Passport to Danger Read online

  “We can’t,” Frank said. “It’s too risky. We don’t know what Isabelle Genet really has in mind. If she’s on the level and we bring someone along unannounced, she might get suspicious. If she’s trying to trap us, we need to travel light. Adding Jacques to the mix could put us in jeopardy.”

  “I hear you,” Joe said. “And I say we pack up some more of the symposium stuff, just in case.”

  They went to their dad’s room and checked through the samples of spy gear and surveillance equipment that he had collected so far. They each packed a pair of folding night goggles, and Frank chose a voice alterer.

  Then they both grabbed a powerful, twenty-first-century device. “Man, these handhelds are way cool,” Joe said, holding one of the black devices in his hand. It looked like a cross between a cell phone and a handheld computer. He checked some of the features.

  “Okay, it’s a phone, of course,” he told Frank. “But look. This clicks on the computer. And you can access the Internet like this.” He played with the device for a few more minutes.

  “You take photos here,” he explained, “and you can store them or download them to another computer.”

  “How do you set up the GPS?” Frank asked. “The global positioning system.”

  Joe tried a few buttons. “There. See?” He demonstrated for Frank. “Now it’s on, and this toggles it off. Dad said we can locate and track one another from anywhere to anywhere.”

  “And it works underwater or underground,” Frank added.

  “Right,” Joe said. “But remember, these are only prototypes. So all the bugs might not be out of them yet. We can’t fully depend on them.”

  “Okay,” Frank said, packing his handheld away in his backpack. “Let’s go.”

  They had a few hours before the meeting with Isabelle, so they decided to get in a little sightseeing. They took the Metro to the Arc de Triomphe and walked up the stairs to the observation deck on top for a panoramic view of Paris. Then they walked the Champs-Elysées back toward the Tuilleries, a large park bordering one end of the Louvre complex.

  Halfway along the avenue, they stopped for croque-monsieurs—a popular French sandwich—and pommes frites. Then they continued along the Seine to the Louvre. As planned, they arrived an hour early.

  They walked across the vast courtyard, surrounded on three sides by the huge former palace. They stepped into the clear glass pyramid that sat like a pointed spaceship in the middle of the courtyard. It was like walking into the middle of a prism. They bought their entrance tickets and then rode the escalator down to the underground reception area of the museum.

  They stood in the large open room under the glass pyramid and surveyed their position. Gift shops, restaurants, and snack bars surrounded them. Steps led from the lobby into different wings specializing in certain periods or types of art. Crowds of people moved from the exhibits to the shops to the food and back to more exhibits.

  “This is even bigger than I thought,” Joe said.

  The Hardys walked into the Denon Wing, which housed the famous sculpture of Winged Victory. They found the sculpture immediately. The huge headless body seemed about to launch itself from its pedestal and soar out over the large sweeping staircase beyond.

  Isabelle hadn’t arrived yet, so they wandered through some of the enormous exhibition areas. Occasionally smaller rooms led off the main larger spaces. “We don’t have nearly enough time really to go through this wing,” Frank said. “Let’s just do the best we can.”

  “Whoa, ahead at two o’clock,” Joe said, nudging Frank to look up ahead and to the right.

  Frank looked up and saw a young man with a camera around his neck. The man was standing against the wall, scanning the crowd.

  Joe stepped behind a column and Frank followed. “That’s the Victoire guy I taped yesterday in the Conciergerie,” Joe told his brother. “He’s the one that jumped me and tried to steal my bag!”

  “Isabelle’s probably not far behind,” Frank said. “I don’t think he saw us. Let’s wait until he makes a move.”

  They waited about ten minutes. Joe kept the man in sight as Frank looked in both directions for Isabelle. Finally the man stepped away from the wall and started moving away from the Hardys.

  Frank and Joe followed the man at a safe distance. When they saw him pause for a minute, they stopped and looked at a painting on the wall. When he stepped forward again, he turned quickly and ducked through an arch into one of the smaller side rooms.

  The Hardys walked quickly toward the room into which the man had disappeared. They stepped inside. The room was a medium-size rectangle, about thirty feet long and twenty feet wide. The bottom half of each wall was paneled with rich mahogany wood. On the upper half of the walls hung magnificent Renaissance oil paintings in elaborately carved gold frames.

  Mounted in the middle of the room was a large statue of three larger-than-life-size figures. Only two other people were in the room. They were gazing up at an elaborate mural on the ceiling.

  Joe instinctively noted the location of a security camera. The red light on the camera was off. Then he glanced quickly around the room, his gaze stopping briefly on every face. “He’s gone,” he whispered to Frank. “He came in here, but he didn’t go back out. He totally disappeared!”

  10 Without a Trace

  * * *

  “The Victoire guy came in, he never went back out, and he’s not here,” Joe said, scanning the room once. “Poof—gone!” Joe walked along one wall, brushing his hand against the wood paneling. “He must have gone into one of those hidden passages behind the wall. That has to be how he disappeared. Now if we can just find the secret door.”

  “Watch it,” Frank whispered. The Hardys both looked toward the entrance to the room. Under the arch stood a museum guard, looking their way. “Let’s go for now,” Frank added. “I don’t want to stand out. We can come back later.”

  “If I could just hang out here after hours,” Joe whispered as they left the room, “I’d definitely find out where that guy went. Did you notice the camera?”

  “It looks as if it’s been disabled,” Frank noted. “Probably by the Victoires. Come on,” Frank said when they were back in the main gallery. “There’s Isabelle.”

  “I’ve been looking for you,” Isabelle said. She had abandoned her camouflage outfit for this meeting and was dressed in jeans and a bulky black turtleneck. “You weren’t by La Victoire, as we’d decided.”

  The Hardys greeted Isabelle. “There are too many distractions,” Frank told her. “This museum is excellent.” The three strolled through the galleries as they talked.

  “Mmmmmm,” she said, nodding. “So you want to start a Victoire in America. Do you think you will find enough people to make it a real organization? Where is your home base?”

  “We’re on the East Coast,” Frank said, “but we would want to make it a national organization. How old is Victoire? Did you start it yourself?”

  “Oui,” she said. “I started Victoire almost one year ago. And it was not easy. It still is not easy. Our anniversary is coming up. It is time to make the world listen.”

  “We’ll help—when we start our own group,” Joe said. “Whatever it takes, right? It’s worth it for the cause.”

  “Hmmmm,” Isabelle said, stopping to turn toward Joe. “Do you really mean that? How long will you be in town? We might be able to use you two as allies. We have some plans in mind. Perhaps you’d like to be sworn in as Victoire deputies and help us.”

  “What have you got in mind?” Frank asked.

  “Well…” Isabelle paused a moment, then resumed strolling through the gallery. The Hardys fell into step beside her. “Let’s just say that we intend to make our mark on this city,” she said.

  “Now would be a good time,” Frank pointed out. “The tournament going on, lots of visitors and tourists here.”

  “Exactly my thoughts,” Isabelle said. “Paris is always a hostess for travelers and sightseers, but now is an even more sp
ecial time. It is like when we hosted the World Cup a few years ago. Many new people, many new minds to reach for our cause.”

  “So you’re concentrating on Le Stade?” Frank guessed. “Something like the attention-getting events that have already been happening over there?”

  Isabelle paused again and this time she studied Frank’s face. Again he got the feeling she was reading his mind. And he also knew this was one scary woman. He made himself give her a big grin, and then nodded as if they were coconspirators.

  Then it was as if an invisible curtain dropped between them. She seemed to be bored with the conversation and distracted, eager to get away. And when she spoke, she no longer sounded casual and friendly. She used a very formal tone.

  “I will think about what we’ve discussed and get in touch with you if I decide that you can help us,” she said.

  “Don’t forget that we would like your help too,” Frank said.

  “Ah, yes,” Isabelle replied, “to start your own organization. Well, we will see. This interview is over for now.”

  She turned and strode away. Frank noticed that she still wore her combat boots.

  “That is one spooky lady,” Joe said as they watched her turn a corner.

  “I had that same thought a few minutes ago,” Frank agreed. “I want to follow her and see what happens next.”

  “Go for it,” Joe said. “I’ll hang back here. I want to go back to the room where her henchman vanished. I know I can find the trigger that opens that secret door.”

  “Check your handheld,” Frank said. In an isolated corner, they made sure their watches and handhelds were synchronized. “If we don’t hook back up before, I’ll meet you at closing time down in the reception area.”

  “Great,” Joe said. “Good luck.”

  “You, too,” Frank said, moving toward the corner where Isabelle had turned.

  Joe casually meandered back to the room he had started to navigate earlier. There were a few more people in the smaller room, but the guard had moved on. He checked the security camera and was relieved to see it was still turned off. Joe walked slowly around the room, studying the wood paneling. Each wall had several panels that looked a little less than two feet wide. Each panel had a decoration in the top and bottom corners: a small square of wood.

  There’s probably a sliding mechanism, he thought. Maybe one of those small squares in the paneling moves to the side and trips the latch on the other side of the wall. Joe turned to face the room, as if he were looking at the center statue. Then he reached behind his back with one hand and began running his fingers over the small squares of wood.

  Keeping his eye on the other visitors, Joe worked his way slowly around the room. Occasionally he pretended to drop his visitors’ guide so he could crouch lower. While one hand picked up the guide, the other checked the bottom corners of the paneling for the secret latch.

  When he reached the corner of the room, he stood still for a moment. His hands behind his back, he inched his fingertips along the wall. Wait a minute, he thought. His right hand retraced the last square he had touched. There’s something different about this one. It’s thicker. It sticks out farther from the wall.

  He pushed at the edge of the small square. Still facing out, his hands behind his back, he tried to see the small square of wood in his mind as he worked. He pushed the edge of the square to the right, then to the left, then to the right again. Nothing.

  Then he moved his fingers to the bottom of the square and pushed up. At first it didn’t budge. Smiling at a young woman who was leaving the room, he tried to push the square up again. At last he felt the wood give. It slid upward and he heard a quiet click.

  The left side of the panel behind him gave way slightly, just enough for him to feel it. For a second he thought he smelled something old and musty. He held his breath, not daring to move. Okay, it’s open, he thought. Now what?

  He turned to face the wall and looked down at the panel. It extended from the floor to about halfway up the wall, and the whole left side looked as if it had caved in slightly along the edge. While the left side leaned away slightly, the right side was sticking out a little bit. Suddenly this made sense to Joe. It revolves, he thought.

  He turned back around. There were only three people in the room with him, and they were all men who looked like they were in their thirties. A guard stood not far away in the main gallery. He was a different guard from the one who’d been there before.

  Okay, Joe told himself. Time to rumble. He took a deep breath and then he yelled.

  “My wallet!” Joe called out. “That man took my wallet!”

  The three men in the room with him jumped when he yelled. The guard rushed over to Joe and asked in heavily accented English, “What did you say? What happened?”

  “That man!” Joe said loudly. “Did you see him? He ran right by you. Wild, long red hair.” Joe ruffled his own hair, and then gestured down his chest. “And a long red beard. Bright red. You couldn’t have missed him!”

  As he talked Joe led everyone out of the room and into the main gallery.

  “But, monsieur, I did not see—,” the gallery guard started.

  “You all saw him, right?” Joe said to the three men that had been in the room. They looked a little startled when he addressed them; he figured they might not understand English.

  “He was not too big,” Joe continued, spinning a description of his fake pickpocket, “with a green sweatshirt that had a yellow lightning bolt on it. He knocked into me and stole my wallet,” Joe said. “Come on—let’s get him, before he robs someone else.” He motioned to the three men and the guard to join him. Then he took off through the main gallery, running.

  The three men and several others joined Joe in the chase. When he looked around, he saw the guard not far behind, talking into his pocket intercom.

  Another guard joined the chase, as well as a few more visitors. Some of the crowd parted to let them through. Some stood still in shock while Joe wove in and out. When they reached the crowded main gallery, Joe slowed down dramatically, and the guards and other chasers zoomed past.

  Joe ducked into a side room and waited until the posse he had gathered all ran by. Then he slipped back to the room with the secret panel. When he got there, it was completely empty. Good—the security camera is still off, he noted. He raced to the corner and crouched down. With a slight push, the left side of the panel swung back and the right side swung out—just like a revolving door.

  Joe slipped through the opening and wrestled his backpack through behind him. He pushed the panel back in place from the other side and took a deep breath.

  “Whoa… ,” he whispered. The air was rank. It smelled like rotting meat. Still resting on his heels, he spun around to face total blackness. “Well, wherever I am, it stinks.”

  He reached into his backpack and pulled out the night goggles. Through them, the strange area where he was crouched glowed a sci-fi green. He was relieved to see that the ceiling was high above him. He stood and stretched his legs. His eyes began adjusting to the eerie light, and he saw that he was in a narrow corridor between two walls of the old palace.

  Joe walked along the secret passageway. He could hear skittering sounds ahead. Something—or someone—is moving around up there, Joe thought. Still, he forged ahead.

  After about twenty minutes of navigating the corridor, he realized that he was going downhill. The air was cooler and he felt a dampness against his skin. Unfortunately the smell of decay grew stronger. Finally the corridor emptied into a large tunnel that Joe figured would be beneath the old palace.

  Joe stopped to get his bearings. It wasn’t quite as dark here as it was where he’d started, and he wasn’t alone. The walls and floor had changed from old wood to uneven rock. He could hear the clattering nails of creatures as they scurried in the shadows. Above him a couple of bats crossed paths and clung upside down on opposite walls. One stretched his little head up to glare at Joe.

  A strange sound in t
he distance caught Joe’s attention. He was concentrating so much on listening to it that he didn’t hear the soft footsteps of someone rushing suddenly from the side. Turning quickly, he saw a khaki-sleeved arm raised high in the air. Suddenly it swept down toward Joe’s head. A slick, slimy rock slammed into his forehead, and the sudden shock of pain made him lose his balance.

  Joe tumbled a few yards. The nauseating sensation of losing consciousness rose in his throat, and as the black closed in, his night goggles showed a dozen beady green eyes… watching.

  11 GPS Says Yes

  * * *

  While Joe was distracting the guards and visitors in the Louvre gallery, Frank was following Isabelle Genet. He tracked her through another wing and into a snack bar. He hung out in a gift shop nearby so he could keep an eye on her.

  As she ate, two people joined her at the table. Frank watched as the three talked continually through their meal. Then, as the waitress brought them coffee refills, Isabelle got a phone call. She left the table to take the call. Frank followed her to the small alcove where she was holding her phone conversation. He watched her from a distance.

  After the phone call, Isabelle didn’t return to the snack bar. Instead she hurried into one of the large galleries in the Richelieu Wing. Frank left his post and followed her as closely as he could without being seen. In a short time she managed to elude him; he lost her trail.

  Frank hurried through several galleries on that floor, but didn’t find her again. He checked his watch. “Five o’clock,” he mumbled to himself. “One hour until closing.”

  Frank decided to return to the room where he’d left Joe, but his brother wasn’t there. He took out his handheld and activated the GPS. Using the handheld, he was able to follow the trail to Joe. He soon found himself in yet another wing of the sprawling museum. With each step he seemed to be closer to Joe.

  Just as he thought he might be close to his brother, Frank reached a sort of dead end. I don’t get this, he thought. It says Joe is here…. He looked around, but didn’t see Joe anywhere. He went to the lowest level of that wing. The small screen on his handheld said Joe was definitely nearby, but Frank couldn’t find him. Every time he took off in a different direction, the GPS would guide him back to the same point. It was as if the GPS were leading him in circles.