The Lazarus Plot Read online

  Instantly the Hardys turned to the work at hand. They took firm holds on their shovels, turned, bent down, and dug deep into the black earth. Then they straightened up, with their shovels carrying full loads.

  "Maybe you will be rewarded for your labors. Maybe they will plant roses over you so that your blood will nourish beautiful blossoms. You will become what in the sixties they used to call flower children," said Henri, chuckling at his own grisly joke.

  "It's a pity this has to end so fast - playing cat and mouse with you has been fun," added Jacques, smiling, too.

  "Yeah, a pity," said Frank. "I'd much rather be the one who has the last laugh."

  Praying that Joe interpreted his raised voice as a cue, Frank flung his shovelful of dirt at Jacques, who was nearest to him.

  His prayer was answered.

  Joe's shovelful of dirt smacked Henri in the face at the same moment that Frank's hit Jacques.

  Both Hardy boys followed up instantly, coming out of their holes with raised shovels. They smashed the shovels down on the Assassins' skulls with equal force-and with equal results.

  Frank and Joe stood side by side, catching their breath and looking down at the two knocked-out killers at their' feet.

  "Good thinking," Joe said.

  "Good thinking yourself," replied Frank.

  "Now what?" asked Joe.

  "Now we have to move fast," said Frank. "We have to catch up with our doubles, and that'll be hard. We can be sure that they've already checked out the information about the Network connection; otherwise the clinic wouldn't have decided that they were finished with us. I wonder how long we were knocked out."

  Joe bent down and took a watch off Henri's limp wrist. As he had hoped, it was a calendar watch. "We've been out for a whole day," he said. "No wonder I'm starved." Then he grinned and added, "Of course, action like this always gives me an appetite. What I'd do for a burger and some fries right now. Or maybe a double thick shake."

  "You'll have to forget about food," said Frank. "We have to figure out what to do with these two bozos. Then we have to figure out how to escape."

  Joe looked down at the two Assassins. "I've got an idea. They were talking about planting bombs. Instead, we'll plant them."

  Frank nodded, "Right. But before we do, let's change clothes with Jacques and Henri. That way we might be able to get past any guards at the gate, which will save us the time of trying to tunnel under the fence. And we need to save all the time we can."

  "Let's get to work on these holes," said Joe, grabbing his shovel again.

  Twenty minutes later, Joe and Frank were in the Assassins' hunting clothes, and the Assassins were in the Hardy boys sweat suits. The two killers, bound and gagged, were also in dirt up to their necks. All they could do to express their feelings was make faint noises while their eyes bulged with fury. "Bye now," said Joe, picking up one of their rifles. "I hope this doesn't get you in trouble with your bosses. I'd hate to think of you spending the next few years cleaning dirty weapons and stuff like that."

  "I hope the guards at the gate don't check us too closely," said Frank, picking up the other rifle. "I don't want to have to shoot my way out of any tight spots."

  "Risk is the name of the game," said Joe cheerfully as he headed toward the gate.

  For what seemed like the millionth time in their adventures, Frank had to shake his head at his brother's enthusiasm for taking on danger.

  On the other hand, Frank had to admit to himself, life would be pretty dull without the kick of overcoming odds.

  For instance, when they reached the gate and gave the guard stationed there a casual wave, and in turn were waved through by him, the surge of triumph and relief made the jittery sensation beforehand worthwhile.

  Unfortunately, the feeling of triumph lasted only as long as it took them to reach their camping site.

  By the time they arrived, after a half-hour of jogging along the overgrown forest trail in their heavy hunters' boots, they were breathing hard. By now the eastern sky was brightening with the first hint of dawn. Joe looked at where their tent and equipment had been, Shook his head, and said, "They've cleaned out everything. They didn't leave a trace that we had ever been here."

  "I guess we should have expected this," said Frank. "Let's check out' the station wagon, though I've got a strong hunch what we'll find."

  He was right. The spot where they had parked the station wagon was empty.

  "What now?" asked Joe, still looking regretfully at where the station wagon had been. "Two months of hard work on the engine and a new paint job down the drain."

  "We need wheels. We have to get back to Bayport fast," said Frank. "That's where our doubles must have gone-to access the Network on our computer. We have to try to catch up with them before they use it. And if we can't do that, we have to alert the Network before our doubles pull off whatever dirty trick they're planning."

  Joe wiped his dripping forehead. Already the chill of the Maine night was wearing off as the sun cleared the horizon. It was shaping up to be a scorcher. "It feels like we're chasing our own shadows," he said, looking down the deserted blacktop road. "Let's make it to town and see if we can rent a car there," said Frank. "Good thing Henri and Jacques had wallets stuffed with cash. I guess the Assassins don't believe 'in credit cards." Frank started jogging down the road. "Come on. It can't be more than a six-mile run."

  Joe jogged beside him, matching him step for step, even though Frank kept pushing up the pace.

  "Aren't you glad now I made you go on all those training runs with me last winter?" Frank asked his brother.

  "Give me sprinting any time," panted Joe. "Or at least give me a pair of running shoes. I think somebody slipped lead into the soles of these boots."

  Thirty-five minutes later, Joe spotted the general store where they had bought their shovels.

  There should be a crowd cheering us on-like at the end of the Boston Marathon," Joe said, gasping for air. "I could use some encouragement about now." “Come on, slowpoke," said Frank, pushing up the pace still more. "Let's just hope that we find someone up this early."

  Fortunately, the storekeeper kept country hours. He was sitting in a rocking chair inside his store, sipping coffee. "Morning, young fellows," he said. "Back so soon?"

  "Seems so” said Frank carefully. He gave his brother a warning glance not to say anything more, just in case the storekeeper wasn't talking about them, but about their doubles.

  Joe nodded almost imperceptibly. He got the message. "What happened, your car break down?" said the storekeeper. "I told you that old heap couldn't be trusted when I filled it up with gas yesterday. You should have listened to me and taken my price for it and that car rental deal I offered you."

  "Yeah, I have to admit, you were right," said Frank, thinking fast. "It gave up the ghost just ten miles from here. Some local farmer bought it for junk and put us up in his barn for the night. As soon as it got light, we hiked back here to take you up on that car rental."

  The storekeeper looked the Hardy boys over and said, "A little ten-mile stroll, and you boys are sweating like that? Why, when I was your age, I could do that without breathing hard. Trouble with young folks today, you don't take care of yourselves. "

  "Right," said Joe, grinning. "I plan to turn over a new leaf. But at the moment, I'm not in shape to make it home by foot. About that car rental you mentioned?”

  "Come with me," said the storekeeper, getting out of his rocking chair.

  He led them out of the general store and down the single main street of the tiny town. They reached a car rental agency, and the storekeeper unlocked its front door and ushered them inside. Then he put on a cap with lettering that read We Aim to Serve You Better for Less, and said, "Now, what model do you want?" "The fastest you have," said Frank.

  “‘Fraid that's going to cost you quite a bit," said the storekeeper. "Now, for a lot less I can give you our special wreck-of-the-week bargain, guaranteed to get you there" or your money back."
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  "We'll still take the fastest," said Frank.

  The storekeeper's face was torn between the pleasure of making a nice profit and the pain of seeing money squandered. "Well, I reckon it's your money," he said with a shrug. "What'll it be, American Express, Visa, or MasterCard?"

  "We're paying in cash," Frank said, pulling out a wallet bulging with hundred-dollar and fifty dollar bills.

  "Sorry about that," said the storekeeper. “‘Fraid I can't take cash. Against the franchise company's rules."

  "Look, we'll pay extra," said Joe, pulling out a stuffed wallet from his pocket.

  "Rules are rules," said the storekeeper, shaking his head. Then he looked at the bulging wallets in the Hardy boys' hands while his tongue worked itself thoughtfully around in his mouth. “‘Course, I happen to have a car I just might be willing to sell you. . ."

  A half an hour later, the Hardy boys were rolling down the highway in a 1955 Buick Roadmaster, with tail fins that seemed to reach halfway to the sky.

  "I hope this will make it to Bayport," said Joe at the wheel, pressing down as hard as he dared on the accelerator.

  "Good thing we still have some cash left," Frank pointed out. "We're going to have to stop at every gas station on the way. This car must get about a hundred yards to the gallon."

  It was early afternoon and ten refueling stops later, when the car engine wheezed to a stop. But by that time it had done its job. The Hardy boys were just four blocks from home.

  They climbed out and pushed the car to the curb. Joe gave it a quick final look. "This baby is going to keep me busy for at least five months."

  Just then a voice behind them said, "Man, Joe, don't you ever get enough?"

  Frank and Joe turned and saw their pal Chet Morton. He was grinning at them, his mouth stained brown from the chocolate triple-dip ice cream cone in his hand.

  "Just this morning you drove by in that ancient station wagon of yours," said Chet. "Now you've got another antique. What you plan to do, open up a museum?" Frank and Joe exchanged quick glances.

  "It was a bargain, I couldn't resist it," said Joe. "Hey, you guys want to go to the pizza parlor with me?" asked Chet.

  "Some other time," said Joe. "We've got a couple of things to do right now. Anyway, what about that diet you were going on?"

  "Like you said, some other time," replied Chet. "I've got things to do, too, like try the new peppers-and-pepperoni special." Chet patted his ample stomach with anticipation, gave a goodbye wave of his hand, and headed for lunch.

  "So our doubles arrived here this morning," said Frank. "Let's make it home fast."

  But they had covered only a block when they were stopped again. It was Frank's girlfriend, Callie Shaw.

  "You're still in town?" Callie said. "When I saw you a couple of hours ago, you said you had to make some kind of trip, so we couldn't see each other tonight. And why on earth have you and Joe put on those hunting outfits?" There was a hurt look in her eyes. "I know you're involved in a lot of mysterious activities, but you've let me in on them before. What's the matter, don't you trust me anymore?"

  "Look, Callie, I promise I'll explain everything as soon as I can," said Frank. "But not now, okay?" "If that's the way you want it," Callie said, and turned on her heel and strode away.

  "Sometimes I wonder what you see in her," said Joe. "Every time we get a case, she wants to horn in."

  "You've got to be kidding," said Frank. "I wouldn't mind Callie's help right now, except I can't see how anybody but ourselves can help us out of this mess. I'm getting more and more jittery thinking about what we're going to find out at home."

  "Too bad Dad's not around," said Joe. "He could help us."

  But Fenton Hardy, the-great detective who was the boys' father, was away with their mother, Laura Hardy, on a well-deserved Hawaiian vacation.

  The only one at home was the Hardy boys' aunt Gertrude.

  When she saw the boys come in, a worried look appeared on her face - a not uncommon occurrence. The smallest thing could set off alarm bells inside Aunt Gertrude-and her nephews provided unending sources of concern.

  "What happened?" she asked. "Some kind of trouble? You raced out of here just a few hours ago without a word of explanation. And now you're back, wearing different clothes." "No trouble," Frank assured her as he headed for the stairs to his room.

  "Just a little change of plans," Joe added, and followed Frank up the stairs, three steps at a time.

  Frank and Joe went straight to Frank's room.

  "We've got to warn the Network," said Joe as Frank warmed up his computer. "It's a shame we had to ditch that scrambler radio they gave us."

  The Hardys had had to leave the radio behind while being pursued through the Adirondack Mountains by followers of the Cult of Crime.

  "There's still the computer modem," Frank said, tapping the code numbers on his keyboard. But the screen went blank.

  "What the - ?" he burst out, opening up the computer's case. Then his face got bleak. "The modem is gone. Our twins must have used it and taken it with them."

  "Then we have no way to get in touch with the Network," said Joe.

  Frank nodded. "Not by electronic connection-and certainly not in person. If only they trusted us enough to let us know where their headquarters are - ?"

  His voice trailed off as the computer's disk drives began whirring. "Hey, I didn't start any programs.”

  "Get back!" yelled Joe as the computer went up in a blinding flash.

  Chapter 9

  FRANK'S CHAIR TOPPLED as he threw himself backward. He hit the floor hard, then rolled to his feet.

  Joe charged the rogue computer with Frank's bedspread in his hands, ready to smother any fire.

  But Frank had already reached the wall and pulled the plug, with a sizzle of electricity, the computer died down.

  The Hardys stared at the smoldering wreck.

  "Looks like our twins didn't just steal the modem. They set up a nasty surprise if anybody tried to use it." He waved away a thin wisp of smoke. "Even if they didn't nail me, they certainly nailed my computer.”

  "Maybe the Network will give you a new one," suggested Joe.

  Frank's face was grim. "Yeah, If we could get in touch with them." He slammed his fist against his palm in frustration. "If we just had a clue to where they are."

  "It's the Gray Man's fault," said Joe angrily. "He should have told us where to find him, instead of keeping us at arm's length, like we were a couple of kids who'd spill the beans at the drop of a hat."

  "The trouble is, he wasn't so wrong," said Frank. "After all, we did give the Lazarus goons the information they wanted."

  "You mean I did," said Joe. "Okay, I admit it, so don't rub it in. But I'm not apologizing. I'd do it again, if it meant saving Iola. If that makes me a wimp, then I'm a wimp."

  "Nobody's blaming anybody, and nobody's calling anybody a wimp," said Frank, putting his hand on his brother's shoulder. Frank sometimes got mad at Joe, but when it came to a pinch like this, he wasn't going to see Joe hurt. "Let's not worry about water under the bridge. We have to worry about what happens now."

  "What happens now is we stare at your computer and it stares back at us and," Joe shrugged and said, "We're beat."

  But Frank wasn't about to throw in the towel. "When you're stumped by a problem, it means you have to look at it from another angle," he said. "We have to stop looking at this useless computer and look in other directions, starting with going through this room."

  Joe shook his head. "What do you figure we'll find? Think our doubles left us a note telling us where they were going?"

  Suddenly Frank said in an excited voice, "They just might have. Take a look at this." He was examining a notepad on his desk.

  Joe hurried over, took a look, and then said with disgust, "Come on, Frank, this is no time for kidding. That's nothing but blank paper."

  "You know how I like to keep my desk neat as opposed to yours," said Frank. "That's putting it mildly," said Jo
e. Frank's desk was always a model of efficient organization, while Joe's looked like the aftermath of a tornado.

  "This notepad is out of place, sitting here in the middle of the desk," said Frank. "One of our doubles must have used it." "So what?" said Joe. "He took whatever he wrote with him."

  "Let's see if he did," said Frank. Without explaining further, Frank emptied his pencil sharpener onto his desktop.

  Joe leaned forward to watch. This had to be important, if Frank was soiling his precious work space.

  Ignoring the shavings of wood, Frank took a pinch of graphite powder between his thumb and forefinger and sprinkled it on the notepad. Then he shook the notepad very gently, the way gold prospectors used to shake their pans when hunting for gold in streams, to separate grains of precious metal from the silt.

  "Pay dirt!" Frank exclaimed, peering down at the paper.

  The paper was no longer blank. The graphite dust had settled in indentations in the paper made when something had been written on the paper above it. .

  "Now if we can just read it," Frank said, squinting hard. What he saw was: 7864 9 St.

  "And then there's a couple of letters," he added.

  Joe peered at the paper, his eyes straining to make out the faint black markings. "There's an S and an E."

  "That's it. Seventy-eight sixty-four Ninth Street, Southeast. We've got it!" said Frank triumphantly.

  "One little problem," said Joe. “We know the number, we know the street, but we don't know the city."

  "But we can make a good guess," said Frank. “Washington, D.C., is the only city I know that has addresses like that. Its streets are designed to form concentric circles, and they're divided into different compass points."

  "Anyway, it makes sense that the Network is located there," said Joe eagerly. "What are we waiting for? Let's go!"

  “Let's do one thing first," said Frank, grabbing Joe's arm before he could dash out the door.

  “What?" said Joe. ”We’re wasting time."

  "Let's change clothes," said Frank. "We want to keep a low profile, and I kind of think that two guys in hunting clothes, carrying Remington hunting rifles, might attract a tiny bit of attention boarding the New York-Washington shuttle."