Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
Double Exposure (7 page)
"Or something," Joe said, brushing himself off. Gregory was getting away, and he couldn't follow.
"Well, why didn't you say so?" the boy asked. He pointed at his skateboard. "Take it."
Joe smiled at the boy. "Thanks — I'll return it."
He climbed on the skateboard and started to roll uncertainly down the sidewalk, slowly at first, then picking up speed. He hadn't been on a skateboard in a couple of years.
"Go get 'em!" the boy cheered, raising his fists and shouting.
"Gangway," Joe yelled as he wobbled down the hill.
People dodged from the path of the obvious maniac, letting Joe keep the Mercedes in sight. The car came to the bottom of the hill and turned right—into heavy traffic. Joe knew he'd be able to keep up with a car caught in traffic.
Then he saw the sidewalk ended at the bottom of the hill. Joe gulped. Taking a deep breath, he jumped the curb and landed smack in the middle of traffic.
Joe leaned wildly to his left, then right. He was going to fall. He was going to get run over.
Desperate, he grabbed onto a truck in front of him to steady himself. He clung to it like a drowning swimmer to a life preserver, until he'd regained his balance.
Joe looked up and smiled. He'd managed to latch onto a vehicle two cars behind the Mercedes. If they stayed off the highway, he'd be able to follow it wherever it went.
Of course all that depended on how long he could keep his balance and whether the truck turned off.
***
Frank held out his hand. "Jean Eykis?"
"That's right." The woman in front of him smiled and shook hands firmly. She looked in her midthirties, with long dark hair and a square, pleasant face. "And you are — "
"Frank Hardy," he said. "I was hoping to talk to you about Alexander Janosik."
The woman nodded. "I have very little time, but you said you had some information for me?"
Frank pulled up a chair next to her desk. They were in the middle of the newspaper's city room. Dozens of people occupied the single room, some dropping off copy on the many desks around him, while others were typing in front of small computer monitors attached to all the desktops.
"What do you have for me?"
Frank decided to take the direct approach. "What makes you so certain that," — he tried to remember her exact words — "Alexander Janosik has been accepting money from the CIA for his anti-Czech speeches ? "
She frowned. "Why are you so concerned?"
Frank leaned forward. "I think he's being smeared—and I think you're being used."
Her lips tightened. "A strong accusation."
Frank nodded. "I realize that. Who are your sources for this information?"
"You know I can't tell you that," she said.
"A man named Liehm—or Krc, perhaps?"
Her eyes widened, and she stared at Frank, surprised by his knowledge. "They're with the STB—the Czech secret police. How I know this isn't important," Frank quickly continued. "But I have to know if they gave you anything—you said that you were promised proof positive of Janosik's guilt."
Eykis continued to stare at Frank — then shook her head. "You're either on the level, or ... " Her voice trailed off. "They promised me something tomorrow morning. And that's all you get."
Frank smiled.
"With the STB, you said?" Eykis repeated. "You're sure?"
"As sure as I am of anything right now," Frank said. "Do you have a way to get in touch with them?"
"Why should I give away that information?"
"Because your story's not true," Frank said simply.
She laughed. "All right. I may kick myself in the morning for doing this, but—Liehm did give me a number." She rummaged around her desk. "Let's see—here it is."
She copied it onto a piece of note paper and handed it to Frank. "If they really are STB, that would explain why they're so anxious to see me announce Janosik's guilt." Jean Eykis gave Frank a concerned stare. "And if they really are STB, you shouldn't be fooling around with them."
Frank stood. "I'll be careful."
"All right, Frank," she said, getting up as well. "And I'll have some of my sources check on Liehm. I'm not anxious to print this story unless it's true — I've been an admirer of Janosik's for years."
"Thanks," Frank said. "And good luck—you can reach me at the Charles if you need to."
"Good luck to you, too."
He went downstairs to a phone booth and called Joe. No answer. Maybe Janosik went out, and Joe followed him. In that case, he was on his own for a while. He decided to dig a little more, dialing the number Eykis had just given him.
No answer there, either.
If only he had a way to find the address to go with that number—he'd have something. If he were home, he'd be able to tie in to the telephone company's computer. . . .
But he didn't need his computer at home to do that. Not when there was someone here in Boston who could supposedly do anything with a computer.
The trip back to the dorms took only a few minutes.
"Beast!" Frank banged on the door loudly. "Open up!"
A rustling noise came from inside the room.
Frank hit the door again. "Come on, Beast."
The door creaked open slowly. The little blond guy, in a long nightshirt and slippers, appeared at the door, staring at Frank.' 'Who are you?"
"Frank Hardy — don't you remember? Phil Cohen's friend."
"Oh." The Beast nodded. "Need some more ID?"
Frank shook his head. "No—I'm sorry to bother you, but it's important." He handed him the phone number. "Can you get me an address to go with this?"
Beast yawned and took the slip of paper back into his room, shutting the door behind him. A moment later he emerged and handed Frank another slip of paper.
"This is it?"
"That's it," the Beast said, yawning. "I'm going back to bed now."
Frank started to say good-night, but the door closed in his face.
Going back to bed. Frank looked at his watch. At five o'clock?
He shook his head.
College was going to be weird.
***
Joe was lucky—not only did the Mercedes stay off the highway, but the truck that he'd attached himself to stayed with the Mercedes till it pulled off the road and into a parking garage near the center of Cambridge.
He let go of the truck and glided silently to a halt across the street from the garage. Gregor and Liehm left the garage and entered the lobby of the building next door. As they entered, a uniformed guard waved a hand in greeting, and all three crossed to the back of the lobby and disappeared into an elevator.
Joe tucked the skateboard under his arm, crossed the street, and entered the building. While waiting for the elevator and its operator to return, he studied the building directory.
Apparently there were few tenants. One whole floor was occupied by Rehearsal Systems, Inc. Another floor belonged to a firm named Video Imaging. There was a copying firm, a collection agency, and an exercise studio as well.
"Hello? Can I help you?"
Joe turned and found himself facing the elevator operator, a young man not much older than he was. He smiled.
"Yes — maybe you can. The two men you just took up — I saw one of them drop his wallet in the garage next door. I'd like to return it."
"Sure, come on in." He let Joe enter the elevator first, then followed and shut the door. "That's very nice of you. Not many people would turn in a wallet."
Joe shrugged. "No big deal."
"Oh, but it is," the operator said. "I'm sure there are some important papers in that wallet. Their company does a lot of important work."
"Oh?" Joe asked, trying to appear casual. "What kind of work?"
"I think it's something to do with television — they're called Video Imaging."
"Video Imaging," Joe repeated, keeping his voice calm. Their first real break! Now maybe he'd be able to start figuring out how Janosik, Liehm, Gregor, and the mysterious disappearing Chris Hardy tied together.
All he had to do was find a phone — Frank should be back from his meeting by now—and they were in business.
"Here you go," the operator said, opening the door. "They're at the end of the hall."
"Thanks," he said, stepping out of the elevator. "I can take it from here."
"Oh, no, Mr. Hardy."
Joe turned, and saw the elevator operator holding an automatic on him.
"Dr. Liehm and Mr. Krc would never forgive me if you got lost on the way." He smiled. "They're waiting for you."
FRANK HUNG UP the phone again, concerned and puzzled. There was still no answer at their hotel room. What had happened to Joe? Where had he gone?
He stood by the phone booth on the corner and looked down the block. The address the Beast had given him was for an office building. It seemed ordinary enough. But somehow he felt the answers to a lot of the questions he and Joe had been facing these last few days were in there.
He was dying to check it out—but he wasn't going in alone. That's the kind of stunt Joe would pull. He always leapt before he looked.
This part of Cambridge was almost entirely commercial and almost entirely deserted now that it was after five o'clock.
The ground-floor stationery stores were all locked up, and the delicatessens and restaurants were closing up.
At that moment a flicker of movement in the alleyway between the building and the parking garage caught his attention. He pressed back against the wall and looked closer.
There was a man at the service entrance of the building, trying to force his way in!
Frank crossed the street quietly and made his way toward that alleyway, sticking close to the storefronts and staying out of sight. He reached the end of the last building and peered around the corner.
Apparently, the intruder was having no luck. The service door was resisting all his efforts to force it open.
There was something familiar about the man, about the way he moved. Then he turned slightly, giving Frank a quick look at his face.
Frank stepped out into the open, unconcerned about the noise he made now. The man spun around, startled, and almost dropped the tools he'd been using.
For a moment they stared at each other. It was hard to tell who was more surprised.
Then Frank spoke. "Hello—brother."
Chris Hardy said nothing.
***
"Hardy? Me?" Joe asked, studying the man's face and the way he held his gun. He was a professional, too—probably STB. Definitely not an elevator operator. "I'm afraid you have the wrong guy, mister. And what's with the gun?"
"Please." The operator shook his head tolerantly. "Don't insult my intelligence. Mr. Krc saw you following them on that ridiculous toy," — he indicated the skateboard — "and told me to make sure you didn't get lost on your way up to see them." He motioned Joe forward with his gun.
"All right, but you're making a mistake." Joe threw up his hands, as if he were going along quietly, then suddenly he flung the skateboard at the man's gun hand. The gun went off with a loud crack and flew halfway down the hall. He followed the skateboard with a left that caught the STB man square on the jaw and sent him reeling backward.
He had to get out of there and fast. That gunshot would bring everyone else on the floor running. He started for the elevator, but the operator grabbed his arm and spun him around.
Joe threw a quick right, but the man ducked and circled behind Joe to block his path to the elevator. Then the STB man pivoted swiftly on his right foot and aimed a karate kick at Joe's head.
Joe ducked under it and grabbed the man's foot as it passed over him. He intended to use it as a lever to swing him around. But the agent kept his balance, and swung his other leg under Joe, cutting his knees out from under him. Both fell to the floor.
They rolled over and over, each trying to get on top of the other. There was a flurry of blows — and then the STB man had his hands tight around Joe's throat and was forcing the breath out of his body.
With his last bit of strength, Joe rammed his knees into the man's chest, lifting him up and over and slamming him into the far wall with a loud crack.
"Whew." Joe struggled to his knees, gasping for breath. The other man didn't move.
Someone clapped. "Very nicely done, Mr. Hardy."
Joe groaned. He recognized that voice.
Liehm stood over him, two other men flanking him. Both were holding guns on Joe.
"And now, if you would please accompany us," — he smiled — "Mr. Krc is very anxious to see you."
***
Slowly Chris let his hands drop to his sides. "I shouldn't be so surprised you managed to find this place." He forced a smile. "Actually, I'm glad you're here."
"I didn't think I'd ever see you again," Frank said. He studied the tools Chris had dropped. Now that he was closer, he could see that they were electronic gadgets. It seemed as if Chris wasn't using force to get into the building at all. "What are you doing?"
"I'm disarming the building's — Liehm's — security system," Chris said. "It's quite sophisticated." He picked up his tools again. "I can stop them, here, tonight—with your help."
"Not so fast," Frank said, grabbing Chris's shoulder and turning him so he was looking directly into his eyes. "A friend of mine pieced together that videotape you were carrying. We watched it last night. Who was that man you shot?"
Chris shook his head slowly but said nothing.
"And who are you? What country do you work for?" Frank asked.
Again, Chris shook his head, avoiding Frank's eyes.
Frank exploded. "Why don't you tell us what's going on? First you come to us to help you prove Janosik is being framed—then you run away before we can help you!"
"I didn't come to you for help!" Chris yelled back. "I came to your father!"
"Well, you got us," Frank said angrily. "And you'll find that once Joe and I start something, we like to finish it. Now, what's this all about?"
Chris took a deep breath. "I've been waiting across the street all day for the chance to disarm and get inside this building," Chris said. "Earlier Liehm and Krc went out. I thought the others would leave soon."
"Others?"
"The other employees of Liehm's company — the other STB agents here. But they haven't left yet—and now Liehm and Krc have returned."
He looked Frank directly in the eye. "Joe followed them in half an hour ago. He hasn't come out yet."
Frank turned white. "Joe followed them in— alone?" He was too concerned for his brother to be angry at him.
"I didn't see him until it was too late to stop him," Chris said. "Now, are we going to disarm this system and go in there, or do you want to ask me any more questions?"
In answer, Frank picked up one of the electronic gadgets and carried it over to Chris. "Okay," he said, grim determination in his voice. "Show me how to use this."