Hostages of Hate Read online

  Frank stopped rubbing his injured shoulder and grabbed left-handed for the gun. Lonnie's cane swept out, sending the pistol spinning away.

  But the grab had been only a feint. While Lonnie was distracted, Frank's right hand had crept painfully into his pocket. It came out with a small spray can.

  As Lonnie brought his cane around again, Frank brought his hand up. His aim was pretty shaky, but the spray did its job. It jetted into Lonnie's face.

  Lonnie screamed, his cane falling to the floor as he brought both hands up to his eyes.

  Frank lurched past him, his own eyes tearing as he passed through the cloud of liquid tear gas. He flicked the switch to the "off" position. Please, don't let it be booby-trapped, he prayed.

  Nothing happened. They didn't blow up.

  But Lonnie did. With a roar, he started flailing his arms around. Even blind, he was a formidable opponent. One of his hamlike fists caught Frank a glancing blow, knocking him to the ground. The little can rolled from Frank's hand.

  Lonnie fumbled around the fuse box, trying to rearm his bomb.

  Then Joe hit him in a flying tackle. They both disappeared behind the desk as Lonnie lost his balance and hit the floor thunderously.

  Frank got to his knees and found the pistol resting on the floor beside him. Picking it up, he started for the desk. "Joe? You okay?"

  "Yeah." Joe reappeared, grinning and brushing dust off himself. "I was lucky. He didn't land on me." He picked up the aerosol can and looked at it curiously. "What is this stuff?"

  "Mace," Frank said. "Something else I bought at the — "

  "Freeze!" bellowed a voice from the doorway.

  Frank turned to find three policemen braced for a fight, their pistols all aimed at him.

  "Drop the gun!" one of the cops ordered.

  Frank opened his hand. The heavy Colt thudded to the floor.

  "All secure," the policeman reported. They parted, and Roger O'Neill, the agent from U.S. Espionage Resources, entered the room. He gave the Hardys a disgusted look. "I don't believe it," he said. Then he called over his shoulder, "You've got to see this."

  Fenton Hardy appeared in the doorway. He didn't look disgusted. Concerned, yes. Upset. And as the boys looked into his eyes, they realized "angry" might be the best description.

  "Urn, hi, Dad," said Joe.

  "I don't know what to say." Fenton Hardy shook his head, disappointed. "I thought we were supposed to be working together, staking out those news offices. Next thing I know, you call me about that Gustave fellow and disappear. We interrogated him, you know. He told me everything — " He began to look angrier. "Everything."

  "Yeah," O'Neill said. "We know how you've been playing junior detective."

  Meanwhile, the policemen had found Lonnie and handcuffed him. O'Neill waved them off impatiently as they approached Frank and Joe.

  Frank tried to explain things to his father. "We had to do something. For Callie. She's trapped on that plane."

  "I understand that," Fenton Hardy said. "But you're not going to save her alone. Don't you think the U.S. government might help?"

  Joe gave O'Neill a sideways glance. "They haven't been much help up to now," he muttered.

  "Boys, I trusted you, and look what's happened."

  Frank's head came up. "Two ANWO agents caught. We've gotten the first break in this case." He glanced over at Agent O'Neill. "While the older and wiser heads were doing nothing." His eyes locked pleadingly with his father's. "We've heard that ANWO has set a twelve-hour deadline for their demands. They'll blow Callie up — "

  Fenton Hardy turned away. "There are one hundred and fourteen lives at stake here, besides Callie Shaw. And your reckless behavior has endangered them all." He sighed. "Agent O'Neill has requested — demanded—that you stop impeding his investigation. He's escorting you to the airport to put you on the first plane back to New York. Then straight on to Bayport. Understand? I'll stay on — "

  "Dad," Frank said, interrupting, his voice low. "If Mom were on that hijacked plane, what would you do?"

  For a long moment, Fenton Hardy didn't answer. Finally, he said, "I - I'd go along with the government." But they all heard the quaver in his voice.

  Agent O'Neill cut in quickly. "Come on, kids, I've got a car for you." He led them out of the office. Fenton Hardy didn't turn around.

  Outside, the whole neighborhood was crawling with uniformed police, carrying rifles and shotguns.

  "Let's clear the way here!" O'Neill shouted, waving his government identification. The cops parted before the magic ID, opening a lane to the big black sedan surrounded by police cruisers. Two men in dark suits and sunglasses got out of the car. They popped to attention when they saw their superior.

  "We're taking these kids to the airport," O'Neill told his associates. "Peterson, you're responsible for getting them on a plane to New York. In fact, you'll fly with them, to make sure they get there." He gave the Hardys a nasty smile. "That way, we won't have any more surprises out of you."

  Peterson opened the rear door, and O'Neill waved the Hardys in. Frank slid across the seat and touched the handle on the far door, with a vague idea of opening it and making a getaway.

  O'Neill seemed to read his mind. "Go on, try it." There seemed to be no lock button, but when Frank pulled on the handle, it didn't give.

  "This is a company car," O'Neill explained. "If you want the back doors to open, the driver has to press a button up front." He nodded to the driver. "Try it now."

  The door opened, but Peterson stood ready to block any escape.

  "Now, stop thinking up silly stunts like that, and let's get going."

  Joe got into the car, then O'Neill joined the two brothers in back. Peterson sat with the driver in the front.

  O'Neill's ID was as effective at clearing away cop cars as it had been at clearing away cops. Frank and Joe sat in silence as the car retraced the route they had taken to reach the Hole - in - the - Wall.

  O'Neill had Peterson busy on the mobile telephone, checking out flights to New York. "We're in luck," he reported. "There's one with seats available, and we should be there fifteen minutes before departure." He gave the Hardys another sour smile. "I'll be glad to have you two out of my hair, even if it means a delay in interrogating that guy we caught in the candy store."

  Frank looked at the government man, then stared out the window. Obviously, O'Neill was never going to forgive Frank for throwing him in the middle of the convention floor.

  "Of course, he may have told you kids something." O'Neill made the comment very offhandedly, studying his fingernails. "Sooo," — O'Neill drew out the word—"if you have anything to tell me, it had better be now."

  He looked at Frank. Frank glanced at Joe.

  "You mean, like secrets and stuff?" Joe said. He managed to make himself sound like a little kid.

  A flash of irritation appeared in O'Neill's eyes, but he managed to keep his temper. "Yeah, something like that."

  "Gosh, no," Frank chirped in. "He was a seasoned terrorist. He'd never give secrets away to a couple of kids."

  O'Neill had had it. "Okay, you two," he snarled. "I see you'll smart-mouth me right to the end. But if I find out you impeded a federal investigation — "

  "Me?" Joe said, the voice of injured innocence.

  "Us?" said Frank, his eyes wide.

  O'Neill bit back the retort he was about to make. He crossed his arms and settled back in his seat.

  It was at that moment that a taxi rammed into the back of their car. O'Neill lurched forward, just managing to get his hands up to brace himself against the front seat.

  He reached into his pocket for his ID card. "He rammed into the wrong car this time!" O'Neill pulled on the door handle. Of course, it didn't open. "Hey, Peterson, open this up. I'm going to talk to this guy."

  Peterson obediently leaned over and hit a button on the console. Frank and Joe glanced at each other. As O'Neill opened his door, Frank operated the handle on his side.

  He waited
till O'Neill was nose to nose with the cabbie, then pushed against the door. It swung open, and they dashed out into the street.

  Chapter 8

  TRAFFIC HEADING FOR the Potomac bridges was heavy. Frank and Joe almost got run over twice before O'Neill realized they were escaping.

  "Hold it!" he yelled.

  Frank had to grin at how easily they had gotten away, but the grin disappeared when he saw Peterson starting to run after them. At least he had to dodge traffic, too, so Frank and Joe had a respectable lead on him.

  "How are we going to lose him?" Joe asked, on the sidewalk now.

  "I have no idea!" Frank responded.

  They ran for a couple of blocks, with Peterson closing the gap. Dodging through the homebound office workers, Joe glanced over his shoulder. "Still there," he puffed.

  Frank was starting to gasp for breath, too. He had a stitch in his side, and the shoulder that Lonnie had clobbered was beginning to throb. But Peterson was still getting closer.

  How do they train those guys? Frank wondered.

  They plowed on, Peterson still gaining. Escape plans ran through Frank's mind. Maybe they could duck into an office building, go out a side exit, and lose him. But what if there weren't any side exits? They'd be trapped. And Frank didn't know the buildings around there.

  Other half-formed schemes floated around in his mind, but nothing really solidified. Frank began to get worried. He could usually come up with some sort of plan.

  Just ahead of him, Joe turned and waved his arm. "This way!" He plunged through an entrance and down an escalator. Frank followed his brother in a broken - field run down the moving steps. Then he knew where they were heading — into a station for the Metro, Washington's subway system.

  Frank brightened. Grabbing a train would be the perfect way to lose Peterson. Of course, they'd have to buck the ticket lines. Unless - Frank shrugged. They were already on the run from the government. What difference would it make if they beat the fares?

  He followed Joe straight to the turnstiles. But Joe didn't take a running jump. Instead, he dug out his wallet and produced a small card.

  When Frank saw the computerized plastic strip on the side, he recognized it as a Metro fare card! Where had Joe gotten it?

  Now wasn't the time to ask. Joe slipped the card into a sensing device, and the turnstile barrier swung open. Then he flung the card back.

  Frank snatched the card in midair, then inserted it. As he ran through the turnstile, he could see Peterson charging up. The government agent was groping in his jacket. Frank went pale. He couldn't be thinking of shooting — not in this crowded space!

  But no, no one was that crazy. Peterson whipped out his own fare card. Frank didn't watch him, though. His attention was on the blinking lights on one of the platforms. That meant an incoming train!

  Behind him, he heard a wild yell. Frank turned to see Peterson tumbling to the ground. He had tripped over a commuter's feet. Frank didn't get a good look at the commuter — he was wearing a gray suit. Could it be? No. The Gray Man couldn't have tailed them.

  Frank joined Joe in the crush on another escalator, heading for the train that was pulling in. They rushed for the doors, managed to squeeze in. The doors hissed closed, just as Peterson reached them.

  He was still pounding on the doors as the train pulled out.

  Joe grinned at Frank. "Lucky I had that old ticket, huh?"

  "Where did you get it?" Frank wanted to know.

  "A souvenir, I guess you could call it. Last time I was down here, I used one of those automated machines to get a fare card. You know— you slip a bill in, push buttons to show how much money goes on the card, and get change."

  Joe shrugged. "I put a five in the machine, but it wouldn't give me any change. So I wound up with five dollars on my card. I didn't use it up, so I held on to it. No machine gets away with cheating me!"

  Frank smiled. "So, when you saw the Metro entrance you knew we could get on."

  "Yeah," said Joe. "The problem is, where do we get off?"

  "Three stops," Frank said, squinting at the system map. "Then we change trains."

  "To throw Peterson off our trail?"

  Frank nodded. "And to head for our next contact."

  Joe looked puzzled and opened his mouth to speak. Then he looked at all the ears around them and shut his mouth.

  A short time later, the Hardys rode an escalator up to the surface again. "Dupont Circle," Frank said. "This is about as close as the Metro comes to where we're going."

  "Which brings up a question. Where are we going?" Joe asked. He followed Frank around a huge traffic circle, then down a block of turn-of-the-century houses. "Pretty nice," he said, looking around. "But we've gone two blocks, and you haven't answered my question yet."

  He sighed. "We managed to get away, but we've got no weapons—unless you count the plastic explosive I wiped off onto my handkerchief. They even took away the can of Mace. We're going up against a bunch of terrorists with machine guns. To top everything off, we're going in blind. We didn't have time to get anything out of Lonnie. We don't know who to see or where to find this Dutchman."

  "If we get the Dutchman, we'll have a hostage ANWO can't ignore," Frank answered. "And Lonnie did tell us about his contact." He grinned. "First of all, Lonnie gave us a name—Pia. A girl's name."

  Joe stared.

  "Remember?" Frank said. "Lonnie said he couldn't help us. We had to see Pia. And we'd have to go to Georgetown. He was just about to give us her number when he heard the sirens."

  "So, we've got a name and a neighborhood— but a pretty big neighborhood. What do you plan on doing, walking the streets and calling her name?"

  Frank smiled. "I'm hoping to cut it down a little bit," he said. "There were two other things Lonnie said. First, he called Pia a good kid. So I guess she'd be young."

  "Okay. What was the other thing?"

  "Lonnie said it would be an easy contact for us. 'You kids.' Those were his exact words."

  "So?" said Joe.

  "So where in Georgetown would you find a lot of kids?" asked Frank. He grinned at Joe's growing understanding. "Right. The university."

  Joe shook his head. "So we've got to check out a whole school."

  Frank clapped Joe on the back. "And if there's a man who can find one girl in a thousand, it's Joe Hardy," he said.

  They stopped off at a used-book store to buy props so they'd look like students, then walked the rest of the way to the university. Nobody bothered them as they found their way to the cafeteria. A few minutes later, Joe was chatting with a cute blond.

  "Hey, Maddie, I can't believe how lucky I was to meet you," he said. "Think you can help me set up my friend here?" He gestured toward Frank, who sat at the far side of their table, looking off into the crowd.

  "I don't know," Maddie said. "He looks cute enough."

  "He's into causes. Any girls around here like that?"

  Maddie shrugged. "I don't know. That's not really my crowd."

  "He's heard about a girl he really wants to meet. Her name is Pia."

  "Oh, her." Maddie's nose wrinkled. "Crazy Pia." She looked at Frank again. "Funny. He doesn't look weird."

  "Weird?" Joe looked puzzled.

  "Well, why would he be interested in somebody like Pia? I mean, she's really crazy. Always talking like the end of the world is coming. She's the Queen of Weird!"

  "Do you know where he could find her? He really wants to meet her."

  Maddie turned to give Frank a long, disbelieving stare, while Frank concentrated hard on looking as weird as possible.

  Finally, Maddie shrugged. "I never see her in classes. Nobody ever does. But I suppose she's in the Student Union. She's usually there, painting signs for weird causes."

  Joe stood up. "Maybe I'll take my friend to go meet her."

  Maddie shrugged again. "Go ahead. But no way am I going to double with her." She grinned and nodded at Frank. "With him, maybe. But not with her."

  Frank prete
nded not to hear, but the color rose in his face. Callie was in horrible danger, and this girl was trying to flirt with him.

  He turned to Maddie and gave her his goofiest smile. "Did I just hear you say you'd like to go out with me? They're having a march to ban chrome on cars. It'll help us save precious natural resources. Maybe you'd like — "

  "Um, I don't think I could make it," Maddie said quickly. "But this girl I know, Pia, would probably love to go. I just told your friend here where you could find her."

  "Great!" said Frank. "If you change your mind — "

  "I don't think so," Maddie said. To Joe, she whispered, "You aren't like that, are you?"

  "Oh no," Joe whispered back. "I like chrome on cars. See you later." He waved goodbye to Maddie. All the way out of the cafeteria, he had to fight a wild urge to break into laughter.

  "Chrome on cars?" he muttered as they walked to the Student Union. "You smooth-talking devil, you!"

  The Student Union was a big underground complex, with lots of places for a sign painter to hang out. Joe and Frank spent a lot of time looking but got nowhere.

  While they talked to one kid who was tuning his guitar, a campus security guard walked by. The Hardys tensed for a second, but the guard walked right past them.

  "I'm looking for Olympia Morrison," the guard said in a loud voice. "Anybody know where she is?"

  "Pia?" One girl pushed back her hair and pointed. "She's over in the corner, painting."

  Joe and Frank both followed her arm. There, in the corner, a girl dressed all in black sat with some pieces of posterboard, painting what looked like slogans.

  She stopped as she became aware of people looking at her. Then she saw the guard. In one fluid movement, she was up and running.

  "Hey, wait!" called the guard. He took a couple of steps forward. But Pia only ran faster.

  "Hey!"

  "What's going on?" The kids in the room were all looking around now.

  The guard just shrugged. "I don't know." He tapped a note in his hand. "The dean just told me to deliver this to her."

  But Frank and Joe hardly paid any attention. They were pushing their way through the crowd, already in hot pursuit.