Edge of Destruction (11 page)

"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?"

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."

Before Frank or Joe could make a move, their dad stepped forward. He was shielding them now and looking up at Trask.

. "Hey, that's nice, Fenton, real nice," said Trask. "You've lived a lot longer than your kids, so now you're going to give them some extra time. I'm sure they'll appreciate it for the rest of their lives, all one minute more."

Then Trask paused, as if having second thoughts. "But maybe I shouldn't waste you first. I mean, it might be fun making you watch your own two kids get it."

But Trask didn't have the pleasure of watching Fenton Hardy plead or squirm. He stood in front of Trask without wavering, his gaze level and hard. Finally, Trask shrugged, tiring of his game. "Okay, Fenton, I'll be Mr. Nice Guy. You get it first, and you can just think of what your kids will feel like when they watch you go."

Trask extended his arm. He aimed directly at the center of Fenton Hardy's forehead. At a distance of less than four feet, there wasn't a chance in the world of his missing the target.

Hardy, lips drawn tight, stared into the gun barrel without flinching. '

Frank and Joe felt sick to their stomachs. They couldn't hear to watch what was going to happen, yet they couldn't tear their eyes away from their last look at their dad.

Trask's eyes shone happily. "I won't say it's been nice knowing you, Fenton. But it's sure going to be nice killing-"

To Frank and Joe, braced for horror, the sound of the phone ringing was louder than a pistol shot.

Trask was startled as well. His gun hand held steady, but his face swiveled around to look at the ringing phone.

That was all Fenton Hardy needed. He lunged for Trask's gun, grabbing the barrel with both hands and using every ounce of his strength to wrench it from his iron grip.

But that still left Trask's other hand free - free enough to' smash into Fenton Hardy's jaw. Still clutching the gun, he crashed backward against a wall, and then collapsed in a heap.

Trask snickered loudly and went after Hardy, his hand out to snatch the gun back.

But before he could take two steps, Joe hit him around the knees in a perfect low tackle. Joe had brought down charging fullbacks with tackles just like it. But all he succeeded in doing then was stopping Trask's forward movement.

The guy's built like a brick wall, was the only thing Joe had time to think before Trask grabbed him and tore himself loose. Roaring, he pitched Joe against the wall.

Joe half-stunned, desperately tried to clear his head. At the same time, he watched Frank deliver a perfect karate chop to Trask's upper arm. The chop looked as if it could have felled a tree, but all it did was make Trask grunt. Trask's other arm hooked around toward Frank in a vicious counterpunch that Frank barely dodged. But he couldn't duck Trask's kick. It caught him on an ankle and sent him sprawling.

"Hey, Nick baby, look at me!" Joe yelled just as Trask was raising his foot for another kick that would have laid Frank's head wide open.

But the crook did what Joe hoped he would, he hesitated and turned to face Joe. Joe butted him in the pit of the stomach with the top of his head, his legs pumping like pistons.

He has to go down now, Joe thought, hearing the whoosh of Trask's breath as it was knocked out of him. But he had hardly finished thinking that when he felt Trask's fist cracking against his jaw.

Joe saw stars. Through them he made out the phantom shape of Frank charging Trask once again. But Trask smashed Frank.

The Hardy boys were beside each other then, both of them reeling on the floor as Trask stood over them, grinning. The boys tried to move when Trask reached out to grab them, but their battered bodies weren't able to follow the commands of their clearing brains.

Then each of them was being lifted off the ground, Frank in Trask's left hand, Joe in his right. They heard Trask's voice, harsh with paid and rage. "You punk kids figure two heads are better than one, I bet. Let's see how good your two heads are when I smash them together."

Frank and Joe tried to struggle, but their bodies still would not obey. .

All they could do was brace themselves for the violent agony they would feel when their skulls were smashed together. All they could do was ready themselves for the inevitable blackout.

But their luck held.

"owwwwww," howled Trask. Then his voice turned dull. "Ugh," he grunted.

Frank and Joe felt themselves released from his grip as, with a surprised look on his face and like a huge falling tree, Trask slowly toppled over.

Behind him Fenton Hardy stood with Trask's gun raised, ready to strike a third blow if necessary.

"I thought for a second he wasn't going to go down," Fenton said. "He's got a head like a rock. You kids okay? Good thing I came to in time." "I've got nothing that a couple of aspirin won't cure," said Joe, rubbing his sore chin.

Frank looked down at Trask. "When he, goes back to jail, they'd better not let him get at that bodybuilding equipment again."

"Hey, he didn't stand a chance," said Joe. "Not against us." He grinned at his dad. "All three of us."

Then the Hardy’s noticed something they'd put out of their consciousness during the fight. The phone was still ringing. "Let's see how well I can imitate Trask's voice," Fenton Hardy said.

He picked up the receiver. "Yeah," he growled. "What do you want? And make it quick. " He listened for a minute. "What do they look like?" he rasped.

Another silence. The investigator hung up without saying goodbye.

"It was one of Trask's men," he said worriedly. "He said they were being attacked at all their guard posts. But before he could tell me who was doing the attacking, the line went dead."

"Maybe the cops got to them," said Joe. "Doesn't seem likely," said Frank. "The guy would have said that right away."

"I've got a better idea," said their father. "The mob must have traced Trask up here. And now they're coming to get him."

"It figures," said Joe, nodding. "I bet they captured some of Trask's men downtown. It wouldn't have taken much to make them talk."

"The mob isn't coming just to get Trask," Frank thought out loud. "They're coming to get us too. No way they'll leave any live witnesses around." '

"We have to get out of here fast," said his dad. "And lug big boy here with us," said Joe, looking down at the unconscious Trask. "What a pain. Maybe we should just leave him here for his old pals to take care of."

"Forget it," said his dad. "We're working for the law, not the lawless."

"Just a thought," said Joe. "Come on, Frank, help me move man-mountain here."

He bent to grab Trask by one arm. Frank bent to grab the other, but the sound of someone trying to open the door made them both straighten up fast.

"Too late," their father said. "We're trapped."

He leveled the gun at the door. "The only thing we can do," he said, "is try to take as many of them with us as we can."

"Right, Dad," the boys said. But it occurred to them that what they really were saying was goodbye.

AN AX SMASHED through the door around the lock.

The door swung open and Frank and Joe shouted at the top of their lungs, "Don't shoot!"

But they shouted their warning in opposite directions.

Frank shouted at his dad, who was standing facing the door with his gun leveled. Joe shouted at the open doorway, where, gun in hand and in the same firing position, stood Peter Jones.

Both men lowered their guns, and both Hardy boys breathed a sigh of relief.

Jones stuck his gun into the belt of his seersucker suit. Over his shoulder, he said, "It's okay. We're among friends."

He entered the room followed by six men. All were carrying weapons. One of the men was a wiry Latino in a gray sweat suit. The other five, three of them black, two white, all of them bearded and two with hair in ponytails, wore old army fatigues.

"Meet my strike force," Jones said after the Hardy boys introduced him and their dad to each other. "Carlos here was once a lightweight contender. And each of these vets makes Rambo look like a Boy Scout. Those crooks didn't know what hit them. We took the entire arsenal we're carrying from them. As soon as we lifted a gun from the first one we ambushed, the rest came easy."

"Lucky for us you decided to attack when you did," said Frank. "If that crook hadn't made that desperate phone call, we'd be lying there the way Trask is now. Except that we'd be dead."

"It wasn't luck, it was underground people power," said Jones proudly. "You probably didn't notice it, but there was an old woman nesting down in the old City Hall subway station. She saw Trask herding you onto the uptown tracks, and she figured it might have something to do with the struggle up here. So she gave us a call, and I got our act together."

"We'd better get our act together," Fenton Hardy told his sons. "Your mom and Gertrude are still in danger. First thing we do is call the Bayport police and alert them to the situation. They can surround the house." Fenton Hardy was smiling when he put down the receiver after talking to the police. "I should have known that a couple of crooks couldn't get the best of Laura. When they tried some funny business, she laid them out cold. Then she contacted Collig and had him lock them up with the understanding, of course, that he'd keep the whole operation quiet until I told her my assignment was finished." "So Trask was lying when he said his men were holding Mom and Aunt Gertrude captive," said Joe.