Passport to Danger Page 10
“Monsieur Ravel,” Frank said, “I am calling as a representative from Victoire. You do not need to know my name. We know everything about you. We know you are the Le Stade saboteur and that the authorities also know this. We also know that you are close to being captured by undercover agents.”
Joe gave his brother the thumbs up sign, and Frank continued. “If you join our cause and work underground as a computer expert for Victoire, we will protect you and hide you from the authorities. We have many safe havens for you to use. You need to make your decision quickly. I am telling you that you have little time left as a free man unless you join with us. Meet with me; you will not be sorry.”
“Le parc des Buttes-Chaumont in one half hour,” Jacques said in a low voice. “The bridge on the west side.” Then he hung up.
The Hardys scrambled for their guidebooks. “Here it is,” Joe said. “It’s in an old quarry.” They studied the book for a few minutes. “Come on,” Joe urged. “We have to beat him there if we can.”
They packed up and left the apartment. The Metro stopped right next to the park. Located in a gigantic excavated gypsum quarry, Parc Buttes-Chaumont was one of the largest parks in Paris. The surrounding neighborhood was called Carrières d’Amérique—American Quarries—because so much of the stone from there went to the United States.
Now Buttes-Chaumont was a canyon with patches of woods, steep cliffs, waterfalls, and caves. Two suspension footbridges swung high above a lake, connecting the outer edge of the park with a tall island butte in the middle of the water. Once the Hardys arrived, they hid in the lush trees near the west bridge.
The moon, having emerged from the clouds, was still nearly full and a bright yellow-white color. It was dark in the surrounding canyon, but the suspension footbridge and the small lake far below could be seen in the light.
The Hardys waited for fifteen minutes, then a half hour, then ten minutes more. “He should have been here by now,” Frank whispered. “He’s late.”
“He’s here,” Joe said. “He’s here somewhere. I just know it. He’s probably hidden in the trees like us, waiting until he sees the Victoire guy.”
There weren’t many people in the park at this late hour. A few couples strolled in the moonlight at the top of the cliffs, and customers drank tea at a café that clung to the wall of the canyon. In the distance, a man rowed a canoe slowly through the moonlight.
“There he is,” Frank said, nodding to the opposite end of the bridge. Jacques stood on the clifflike butte in the middle of the lake.
“We should have both ends of the bridge covered,” Joe said. “That way we can trap him in the middle.”
“Remember, he might be armed,” Frank said.
“So far he hasn’t killed anybody,” Joe reasoned. “And the bridge is out in the open in the moonlight, where everyone can see him. He’s probably not going to try anything extreme out there.”
“Okay, get going,” Frank said. “I’ll give you a few minutes, then start talking to him. But be careful. Dad thinks he might be insane—and I’d agree.”
Joe first backed out of the trees, then started around to the other side of the bridge. Frank couldn’t see his brother, but he watched around the rim of the canyon, visualizing where Joe would probably be.
He also kept his eye on Jacques across the way. Jacques was like a nervous rabbit, standing on the bridge for a few minutes, then ducking back into the foliage, then moving back out on the bridge, then running back into the woods.
When he figured that Joe was more than halfway to the other end of the bridge, Frank was ready. He waited until Jacques made another appearance, then Frank stepped out of his hiding place onto his end of the bridge.
Jacques looked stunned. He then laughed out loud and began walking slowly across the bridge.
Frank scanned the area. Customers were still coming and going at the café, and a few people were strolling along the cliffs or sitting on benches near the edge of the lake. The canoer was still gliding along. Everyone had looked up when Jacques laughed.
“Too many witnesses,” Frank told himself. “He’s not going to try anything here.”
Frank stepped out onto the bridge and walked slowly toward Jacques. Hurry up, Joe, he thought.
• • •
Joe raced through the woods and over to the other side of the bridge. As he snuck up behind Jacques, he saw Frank across the lake.
Joe crouched down behind a flowering shrub and watched for a moment. Frank and Jacques walked slowly toward each other. Jacques patted his pocket a couple of times. He’s trying to indicate that he’s got a weapon, Joe said.
Still crouching, Joe crept toward the bridge. As soon as I step on the bridge, he’s going to feel it, Joe thought. Okay, here goes. He stood up and stepped onto the bridge. It swayed slightly. A few yards ahead, Jacques wheeled around. In the pale light, his eyes looked black, and his face an angry purple.
Joe didn’t give him a chance to think. First he delivered a perfect karate kick on Jacques’s bicep, driving his opponent’s hand away from the loaded pocket. Then he lunged for Jacques, tackling him hard and jamming him to the floor of the swinging bridge.
Jacques twisted his legs out of Joe’s grip and scrambled back to his feet. Frank moved quickly toward them from the other side, his footsteps swaying the bridge. Jacques reached again for his pocket, but Joe landed a strong uppercut to Jacques’s chin.
With a furious aaaangh sound, Jacques leaped straight at Joe, pushing him toward the edge of the bridge. His hands reached forward, fingers curling. Joe felt the thin handrail in his back as Jacques’s fingers closed around his neck. He brought both arms up to break the hold. With a shock, he felt his balance shift as he and his attacker leaned farther over the edge of the bridge.
16 Kickoff!
* * *
Jacques’s fingers tightened around Joe’s neck as the two of them leaned farther off the bridge and out over the lake. Several people from below cried out in horror.
Joe butted his head forward to regain his balance. Then he brought both arms up hard, breaking Jacques’s grip. With a panicked expression, Jacques looked around, then turned toward the end of the bridge from which he started.
But Joe didn’t like that idea. He crouched, spun, and planted another pinpoint karate kick to Jacques’s legs, whipping them out from under him. With a shaking thud, Jacques fell on his face. This was Frank’s cue to meet his brother.
“You okay, Joe?” Frank asked as he handcuffed Jacques to the handrail.
Joe nodded and rubbed his neck. He called his father with the handheld, and Frank carefully took the gun form Jacques’s pocket.
While they waited for Fenton, Frank pumped Jacques for answers. Joe turned on his microphone/recorder for good measure. At first Jacques was belligerent and refused to talk. But when Frank pretended to admire Jacques’s hacking prowess, he started to open up.
“Yes, I broke into the computer program of the Macri Magnifico fireworks company,” Jacques bragged. “I changed the trajectory of more than one firework. And the changes were brilliant. My only regret is that the results were wasted on the rehearsal. How much more fun it would have been with a packed house of a hundred thousand.”
“You almost got your wish,” Frank said. “They were set to do the fireworks the next night.”
“Yes, and the changes in the computer programs are still there,” Jacques said, smiling. He had dropped the surly attitude. “But I was so sure they’d cancel the fireworks for the opening ceremonies that I hacked into the night lighting system.”
“Sort of overkill, don’t you think?” Joe observed. “When the lights exploded, the fireworks display was postponed again.”
“Yes, but it also postponed the tournament for a while,” Jacques said, “which was an unexpected benefit.”
“But it’s back on now,” Joe said. “We report at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”
“If you dare,” Jacques responded. He smiled at Joe.
&nbs
p; “And what does that mean?” Joe asked.
“I think maybe Jacques is hinting at other surprises he’s plotted,” Frank said.
“There’s one thing I can’t figure out,” Joe said. “What’s in this for you, Jacques? What are you getting out of it?”
Jacques stopped grinning and pulled up straight. “I’m the best there is,” he said. “The reigning king of computing in Paris—maybe in all of France! It was time for advancement. Time to widen my reputation. I know I’m one of the premier hackers in the world. It’s time the rest of the international community knew it.”
“And what better venue could you have to show off your skills,” Joe pointed out, “than an international event in a world capital?”
“What about Coach Sant’Anna?” asked Frank. “You’re the one who attacked him, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am,” Jacques answered. “First I needed a diversion for the police and stadium guards. Something to keep them occupied while I sabotaged the fireworks. Plus it was fun setting up old Magnificent Montie,” he added. “It wasn’t at all difficult to make everyone think he was the culprit.”
“Did you knock out Coach Sant’Anna and then lure Coach Roberts to the locker room?” Joe asked, leading the witness.
“Yes,” Jacques nodded. “And I even hoped to make a little cash on the deal. I intended to blackmail Montie by pretending to discover him with Sant’Anna’s body. I figured he’d pay me to keep quiet. He’s been in so much trouble, it won’t take many more incidents to ensure that he’s banned from the sport for life. I wasn’t counting on you arriving to disrupt my little side deal,” he said to Frank.
“So you’re the one who popped in and then slammed out right after I got there,” Frank said.
“That’s right,” Jacques said.
“What about this?” Frank took the golden walnut charm from his pocked and showed it to Jacques.
“You found it,” Jacques said. “Oh… that’s what you were talking about yesterday when you gave me that little assignment. Having me interview Montie and ask him if he’s misplaced anything—that was a little test. I wondered why the police hadn’t mentioned it; it’s because you found it.”
“Did you drop it at the Macri Magnifico compound?” Joe asked.
“Yes,” Jacques said. “I had to keep the heat on Montie, so I stole it from him and dropped it near the fireworks compound.”
“How did you figure this all out?” Jacques asked. “How did you know it was me?”
Frank told him about catching all the lies. “The clincher was you telling us that Isabelle had called to set up a meeting tonight,” he concluded.
“I went to Isabelle Genet’s house this afternoon,” Joe said. “I found her in the trunk.”
“I guess this means that all my traps have been sprung,” Jacques said with a grin. “Looks like everyone’s free again.”
“Everyone but you,” Joe said.
Jacques looked out over the lake. “Isabelle was very useful as a diversion for a while,” he added, “she and that motley crew Victoire…. But she’d begun to get in the way. She has some plans up her sleeve, you know. I’m not the only guilty party.”
“We’re on it, thanks,” Frank said.
“She and her whole gang of ruffians had thoroughly outlived their usefulness to me,” Jacques said. “It was time to send them all a little warning. Le Stade is my turf; they need to find their own playground.”
“What about Dad?” Joe asked. “What’s with that?”
“I grant you, kidnapping your father seems to have been a mistake,” Jacques said. “I knew about the security symposium, of course. I accessed some of the records, although I haven’t been able to get into the really juicy ones yet. I saw his name on the invitation list, so I knew he was in town.”
Jacques shrugged his shoulders. “It was just a matter of time,” he said. “I had the feeling you two were getting close to figuring out my real identity and purpose. I assumed your father would know next, and then the entire symposium. Grabbing him was a spur-of-the-moment decision. I knew he would be great bait for you two, and I thought I could tuck you all away in Les Catacombes—for a long time.”
“Someone talking about me?” Fenton asked. He stepped onto the bridge and was followed by several men and women.
“Looks like my sons have done the hard work here,” Fenton said with a proud smile. “You two don’t mind if we take over the cleanup?”
“Be our guest,” Frank said, grinning. “We’ll see you later.”
Jacques was placed under arrest and taken away by Fenton and the others.
Frank and Joe grabbed some savory crepes on the way home. Once they got to the apartment, they took their food to the kitchen. They were still eating when Fenton arrived.
“You did a great job, guys,” he said, sitting down to join them. “Not only is Jacques under wraps, but we’ve rounded up some of the Victoire people too.”
“Starting with Gaston, I hope,” Joe said, remembering the dogs he aggravated at Bergerac’s estate.
“Yes,” Fenton nodded. “And Isabelle Genet is improving, so we’ll be able to begin questioning her tomorrow. Some heavyweights in international security are also going to talk to Bergerac.”
“Jacques hinted that he still has bugs in some of the computer programs at Le Stade,” Frank said.
“He was bragging about that to us, too,” Fenton said. “Until our own techie can find and undo all his dirty work, the tournament has been moved to le parc des Princes stadium across town. You report there with the other volunteers at nine tomorrow morning,” he said, checking his watch, “which gives you not nearly enough time to sleep! Welcome to the world of detectives, right? Good night.” With their father’s parting works, Frank and Joe decided to call it a night.
• • •
Sunday morning was a beautiful day for soccer. When the Hardys arrived at the tournament’s new venue, they were greeted with a rousing cheer. Everyone had read about their daring capture of Jacques Ravel in the morning tabloid. And this time they were all grateful—even Montie Roberts.
“Great job, guys,” he boomed, clapping both Hardys on the back with his big hands. Frank reached into his pocket and pulled out the golden walnut charm. He handed it to Montie, who responded with a punch of gratitude on Frank’s shoulder.
Even Coach Sant’Anna was back on the field. He was in a wheelchair, but he was ready to get back to work. “We are all in your debt,” he told the Hardys.
“Hey, we just followed the rules of soccer,” Frank pointed out. “Fight for the advantage, call the fouls when you see them, defend yourself against a breakaway—”
“And keep the ball in play until you score,” Joe added with a grin.
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
First Aladdin Paperbacks edition June 2003
Copyright © 2003 by Simon & Schuster, Inc.
ALADDIN PAPERBACKS
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The text of this book was set in New Caledonia.
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Library of Congress Control Number 2002115454
ISBN 0-689-85779-9
ISBN-13: 978-1-44247-233-4 (eBook)