The Deadliest Dare (7 page)
Read The Deadliest Dare Online
Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
Joe said, "Is the Circle planning something important during the next two days?"
"Not that I know of."
"Yet they want you out of the way, where you can't tell anybody about them." Joe rubbed a thumb knuckle across his chin. "The people who brought you here—were they members of the Circle?"
"I don't think so. They were older, bigger men. They had to be at least thirty," she answered. "I'm not sure what they looked like, since they were wearing ski masks."
"Something's going to go down, something important." Joe frowned in thought. "It feels like the Circle is just a cover for it." He looked at Jeanne. "Do the members of the Circle talk about future plans? Have you heard anything strange?"
Jeanne shrugged, then paused for a second. "Does the name Gramatkee mean anything to you?" she asked. "While they were driving us here, I was tied up and gagged in the truck. I heard one of the men say something like, 'Now let's hope we can just take care of the Gramatkee job.' " She looked hopefully over at Joe.
"I don't know the name," he said, "but I think I know who's behind all this. I suspect this whole business is tied in with Kevin's brother."
"I don't understand."
"I'll explain later," he promised. "But right now we have to concentrate on finding a way out of — "
The harsh click of the heavy bolt on the metal door cut him off. The lock rattled, then the door groaned outward.
A lean, tan man in his late twenties stepped into the room. He had short-cropped, sun-bleached blond hair and wore dark jeans and a dark pullover sweater. In his gloved left hand he held a 9-millimeter Beretta pistol.
"Curt Branders," said Joe, recognizing the man from photographs he'd seen in his father's files.
Branders smiled thinly. "I'm a bit disappointed in you, Joe," he said. "Didn't you suspect that I might have a bug in here to listen in on your conversation?"
"I didn't," admitted Joe. "I guess it took me too long to realize that this whole deal is a lot bigger than a bunch of dumb practical jokes."
Branders leaned in the doorway, letting the pistol dangle from his hand. "I'd like to suggest a deal," he said in a cool voice. "If you remain here quietly and don't make waves, you'll be released in two days."
"All we have is your word on that."
Branders gave Joe a thin smile. "That's about the best guarantee you can hope to get, right now. But I keep my word," he said. "So just relax, don't try to escape—and I won't have to kill you."
When Jeanne realized he was serious, she started crying again.
"By the way, Joe," Branders went on, "why not keep your detective theories to yourself? There's no need to upset this innocent young lady. Talk about homework or music — something safe." "You're going to be outside listening?" "Someone will, around the clock." Joe nodded, saying, "That's sure comforting.
Branders glanced over his shoulder and spoke to someone as yet unseen. "Get in here and tie these two up. The less they can move around, the better I'll feel."
***
Meanwhile Frank hung from the window, staring down at a thickset man of about thirty-five who stood in the high weeds directly under him. The guy was almost completely bald, his fringe of hair and droopy mustache almost the color of straw. In his right fist was a .45 automatic. It was pointed straight at Frank.
"Now, here's what I'd like you to do, kid," he said. "Just drop on down here. Then I'm going to turn you over to some friends of mine for a little chat."
"Hey, mister, don't turn me over to the cops," Frank pleaded, faking a shaky, scared voice. "I didn't mean any harm. And you can see, I didn't steal anything."
"It's not the cops I'm taking you to, punk."
"You're not going to tell my folks?" Frank started to shake as he clung to the sill. "I've never done this before, honest."
"Are you going to get down here? Or do I have to shoot you off?"
"D - don't shoot! I mean, hey, I didn't swipe a single thing. I was just — "
"Look, kid, I'm getting awful tired of this. Just do like I tell you and drop down here." The man's gun wavered a little in annoyance, and Frank took his chance.
He came down, all right, but not in the way the gunman expected. Releasing his hold on the window ledge, Frank kicked hard against the wall with both feet.
That sent him out, as well as down. He landed right on top of the surprised thug.
Even as he was flying through the air, Frank was lining up his first blow. As they fell to the ground in a tangle, Frank's hand reached out for the gunman's wrist.
But the thug was strong. Before Frank knew what hit him, the blond guy had the gun muzzle pressed against Frank's forehead!
Joe, tied in an antique wooden chair with more of the same plastic line, scanned the ceiling of the cluttered storeroom. He couldn't see anything that looked like a video camera. That meant Branders and his thugs could only hear what was going on, not see Joe or Jeanne. "You go to Miss Sheridan's School, don't you?"
The dark-haired girl was still on the sofa. But now her hands were tied behind her and her ankles were bound. "Are you really going to carry on some dumb conversation like that guy suggested?"
Joe winked as broadly as he could. "Well, we'll be stuck here for two days, Jeanne. Might as well pass the time as pleasantly as we can."
"I don't believe you, Joe Hardy. I thought at least — "
He shook his head and winked again. "Come on, I know when I'm beaten."
Jeanne stared at him for a long moment, then nodded back. "Well, maybe you're right."
"I hear it's a pretty good school."
"Not really. It's boring, very strict, and there are no boys. It was my mother's idea, sending me there."
"What are you taking?" After speaking aloud, Joe mouthed another sentence, "I'm going to tip this chair over — make it break." It was barely a whisper.
"Isn't that danger — I mean, I'm taking English. I hate it, though, because I have to read and write so much."
"What else do you take?" He mouthed, "Keep talking to cover the noise."
"Oh, political science. I really like that. I read the Bayport Times every morning."
"After I fall and get clear, start screaming," he whispered.
"Yes — uh, I think it's the duty of our generation to take an interest in the world situation. Otherwise the future's going to be as stupid as the present is."
"Yell that I'm hurt and bleeding. You're afraid I'm dying," he mouthed.
Nodding, Jeanne kept on talking, about school, her parents, dates, her favorite television shows.
Joe took just a few minutes to make the wooden chair tip over. It smashed quite satisfactorily on the hard floor.
Joe got clear, moving to a position at the side of the door, clutching a chair leg. He gave Jeanne a nod.
"Help!" she cried, sobbing. "Oh, please, can you hear me? He fell over, and he's hurt his head. There's blood all over!"
As the guard burst through the door, Joe circled down on him with his best roundhouse punch.
***
Frank took a big chance and threw himself forward, smashing the guy's gun hand down. He heard the big automatic thump to the ground.
Frank rose, kicked the gun into the shadows, and ran through the high, wild grass around the old academy.
He found another break in the stone wall, ducked through, and dashed for his car. The tires screeched as he took off, barely masking the sound of the gunshot not far behind.
He drove on, until he found a diner. The fat man behind the counter looked up as Frank came through the door. "How about a dozen doughnuts?"
"Uh, actually, I just want some change for the phone," Frank told him.
"A half dozen, then," the man said. "A half-dozen doughnuts for fifty cents is a good deal, my boy."
"I'm not denying that. But I — "
"See, I'm planning to close this place in exactly one half hour. Usually I sell out the doughnuts, but tonight I'm stuck with a full dozen left over."
"Okay, give me a half dozen." Frank slapped a dollar bill on the counter. "I'll use the change for the phone."
"Why not go for the whole dozen, my boy? You can have them for seventy-five cents. That's an even more astonishing bargain."
"Fine, great. Just so I get change for the phone."
The counterman picked up the dollar bill, carried it to his ancient cash register. After whapping it a few times with his fist, nudging it with an elbow, and pushing several keys, he got it open. He returned with the change jingling in his palm. "Eighty, eighty-five — ninety — one buck it is."
Frank ran to the phone booth at the back of the empty coffee shop. Dropping in his money, he punched in the Hardy home number.
His aunt Gertrude answered at once. "Hello?"
"It's Frank. Any news about — "
"Yes, Joe just called. He's on his way home."
"Is he okay?"
"Well, he claims to be, but he sounds as though he's coming down with something," his aunt answered. "He said to tell you he's found the owner of the scarf and is bringing her, too."
"I'm on my way now." Frank had been debating whether or not to track down Kevin Branders and make him lead the way to where Joe and Jeanne were being held. But he'd decided to check home first. Now he wouldn't have to visit Kevin. Not yet, anyway.
He was nearly out to the street when the counterman called out, "Hey, wait, you forgot your doughnuts."
***
Joe dug his hand into the paper bag, pulling out another doughnut. "Sure, I can eat at a time like this," he assured his brother. "Just watch me."
The Hardys and Jeanne, after Frank had persuaded their aunt Gertrude to withdraw, were meeting in the living room.
"Fine — enjoy them." Frank turned to face Jeanne on the sofa. "Now explain how you got clear of the kidnappers."
"He was very clever," said Jeanne, smiling at Joe.
"Well, actually the guy Curt Branders left to guard us was big, but he wasn't smart," Joe said modestly as he took a bite of his second cruller. "After I knocked him out, I figured it was a good idea for us to get clear of that furniture warehouse as soon as possible."
"You saw Branders? He's in Bayport?"
"And he's up to his neck in whatever's going on," answered Joe. "He's just using this Circle thing as a cover for something much more serious."
"But how does this Gramatkee fit in?" Jeanne asked.
"Willis Gramatkee?" Frank stood up. "The big industrialist? Dad did mention last week that Gramatkee's being pressured to sell out his empire to a big European group."
Joe frowned. "I knew the name was familiar. Sounds like Gramatkee doesn't want to sell."
Frank nodded grimly. "But Curt Branders will take care of that, so they can buy from whoever inherits after Gramatkee dies. It works perfectly. Gramatkee has a mansion somewhere between here and Kirkland."
"Right in Branders's old stamping grounds," Joe pointed out. "So he gets his brother Kevin to start up the Circle as a distraction for the Kirkland and Bayport cops."
"Better than that," Frank said. "If Gramatkee got killed during, say, a burglary, it'd be blamed on the kids. Nobody would even know about Curt Branders. He'd be out of the country, with no one the wiser."
"I think that has to be what's going on," agreed Joe.
"Do you think he'll try to go through with it?" asked Jeanne. "I mean, his plans are falling apart. Thanks to Joe, I'm free and can talk."
"In the league Branders plays in, he doesn't have a choice — he'll have to go ahead." Frank started pacing. "What we have to do, Joe, is get in touch with the police. I think Con may listen to us."
Joe opened his mouth to protest, but Frank cut him off. "We may be talking about an assassination here, Joe. We need all the help we can get to prevent it."
"You're right," Joe agreed grudgingly.
Jeanne asked, "What about Biff?"
"That's right, he's tangled up in this mess, too," said Frank. "I saw him at the meeting place."
"If we're going to the police," said Jeanne, "Biff should have the chance to come along with us. It's my fault he's in this. I don't want them treating him as though he's some kind of criminal, taking part in Curt's plan."
"Okay, we'll call him." Joe picked up the telephone and dialed the Hooper home.
Biff's mother answered. "Yes, hello?"
"Hi, Mrs. Hooper, it's Joe Hardy. Could I speak to Biff, please?"
"I'm afraid he's not here." Mrs. Hooper sounded worried.
Joe checked his watch and noticed it was close to midnight. "Would you happen to know where he is?"
"I'm somewhat concerned about him myself, Joe," she answered. "He came home a little while ago, very upset, but he wouldn't tell me what was wrong. Then a few minutes ago somebody came by and he went out again."
"Who was it?"
"A boy I don't know very well, or care for. His name is Kevin."
"Kevin Branders?"
"Yes, that's who. He was even more upset than Biff, saying something important had come up — they had to have a special meeting — "
Mrs. Hooper suddenly cut off, then said, almost pleadingly, "Do you have any idea what Biff's got himself mixed up with, Joe? I can't help feeling that something is wrong. This isn't like the time he went off to that survival camp, is it?"
Joe hesitated for a second, remembering how Biff had gotten himself kidnapped by a bunch of mercenaries. Before it was over, Frank, Joe, and Biff had all nearly been killed. "I wouldn't worry, Mrs. Hooper," he finally said. "Would you have any idea where they were going?"
"I heard Biff say something about not being able to use the academy. And the other boy said they'd use the old barn."
"Okay, I'm sure you'll be hearing from him soon. Good night, ma'am." Hanging up, Joe turned to Jeanne, "The old barn — where is it?"
"It's the one at the deserted apple orchard about a mile above the academy," she said.
"Obviously they can't use Bushmiller Academy now," said Frank. "They know somebody's been checking the place out."
"Maybe they've been spooked into moving their schedule up," Joe said. "Maybe they'll try to do something tonight—and now it looks like they've dragged Biff into it!"
