammed on the brakes when he saw a second mottled green Jeep blocking the trail. Two men wearing matching camouflage jumpsuits stood in front of the Jeep. The submachine guns in their hands told Joe this was the end of the line.

Chapter 6

"Get off the bike," one of the men ordered roughly.

Joe decided not to argue. The weapon in the man's hands could cut a person in half with a single squeeze of the trigger.

The man giving the orders wore a baseball cap printed with the same camouflage pattern as his jumpsuit. The other man had close-cropped black hair. In addition to the stubby submachine guns they carried, they also had large hunting knives hanging upside down in sheaths strapped to their jumpsuits, just below their left shoulders.

Joe had seen men dressed this way before: soldiers ready for combat.

Holding the submachine gun in one hand, the guy in the cap unhooked a radio from his waist with his free hand and spoke into it. "This is Delta team. We have them."

The radio crackled and a static-filled voice said, "You know what to do."

Joe held his breath and clutched Gina's hand, hoping the voice on the radio hadn't just issued their death warrants.

"Get in the Jeep," the man said flatly.

Joe breathed again. "You go on ahead," he replied, trying to sound glib. "We'll follow you."

The silent man with the short black hair let out a low chuckle. The other man's lips twitched. "I don't think so," he said. "Just do as you're told, and this will all be over in a few minutes."

"That's what worries me," Joe muttered as he climbed into the backseat.

Gina rode in the front seat next to the driver, the black-haired guy. The man giving the orders sat next to Joe.

"Nice hat," Joe remarked, nodding at the green-and-brown cap the man was wearing. "Where can I get one?"

The man shifted his eyes and glared at Joe. "Do us all a favor and shut up," he said gruffly.

The man's coldness told Joe that he wouldn't want to find out what would happen if he didn't shut up. So they rode in silence as the Jeep bounced along the trail, moving farther into the Alaskan wilderness. The Jeep that had originally chased Joe and Gina had not followed. Joe hoped it hadn't gone back for Frank.

After a while they rolled to a stop. "End of the line," the man in the cap announced.

"I don't think I like the sound of that," Joe said.

"You don't have to like it," the man said. "You won't be here that long."

"I don't think I like the sound of that, either," Joe responded.

The two armed men marched Joe and Gina single-file into the woods. Joe caught a glimpse of movement ahead, and then another glimpse off to the side. Then he spotted a large green camouflage tent and knew then that they were in the middle of some kind of paramilitary base hidden amid the trees. There were tents, men, and equipment scattered all around. The green and brown splotches and swirls that covered every man-made surface blended in perfectly with the natural surroundings, making the camp virtually invisible from any distance.

The black-haired member of the Delta team ducked into the large tent and came back out a minute later, followed by a nondescript man of average height and unremarkable build.

Despite his completely forgettable looks, the man's face was etched deeply in Joe's memory.

"Mr. Gray," Joe greeted the extraordinarily ordinary man. "I should have known you were behind all this.

"I almost didn't recognize you out of uniform," Joe added. Mr. Gray - the Gray Man - got his name from the bland gray suits he always wore. Joe had no idea what his real name was, and sometimes he suspected the Gray Man had forgotten it himself.

The Gray Man smiled down at his military-style camouflage outfit. "I like to blend into the background wherever I am," he said.

The Gray Man held open the tent flap. "There are some things we should discuss privately."

"Wait a minute," Joe said. "What about Frank? Is he all right?"

The Gray Man nodded behind Joe. "See for yourself."

Joe glanced back over his shoulder and saw Frank coming toward them, flanked by two armed guards.

"So much for my great diversion," Joe grumbled. "You were supposed to take off into the woods while I led these guys on a wild-goose chase."

"I did," Frank said, "but the woods were crawling with Network agents."

"We've been watching you ever since you showed up at Stavrogin's cabin," the Gray Man explained as they slipped into the spacious tent. He sat down in a folding chair and gestured to the Hardys and Gina to do the same.

"Why did you have the cabin staked out?" Frank asked. "And where is Dr. Stavrogin now?"

"I didn't bring you here to answer your questions," the Gray Man said curtly.

"I think you owe us some kind of explanation," Frank responded coolly. "First, one of your men attacks my brother, and then you kidnap us."

"That's right!" Joe snapped. "We may be way out in the middle of nowhere - but we're still in the United States, and there are laws!"

The Gray Man smiled and clapped his hands slowly. "Very good. Very convincing. Feel free to report this incident to the local authorities." He leaned forward, and a cold, hard expression settled on his face. "But when you do, keep a few points in mind." He stuck his index finger up. "One: You've been on federal land ever since you got within a mile of Stavrogin's cabin. The state and county governments have no authority here." He held up another finger. "Two: Officially, the Network doesn't exist, and neither do I. You can tell the police I kidnapped you, but they won't find anybody to arrest."

He paused and took a deep breath. "Three," he said, jabbing a third finger in the air. "This is a very sensitive national security issue. You could jeopardize the entire operation, putting millions of lives at risk."

"Since nobody will believe us, anyway," Frank said, "couldn't you at least tell us what this is all about?"

The Gray Man shook his head. "I'm sorry. That's out of the question."

"Okay," Frank responded. "Let me tell you what I think is going on. We know Dr. Nikolai Stavrogin is a nuclear physicist involved in fusion research, and fusion is the heart of a thermonuclear explosion. We also know the Assassins are very resourceful. If any terrorist group could build a hydrogen bomb, they'd be at the top of the list."

"I'm still listening," the Gray Man said.

"Hold on," Gina cut in. "What does any of this have to do with the two guys who killed Solomon?"

The Gray Man's gaze shifted to Gina, and he seemed to soften. "I know you've been through a lot. If it's any comfort, I don't think Mr. Mapes was actually involved with the Assassins. He just got caught up in something that was out of his control."

"Stavrogin's fishing rod case is the key, isn't it?" Frank prodded. "What was in it that the Assassins wanted so badly?"

The Gray Man sighed. "I have to hand it to you boys. You certainly are persistent. I never dreamed you'd get this far." He stood up and started to pace the floor. "I guess I'll have to tell you enough to satisfy your curiosity.

"The Russians were working on fusion reactors long before we were," he began, "and Stavrogin was one of their top fusion experts before he came to the U.S. Recently he got involved in some classified fusion research for our government. Without telling anyone, he took some very sensitive notes with him when he came up here to his fishing cabin."

"And he hid the notes in the fishing rod case," Frank ventured.

The Gray Man nodded.

"But the case got sidetracked to Atlanta by the luggage theft ring," Joe added.

"I have no idea what happened to Stavrogin's fishing rod case," the Gray Man responded with a wry chuckle. "We're still looking for it, but I doubt if we'll ever find it. It was probably snatched by somebody who liked the case or wanted a new fishing rod. We planted a fake case. That's the one the Assassins grabbed in Atlanta."

"Hold on," Frank interrupted. "What made you think the Assassins would go to Atlanta to look for it?"

"I assigned two Network agents to protect Stavrogin while he was in Alaska," the Gray Man replied, "and he told them about the notes as soon as he found out the fishing rod was missing. Then we got lucky and spotted two known Assassins boarding a flight from Anchorage to Atlanta, but they gave us the slip in Atlanta. A little digging uncovered the luggage theft problem at Eddings Air, and we put two and two together."

"So you set a trap for the Assassins," Frank said.

"We took some copies of Stavrogin's old notes," the Gray Man continued, "altered them to make the information worthless, and put the papers in the fishing rod case - along with a hidden transmitter. We hoped the two Assassins would bring the case back to Alaska and lead us to their base. But they got rid of the case before they left Atlanta."

"By now the Assassins must know the papers they took from the case are worthless," Joe remarked.

"Of course," the Gray Man responded. "Why do you think they went back to Stavrogin's cabin?"

Frank juggled all these new facts in his mind and realized something was still missing. "You haven't told us everything," he said bluntly. "How did the Assassins know about the fishing rod case in the first place? And where is Dr. Stavrogin now?"

BOOK: Survival Run
11.77Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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