Too Many Traitors (8 page)

"Any sign of the cops?" Frank asked, still choking on the sea. They bobbed in the shadow of a moored yacht, hidden from the shore by it. Joe peered around the yacht's bow and studied the harbor.

"No," he said. "But it won't be long before they send boats out to look for us." Joe turned toward the open sea and saw the sailboat they should have been on drifting away from them, its gold-and aqua-striped sail waving at them like a flag. "Think we can catch it?"

Frank dabbed a finger on his tongue and stuck the finger in the air. "Not much wind," he replied. "What choice do we have?"

Kicking off from the side of the yacht, they propelled themselves toward the drifting sailboat. With powerful strokes the Hardys cut through the warm blue water, moving farther and farther out to sea.

"Think there're any sharks or octopuses out here, Frank?"

"Let's hope we won't find out," Frank said, his eyes on the sailboat. It was closer now, carelessly washing eastward on gentle winds and currents. He could see Elena on the stern, still staring back at the harbor. "Only a few more yards."

"Hey!" Joe yelled as loud as he could, and Elena stiffened and looked around. Again he yelled, "Over here!" He treaded water and waved frantically. Elena shielded her eyes from the sun with her hand and gazed out over the water. A second later she stepped out of sight.

"Did she see us?" Frank asked. But before Joe could answer, he answered himself. "I wonder. I'm not sure we can trust her, Joe."

"We can trust her," Joe said. "Look at how she's helped us so far." But doubt was creeping into his voice. The sails on the boat had shifted, and the boat picked up speed, cruising away from them. Had she seen them, he wondered. Had she told the captain to leave them adrift there? It was the only explanation he could think of.

"Look!" Frank said excitedly. "It's turning." The wind had caught the sails and was moving the sailboat rapidly back toward them. "I take it all back," he told Joe. "Elena's great."

Ropes were tossed down as the sailboat cruised past them, and the Hardys grabbed the ropes and tied them around their waists. One by one they were pulled onto the deck, and Joe smiled at Elena as he rose.

"You were lucky the little lady saw you, boys," said one of the men who had brought them aboard. He was tall and red-faced, and his voice had a familiar twang. "And here we thought she was fooling us when she said some fellow Americans needed a ride. You oughtn't to have been late though. Made her look like a liar."

"Sorry about that. We ran into a little trouble. You're Texan?" Joe asked, unable to believe his ears. "I'm Joe, and this is my brother, Frank."

Frank nodded and peeled off his wet shirt.

"Sam," the Texan replied. He pointed to a rugged-looking man at the wheel. "That's Jimmy Luke. You boys easterners, hey? Well, I guess not everyone can be born lucky. You better get out of those wet clothes. The sun'll dry them out by the time we hit Malaga, and there are some swim trunks in the hold you can wear in the meantime."

"Thanks," Frank said. "When do you expect we'll reach Malaga?" He and Joe walked toward the hold.

"A couple hours at the rate we're going," Sam replied. "You all just relax and enjoy yourselves, y'hear?"

"Thanks again," Joe said. "We really appreciate this."

Sam winked. "Think nothing of it. What are countrymen for, right?" As the boat straightened out its course, he called after the Hardys, "But the next time you go swimming, you ought to dress for it."

"Is there something wrong?" Elena asked Frank as they climbed onto the pier at Malaga. Frank had been frowning.

"I'd still like to know how the cops knew to expect us at the harbor," he said. "You never explained that."

"I cannot explain," Elena said desperately. "I had nothing to do with it. You must believe me."

"We do," Joe said, stepping between her and his brother. "Inspector Melendez probably notified every cop on the Costa del Sol to be on the lookout for us. All it would have taken was for one to spot us. For all we know, they think we're in Algeciras by now, just as we planned."

"Look, I'm sorry," Frank said to Elena. "But this is a life-or-death situation. We can't afford to ignore all the possibilities."

"I forgive you." But Elena's voice trembled as she spoke. She pressed close to Joe, and he put a comforting arm around her. "I only wanted to help."

"You have," Joe said, and he glowered at Frank. "A lot. If that's settled, we'd better figure out where we go from here."

"The bus," Frank said, and both Joe and Elena stared at him in surprise. "We're running out of money," he explained, "so we'd better get to the hotel and try to get our travelers' checks. It'll be risky, but if the police are convinced we're on our way to Africa, security might be lax."

"Plus," Joe said, "if Martin really gave us something, it's got to be in our stuff. I think the only way we're going to crack this thing open is to find the information. So where do we catch a bus?"

"Right this way," Elena said.

After a slow, crowded ride back into central Malaga, they arrived in front of their hotel.

"It's quiet," Joe said as he stepped off the bus. "Too quiet. It might be a trap."

"No," said Elena. "Siesta time. It's customary during lunch for the stores to close up. Everyone goes home to eat and sleep. The hotel should be just as quiet."

They reached the front door and Frank looked in. In the lobby three people sat in armchairs, reading papers. Only one man stood behind the main desk. "We've got to get in without being seen," he said. Then, to Elena he said, "Can you distract them?"

"Yes," Elena said. She left them and walked around the hotel until they could see her framed in the rear exit. "Help!" she screamed. "Socorro! Help!"

The desk clerk ran to the hall, and Elena disappeared from the back door as he rounded the corner and moved toward the exit. The guests in the lobby turned their heads toward the screaming.

In a flash Joe dashed through the lobby and slipped behind the front desk, grabbing the key to their room. He joined Frank at the stairwell, and together they sprinted up to the third floor. No one else was in the hallway.

Carefully, they leaned around the corner and looked down the hall. "They've taken the guard off the door," Frank said. "Let's go." They slipped silently to their room. Joe put the key into the lock, quickly turned it, and swung open the door. They darted in, shutting the door behind them.

Frank let out a sigh as he opened the closet door. Then he froze.

None of their luggage was there.

He frantically went over the room, then turned to his brother. "The police took everything," Frank said, dismayed. "We've hit a dead end."

"That's a good way of putting it," said a voice behind them. As the Hardys turned, the door slammed shut.

"Now," the Gray Man continued as he stood in the narrow entrance hall. "Where were we?"

JOE HURLED HIMSELF at the Gray Man. In the cramped area Joe hoped the Network agent wouldn't have space to maneuver.

The Gray Man ducked under Joe's swing, stood up, and drove his arm against Joe's back. Joe slammed into the wall and bounced off. The Gray Man caught him behind the knees, and then Joe was flying across the room. He sprawled on his bed as the Gray Man, hands in his pockets, sat in a chair near the door.

The government man sighed. "Frank, sit on your brother while we have a little chat."

Frank leaned on a wall and put his hands in his own pockets, keeping his eyes on the Gray Man. "What's there to talk about? You've got to take us in, right?"

"Maybe," the Gray Man replied. "Maybe not."

"Does this mean you believe we didn't kill Martin?" Frank asked.

"I wrote up your profiles for the Network, remember? Cold-blooded murder's just not in your makeup. Even if you had a motive, which you don't."

"Yeah," Joe said, sitting up on the bed. "But you said your boss wouldn't be satisfied."

"I've been thinking about that," the Gray Man said. "I had a lot of time to think yesterday. You might remember. Someone left me tied up to a tree."

"Sorry about that," Frank said. "We had to. You understand."

The Gray Man shrugged. "I would have done the same. But let me explain something to you. It doesn't matter if you're innocent or not. A deal with the Russians got messed up. The Network won't take the rap for that; it would look bad for our side. If they can lay the blame on the go-betweens, well, it's what happens sometimes when you use freelancers."

"That's not fair," Joe protested. "We didn't ask to get in the middle."

"Welcome to the spy business," the Gray Man answered. "Face it. You're what we in the business call 'out in the cold,' unless you can pull a rabbit out of your hat."

"Or a killer and a name," Frank said. "We sort of figured that out already. Why are you telling us all this?"

"I feel responsible for you," the Gray Man admitted. "I got you involved with the Network in the first place. So I'm going to help."

"Won't that upset your people?" Joe asked.

"We won't tell them," the Gray Man said. "They won't suspect anything for another twenty-four hours. That's our time limit. What have you got so far?"

"A theory," Frank replied. "Our most likely suspect for the murder is the KGB mole."

"Who is—?"

Frank shook his head. "That's the problem. We can't know for sure until we get our hands on Martin's information. Do you have any idea what it looked like?"

"None," the Gray Man said. "No one in Washington does either. That was Martin's department. He was a strange guy, a real loner." He rubbed his chin, thinking. "What's your girlfriend's role in this anyway? Ever consider that she might be your suspect?"

"We considered it," Frank began.

"No, we didn't," Joe interrupted angrily.

"No offense, Joe," the Gray Man said, "but I'll take Frank's word over yours in this case. You're a sucker for a pretty face." Joe reddened with embarrassment. "Frank, go on."

"We dismissed it," Frank said. "She's as innocent as we are. We think it's Vladimir, the KGB agent. And we think Martin did slip us the information to prove it—without telling us. But the cops got all our stuff, so how are we going to find it?"

"That is a problem," the Gray Man agreed. "Unless you knew that it was probably in the local police storage warehouse and that the warehouse is half a mile from the harbor."

"How did you know that?" Joe asked.

"It's my business, remember?" the Gray Man said. "If I showed you where it was, you think you could sneak in and get your things?"

"You make it sound so easy," Joe said.

"You'll find a way," the Network agent replied. "You have to. The mole's probably as eager to get his hands on the information as you are. You'd better get to it first."

"You're right. Let's go," Frank said. "It's still siesta for a couple of hours. We may as well hit the place now. They won't be expecting it, and it makes more sense than waiting around here to be caught."

"Elena goes with us," Joe insisted. "I'm not abandoning her. Not while the Russians are after her too."

The Gray Man stood and chuckled. "See what I mean. A pretty face." He opened the door and peeked into the empty hall, then waved the Hardys toward him. "Sure, bring her. The more the merrier."

The police storage warehouse was a long windowless hut made of steel. It had a curved roof and was surrounded by a chain-link fence. "Electrified?" asked Frank as he studied the building from across the street. The Gray Man nodded and put a finger to his lips, signaling Frank to keep silent. In front of the gate to the warehouse an armed policeman stood, waiting at the checkpoint, and just inside the gate were parked a dozen empty police cars.

"How do we know how many cops are in there?" Joe whispered.

"We don't," the Gray Man whispered back, pointing his finger at the gate. "That's the only way in. And out."

"How are we supposed to get by him?" Frank asked, nodding toward the sentry.

"I'll handle that," the Gray Man said. He took Elena by the arm. "You just get ready to make your move."

The Hardys watched Elena and the Gray Man vanish down the street. For long minutes they waited.

A shrill squeal pierced the air, then turned into a growing mechanical rumble.

"What's that?" Joe asked, and then he saw it. The Gray Man's car was racing down the street, swerving wildly. The guard looked up, shocked, and unbuttoned his holster. Before the Hardys' eyes, the car skidded off the pavement and rammed to a stop against a telephone pole.

The car burst into flames, and from the car came a pleading female voice, pitifully calling, "Socorro! Socorro!"

"Elena!" Joe gasped, and started out from his hiding place. This was a special nightmare for him. He'd lost one girlfriend in a burning car. But Frank grabbed his arm and held him back. "She's in trouble, Frank. If you don't let go, I'll — "

"No," Frank said. "Look." The guard ran to the burning car, and from the hut came two other policemen. They, too, went to the car, but all three were forced back by the flames. "I don't know how they're doing it, but it's just her voice. It's our diversion."

Joe's face brightened. "Come on," he said. While the policemen's backs were turned, the Hardys sneaked across the street and through the gate. They ran into the building, slamming the door behind them. Two offices were on either side of the doorway. From there the hut opened into a giant warehouse filled with file cabinets and rows of steel shelves.

"No time to figure out the filing system," Frank said. "Look for our suitcases. They can't store too much luggage in here."

"You think so, do you?" Joe asked as he moved down one of the aisles. He stared at a rack filled with baggage. Then he smiled.

On the top shelf was his carry-on bag, and Frank's sat a shelf down. "Over here," he called.

Quickly they dragged the bags down and opened them. "It's all here," Frank said as he rifled through his things. "Nothing's been taken out, but nothing's been added to mine either. What about yours?"

"Nothing," Joe muttered. "I was so sure this would be it. We'd better get this stuff back in place so the cops won't suspect we've been here."