Too Many Traitors Read online

  "You're right. Let's go," Frank said. "It's still siesta for a couple of hours. We may as well hit the place now. They won't be expecting it, and it makes more sense than waiting around here to be caught."

  "Elena goes with us," Joe insisted. "I'm not abandoning her. Not while the Russians are after her too."

  The Gray Man stood and chuckled. "See what I mean. A pretty face." He opened the door and peeked into the empty hall, then waved the Hardys toward him. "Sure, bring her. The more the merrier."

  The police storage warehouse was a long windowless hut made of steel. It had a curved roof and was surrounded by a chain-link fence. "Electrified?" asked Frank as he studied the building from across the street. The Gray Man nodded and put a finger to his lips, signaling Frank to keep silent. In front of the gate to the warehouse an armed policeman stood, waiting at the checkpoint, and just inside the gate were parked a dozen empty police cars.

  "How do we know how many cops are in there?" Joe whispered.

  "We don't," the Gray Man whispered back, pointing his finger at the gate. "That's the only way in. And out."

  "How are we supposed to get by him?" Frank asked, nodding toward the sentry.

  "I'll handle that," the Gray Man said. He took Elena by the arm. "You just get ready to make your move."

  The Hardys watched Elena and the Gray Man vanish down the street. For long minutes they waited.

  A shrill squeal pierced the air, then turned into a growing mechanical rumble.

  "What's that?" Joe asked, and then he saw it. The Gray Man's car was racing down the street, swerving wildly. The guard looked up, shocked, and unbuttoned his holster. Before the Hardys' eyes, the car skidded off the pavement and rammed to a stop against a telephone pole.

  The car burst into flames, and from the car came a pleading female voice, pitifully calling, "Socorro! Socorro!"

  "Elena!" Joe gasped, and started out from his hiding place. This was a special nightmare for him. He'd lost one girlfriend in a burning car. But Frank grabbed his arm and held him back. "She's in trouble, Frank. If you don't let go, I'll — "

  "No," Frank said. "Look." The guard ran to the burning car, and from the hut came two other policemen. They, too, went to the car, but all three were forced back by the flames. "I don't know how they're doing it, but it's just her voice. It's our diversion."

  Joe's face brightened. "Come on," he said. While the policemen's backs were turned, the Hardys sneaked across the street and through the gate. They ran into the building, slamming the door behind them. Two offices were on either side of the doorway. From there the hut opened into a giant warehouse filled with file cabinets and rows of steel shelves.

  "No time to figure out the filing system," Frank said. "Look for our suitcases. They can't store too much luggage in here."

  "You think so, do you?" Joe asked as he moved down one of the aisles. He stared at a rack filled with baggage. Then he smiled.

  On the top shelf was his carry-on bag, and Frank's sat a shelf down. "Over here," he called.

  Quickly they dragged the bags down and opened them. "It's all here," Frank said as he rifled through his things. "Nothing's been taken out, but nothing's been added to mine either. What about yours?"

  "Nothing," Joe muttered. "I was so sure this would be it. We'd better get this stuff back in place so the cops won't suspect we've been here."

  "Let's make a couple of changes," said Frank. He peeled back the upper lining of his suitcase and pulled a stack of traveler's checks from behind it. Then he picked up his tape player, strapped it to his belt, and stuffed a couple of tapes into his pockets. "If I'm going to be on the run, I'm going to enjoy myself," he explained.

  A nearby voice shouted in Spanish. Frank and Joe looked up the barrel of a gun.

  "What's he saying?" Frank asked as he stood and raised his hands.

  "A rough translation?" Joe replied, his hands also in the air. "We're going to a jail for a long, long time."

  Chapter 13

  "DON'T SHOOT," FRANK told the policeman. His hands outstretched, he took a step toward the cop. Puzzled, the policeman fixed his aim on Frank and barked out an order. But Frank slowly moved closer.

  "He wants you to stop, Frank," Joe said. "He doesn't understand English."

  Frank jerked to a halt and raised his hands again, staring wide-eyed at the policeman. He looked innocent, but his words weren't. "That's all I need to know. When I tell you to, hit the floor. Fast."

  "Don't make a move. He'll shoot." Joe translated the cop's words, his eyes on the gun aimed at his brother's chest. Without thinking, he moved toward Frank. Startled, the policeman pivoted, pointing the gun at Joe.

  "Now!" Frank shouted. He clutched the shelf to his right and pulled. The shelf toppled over, burying the policeman in a flood of boxes and stolen merchandise. The loot literally swept the cop off his feet, the gun flying from his hand and sliding under another set of shelves without going off.

  "That was lucky. One shot and this place would have been crawling with cops," Frank said, digging the policeman out from under the boxes. He checked the cop's pulse and held a finger beneath his nose to test his breathing. Both were strong and steady. "He'll be all right, except for this forced siesta."

  "Great," Joe said. "Let's get out while we have the chance."

  Cautiously, they crept toward the door. Frank opened the door a crack and looked out toward the checkpoint and the street. Though a thin trail of dark smoke still rose into the air, the fire in the car was out.

  The two policemen who had rushed out to help were coming back in.

  Frank and Joe looked at each other. They were trapped. Three cops blocked the only way out of the warehouse. And behind them was another guard, who sooner or later was going to wake up and start hollering.

  "Things can't get worse," Joe whispered.

  He was wrong.

  "More trouble," Frank said, still looking outside. "Take a peek at who just showed up."

  Joe glanced out. Then he closed the door. "Vladimir and Konstantin. What bad timing!"

  "And it doesn't take a genius to guess what they want," Frank said. "The same thing we wanted — Martin's information. They must've come to the same conclusion we did."

  "But we were wrong," Joe said. "It wasn't in our stuff."

  "But they don't know that." Frank opened the door a sliver and looked out again. The guards were arguing with the Russians, barring the entrance while Vladimir kept pointing at some sort of document and thrusting it into their faces.

  "Another chance to put your Spanish to the test, Joe. Can you make this out?"

  Joe put his ear to the door and listened. "As near as I can make out, Vladimir has an order from Inspector Melendez giving them access to our stuff. The head guard wants them to wait until Melendez verifies the order."

  The talking outside slowly turned to shouting. "Sounds like Vladimir doesn't care for that idea."

  "His authorization order is probably a forgery." Frank grinned. "I bet Vladimir's getting pretty nervous by now. Until he gets and destroys the information, his freedom's hanging by a thread." Outside, the voices rose.

  "Konstantin seems to be taking the whole thing in stride." Joe peeked out. "This argument may be our best chance to get out of here—if we make our move quick."

  "If we can de-electrify the fence, we can climb over it. They don't even have to see us," Frank said. He gazed around for a switch but saw nothing. "The control must be outside, at the guard post. That lets that out. We'd never get to it without being spotted."

  "Something's happening," said Joe. At the checkpoint one guard was picking up a phone and reaching for his revolver.

  Shaking his head, Konstantin held out his attache case. It flipped open, and a cloud of gas burst out to envelop the three guards. They staggered back, then fell to the ground. Vladimir and Konstantin were both holding pads over their noses and mouths.

  "Konstantin," came a voice outside the gate. The single word was punctuated by the telltale click
of a bullet being jacked into the chamber of an automatic. Vladimir and Konstantin stiffened. They turned slowly.

  The Gray Man stood there with an automatic trained on them. "This is very foolish, my friend," Konstantin scolded. "After we worked so well together in Paris."

  "True, we'll always have Paris," the Gray Man replied. "But don't think we're friends. We're business associates, and we have problems to work out like civilized men."

  Vladimir angrily pointed at the Gray Man. "You had your chance to save your agent," he said. "You will not see him again."

  "Take it easy," the Gray Man said. "We can still work things out to everyone's satisfaction. Let's not abandon the swap over a silly misunderstanding."

  "Misunderstanding?" Vladimir repeated coldly. "I for one do not — "

  Konstantin raised a hand to silence him.

  "Always you are the soul of logic, and I agree completely," Konstantin told the Gray Man. "We must, however, have some sign of your good intentions. A hostage, perhaps."

  "I see three at your feet," the Gray Man said.

  "We need someone more personally involved," Konstantin replied without blinking. "One of the young men. Where are they?"

  "Right here," Frank said, throwing open the door behind the two Russians. "No hostages."

  Vladimir whipped around at the sound of Frank's voice. When he saw the Hardys, his lips formed a hard line. But other than that he showed only icy calm. "These two young fools have stolen the name. Turn them over to us."

  "Not true," the Gray Man said. "They've told me they didn't steal it, and I believe them. Someone else killed Martin. Your mole."

  "Lies. A Network smear tactic," Vladimir said latly. "You can prove nothing."

  "I think we can, right now," the Gray Man replied, and to the Hardys he said, "Over here." hey moved in a wide arc around the Russians. "Vladimir," the Gray Man said, "I think we can. Tell us what you found in your luggage, Frank." "Whatever Martin had, it wasn't there," Frank mumbled.

  Vladimir's voice cut like a knife. "Even now they lie. We must not let them leave." 'Silence.'" Konstantin barked. "Anyone can these are honorable men." He smiled at Frank, saying, "I bow to your honesty," and he did a deep, comic bow, his head going almost down way to his knees.

  Frank.'" the Gray Man warned. "Look out.'" was too late. From the bow Konstantin swept the guard's revolver, and as his hands touched round, he balanced on them and swung his around, catching his ankles in Frank's and tripping Frank off his feet. He rose a second later. But now Konstantin was behind Frank. His right arm wrapped tightly around Frank's neck, the other hand held the revolver.

  "Ah. Now I have my hostage," Konstantin told the Gray Man.

  Frank grabbed the arm across his throat and chinned himself on it, bringing his heels up against Konstantin's shins as hard as he could. The tall Russian howled and loosened his grip. Frank dropped to the ground, and he and Joe sprinted across the street.

  "Stop!" Vladimir warned. He tore the revolver from Konstantin's grip and fired it recklessly.

  "Get out of here!" the Gray Man ordered. He pushed Elena at Joe and fired back at Vladimir. "I'll handle this." "We can't leave you," Frank said. "I'll find you again, don't worry," the Gray Man answered. "If we take off together, they'll catch us in no time. If I hold them off, they'll lose your trail. Go." He stepped behind a tree and fired another shot around it.

  "He is right," Elena said, and she tugged on their arms, pulling them away. Reluctantly, they left the Gray Man behind.

  Siesta had ended, and crowds of people were back on the streets. "I wish we hadn't had to leave the Gray Man," Frank said.

  "Say, how'd he pull off that car-crash stunt anyway? I was afraid you were in the car," Joe said.

  "A receiver," Elena admitted. "Part of the surveillance equipment he carries with him. I spoke into the microphone. He jammed the steering wheel of the car so it would move in a straight line when it rolled."

  "Let's swap stories later," Frank said. "We're sitting ducks out here on the street. But where can we go?"

  "I have friends," Elena said wearily. "I did not want to involve them, but now ..." She sighed. "It is too far to walk." She went to the curb and stuck her thumb out.

  "Hitchhiking's dangerous," Joe said. Elena ignored him. Three cars cruised by her, but the fourth came to a stop. She ran to it and scrambled into the front seat. The back door swung open, and Joe began to climb in. He stopped as he saw Elena trembling in front.

  "Get in," Konstantin said, seated behind the steering wheel, a triumphant smile on his lips.

  Chapter 14

  KONSTANTIN STEPPED OUT of the car and spoke over the hood. "I do not have a gun," he said. "Please step into the automobile. You will not be harmed."

  "What do you think?" Joe asked Frank. Frank shrugged and stared suspiciously at Konstantin.

  "You may leave at any time," Konstantin continued. "It is important that we talk. Alone, far from Vladimir and his agents. Your lives may depend upon it."

  "Come over here," Frank ordered. Konstantin walked around to the curbside. "Hands on the side of the car. Spread your feet wide apart."

  As Konstantin stood in that position, Joe frisked him. "He's clean," Joe said. "No gun, just as he said."

  "All right. Get in back." Frank motioned at the back door. "Elena will drive. Joe, you get in the front seat."

  "Agreed," Konstantin said as he slid to the far side of the car. Frank got in after him.

  The car pulled into traffic.

  "Okay," Frank said. "Talk. What do you want?"

  "To work with you," Konstantin answered. "To help you, so that you may help me."

  The Hardys exchanged surprised glances. "Why would we want to help you?" Joe asked.

  "To catch the killer of Martin Chase. Let me come to the point. You and I, we are on the same side, though you do not know it. I am a special operative, dealing with special problems."

  His voice deepened. "Problems such as Vladimir."

  "What's that to us?" Frank said.

  "We have had our eye on Vladimir for some time," Konstantin continued. "Some months ago our agent in London disappeared after suggesting an investigation of Vladimir. His official report never arrived. That made us suspicious."

  "I found the report," Frank said. "It was in Vladimir's files. Your agent recommended that Vladimir be recalled."

  "You have this file?" Konstantin asked anxiously.

  Frank shook his head. "Up in smoke in a bombed car. Go on."

  "When Vladimir informed us that an exchange was about to take place, it was decided that I should come here. I arrived during your interrogation and took steps to take over. On determining that you were telling the truth — "

  "I don't quite remember it happening that way," Joe said. "Seems to me you were about to fry me."

  "He wasn't, Joe," Frank said. "He spoke to the gunmen in English so that we'd understand what he was saying. And he dawdled with the interrogation until we decided to make a break for it. He wanted us to escape."

  Joe stared. "He what?"

  Konstantin gazed at Frank with new respect. "Why should I wish that?"

  "You want me to guess? I'd say you figured we had the incentive to find the information everyone was looking for, and you wanted us to lead you to it. Am I close?"

  "It seems I am a better judge of character than I suspected," Konstantin said, laughing. "Vladimir sees you only as enemies or victims. He failed to see that you have the makings of a fine agent."

  "Thanks," Frank said. "Now let's cut to the chase. You still haven't convinced us that we should work with you."

  "Ah." Konstantin scratched his head. "I see. Would it surprise you to know that I already know who the mole is? That I know it is Vladimir."

  "Yeah," Joe said. "We figured that out a long time ago. But convince us to work with you."

  "Vladimir is desperate to save himself. That is why he was willing to confront the police."

  "I thought that was a little dumb bac
k there at the warehouse. But you seemed as involved as he was," Frank said.

  "An act," Konstantin assured them. "If I did not act, he would have grown suspicious. Your escape from me was most convincing. But do you think a trained KGB agent would use such an elementary ploy?"

  "Sure," said Frank moodily. He could still feel the grip on his throat, and he hoped the Russian's shins still smarted as well. "I like to think so."

  "You would be wrong," Konstantin answered. "Vladimir will not stop until he is safe from you. I think you will also not stop until you find Chase's information, and when you do, I want it. I promise your names will be cleared, and I will prove Vladimir disguised himself as your chauffeur to assassinate Chase and watch you."

  "And you get to put Vladimir out of commission," Frank said. "If we agree to work with you, you'll keep the KGB off our backs?"

  "Agreed." Konstantin pulled a business card from his pocket. "You can contact me day or night at this number. Have we a deal?"

  "We'll let you know," Frank said. "Elena, pull over." The car stopped at a curb and the four of them got out. "You keep up your end as a gesture of good faith, and we'll be in touch."

  As he opened the driver's door, Konstantin asked, "Can I trust you?"

  "You're such a student of human nature," Frank answered. "You tell me."

  Konstantin smiled slowly and shook his head. "You Americans." He climbed into the driver's seat, then leaned over to the passenger's window. "One warning. Do not remain on the streets. The Spanish police are not interested in our deals."

  The car pulled away. For long seconds they watched until it disappeared in traffic.

  "He's got a point," Joe admitted. "We'd better not hang around where we can be spotted." To Elena he said, "Does the offer to stay with your friends still hold?"

  "Of course," Elena said, fear in her voice. "But you said you cannot find the information. How can you make a deal?"

  "Konstantin doesn't need to know that," Frank said.

  He turned to Joe and Elena. "It's time we changed tactics. If we can't use Martin's information to prove our innocence, we'll use Martin's killer."