Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
Thick as Thieves (4 page)
The man sneered. "I'm a little crazy, see? Someone takes my name, I don't care what I have to do to deal with it."
Joe's heart jumped to his throat. It was the real Kid!
"You drive," the Kid said as they got into the car. "It's a nice day for a trip to the zoo."
Joe studied the Kid as they drove off. The Kid was good-looking, but Joe couldn't understand how anyone would mistake the two of them.
***
Frantically, Frank Hardy flagged down a cab after his brother had been forced into a waiting car. Frank had been tailing Joe since the airport, but he hadn't been able to get close enough to figure out what was going on.
"Follow that car," he told the driver as he got into the cab. He bit down lightly on his tongue when he heard himself say it. He pointed out the Chevy.
When the driver heard Frank's order, he cried, "Far out, man! I've been waiting to have someone say that all my life." The cabbie had long, stringy hair and a set of beads around his neck. Frank thought he looked like something out of the 1960s.
***
The San Diego Zoo was one of the largest in the world, set in the middle of the twelve hundred acres of Balboa Park, just north of downtown San Diego. The zoo contained more than thirty-two hundred animals, separated by moats and fences from the thousands of people who visited the park daily. Much of the environment looked like a tropical jungle.
Joe Hardy wasn't interested in the animals.
The Kid had herded him through the main entrance, toward the aerial tram ride that ran above the park from this side to the other, a third of a mile away. The trolley cars held only two people each. The cars were so light that they swayed on the thin cable they hung from.
"Get on," the Kid muttered in Joe's ear as he handed their tickets to the young woman who loaded the trolleys. She opened the car door and closed it after them. Then, with a jerk, the cable pulled their car up into the air and out over the zoo.
"Nice view, isn't it?" The Kid brought the gun out into the open, his finger still wrapped around the trigger. The nose was pointed at Joe.
"Are we up here for my health?" Joe asked.
"Yeah," the Kid replied. "Time to improve your physical fitness. You're going to practice high dives."
Joe looked down, his stomach pulling tight. They were at least seventy-five feet up, swaying between the concrete path below and the animal pens on either side of them.
"You're crazy," Joe said.
"Never say that to the man with the gun," said the Kid. "The way I figure it, you're big, but not too big for me to toss into a bear or tiger cage as we go over. The fall will probably kill you, but if it doesn't, the animals will get to you before help can."
Joe gripped the safety bar and held on tight. "What if I just promise never to use your name again?"
The Kid shook his head. "Too late."
The butt of the gun suddenly smashed into Joe's jaw. Hold on, he told himself as a gray cloud fogged into his mind. Hold on!
Strong hands gripped Joe diagonally around his waist and shoulders. He tried to move his arms to fight, but they wouldn't work. The gray cloud moved in, swallowing all thought.
Standing up in the trolley, the Kid lifted Joe over his head as if he were a doll, ready to heave the younger Hardy into the bear pits far below.
FRANK HARDY GOT OUT of the cab and followed his brother and the blond guy. He'd been trying to catch Joe's eye, but the other man always got between them.
The stranger looked more like Joe's brother than Frank did, Frank realized suddenly with a shock. They obviously weren't identical, but in the right light, facing someone who knew neither of them very well, they could easily be mistaken for each other.
The two of them got into a tram car and lifted off, heading for the other end of the park. Frank jogged along the walkway beneath the trolley line, keeping his eyes on the car overhead.
"Joe!" he called out, but the trolley was too far up. There was no way Joe could hear him.
The car began to sway too violently to be caused by the wind. Something was happening up there, but Frank couldn't tell what. He sprinted ahead of it, turning and looking up to get a glimpse of the inside of the car. The angle was all wrong. He couldn't see.
Then a dark mass tipped over the lip of the car. It struck the pavement with a dull thud and rolled over once, landing in a position impossible for a living man.
All the color drained from Frank's face. He recognized the body.
It was Joe.
Frank sank to his knees next to his brother. He didn't care about anything, not Charity, the Star of Ishtar, Chief Collig, or the people gathering around them. All that mattered was that his brother was dead.
As tears filled his eyes, he froze, startled. There were little marks next to Joe's ears, tiny, almost invisible scratches he assumed were caused by the fall. He looked at them more closely, and his heart raced.
The marks were old—scars. Joe never had any scars around his ears.
It was the other man, he realized with a thrill. It wasn't Joe!
His eyes darted up at the trolley car that was vanishing into the distance. Frank sprinted past the people coming to stare at the body, shaking off hands that reached out to stop him.
"You can't go," someone shouted. "What happened?"
"He fell," Frank yelled back over his shoulder. He didn't want to talk. He needed the air for running. "Call the police."
He reached the trolley car as it was coming to a stop at the far end of the line. Joe, still woozy, staggered out of the car, and Frank, still running, threw his arms around Joe and hugged him.
"You sound a little winded," Joe said as Frank tried to keep his legs from buckling under him.
Puffing, Frank said, "I've just run three hundred-yard dashes back-to-back, and I think I set records. What happened? Who was that guy?"
"That was the Kid — the crook that guy Jolly took me for. He was about to throw me off the car, but I managed to get a grip on the roof. I held on. He lurched forward, but I stayed where I was, and he pitched off the car. I barely made it back into the seat before I blacked out."
"We don't have to worry about the Kid anymore," Frank said. "But we'd better get out of here before the police arrive."
"Good idea," Joe said. Hiding behind bushes, they scaled the tall back wall and dropped down to the street behind the zoo. As police cars roared past, sirens blaring, they walked calmly down the sidewalk, heading back downtown.
Relaxing, Frank asked, "So how did you get mixed up with the Kid?"
"A gang I ran into at the warehouse thinks I'm him," Joe said. "He didn't like that." He looked over his shoulder, checking for the police before continuing. There was no sign of them.
"So what did you learn? What's going on?"
"It's all pretty confusing," Joe replied. "Apparently all those thieves we saw at the airport have gotten together for a big heist. It's being planned by someone calling himself the Director, but I don't know who he—or she—is. He wears a mask and talks to us on television." Joe's face brightened. "Hey! You're good with computers and electronics. Is there any way we could trace where the TV signal's coming from?"
Frank shook his head. "Only if it's a direct cable feed. If he's using a satellite dish, he's bouncing the signal off a satellite. It could be coming from anywhere."
"Then the only way to crack this scheme is for me to keep pretending to be the Kid."
"No," Frank said. "It's too dangerous. You'd be completely on your own."
"You'll be nearby," Joe protested. "Besides, Charity's in with them."
When he heard that name, Frank gave his brother a look. He let out a weary sigh, and, after thinking a long time, said, "All right. But be careful." He thought a moment more. "Let's get a hotel room and some food. Then later we should go to the warehouse and check it out before the gang gets back."
***
"Outside of this TV projection screen and the cable leading to the dish on the roof, it's an ordinary warehouse," Frank said. He and Joe had been there for several hours, scouring the place from top to bottom. It was clean. "We'd better get out of here."
Joe stiffened just then, listening. A dozen pairs of footsteps were headed their way outside. "Too late," he said. "They're here. Better hide."
Frank glanced around. The only place to hide in the warehouse was behind the crates, and Joe had told him that the gang would be sitting on them. He needed a hiding place they wouldn't find, somewhere they wouldn't go.
Moments later the gang entered the room, with Chavo bringing up the rear. Chuckling, Jolly walked up to Joe as the others seated themselves around the projection TV. "I take it we're about to embark on our little project."
Charity pressed herself between them and slipped her arm into Joe's arm. "Mind if I borrow him?" she asked Jolly, batting her eyes sweetly at him. Then, before the heavy man could answer, she pulled Joe away. They sat down together in front of the screen, his arm firmly locked in hers.
"Mind yourself and don't say a thing," she whispered in his ear. "There's a big surprise coming." Joe clenched his jaw angrily but kept quiet.
Chavo switched the screen back on, and once again the covered face of the Director appeared on it. "We are about to begin," the electronic voice droned.
"By tomorrow morning you will all be millionaires. Half of you will receive instructions from Chavo for later tonight. The other operatives, whose names I am about to read, will assemble at the boat moored behind this warehouse. On the boat, you will get your orders for an invasion of the Point Loma Naval Station."
Several of the criminals stood up, yelling in disbelief. Chavo stepped in front of the screen and stared at them with those cruel, piercing eyes. His hand slipped into his coat pocket and pressed the shape of a pistol against the fabric so everyone could see. The criminals quieted down.
"Now," the Director continued, "the assault group will be co-commanded by Charity and Willeford. It has been carefully planned, and if all the instructions are followed to the letter, no one will be hurt." He rattled off a list of names, and, after a long pause that sent a shiver down Joe's spine, ended the list with "the Kid."
"Go now," he said. "And good luck."
Charity pulled Joe out of the warehouse toward the mooring, with the rest of their crew following them. Joe still said nothing, but now his silence sprang from anger.
"Cheer up," she said as if she had read his mind. "It'll be fun."
They climbed onto the boat, a small cabin cruiser.
***
Behind the screen, Frank listened and waited for all the footsteps to die away. He realized he'd been sweating. All through the meeting, he had been pressed up against the screen, hoping not to be noticed. But what he had heard alarmed him. He had to warn the police and the navy of what was about to happen, and he hoped Joe would be able to protect himself. Cautiously Frank stepped to the front of the screen.
It came on with a loud click, and he found himself face-to-face with the TV image of the Director. A gun barrel nuzzled against the back of Frank's neck.
"You're caught, spy," the Director said.
"Hands up," Chavo said. Frank put them up.
"I thought you were on tape," Frank told the man. "You sure fooled everyone."
"They think what I want them to think," said the Director. "What's your connection with the other spy?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Frank said.
"The one who claims to be the Kid," the Director replied. "The real Kid was found today in the San Diego Zoo. I'm afraid he's in no condition to help our little operation. The impostor, I'm afraid, will be in for a rude surprise—after he has outlived his usefulness."
"Why, you — " Frank began, but before he could move, Chavo punched him in the small of the back, doubling him over. The scarred man waved the barrel of a silenced .45 in front of Frank's nose.
"Take him out back," the Director told Chavo, "and shoot him."
***
The boat pulled away from its mooring and sped out into the dark night. Moodily Joe leaned against the back rail of the boat, staring back at the well-lit dock they had just left. I've got to figure a way out of this, he thought. But he could think of nothing except leaping overboard, and then he'd never be able to stop the caper that was going down.
Joe's jaw dropped and a tiny cry burst from him. From out of nowhere, Charity appeared.
Joe shouted, "We've got to go back. Right now. Look at the dock!" He turned his eyes back to the land, but he knew he would be too late already.
Chavo had marched Frank to the end of the pier, overlooking the water. "Turn around," he ordered. Frank turned, his heels over the edge of the pier.
With a chuckle, Chavo pressed the silenced gun against Frank's chest. A noise that sounded like a loud sneeze erupted twice from the gun.
Frank toppled backward, hit the water, and slowly sank beneath the waves.
JOE WOULD HAVE SCREAMED, but Charity had clamped her hand over his mouth. He felt like leaping off the boat and swimming to his brother's side, but Charity whispered to him, "It's too late for Frank. There's nothing you can do to help him."
He tore himself free, wanting to strike out at something, anything, to avenge his brother. Joe clenched his fists, calculating how many men were on board and what chance he'd have against them if he took them all on.
None, he realized. He might take down one or two, but the rest would get him, and they'd have no qualms about killing him as Frank had been killed. Joe had to stay in the game if he wanted to nail the ones really responsible for Frank's death.
Beside him, Charity was shaking, a look of horror on her face. Like Joe, she was still staring back at the one brightly lit dock, at the last place they had seen Frank.
