The Deadliest Dare (10 page)

"What was the shooting about on the yacht? Did Gramatkee show up or what?"

Curt turned away from Kevin for a moment. "Something like that," he finally admitted.

The boat chopped its way toward the far end of the harbor.

Joe finally spoke up. "Why don't you tell him that you shot Gramatkee?" he asked.

"What are you doing here?" Curt gave Joe a deadly scowl. "You know," he said, "there are too many Hardys in this world."

Kevin asked, "Did you have to shoot Gramatkee?"

"I was shooting at Frank Hardy and Biff Hooper," answered his brother angrily. "Your buddy Biff was trying to kill me."

"Not Biff," said Kevin, shaking his head. "He's not that kind of guy."

"Why don't you keep your mind on steering this thing?" Curt said. "And leave the thinking to me."

"Give him a break," Joe told the hit man. "Don't take it out on Kevin because your plans went wrong."

Grinning coldly, Curt said, "Oh, not everything's gone wrong. I've just suffered a temporary setback, Joe."

Kevin was still glancing nervously at his brother. "But, Curt, there wasn't supposed to be any shooting."

"Obviously there was, Kev," Curt said stonily.

"Getting Biff and the others into trouble with the cops is one thing," said Kevin as he killed the engine again. "But you promised me that nobody was going to get shot or seriously hurt."

"So things changed some." Curt lifted the gas can. "Now quit whining and pay attention. We've got some serious business ahead of us."

Curt's left hand swung out with a jerk, pointing in the direction of the Golden Fleece. "Gramatkee's still aboard that thing," he said. "And thanks to Frank and Biff, he's still alive. I accepted money up-front on this hit. So I can't leave here until he's dead."

Kevin's hands dropped to his sides. He inhaled sharply through his mouth, and his voice trembled as if he were close to crying. "It's true," he said numbly. "It's all true."

He sounded like a little kid who's been told there's no Santa Claus. Joe realized that Kevin Branders was losing his childhood hero.

"We've got to douse this boat with gasoline, aim it at the yacht," Curt went on, not even noticing the look on his younger brother's face. "We'll jump before it hits, and just at that instant I'll set it afire. You understand me, Kev? The timing on this is important."

"Murder," murmured Kevin, staring at him. "You're going to murder Gramatkee—and Frank and Biff, too."

Now Curt looked his brother in the face. "Great, you finally got the point. Now start the launch."

Kevin said, "And what about Joe?"

"He stays in the boat."

"You mean you kill him, too."

"I mean that we kill him, too." Curt's tone was full of barely restrained impatience, as though he were trying to explain something basic to an extremely stupid person. "We can't leave a witness around to tell people what we did."

He gave Kevin a friendly tap on the shoulder. "This is graduation night for you, kid. You have to run with me now. All the kid stuff is over and done."

"And I can never come back here again." Kevin glanced at Joe, remembering the things he'd said on the trip out to the Golden Fleece.

He shook his head. "No, I can't do this," he said. "I can't let you kill Joe or — "

"Forget about Joe then." Curt slammed the can down, bent, and hauled the tied-up Joe to his feet. Joe tried to struggle, but the ropes prevented that.

"We don't need him for anything," said Curt, looking over the launch's gunwales. "We might as well get rid of him right now."

Joe Hardy was frantically fighting two separate battles.

First, he had to break free of the line that held his arms and legs bound and useless. The knots were so tight, his hands and feet were almost numb. And the chilly water didn't help. Still worse, his writhing, twisting, and struggling against the ropes was eating up his tiny reserve of oxygen. His chest was heaving as he struggled to keep from opening his mouth and letting out the air that was now burning his lungs.

And every second these battles went on, Joe Hardy kept dropping deeper and deeper beneath the surface of Barmet Bay. By now, the lights of the launch were only shapeless glows at the end of a dark wavering tunnel.

His struggle against his bonds was churning up the water, and bubbles and foam swirled around him. Every now and then a bubble would catch the light from far above and glisten for an instant like some strange cold jewel.

Finally Joe decided it was no use. His hands and feet were held fast — he couldn't even feel them anymore. And he knew he couldn't hold his breath much longer.

He began hearing a ringing inside his head. Then came an odd roaring hum. It reminded him of a recording he'd once heard — the strange underwater song the whales sing. The glistening bubble-jewels above him were turning beautiful colors now — gold, silver, and yellow. Then it seemed that all the gems were turning crimson. Or was that something that was happening to his eyes?

Then Joe thought he saw something dark come knifing down through the water toward him. A shark? He tried to puzzle that out, forcing some thoughts through his oxygen-starved brain. Sharks in Barmet Bay? That didn't seem right. But Joe's vision was so fuzzy now, he couldn't tell what it was.

All he saw was a diving blur, coming ever closer.

Something caught him, an arm roughly taking hold across his chest. Joe really couldn't be bothered to pay much attention, so he - ' closed his eyes.

He was thinking about how nice it would feel to open his mouth and let out all the needles that filled his lungs and throat.

There was a reason why he couldn't do that. But he couldn't remember the reason anymore.

So Joe decided to go ahead. He let out the air he'd been storing for so long. And then he gulped in a breath.

What he got was mostly air, along with some spray.

He coughed, then breathed in and out once more.

Wait a second. Something was wrong here. Joe opened his eyes and looked around.

Slowly his surroundings came back to him and everything became less blurred. He was bobbing on the surface of the water again, his head back and sucking in the blessed air.

Joe turned to see who had saved him.

Kevin Branders had one arm around him and was treading water, keeping them both afloat. "I couldn't let Curt kill you," he told Joe.

Joe laughed, a sound that was almost a sob. "Good idea," he said. "I think — " He didn't finish the sentence, though — he had already passed out.

Frank was at the wheel of the motorboat again. The small craft shook as it raced along in the wake of Curt's launch. Frank shook his head in frustration. "I don't think we can catch up with him," he said.

"We've got to try," said Kevin. "Biff's on that yacht, too, isn't he?"

"As far as I know," answered Frank, watching the distance between the two speeding launches diminish all too slowly.

"Suppose we try to ram him," suggested Joe.

"That would blow us up."

"I mean if we jumped before we hit."

Frank shook his head. "Too risky."

"Come on, Frank. We can't let him kill Biff and Gramatkee without even trying to stop him."

"Joe, you're in no shape for another plunge in the bay."

"Look, I can do it if I have to," Joe insisted. "So let's get close enough to him so we can give it a try."

"That's what I'm trying to do."

Kevin cried, "Look!"

Incredibly, the launch ahead of them slowed, then stopped.

"He's too far away from the yacht," Frank said. "What's he doing?"

"Maybe he shouldn't have used that gas can to decorate the deck," Joe suggested. "What if Chad forgot to fill 'er up?"

As they came closer to the motor launch, their lights caught Curt Branders in the rear of the boat. He had the housing off the engine and was frantically working with it.

"He must have flooded the engine or something," Kevin said.

"This gives us a chance." Frank jockeyed the steering wheel. Now they were even with the hit man's launch.

Frank cut the engine. "Branders!" he called over. "Give it up!"

Curt Branders paid no attention. He stayed crouched over the engine, fiddling.

"So much for the voice of reason," Joe said.

"Curt!" Kevin yelled across the water. "You can't get away — it's hopeless." He pointed back toward the white bulk of Gramatkee's yacht, with the lights of Bayport beyond it.