The Crowning Terror (7 page)

With a resigned sigh, Frank replied, "Yes."

Starkey opened his jacket and pulled a small tape recorder from an inside pocket. "That's all we need," he said. "Independent verification that Hugh Hunt is working with an enemy government."

"You haven't listened to a thing we said," shouted Joe.

"Sure I have, tough guy," Starkey said, smirking. "Mickey!" The man with the gun shut off the television, turned, and drew his revolver.

"These boys have outlived their usefulness," Starkey said. With a smile, the man called Mickey took aim at Frank and Joe and Cocked the hammer on his gun.

"You're kidding," Frank said, but the cruel glint in Starkey's eyes told Frank that he meant it.

"This is a secret organization," Starkey replied. "We can't have a couple of kids running around with all our secrets, can we?" He glared at Joe. "Keep those hammy fists where we can see them, kid, and don't do anything stupid. Mickey here knows every way there is to kill a man. He'll be very quick and painless, and he won't leave a mark."

"How very convenient for you," Joe muttered.

"Or he can make it very messy if you get on his bad side," Starkey continued. "On second thought, do something stupid. I'd like to see that." "Anyone ever tell you how thoroughly unpleasant you are?" Frank said.

Starkey grinned. "It's the job."

"There's no way out of this, is there?"

"No, I'm afraid there isn't. If you somehow managed to get out of this room, which I doubt you could do, I have my agents all over the hotel. You'd never make it to the front door."

"I almost wouldn't mind going if I knew why you're doing this, Starkey."

"Well, I'm not going to tell you. Anything else I can do?"

"Another cup of tea?" Frank asked.

"You think you get a last request, just like in the movies?" Starkey shrugged. "All right, go ahead. Just one cup, though."

"Thanks," Frank said. Picking up his cup, he moved toward Mickey. The gunman drew his revolver as Frank approached, keeping him covered. Frank swung in a wide arc around Mickey, staying out of the gunman's reach. At the table Frank picked up the teapot.

"More tea, Joe?" Frank asked.

"I hate tea," Joe said sullenly. His rage-filled eyes fixed on Starkey, who was ignoring him.

Furtively, Frank studied Mickey. The man looked like a professional quarterback. And Frank guessed that Mickey could withstand any attack Frank could make.

"Sure, you want some tea," Frank said.

"I don't like tea," Joe said. It was true. He hadn't touched the cup Starkey gave him.

"Sure you do," Frank insisted, watching as Mickey snuffed out a cigarette in an ashtray on top of the television. "Pass me your cup, Joe."

"Frank, I don't want any tea," Joe maintained.

"If the kid doesn't want any tea, he doesn't want any tea," Starkey barked. "Get on with it."

"No, he likes tea," Frank said. "When he gets burned, he says things just to be contrary. A little light in the head, you know?"

Joe's eyes widened with a rush of comprehension, and he narrowed them again before Starkey saw. He finally understood what his brother was up to.

Frank poured his own tea while watching Mickey carefully. Mickey, a chain-smoker, drew a pack of cigarettes from his pocket with one hand, forcing a cigarette out with his thumb. He grasped it with his teeth and put the pack back. Then his hand went into another pocket and came out with a wooden match. All the time, he kept his eyes on Frank and Joe.

"Any lemon?" Frank asked. Mickey scratched the match head with his thumbnail, lighting it.

"This isn't a restaurant," Starkey said. A'Drink up." Mickey raised the match to his lip.

"I would like some tea, Frank," Joe Said. He sprang off his bed, moving toward Mickey with a teacup in his outstretched hand. Mickey kept the gun aimed at Joe.

Frank grabbed the teapot and threw the steaming water into Mickey's face. Mickey shrieked, one hand flying to his eyes, his pistol swinging toward Frank. Twisting out of the way, Frank clamped a hand on Mickey's wrist and pinched. The gun dropped out of his hand.

Joe caught the revolver in midair and turned it on Starkey while Frank smashed the teapot on Mickey's head. The gunman dropped to his knees, clawed at the air, and then plunged forward. The cigarette rolled from his lips and Frank ground it out underfoot.

"Out like a light," Frank said, looking down at Mickey.

"Your flunky should have known smoking was hazardous to his health," Joe told Starkey. Slowly Starkey's hand moved toward his coat. "Huh - uh," Joe said, wagging the gun up and down. "Hands where we can see them."

Starkey moved his hands out to the side and splayed his fingers. Joe seized Starkey's shoulder, spun him around, and slammed him against the wall.

"The shoe's on the other foot, pal," Joe said. He jabbed the revolver's muzzle into Starkey's spine.

Frank frisked Starkey. He had a forty-five in a coat pocket, plus a thirty-eight special in a holster on the back of his belt. Frank took them. "What my brother's trying to say is that the three of us are marching out of here. Together. You're going to lead us right past all your men."

"You cross me, you cross the United States government," Starkey said angrily. "You'll never be safe anywhere — "

"Shut up!" Joe barked. Roughly, he shoved Starkey to the door. "Move."

Frank reached the door first and looked down the hall. There was no one. "Looks like your men aren't staying as close as you thought." He pulled Starkey out of the door. "We'll give you a better deal than you gave us. Just play along until we're outside, and you'll come out of this in one piece."

"But remember who has the guns," Joe said.

At a normal pace they walked down the hall and rounded a corner. On a chair next to the bank of elevators, a balding man in a business suit was seated, reading a newspaper. He was overweight, and his extra bulk pushed the outline of a gun and shoulder holster into his coat. A walkie-talkie hung from his belt.

"One of yours, right?" Joe asked Starkey. Starkey said nothing, but his gritted teeth were answer enough. "Be cool."

The seated man looked up with a big grin as they approached. "Hey, Starkey," he said cheerfully. "What gives? Thought you were working late tonight."

With a wink and a smile, Starkey said, "You know what they say about all work and no play."

Frank hit the elevator button and waited impatiently for the elevator to arrive. Joe stood a few feet behind Starkey as Starkey and the seated man chatted on. It was meaningless talk about the weather in San Francisco. Frank almost laughed. He had no idea Starkey had such trivial talk in him.

At last the bell chimed and the elevator doors slid open. As they moved into the elevator, Starkey cried, "Danger, Charlie. Move!"

With dazzling speed, the man on the chair drew his pistol. His jovial smile warped into a no-nonsense frown. "Everyone out of there. Now!"

Starkey blocked the elevator doors with his body. "Good work, Charlie." He reached back to grab at Frank.

Joe kicked Starkey forward, knocking him into the hall. The agent in the hall opened fire and the boys ducked to either side as the elevator doors slid shut. The elevator began its descent.

"How are we going to get out of here, Frank?" Joe asked. "Starkey's men will be all over the lobby." He stared at the gun in his hand and finally put it in his pocket. "We can't shoot our way out."

"It's a good thing Starkey didn't know we wouldn't have gunned him down," Frank said. "As to getting out, I've been giving it some thought, and — "

The lights went out and the elevator jolted to a stop.

It's Starkey," Joe said. "Remember the walkie-talkie on the other guy's belt? He probably called his men downstairs and had them override the elevator. We're trapped."

Abruptly, the lights came on. The elevator began to move again, but now it moved up. "He's reeling us in," Frank said. "We've got to stop this thing." He pushed the buttons for all the floors between them and Starkey.

The elevator passed the lit floors without pausing. The override was perfect. They couldn't stop it. With growing despair, Frank watched the number indicator flash with each floor they passed.

"Joe," he said, "I've got a plan."

Starkey stood ready as the elevator doors opened, his finger tense on the trigger of the gun he held. Doors fully open, he lunged into the elevator.

"They're not here!" he screamed in rage.

"That's impossible!" the balding man said. "The elevator didn't stop, so they couldn't have gotten off. How did they get out?"

"I don't know," Starkey snarled. He let the doors close again. "Get Mickey out of the room to help. I want every available man checking all the floors between here and the lobby. I'll get them yet."

He pounded on the elevator call button until another elevator came. "I'll see you downstairs," he called to the balding agent and left.

Two floors down, the door of the first elevator opened. Frank poked his head out and looked around. "It's safe, Joe. You can come down now."

Joe dropped through the emergency hatch at the top of the elevator. "Great idea, Frank. Hiding on top of the elevator car bought us some " time, at least. Now where do we go?"

"To the last place Starkey would expect us to hide," Frank said. "Come on." He opened a window and climbed onto the fire escape. "Starkey's men will make travel through the halls difficult. We'd better take the scenic route."

They climbed the fire escape for two flights until they came to their room. "Shhh," Frank warned. "Mickey might be coming to right about now."

"I hope not," Joe said. He tried one window and then another. The second raised easily, and Frank and Joe climbed into the room. "Looks like they dragged him out. We're safe."

"As long as Starkey doesn't decide to come back, anyway," Frank said. "We better shower up while we have the chance. You want anything from room service?"

"A steak dinner. I'm famished," Joe said. "But won't that tip Starkey we're here?"

"I'll run that risk for a meal," Frank replied. He called the hotel kitchen and placed an order, then sank back onto the bed for a fitful nap while Joe took a shower.

A knock on the door woke him. "Room service," called a youthful voice from outside.

"I'm not really dressed!" Frank yelled back. "You better let yourself in." If it was really room service, Frank knew, that wouldn't be a problem. If it was Starkey's men, then Frank would have the better defensive position if he stayed away from the door.

Keys jingled in the door, and Frank squeezed the handle of Starkey's snub-nosed revolver, ready for trouble. Then he saw it. Starkey hadn't left the room unguarded after all. As the door began to swing open, a wire taped to the door at foot level tightened. On one end of the wire was enough thermite to turn the room to fine powder. All that was needed to trigger it was someone coming in or out of the room.

"No!" Frank screamed as the door swung open and the wire pulled taut.

Frank leapt for the door and slid across the rug. Just before the trip wire stretched to full tension, he ripped it from the door.

He quickly studied the bomb and realized his guess was correct. So long as the wire wasn't pulled completely taut, the bomb wouldn't ignite. Relieved, he rolled on his back, sprawling across the rug. He found himself staring up at the puzzled bellhop, who carried a tray full of food.

"Don't mind me," Frank said. "Put it anywhere." As the bellhop set the tray on the foot of the bed, Frank stood and dug his wallet from his pocket. His fingers brushed the crumpled plans to the Carlyle Museum, and he pulled out the paper and threw it on his pillow. The bellhop handed him the check.

"You can't tip for your meal, sir," the bellhop said. He still watched Frank suspiciously, but Frank smiled mischievously and took the check and pen. With a flourish, he put his signature on the check and handed it back.

"Can your tip go on that, too?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," the bellhop said.

"Write yourself in for a fifty-percent tip," Frank said. "I don't think we'll be needing anything else tonight."

"Yes, sir!" the bellhop said. The money had driven any doubts from the bellhop's mind. With a slight bow, he left the room, closing the door behind him. Frank turned the safety bolt. If anyone wanted to get in then, they'd have to break down the door to do it.

"Is it soup yet?" Joe called from the shower. He appeared in the bathroom door, a towel wrapped around him.

"Yeah, dinner's here," Frank replied. "And that's not all. Look." He bent over and picked up the thermite bomb.

Joe's jaw dropped. "Starkey?"

Frank nodded. "A little present, set to fry us and half this hotel."

"I can see playing for keeps in the espionage racket, but this guy's out of his mind," Joe said. "We've got to put him out of business, Frank, before someone really gets hurt."

Frank threw himself on the bed and took the lid off one of the plates on the food tray. The aroma of steak and baked potato hit his nostrils, and he inhaled deeply. "I already got a small shot back at him. He's paying for the room, remember? I ordered the most expensive meals and gave the bellhop a whopping tip. I'd like to see Starkey explain that on his budget reports."

They both laughed. "I guess we'd better get some sleep and find a new hotel in the morning."

For the first time Frank realized how tired he was. After they finished their meal, Joe took the first watch while Frank slept. He had no dreams, and no one else came to the room.

They were out of the hotel at seven next morning. None of Starkey's men were anywhere around. It was as if the government man and his ; agents had never existed.

Half a mile away the Hardys checked into another hotel. At the coffee shop in the lobby, they were eating breakfast when, in the middle of a bite of toast, Joe asked, "Any ideas on what we do now?"

"Let's see where we are," said Frank, wiping his lips. "We've got Russians who've kidnapped Uncle Hugh to steal a crown for them. We've got a crazed counterespionage agent who's determined to prove Uncle Hugh's a traitor. And we've got some mystery woman — it's anybody's guess whose side she's on. We're stuck in a city three thousand miles from home, and we're being hunted by a government agency that has orders to shoot to kill."