Edge of Destruction Read online

  "I don't get it," Trask muttered. "My man went down to the basement. The test tube Was smashed, just the way we planned it. The air conditioning system was working great." Trask's voice rose to a bellow of rage. “Then what went wrong? No one's dead!"

  Trask shook his head in disbelief. "The guy must've made a mistake. I'll tell him to check it all out again."

  He picked up the phone. After furiously punching out numbers, he stood openmouthed, waiting.

  "Now this thing is on the fritz," he said savagely, storming out of the room. Almost as an afterthought, he called over his shoulder, "Come on, all of you. We're going to the lab. The doctor has a lot of explaining to do."

  The Hardy’s were herded out of the room, and everyone followed Trask's trail.

  Frank managed to whisper to Joe and his dad as they left the room, "For the time being, there's no way Trask can make a phone call."

  The two nodded. They all knew what that meant. With the phone out, Trask couldn't order their mom and aunt killed. A chance to escape had just appeared if they moved fast enough.

  The trouble was, bullets moved faster. Three Uzis were trained on the Hardy’s, and the men holding them looked trigger happy.

  When they reached the lab, Trask gave the bodyguard a nod, and the man took the key from his pocket and unlocked the door.

  The Hardy’s glanced knowingly at each other. All three of them saw the bodyguard leave the key in the lock. When Trask led everyone into the lab, the door was left open. Another aid to help them escape. But the guns were still trained on them. Trask went to the doctor, picked him up, and shook him like a rag doll. Von Reich stayed out like alight.

  "The doctor's drug worked okay," growled Trask. "So what went wrong with his virus? He swore it worked. A hundred percent effective, he said." Letting the doctor drop to the floor, Trask glared down at the unconscious body. He looked as if he wanted to kick it. In fact, his foot actually was poised to deliver a kick when, instead, he turned away.

  Having second thoughts, he turned back. Joe and Frank winced as they witnessed him deliver a vicious kick to the doctor's side. What if Trask's rage turned against them? But Trask had a more pressing concern.

  "Let's see if the doctor has anything to hide," he said slyly. "Some cute little secrets. The guy insisted on living in this lab. Claimed he wanted to be close to his work. But maybe he stayed here because he didn't want to leave his personal stuff unprotected. Maybe he had something he didn't want anyone to find." Trask stormed over to a corner of the lab where a bed and a chest of drawers were setup. First he attacked the chest of drawers. His methods were crude but effective. He simply pulled out one drawer after another and dumped their contents on the floor.

  All he found, though, were shirts, underwear, and socks.

  By then three of Trask's men had joined him in rummaging around the doctor's living space. The remaining two kept their Uzis on the Hardy’s. The three prisoners were feeling restless.

  "Looks like the doctor kept his bag packed,” said one of the men. "Maybe he figured he'd have to clear out in a hurry."

  He pulled a leather suitcase out from under the doctor's bed.

  "Let's take a look," said Trask. He tried to open the suitcase, but it was locked. Shrugging, he pulled out a .45 automatic. The sound of the shot was deafening. Rows of empty test tubes on the walls trembled. But Trask wasn’t interested. Not after he'd shoved aside the shattered lock and taken a look inside the suitcase.

  "Dough!" he said, nearly pop-eyed. And at the sound of that magic word, his men gathered around him to stare at the contents.

  “My dough," said Trask. "All the dough I gave the doctor for his 'experiments.' I should have known better than to trust a guy who was sent up for selling a phony cure for cancer. The rat was pulling a scam on me. Those test tubes must've been filled with a hundred percent water. He must have dosed his lab animals with poison to make me think Virus B was working. The double-crosser was going to take the money and run."

  His face twisted with rage, Trask reached for his gun and swung around. He glowered at the prone body of the doctor. His men, though, were far more fascinated by the stacks of neatly bundled currency in the suitcase. They stared at them as if hypnotized.

  Joe, Frank, and Fenton Hardy, though, didn't care about the money. They were more interested in the two guards who still had guns on them. And in the open bottles of liquid that Joe and Frank only had to reach out to grab off the lab table. They reached. They grabbed.

  I hope this stuff is strong, Frank prayed silently as he flung the liquid in the nearest guard's face. His brother's bottle followed quickly, splashing in the face of the second guard. The men's agonized screams gave the boys their answer.

  By that time all three Hardy’s were through the doorway. Fenton Hardy slammed the lab door and turned the key in the lock. "Move fast," he said, "before Trask can get to a phone and contact the men holding your mom and aunt. As soon as we're clear, we can alert the Bayport police."

  The Hardy boys needed no urging. In fact, they had to keep their speed down so their dad could keep up with them.

  "We'll be out of here in no time," exulted Joe as they dashed down a corridor and whipped around a corner.

  "Not quite," said Frank. As they made the turn, they almost fell over their own feet braking to a stop.

  Coming toward them were four men, all brandishing pistols.

  "The other way!" ordered Fenton Hardy, and the three raced back around the corner and down the corridor.

  But they hadn't made it halfway to the lab when they heard the rapid firing of an Uzi. The lab door flew open, its shattered lock clattering to the floor. Trask and his men poured out, guns drawn.

  The Hardy’s wheeled around again, but the four gunmen who had cut off their escape were turning the corner and sighting in on them.

  Spinning one last time, the Hardy’s came face to face with Trask's fury. On either side of him, his hired guns were swinging up to take dead aim.

  "Uh-oh," said Joe. - "We're trapped," said Frank. But their dad summed it up best. “We're dead."

  Chapter 15

  FENTON HARDY HAD another word of wisdom for his sons. It was based on years of experience.

  "Dive!" he said.

  Frank and Joe were already ahead of him. As their father did, they knew that guns tended to jerk upward when fired. Diving, they might avoid the first rounds coming at them. After that, though, they would be done for.

  But lying flat on the floor, they-heard bullets continue to whiz over their heads. What was happening? Trask's thugs couldn't shoot that badly. '

  Then the shooting stopped. The Hardy’s looked up and saw that the men who had cut off their escape were gone.

  "Get up, before I leave you lying there permanently," Trask said, frowning down at them.

  From their vantage point, they were looking straight into the barrel of his gun. His men stood behind him their Uzis smoking.

  "Come on, on your feet," Trask said. "And no more funny business. You Hardy’s are lucky I still need you alive."

  Back in the lab, he told them, "So do you see what kind of friends my old pals are. I got a little short and had to borrow from them, and then, just because I got a bit behind in my payments, they send in muscle to collect. As if they couldn't trust me to make good on a lousy couple hundred grand."

  "An honest guy like you," said Joe with mock sympathy. "Kid, someday you're going to open your mouth too wide and find a gun rammed down your throat," Trask spat out. Then he said, "But I have more important things to do right now. Like get uptown to Grand Central. We can contact Peterson from there. We still have a chance to put the squeeze on the city for the dough. They don't know it's a bluff yet and they'll pay rather than risk it."

  Trask turned to his men. "Come on, you guys. And keep the Hardy’s covered. If they even look like they're making a break, don't ask questions. Blow them away."

  Trask started for the door, the suitcase full of money in one hand, his gu
n in the other. Then he stopped. None of his men had made a move.

  "Come on," he snapped. "I said let's go."

  "You didn't tell us we'd be in a war against the mob," the bodyguard complained, and the other four nodded. "That wasn't part of the deal."

  "And we ain't been paid in three weeks," said one of the others. "That wasn't part of the deal either.”

  "So you can count us out," said another one. "And we'll take the dough in the suitcase to cover what you owe us," said the third.

  "Hand it over," said the fourth.

  Instinctively Trask started to raise his gun. Then, taking a look at the Uzis trained on him, he thought better of it and tossed the suitcase at the feet of his bodyguard.

  "Here," he snarled. "Take it. And good luck. You'll need it."

  The bodyguard grabbed the suitcase. He and the others were out of the room in a flash. They left the door open behind them, and their running footsteps could be heard heading down the corridor.

  "Those morons don't have enough brains to figure out that the organization has this place surrounded," Trask said. "Just like they cut off my phones so I couldn't call for help from uptown. Those jerks don't have a chance of getting out of here."

  "And you do?" asked Frank.

  "You bet I do and I'm taking you with me," said Trask. He motioned with his gun for the Hardy’s to move out of the room ahead of him. "I'm not beaten yet."

  "Just hold on a minute," Fenton Hardy boomed. His voice stopped Trask cold. "Have you thought about this with that old man Ian dead, you're up against a murder rap. The best thing for you would be to turn yourself in."

  "But that guy didn't die from the virus, there was no virus."

  Fenton Hardy scowled. "You think the police will care about that?"

  Trask considered Hardy's words. Then a crooked smile erupted on his face. "Well, my dear friend," he said, sneering, "If I'm going to be sent up for killing one guy" Trask's gaze swept over the three "then I might as well kill three more!"

  Ten minutes later, after moving through a maze of corridors, tunnels, and an old water main, the group emerged into a subway station or what was once a subway station. By then Trask had taken a flashlight out of his pocket. In its beam the Hardy’s could see elaborate tile work that was now cracked and covered with grime.

  "This used to be the City Hall station," said Trask. "A real fancy place once, from what they tell me. What you call a showcase. But the station's been deserted for years."

  "What do we do now, catch the phantom express?" asked Frank, looking around. He felt strange standing there, as if he were in a haunted house.

  "Shut up and listen," said Trask. "Fenton, get closer to me. I'm going to be carrying my gun in my jacket pocket, and it's going to be pointed right at you. So if your kids get any ideas of making a break for it, you're going to pay."

  Just then a roaring filled the station as a train went by.

  "We're going down on the tracks," Trask said when he could be heard again. "We can make it to the next stop before another train comes."

  Five minutes later, people waiting on the next subway platform saw four figures-two mature men and two teens-emerging from the darkness of the tunnel and climbing up onto the platform.

  "Some people will do anything to beat the fare," one woman said to her companion. But as far as the Hardy’s could make out, everyone else looked the other way.

  Ten minutes after that, the next train finally arrived. The commuters jammed into the already packed cars. Trask stayed close to Fenton Hardy, who felt Trask's pistol poking into his back. Afraid for their father, Frank and Joe made no move to escape.

  After several stops, the train made it to Grand Central.

  Fenton Hardy felt Trask's gun give him a painful jab, and he and his sons moved in front of the hoodlum and off the train.

  "We're borne free," said Trask, and fifteen minutes later they were underground again, in another of Trask's headquarters.

  "It's practically payday now," Trask assured the six men he had gathered in the room. His voice was full of hearty good cheer. "Just a couple of phone calls, and we're all rich."

  "About time," muttered one of the men. Trask's tone changed abruptly. "One more wisecrack, and you're out in the cold. Got it?" "Just kidding," the man apologized.

  "You better be," growled Trask.

  "That you, Peterson?" Trask snarled after reaching for the phone and punching out a number “I hope by now you've given up trying to trace my calls. Now listen and listen hard. I want that dough you promised me and I want it fast. Don't jerk me around, Mr. Almost Mayor. It won't do much for your campaign if I kill the Hardys yeah, all of them and then I start on the rest of the city. You didn't know I had the Hardy kids along with their dad? Here. Pay attention."

  He handed the phone to Frank. "Tell him the good news, kid."

  "Peterson?" Frank said into the receiver. The chief sounded hoarse to him. He had the voice of a man who had been talking too much and not getting enough sleep. "Yes, he's got us," Frank went on when Peterson asked him to confirm. Trask took the phone back. "Convinced?" He smiled. "Good. Now, like I said, I want the money fast.

  "What do you mean, you have just five million?" Trask said. He'd been listening to Peterson's reply. "What am I supposed to do with chicken feed like that? It'll barely cover expenses." Trask concentrated. "Okay," he said. "I'll agree to that. You leave the five million at the drop-off point as agreed and get me the rest in two days. You've bought that much time… but, Peterson" Trask looked at the Hardy’s. “You cross me, you even make me think you're crossing me, and your friends are dead meat."

  Trask wore a triumphant expression as he put the phone down. "I knew they'd chicken out. They don't have enough guts to see a few lousy lives lost. That's why tough guys like me always come out on top."

  "You're on the bottom as far as I'm concerned," Joe said, and Trask shoved him hard. Then the hood turned to his men and told two of them to pick up the parcel at the dropoff point.

  "It should be there in ten minutes," he said. "Keep your eyes peeled so you’re not followed. I don't figure Peterson's going to pull a fast one.

  Still, you can't be sure. He must be getting a lot of heat from the fat cats. They ain't into giving away their dough."

  After the men left, Trask gave the rest of his crew a little pep talk. "Boys, you've done good work for me, and when Nick Trask gets good work, he pays good for it. You know the dough I told you you'd get when this job was finished? Well, I'm going to double it, just as soon as that final payment is made. Plus all of you are going to have executive jobs in the organization I'm setting up. You'll be kings of the city, and I don't mean the underground. We'll be moving up in the world soon, taking over everything."

  It took just twenty minutes for Trask's messengers to return with a satchel. "Let me see that," Trask said, reaching out for it.

  He turned all his attention to the satchel. Putting it on his desk, he started unloading the contents bundle after bundle of hundred dollar bills. He counted the bills in the first bundle, and then used that stack to measure the thickness of all the other bundles he took out. After counting the total number, he did a quick multiplication on a small calculator and announced, "Five million on the nose."

  But he wasn't quite finished. He took a magnifying glass from the desk drawer. Examining two bills closely, he gave a final nod. "Good," he said. "Peterson didn't mark them. Guess he knows that Nick Trask is no chump."

  Trask then began to load the bundles back into the satchel, casually sweeping the two loose bills onto the floor.

  When one of his men bent to pick them up, Trask said, "Don't bother, that's small stuff. In two days you're going to have more dough than you can stuff in your pockets."

  The thug hesitated. Then, giving the bills a quick glance, he backed off from them."

  "You guys are in the big time now," Trask told them. "You've got to learn to think big. But, of course, we still have to keep on our toes. That's why I'm
sending you out to make sure the cops don't try to find this place. You already know your guard posts, so get to them fast. Make sure nobody sneaks by you."

  Trask waited until the last of his men had left. Then, with his gun covering the Hardy’s, he went to the door and locked it. Next he bent over; picked up the hundred-dollar bills he had grandly swept to the floor, and stuck them into his wallet.

  "Never know when a couple of hundred will come in handy," he said, "though I won't really need them. Not with the rest of this pile here."

  Moving to the satchel stuffed with money, he snapped it closed. Then he picked it up, testing its weight.

  "Not as heavy as I thought," he said. "I'll be able to make good time with it."

  The Hardy’s looked at one another.

  "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Frank asked his dad.

  "The thought crossed my mind," he answered.

  "What are you two talking ... oh, I see what you mean," Joe said. He shook his head at Trask. "Hey, Nick, I'm surprised at you. You wouldn't be thinking of stealing that five million would you?"

  Trask's grin grew even wider. "You Hardy’s are smart, aren't you? Sure, I'm getting out while the getting is good and the coast is clear. Five million will do me just fine."

  "If there's one thing I've learned in this case," said Joe, smiling ruefully, "it's never to believe that stuff you hear about honor among thieves. Crooks are crooks, and that's it."

  "Hey, I'm glad you wised up," said Trask. "It's a real shame you won't be able to use what you've learned. The problem is, all you Hardy’s know too much, and you just can't stay alive."

  He leveled his gun at Joe, Frank, and Fenton Hardy, making a sweeping motion in front of their faces.

  "Okay, let's not waste time," he said. "Which one of you wants to get it first?"

  Chapter 16

  THE HARDYS LOOKED at one another, each hoping the others would see a way out. But all they saw were helpless expressions.

  "Hey, don't look so down in the dumps. I'm being a nice guy," Trask mocked. "I'm letting you choose what order you want to die in. So don't waste my time, or I'll let my gun do the deciding."