The Crowning Terror Read online

  Sparks flew from the lock and showered the Hardys. The museum door swung open, but no alarm sounded. They went inside and shut the door behind them.

  "That was easy," Joe said as they walked down the marble hall.

  "It gets a lot harder from here on in," Frank said. He studied the plans of the museum. "I've got to admire Uncle Hugh's ingenuity. He was born to be a cat burglar."

  At the end of the hall was an immense room filled with glass cases. The ceiling was high, and moonlight streamed in through a skylight. A sprinkler pipe stretched across the ceiling. In the middle of the room was the case they were looking for, but it was surrounded by railings, making it far out of reach.

  "Watch the floor," Frank said. "It's pressure sensitive. Our weight will touch off alarms if we step on it." He pulled the rope from his waist, unwound it, and threw one end high into the air.

  It struck the sprinkler pipe, but instead of looping over it, it fell back to the floor. Frank groaned and waited for the alarms to sound.

  All was quiet. The rope wasn't heavy enough to trip the alarm. Frank reeled it in and tossed it into the air again. This time, it fell over the pipe and dangled down. Slowly Frank fed it slack until it hung almost to the floor. Then he grabbed the end, tied it into a slipknot around the other end, and pulled the new loop tight around the pipe. It held.

  He climbed the rope until he reached the pipe. Joe followed him up, and they moved hand over hand down the length of the pipe.

  Suddenly Frank froze. Someone was walking down the hall.

  "Starkey!" Joe whispered as a figure appeared in the darkened doorway. "What's he doing here?"

  "Shhh," Frank said. "I'm more worried about Mickey." The other man had appeared next to Starkey, and Starkey turned away from the door to talk to him.

  "Any progress with our loose ends?" Starkey asked.

  They're talking about us, Frank realized. Just great.

  "We found their new hotel, but they haven't come back yet," Mickey said. "We'll get them."

  "I don't want them fouling up my plans for Hunt," Starkey warned. "Shoot on sight, and shoot to kill."

  We're sitting ducks up here, Frank thought. We're only safe as long as he doesn't look up. Then he saw the rope, dangling to the floor.

  "Joe," he hissed. "The rope!"

  Desperately, Joe swung hand over hand down the pipe, racing to get to the rope and pull it out of sight before Starkey saw it and discovered them. If that happened, they were dead.

  As the Hardys dangled helplessly, Starkey slowly turned toward the rope.

  Chapter 13

  "Mr. Starkey," Mickey called.

  With an exasperated sigh, Starkey spun on his heel to face Mickey, impatiently snapping, "What?"

  Hanging on to the pipe with one hand, Joe reached out and snagged the rope. He pulled it up, looping it over the pipe to keep it from falling again.

  "Ted says he thinks Hunt is going to pull something," Mickey said. "I told you he was too dangerous and clever to play around with."

  "I don't want you calling Ted anything but Feodor until this operation is over," Starkey said coldly. "Let Hunt try anything, and he can just curl up and die in," — he glanced at his watch — "just a few hours." Starkey stepped into the exhibit room. To Frank's surprise, no alarms sounded.

  He switched them off, Frank realized. It made sense. If Starkey had some connection with the museum, he would make sure he could trip no alarms. They probably wouldn't be reset until he and Mickey left. All the effort he and Joe wasted to break in, and they could have just walked in the door.

  Starkey walked to the crown case, spreading his arms out to rest his hands on either side of it. Leaning forward, he stared at the golden crown. "Yes, sir," he said. "This little baby and Hugh Hunt are going to end all our problems."

  Mickey shook his head in disgust. "It's a mistake. Hunt is a tiger. There's nothing more dangerous than a wounded tiger."

  "He's nothing," Starkey snapped. "He's a peregrine, and I shot him out of the sky." Angrily he stormed from the room. With a shrug, Mickey took a quick look at the golden crown, then followed Starkey out.

  Joe dropped the loose end of the rope to the floor and slid down it. He swung the rope over to Frank, who eagerly grabbed it. Once on the floor, he massaged his sore shoulders and fingers.

  "It's about time they left," Frank said. "I didn't know how much longer I could hang on." - "Did you hear him?" Joe said excitedly. "The alarms are off. This is our chance."

  "Right," Frank agreed. They stepped over to the crown exhibit, and he drew a glass cutter and a suction cup from the knapsack.

  "That's it?" Joe said. "That's what all the fuss is about?" He studied the crown. It was much smaller than he had expected and less ornate. But what made it interesting was that it appeared to have been made of a single thread of gold, woven back and forth.

  "Disappointed?" Frank asked. He licked his fingers and ran them over the rim of the suction cup, then pressed the moistened cup onto the top of the glass case.

  "It looked better on film," Joe said. "The photos must have been blown up." He watched as Frank dragged the blade of the glass cutter in a rough circle around the suction cup. Metal met glass with a high-pitched scratching that echoed through the quiet museum. Joe looked over to the door, ready for trouble. But Starkey had not heard the noise.

  "Here goes nothing," Frank said. He twisted the suction cup, and there was a creak of glass on glass. Then he pulled up, and the glass circle came up with the suction cup.

  Eyes bright, Joe reached into the case and grabbed the crown. "This was so easy I think Starkey wants it stolen."

  "I'm pretty sure he does," said Frank. But not by us, he thought. He set the glass and cup on the case, and Joe handed him the crown. Frank held it up to the dim moonlight that came in from above. The yellow metal seemed to glow, diffusing the light into a golden haze. The crown felt warm in his hand.

  "You've got that look on your face," Joe said. "What's bothering you?"

  "There's something wrong here," Frank said. He dropped the crown into the knapsack and zipped it closed. "Let's talk about it when we're outside."

  They dashed from the exhibit room and ran down the long hall to the front door. Starkey and Mickey were nowhere to be seen.

  At the front door Frank halted abruptly in his tracks. "We can't leave yet," he told his brother.

  Joe stared at him. "Are you kidding? We've got two killers wandering around in here. They'd just as soon shoot us as talk to us. We've got the crown. What are we waiting for?"

  "The crown is a bargaining chip," Frank said. "But we don't know why. What are Starkey and Mickey doing here? You said this place is run by the State Department and helps to put together cultural exhibits. Did you happen to notice where the exhibits were sent?"

  "Germany, Singapore, South Africa, places like that," Joe said.

  "No Soviet bloc nations?" Frank asked.

  "Not that I noticed," Joe said. "What are you getting at?"

  Frank sighed. "I don't know. It was starting to seem like this place was a front for Starkey's agency — "

  "That would explain how Starkey got in so easily."

  "But it doesn't explain what Espionage Resources uses the place for," Frank continued. "If they sent exhibits to Communist countries, agents could go along as curators. But they don't, so that blows that theory."

  He unfolded his map of the museum, ran his finger over it, and stopped where a door was marked. "Here's the office. I want to check there for records on this exhibit. If we can figure out where it's going, maybe we can figure out why the crown is so important. Then we'll really have something to bargain with."

  Joe shrugged. He wanted to leave, but he knew better than to try to change his brother's mind. "Lead on," he said, and, as if to comfort himself, added, "Maybe I'll finally get a crack at Starkey."

  Cautiously, they walked through the corridors. After several wrong turns, Frank stopped and studied the map. "If I've got this figured r
ight," he said, "the office will be right around this corner."

  Joe noticed a metal box on the wall and swung the door of the box open. "I think you're right this time, brother. These are the controls for the alarm system. They wouldn't have them far from the office, would they?"

  Without answering, Frank turned the corner. At the end of the corridor was a door, the word Curator written on its opaque window. Above it was another small box with lights.

  Frank recognized it as an alarm indicator. The alarm was still off. He turned the knob on the door and found it locked. With the glass cutter, he made a small arc at the corner of the window in the door.

  Wrapping his hand in his jacket, he pushed in the pie-shaped piece of glass. It fell away where Frank had cut it and smashed delicately to the floor. White in the face, Joe frantically rounded the corner. "What was that noise?"

  Frank reached through the break, unlocked the door from the inside, and entered the room. "Don't worry about it," he told Joe. "You'd better stand guard in the hall."

  Nodding, Joe vanished around the corner again. Frank looked the room over. On the opposite wall it had another door, leading to the outside. A desk sat at one end of the room, and Frank switched on a small lamp on top of it. In the soft glow he saw metal file cabinets lined against a wall, and he went to them. Pressing his hands against the cool metal, Frank leaned against the cabinets and studied the labels. "Pre-Columbian Jewelry," he read, pulling one drawer open. To his relief, it was not locked.

  In seconds he found the file he was looking for and took it to the desk. He flipped through it until he found the tour schedule. It was for an Asian tour; the artifacts would be sent to Japan, South Korea, Hong Kong, and Malaysia. There was nothing that would help him. He was still as in the dark as ever.

  As he was closing the file, a scrap of paper fluttered out. He picked it up and read it with interest.

  The crown had needed some small repair, it said, and the work delayed the exhibit by three months. The signature on the repair authorization belonged to W. B. Starkey.

  He returned the scrap to the file, and the file to the drawer. The drawer had just slid shut when the knob on the door to the outside began to turn. In a flash Frank lunged to the desk and switched off the lamp, and as the outside door swung open, he ran into the hallway.

  Frank had barely gotten ten feet when a chilling voice behind him said, "Freeze." Frank stopped.

  "Raise them high and turn around slowly," Starkey said. Frank lifted his hands and the knapsack over his head, and turned.

  "I knew you'd come here tonight," Starkey continued, and though Frank couldn't see his face, he could imagine the smirk on it.

  Where was Joe? he wondered. He hoped his brother had gotten away. Light from under the hall door glinted off the gun in Starkey's hand, and Frank knew what was in store for him.

  "You've lost," Starkey said. "And I've won. Time to say bye-bye." He switched on the over- ' head light and took aim.

  Chapter 14

  "You!" Starkey sputtered. "But where— It was supposed to be — What are you — "

  He shut his mouth, opened it again as if he were going to say something, then closed it. Rage and frustration danced across his face. His eyes narrowed into slits as he stared at Frank. Slowly he regained his composure, the gun still aimed at Frank.

  Frank said nothing.

  Finally, Starkey said, "Where is he?"

  "I don't know where my brother is," answered Frank.

  "Who cares about your brother?" Starkey exploded. "You weren't supposed to be here tonight, neither of you. Hugh Hunt was. Who told you about this place?"

  Frank smiled. Feodor and Oleg didn't tell him they had lost the plans for the break-in. That made sense. He had seen Starkey in action, the blustery way he rode roughshod over Mickey. The fake Russians must have been too afraid to warn him about snags in his plan. For the first time Frank felt that he might have the upper hand.

  Starkey cocked the revolver. "Answer me!"

  "No one told me about it. It was only good detective work," Frank said. "I thought my uncle was supposed to steal the crown tomorrow night, not tonight."

  Starkey swallowed hard, and Frank could see he had rattled him. "Hunt specializes in the unexpected. I thought he'd be here ahead of schedule. If he had stolen the crown, I could have gotten him for sure." Starkey curled his lip, spitting out the words. "You stole the crown, didn't you?"

  Frank waved the knapsack. "I'll trade it to you for my life."

  With a laugh that was more like a cough, Starkey said, "What's to stop me from gunning you down and just taking the crown, smart guy?" Before Frank could answer, he released the gun hammer and slowly lowered it back into place with his hand. "But I've got a better idea. Take the crown out very slowly and set it on the floor. Maybe I'll even let you live."

  But you won't, Frank thought. He looked around for an out but saw none. The adjoining hall was too far behind him, and Starkey was too far ahead. He knew he could reach neither before Starkey shot him down.

  "Come on, kid," Starkey said, taunting him. "I haven't got all night."

  Frank's eyes opened wide for an instant as he watched the alarm light above Starkey's head go on. Starkey hadn't noticed it, even lit by the glow from the flashing red light, but Frank knew what the light meant — Joe had armed the alarm system.

  "I'll get the crown," Frank said. "Just don't shoot me, please." He dug into the bag, and Starkey suddenly became alert, aiming even more carefully at Frank.

  "Slowly," Starkey said.

  Frank paced his movements. He pulled the crown from the bag, and Starkey's eyes brightened.

  Frank threw the knapsack at Starkey's head as hard as he could. Starkey shot twice into the bag, and it fell to the floor like a wounded bird.

  Frank disappeared around the corner.

  "Are you all right?" Joe asked.

  "Fine," Frank said, tossing the crown to his brother. "We've got about two seconds' lead on Starkey, so let's make the best of it. Back to the exhibit room."

  "But if we go in there when the alarms are on, we'll be trapped," said Joe as they ran. A shot ricocheted off the wall.

  Frank grabbed his arm and pulled him into a doorway, out of the line of fire. Down the hall, Joe saw the exhibit room. All they had to do was get there.

  "Now!" Frank whispered. They hurled themselves into the hall. Something roared behind them, and plaster from the wall above them sprayed into Frank's eyes. With Joe at his side, he slid across the tile floor and into the exhibit room.

  Alarms blared and, as Frank knew it would, a shatterproof glass door slid closed, sealing off the room. They could see Starkey on the other side, pounding angrily on the glass, but the deafening ringing of the alarms drowned out his words. Over the din, Joe yelled, "Now what do we do?"

  In his brother's ear, Frank said, "The cops will be all over this place in a few minutes. That should slow Starkey down some."

  "But what about us?" Joe asked.

  Frank smiled. "We're out of here. Follow me."

  He walked to the rope and pulled on it once, testing it for strength. It was still tied securely to the sprinkler pipe. In seconds he had climbed up the rope, with Joe right behind him, his eyes fixed on the skylight above.

  "Get ready to catch me," he said.

  Carefully, he swung his feet up, caught his knees over the pipe, and pulled himself up. He reached out, but it was no use. The skylight was too far away. Balancing himself in place with his hands, Frank brought his feet up to the pipe and stood up on it.

  He pressed a hand to the skylight to balance himself, and with the other hand took the glass cutter from his pocket. As hard as he could, he scraped a star into the glass.

  The glass didn't break, but the cuts had been deep. Frank dropped the cutter to the floor. He slid an arm from his jacket and let the jacket drop behind his back. He slid the jacket from his other arm and caught it in his hand before it fell. Wrapping the jacket around his hand until it became a
cloth lump, he struck the star on the glass with all his might.

  It didn't shatter. He struck again. Still the glass stayed in one piece.

  "Let a pro do it!" Joe yelled. He pulled himself up as Frank had done. He wobbled on the pipe until Frank caught his belt and steadied him. Joe handed Frank the crown and then took Frank's jacket and wrapped it around his hand.

  He hauled his arm way back and let loose with a haymaker. The glass cracked. He hit it again, and it fell from the skylight frame in shards.

  Joe knocked the remaining fragments of glass away from the frame and then pulled himself up. In seconds Frank was out, too. They stood on the roof, watching police cars approach the park.

  "Let's move," Frank said, sliding his arm through the crown until it dangled like a bracelet.

  Gazing at the trees in back of the building, he took a few steps back on the roof, built up to a full sprint, and leaped. His hands snatched out at a tree limb. Bark scraped into his hands, but his grip held. He was safe.

  Gracefully, without a running start, Joe leapt. To Frank's horror, he missed the tree and plunged. But with a carefree laugh, Joe caught a lower branch and hung there. "You coming or what?" he asked Frank.

  They climbed down to the ground, watching the red lights flash in front of the museum. "We'd better leave," Frank whispered. They ran through the park, staying off the street.

  At Fulton Street they stopped running. Now that the danger was over, they were relieved, but their strength had left them.

  "Let's take a cab the rest of the way," Joe said. "We deserve a rest."