Diplomatic Deceit Page 9

  Apparently the thugs had left a guard, who was now making his rounds!

  Silently the automatic door began to rise. Frank took off for the guard as fast as he could.

  The guard was standing peering out at the dark loading dock, a pistol in one hand. He switched on the flashlight he held in the other.

  Pinned in the beam of the guard's light, like a giant moth, was the white-gowned Callie Shaw.

  Chapter 16

  For a long moment the guard with the light and Callie just stared at each other, each equally astonished.

  That was all the time Frank Hardy needed.

  He launched himself at the guard's back, crashing into him, bringing the man down before he could even raise his gun. The pistol the guy had been carrying clattered off somewhere in the darkness, while his flashlight skittered off in the opposite direction.

  In spite of his surprise, the guard reacted quickly to Frank's attack. He squirmed out from under the attacking Hardy, rolled onto his back, and aimed a devastating kick at Frank's face.

  The kick whipped right under Frank's nose as he pulled back. It was so close, Frank could feel the wind from its passing.

  They both got to their feet now, and the guard snapped a kick at Frank's stomach. Frank blocked it with his forearm and aimed one of his own at the guy's hip.

  The guard nimbly stepped aside and swept Frank's legs from under him with a roundhouse kick. Frank got to his knees, but he was knocked flat on his back again when the guard's foot caught him on the chin.

  Frank lay stunned as the man moved in for the kill.

  The next thing he knew, the guy was crumpling to the floor.

  "How - " Frank began. Then he saw Callie standing over him, the now-flickering flashlight in her hand.

  "I hope this thing will still work," she said, jiggling the switch. "Maybe I broke it when I hit that guy over the head."

  Frank unbuckled the guard's belt and used it to tie the man's wrists together. His tie was used on his feet. Then Frank and Callie explored the warehouse. There were no more guards, but in the corner of the place, they found an old sign that read Secure Storage Area.

  The area didn't look all that secure. There was a simple cyclone fence blocking off one corner. But it was obviously secure enough to hold prisoners.

  Handcuffed to a set of metal shelves were three people - a tall, hawk-faced man, a pretty blond woman, and a cute teenage girl. The real Berots were not identical to the impostors, but they looked enough alike for Frank to feel an eerie chill.

  Mr. Berot shouted at them in French, but it was Maddy whose eyes went wide. "C - Callie?" she said in disbelief.

  "We found out what was going on, and now we've found you," Callie said, trying to open the lock on the gate in the fence. "We'll get you out."

  The overhead lights suddenly flashed on, blinding them all temporarily, and a voice behind them said, "I do not think so."

  Frank and Callie whirled around to find themselves staring down the muzzle of a 9mm pistol. Beyond that, they recognized the lumpy face of La Béte.

  "That Georges, he is not a good guard," the big man said, shaking his head. "The others and I, we go to the cemetery to get ready for the getaway. But when I look from behind the gravestone, I see you two coming away. So I follow and find you here."

  "You saw what went on with the guard? Why didn't you step in then?" Frank asked.

  "I arrive just too late," La Béte said, coming a little closer, lining them both up under his gun.

  "Then I decide it is better if I let you come deep inside, where things will be quiet."

  He smiled at them, revealing stained teeth. "I have to kill these ones," he said, indicating the Berots. "And you make my job so much easier by coming here - "

  His words cut off in a choke as Frank's hand shot up to release a cloud of orange powder in La Béte's face. Frank's other hand jarred into Callie, knocking her aside as the French thug, eyes streaming, triggered a blind shot into the area where they'd been standing.

  Frank swung around La Béte, smashing karate blows into the thug's shoulders and neck. The man was strong - he took a lot of punishment - but finally Frank managed to floor him. The gun skittered away and Frank knocked him unconscious.

  "What was that orange powder bit?" Callie said while Frank tied the thug up.

  "Cayenne pepper," Frank answered with a smile. "I picked some up this afternoon while we were out costume hunting. Why not take a page from this guy's book and have a secret weapon on hand?"

  "Well, it certainly worked," Callie said, watching La Béte blink in pain. "Hey, look what I found." She opened the desk drawer and came out with a ring of keys. "I think I know where these go."

  Sure enough, the keys worked on the lock on the gate and on the handcuffs that held the Berots prisoner.

  "We can put La Béte and Georges in here for safekeeping, then call the cops," Frank said. "I think their little scheme has just fallen apart." He quickly located a phone.

  ***

  Through the glittering whirl of the costume party, Joe Hardy was moving across the ballroom floor, toward the stairway to the musicians' balcony. He tightened his grip on Nadine's wrist. "I think your pal is making his move," he whispered. "Why is he going up there?"

  "What?" Nadine's head spun around from where she'd been eyeing somebody's jewelry. Joe was glad he'd kept at least one of her hands out of action.

  "Paul is going up the stairs to the orchestra. The question is, why?"

  High above them, the disguised thief handed some papers to the bandleader and chatted with him for a moment.

  Instead of coming down from the music gallery, the Frenchman headed past the band. Reaching the door behind the musicians, he exited through it.

  "Come on - we've got to catch up with him." Still holding on to Nadine's wrist, Joe led the way to the stairs. When she jerked to a stop behind him, he was almost pulled off his feet. "What?" he said.

  Then he saw the reason Nadine had stopped. Standing at the foot of the stairway, guarding it, he decided, was the false Mrs. Berot - Paul's accomplice, Sylvie.

  The woman looked from Nadine to Joe, and her face went cold.

  Now Nadine was pulling Joe away. "I'm dead, I'm dead," she moaned. "She saw me with you, recognized you. They probably think I brought you here. They're going to kill me."

  Joe swung the girl around to face him. "Look, this place is crawling with cops and security guards. We can go to them and stop this heist right now." She shook her head, cringing. "Then my only hope is to stop Paul from stealing that sword myself." He took charge now, heading for the ballroom entrance.

  "I'm going upstairs to check out the museum."

  Nadine stopped again. "Not me," she said decisively. "And I don't want to be left alone."

  "How am I supposed - " Then Joe saw another familiar face. "Ansel, my man," he said brightly, grabbing the German kid's arm. "Glad you could make it."

  Ansel's eyes went wide as he realized who was speaking to him.

  "Hey, I want you to have a good time," Joe said. "Why don't you dance with Maddy here?"

  He put Nadine's hand in Ansel's. "Rob him blind," he whispered in Nadine's ear.

  Joe rushed from the ballroom and headed for the main staircase. He ran up the stairs and to the closed front door, but the door wasn't locked.

  Pushing it open, Joe headed down a long hall lined with portraits of military and political leaders from the days of the Revolution. Glass display cases lined the walls as well, filled with medals, buttons, snuffboxes, and weapons from the War for Independence.

  At the end of the hall Joe spotted a hint of movement - a shadow flitting around in the deeper darkness of the dimly lit museum.

  Joe reached the end of the hall just as the white-clad figure lifted something from a display case.

  "Paul," Joe called, "you can't get away with taking the Lafayette sword."

  The thief whirled around, a jeweled sword and scabbard in his hands. "You!" he gasped. "What are y
ou doing here?"

  "I'm here to stop you from stealing that sword," Joe told him. "It's the least I can do to pay you and your pals back for trying to kill me." He gestured to the sword. "How do you expect to get that out of here, anyway?"

  Paul gestured to the scabbard and sword he was wearing with his costume. "I'll just make a substitution. My fake sword for this real one."

  He slipped the Lafayette sword from the scabbard and stalked toward Joe, holding the blade at chest level.

  "And believe me, this is a real sword."

  Chapter 17

  "I'll give you one final lesson in history," the thief said, moving on Joe like a bullfighter. "This is called a smallsword."

  To Joe, the three-foot blade looked large enough.

  "It's quite famous in the history of weapons," Paul went on, flicking the sword at Joe's eyes. "In its day, it killed more people than any other class of weapon. And it held the record until the invention of the machine gun."

  "How endlessly fascinating," Joe said, backing down the hall. "And how did you find that out?"

  "Research," Paul replied, matching Joe step for step. "In my business, you do quite a lot of research."

  Keeping his eyes fixed on the point of the blade, Joe tried to remember how many steps he'd taken to get from the door and staircase to where Paul was stealing the Lafayette sword.

  Paul seemed to read his mind. "You're too far from the stairs to run or call for help," he said. "Besides, you'd have to turn your back on me to run." He flicked out the blade again, and Joe flinched back. "I don't think that would be a good idea."

  A smile flitted over Paul's hatchet face, as if Joe amused him. "Besides, a fine, upstanding American like you would surely rather face death than take it in the back."

  The smile disappeared - Paul was finished playing. He launched himself at Joe in an overhand thrust, aiming straight for Joe's heart.

  Joe twisted aside, trying to pull the sword from his own scabbard to defend himself. No sword came out. The hilt and the scabbard were all one, a useless prop.

  Paul's sword was far from useless. Although the thrust missed, the sharpened tip of the small sword sliced right through Joe's costume sash, releasing Joe's scabbard. The Lafayette sword may never have been used, but it had been kept razor-sharp.

  At least Joe now had his phony sword free to parry Paul's thrusts. Two pieces of sash material flapped from it as he desperately warded off Paul's attacks.

  Joe retreated down the hallway, managing to knock Paul's sword thrusts off-target. It wasn't easy, since the sword's point circled wickedly in front of him, threatening him from all possible angles.

  Don't pay attention to the sword, Joe ordered himself. Pay attention to the guy's eyes. He managed to keep the plastic prop between him and death, but he didn't know how much longer the game could go on. The hallway restricted his field of action, and sooner or later Paul would send a thrust home.

  Paul stopped stabbing with the sword and began slashing with it, taking nicks of plastic out of Joe's defense.

  Joe just managed to leap back as the Lafayette blade sliced through the arm and half the front of his uniform coat. The coat gaped open, almost torn in two.

  I'm going to have a tough time explaining this to the costume rental place, Joe thought. He ducked as the sword whistled over his head. That's the least of my problems right now, though.

  ***

  Frank, Callie, and the Berots sat in tense silence as the cab driver roared straight for the mansion headquarters of the Continental Order. "Have the police arrived?" Frank asked the uniformed guard who stopped them to check their invitations.

  A familiar figure stepped out of the shadows of the gate house - Lieutenant Grant. He wore another expensive suit and a dubious frown. "We've been here all night, Mr. Hardy. One of my people gave me a radio report that there was supposed to be a robbery going down. I decided to wait and check you out first. After all, you had some connection with the Berot girl's shoplifting attempt."

  "That wasn't the real Madeleine Berot," Callie said, pointing to the people in the backseat of the cab. "This is the real Maddy - and this is her real mother and father."

  "You've got a couple of impostors inside that headquarters building," Frank explained, "and a bunch of French thugs hiding next door in that graveyard."

  Throughout this whole report, Grant's frown only deepened. "I think we'd better check out that museum upstairs," he said. "Then we'll worry about the graveyard."

  Frank was with the first wave of plainclothes police to surge up the main stairway. When they reached the top, they all stopped in surprise, staring at a scene that looked like something out of an old movie.

  Paul, in his gleaming white uniform, aimed slash after slash at Joe Hardy, whose costume now looked like a collection of tatters. The tip of his prop scabbard had been cut off, and it looked as if his ragged uniform coat were about to fall off, too.

  As the police officers came charging up, Joe glanced back at his brother. "About time you guys showed up," he growled.

  Joe had to give Paul credit for one thing - a lot of nerve. "I found this boy trying to break into the case to steal the Lafayette sword." He looked at the sea of police facing him and recognized Lieutenant Grant. "You know me, I'm Henri Berot, and the sword is my responsibility."

  "Still trying to ruin people's reputations, are you?" Frank asked. "It won't wash this time, Paul. You see, the cops have already caught La Béte."

  That jarred Paul badly, but he still kept up his act. "What is the word of a French criminal against that of an accredited diplomat? I still claim diplomatic immunity."

  "No, you do not."

  The real Henri Berot came out of the crowd. "That man is an impostor and a kidnapper. I demand that he be taken into custody, pending final proof of our identities from Paris."

  "You cannot arrest me," Paul bluffed.

  "Oh, we can," Lieutenant Grant assured him. "This isn't the French embassy, so we lowly D.C. police types have jurisdiction here. If you'll put down that piece of evidence you're holding - "

  "No!" Paul suddenly brought the tip of his sword in contact with Joe's chest. "If you make a move toward me, I'll run him through."

  Lots of pistols were aimed at Paul, but none went off. Joe realized that police regulations were as good as a bulletproof vest for the thief. As long as Joe was in the line of fire, none of the cops could shoot.

  "Great," he said. "First this clown ruins my clothes. Now he's going to fill me with steel."

  Joe shrugged, and his coat started falling off his shoulders. That's what he'd planned on. Dodging to one side, he flung the tattered costume into Paul's face.

  Paul recovered quickly. He couldn't bring his entangled sword around, but when Joe tried to grapple with him, he straight-armed the younger Hardy.

  Joe toppled back into the crowd of police, blocking their guns and their rush for a critical instant.

  Paul took that instant to sprint down the hallway, sword still in hand, and smash through a closed window.

  Burglar alarms began to clamor wildly, but the secret was out now. So was the priceless sword, still in Paul's grasp.

  Lieutenant Grant led the police charge down the hall and leaned out the window, checking out the ground below. "Where'd he go?" the lieutenant asked. "He's not down there."

  Joe leaned out the window, a grim look on his face. "If he didn't go down, then he went up."

  Digging his fingertips into the elaborate stone carvings around the windowsill, he began climbing up the face of the building. From the tip of the windowsill cornice, he discovered it was an easy stretch to reach the roof. "Come on, guys, you can climb right up," he called down to the others below.

  He hesitated for a second at the low fence that surrounded the roof. He didn't want Paul to catch him half over the white stone railing - not when a well-placed kick could send him falling three stories.

  Paul wasn't anywhere to be seen. Joe swung up and over. In the distance, he saw Paul
legging it, taking a diagonal course across the graveled roof.

  "Joe," a panting voice called from behind him. "Wait up for the reinforcements."

  He glanced back to see Frank pull himself up. He'd gotten rid of his fancy jacket and shirt, wearing just a T-shirt and the costume pants.

  Joe didn't even comment on how ridiculous his brother looked. He tore off in pursuit of the fleeing thief.

  Paul was still carrying the Lafayette sword, holding it over his head as he ran. He looked as if he were leading a charge. In this case, however, the troops were the police, who had just climbed the wall, and Frank and Joe Hardy.

  A deep indentation - perhaps an air shaft - cut into the roof, separating one wing of the mansion from the rest of the building.

  Hearing the noise behind him, Paul didn't even glance back. Increasing his speed, he thrust one foot to the top of the railing and jumped the empty space.

  He almost made it.

  Maybe if Paul had had both hands free, he'd have been able to grab the white stone railing. Instead, he landed, toppled, then slid down the face of the balustrade, frantically holding on with one hand to a small stone pillar.

  "The guy's a goner," Joe heard one of the police officers say behind him.

  He picked up his feet, taking the last few yards of the roof at top speed. "Joe!" He heard Frank's horrified yell behind him - Callie's, too. Somehow she'd also made it onto the roof.

  Then he had no time to pay attention to anything. He was leaping into thin air.

  The balustrade on the far roof came at Joe much faster than he expected. Still, he managed to grab-it two-handed and swing himself over.

  Joe moved along the railing until he reached the spot where Paul was dangling, the Lafayette sword still clutched in his free hand.

  "Don't be stupid, Paul. Pass up the sword, then I'll help you onto the roof."

  Paul snarled, realizing his situation was hopeless. Finally he flung the sword at Joe. A moment later Joe returned the compliment, dragging Paul over the railing and flinging him to the roof. He had the thief in a half nelson by the time the police caught up with them.