Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
"If I were back in Bayport, I'd take these two to the police station. But I don't know that I trust the local English police after yesterday."
"No kidding," Joe said.
"Let's see what secrets this antique shop has." Frank pointed the sword at St. Armand's stomach. "Unless you want to become a shish kebab, I suggest you behave yourself."
"And when we're done with whoever's inside," Joe added, glaring at St. Armand, "I've got some questions about a little fencing match."
Joe walked over to Markham, shook him awake, and pulled the groggy thug to his feet.
They all walked into the antique shop as though they were tourists.
"Remember me?" Frank asked the man behind the counter, who was still reading the newspaper.
"Yes," the man replied dully. He looked at St. Armand and Markham but showed no reaction. "Did you find your friend?"
"No, but I found these two," Frank replied. "What's in the back?" He jerked his head toward the rear of the store.
"My home," the old man said.
"Mind if we look around?" Frank didn't wait for an answer. He shoved St. Armand toward the beaded curtain that covered the doorway at the rear of the shop.
While Frank guarded St. Armand and Markham with the sword, Joe looked around. The back of the shop consisted of several rooms containing some old furniture, a few pictures on the wall, and little else. No Fitzhugh. No clandestine meeting room. Nothing but an old man's home.
"Is there something I can help you with?" the old man asked from behind the group.
Frank turned. The old man stood in the door, an old 9-mm Beretta in his hand and a hard look in his eye. Frank recognized the Beretta as the special fifteen-clip model made for BCI agents.
"Drop the sword," the man ordered in a soft but commanding voice.
Frank tossed the sword, and it slid under the sofa.
"I owe you this," St. Armand said as he drew back his fist to punch Frank.
"That's enough, St. Armand," the old man barked. "You two young Americans have been interfering in our plans, and it is time for you to stop." The man spoke with dignity and authority, and St. Armand obeyed him without question.
"Why do you want to hurt the Zigonevs?" Frank asked.
"That is of no concern to you," the old man said calmly.
"We're making it our concern," Joe blurted out.
"Then you, too, will have to die," the old man said evenly.
He pulled a silencer from his pocket and screwed it onto the barrel of the black Beretta. He raised the gun shoulder high and aimed it at Frank's forehead. The old man showed no emotion, but the cold hard stare of his gray eyes sent a shudder through Frank.
Frank had seen the look before, the cold, calculating, unemotional look of a professional killer.
The bell on the shop door clanged.
"Is anybody here?" Ziggy asked at the top of his voice.
Joe heard several students talking and walking around the shop. The old man hid the Beretta beneath his sweater.
"I think I've seen enough," Joe said loudly as he headed for the beaded curtains. He stopped and stared down at the old man. "You have nothing that interests me." Joe pushed through the curtain. Frank followed.
"This isn't over yet, Hardy," St. Armand said through gritted teeth.
Frank turned and peered back through the strings of beads. "When it is," Frank warned, "you'll be the first to know, and I'll be the one delivering the message to you."
St. Armand moved to Frank.
"Easy," the old man said, and St. Armand stopped.
Frank smiled and turned to join Joe.
"Hi, Joe, Frank," Ziggy said as the Hardys walked to the center of the shop. "Find anything interesting?"
"Just a bunch of junk and some rats in the back," Joe replied with a nod to the back room.
Frank watched as the old man moved through the curtains and returned to the counter. He picked up the newspaper and began reading it without looking at the Hardys, as though nothing had happened.
Frank, Joe, and Ziggy walked outside.
"I brought the cavalry," Ziggy whispered under his breath. "I didn't like the way you kept going in and out, with more desperadoes joining you each time."
"Thanks," Joe said with a smile. "Where's Petra?"
"Looking for postcards with the other girls."
Joe's eyes followed Ziggy's pointing hand. Even in a crowd of pretty girls, Petra was a gem among the other precious stones.
"Have you seen Fitzhugh?" Frank asked.
"He is on the bus," Ziggy said.
"He must have slipped out of the shop when we were in the alley," Frank explained, shaking his head.
They boarded the bus and once again took the long seat at the back. Frank and Ziggy sat on the outside while Joe and Petra sat between them. Moments later, all three buses pulled out of Salisbury and began the long journey back to Oxford.
The other students were loud, and Frank welcomed the noise. He wanted to talk to Ziggy and Petra, and he didn't want to wait until they had returned to Brasenose. The talking of the other students provided a noisy cover.
But before Frank could say anything, Ziggy asked bluntly, "Would you mind letting Petra and me in on your little secret?"
"What are you talking about?" Frank asked, puzzled.
"As a chess player, I watch not only the board but my opponent as well. I try to read his face, see if he is nervous, overconfident, or worried. I have been watching you two, and you have not been completely honest with Petra and me."
Frank looked at Joe, who only shrugged.
"That works both ways," Frank said.
"What do you mean?" Petra asked.
The bus took a wide turn, and they braced themselves to keep from sliding across the seat.
"I don't believe that the attempts to kidnap Ziggy are only because somebody wants to ruin the good relationship between the Soviet Union and the West," Frank said.
"What do you believe?" Petra asked defensively.
"I think your father and the communications-link negotiations are part of this," Frank replied. He tried to read Petra's cool blue eyes but got only a cold stare. He looked at Ziggy.
Frank continued. "Your father is KGB and an expert in communications. He is negotiating with his Western counterparts for something. But what?" Frank hesitated, hoping Ziggy or Petra would answer. But the twins just sat pensively on the edge of their seats.
"The United States has just launched a new satellite that is designed to move communications into the twenty-first century," Frank explained.
"A spy satellite," Petra huffed. "What do friendly nations need with a spy satellite?"
"It's not a spy satellite," Frank continued. "It's a communications satellite powered by a CRAY computer, the most powerful computer in the world. While most satellites can handle thousands of bits of information a second, the new CRAY satellite can handle a billion bits of information a second."
"You are correct," Ziggy said with a sigh.
"Ziggy!" Petra cautioned.
"Frank has made the killing move and has checkmated us," Ziggy told his sister. He smiled at Frank. "Our country has always lagged behind in technology, and our people have suffered because of it. If we were allowed to come online with the new CRAY satellite, the Soviet Union will be able to advance in technology."
"How do we know the Soviet Union won't use the CRAY satellite to spy on the free world and its people?" Joe asked.
"My father is trying to assure your government that such a thing will never happen," Ziggy said.
"And if your father can be distracted," Frank explained, "he may fail in his negotiations."
"Correct," Ziggy said. "Father knew how important the International Classroom was to us and would allow us to attend only after he received certain assurances regarding our safety."
Petra shifted in her seat. She avoided looking at Joe. "We would not have been allowed to attend the International Classroom if Mr. Gray had not assured the Soviet officials and our father that you two would be with us."
"What?" Joe was stunned, and he stared at Petra, searching for answers.
"I think what Petra has just told us," Frank said, "is that our selection to attend the International Classroom and our room and class assignments were manipulated so that we would be with the Zigonevs at all times."
"That's incredible," Joe blurted. "Why didn't you tell us, Petra?"
"I am sorry, Joe," Petra said softly.
"Why do I feel like a pawn?" Frank asked, staring at the floor of the bus.
They rode in silence for the remainder of the trip.
***
Katrina met them as they got off the bus, and they all walked back to the cottages together. It was almost six, and the sun was setting.
Katrina asked Petra about the trip to Salisbury Plain, but Petra answered in monosyllables. She entered her cottage without saying anything to Ziggy, Frank, or Joe.
"Don't worry, Joe," Ziggy said as they entered their cottage. "Petra is not angry with you. She is upset because she had to deceive you."
"How do you know that?" Joe asked, sitting on the edge of his cot.
"We are twins," Ziggy answered. "Sometimes we know each other's feelings."
"Yeah, right," Joe mumbled.
"She likes you, Joe."
Joe smiled. "Thanks, Ziggy."
Frank sat in the overstuffed chair. The day's long trip and the revelation that he and Joe were being used by three covert agencies rested on him like a heavy weight.
"Hey, Frank!" Ziggy said. "Want to see what I was working on at Stonehenge?"
"What?" Frank asked, tired and wanting to take a nap.
"Your remark about the stones being giant chess pieces gave me an idea. I will call it my Stonehenge Strategy," Ziggy announced with flair.
"What?" Frank said with a laugh.
"It involves sacrificing the queen and winning the match with pawns." Ziggy began setting up the chessboard.
"Impossible," Frank said, rising from the chair. "The queen is the most powerful piece."
"That's the gambit. Want to try it?" Ziggy waved his hand at the chessboard.
"Yeah," Frank said, curiosity overtaking him.
Joe sighed. "While you two play your little game, I'm going to take a nap." He stretched out on his cot and was softly snoring a few minutes later.
Frank and Ziggy squared off again, baiting each other.
"This is like the spider and the flea," Ziggy said, a devilish tone to his voice.
"That's the spider and the fly," Frank corrected. "But 'flea' will do." Frank moved his pawn. "After I get done swatting you, I'll want you to write down your theory in English so I can take it home and put it in my computer and work out the flaws in your Stonehenge Strategy."
Ziggy tapped the side of his head. "This is the only computer worth programming."
Frank laughed, but his laugh was cut short by a deafening blast. The cottage shook and plaster dust fell like light snow from the old ceiling.
Joe was tossed from his cot and landed facedown on the floor.
"What was that?" Joe shouted.
Frank raced to the door of the cottage, followed by Joe and Ziggy. They ran out into the dark night and headed for the twin cottage, in which Petra and Katrina were staying.
The front door was locked. Frank kicked it in.
Moonlight streamed into the cottage from a large hole in the wall against which the twin beds rested. One bed looked as if it had been cleared of the bricks that had fallen on it. A bloody leg stuck out from under the rubble of bricks that lay on the second bed.
"Petra," Ziggy whispered.
Joe and Ziggy started pulling bricks off the body and tossing them the length of the cottage. Frank pulled out his penlight and flipped it on. The circle of light illuminated the gray dust that hung in the air like a fog.
But when Joe and Ziggy had cleared away the pile of rubble, they discovered not Petra but Katrina, her face cut and bleeding, her breathing shallow.
She opened her eyes and swallowed. She turned and glanced at the other bed. Her eyes widened in fear and terror.
"Petra," she gasped. "They ... have ... taken ... her!"
"Joe! The wall's going to fall!" Frank shouted.
Joe gently lifted Katrina and moved away just as the wall teetered and collapsed, sending up another thick cloud of plaster dust. The bricks crushed the beds.
"Let's get her outside," Frank said, shining his light toward the door.
"Where is Petra?" Ziggy asked, his voice cracking. He refused to leave the cottage.
Frank grabbed Ziggy and pulled him out the door.
Joe had laid Katrina on the ground.
"I must find Petra!" Ziggy shouted.
"She's gone!" Frank shouted back.
"No," Ziggy whispered, shaking his head.
"How is Katrina?" Frank asked Joe.
"She's breathing," Joe replied.
Sirens split the air, and moments later the cottages were surrounded by ambulances, fire trucks, and police cars.
"You gents seem to bring trouble with you," Commander Collins said as he walked up to the Hardys. "You're keeping us rather busy."
Joe looked up. "Too busy to do your job right," Joe angrily spit out.
"What are you implying?" Fitzhugh asked as he joined the group. Krylov and the Gray Man were behind him.
Joe stood. His voice was low and had all the sting of a yellowjacket. "It's a little late for the cavalry to arrive."
"Settle down, Joe," the Gray Man ordered.
Krylov broke away from the group and walked over to the hole in the wall.
"Joe's right," Frank said, keeping an eye on the KGB operative. "You'd think the combined security agencies of three of the world's top covert groups could protect two teenagers. Where was your security force tonight, Mr. Gray?"
"It was in place," the Gray Man said flatly.
"The wrong place," Joe countered.
"I suggest we place these two young Americans under special protection," Fitzhugh said, his voice agitated and rough.
"No, thanks," Joe said. "I've seen your security measures, and I'm not impressed."
"What about Petra?" Ziggy asked softly.