Edge of Destruction (4 page)

"I don't know," said Joe. "I figured I'd better go back to get you before trying to find out. Sometimes you actually come in handy' in situations like this. If that guy has pals down there, I'd really need you. Besides, he probably’ stopped running once he ducked out of the tunnel. No way he could know I'd stumble on this door. Ordinarily, I wouldn't have spotted it in a million years. It looks like it's part of the wall."

"I'm not sure how safe this is," said Frank, feeling suspicious. "Why didn't the guy lock the door? Maybe we're walking into a trap."

"Sometimes you're too cautious for your own good," said Joe in disgust. He shone his flashlight on the inside of the door. Rust had completely corroded the bolt that would lock the door. But the bolt had been chiseled away so that it could be opened, and now there was no way to lock it again.

"Any more questions?" Joe asked.

Without waiting for Frank's reply, he headed down rusted metal stairs, which led into pitch darkness.

Frank did have more questions. He sensed that danger waited for them at the bottom of those stairs, and he would have liked to have some clue about what that danger would be. But he followed anyway.

The stairs went down and down. “Wonder what they were used for," Joe said "There's a lot of stuff underground in the city. Basements built to house the foundations of all the tall buildings. Funnels for drainage, water, electrical and communication cables. And under Grand Central Station there's a whole maze of maintenance sheds and storage rooms. Things keep changing so fast in the city that a lot of underground support systems have simply been abandoned. New York isn't into looking back. It's too busy rushing into the future."

"Hey, how do you know so much about it?" asked Joe. "From that article I told you about."

Joe shook his head. "You're the only person I know who reads everything and forgets nothing. I hope you realize that computer data banks are making you obsolete." "Speaking of data banks, I read - " "Forget it," said Joe. "Time to get back to business."

They had reached the bottom of the stairs and found themselves in a corridor. The air was thick and musty. They guessed that no one had breathed it for years. But when their flashlight beams moved over the floor, they could see foot prints in the dust.

Instinctively they put their fingers to their lips and grinned at each other, nodding. Then, in dead silence, they moved down the corridor.

There was a glimmer of light ahead. As they came closer, they saw that the light came from around the edge of a door that was slightly ajar.

Joe looked at Frank. Frank looked at Joe. Joe motioned for Frank to stay back to provide backup support. Then he slowly pushed the door open.

Putting his pen flashlight back in his pocket, Joe stepped into the room.

"What the - ?" he said. "Frank, take a look at this."

Frank followed him in. "It's like a hospital ward," he said. "Complete with a patient," said Joe.

The room they were in contained four hospital type beds. In one of them lay an old man with his eyes closed, completely still.

"He's alive," said Frank, anxiously checking for a pulse. "But barely. The pulse is very slow, very weak."

Joe was staring grimly at the far wall - or, rather, at the coffin leaning there. "Are you thinking the same thing I am?" he asked.

Frank looked up from the sick man. "That videotape. Dad lying there just like this, in that coffin."

"Hey, these aren't ordinary hospital beds," said Joe, examining one more closely. "Look at this."

Each of the beds, including the one that the comatose man was lying in, was equipped with straps to bind hands and feet.

Frank's face twisted. "It's like some kind of torture chamber." He looked at the other beds. Three of them were made up, their sheets and pillows unwrinkled. But the sheets on the remaining bed were in disarray, the pillow still revealing the imprint of a head.

Frank put his hand palm-down on it. "It's still warm," he said. "They must have grabbed whoever was lying here and carried him away. And I have a good hunch who that person was." "Dad," said Joe, staring at the straps. "Keep your cool," Frank cautioned him. "We can't help Dad by getting mad. What we have to get are clues about what's going on." He looked around the room. "There's one. Look." He pointed to a small hole high in one of the walls. In the hole a lens glinted. Frank made a closer inspection. "A camera lens. I have a hunch it's the same camera that took those pictures of Dad."

Joe pressed his ear to the wall. "I can hear it whirring. It must be shooting us right now." He picked up a scalpel that was lying on a bedside table and drove the scalpel into the hole. But the lens didn't shatter. Instead, the force of the blow pushed the camera backward, away from the opening.

"The camera must be in an adjoining room," said Frank. "Let's check it out." In the corridor again, they cautiously approached the next room and entered. Snapping on a light switch, they saw that the room was deserted. The video camera lay on the floor, pointing upward and still whirring. Frank clicked it off and removed the film."

"Kajimaki," he said. "This is the camera they used to tape Dad, all right. And now they're using it as a security system, to check out anyone who enters the room."

"How do we keep them from knowing we got in here?" Joe asked. "As long as the kidnappers think that the guy we chased gave us the slip, they won't feel pressured into giving up a bargaining chip like Dad."

"That camera store is just about to make an other sale of Kajimaki film. We put the film in the camera, put the camera back on its mounting, and start it up again. When the kidnappers check it, all they'll see is a videotape of an empty room." Frank started for the door. "Let's go before they come back."

The boys left the room and hurried up the stairs. "The only trouble is," Joe remarked, "after we do all this, we won't be any closer to rescuing Dad."

"But with any luck, we will be soon," said Frank. "After we set up the camera again, we'll wait in the dark corridor for someone to check out the film. Then we'll tail him. If you can stand the wait," Frank kidded, "we might finally see some action."

"I hope so," said Joe, not responding to the teasing. "Because I get cold chills thinking what will happen to Dad if time runs out."

"Not to mention what will happen to all those other thousands of people in the city," said Frank.

It took fifteen minutes to get back to the camera store. After getting the videotape, Frank bought a manila envelope and some stamps.

"Give me, all your IDs" he told his brother. "If we have bad luck and get caught, we don't want the crooks to know our names and connect us with Dad. At least he won't pay for our fouling up."

Joe nodded and emptied his wallet. Frank put all the IDs into the envelope, addressed the envelope to their home, put stamps on it, and dropped it into the mailbox. "Great," Joe said. "Now we're stripped for action." A half-hour later he and Frank had set up the camera again and were crouched in the pitch-dark corridor. "If we could just do something," Joe whispered. "All we can do is wait," said Frank. "And keep our eyes and ears open."

Then Joe heard something, the slightest of sounds, the faint rustling of someone's clothing, Maybe the sole of a shoe brushing the floor. But to Joe's keyed-up senses, it sounded as if an alarm were going off.

He whirled around, his right fist ready, then lashed out as he faced a dim shape poised to jump him.

The shiver that went down his arm told him he had made solid contact with a jaw. And the figure toppling backward confirmed his observation.

At the same time, Frank had swiveled around to find a blunt instrument being thrust down at him. He grabbed the wrist of the hand holding the weapon, flipped the man it belonged to, and, without breaking his flow of movement, delivered a knockout chop to the back of the man's neck.

"Close call," said Joe. He was breathing hard. "They almost got us."

"But now we have them. Come on," Frank said. "Let's get them onto those hospital beds and strap them down before they come to. After that we'll have time to figure out how to make them talk."

"It'll be a pleasure," said Joe. He was bending over to pick up the man he'd knocked out. Frank was doing the same with his man.

Unfortunately, this time when they heard sounds and saw dim shapes coming at them from the darkness, their hands were full All they had time to do was drop their burdens and begin to straighten up into fighting positions before time ran out on them.

Then blackness. Blackness filled with pain as hard rubber truncheons were hammered down on their skulls.

THE BLACKNESS TURNED to glaring light. Joe's head hurt unbearably as he opened his eyes.

Groaning, he tried to touch the sore spot on his skull. But he couldn't move his hands-or his feet.

There was no need to look down. He could feel the straps cutting into his wrists and ankles. Turning his head, he saw that Frank was pinned the same way on the next bed.

Frank had already come to. When he saw Joe turn his head, he gave his brother a wry smile.

"Finally," a voice said. "We thought you two would never wake up."

The man who spoke was tall and pale faced. He wore his long black hair in a ponytail. Drooping on either side of his mouth was a long and straggly mustache. A not-so-white T-shirt and olive green army-surplus fatigue pants completed his sinister look. Beside him stood a powerfully built black man whose huge muscles rippled under a navy blue T-shirt. The man's massive legs were crammed into worn blue jeans.

Both men were looking at the Hardy boys with hatred.

They seemed to be restrained from violence only by the man who stood behind them. This third man was short and slight. His tan summer suit, pale blue button-down shirt, and striped tie contrasted sharply with his companions’ clothes.

"Take it easy," he said to the other two. The authority in his voice was unmistakable. "Remember, we want to keep these two alive and conscious for the time being, anyway. We need information from them." Reluctantly the two stepped back, and their boss moved in toward Joe and Frank.

"What makes you think you can get away with this?" Joe demanded before the man had a chance to speak.

Frank interrupted, saying, "Look, I don't know what you think we did, but there's been a big mistake. My brother and I were sight seeing," he began, desperately trying to concoct a story.

"We got bored with all the usual tourist stuff. I remembered reading a newspaper article about all the underground space beneath Grand Central, and we figured it'd be fun to explore. We didn't know we'd be trespassing, honest. We're really sorry."

A nasty expression appeared on the suited man's face. "Stop wasting your breath lying, kid," he said. Then he shrugged. "But I guess it doesn't matter. Pretty soon you won't have any breath to waste. Down here we can get rid of you two without a trace in the time it takes to break your necks, which is exactly what Jack and Carl here are aching to do." He glanced at his two companions, and they looked more than pleased with the idea. Then he went on. His voice was gentler now, coaxing. "Come on, tell us how we can get our hands on the antibody to fix up Ian here, and we'll let you go. Otherwise, we'll make you wish you were as dead to the world as he looks now."

"Ian?" said Frank. "Who's Ian?" echoed Joe.

But all they had to do was follow the man's eyes to see who Ian was the man they had found lying as if dead. He was still there, in the bed on the other side of Frank.

"You must have thought you were real smart, leaving our friend here as bait," the man in the tan suit said. "You figured we'd come for him, while you were waiting outside ready to close in on us. What you didn't count on was that we'd be suspicious and hold back until we made sure everything was safe. Good thing we did. We spotted you taking your stakeout positions and now you're the ones caught in your own trap." Frank's mouth dropped open in surprise.

"Hey," he said excitedly, “I think there's been some kind of mistake." "Yeah, and you made it," said Carl, flexing his huge hands as if straining against an invisible leash.

"We're not the guys you think we are," Frank went on. "We're fighting the guys that did this to Ian, the same as you are."

'Right," Joe broke in. "I'm Joe Hardy, and this is my brother, Frank. We're from Bayport. If you don't believe it, just look in our - " He stopped abruptly. “We did look in your wallets," the man in the suit said, finishing Joe's thought. "No ID. Two punks with orders not to be identified incase of trouble."

Frank tried another tack. "Look, if you think we're punks, why aren't we carrying weapons? If you searched us, you must know we're clean."

"I know what you did to our two friends back there in the corridor. Knocked them out cold. You beat up helpless homeless people. But what you didn't figure was that we'd fight back."

Frank looked puzzled. "What do you mean," He said,” 'homeless people'?" "Enough talk," Jack said. "Time for action."

The man in the suit nodded. "Jack's right. You two punks have jerked us around long enough. Tell us how we get our hands on the antibody, or I unleash Jack and Carl on you." His face was grim. "It's better to talk now than scream later."

"Believe me," Frank said, “we'd tell you about the antibody if we knew anything about it."

"You have to believe us," Joe pleaded. Then, as Jack and Carl moved forward, his desperation turned to pure anger, "You're jerks, you know that? Total jerks. We want that antibody as much as you do. They’ve snatched our dad and turned him into the same kind of zombie as Ian here. We could all help each other. But instead, you morons want to get rid of us."

The man in the suit held up a hand and stopped Jack and Carl from moving any closer to the Hardys.

"You know, I'm beginning to believe you," he said thoughtfully. "Not so much your words, but your anger. It sounds too real to be faked."

Frank gave his brother a grateful look. For once, Joe's hair-trigger temper had come in handy.

"Why don't you tell me more about yourselves, so I can check it out," the man said. "Now you're talking sense," said Joe.