Street Spies Read online

  "We'll find out," Frank tossed over his shoulder, striding toward Gus's bed. A nurse was bending over Gus with a stethoscope to his chest. The EKG next to the bed was whining, its display tracing a flat wave.

  The nurse hit an alarm button at the head of the bed, and running footsteps sounded down the hall. "I don't know what happened," the nurse said, shaking her head. "The doctor was just here and gave him a sedative to help him relax—"

  "What doctor?" Frank demanded.

  "It was a Doctor Chung," the officer said. "I heard them page him to intensive care on the PA system, so I let him in."

  In helpless frustration, Frank slammed his fist against the head of the bed, looking down at Gus's lined gray face. "It was a fake," he muttered. "They must have tapped into the P.A. system from somewhere outside."

  The physician who had worked on Gus in the emergency room burst through the doors. He checked Gus's pulse and shook his head. The nurse pulled the sheet over Gus's face.

  Frank took a deep breath and walked out the door. Gus hadn't been the nicest guy, but he didn't deserve to die. Besides, now, with Gus gone, their only hope of finding the criminals— and Tiffany—was the transmitter Joe had attached to the van.

  Outside, he pulled his earphones out of his pocket and put them on, lowering his chin to his chest and the mike that was still taped there.

  "Joe, do you read me?" he asked.

  "Roger, Frank!" Joe's voice was charged with excitement. "I've just located the transmitter," he said. "The signal was weak when I first picked it up, but it looked like it was coming from the area of the hospital, where you are. Have you seen anything of it?"

  "I have," Frank said gravely. "Listen, Joe. They got Gus. One of them — an Asian going by the name of Chung—masqueraded as a doctor. He got past security and gave Gus a shot of something that put him out permanently."

  "Nice guys," Joe said, his voice hard. "We've got to get them, Frank, before they do the same to Tiffany."

  "Where's the van now ? "

  "They're driving close to the docks — no, they've stopped near Pier Thirty on the Hudson River." There was a pause, as Frank waited in the cool night air. Somewhere in the distance there was a siren, coming closer, then Joe's voice again, vibrating with suppressed energy. "I've just spotted the van. It's parked beside a warehouse across from Pier Thirty-two. I'm going to check it out."

  "Joe," Frank warned, "better wait until I can get there. This is a job for both of us."

  Joe chuckled. "What's the matter? Afraid I can't handle this?" Frank heard Joe put down the mike, then open the van door. There was silence ' for a moment or two, and then an eerie, remote thunk.

  "Joe?" Frank spoke quickly into the mike. "Joe, what's wrong?"

  But there was no response. Frank waited, the uneasiness mounting into fear. Then there was a sharp burst of static in the earphones, and the transmission ceased.

  Someone had switched off the set.

  Chapter 14

  "Joe!"

  In the semidarkness, Joe stirred painfully, his head throbbing. What time was it? Where was he?

  "Joe?" the voice came again, more urgent this time. It was a girl's voice. The girl was bending over him, and the faint, flowery scent of her perfume washed over him.

  "Iola?" Joe said, dazed. He reached up to touch her face. "Iola!"

  "No, it's Tiffany," the voice said.

  "Tiffany!" Joe shook his head and sat up, relief flooding through him with the discovery that she was still alive. But the relief immediately chilled to icy apprehension. "How long have I been out? Where are we?"

  "You've been out for about ten minutes," Tiffany said. Her voice was very small and frightened. "And I don't have any idea where we are. It's a warehouse, somewhere close to a river, I'd guess, from the sound of the boats."

  Joe looked at Tiffany. She was sitting on a pile of dirty canvas tarps, her face pale and tear-streaked, her dark hair mussed, the sleeve of her blouse torn. Over her head, a single bare bulb in a porcelain fixture cast a stark light over unpainted cinder-block walls. There was something that looked like a heavy fire door in one wall.

  As Joe watched, the door opened, and he saw the cruel, menacing face of the Asian man. The man was carrying an ugly-looking assault rifle, with an overhead gas port, a large curved magazine, a pistol grip, and a folding metal stock and butt-plate. The face vanished, and the door closed.

  "Wow," Joe muttered. "I'd hate to meet that character in a dark alley." He felt the bump on the back of his head. "On the other hand, maybe I just did," he reflected, with a forced laugh.

  "He's the same one who jumped me in the elevator," Tiffany said. Her voice shook.

  "That's some heavy artillery he's carrying," Joe remarked. "It has to be a Kalashnikov — an AK-forty-seven."

  "Kalashnikov?" Tiffany repeated doubtfully. "That sounds Russian."

  "It is," Joe said. He stood up unsteadily and flexed his stiff muscles. "The Russians have turned out some great weapons. That model is a real beauty. It was designed for Soviet paratroopers." He chuckled grimly. "It's also a favorite of terrorists everywhere."

  Her pale face turned even whiter.

  "Does that mean that the people who are holding us are terrorists?" Tiffany gasped. Then she began to cry soundlessly, her shoulders shaking.

  Joe felt a chill. Maybe Tiffany was right. The case that had started out as a simple matter of stealing secrets for profit now seemed to have turned into something much more sinister. Gus dead, Tiffany kidnapped, now both of them held captive—"Hey," he said gently, kneeling beside her, "that's not going to help." He put a finger under her chin and tipped it up, kissing her pale lips. "We've got to think of a way to get out of here."

  "Believe me, I've been thinking," Tiffany said mournfully, gulping back the sobs, "and I can't come up with anything. The door is locked and there's no other way out—except back there." She pointed into the shadows.

  Joe rose to his feet and began to look around. Besides the fire door, there was a fold-up garage door at one end of the dark room, but it was tightly locked. In the back of the room, behind a tarp pile, was a heap of junk—including an ancient pickup truck. The bare bulb overhead was the only light. There was no light switch in view.

  "Our friend must be on guard right outside," Joe said, indicating the fire door. He dropped down next to Tiffany again and reached for her hand.

  "I wonder where the other one is?" Tiffany asked.

  Joe turned to face her. Her eyes were dark wells of fear in the pale ivory of her face. "What other one?"

  "There was only one in the elevator," Tiffany said. "He jumped me and took me to a locked, unused office, where another guy was waiting. They made me record a telephone message to my father." She shook her head, looking away. "As if my father cares whether I live or die," she said.

  "Hey," Joe said gently, "stop that. He cares."

  Tiffany stared at him for a minute and then went on. "The second man was tall and thin. He was wearing coveralls and a ski mask. I got the impression that he was the one in charge. He didn't say anything, though. He just pointed."

  Joe frowned. It sounded like the same guy who had taken the shot at Lightfoot and Frank through the rear of the van. "How did they get you out of the building?" he asked Tiffany.

  "I don't know," she said. "After I made the telephone tape, they knocked me out with something — something on a pad they held over my mouth and nose." She shuddered. "It smelled awful. I got dizzy, and then I blacked out, and when I woke up, I was here. All alone, for hours and hours, before you came."

  Joe put his arm around her shoulders. She buried her face in his shirt and sobbed while he gently stroked her hair. But his mind was rapidly sorting alternatives, as he went through a mental checklist.

  "Listen, Tiffany," he said after a minute, "it's going to be tough getting out of here. There aren't any windows we can force. Even if we had the tools to try to get through that concrete-block wall, they'd be bound to hear us. Besides, we don'
t know what's on the other side." He shook his head. "For the moment, I guess we just sit tight and see what happens."

  Tiffany sat up and wiped her eyes. "What if they decide we know too much?" she asked.

  "Well, the fact that the key man kept his face covered is a good sign," Joe said, trying to sound confident. "As long as we don't know who he is, he can afford to turn us loose—eventually."

  Joe was doing his best to reassure Tiffany, but he wasn't all that confident about their chances. He chewed on his lower lip. He should have waited for Frank before he came barreling in after the crooks. It wouldn't have been so likely that they'd jump both of them. He rubbed the back of his head ruefully. He couldn't believe he'd been dumb enough to put his head down to check the transmitter on the van's bumper—without looking behind him first. That had made him a sitting duck.

  But there wasn't any use sharing his regrets with Tiffany. He had to keep her confidence up, even if his was at a low ebb.

  "Don't worry, Tiff," he said quietly. "My brother Frank is on the way. He'll get us out of this."

  "How can he?" Tiffany asked. "He doesn't even know where we are."

  Joe bent closer, so they wouldn't be overheard, and whispered in her ear, "I radioed him just before they jumped me. They had no way to know I was coming, or that I was in contact with Frank. So it's a safe bet that I was right outside their hideout—here—when it happened."

  There was a pause. "I hope you're right," Tiffany said, but she didn't sound very hopeful. She tilted her head to look up at him. "I'm praying these goons don't find out that my dad doesn't care what happens to me. If they do, it'll be too bad for both of us."

  "He cares about you," Joe protested, looking down at her. He swallowed. When Tiffany tilted her head that way, she reminded him so much of Iola. "He—felt very much responsible for your kidnapping."

  He closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, Tiffany was regarding him with curiosity.

  "Why do you look at me that way?" she asked.

  "What — what way?" Joe stammered.

  "It's like you know me from somewhere," Tiffany replied. Her voice softened. "And there's so much hurt in your eyes." She paused. "Who's Iola?"

  "A girl I was very close to once." He picked up Tiffany's hand and held it. "She's dead now."

  "Dead?" Tiffany asked wonderingly. "How did she die?"

  "She was killed by a bomb that was meant for me," Joe replied. "She was in my car when it blew up. We never found even a trace of her body. For a long time, I hoped that she was still alive — that somehow the Assassins had her. But I've given up that hope now. I — I guess I'm still trying to come to terms with the fact that she's dead."

  "The Assassins?" Tiffany asked. "Who are they?"

  "They're a group of international terrorists Frank and I were trying to expose. Our dad is Fenton Hardy, a private investigator. Your father hired him to stop the loss of World-Wide's design secrets."

  "So that's how you got involved with my father!" Tiffany exclaimed. "Your real name is Joe Hardy?"

  Joe grinned a little. "I'm sorry I had to lie to you. Sometimes it's part of the job."

  Tiffany smiled back. "I have to admit that I was pretty ticked off at you, Joe Hardy. I felt you were using me for something I didn't understand " She paused and looked down at their hands "But something about you told me that you were an okay guy. You seemed to really want to help me."

  A sharp pang of guilt stung Joe. Help her? Sure! He helped her all right — that was why she was in this mess.

  At that moment Joe heard a noise outside the fire door. They both scrambled to their feet, and he instinctively stood in front of Tiffany shielding her. The door opened slowly. A tall, tight-faced woman in a business suit stepped into the room, and the light from the bare bulb fell across her face. She was smiling slightly, and she had something in her hand, something dark blue. "Louise Trent!" Tiffany exclaimed, behind Joe's shoulder..

  Chung stepped through the doorway behind the electronics designer, his AK-47 carelessly slung over one shoulder, a silenced 9mm Browning automatic in his hand.

  Joe looked at the designer uneasily. Something about the situation troubled him. "So," he said, "they got you, too."

  "No," she said, with a hint of wry amusement. "In fact, it's the other way around. You see, I have them."

  "What?" Tiffany gasped, with a sharp intake of breath.

  "You didn't guess?" Louise Trent tossed Joe the object she held in her hand. "Actually, I'm the one who's running this operation!"

  Joe looked down at what he'd caught.

  It was a navy-blue ski mask.

  Chapter 15

  "That's all for now, Chung," Louise said to her companion. "But you can leave me the Browning." With a cold, hard glance at Joe and Tiffany, Chung handed her the pistol, its bulky silencer pulling the barrel down in her hands. Then he left.

  "Chung considers you an annoyance," Louise observed. "He deals with annoyances by eliminating them as soon as possible. As you may have noticed," she added, nodding toward the ski mask, "I tend to agree with him."

  "Who is he?" Joe asked.

  "Chung Lei," Louise answered. "He's on loan, from some of my business associates. A very interesting fellow, actually. He worked for the American Special Forces in Southeast Asia. After they pulled out, he looked for other suitable employment. That's when my associates picked him up."

  "I'm sure he came highly recommended," Joe said sarcastically.

  Louise nodded. "He speaks Chinese better than he speaks English. His specialty was prisoner interrogation." She smiled again, and tossed her head. "I've suggested that he use a more civilized weapon than that assault rifle, but he's stubborn."

  "So you use him to tie up your loose ends," Joe said. He frowned thoughtfully. It was important to keep Louise talking. The longer they talked, the better the chance that Frank would find them before ... He looked away from the Browning that Louise held in her hand. "I still don't understand," he said, "why you got involved in espionage."

  "That's right," Tiffany put in. "My father always speaks highly of your work. He says that you're his top designer."

  "Talk is cheap," Louise said bitterly. She straightened. "Yes, I am one of the best. But I haven't been promoted to a position of any real responsibility."

  "So you decided to set up MUX," Joe mused.

  "Hardly," Louise remarked. "MUX was well on the way to success in the world market before I came along. You might say that I just helped them open a new division."

  "What is MUX?" Tiffany asked.

  "So many questions." Louise hesitated. "Oh, well, we have a few minutes to wait. I don't suppose it will hurt to tell you a little more.

  "Naturally, your father and my colleagues at World-Wide aren't the only ones who know about my ability. There is a group of — shall we say-international businessmen who are constantly on the lookout for design talent. They snap up new product ideas, once the products are out of the expensive design and development stage. Then they tap the enormous Third-World labor pool. You see, it's a very cost-efficient business strategy.", "You mean," Joe said, "they steal other companys' designs and exploit cheap foreign labor."

  " 'Steal' is a relative term," Louise snapped. "What would you call it when Chilton takes my designs without giving me the proper recognition? Isn't that theft?"

  Joe decided that he'd pushed the point far enough. "How did you manage to set up your system with SpeedWay?" he asked.

  Louise looked pleased with herself. "It was a matter of putting together the right people," she said. "Gus needed money. Lightfoot needed his job. Both of them did what they were told."

  "But how did you know who Joe was?" Tiffany asked. "And why did you frame me?"

  "Good questions," Louise said approvingly. "Actually, all we knew was that Chilton had ordered an investigation. Gus was suspicious of Joe when he applied — we expected some kind of investigation, and there was something about Joe's attitude. So we decided to test him by arran
ging the delivery of the prototype board."

  "And it worked, too, didn't it?" Joe said in a congratulatory tone. "You not only identified me, but you also identified Frank and my father. And you managed to implicate Tiffany as well, so we'd concentrate on her."

  "Yes." Louise nodded. "But you had already penetrated our spy network. Lightfoot didn't matter, but Gus could identify me, and I wasn't about to be compromised. So he had to be eliminated." She looked at them. "And of course, we have to deal with you two, for the same reason."

  Tiffany took Joe's hand. "What are you planning to do with us?" Her voice was quavering and Joe could feel her tremble.

  "Why, keep you here until Joe's brother arrives," Louise said, with some surprise. "What did you think we were waiting for?"

  Joe tried to grin. "Frank? What makes you think Frank's coming here?" His mouth had suddenly gone dry.

  "Joe, Joe," Louise chided softly, shaking her head. Her voice suddenly got harder. "You don't take me for a fool, do you? Of course I know Frank's coming. You see, we've got a band scanner here at the warehouse. We picked up your transmission to him."

  "Uh - oh," Joe said, under his breath.

  At that moment there was a low tweet from Louise's wristwatch. "I believe that's Frank now," Louise said. She gestured toward the door with her automatic. "If you'll excuse me — "

  When she'd gone, Joe pounded angrily at the cinder-block wall. "We played right into her hands," he said, "just like a bunch of amateurs."

  Tiffany came up behind him and put her arms around him. Her voice was soft, comforting. "But you couldn't have known — "

  There was a loud scuffling outside, and then the crash of something hard against the steel door and a loud cry. Tiffany screamed and clutched Joe, pressing herself against him.

  A split second later, the door swung open. A body was pitched through it and landed, motionless, on the floor at their feet.

  It was Frank!

  Chapter 16

  Frank lay on the floor. He could feel the cement cold and rough against his cheek. Waves of blackness sucked at him like an angry surf as he tried to push himself up. He opened his eyes to see Joe lunge furiously at Chung, standing in the open doorway.