Survival Run Read online

  Joe tugged the shoelace tightly over the bolt and then slowly pulled back on the top half of the lace without allowing any slack in the lace. He felt the bolt slip out of the notch.

  He took a deep breath and tugged the line to the right. The bolt moved a fraction of an inch. He tugged again. The bolt moved a little more. Carefully he worked the bolt back until it cleared the lock plate on the door frame. Joe pushed the door open an inch and peered out into the tunnel. He couldn't see anyone in either direction. So far, so good. He stepped out of the room and started moving cautiously up the passageway.

  When he reached the fork in the tunnel, he heard footsteps and low voices coming from the direction of the mine entrance. He had to get out of sight quickly. There was a door a short way down the other branch. He padded over to it, slid back the bolt, and opened the door just wide enough to slip inside. He pulled the door shut and held the handle tightly, hoping no one would notice or care that the door was unlocked.

  "What do you want now?" a weary voice with a heavy Russian accent called out from behind him.

  Joe spun around to see a tall, bony man hunched over a table littered with papers. He had a long face topped with a cloud of wavy white hair, and there were deep wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.

  He leaned forward and studied Joe. "You are not one of them," he stated flatly.

  "I'm not?" Joe responded, not sure if that was good or bad. This guy sure didn't look like a terrorist. The tan vest and rust red corduroy shirt he was wearing made him look more like a retired teacher on a fishing trip. Then Joe realized who he was. "Dr. Stavrogin?" he ventured in a hushed voice.

  The white-haired man nodded. "And you are?"

  Joe held a finger up to his lips and cocked his ear to the door. He didn't hear anything outside and decided he was safe for the moment.

  "I'm Joe Hardy," he said as he walked over to the table. He glanced at the array of papers covered with equations, Greek letters, and symbols - none of which he could understand. He looked up at the physicist. "Would you mind telling me what this is all about?"

  Stavrogin smiled weakly. "It's a long story."

  "That's okay," Joe replied. "I've got plenty of time - I hope."

  ***

  "Almost anybody can make a low-yield fission device," the Gray Man was telling Frank and Gina.

  "You mean an atomic bomb," Frank said.

  The Gray Man nodded. "The hardest part is getting enough enriched uranium or plutonium to do the job. A hydrogen bomb, on the other hand, is a lot more complicated."

  "And a lot more powerful," Frank added.

  "That's right," the Gray Man agreed. "Luckily, the technology and the resources required to build them have ensured that only a handful of nations have hydrogen bombs - until now."

  "Something tells me this is where Dr. Stavrogin enters the picture," Frank remarked.

  "Stavrogin was working on a fusion energy project," the Gray Man continued. "The trick is to produce a controlled fusion reaction without using more energy to contain the reaction than you get in return."

  "You're starting to lose me," Gina cut in. "What does fusion energy have to do with hydrogen bombs?"

  "I'm getting to that," the Gray Man said. "Stavrogin accidentally stumbled on a simple method for creating an uncontrolled fusion reaction."

  "And that's exactly what a hydrogen bomb blast is," Frank explained. "An uncontrolled fusion reaction."

  The Gray Man nodded solemnly. "With Stavrogin's equations, the Assassins might be able to make a thermonuclear device of untold destructive power."

  "How did the Assassins find out about Stavrogin's discovery?" Frank asked.

  "His original research wasn't exactly top secret," the Gray Man answered. "Stavrogin wasn't working on a government weapons project. He was trying to harness fusion energy to generate electric power. We threw a tight security net over the whole project as soon as Stavrogin told us about his findings, but obviously we were too late, and the Assassins learned about Stavrogin's work."

  "We have to stop them," Frank said.

  "We intend to do just that," the Gray Man responded in a cold, distant voice.

  Frank's eyes locked on the perfectly ordinary man. "Wait a minute. What are you going to do?"

  The Gray Man sighed and stood up. "I had hoped to find a way to penetrate the Assassins' hideout and get Stavrogin out unharmed. But time is running out. As soon as the terrorists find out what they want to know, they'll vanish.

  "I came here to convince you to get far away from here before the fireworks start. I've decided to launch a full-scale raid on the mine."

  The words hit Frank like hammer blows. "You can't do that," he insisted, clutching the Gray Man's arm. "The Assassins will kill Joe before your men get anywhere near the mine shaft!"

  The Gray Man's response was grim. "I'm sorry, Frank, but we'll have to take that risk."

  Chapter 11

  "The raid will start just after dark tonight," the Gray Man told Frank and Gina.

  Frank glanced at his watch. "Then I still have a few hours to get Joe out myself."

  The Gray man shook his head. "I'm sorry. We can't risk your accidentally tipping off the Assassins. That's why I'm leaving two men here to guard you." He pulled a compact radio phone from his coat pocket and spoke into it. "Okay, Thompson, send the men in."

  Frank jerked his head toward the window and saw two figures move out of the woods. He made a break for the door, but the Gray Man snared his arm in a tight grip. Frank couldn't shake free. The average-looking man was a lot stronger than average.

  While they were struggling, Gina suddenly jumped up and darted toward the door.

  "No!" the Gray Man yelled, letting go of Frank and lunging after her.

  Gina burst out of the motor home door, smashing it into an unsuspecting Network agent who was about to enter. The agent went sprawling, and Gina rushed past before the other man had time to react.

  "Stop her!" the Gray Man yelled.

  The second agent whirled around and sprinted after Gina into the woods.

  Frank shoved the Gray Man out of the way and jumped out the door. The agent on the ground scrambled up and swung the barrel of his submachine gun at Frank. "Freeze!" he shouted.

  Frank hesitated. Three more Network agents rushed out of the forest. He was surrounded.

  A short burst of gunfire rang out from the distance. "Cease firing!" the Gray Man barked into the phone. "Cease firing! Who gave the order to shoot?" He turned to the man holding the gun on Frank. "Get him inside," he snapped.

  The Network agent nodded at the door. "You heard the man. Move it." Reluctantly Frank stepped back into the motor home. The agent followed him inside and kept his eyes on Frank all the time.

  The Gray Man joined them a few minutes later.

  "What happened?" Frank asked. "Where's Gina?"

  "She got away," the Gray Man replied.

  "What about the gunshots?"

  "Just a little accident. One of my men tripped on a rock. He went down, and his weapon went off. Nobody was hit."

  "How do you know that one of the bullets didn't hit Gina?" Frank countered.

  "If she were lying out there somewhere with a bullet wound," the Gray Man said coolly, "we would have found her.

  "I hope she doesn't go back to the Assassins' hideout," he added. "The best we can hope for now is that she'll get lost and be unable to do anything we'll all be sorry for later."

  ***

  Joe was a little lost himself. Dr. Stavrogin had explained the basic connection between his research and hydrogen bombs, and now the physicist was launching into a full-blown lecture on fusion theory.

  "Excuse me," Joe cut in. "This is really fascinating, and I'd love to hear more about it sometime when we aren't stuck in an old mine shaft crawling with deranged terrorists. Right now, though, I have two important questions."

  "I'm sorry," the physicist said. "Sometimes I get carried away. What is it you want to know?"

  Joe gla
nced at the papers on the table. "First, how much information have you given the Assassins already?"

  "Very little of any practical use," Stavrogin replied. "Most of these equations are nothing more than what you could find in an advanced textbook. The rest are very intricate false leads."

  "Can you produce the right equations without your notes?" Joe asked.

  "Oh, yes," the physicist said. "The notes are just helpful reminders." He tapped the side of his head with his finger. "All the critical data are stored in here."

  "Then we'd better get moving," Joe said. "And that leads to my second question."

  "You have already asked two questions," Stavrogin pointed out.

  "I forgot to tell you the first one was a two-parter," Joe responded. "The second question is the really important one. Do you have any idea how we can get out of here?"

  Before the physicist could answer, the door burst open and Boris barged into the room. Joe spun around just in time to have a massive fist smashed into his face. The blow hurled him back against the table, which collapsed, and papers flew everywhere. The bearded Assassin thrust the barrel of his submachine gun in Joe's face.

  "You've made Boris very angry," a cool voice intoned. The pilot was standing in the doorway. He addressed Boris, and a few sharp words followed in the strange language Joe had heard before. Boris roughly hauled Joe to his feet with his free hand.

  "Hi, Bob," Joe said to the pilot as he rubbed his chin. "I got bored in my room, so I decided to take a walk to see what you guys do for fun around here."

  The Assassin smiled without his lips parting. "We have a strict rule not to bother the doctor while he's working."

  "I'll try to keep that in mind," Joe replied.

  "I'm afraid you won't be around long enough to learn the rules," Bob said. "I told your friends you had only six hours to live - but that was before you made a nuisance of yourself. I think it's best to kill you now and deal with the others after they deliver the doctor's notes."

  "I don't suppose you'd consider a second opinion," Joe responded.

  The Assassin chuckled. "You'd have to convince Boris. He feels responsible for your escape. You made him look bad. So now he must kill you."

  Muffled shouts echoed down the tunnel. Bob muttered something to Boris and then abruptly left the room.

  Bob wasn't gone long. When he came back, the cab driver was with him. The curly-haired Assassin hastily scooped up Stavrogin's scattered papers and stuffed them in a backpack.

  "There's been a change of plans," Bob announced.

  Joe figured that could only be good news for him. Anything that didn't involve a fatal dose of lead poisoning was a definite step up at this point.

  The pilot snapped a few orders in the strange language. Boris clearly didn't like what he heard. Joe's hopes grew. If the bearded Assassin was upset by the turn of events, there was a good chance that Joe's execution wasn't on the new agenda - yet.

  The Assassins hustled Joe and Dr. Stavrogin out of the mine and into the helicopter.

  Three of the terrorists piled into the cargo bay with them while Bob climbed into the pilot's seat and cranked up the huge engine. Boris lingered outside long enough to lob something into the mouth of the mine shaft. Then he sprinted up to the helicopter and jumped in as the ungainly bird started to lift off.

  As the chopper cleared the treetops and swung away from the mine, Joe heard a muted wump over the loud drone of the whirling rotor blades. Twisting his head to look back out the small window, he saw smoke and dust billow up from where the mine entrance had been.

  Joe leaned forward and spoke to the pilot. "I hate to be the one to break the news, but your house just blew up."

  The pilot patted the copilot's seat next to him. "Come, sit here," he said gravely. Joe was surprised by the man's serious tone. This was, after all, the same guy who had talked casually about hurling people out of helicopters just to see if they could fly.

  Joe climbed into the copilot's seat. The view out the wide, curved windshield was breathtaking - but not because of its beauty. Joe gasped as the green canopy of trees whisked by, only a few feet below the blunt nose of the metal bird.

  "You are probably wondering why you're still alive," Bob said.

  "The thought crossed my mind," Joe replied, "but I'm not complaining."

  "Your life was spared because one of your friends warned us that Network agents were about to attack our camp. Her noble act saved all of us."

  "Her act?" Joe responded, his full attention now on the pilot. "You mean Gina?"

  The Assassin nodded.

  "How did she warn you?" Joe asked warily. "Where is she now?"

  The pilot's answer came in slow, measured words. "You should be very proud of her. She died with great courage."

  "Died?" Joe blurted out, unable to contain his shock. "You killed her?"

  "She did not die at the hands of an Assassin," Bob said firmly. "She was shot by a Network agent when she escaped from them. She used all her strength and her last breath to warn us about the Network raid. There was nothing we could do for her. The wound was mortal."

  Joe heard the words, but it took a while for the meaning to sink in. He put his head in his hands and stared at the hard metal floor of the helicopter.

  "Your friend died to save your life," Bob said, putting words to the thoughts spinning in Joe's head. "You owe her a great debt."

  "One I can never repay," Joe said harshly.

  The Assassin's cold amber eyes studied Joe briefly. "You cannot bring her back to life, but you can punish those who murdered her."

  Joe stared at the pilot. "What are you talking about?"

  "Join us," Bob replied ardently. "Join the brotherhood of the elite. Become an Assassin."

  ***

  Frank spent half the brief night pacing the floor of the motor home, waiting for the Gray Man to come back from the raid on the Assassins' hideout, waiting to find out if Joe and Gina were all right.

  A Network agent stood by the door, keeping a watchful eye on Frank. Another one was outside, patrolling the area around the motor home.

  It was still dark and very late when the Gray Man finally returned. One glance at his haggard, troubled face and Frank knew the news wasn't good.

  "What happened?" Frank asked, struggling to stay calm. "Where's Joe?" He wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer, but he had to know.

  "The Assassins knew we were coming," the Gray Man told him. "They abandoned their base and destroyed everything they couldn't take with them."

  "Where's Joe?" Frank repeated tensely.

  "I don't know," the Gray Man replied wearily. "I have a team sifting through the rubble. We hope they don't find him."

  "They wouldn't kill Joe if they thought there was a chance I'd deliver Stavrogin's notes," Frank insisted, desperately trying to convince himself.

  The Gray Man didn't respond, and Frank knew why. They both understood that the Assassins were professional terrorists, coldblooded killers. The odds were stacked against Joe.

  Before Frank could think of anything more to say, he heard a soft tapping at the door. Could it be someone bringing news about Joe? Frank held his breath and focused on the Network guard who opened the door. All at once the guard cried out as a gloved hand grabbed him by the throat and dragged him out into the night.

  Before Frank or the Gray Man could react, a masked figure bounded into the motor home. The intruder was dressed in black from head to foot. Frank couldn't help noticing that even the large automatic pistol in his hand was a flat dead black. Had the Assassins come to finish them off?

  Chapter 12

  Frank flinched as the masked intruder raised the pistol - and tossed it in the air. It landed on the couch with a soft thud, and Frank could see an empty slot in the bottom of the hand grip, where the bullet clip should have been.

  "Bang, you're dead," the black-clad figure growled, waving the clip in the air.

  Frank would have recognized that voice anywhere. A huge smile of
relief spread across his face as the intruder tugged off the black ski mask. The smile quickly faded when he saw the grim determination on Joe's face.

  Joe stormed over to the Gray Man, grabbed the front of his jacket with both hands, and glared at the Network director. "You're no better than the Assassins," Joe said bitterly. "You'd kill anybody who got in your way, wouldn't you?"

  The Gray Man seemed unfazed by Joe's charge. "This isn't some harmless kid's game. It's a deadly and dangerous business."

  "A business?" Joe spat out the words. "Get out your calculator and tell me how much a person's life is worth."

  "I warned you boys to stay out of this affair," the Gray Man said, pulling away from Joe. "I told you to go home and forget about it. Did you really expect me to blow the whole mission to rescue you from a deep hole after you practically jumped into it?"

  "I'm not talking about me," Joe shot back. "I'm talking about Gina!"

  "What about Gina?" Frank cut in.

  Joe jabbed an accusing finger at the Network director. "He, or one of his men, killed her. It doesn't make any difference. Either way, he's responsible."

  Frank put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Hold on a second. Did you see this happen?"

  "No," Joe admitted. He told his brother about the hasty exit from the Assassins' hideout and repeated Bob's version of what had happened to Gina.

  "So you didn't even see Gina's body," Frank noted after Joe finished.

  "No," Joe replied. "But she's not here, is she? Do you think she's still wandering around in the woods?"

  "I think we have to accept the possibility that at least part of the Assassins' story is true," the Gray Man said somberly. "Somehow, they knew about the raid. So Gina probably did make it back to the mine to warn them, hoping that would save Joe."

  "What about the rest of the story?" Joe responded sharply.