Authors: Franklin W. Dixon

The Jungle Pyramid (5 page)

BOOK: The Jungle Pyramid

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Gertrude Hardy sniffed. “You boys can keep your ologies and your bugs,” she stated firmly. “Now explain your explanation.”

“Dad's trying to recover a shipment of gold that was stolen from the Wakefield Mint,” Frank told her, “and we're helping him. As a matter of fact, we'll be going to Zurich, Switzerland, as soon as we can get a flight.”

“Isn't that a risky adventure?” his mother asked.

Frank reassured her. “We'll interview the director of the Swiss Gold Syndicate and ask if the gold has been routed through there.”

“You might get buried by an avalanche,” Aunt Gertrude remarked. “What will you do then?”

“We'll wait for a Saint Bernard dog to find us,” Joe needled his aunt. “Seriously, though, we'll be all right.”

“We don't want to stay away too long,” Frank said. “Not when we have your delicious pies to come back to.”

Gertrude Hardy smiled and smoothed back her hair. She could never resist a compliment about her cooking, and promptly invited her nephews into the kitchen for cherry pie and homemade whipped cream.

The next morning Chet phoned. He was glum. “Dad says I have to stay home and help on the farm,” he reported. “Have fun, fellows, and round up the gold heisters.”

Frank and Joe flew out of Kennedy Airport the following evening. They would have liked to stay in the city longer to see if they could trace Pedro Zemog, but could not book a later flight that would get them to Zurich in time for their appointment with Johann Jung.

Their jet zoomed up from the runway, climbed into the sky, and circled over New York's sky-scrapers. Frank and Joe settled near the rear and got a good view of the Empire State Building, the towers of the trade center, and the tip of lower Manhattan. Soon the plane gained altitude and all they could see below them were puffy white clouds.

“I wonder if there's a connection between the Wakefield gold and the Scythian treasure,” Frank said thoughtfully.

“Could be,” Joe replied. “Both came from the Soviet Union.”

“And it's our job to find both,” Frank reminded his brother. “The consignment mentioned in the telegram Zemog dropped-could it be gold bars that vanished from Wakefield?”

“Good question,” Joe replied. “Maybe we'll find the answer in Zurich.”

He slipped out of his seat into the aisle and went for a drink of water near the center of the plane. Then he strolled up front and finally started back. He noticed a man with gray hair, dressed in a dark brown suit. Though he was asleep, he guarded a briefcase under one arm.

Joe paused a moment. “That guy resembles the thief from the museum, Pedro Zemog,” he thought. “Too bad he's asleep. I wish I could find out if he speaks with a Spanish accent.”

Joe went to ask a stewardess. She replied that the man had not spoken so she did not know.

Joe returned to his seat and informed Frank of his suspicion. Frank immediately made a trip to the front of the plane. On his way back he glanced at the man, who was still sleeping.

“That guy resembles the thief from the museum!” Joe thought.

When Frank returned, Joe asked, “What do you think?”

“Hard to tell. We're looking for a guy with a Spanish accent. Let's wait till he wakes up. If this passenger is not Zemog, we could get into real big trouble by accusing him of being a thief.”

“But didn't you see the bulge in his briefcase?” Joe asked. “It could be the gold horse.”

“Joe, the man had to go through the detection center at the airport. A gold object would have been spotted and he would have been arrested.”

“That's right,” Joe had to admit.

“We'd better sit tight until we get to Zurich,” Frank urged, “unless we hear him talk in the plane.”

The stewardess arrived with a late dinner, which the boys lost no time in eating. After that, they checked on the suspect again. He had obviously not eaten and was still sleeping.

The boys returned to their places, pushed the reclining seat as far back as they could, and slept as the jet thundered toward Europe. When the Hardys awoke, they saw a magnificent view through the window. Snow-covered mountains spread far and wide beneath their plane. Tall peaks towered toward the sky. Villages nestled in the valleys.

“We're over the Alps!” Joe exclaimed.

Frank glanced at his watch. “By my reckoning, we're over Switzerland already.”

Over the loudspeaker a stewardess advised passengers to fasten their seat belts. The jet hissed over Lake Zurich, which extended from the city to the high mountains. The pilot kept on course and came down for a perfect landing at the airport. He taxied to the terminal, braked to a stop, and shut off the engines.

Frank and Joe stood up and tried to reach the suspect, but passengers blocked the aisle. The man in the brown suit waited at the head of the line to debark. Within minutes, he was off the plane.

Watching him through the window, the Hardys saw him hasten to the terminal and into the building. Finally Frank and Joe arrived too. By the time they passed through customs, their quarry was headed toward the exit with long, swift strides. Lugging their suitcases, the Hardys pursued him as fast as they could. They caught up with him at the taxi rank.

He whirled and glared at them when Frank spoke to him. “We're interested in what happened in New York,” the boy said.

An expression of fear came over the man's face. Suddenly he hurled himself at Joe, bowling him over backwards. Joe collided violently with Frank. The impact caused both the Hardys to lose their footing. They fell to the pavement in a heap.

A taxi bore down on them at full speed!

CHAPTER VI

Over the Cliff!

INSTINCTIVELY resorting to judo, Joe rolled to the right of the speeding taxi. Frank did a somersault to the left.

The vehicle careened between them and jolted to a halt.
“Was ist los?”
the driver shouted at them.
“Was machen Sie denn da?”

The Hardys scrambled to their feet. Frank tried to apologize in his high school German:
“Entschuldigen Sie bitte.”

The driver responded with a tirade in German before going on to pick up a fare.

Frank straightened his jacket. “Joe, I think he was telling us off for scaring him. What happened to Zemog?”

“He's gone!” Joe said glumly, looking at the passengers lining up for taxies. “He must have disappeared while we were nearly getting run over by that cab.”

They walked to the end of the line and finally got an empty taxi. Frank told the driver to take them to the William Tell Hotel. At the desk, they signed identification cards and received a room key. They set their luggage inside and tidied up their appearance, then went to the Zurich police headquarters.

Frank explained to an English-speaking captain named Hartl that Pedro Zemog, a suspected thief, was somewhere in the city. Joe inquired whether the Swiss authorities had any information about the man.

The officer checked through the files and made a phone call. Then he turned back to the Hardys.

“Pedro Zemog has no criminal record in our country,” he informed them. “But we will watch for him. Tell me where you are staying, and we will call you if we learn anything.”

“Thank you,” Frank said. “We're at the William Tell for the next few days.”

The boys returned to their room and unpacked, then contacted the Swiss Gold Syndicate.

Mr. Jung's assistant told them there had been no more anonymous phone calls. “I asked a lot of people around town,” he said, “but found out nothing. I doubt anything will transpire over the weekend. Since Mr. Jung is coming back Monday, perhaps the caller will try to get in touch with him personally.”

Frank thanked the assistant and hung up. “What do we do now?”

Joe shrugged. “Let's see the town.”

Taking the elevator to the lobby, they found people at the registration desk or following porters who carried their luggage. Others inspected items in the souvenir shop and relaxed in comfortable chairs. The Hardys paused to look at postcards on a revolving stand. Joe twirled it.

“Hey,” said a young American, “you just took the card I wanted.” A youth about Frank's age peered at them from behind the revolving stand.

“Sorry about that,” Joe apologized. “I didn't know you were on the other side.”

The two boys started a conversation and Frank joined them. The youth said his name was Rory Harper. He was in Switzerland to see the country and do some skiing.

“Listen,” Rory said, “I'm here with three girls, my sister Alice, my girl friend Jane Owens, and their friend Karen Temple. They're standing over there by the window. Want to join us for a soda?”

Frank and Joe peered in the direction of the window and broke out in grins after glimpsing three very attractive teen-aged girls.

“Sure, we'll be glad to,” Frank said.

After introductions, the Americans sat down at a low table in the lobby and ordered sodas. Rory's group talked about home and their vacation in Switzerland.

Karen set her glass down on the table. “Joe,” she said, “do you ski?”

“A little,” Joe answered. “So does Frank.”

“That's great!” Alice exclaimed. “We're leaving today. Want to join us for the weekend?”

Frank and Joe looked at each other. “We don't have to be back till Monday morning, Joe,” Frank said.

“And there's nothing we can do here in the meantime,” Joe added.

“Good. Then it's all settled,” Rory said. “We can rent our gear at the lodge. Let's go!”

The young people went to their rooms and quickly packed warm clothing in an overnight bag, then met in front of the hotel. They hailed a large taxi and the driver let them off at the railroad station.

On the way to the nearest ski resort, they watched the beautiful landscape as the train snaked up the mountains. They exchanged cheerful banter.

“I hope you guys are pros,” Rory said. “You'll have to move fast to keep up with me.”

“That's right,” his sister added. “Rory is fastâon his rear end!”

“Aw, Alice, don't say that!”

Jane giggled. “We should modify that statement. Sometimes he's fast on his stomach, too! I'll never forget that time in Vermont when he slid down head first.”

“Oh, that was a bad spill I took,” Rory admitted. “My hat went one way, my goggles another, the poles almost hit another skier, and if the safety straps hadn't held the skis, they would have arrived at the lodge without me.”

“What were you trying to do, wind up in the hospital?” Joe kidded.

“No,” Karen said. “He was just trying to imitate Herman the German, who did a somersault over a three-foot mogul.”

“He's one of the instructors up there,” Jane explained. “Only Rory can't ski nearly as well as he.”

When they arrived at their destination, they hitched a ride to the lodge with a friendly farmer, who chugged along the road in a pickup truck. As soon as they got there, they rented skis, boots, and poles.

Rory and the three girls had brought ski clothes. The Hardy boys each bought a pair of warmup pants to wear with their jackets.

Sunlight glistened on the packed snow of the slopes, and skiers looked like moving colored dots on a white sheet.

After the Americans had bought their lift tickets, they lined up for one of the chairs. Joe paired off with Karen, Frank with Alice, and Rory got on the lift with Jane.

“Wait for us when you get up there!” Rory yelled to the first pair.

“Will do,” Joe called back as he watched a girl in a red suit expertly parallel down the slope.

When they arrived at the top, they surveyed the mountain. Alpine peaks formed the skyline around them. The snow-clad terrain dropped away at their feet into a steep run. A colorful white sign with an arrow read: AUTOBAHN-EXPERT ONLY.

Frank held up a hand. The rest gathered around him in a circle.

“Have any of you skied this slope before?” he asked.

He received only negative answers,

“Then we'd better take the Mouse Run over there first. That's intermediate,” he advised.

Joe and the girls agreed, but Rory shook his head vehemently. “No, that's too easy for me,” he said. “I'm going to take the Autobahn and beat you all to the bottom. See you later!”

He gave a strong push with his poles and began to parallel over the lightly packed powder.

“We'd better not let him go alone,” Frank called out. “If you girls think you're up to it, let's follow him.”

BOOK: The Jungle Pyramid

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