The Pentagon Spy (14 page)

“No use trying to catch him,” Joe said in disgust. “He could be in Baltimore by the time we get our boat. Say, are you okay, Frank?”

“Just a bruise,” his brother replied, feeling a tender spot where the blackjack had struck. “I'll live. How about you?”

“Same. He only hit me a glancing blow. Anyhow, we know he followed us into the cellar and took the bow and arrow. When he fired the arrow from the window, he was trying to frighten us away from the house—”

“Which means something's in there he doesn't want us to see!” Frank inferred excitedly. “Maybe Hammerley's weather vane's hidden in the place. We'll have to find out. Come on!”

The boys climbed back into the house through the picture window and retraced their steps to the fireplace. Just then they heard a low groan from behind the boards covering the opening!

“Someone's in there!” Frank cried out. He attacked one of the boards, wrenching it loose. Joe took another. Within seconds they had the fireplace cleared.

The Hardys lifted him into the living room and peered curiously at his face.

“He looks familiar,” Frank muttered, trying to recognize the man through the stubble of his beard. He pulled the photograph of Clifford Hunter out of his pocket and studied it, comparing it with the man in front of them.

“That's him!” he gasped. “Joe, we've found the Pentagon spy!”

“He's been drugged,” Joe said. “I'll see if I can bring him around.” He took a small vial of smelling salts from his pocket detective kit and held it under Hunter's nose. The stricken man began to move convulsively. Gradually, however, his heavy breathing subsided to its normal rate. He opened his eyes and focused them on the Hardys. “Who are you?” he asked weakly.

“We'll tell you later,” Frank promised. “First you need some fresh air.”

He and Joe carried the man through the front door and set him down in the sand, leaning him against a rock. A breeze blowing off Chesapeake Bay cleared the captive's head. Then the boys introduced themselves.

“We've been looking for you,” Frank informed him.

Hunter was puzzled. “Why? I don't even know you.”

“The Pentagon wants us to get back the navy plan you stole,” Joe explained.

“I didn't steal it,” Hunter protested. “I took the document, but I didn't steal it.”

“What do you mean?” Joe queried.

“Joe Wickerson told me to take it. Later I realized that he had slipped me a mind-altering drug—”

“Wickerson!” Frank exploded. “You mean to say your boss in the navy is the real Pentagon spy?”

Hunter nodded. “I'll explain. But first tell me what you know. It'll make it easier.” He was very weak, and speaking was an effort for him.

Quickly the Hardys told about their visit to the Pentagon and their interview with Joseph Wickerson. They added their suspicion of Archie Olson, who had almost run them over in the parking lot.

“Olson had nothing to do with the theft,” Hunter said. “But he's a terrible driver.”

The boys grinned. “He sure is,” Frank said.

Hunter took a deep breath. “Wickerson didn't catch me in the files of the Cosmo Rocket. I caught him. I had clearance, and he didn't. That made me suspicious of him, and he knew it.

“Shortly afterward, I saw him pouring a white powder into my coffee. He said it was sugar, but since then I've learned that it wasn't. I'm not a spy, but I took the MASUB plan because Wickerson had me in his power!”

“He told you to remove the plan from the files?” Frank asked.

“Yes. He gave me instructions to take it to Chesapeake Crossing, where I kept my sailboat. He knew about that because he's been aboard on some of my cruises.”

Hunter paused a few moments to rest, then went on: “Joe laid a trap for me. I got only a few miles out into the bay when a powerboat cut across my bow and made me heave to. Three men with guns came aboard the
Bay Queen.
Apparently Wickerson had told them where I would be.”

“Did you recognize the men?” Joe inquired.

“No, I never saw them before. One was a short, wizened fellow who dressed like a farmhand.”

“Ed Bryle!” Joe exclaimed. “The guy Hammerley fired!”

“Who's Hammerley?” Hunter asked, puzzled.

“A farmer from Pennsylvania. Ed Bryle went to work at Chelski's Marina afterward and blew our boat up with a time bomb. Can you tell us more about the other two men who held you up?”

Hunter tapped his thumb against his chin. “Well, one of them was called Crow by the other two.”

Frank gasped. “That must be Crow Morven, the foreman at Hammerley's farm who also tried to get us out of the way!”

“Your life must have been in great danger,” Hunter said worriedly.

“That's part of detective work,” Frank said. “Can you tell us anything about the third man?”

“He was tall, had a black beard, and wore dark glasses.”

“That's the guy who just tried to hit us with an arrow!” Joe declared. “I wish you could identify him by name.”

Hunter shook his head. “Sorry, but I can't help you with that. I'd recognize his voice; and the only other thing I noticed was that his beard looked, well, sort of plastic.”

“It must be phony,” Joe commented. “Part of his disguise. The dark glasses are, too.”

“What did the men do after they boarded your sailboat?” Frank asked.

“Blackbeard took the MASUB blueprint from me. Then he ordered the others to lock me in the cabin. I could hear them talk about their plans up on deck.”

“Good! What did they say?” Frank urged.

“I discovered Wickerson is a spy scheming to sell the MASUB document to a foreign power. They laughed about the way he had used his mind-altering drug on me and made me steal the plan. I was scheduled to be the fall guy,” Hunter added bitterly.

“Did you scratch the words ‘Barren Island' into the bench of your sailboat?” Frank asked.

Hunter nodded. “My captors mentioned that they were bringing me here, where they intended to hold me and make me tell them everything I knew about the navy's nuclear submarine program. If I wouldn't cooperate they said they would sink me into the bay.”

The exhausted scientist fell silent for a moment, and the Hardys mulled over his story. Finally Joe asked whether Hunter had heard the men say anything else.

“Yes, strangely enough they mentioned weather vanes!”

Frank jumped up excitedly. “So there's a connection between our two cases after all!” he exclaimed.

“What do you mean?” Hunter asked, baffled.

Frank told him about their investigation of the stolen antiques. “What exactly did your captors say about weather vanes?” he inquired.

“That they had a lucrative business going with them. They had a code system based on hex signs,” Hunter explained. “The weather vanes they picked out were identified by the hex sign on the building from which each one was to be lifted. I also heard the men mentioning a weather vane called the
Galloping Rider
and that it was going to the Korbo auction.”

Frank nodded. “We saw it there. But we thought the fence was in Chesapeake Crossing.”

“It is,” Hunter replied. “But they routed the antiques through different channels. For instance, they said that the
Flashing Arrow
was not sent directly to the fence, either, because those boys from Bayport had poked their noses into the business.”

Hunter shifted weakly in the sand. “That's all I can tell you. I heard nothing more. Do you have any idea where my sailboat is?”

Frank told him that the boys had found it and returned it to Chelski's Marina.

“Oh, I'm glad,” Hunter said. “She's a fine boat. I'd hate to lose her.”

“What happened when your captors brought you to Barren Island?” Joe queried.

“They gave me another dose of the drug, but this time it was weaker, and when they tried to pump me about navy secrets I was able to remain quiet. So they boarded me up in the fireplace. Told me I'd have plenty of time to think things over in solitary. Who knows, they might have let me die if you boys hadn't come along!”

Joe stood up. “You know, the man in the black glasses who shot an arrow at us before he took off in his motorboat—maybe he went to round up his buddies. We'd better get out of here. Will you be able to walk down to the beach, Mr. Hunter?”

“I think so.” Hunter stood up but teetered dizzily. He leaned on the boys and they hurried to their powerboat as fast as they could. Minutes later they skimmed across Chesapeake Bay.

Night was falling when they returned to the marina. Herb Chelski had gone home, and the watch-man who took the boat did not know Clifford Hunter. The boys were relieved, because they felt it would be best if Hunter had a chance to rest in their cabin before the FBI was notified.

When they arrived at the motel and walked into their room, Mr. Hardy was sitting in an easy chair. He stared at the trio in utter surprise.

“You found Clifford Hunter!” he called out and jumped up in excitement.

“Yes, Dad,” Frank replied. “Mr. Hunter, this is our father. He was asked by the government to head the search for you.”

Hunter smiled wearily and sank into a chair. He could hardly speak. While Joe went out to get some food for him, Frank quickly told his father what had happened.

“This matches with what I found out,” Mr. Hardy said. “I had become suspicious of Wickerson because he seemed to hamper my investigation with false clues. But I needed to find Mr. Hunter to prove that Wickerson was the real Pentagon spy!”

He turned to the scientist. “I'm sorry you had to go through all this. I'll phone Washington right away and have your boss arrested.”

Mr. Hardy made the call, and after he hung up, he smiled. “Joseph Wickerson was taken into custody an hour ago,” he reported. “He was caught stealing a document from the Cosmo Rocket file.”

Joe returned with a plate of food and hot coffee, and the scientist ate hungrily while the boys told their father about the weather vane connection.

“I'd like to call Mr. Hammerley and tell him what we learned,” Frank said and went to the telephone. When he reached Hammerley, their friend was greatly alarmed.

“I saw Ed Bryle here today, and shortly afterward he and Morven rode off on two of m
^y
horses!” he sputtered. “Can you come back here and find them?”

“We'll be there in the morning, Mr. Hammerley,” Frank promised. “We have an idea who the weather vane thieves are. They're tied in with a spy case our father's been investigating.”

“Have you caught the gang?” the farmer asked hopefully.

“Not yet. But we will!”

The following morning, the boys drove to Pennsylvania, while Mr. Hardy and Clifford Hunter took an early flight to Washington. When the boys arrived at the Hammerley farm, their host told them what had happened.

“I found out that Morven had hidden Ed Bryle on the farm overnight,” he told the boys. “So I fired him on the spot. About an hour later they both rode off on my horses!”

“Bryle must have come here after he tried to blow us to smithereens with a time bomb on Chesapeake Bay,” Frank said and reported their adventures to the farmer. When he repeated the conversation he had overheard taking place between Bryle, Morven, and the black-bearded man, Hammerley was stupefied.

“You mean Morven was plotting to steal my weather vane while I thought he was guarding it from the thieves?”

“That's right,” Frank said. “And that's why he tried to get us off the case by playing mean and dangerous tricks on us.”

“I wonder where he and Bryle went,” Joe spoke up. “Do you have any idea, Mr. Hammerley?”

“The police asked the same thing when I phoned them about the horses. I told them I didn't know where the scoundrels had gone. I still don't know.”

“Let's check the stable,” Frank suggested. “We might find a clue there.”

The Hardys left the house and walked past the barn. They looked up at the roof, which seemed bare now that the
Flashing Arrow
was not there any longer, turning in the wind.

The stable stood about one hundred yards from the barn in the direction of the pasture. It was made up of a series of stalls, from which horses stared through half-doors marked with their names. Two empty stalls with “Star” and “Bronco” on them showed where Morven and Bryle had obtained their mounts.

The boys entered the stable and walked along a wall hung with equestrian equipment. As expert riders who often cantered along bridle trails near Bayport, they eagerly examined saddles, boots, and horseshoes.

But the search was in vain. “I didn't expect them to leave a road map,” Frank grumbled, “but after we found the paper in the chopper ...” his voice trailed off.

“I know what you mean,” Joe said. “Too bad we weren't in luck this time.”

After they reported their failure to Hammerley, Frank raised a question. “Why did Morven and Bryle take horses, not one of the cars? They could have made much better time in a car.”

“Not if they were headed for town!” Joe exclaimed, seeing his brother's reasoning. “They went the shortest way—across the pasture and through the woods. A car couldn't get through, and they didn't want to lose time driving around the detour where the bridge is out!”

“That makes sense, young man,” Hammerley agreed. “I'll call the police right away and tell them to look for those two crooks!”