Hide-and-Sneak Page 8
“This is getting us nowhere.” Mrs. Buckmaster finally had to admit. She bit her lip in frustration.
“Maybe he really did feel like he just messed up and couldn’t bear to face the consequences,” Frank said.
“You wouldn’t say that if you really knew him,” she replied. “He always planned ahead. When we broke up, he had a whole program laid out to get me out of his life.”
“Which didn’t exactly work,” Frank replied.
Sara Buckmaster’s face tightened. “It came close enough.”
She turned away and looked blindly out the window of the trailer. “I can’t shake the feeling that he’s out there somewhere, laughing, waiting for things to die down a little before he picks up his ill-gotten gains and disappears into the world again.”
Frank stood beside her. “You might believe that—”
He broke off, staring at the last thing he expected to see on the abandoned construction site: the beam of a flashlight, coming from the gate!
15 Unwelcome Guests
* * *
Joe stepped over to the window to see what Frank was looking at. “Speak of the devil?” he whispered. The oncoming gleam vanished for a moment, hidden by the bulk of one of the trailers. When it reappeared, the light had split in two. To judge from the way the beams bobbled over the rough ground, there had to be two intruders.
“If that is Pete,” Sara Buckmaster muttered, “who’s with him?”
As the lights came nearer, they heard a familiar pair of voices arguing.
“So, dude, if we’re going for a big payday, why not try for the whole enchilada?”
Hal Preston’s drawl was unmistakable, and a second later the boys heard Andy Slack’s voice. “Well, duh, there’s only two of us and three boats. Besides, it would be harder to sell that big Chris-Craft. The jet boat, though, that’ll go fast.”
“Yeah, but think of those wannabes standing on the dock,” Hal said. “That Melanie chick going, ‘Zack, man, our fleet is gone!’”
“Melody,” Andy said with a laugh. “Yeah. Snob-girl Willow will eat Zack alive if anything happens to Daddy’s boat.”
The pair continued their banter until they were right outside the trailer.
“We can’t let them do this,” Frank said.
“We don’t have to get involved.” Sara reached into her jacket pocket. “I’ve got a cell phone. We can call the harbor police—”
But Joe was already opening the door. “Yo, dudes,” he said, “why don’t you just head home and chill?”
Andy shook his head. “That Zack guy needs a lesson. He dumped all over my ideas, wouldn’t listen. He’s got money, and he won’t share.”
Hal gave the boys and Mrs. Buckmaster a puzzled look. “So, what are you doing here? You going for a payday of your own?”
Frank now stood on the wooden stairs leading to the trailer door. He was soon joined by a reluctant Chet and an even more reluctant Sara.
“This is Mrs. Buckmaster,” Joe said. “We’re trying to help her find something that belonged to her husband.”
Andy responded with a nasty laugh. “Big rich guy, lots of big talk. ‘Maybe I’ll help with this film.’ ‘Move my swimming pools over there.’ And he was really broke all along!”
“Look.” Frank impatiently came down the stairs to stand in front of Andy. “Whatever you were going to do isn’t going to happen now, because you’ve got an audience. Why don’t you—”
“Why don’t you get out of our way?” Andy had worked himself into a rage. His hand went to his belt. A second later the flashlight beams were reflected in a long fisherman’s knife.
“Move it,” Andy demanded, “or I’ll gut you like a fish!”
“Great,” Joe mumbled, jumping down to the ground. Chet slowly started walking down the stairs.
In a move almost too quick to follow, Frank’s hand fastened on Slack’s wrist. He hauled Andy’s arm out straight and pivoted, twisting and applying pressure with his other hand.
Andy yelled with pain. His hand twitched, and the knife went flying to the ground.
“Martial Arts 101,” Frank said, pushing him away. “How to deal with loudmouths waving knives.”
Andy might have lost his weapon, but he was still furious. Roaring, he hurled himself at Frank. Hal followed suit.
Joe flung himself forward and tackled Hal. Andy’s friend went down, but on his way he managed to clip Joe. Hal quickly got to his feet and threw a punch at Chet.
Bad move. Chet was a peaceful guy, but he knew how to fight when he had to. He hunched, taking Hal’s wild swing on the shoulder. His counterpunch caught Hal in the gut and folded him in half. By then Joe was on his feet, and he grabbed Hal’s arm and twisted it behind him. Andy Slack still lay on the ground, thanks to Frank’s martial arts expertise. The fight was really just about over when a pistol shot rang out.
All the boys whirled around to see a white-faced Sara. Standing behind her, holding a pistol to her head, was Peter Buckmaster!
“That was just to let you know I’ve got a gun,” he said.
And a hostage, Frank thought.
“So why don’t you all be smart and get on the ground? Sit on your hands.”
Everyone followed Buckmaster’s instructions. Frank knew how hard it would be for him to get quickly to his feet from this position.
“Very good,” Buckmaster said. “Some of you don’t seem all that surprised to see me. I’ll bet I have Sara to thank for that. She always had a suspicious mind.”
“I wonder why,” Joe replied sacastically. “What are you going to do now? You can’t keep us here forever.”
“Hey, Mr. Buckmeister, Hal and I will help you out,” Andy Slack suddenly said. “We’re capitalists, just like you, only on a smaller scale.”
“Interesting,” Buckmaster said. “Why don’t you go find some rope?”
Andy came back with a coil of rope and began tying together each person’s ankles and wrists. He jerked on the ropes that restrained Frank. Very soon the older Hardy began to lose feeling in his hands.
“Your friend too,” Buckmaster said after Andy had finished with the Hardys and Chet. Andy followed Buckmaster’s instructions.
“And now my wife, just the wrists.”
Frank could only watch as Andy bound Sara Buckmaster as well.
“Good job.” Their captor reached into his pocket and pulled out a large roll of bills. Andy stared at the money greedily, never noticing the pistol swinging around. It caught him in the side of the head. He went down like a sack of potatoes.
Buckmaster tied up the unconscious Andy. “Not a very professional job, but it’ll have to do. Now you know the first two rules of successful capitalism: Never do anything you can get someone else to do, and never pay for anything unless you have to.”
“You still won’t get away with this,” Joe growled.
“I have so far,” Buckmaster said coolly. He held up a fat leather bag. “Top-quality gems,” he announced. “My rainy day fund. When I realized I’d have to sacrifice the Jolly Roger, I stashed it in the foundation of the house.”
He shook his head. “And when I come to pick it up, what do I find but a bunch of boys fighting? With my dear wife as the audience! Sara will come along with me—at least for the first leg of the trip.”
Frank didn’t like the sound of that. “What good will that do you?” he asked. “You might have pulled off this whole operation if everyone thought you were dead. But your secret is out now.”
“Who’s going to believe a bunch of kids?” Buckmaster’s laugh was like a snarl. “What proof do you have? Sara might have been able to convince people. That’s why she’s coming with me.”
Pete Buckmaster began pulling his bound wife toward the stairway to the docks.
As soon as he turned his back on the boys, Frank and Joe began desperately trying to loosen their bonds, but Andy’s knots held.
Of course he had to get a fisherman’s kid to do the job, Frank thought bitterly.
A strange scraping sound caught Frank’s attention. He turned to see Chet bunch up his legs and push his body across the ground. Chet repeated this wormlike motion again and then again.
“What are you doing?” Frank asked. “Trying to scrape the ropes off?”
Chet shook his head. “I’m looking—”
He let out a sudden yell of pain. “Ow! I found it.”
“What?” Joe asked.
“Andy’s knife,” Chet replied. “I thought it wound up over here, and I was right. It just stuck me in the rear.”
16 Parting Shot
* * *
While Chet squirmed around, trying to grasp the knife without being stuck by the blade again, Joe and Frank wormed their way over to their friend.
“How are your hands?” Frank asked.
“I stopped feeling them about halfway over here,” Joe answered.
“He really went to town on mine,” Frank told Joe. “How about you, Chet?”
“Pins and needles, but I can still move them. Ha! Got it!” Chet twisted around. “Now what do I do with it?”
“We move back to back, and then you try to cut me loose,” Frank replied.
Joe had often tried to cut somebody’s ropes with his own hands tied behind his back. It was difficult enough with practice, but this was Chet’s first time. “Just try not to cut Frank,” Joe said, trying to help.
“Yeah,” Chet said, trying to look over his shoulder.
With a lot of contortions, a few yells, and a brief delay when he lost the knife, Chet worked and worked. Finally, with a triumphant cry, Frank tore his hands free.
He winced as he rubbed some life into his blood-starved hands. Then he leaned over, took the knife, and cut the ropes around his ankles. Frank then turned to Joe.
“Hey!” Chet exclaimed.
“His hands are almost as bad as mine,” Frank said, cutting the bonds on Joe’s wrists. He turned to Chet and cut him loose before cutting Joe’s ankle ropes.
Hal Preston twisted around on the ground, looking up at Frank. “How about me?”
“I’m tempted to leave you here with your snoozing buddy,” Frank said.
At that moment Andy gave a low groan. “Wha—”
Frowning, Frank cut the foot restraints on both of them. “I’m leaving your hands tied for now, but come with us,” he said.
The boys rushed down the stairs to the docks, although they knew there was no hope of catching Buckmaster. While Chet had been getting the knife positioned on Frank’s ropes, the sound of an engine had come up from the bay.
Still, they had to try.
“Oh, man,” Andy moaned before they were even on the last flight of steps. “My dad’s going to kill me.”
Frank could easily see why. The fishing trawler lay deep in the water—too deep. Its deck sloped down until it was about a quarter submerged, and they could see way too much of the rounded keel. “Must have knocked out the bilge plug,” Frank said.
The Sleuth hadn’t been sunk, but it had been cut loose. It was drifting away from the dock, following the tide out to sea.
The jet boat was gone.
Frank made a quick decision, cutting Andy’s and Hal’s hands free. “Get on your boat and see if the radio is working.” He shook his head. “What a time not to bring my cell phone.”
Joe ran down the dock and jumped into the water. “I’ll try to catch the Sleuth!” he said.
Andy and Hal made their way along the deck of their listing boat and climbed into the cabin. A moment later Andy’s head reappeared. “Radio’s busted.” He shook his head. “And waterlogged.”
Frank watched his brother as he cut through the water after the drifting boat. “Then it’s up to Joe,” he said.
• • •
Joe Hardy climbed aboard the Sleuth and shook his dripping hair out of his face. Leaving a trail of water, he dashed over to the controls.
The front of the radio was smashed, and the microphone was gone. Whatever had been used to break up the radio had also been used to ruin the ignition.
“Great,” Joe said through gritted teeth. “So it’s either ‘Good-bye, Sleuth,’ and I swim back and let her drift, or—”
He stopped to examine the wreckage of the ignition, then traced some wires under the control panel.
This isn’t the best thing to do when you’re soaking wet, he thought. He took a quick look around and found a towel to dry his hands. Then he got some insulated tools and got to work on the wiring. It took some time because of the extra safety precautions he had to take. In a short while, though, he managed to bare the necessary wires and touch them together. The hot-wired engines roared to life.
Joe got behind the wheel and steered the Sleuth back to the docks. “Buckmaster messed things up, but I got her working again,” he shouted to the others.
“The radio?” Frank demanded.
Joe just shook his head.
Frank turned to Andy and Hal. “All right, you two. Remember what you promised.”
The two boys ran up the stairs.
“What did they promise?” Joe asked.
“To call the cops at the first pay phone they reach,” Frank said.
“You think they’ll actually do that?” Joe turned to Chet. “You should follow them.”
Chet stubbornly shook his head. “I got you into this whole thing in the first place. I’m sticking with you to the end.”
Joe grinned. “Then hop aboard,” he said. “We’ve got a jet boat to catch.”
Joe stayed behind the wheel and swung the Sleuth out of Shipwreck Cove and into the bay. He spotted the faintest phosphorescence in the water, the remains of a boat’s wake, and set off in that direction.
Soon, Joe sighted the jet boat. But even his best steering efforts couldn’t bring them any closer.
If only the wiring hadn’t been damaged, he thought. If we had managed to get free just a few minutes earlier . . .
Frank came up beside Joe. “We’re not going to catch them, Joe.”
“No,” Joe said, with a hint of disappointment in his voice.
Frank pointed off to the left. Bright lights glared on the water. This was where the Jolly Roger had gone down. Several harbor police patrol craft clustered around the site. “If we could get them to help . . .”
“How?” Joe demanded. “We have no radio to call for help. Anyway, by the time we convince them, Buckmaster will be out to sea.”
“You think he’s getting away?” Chet asked Joe. He turned to Frank. “Too bad you didn’t include a couple of emergency rockets, Frank. With some of those, we could at least take a shot at him.”
Joe jumped as if he’d been slapped. “Rockets!” he repeated. “Frank, take the wheel!”
He went to the hatch that led to the engines, calling over his shoulder, “Chet, we’ve got a gas can on board. Try to find it. And get some rope.”
A few minutes later, can in hand, Joe siphoned some fuel out of the Sleuth’s tank into the container. Chet had tied one end of the rope to a cleat at the rear of the boat. Now he was tying the other end around the handle of the can. Joe rummaged in a locker, looking for one more thing.
“Here it is,” he said, opening a heavy-duty plastic case. Inside were a flare gun and an emergency flare. “One rocket, coming up!” He broke the gun open, put in the flare, and snapped it shut. “Okay, Chet, let her go.”
Chet threw the fuel can into the Sleuth’s wake. The rope went taut. Now the can was bouncing along behind them like a tiny water-skier.
Joe rested the flare gun on the stern of the boat. “Wish me luck,” he said. “We get only one shot.”
17 Naval Maneuvers
* * *
The flare gun bucked in Joe’s hand as he pulled the trigger. Like a bolt of searing brilliance, the burning flare whizzed across the water just like the rocket Chet had wished for
.
It hit the can dead on. The flash was pretty impressive, the noise was even better, and the burning trail stretching behind them was the icing on the cake.
As if in response, sirens suddenly whooped, and the harbor police boats roared into action.
The patrol craft quickly caught up with the boys’ boat. “Heave to!” an amplified voice ordered. “I repeat, heave to!”
The face over the bullhorn was familiar: Officer Nelson, surely redder in the face than ever.
Joe shook his head, pointing ahead to the almost invisible jet boat. “No—over there!” he yelled.
“What?”
Shouting himself hoarse, Joe managed to get across the fact that there was probably a fugitive in a stolen boat up ahead.
There was a moment’s silence. Then Nelson said, “If this is part of your stupid film . . .”
Just then, two of the patrol boats roared past. One stayed with the Sleuth. “Just in case we’re lying,” Chet said with a smirk. Officer Nelson shouted something incoherent into his radio.
The Sleuth fell farther and farther behind the chase. But the boys were able to see a police helicopter come clattering out of the sky and throw a spotlight on the fleeing jet boat.
The jet boat was still in the lead as the Sleuth reached the mouth of the bay. Just in time, a coast guard cutter appeared from behind Merriam Island, cutting the jet boat off from the sea.
Buckmaster might have been fearless in the stock market, but with all that firepower converging on him, he gave up without a fight.
Another harbor patrolman aimed a bullhorn at the Sleuth. “We’ve got Buckmaster and a woman. Change course for the Bayport Marina. We’ll need statements from you.”
• • •
The boys arrived at the marina just as Sara Buckmaster was taking her first shaky steps on the pier.
“Well, you got him,” Joe told her.
Sara rolled her eyes. “Doesn’t look as though I’ll see much money out of it.” Her expression became thoughtful. “Unless there’s a reward for helping recover some of the stolen assets . . .”