Trouble in the Pipeline (6 page)

"So you are," White said mildly. "You may learn a few more things shortly."

"I think I know more than I want to already." Joe told him.

"I wouldn't say that, if I were you," White said. "You asked what the wires were for."

Joe looked down again. He saw now that the wires ran across the floor and into a hole in the wall. A tinted glass panel was framed into the wall at window height just above the hole.

"I'm curious why you've been so persistent," White remarked. "You've had to overcome pretty tough obstacles so far."

"I have to keep trying," Joe said flatly.

"You don't represent any larger organization?"

"Me? No. I told you—I'm only looking for my friend."

"I see." White paused. "I'll tell you what I'm going to do. You know what a polygraph is, don't you?"

Joe nodded. "Of course. It's a lie detector."

"That's correct. The wires attached to you right now are hooked up to a polygraph machine in the next room. I'm going to turn it on, and then I'm going to ask you a few questions. Is that all right with you?"

"I don't think I'm in a position to refuse," Joe said, but his words were aimed at Sandy White's back. The man hadn't even waited for an answer.

White paused just inside the doorway and rotated his body to face Joe again. "Be back in a moment." He gave Joe another enigmatic smile. Joe wondered what kind of guy would stick someone in a torture chamber and then tell him to have a nice day.

Joe's mind was racing. What was he going to do? He really didn't know anything. Maybe that makes it better. I'll just tell the truth, he decided.

Who knows? Maybe I can even pick up some info from the questions they ask. I just wish Frank were around.

The door opened, and White returned with the polygraph machine on a little cart.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," he apologized. But his next words turned that politeness on its head. "Here are the ground rules. I ask the questions, you answer them. If you don't answer them, or if the machine shows you're not being truthful, I'll kill you. Is that clear?"

Joe took a deep breath and nodded. White's true colors were finally revealed.

"Fine. Shall we begin?"

"My time is yours."

"What's your name?"

"Joe Hardy."

White watched the machine as a mechanical arm swung a pen point over a rolling sheet of paper.

"You didn't think I'd lie about my own name, did you?"

White stared. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"Where are you from?"

"Bayport. It's a town — "

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" White cut in.

"Yes. One brother."

"What's his name?"

"Frank Hardy."

"What does your father do?"

Joe stopped. He'd been spitting back the answers as quickly as he was questioned, but this one caught him off guard. He tried to mask his hesitation with a cough.

"Sorry, I got a tickle in my throat."

"Don't bother." White pointed to a big loop on the paper where the needle and pen had swung wildly. "You know this machine doesn't say whether you're telling the truth. It measures stress—heartbeat, breathing rate, muscle tension — even how much you sweat. I can see you had a big reaction to that question. Let me ask it again. What does your father do?"

"He's retired."

"I see. Retired from what?"

"Retired from public service. He worked for the City of New York."

White leaned forward and stared at the needle of the polygraph. He let out a stream of air as if he were disappointed.

"Mr. Hardy," he began. "Your life is hanging by the proverbial thread. It is obvious to the machine and myself that you're trying to hide something. If you won't tell me, I'll have to up the ante. You see, it's very important to me to find out what you know."

He got up and went outside. Almost instantly the door reopened, and White reentered, wheeling a gurney, and on the gurney was Frank. His mouth was taped shut, and wires from some kind of machine were attached to his stomach.

White took those wires and attached them to the polygraph. Then he turned to Joe.

"I have just added a small electrode to this machine. Your brother has a substantial amount of plastic explosive attached to his stomach. If the polygraph needle jumps to the electrode, it will detonate the plastique.

"Of course, the explosion will kill him." White turned the corners of his mouth up in a thin-lipped grimace. "Shall we begin again?"

"WAIT A MINUTE!" Joe yelled.

"I would suggest that you remain as calm as possible, Mr. Hardy. I see by the needle you are getting upset."

"Upset? Of course I'm upset. You've got my brother wired up like — like a human bomb!"

"But you're the detonator. Just answer the questions honestly, Mr. Hardy, and no harm will come to your brother."

Joe could see the wide sweeps the polygraph needle was making. He tried to calm down, but he couldn't stop his heart from pounding. Forcing his eyes away from the machine, he looked over at Frank. Frank's eyes were calm.

"That's better," White said soothingly. "The more you surrender, the easier this will be."

Joe exhaled in a long hiss. If he could just stay calm and answer the questions, maybe he could figure a way out of this situation.

He remembered some of Frank's karate exercises — those to make his mind a blank. He concentrated on deep, regular breathing.

"I'll begin again," White said, drawing up a chair and placing it near the machine. "What brings you to Alaska?"

Joe stared straight ahead and spoke in a quiet voice. "We're here to find Scott and bring him home if he's in trouble."

"What makes you think this is a job for you?"

"My brother and I have done this kind of thing before." Joe felt angry that he had to spill his guts, but he forced the anger down.

"What kind of thing?" White asked, obviously pleased that he was getting somewhere.

"We've done some rescue missions and undercover work," he said.

White seemed to be amused. "For whom?"

Easy breathing — keep your mind blank, Joe told himself. He did not want to answer this question. "To help friends — "

"And?" White said, watching as the needle headed for the contact point.

"And for a government agency." Joe's words came out in a rush.

"Which agency?" White was pretending to have all the patience in the world.

"The Network. We've only worked indirectly—they'd never admit they knew us," Joe said.

"Don't worry, Mr. Hardy. I won't ask them for references."

Joe glanced over at Frank, who nodded his head slightly. His eyes seemed to say that Joe was doing the right thing.

"Tell me what you know about Trans-Yukon Mining," White continued.

"Only what our friend Doug told us."

"What did Doug tell you?"

"That they had a contract to work on the pipeline and some of the managers were taking bribes."

"Did he tell you what the bribes were for?"

"He didn't know, but maybe they were buying people jobs."

"Who was buying jobs?" White asked quickly.

"Doug didn't know," Joe responded.

"Do you know?"

"No, I don't," Joe said emphatically.

White paused. "Well ... the polygraph says you're not lying. But I'm not so sure."

The sound of human voices drifted into the room. White glanced up and moved quickly to the door, opening it a crack. Men were shouting outside. White slipped out without saying a word.

"Frank, are you okay?" Joe was trying to keep his breathing steady and his mind empty.

Frank nodded.

"Is that a real bomb?" Joe couldn't force himself to look at the lump on Frank's stomach.

Frank nodded again. Joe closed his eyes and tried to smother the panic that had risen, sour-tasting, to his mouth. How much longer could this go on? What would happen when they were done? Would White dare to let them go?

Dimly Joe and Frank heard a now - familiar sound — the whirr of a helicopter. What was going on?

After a loud crash the door flew open. The needle swerved so wildly Joe didn't dare look. But when Frank began mumbling through his gag, his eyes wide with relief, Joe turned to see Virgil and Tanook in the doorway.

"I thought I'd find you in here," Virgil said. "Are you all right?"

Frank nodded his head, which was all he could do. Joe spoke as if he were in a trance.

"We're fine, Virgil, but there's a guy who'll be back any second. Please hurry." Joe was barely whispering.

Virgil looked hard at Joe. "What's wrong with your voice? Have they given you medicine?"

Joe breathed out very loudly. "I'm wired to this machine — "

Virgil nodded. "They were asking you questions to see if you tell the truth — "

"But it's also wired to a bomb on Frank's stomach. If the needle jumps too high, the bomb will explode." Joe's voice was hardly louder than a sigh.

Virgil could barely understand what Joe was saying. "What? Frank is taking the test, too? With a bomb on his stomach?"

Joe closed his eyes. He couldn't afford to get frustrated. "It's no test. If I get upset or excited, the machine will set off his bomb. Do you understand?"

Virgil looked from the bomb to the polygraph. "That bomb—Frank—you had to tell the truth!"

Joe nodded. "Right. Now please cut these wires and get us out of here."

Virgil went to the polygraph and tore out the wires. He unstrapped Joe, who ripped the wires off his own body while Virgil removed the bomb from Frank. They both helped get the tape off Frank's face.

"I'd have been here sooner," Virgil said as he went to work on the tape, "but I had to take care of the dogs, and then round up my friends. I thought there would be more trouble—and I guessed you'd head here and straight into it."

Frank was finally free from all the tape. "Let's get out of here before that creep comes back," he exclaimed, rubbing his face with both hands.

"First we've got to look for Scott," Joe said.

"No," said Virgil. "There's no one else here. I checked. Follow me!" Virgil ran to the door and peered out. "No one."

They tore down a long corridor to the front of the building, where they heard Virgil's friends shouting at the front gate about North Slope being unfair to workers. "That drew all the guards," Virgil said. "One of my friends will bring the chopper in. Stay low."

They crouched at the side of the building, out of sight of the guards and White. Virgil pulled a small walkie-talkie from his jacket and called in the chopper. In less than two minutes it dropped in, low and fast.

When the chopper was ten feet off the ground, they sprang up and sprinted in a zigzag pattern for its open door.

The noise of the blades whipping overhead was deafening, but even it wasn't loud enough to drown out the sound of gunfire. They dove through the door headfirst.

Frank was the last one in, and as he landed the helicopter lurched. His kneecap felt shattered. The pain sent him rolling across the floor as the chopper tilted up into the dust-filled sky.

Virgil and Joe examined the damage to Frank's knee. His jeans were torn, and a mean-looking gash cut a line down his entire kneecap.

"It's not a bullet wound," Joe said. "You must have smacked your knee on the edge of the chopper as you dove in."

Frank held his leg. "This definitely has not been one of my better days."

"Take it easy," Joe said. "We'll have you fixed up in no time."

Virgil dressed the wound as the pilot headed for a hunting camp in the mountains. "You'll have to keep the leg straight for a couple of days, but it'll be all right," he said.

That night, after dropping off Virgil's friend, they sat around the fire after dinner to talk. Even though the night sky was light, the air was considerably cooler than in the day. The warmth of the flames soothed them.

"I think we've got to jump on this right now," Joe insisted. "Sandy White may think we represent the Network, and he may try to speed up his plans now."

"Well, I'm not going to be much help," Frank said, looking at his outstretched leg. "And you may think I'm crazy, but I don't think the North Slope compound is where the action is."

"What do you mean?" Joe asked.

"Well, for one thing, there were so few men there. My hunch is, White's got another base of operations, and I think it's north of here."

"North? There's only ocean north of here!" Joe exclaimed.

"Well, maybe his troops are on the ocean."

"But why north?"

"It's a matter of buoys," was all Frank offered. Frank shifted, trying to make his leg more comfortable. "It also seems evident to me that he's involved with Hammond at Trans-Yukon. Did you notice how he knew who Doug was?"

"Right," Joe said, remembering. "He didn't ask who Doug was when I mentioned him."

"Well, that's one thing that needs checking out at Prudhoe. I think I'll stay up here. I've got this crazy hunch about a boat or something."

"I was planning to go fishing soon," Virgil said. "Might as well go tomorrow. We can check out the immediate area, and that way Frank can stay off his leg."

"Great!" Frank said. "That's perfect."

"It's perfect, if you'll take me back to Prudhoe," Joe cut in. "There are a lot of ends to tie up there. There's the Hammond - White connection. And was that really Scott we saw? I mean, what would he be doing there? In some lab, after hours?"

"I'll take you," Virgil said. "Better go now. This way I can come back and then get a good start in the morning."

"Fine with me," Joe responded, getting up from the ground.

"Just don't get into trouble," Frank said. "We won't be around to help you out."

"What? Me? Get into trouble?" Joe smiled. "You've got to be kidding. I'm just going to do a little creative snooping, that's all."

"Right." Frank laughed. "Just don't get caught."

"You can always contact the weather pilot at the airport if you want to get in touch with us," Virgil volunteered. "He's a friend of mine, and he flies out over the ocean just about every day."

Joe nodded. "Fine. He's one of the first people I'll check in with."