The Deadliest Dare Read online

  Frank picked up the lamp that had been knocked off the desk and knelt beside the guard. At least the man was breathing regularly.

  "I'll have to cut you loose on the way back," he promised the unconscious man. "Right now I have to see about stopping a murder."

  He ran along the planks of the dock. Various-size boats were moored along it, bobbing gently. None looked like a millionaire's yacht, but out in the dark waters of the harbor he saw three large boats anchored.

  The roar of a motor launch coming to life brought Frank to the end of the dock, just in time to see a craft heading for the biggest of the yachts. He recognized the big guy at the wheel — Biff Hooper.

  "Biff!" he called through cupped hands. "Wait!"

  But Biff didn't hear him. The launch circled the well-lit yacht and disappeared around its other side.

  That ship must be Gramatkee's Golden Fleece, Frank concluded. Biff's going aboard right now. And unless I can do something, he may get tangled up in a murder.

  Frank pivoted and ran for the other side of the marina. What I need now is a boat of my own, he thought.

  Running along wooden catwalks that shifted with the tide, Frank worked his way toward a slip where a small white speedboat bobbed in the water. Blue letters across its stern read Napoli.

  Lucky I remembered Tony Prito keeps a boat here, Frank thought as he hauled up one of the plastic bumpers that kept the boat from scraping against the dock. And even luckier that I know where he keeps the spare key. In moments Frank was heading out into the bay.

  A few moments after that, Frank was climbing a rope ladder that hung down the side of the huge yacht. There was a strong brackish smell in the night air, and a faint, ghostly white mist was drifting in from the sea. Frank shivered as he climbed on deck.

  He froze for a moment, standing still to listen. His ears caught the creak of ropes and the lapping of the water but not a single human sound.

  Carefully Frank started along the deck toward where he judged Gramatkee's cabin would be. Frank carried a flashlight in his right hand.

  I wonder how Kevin talked Biff into this, Frank thought as he made his way forward. It must have something to do with Jeanne. Maybe Kevin promised Biff that if he came out to the yacht, he'd find Jeanne.

  Obviously Biff would never let himself get involved in any kind of big crime. Kevin must have conned him to come out to the Golden Fleece so he could be the fall guy for Gramatkee's murder.

  Dim light shone around the door of one of the cabins. Frank didn't knock. He simply turned the knob and pushed it open. "Mr. Gramatkee, I — "

  The center of the cabin was taken up by a desk. Its small brass lamp provided the only light in the cabin. Slumped at the desk was a heavyset man of sixty.

  Frank went over to him.

  When he got close enough to the sprawled body, he discovered that Gramatkee was alive. The millionaire had obviously been slugged — there was a welt over his left ear.

  Frank saw Biff Hooper now, too. The big blond guy had fallen unconscious behind the desk. One big arm was draped over the overturned wastebasket.

  Frank dropped to one knee. "Biff — Biff, are you okay?"

  "He's just fine, Frank. They both are."

  Behind him in the shadows was Curt Branders. The hit man's Beretta automatic was pointed at Frank.

  Branders smiled.

  "No one is dead—yet."

  Chapter 13

  Joe woke up to find himself lying on the cold floor of the old barn. His face was bruised, his sides ached, and his hands were tied behind his back. Two fat candles sputtered away on the stones near his feet.

  "So you're not that smart after all, are you?" Kevin Branders was dressed in jeans and a dark sweater now, sitting on the apple barrel and smirking down at Joe.

  "Still a bit smarter than you," answered Joe, finding it tough to talk clearly through his swollen upper lip.

  "We suckered you in very nicely, I think," continued Kevin, looking at his wristwatch. "And—it was great—you fell for the whole scam. Clever Joe Hardy sneaks up on unsuspecting Chad, the dumb Circle member.

  "He knocks Chad out and takes his place. I mean, who could outwit Joe Hardy, the smartest detective in Bayport." He laughed loudly. "We figured one of you, or maybe both, would come out here. So we had everyone planted and waiting. How'd you like my speech? I bet you thought you were eavesdropping on some real heavy mumbo jumbo, huh?" "Okay, maybe I didn't show my usual brilliance," Joe admitted. "But that doesn't mean any of you guys are especially smart. Listen, the police know all about you. Any minute now, they'll — "

  "I don't believe the great Hardys would call in the law," Kevin told him. "No, I think you wanted the chance to show off, to bust in here, and capture the fiendish gang on your own. Hey, I'm always reading about your cases in the papers. You like the glory. It makes you feel like you're really worth something."

  "I came here, but my brother, Frank, drove straight to the Bayport police station."

  "I doubt that, Joe." Kevin jumped down off the barrel. "I'd guess Frank is off hunting for my brother."

  "Why did you ever get involved in all this?"

  "Involved in what?"

  "You must know what it is Curt does for a living. Why did you let him use the Circle as a front for something like that?" "What is it you think he is?" "Curt Branders is an international killer for hire," answered Joe. "He's wanted by the authorities of at least a dozen countries for — " "That's not true!" Angry, Kevin walked over and kicked Joe hard in the ribs. "Curt isn't the kind of nine-to-five jerk they admire so much around here. He's a thief, I admit that. An international thief, but he's never killed anyone." "Is that what he's told you?" "That's what I know." Kevin laughed. "See, Joe, once upon a time, our father was a very successful businessman around here. Then about eight years ago he went bankrupt—and not one of his old friends lifted a hand to help him."

  "I guess I don't see why you're laughing about that."

  "You will in a minute," promised Kevin. "After my father went bankrupt — well, he got sick. He died about a year later." Kevin checked his watch again, looking toward the door. "After that Curt and I made a couple of promises. One was that we'd make a lot of money in our lives—and the other was that we'd never let the system beat us the way it had killed our father."

  "Look, I understand," conceded Joe. "But I wouldn't admire the way your brother is going about it. He really is a hit man, Kevin."

  Ignoring Joe, Kevin said, "Most of the kids around here think I live on some little trust fund money somebody in my family left for me." He laughed again. "But everything — our big house, the servants — is paid for by Curt's activities."

  "Some joke."

  "That's not the best joke," he said. "The best one has to do with how I dreamed up the Circle and talked all those fools into joining it. It was beautiful the way the poor little rich kids went for it."

  Kevin's face lit up with a bitter grin. "See, Joe, we've just about come to the payoff now. I'm going to go away soon and leave them here to face the consequences of all the fun they've been having."

  Joe frowned up at him. "You really don't know, do you?"

  "Know what?"

  "Your brother is using the Circle as a cover for something else," Joe told him. "He's going to see they get blamed for a lot more than vandalism."

  "I know all about it. Tonight he's going to pull a major burglary." Kevin nodded, smiling to himself. "Too bad I won't be around to see them trying to get out of that."

  Outside in the night a horn honked.

  Kevin said, "About time. We'll be going now, Joe."

  "Where to?"

  "Well, to play out the last hand in the game."

  ***

  "Actually, Frank, I wish I had a bit more time," said Curt Branders, glancing at the clock on the wall behind the unconscious Gramatkee. The Beretta in his hand pointed unwaveringly at Frank. "You seem like a relatively intelligent guy. Maybe we could have had an interesting conversation."
>
  Frank stared at the hit man. "What exactly are you planning to do, Branders?"

  "Is that really how you want to spend your final minutes?" the killer asked impatiently. "Basically the setup is this. The police will believe that your pal Biff Hooper sneaked aboard the Golden Fleece to pull off a burglary. Poor Biff—goaded into that reckless sort of stunt by the thrill-seeking rich kids who belong to the Circle."

  Frank nodded. "So you did set up that Crimson Circle stuff just as a cover." "Of course," Curt Branders said. "Not that my brother didn't enjoy making fools of those spoiled idiots with checkbooks for brains."

  "And you're going to kill Gramatkee?"

  "That's exactly what I was hired to do by some of his business rivals. In fact, I was just about to take care of that chore when you came stumbling aboard."

  The hit man shook his head. "If you're going to play spy and secret agent, Frank, you'll really have to learn to move a good deal more quietly." Curt paused, laughing. "But none of that will make any difference after tonight, will it? I ought to apologize for criticizing you during your last minutes on this planet."

  "You figure to kill Gramatkee and then rig it to look as though Biff did it while attempting to pull off this dare?"

  "That's it, yes. Gramatkee has a gun in his desk there — I've already made sure of that." The assassin moved closer to the unconscious man's desk.

  Curt pointed down at Biff. "The jock here is surprised by our business tycoon friend. The old boy has his gun in hand. Biff, noted for brawn rather than brains, panics and grabs for the weapon. It goes off and Gramatkee is fatally shot. But as he is breathing his last, he manages to shoot Biff. And then he shoots — "

  "Me," supplied Frank. "Sure, that's the only way it's going to work now. You have to silence me, too."

  "I'm afraid so, Frank." Curt eased behind the unconscious man's desk, keeping his eyes and the barrel of the pistol aimed at Frank.

  "What do the police think I was doing here," asked Frank, "according to your master plan?"

  "You were helping your pal carry out his dare."

  "That won't wash." Frank shook his head. "They know I'm not a member of the Circle."

  Curt gave an indifferent shrug. "Then perhaps you trailed Biff aboard in hope of persuading him to give up his life of crime and pranks."

  He slid open the desk drawer with his free hand. "It's an old, familiar story for the police. There was a struggle, a gun went off, and people got killed. There are any number of variations, but they've seen them all. Whichever one I end up arranging, Frank, you're going to be dead and done for."

  "Eventually the authorities are going to pin this on you."

  "Eventually I'll be safely out of the country and lying low at my villa in — " Branders grinned at Frank. "Let's just say in an out-of-the-way spot." Slipping a pencil through the trigger guard, Curt lifted a .32 caliber revolver out of the drawer of Gramatkee's desk.

  While the gun was still in midair Frank said, "Only one major flaw, Branders."

  Curt hesitated. "Oh? And what might that be?"

  Frank knelt down beside Biff on the cabin floor. "You're never going to be able to convince anyone that Biff did any shooting. You hit him too hard on the head," said Frank. "He's dead!"

  "He's what?" Involuntarily the assassin looked away from Frank and over at Biff.

  Frank had been waiting for that. He scooped up the fallen wastebasket, hurling it right at the hand that held the 9-millimeter Beretta.

  Curt's hand was knocked up and to the side. His finger squeezed the trigger, and the gun went off. The roar of the shot mixed with the smashing of the desk lamp.

  The room went dark.

  Two more shots rang out.

  Chapter 14

  The motor launch cut across the dark waters of Barmet Bay, sending up chill foam and spray. Kevin Branders glanced back from his place at the steering wheel. "I love this sea air. Are you enjoying the ride, Joe?"

  Joe Hardy, his hands still tied, was sprawled uncomfortably on one of the seats. Before taking him aboard, Kevin had also run a loop of rope around Joe's ankles. The younger Hardy could hardly move. He had to squint into the darkness, since the spray rolling back off the boat's bow kept splattering his face.

  "Is your brother already on Gramatkee's yacht?" Joe asked. "Sure. Why do you think we came over to Bayport tonight from Kirkland? I'm bringing this boat to pick him up."

  "And you still won't believe me, will you, Kevin? I'm telling you, Curt is on the Golden Fleece to kill Gramatkee."

  Kevin laughed. "You'll have to try harder, Joe. No way am I going to fall for a desperate story like that. Curt's out there, all right. He's making sure your friend Biff gets framed with a burglary rap."

  Joe kept his eyes on Kevin. "Why does he need you to meet him?"

  "After I pick him up, we'll be going to — to a place where there'll be a plane waiting."

  Was it only hope, or did Kevin sound a little less sure of his brother's story? Joe decided to press the issue.

  "Why didn't he take his own motorboat out to the yacht?"

  "He was waiting on the boat Biff picked up at the yacht club. It actually belongs to your new pal Chad," Kevin explained, his eyes on the course ahead. "I thought that was a nice touch."

  "Great," Joe said.

  "Of course, Biff didn't know Curt was hiding out on his boat. That way any witnesses who happened to be around will see only Biff heading for the yacht at the time of the burglary."

  The launch hit a rough patch of water and the gas can stored near Joe's bound feet rattled on the wooden boards of the boat's bottom.

  "How about tomorrow?" asked Joe. "What will you be doing then?"

  "I'll be going away with Curt for a while, until this whole Circle thing blows over." Kevin gave him a wolfish grin. "But I'll want to come back eventually, so I can laugh at all you jerks."

  Joe shook his head. "You're never coming back, Kevin."

  Kevin Branders gave him a quick angry glance over his shoulder. "I don't like that kind of stuff, Joe," he said angrily. "You go talking about things that are going to happen and—and it jinxes them."

  "The police are going to find Gramatkee's body on that yacht tomorrow," Joe said. "I hope you'll be able to live with yourself when you find that out. Because part of the fault— the guilt—will be yours."

  "Stop trying to twist things around," Kevin burst out furiously. "You don't know what you're talking about. Gramatkee isn't even on that stupid yacht."

  "Did your brother tell you that?" Joe rocked back and forth in his seat as the boat hit choppy water. Kevin was more busy glaring at Joe than steering the launch.

  "Yeah, and Curt never lies to me." The conviction in Kevin's voice tore at Joe's heart. "I don't know how it is with you and your brother, Joe, but Curt and I never lie to each other. We decided that a long time ago."

  "Well, maybe you never lie to him."

  "Lay off me," shouted Kevin. "I don't need to hear any more of this garbage."

  "Kevin, your brother is a hired killer," persisted Joe. "I've seen the files on him, trust me. The FBI knows about him, the Federal Crime Bureau—and so do the police in a dozen other countries. If he's told you he's nothing more than a sort of dashing gentleman thief, then he has been lying to you. And he's been lying to you for years."

  "Shut up, Joe!" Kevin's voice was ragged. "Just shut up!"

  "Right now he's planning to kill Gramatkee. And more than likely he'll kill Biff, too."

  Kevin glared at him. "No, he'd never do anything like that."

  Joe shrugged. "Okay, when you pick him up, ask him.

  "I will. Then you'll see how wrong you are, jerk!"

  Ahead in the darkness, the lights of the Golden Fleece drew nearer.

  As Kevin swung the launch around to approach the yacht, they heard the rapid crack of a gunshot. The echo of the shot moved out across the dark water. Then came a second crack—followed rapidly by one more.

  "I don't understand this," said K
evin, a nervous note entering his voice. "There wasn't supposed to be any shooting."

  ***

  After the slug tore through the desk lamp and plunged the cabin into blackness, Frank made a grab for the .32 revolver that had dropped from Curt's hand to the desk.

  His fingers closed on darkness. He'd missed the gun! Groping desperately, he managed to scoop it up on the second try. Frank dropped to the floor, rolling into the safety of a dark corner.

  Curt blindly aimed his Beretta toward the sound of Frank's shuffling and fired twice. He missed, but the cabin was illuminated by the flash of the shots.

  Frank crawled behind a chair. It was a fat armchair on wheels, and he rolled it quickly in front of himself to serve as a shield. Then he started backstepping, pulling the chair with him toward the partially open door of the cabin.

  Curt sent a bullet into the chair.

  The bullet dug into the padding but got lost there. Even so, the impact lifted all four legs of the chair off the floor, setting it to wobbling wildly.

  Frank thrust the gun around the chair and pulled the trigger. The hammer clicked on an empty chamber.

  He kicked the chair forward into the room. Again, Curt Branders fired blind. While he was murdering the armchair, Frank managed a shaky somersault that threw him out the doorway. Hitting the outside deck, Frank pushed to his feet and started running.

  His feet thumped on the damp teak planks of the deck. The next door he came to, he grabbed hold of the handle and pushed.

  Then he dived inside.

  Frank found himself in a large room, illuminated by a single night-light. This was a library, with shelves of books covering three walls and a half-dozen armchairs circling a low oak coffee table.

  Sprinting, Frank threw himself behind one of the heavy chairs and dropped to one knee to examine the gun he'd just gotten hold of. But when he flipped the chamber open, he only sighed. Great, he said to himself, the thing's not loaded.