The Stone Idol (7 page)

Joe mentioned that Santana had once worked in the Punta Arenas oil fields. “He might be headed this way again.”

“No time for that right now,” Fenton Hardy declared. “But I'll alert the authorities.”

He went to a phone, talked briefly, and returned. “The company Santana worked for has his name in its inoperative files. The police will get in touch with the personnel department in case he tries to get his job back. ”

An American naval officer approached and said, “Mr. Hardy, we're ready for takeoff.”

“Thank you.” The detective led the way to the plane, which bore on its side the legend: U.S. NAVY ANTARCTIC EXPLORATION. The Hardys found themselves among naval personnel and scientists who specialized in research in the area.

“It's safe to talk now,” Fenton Hardy said as the flight began. “You boys already know that I'm investigating the theft of government materiel from some of our naval bases. I found that a big ring has been operating, and identified the small-fry. They'll be arrested. But I'm up against a stone wall with regard to one gang member.”

“The ringleader?” Frank asked.

Fenton Hardy nodded. “My investigation indicates that he's one of the crew at Byrd Base, our newest Antarctic installation. But I have no idea who he is.”

“So the navy wants you to go down there and find out. ”

“Exactly. I've had to be hush-hush about the case because the ringleader may have spies at Punta Arenas. I don't want them to tip him off. There are one hundred men at Byrd Base, so it won't be easy to identify the culprit. My cover story is that I'm a scientist reporting on the laboratories they're using. ”

“And what about us?” Joe inquired.

“I have a special assignment for you. There's a small advance installation beyond Byrd Base. It's called Outpost I. The gang chief might be there, so I want you to investigate.”

“We'll need a cover story, too,” Frank pointed out. “We can't just go barging in and say we're the Hardys boys looking for a thief!”

“That's been taken care of,” his father assured him. “Two students who won scholarships for Antarctic training have been withdrawn from Outpost I. Your cover story is that you're replacing them temporarily. You've got enough science from Bayport High to fit in without any trouble.”

“Just think—investigating at the South Pole!” Joe exclaimed. “We've never done that before!”

Fenton Hardy smiled at his son's enthusiasm. Then he became serious again. “Just remember,” he said, “we're going to one of the toughest spots on the globe. Besides being cold, it'll be extremely dangerous!”

Fenton Hardy took a map of the Antarctic and spread it out on his knees.

“You can see that the continent around the South Pole lies almost entirely within the Antarctic Circle,” he said to Frank and Joe. “The main exception is the Antarctic Peninsula pushing in the direction of Tierra del Fuego. These two large indentations of the coastline are caused by the Weddell Sea below the Antarctic Peninsula and the Ross Sea on the opposite side of the continent.”

“Is Byrd Base near Little America?” Frank asked.

“It's about two hundred miles up the coast, on the Ross Shelf, which connects the Ross Sea and the Antarctic Continent. We'll be on the continent itself. No neighbors near Byrd Base. A lot of nations have installations in the Antarctic. But it's a big place. ”

“And it's peaceful,” Joe commented. “We learned that when we were studying about the International Geophysical Year in school. All the nations agreed not to fight over claims in the Antarctic.”

The three Hardys began discussing the heroic days of exploration in the area, especially the race to the South Pole between Roald Amundsen of Norway and Robert Scott of Great Britain.

“Amundsen reached the pole first,” Frank said. “That was in 1911, before the days of radio communication, and Scott knew nothing about it until he and his men got to the South Pole and found Amundsen's flag flying over it.”

“Then the members of the Scott expedition were lost in a desperate trek back from the pole,” Joe added. “Later, their bodies were found by a rescue team. Scott's diary tells the story.”

“And of course you know about Admiral Richard E. Byrd, who established Little America and pioneered the use of airplanes in the Antarctic,” Mr. Hardy spoke up. “Byrd and another pilot, Bernt Balchen, were the first to fly over the South Pole.”

“We could go on forever talking about Antarctic exploration,” Frank said. “But I think I'll catch a little shuteye.”

“Good idea,” Joe agreed. “I'm bushed myself from all this traveling.” He leaned back in his seat and soon all were asleep.

When they woke up, they looked out the window at the cold gray billows of the Polar Sea. An icebreaker, which seemed like a toy ship far below, was slowly cutting a path through ice several feet thick.

The plane crossed the water and land appeared. Tall, windswept mountains came into view. From their foothills, a grim wasteland of ice and snow broken by glaciers extended into the distance.

“Looks pretty desolate out there,” Frank said.

Just then, the pilot came down the aisle and stopped in front of the boys. “I'm Captain Roeloffs,” he introduced himself. “I understand you boys are student scientists. Perhaps you'd like to come into the cockpit and see what the Antarctic is like from there.”

“We sure would,” Frank and Joe said at once.

“Follow me, then,” the pilot said. He led the way up the aisle into the cockpit. The copilot grinned a greeting as the Hardys slipped into the two seats behind him. Roeloffs sat down in his chair. “We're on automatic pilot,” he said, “and we'll stay that way until we reach the South Pole. ”

Frank was studying a map of the Antarctic. “If we fly to the pole, won't it be to the left of the Ross Ice Shelf? Won't we miss Byrd Base?”

“We're dropping supplies to the Amundsen-Scott Station at the pole,” the pilot explained. “After that, we'll turn right to Byrd Base.”

The plane thundered on over a bleak landscape, and the Hardys could see directly ahead to the Transantarctic Mountains, a long chain of rugged peaks extending from one side of the continent to the other. As they crossed the mountains, deep valleys and enormous glaciers came into view.

“Want to go backpacking down there?‘” Frank kidded his brother.

“It would be too easy,” Joe quipped. “I like the real outdoors, like the Bayport Woods!”

Some huts became visible, and men emerged running toward the plane and waving their arms.

“Boys,” Roeloffs said as he switched off the automatic control and began to fly the craft himself, “we're now at the South Pole!”

“Looks just like the rest of the snow,” Frank observed.

“We don't need a compass now,” Joe commented. “From here, every direction is north.”

The plane circled over the Amundsen-Scott Station. Crates of supplies went out the cargo door, plummeted toward the snow, and pulled up sharply as their parachutes opened. They drifted down to where the men from the huts were waiting to pick them up.

The copilot, who had been talking to the station by radio, said a farewell. Then the plane turned away from the pole and headed for the Ross Ice Shelf.

When they arrived, Roeloffs cut the power and the plane landed on a frozen runway at Byrd Base.

The passengers filed out in the direction of a two-story building with wings extending to the rear on either side. It was made of prefabricated boards attached to a steel frame. A helicopter equipped with skis stood near a number of Antarctic vehicles such as motor toboggans and Sno-Cats.

About twenty men were handling the vehicles, conducting weather experiments, or collecting samples of ice and snow. They wore heavy clothing and waved at the new arrivals, who hurried in out of the frigid cold. The commander of Byrd Base greeted them in the main room. He held a list of names in his hand.

“I'm Admiral Ian Langton,” he announced. “If you'll gather around, I'll tell you what your assignments are.”

“We'll stay out of this,” Fenton Hardy said to his sons in an undertone. “We're on a secret mission, so we'll talk to the admiral later.”

The other men received their instructions and left to settle in and get to work. When the last one had disappeared, the Bayport sleuth introduced himself and the boys.

“I'm glad to see you,” Langton said. “Come to my office and we'll discuss your mission. All I know is that the navy's keeping it under wraps.”

In the office, Fenton Hardy described his discovery of a gang of thieves operating at American naval bases. “Clues indicate that the ringleader is here at Byrd Base,” he explained. “My assignment is to find out who he is. Frank and Joe will help with the investigation. ”

The admiral shook his head. “It's hard for me to believe the ringleader is one of my men. But of course we've only been here a short time. I don't know all of them yet. Anyway, I received orders from the navy to bring a couple of student scientists back from Outpost I. I suppose you can tell me why.”

“The man we're looking for might be at Outpost I,” Fenton Hardy replied. “Frank and Joe will replace the students. I will stay here at Byrd Base in the guise of a scientist assigned to see how the labs are working. ”

“Since you three are using science as a cover story,” Langton said, “I'd better introduce you to my scientific advisor, Professor Sigmund Muller. Come with me.”

The admiral led the way to an office where a desk was piled high with reports and documents. Muller sat in a chair behind the desk writing in a notebook. He had gray hair and wore steel-rimmed glasses. Langton introduced the Hardys, and he gave them a warm greeting. The admiral then explained the secret mission that had brought them to Byrd Base.

“Oh, no!” Muller exclaimed. “How could the ringleader of a gang of thieves be among us?”

“I only got on to him by a process of elimination,” Fenton Hardy explained. “I found it hard to believe he would operate out of the Antarctic. But every other possibility failed, which means he must be stationed at Byrd Base or Outpost I.”

“If that's the case, I'm glad you're here,” said Muller in a hearty tone. “I'll pretend you're new members of my scientific team.”

“Sigmund, why don't you show Frank and Joe around?” Langton suggested.

“I'll be glad to,” Muller agreed as the admiral and Fenton Hardy returned to Langton's office. Muller took the boys into one wing of the building, which housed the science department of the base.

In the first laboratory, a number of long columns of frozen earth were laid out on a table side by side. Several men were working on them.

“These are core samples from the crust of the Antarctic Continent,” Muller explained. “They tell us about the age of the Antarctic. We know it's been here for many millions of years.”

In other laboratories, scientists were carrying out experiments in physics and chemistry. An aquarium held fish from the Antarctic Sea. Storerooms oocupied the end of the wing. They were filled with scientific instruments, samples of earth and rock, and stuffed birds, seals, and fish.

Muller introduced Frank and Joe to the staff as they moved from one room to another. The Hardys kept their eyes open for clues, but saw nothing to indicate that a crook was hiding at Byrd Base.

Finally Muller pointed to piles of heavy clothing on the shelves of a storeroom. “Now you'd better get into these,” he said. “We're going outside.”

“I don't see any furs,” Joe commented as they dressed.

Their host laughed. “People wore furs back in the days of Admiral Byrd. Today we have special clothing designed by navy experts. You'll find those parkas as warm as a sealskin coat, and much lighter and more comfortable.”

Pulling the hoods of their jackets over their heads, the three emerged from the building. A cold wind blew in their faces and momentarily took their breath away.

A meteorologist atop a steel scaffolding was knocking ice off a weathervane to allow the instrument to move freely in the wind. Other workers were releasing a weather balloon, which drifted upward, blowing wildly to and fro.

“The balloon is filled with helium,” the leader of the group explained. “It'll reach the upper atmosphere and tell us how the winds blow around the South Pole. The temperature sometimes hits one hundred below zero.”

After some discussion of the eons during which the Antarctic turned from a warm area into a frigid wilderness, Muller conducted the Hardys on a walk through the snow down to the shore. They stopped at a point where a cliff dipped in rugged contours into water filled with ice floes.

On one side, the terrain rose and fell in a series of low hills. On the other side, it stretched out in a level plain where the Hardys could see moving black patches against the white background of the ice.

“Penguins!” Frank and Joe exclaimed in unison.

“Come on for a closer look,” Muller invited.

The three walked down into the penguin rookery. It contained hundreds of the black and white Antarctic birds. Some were roosting on the ice, others waddled around in an upright position, still others dived into the water.

The waddling birds made the Hardys laugh. Joe pointed to a penguin about three feet tall advancing toward them. Its color pattern gave it the appearance of wearing a white shirt and black coat. It moved in a shuffling walk.

“That one's as funny as a clown at the circus,” Joe commented. “I think I'll take a picture of it.”