The Secret of Skeleton Reef (11 page)

“It might be kind of nice living out here,” Joe said, wiping sweat from his brow. “You know, a complete escape from the twentieth century.”

“First you want to live on a yacht,” Frank said, turning to his brother, “and now you want to live with a bunch of goats. Joe, sometimes I wonder—”

Frank stopped, feeling something skim the top of his head. Looking behind him, he saw an object shoot into the bark of a tree. It was a long metal rod with a sharpened tip, the type of spear shot from a speargun.

Frank whipped around and peered at the surrounding trees. He saw no sign of anyone—but someone definitely had him in his sights. Another spear whizzed straight for his face at lightning speed!

Frank dropped to the ground. The spear fell several feet behind him.

“What's going on?” Joe asked, squatting beside his brother.

“Someone over by the goats is shooting a speargun at us,” Frank said urgently. “And careful, the spears are hard to see.”

Shielding his eyes from the glare, Joe saw the three goats still grazing by the trees. All he heard was the buzzing of insects.

Then the buzzing was mixed with a whizzing sound, and the next second Joe felt a prick on his forearm. A long metal spear slid onto the grass behind him. He had been grazed by the spear point.

“We're sitting ducks right here!” Frank yelled, getting up from the ground. “Head for the Jeep.”

Frank and Joe raced through the grass, soon coming to the dirt road where the Jeep was parked. Both boys jumped into the Jeep. As Joe turned the key in the ignition, Frank heard another spear clang against the Jeep's rear fender. Frank glanced back, but all he saw were trees and grass and goats.

Joe hit the accelerator, and with a jolt the Jeep barreled down the dirt road. “Someone almost turned me into shish kebab!” he exclaimed.

“You're not the only one,” Frank said.

“Who do you think it was?” Joe asked.

“Probably the person who sent us the black spot,” Frank said, turning to watch the road behind them. “Someone must have been tailing us most of the morning, waiting for a chance to get off a few shots at us. I don't see anyone following us now, though.”

“Today is Saturday,” Joe said as he guided the Jeep down a steep slope. “That's the
Destiny
crew's day off. So it could easily have been a member of the crew. Also, I remember seeing a few spearguns on the
Destiny
.”

“And I remember Lou Brunelli giving himself a manicure with a spear,” Frank said.

A mile later Joe slowed the Jeep down as the dirt road began curving into a serpentine pattern. Then he heard an engine some distance behind.

The engine was getting louder a little too fast. Frank saw a brown Jeep swing around a curve and come roaring for the Hardys, stirring up a thick cloud of brown dust. Two men were in the Jeep, but the top was up and Frank couldn't make out the faces.

Though the road was very narrow, the brown Jeep was gunning for the Hardys with no sign of slowing.

“Watch out!” Frank called.

Joe glimpsed the Jeep in his rearview mirror. Then it was careening wildly alongside Joe, the engine thundering in his ear.

Joe swerved to the right to avoid collision as the brown Jeep catapulted ahead.

“Watch it starboard!” Frank cried out. Seeing he was about to fly off the road into a ravine, Joe swerved the Jeep back to the left.

The sound of raucous laghter came pouring from the Jeep. Two heads popped out of the windows for a look back, but Frank didn't need to see the faces. The laughter was enough.

“Guess who?” Frank told Joe.

“Good old Rob and Davy,” Joe said with a smirk.

Rob and Davy disappeared around a curve, their insane laughter fading in the distance.

“It seems they like destroying Jeeps as much as destroying boats,” Frank said, wiping dust from his eyes.

“Or maybe it's just us they want to destroy,” Joe said. “Do you think they were the ones with the speargun?”

“Actually I don't,” Frank said. “The person shooting those spears didn't want to be seen. But that's not Rob and Davy's style. If anything, they're rather proud of their wicked ways. I think meeting Rob and Davy today may just have been some bad luck.”

“In other words, they would have run this Jeep down no matter who was in it,” Joe said.

“As Sandy Flask told us,” Frank said, “they're just plain crazy.”

“Well, here's the deal,” Joe said, easing the Jeep along another curve. “It seems whoever went after Chrissy Peters is starting to come after us—with an intention to kill. We better find out who it is, and soon, or we may never get off this island alive.”

As the day eased into late afternoon, the Hardys finally passed a sign that read: La Soufrière, the World's Only Drive-Through Volcano. Joe pulled into a dirt parking lot, where a number of other cars were gathered. A man informed the Hardys they had to hire a guide if they wished to enter the volcano, then pointed to a group of guides standing at the edge of the lot.

“Look, there's Auntie Samantha,” Frank said, seeing the elderly lady among the guides.

“Hi,” Joe said as the brothers approached Auntie Samantha. “Remember us?”

“Of course I remember you,” Auntie Samantha said, adjusting the bandanna on her head. “I told you about Rebecca the other night. Would you like to see the volcano? In addition to being a storyteller, I am also one of the guides.”

“Sure,” Frank said, reaching in his pocket for money to pay Auntie Samantha's fee.

Auntie Samantha led the boys up a small hill and down the other side. Soon Frank felt as if he had set foot on a distant planet. All around, the landscape was composed of rough grayish black rock that rose and fell with complete irregularity. In various areas, steam was rising from the rocks, and Frank detected the rotten-egg smell of sulphur.

“You are now standing inside the crater of a volcano,” Auntie Samantha explained as the Hardys watched in fascination. “No longer does this volcano erupt, but it still simmers and stews. Stay close to me as we walk or you may step in a very hot place.”

Frank noticed a few other tourists being led through the crater by guides. Not far away, he saw a car driving slowly along the barren surface.

Auntie Samantha led the Hardys along the rocks a ways, then stopped. Near his feet, Frank saw a pool of black goo, bubbling from the geothermal heat of the earth. “This is pretty cool,” he said.

“I wonder if we could install one of these in the backyard,” Joe said, watching the black bubbles glurp up and down in the goo.

“All right, back to business,” Frank said after giving Joe a quizzical look. “Auntie Samantha, we have a question for you. You said you know most everything about this island, and we need to know something about Skeleton Reef.”

“Of course,” Auntie Samantha replied. “What is it you need to know?”

“We're wondering if there might be a boat or ship that sank on the northern part of the reef. Not just any vessel, though. A vessel that went down with some kind of unusual or valuable cargo.”

Auntie Samantha looked at Frank with a somber expression. A long moment passed as he heard only the goo gurgling in the ground and waited for the elderly woman's response.

“Yes,” Auntie Samantha said finally. “There is something evil on that part of the reef. Quite evil indeed.”

“Like what?” Joe asked.

“I am sorry,” Auntie Samantha answered, “but I cannot tell you. It is a secret.”

“Auntie Samantha,” Frank persisted, “I can't tell you why exactly, but it is very important we know what that evil thing is. A person's life may depend on it. I mean that literally.”

Auntie Samantha looked at Frank, then Joe, studying their faces. “All right,” she said, “I have decided to trust you. You seem to be honest and good boys.”

“That's us,” Joe said. “Honest and good.”

As Auntie Samantha continued walking along the rocky ground, Frank and Joe followed. “Do you know what plutonium is?” Auntie Samantha asked the boys.

“Sure,” Frank said. “It's a radioactive element that's extremely rare. It's noted for being one of the only two substances that can fuel a nuclear bomb.”

“That is right,” Auntie Samantha said. “Now, in the early 1960s, the Russian government sent some plutonium to Cuba. It was only a small quantity but enough to make two nuclear bombs.”

“Did Cuba make the bombs?” Joe asked, passing another pool of the bubbling black goo.

“No,” Auntie Samantha said as the rocky path inclined upward. “When the Russian ship bringing the plutonium docked in Cuba, the Russians handed over the box containing the plutonium to the Cuban officials. But someone on that ship had already moved the plutonium into a crate of wheat that was one of many crates also being brought to Cuba. You see, it was all part of a plan to keep Cuba from getting the plutonium.”

“What happened to the crate of wheat?” Joe asked, waving some sulphurous vapor away from his face.

“One of the Cubans who was unloading the supply crates,” Auntie Samantha continued, “took that crate of wheat with the plutonium and put it in his truck. Then he drove to the other side of the island. There he gave the crate to a fisherman, who
put it on a fishing boat called
El Gato
. That is Spanish for ‘the cat.' ”

“Why were these people stealing the plutonium from Cuba?” Frank asked as a group of tourists walked by with their guide.

“This I am not sure about,” Auntie Samantha said. “Some say they were planning to sell it for a lot of money. Others say they were working for the United States CIA, who very much did not want the Cubans to have atomic bombs.”

“What happened once the plutonium was on
El Gato?
” Frank asked.

Auntie Samantha paused to rest. The vaporous mist was much thicker now, which made the sulphurous smell all the stronger. Glancing at one of the nearby pools, Frank saw its goo was yellow and bubbled more intensely than the black.

“
El Gato
was on its way to the coast of Brazil,” Auntie Samantha explained. “But in the Caribbean Sea,
El Gato
hit a big storm, and like many other boats through the years, it sank on Skeleton Reef. Right on the northern edge. The plutonium and all but one of the men ended up at the bottom of the sea.”

“One man survived?” Joe asked.

“Yes,” Auntie Samantha said. “He swam to the shore of St. Lucia.”

“So that plutonium might still be on the reef?” Frank asked.

“I am fairly sure it is,” Auntie Samantha said.

“It sounds like a pretty far-fetched story,” Joe said. “Are you sure it's true?”

“What you say, boy?” Auntie Samantha said as if deeply offended. “All my stories are true!”

“I'm sure they are,” Frank said with a smile. “But are you sure this one is really, really true?”

“Yes, I am,” Auntie Samantha said gravely.

“How do you know?” Frank asked.

“Because,” Auntie Samantha said, gesturing with her hands, “the man who swam to the shore became the husband of a woman who was the sister-in-law of a friend of a cousin of my very own mother.”

“Oh,” Frank replied.

“Can't really argue with that, can we?” Joe concluded.

The Hardys followed as Auntie Samantha resumed climbing upward on the rocks. “I know the story is true,” Auntie Samantha said, huffing as she climbed, “but I keep it a deep secret because I don't want anybody looking for that plutonium. It is valuable enough so that others may want it, and it is dangerous enough to cause the deaths of many many people.”

“Who else knows about the plutonium?” Joe asked.

“A few islanders know,” Auntie Samantha replied, “but they also keep it a secret. And I told one other person about it recently.”

“Who?” Joe asked, wiping sweat from his neck.

Auntie Samantha and the Hardys stopped. They were higher up, and Frank could see most of the crater area. With mist rising and swirling from the rocky crags in all directions, the crater looked like the set of a Hollywood horror movie.

“I told that man who is digging up the
Laughing Moon
,” Auntie Samantha said. “Sandy Flask.”

“Why did you tell Flask?” Frank asked.

“Because I know he is good at finding things in the sea and pulling them out,” she explained. “Also he seemed like someone I could trust. I told him about the plutonium because I want him to pull it up and give it to me. Then I'll bury it in a place nobody knows about but Auntie Samantha. When I die, it will be gone forever. All this because that plutonium is evil, evil, evil!”

Suddenly there was an intense hissing sound, and Frank turned to see a geyser of the yellowish goo spraying furiously into the air.

“Stand back,” Auntie Samantha said. “That stuff is more than boiling hot!”

“Did Flask agree to find the plutonium?” Joe asked, taking a few steps back.

“He say he was too busy right now!” Auntie Samantha shouted over the hissing. “But he said he would consider it when he had some extra time.”

“I see,” Frank said, watching the geyser subside as suddenly as it had sprayed. “Well, Auntie Samantha, you've been really helpful to us. We paid
you for the tour, but can we pay you a little extra for the story?”

“No, this one is for free,” Auntie Samantha said with a friendly wink. “I like you boys.”

Soon the Hardys were back in the Jeep, driving toward the bungalow. “Do you think Flask is using the
Destiny
to look for that plutonium at night?” Joe asked as he steered.

“Not Flask,” Frank said. “He wasn't on the
Destiny
last night, and, as you said, I don't think he would risk moving the boat. But Flask may have told some of the crew about the plutonium, and some of them might be looking for it without telling him.”