The Mummy Case (6 page)

“Maybe the storm did it,” Joe said. “There are other crates that have broken loose, and a couple are slightly damaged over there, see?”

Frank looked just in time to notice a dark shadow looming in the next aisle behind a huge tractor. The blade of a hatchet appeared over the treads, then a sailor moved around the vehicle.

He came toward them, the hatchet half raised in his hands. The sharp edge gleamed wickedly, and he wore his usual scowl.

Frank and Joe automatically stepped apart. If he were to attack one of them, the other would be behind him in a position to launch a counterattack. Tensely they went into a karate stance to avoid the first swing of the hatchet.

But Londy did not swing. “Gotta fix the crate,” he snarled. “It's yours, but I'm the ship's carpenter, so I was told to do the repairs for you.”

The Hardys were too relieved to say anything. They watched Londy as he pulled a hammer out of his pocket. He nailed the board tight again, then drew the ends of the metal bands together and twisted them so they would stay in place.

“There,” he growled. “That'll take care of your mummy.”

“How do you suppose the board got loose?” Frank asked. “Could someone have done it deliberately?”

“How should I know?” Londy walked off, whistling a tune and swinging his hatchet.

The voyage went smoothly after that. The freighter passed through the Strait of Gibraltar into the Mediterranean Sea and continued on past Spain, France, and Italy. Rounding the headland of Greece, it entered the eastern Mediterranean.

Numerous Greek islands appeared over its bow and then dropped astern. Frank and Joe followed them on a map provided by Captain Baker. “The next island coming up is Rubassa,” Frank observed.

“Never heard of it,” Joe admitted.

“It used to be part of the British Empire,” Frank told him. “Now it's independent. The people speak English as far as I know, and quite a few Americans live there.”

He had scarcely finished when Biff Hooper arrived with a piece of paper in his hand. “I have a radiogram for you,” he announced. “Pretty high-powered stuff!”

Frank took the message and read aloud:

The brothers looked at each other in total bewilderment.

“We don't know Ambassador Compton,” Joe spoke up. “What does he want with us?”

Frank scratched his head. “Search me!”

“Well, you don't just say no to an American ambassador!” Biff declared.

“I'm afraid we'll have to,” Joe said. “We must stay with the mummy all the way to Cairo.”

“Chet and I'll take over for you,” Biff offered. “Perhaps Captain Baker will give us more time off. Why don't you ask him?”

Frank shrugged. “Why not?”

They found the captain in his cabin and told him about the radiogram they had received. He read it curiously, then put it down on the table. “I think you should go,” he said. “It must have been important for the ambassador or he wouldn't have contacted you.”

“But how did he know where to get in touch with us?” Frank wondered.

“Perhaps he called Bayport and Mother told him,” Joe reasoned.

“In any case,” Captain Baker went on, “don't worry about the mummy. Biff and Chet can take your place. As long as the crate's aboard ship, it will be safe. You have my word on that. Go to Rubassa. You can come back by helicopter if this is a quick mission. Otherwise you can fly to meet the ship at Cyprus or Alexandria.”

“Thanks, Captain,” Frank said. “We'll go.”

The Hardys went to their cabin and made preparations to go ashore at Rubassa, while Biff radioed their acceptance to the ambassador.

Frank was thoughtful while he packed an overnight bag. “We're shooting in the dark on this one, Joe. We have no idea what Ambassador Compton wants. It can't be about the mummy because that has nothing to do with Rubassa. And if he just wants to talk to us about something, why didn't he phone the ship?”

“Maybe he's got a case for us,” Joe speculated.

Frank chuckled. “That's all we need—another case!”

They got up on deck just in time to see a small speck in the sky, moving in their direction. As it came closer, the sound of the helicopter's engine, muted at first, became increasingly louder until the chopper clattered over the freighter with a deafening noise.

A bosun's chair was lowered at the end of a long cable. Frank strapped himself in and was whisked aloft, then Joe followed. When both had been safely pulled into the cabin, the chopper veered away from the freighter and roared off toward the island.

“What this all about?” Frank asked the gray-haired pilot who was handling the controls.

“Don't know,” he replied laconically. “I got orders to pick you up, that's all.”

“Where are you taking us?”

“That I can tell you. I'm taking you to a place on the other side of Loma, the capital of Rubassa.”

The island came into view, and the chopper crossed the shoreline. The pilot pointed out the window. “There's Loma now,” he said.

The chopper dipped to one side and the panorama of the city became visible. A few relatively tall buildings, eight or ten stories high, stood in the center of the town. Modern high-rises flanked the business district. Beyond, stretching into the suburbs, were houses built in the architecture typical of the Greek islands, mainly oblong shapes of whitewashed stone that shone brilliantly in the sunlight.

Crowds milled around in the streets, and shoppers were entering and leaving the stores. The Hardys could see a policeman directing traffic in the main square. It consisted mostly of motorcycles.

“They go for bikes in a big way,” Joe commented.

“They go for all kinds of things in a big way lately,” the pilot said dryly.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, be prepared for anything, because anything can happen on Rubassa.”

The helicopter began to lose altitude as the pilot cut power on the outskirts of Loma. He brought his craft down in an empty field outside the city.

The trio got out and walked toward a group of men who were waiting beside a limousine.

“I've got the Hardy boys for you,” the pilot announced.

“That's great,” said the leader of the group, who introduced himself as Major Martin. “Get into the car, boys. The boss is waiting for us.”

Frank suddenly felt apprehensive. “I'm not sure I want to get in. I'd like to see your credentials.”

The major took a billfold out of his pocket and showed the boys a card identifying him as a member of the U.S. Embassy. The card bore his picture and the seal of the U.S. Government.

“Satisfied?” he demanded.

“Yes,” Frank had to admit.

“Then get in.”

Three of the men occupied the front seat of the limousine while two sat on the jump seats facing Frank and Joe. The pilot returned to his helicopter and took off just as the driver started the engine of the limousine.

Frank still felt suspicious. Was Major Martin's identification a forgery? Had they walked into a trap?

“Where are you taking us?” he asked.

A smile curled around the major's lips. “You'll find out soon enough!”

Frank and Joe looked at each other in bewilderment. Each knew what the other was thinking. Were they being kidnapped? Was the radiogram that Biff had received a ruse to get them off the freighter? Did someone plan to do something with the mummy? Was the man in the rubber mask behind the scheme?

The car moved through a small grove of trees and turned off onto a paved road on a cliff along the seacoast. Frank and Joe could see a sheer drop down to enormous rocks in the water. The road wound in and out, and the driver frequently came close to the edge of the cliff at high speed. Joe, who was sitting next to the window, caught his breath.

“I hope this car has wings,” he muttered. “We'll be airborne any time now!”

But then the curves in the road ended and it straightened out for several miles along a ledge with a cliff rising on one side and another falling away on the other.

Suddenly the roar of motorcycles could be heard in the distance. Frank nudged Joe and said, “Bikes!” Looking through the window in the back, they could see a dozen cycles closing in on the limousine.

The leader, riding a sturdy Kawasaki, wore a crash helmet with the visor down just like the rest of the gang. He whizzed past the car and cut over in front of it. Several others pulled alongside. Frank noticed that one of the bikes had a twisted left handlebar, evidently the result of an accident.

Suddenly the cyclists veered toward the limousine. The driver pulled to one side to let them pass, but they kept zooming back and forth, pressing the car toward the open side of the road.

“They're trying to force us over the cliff!” Joe shouted.

“Can't you do something?” Frank asked the men in the car.

“No!” Martin barked. “We're not allowed to carry weapons. And if we stop, there's no telling what they'll do!”

The running duel continued at high speed along the edge of the cliff. The driver of the limousine skillfully steered away from the steep descent to the rocks whenever the cyclists inadvertently allowed him the room, and the men in the car shouted and shook their fists at their attackers.

“They won't get too close,” Joe observed, “because they don't want to follow us over the cliff!”

The driver nodded and stuck to the road, which finally led past the cliff into an area of broad fields with grass on both sides.

In front of the car, the leader of the motorcycle gang gestured angrily to his cohorts, then careened down a side road followed by the rest. The sound of their engines died away.

“They gave up!” Joe exclaimed in relief. Then he looked straight at Major Martin. “Friends of yours?”

“Hardly,” the major snapped.

Frank felt even more uneasy than before. “What is this, a gang war? And if so, what are
we
doing here? We're not involved in your problems!”

“You're more involved than you realize,” Major Martin said with a low chuckle. “Or you will be very shortly.”

A tense silence fell again and no one spoke until they had reached the outskirts of Loma. The driver parked in a side street in front of a third-rate hotel. Paint was flaking from its boards, and several windows were broken.

Frank and Joe had no choice but to get out of the car when the men told them to. Reluctantly they followed the strangers into the hotel.

The major flashed his identification at the desk clerk, then they all mounted creaky stairs, went down a dark hall, and paused before a door. Martin knocked.

Footsteps approached, then the door swung open. Frank and Joe gasped in surprise. In the doorway stood Fenton Hardy!

“Hello, boys,” he greeted them. “I'm glad to see you!” Then he turned to Major Martin. “Thank you for escorting my sons,” he said. “And of course you haven't revealed anything about our mission?”

“Not a word, Mr. Hardy,” the major assured him. “But Frank and Joe got an introduction to the conspirators.”

Quickly he described how the motorcycle gang had tried to force their car over the cliff.

The detective listened grimly. “They're the conspirators, all right,” he declared. “They recognized our unmarked car as an embassy vehicle. No doubt they have a spy in the embassy who alerted them.”

Mr. Hardy closed the door as the men departed and ushered Frank and Joe into the room. Two men got up from a battered couch. The detective introduced them as Craig Compton, the American ambassador, and Colonel George Palos, chief of the Rubassa Secret Service.

“I'm glad you could come,” Compton stated, shaking hands with the boys. “I thought you might have to stay on that freighter and guard the mummy.”

“The mummy's okay,” Joe replied. “Captain Baker allowed two pals of ours, who are members of the crew, to watch the crate for us.” As they all sat down, he told his father how Chet and Biff had gotten jobs on the freighter.

“Sorry we couldn't let you know what was happening,” Compton began, “but spies are everywhere on Rubassa.”

Fenton Hardy took up the account. “This is the conspiracy I mentioned over the phone when you were still in Bayport. Rubassa is the country I was working for at the United Nations. I've come here because the conspirators now have the weapons they need. A disloyal member of the Rubassa Mission at the United Nations was involved.”