Diplomatic Deceit Read online

  Hardy Boys Casefiles - 38

  Diplomatic Deceit

  By

  Franklin W. Dixon

  Chapter 1

  "Do you think we should get out of the cab in case Callie explodes?" Joe Hardy's blue eyes danced with laughter as he leaned forward in his seat to see past Callie Shaw. He wanted to hear what his brother on the other side of the cab was going to say.

  Frank Hardy gave his kid brother a grin and slipped an arm around his girlfriend, Callie, who was between them. "Oh, I don't think she's ready to explode," he said in a low, teasing voice. "Not yet, at least."

  Callie threw out her arms, shaking her head so her blond hair flew around her head. "Okay, so I'm excited - why not? I've been thinking about nothing but this trip for three weeks now, ever since Madeleine and her family came to America."

  "Tell me about it," Joe said sarcastically.

  Callie ignored the remark. "When you've got a foreign pen pal, you don't expect to meet him or her. I knew from Maddy's letters that her father was a French diplomat, but I never expected him to come to Washington. Now I can actually meet my friend, after swapping letters all these years."

  Joe rolled his eyes. "So, Frank, did you know about this mysterious correspondence? Maybe Callie has other pen pals, like a handsome Swede or a soulful Slav with dark gypsy eyes."

  Frank Hardy stretched his six-foot-one frame. "Well, Callie? Have you been two-timing me through the international mail?" The twinkle in his dark eyes showed he was only kidding.

  Callie batted her eyelashes playfully. "I'll never tell."

  The cab made its way along the parkway from National Airport to the city of Washington. As they passed the military cemetery at Arlington, Virginia, they admired the bright spring flowers planted in front of the white stone gateposts. The beautiful landmark meant they were close to the bridge that crossed the Potomac River, separating Virginia from the capital city.

  "This is the way I always think of Washington - everything white and classical," Frank said as they pulled onto the bridge. Even the bridge's safety rail was held up by little white concrete pillars. The joggers and bike riders who swarmed over the bridge, however, weren't dressed in white Roman togas.

  Callie couldn't concentrate on the local scenery. She was much too excited. "I've been writing to Maddy Berot since I was thirteen. She's like a close friend and now I'm finally going to meet her."

  "How are you going to recognize her?" Joe asked.

  "I've got a recent picture in here." Callie began digging through her purse. "Maddy asked me to bring all her old letters. She's kept all of mine. We thought we'd go through them and have some laughs." She kept rummaging through a thick bundle of papers. "Here it is."

  She held up a snapshot of a girl with short dark hair whose smile seemed to leap off the photograph.

  Joe leaned forward for a better look. "Hey, she's pretty," he said. "I'm beginning to feel a lot better about this trip."

  Frank shook his head. "You know, Callie, you could have saved us a whole lot of kicking and screaming from little brother here. All you had to do was show him that picture when you first asked him to come with us."

  "You mean he didn't want to tag along?" Callie spoke with just a bit too much innocence in her voice. "I thought the world-famous Hardy Boys did everything together."

  "Not exactly everything." Frank winked at her.

  "Just when it comes to crime," Joe cut in. The Hardys actually did have a reputation for cracking mysteries and tackling tough crimes. But both Frank and Joe were happy for a rest after their last adventure, Danger Zone. Crime fighting had come a little too close to home when they'd had to rescue their own mother from kidnappers. They were determined that this trip should be just for fun.

  Joe took the photo of Callie's pen pal and studied it. "If Maddy was a crook, I guess I could force myself to romance her to get the necessary information - "

  "Yeah, yeah." Callie shook her head.

  Joe put a hand on his chest. "Come on, Callie, I'm the one who's doing you a favor. I'm being a nice guy and going out with Maddy - "

  "I'll tell you right now, Joe Hardy, I've warned Maddy about you." Callie waved a finger in his face.

  Turning to his brother, Joe just raised his eyebrows. "Hear that, Frank? Callie wrote Maddy and warned her about me. I wonder what those letters say about you?"

  Callie stuffed the photo and letters back in her purse. "You'll never find out," she told them.

  "Maddy and I will go over these later - when we're alone."

  She gave both the Hardys a suspicious look. "In fact, I'm going to leave these letters with Maddy - just so some people won't get the bright idea of snooping in my hotel room. I know how clever you guys are with locks and things."

  Joe fell back against the seat with a pained expression on his face. "I'm shocked and hurt that you'd think Frank is capable of doing such a thing," he said, shaking his head.

  "I wasn't thinking about Frank," Callie told him.

  Pretending to be offended, Joe drew himself up. "Well, I hope Maddy will be nicer to me than you are, but I don't know if she will if you've been poisoning her mind against me."

  "Well, we're here," Callie announced as they passed under the portico of the hotel. It was one of the glistening new brick-and-concrete buildings in the city's northwestern corner. She glanced at her watch. "We should have lots of time to check in and unpack before we head for Maddy's apartment."

  "A brilliant young Frenchwoman," Joe said. "I can feel myself losing my heart already."

  "Well, it may work out - as long as you don't open your mouth," Callie said, a serious note in her voice.

  The doorman rescued Joe by opening the cab door just then. "I'll take care of the bags," Joe said. "You guys go on in and register." Before he got out of the cab, he turned to Callie. "I don't suppose you have anything else you'd like to leave with me - those heavy letters, for instance?"

  Callie laughed. "Keep dreaming."

  A few minutes later the Hardys were in their room, checked in and unpacking their bags. "Another episode of the Joe and Callie Show," Frank said, shaking his head. "You know, you guys argue like an old married couple."

  "I thought we were kidding around," Joe answered, dumping his socks and underwear into a drawer. "Jealous of all the attention Callie pays me?" He grinned. "No worries there. I've got a date with a beautiful French girl. What do you say we enjoy this visit to Washington? It should be a lot better than the last time we were down here."

  Frank nodded. "Quieter, at least." The last time they'd been in Washington, they were attending a counterterrorism seminar. Callie had been involved in a hijacking and had nearly gotten killed before the boys figured out how to get onto the plane to rescue her.

  "You're right, Joe," he said. "This time around, all we have to worry about is you - and whether you make a fool of yourself over Madeleine Berot." They headed out the door and down the hall to the elevator. "I wonder if Monsieur Berot is here for the exhibit of the Lafayette sword."

  "I didn't know he was into fencing," Joe said.

  Frank couldn't believe Joe hadn't heard of the Lafayette sword. "It's an artifact that belongs to the French government. I read about it in the Bayport Times. At the lowest point in the American Revolutionary War, a young French nobleman, the Marquis de Lafayette, came here to help the Americans win. Grateful officers from the Continental Army presented him with a sword with a jeweled hilt or handle."

  "Valuable, huh?" Joe said as they rode down in the elevator.

  "Not just for the gold and jewels," Frank said. "The blade was personally inscribed by George Washington."

  The elevator stopped, and they stepped out to find Callie waiting for them in the lobby.

 
"Ready to go?" She slid her purse strap up onto her shoulder and led the way to the door. "The Berots' place is close enough for us to walk."

  Moving from the air-conditioned coolness of the lobby into the brilliant sunshine outside was like stepping into a warm, humid shower room. Frank paused for a second to catch his breath, but Callie plowed straight ahead, right past the doorman.

  After she stepped from under the hotel portico, Callie turned back to the Hardys to tell them to hurry up. Just at that moment Frank saw a tall, pale man in black jeans, a tight black T-shirt, and sunglasses running behind Callie on the sidewalk. He was aimed right for her - his arm straight out.

  He didn't bump into her. He ran up to her and shoved. Callie tottered for an instant before falling to her knees. The assailant swooped down and reached for her, but not to help her. He helped himself instead.

  Callie's purse was in his hands as he took off.

  Chapter 2

  For a brief second everyone froze. It was like a scene from a bad dream. Callie was down on the ground, the doorman stood staring, and Frank and Joe were rooted in place. The only one moving was the man with Callie's purse - he was halfway down the block.

  Joe broke out first and burst into motion, taking off after the purse snatcher. Frank hurtled forward next, joining the pursuit. Behind them, the doorman blew his whistle, trying to attract a police officer.

  Frank grinned without humor as he heard the shrill blast and kept on running. In his experience, there was never a cop around when you needed one.

  He broke stride as he reached Callie, who had gotten to her hands and knees. His girlfriend waved him on. "Forget about me - get that creep."

  Frank kept on pounding along the pavement, trying to catch up with Joe, who was far ahead now. The man in black, however, was outdistancing them both. He whipped around the first corner, and by the time Joe reached it, the short block to his right was empty.

  Joe didn't slow down, however. He pushed down that street to the next corner, where a street cut across the one he was on. Glancing right then left, Frank caught just a fleeting impression of a figure in black tearing around the far corner.

  "This way," Joe gasped, pointing the way for his brother, who had caught up to him.

  Rounding the next corner, they faced a large boulevard, with a huge open traffic circle beyond. The purse snatcher in black was weaving in and out of the midafternoon crowd. No one said anything to him. He only got a couple of annoyed glances - that was all. The guy moved too quickly for people to focus on him.

  Frank realized that if he yelled the traditional "Stop that man!" people would hesitate a second and the guy would get past. No, they had to continue to chase him - and get him, too.

  There was no place for the thief to hide. Frank and his brother could see around them for about four square blocks.

  "How does this guy think he can lose us here?" Joe said.

  "Maybe he doesn't know the neighborhood either," Frank panted as he kept up the pace.

  The man in black didn't slow down. He darted through unseen gaps in the crowd like a running back on the way to the end zone. Apparently, he did know the area. He zigzagged through the traffic passing around the traffic circle, extending his lead over the Hardys. As they got closer, Frank and Joe saw their quarry run straight for a large concrete structure that looked like a gigantic funnel leading deep into the ground.

  Joe skidded to a halt and turned to a young man walking by. "What's that?" he asked, pointing.

  "Metro station," the passerby answered.

  Frank dashed up at that moment. "The Washington subway - remember?"

  Ahead of them, the purse snatcher was already beginning a broken-field run down the escalator to the train station and platform.

  Joe leaped into the street, paying no attention to the taxi hurtling toward him. The brakes screeched as the cab swerved to another lane. Leaning out the window, the cab driver shouted something in a foreign language.

  Frank took a deep breath and plunged into the traffic, too. It was like playing "chicken" - without a car. He had to dodge around and sidestep a couple of times.

  At last they were across the street and on the escalator. The thief was already at the bottom. Frank and Joe got lots of dirty looks as they jostled their way down to the station lobby.

  "There he is - running through a turnstile," Frank said, pointing.

  Joe jumped the last few yards of the escalator and landed ready to run full tilt for the turnstiles. There he stopped dead, fumbling in his pockets. "How much is the fare?"

  "Hey, kid, you have to go back and get a fare card." One of the regular subway riders pointed over his shoulder to a bank of what looked like vending machines. People were stepping up to them, slipping in coins and bills, and coming away with little computerized cards. Then they slipped the cards through a groove in the turnstile machines to enter the subway system.

  Joe yanked out a handful of change and headed for the machines, but Frank grabbed his arm to stop him. The guy they'd been chasing was heading down another escalator. Below, they could hear a train arriving. "Too late, Joe," Frank said. "We've lost him."

  Frank thought the trip back to the hotel seemed a lot longer than the journey out. Maybe that was because he and Joe had run one way, but were dragging their feet coming back.

  Callie was standing in front of the hotel, where she was talking to a young police officer. He nodded very seriously as he took down her statement in his notebook. From the look on her face, he hadn't given her very much hope. "Did you catch the guy?" she asked eagerly as Frank walked up.

  He shook his head. "He got away into the Metro station a few blocks away."

  The police officer just shook his head. "I'm sorry to say this, but I think your chances of ever seeing that bag - and its contents - are pretty slim."

  Callie's shoulders sagged. Frank went over and put an arm around her. "Are you okay?"

  "I've just got a couple of bruises, but, Frank, all my money for the trip was in that purse!" She shook her head. "I guess I'm lucky that I brought it in traveler's checks, but all of Madeleine's letters were in there, too. I was going to leave them in the hotel, but she called and insisted that I bring them."

  "Speaking of calls, maybe you should get on the phone to the Berots," Frank suggested. "They're probably wondering where we are."

  Callie called and arranged to visit the Berots after she spoke to the desk clerk about replacing her traveler's checks.

  The Berot family had settled in an old-fashioned brick apartment house not far from the hotel. It was an easy walk - now that there were no interruptions. Callie found the name Henri Berot on the intercom, and after a few moments she and her friends were buzzed into the building.

  They arrived on the fifth floor to find an apartment door open and a tall, slim man standing in the doorway. He had thin, sharp features - a hatchet face, Frank's father would have called it - and his graying hair receded at the temples, forming a dramatic widow's peak. "Mademoiselle Shaw?" he said, a brief smile passing across his face. "And these are your friends? I am Henri Berot. Please come in."

  Mr. Berot's smile faded as Callie and the Hardys followed him inside. Joe noticed that he immediately double-locked the door. "I am sorry for your trouble," the diplomat said. "This is a very dangerous city." He frowned. "Such lawlessness. Snatching of purses would not be tolerated back home."

  Frank's eyebrows rose. "Well, Mr. Berot, whole countries can't be judged by looking at one city - or one area. I wouldn't judge France by the fact that it has so many trained gangs of child pickpockets."

  Mr. Berot stiffened, offended. "You are insulting, Mr. Hardy. Has your pocket been picked in France? Your friend was stolen from here. If you think your home is safer, perhaps you should go back there."

  He went on for several moments, his voice rising in anger at the "offense" to his homeland.

  "Some diplomat," Callie whispered.

  "Nice work, Frank," Joe added in a low voice. "We haven't e
ven made it into the living room and you start World War Three - with France."

  They could hardly understand what Mr. Berot was saying, since as his tirade went on he spoke more and more French. Just as he reached the shouting stage, two women appeared from the living room. A blond, middle-aged woman in a plain black dress rubbed her hands together nervously, then took Callie's hands in hers. "I am Sylvie Berot," she said. "And this, of course, is Madeleine - "

  Sailing out from behind Madame Berot came a slim girl in jeans and a black satin baseball jacket. She grabbed Callie by the hands, kissed her on both cheeks, then turned angrily to her father.

  Joe squinted, surprised. Maddy in person was a lot less pretty than her picture. Her voice was also high and whiny as she began arguing with her dad. Joe couldn't understand what they were saying. Both Berots spoke very rapidly in French. He glanced at Callie, who had taken French in school.

  "Maddy's saying something about being tired of staying cooped up in the apartment. She wants to go out with us," she whispered.

  While Callie and the Hardys stood in embarrassment, listening to an obvious argument, Mr. Berot finally turned to Mrs. Berot. She shook her head helplessly. He shrugged and abruptly held out an arm to escort his wife from the room.

  Madeleine watched them go, then turned with a bright smile. "We can go out!" she said. "Callie, you have not introduced your friends."

  "Maddy" - Callie turned to Joe and Frank - "I'd like you to meet - "

  "What is this Maddy?" The smile quickly disappeared from the girl's face. "My name is Madeleine."

  Callie blinked in puzzlement. "But in your letters ... " Her voice trailed off.

  "Hey, Madeleine," Joe tried to fill in. "We're sorry if - "

  The French girl cut him off. "Not Mad - duh - linn," she said, mimicking Joe's pronunciation, making him feel like a real idiot. "It is a beautiful French name." She said it for him. "Madh - lenn."

  "Okay, Modd ... uh, Mah-deh-lenn." Frank watched the color glow in Joe's face as he stumbled over the name. Usually Joe picked up foreign words easily. Frank knew it was the unfriendly audience that made him hesitate now. It didn't help him to like Madeleine any better.