The Crisscross Crime (12 page)

It was dark as night until Frank clicked on the flashlight. The drain extended in both directions for ten or twenty yards, then branched into yet more tunnels. “Which way?” Frank whispered.

Joe sloshed over to the light and consulted the map. “Straight that way, then one branch to the left,” he said, pointing behind Frank.

They had taken only a few steps, when Joe heard a noise.

“You hear that?” he asked. “It sounded like voices.”

Frank nodded.

They tried not to make splashing sounds as they walked. Coming to the left-hand branch, they saw light streaming out of the tunnel. Frank killed the flashlight. They crept to the junction. Frank peeked around the corner.

He darted back quickly and grabbed Joe by the shirt. “We were right,” he whispered. “Take a look for yourself.”

The brothers traded places. Joe leaned forward. What he saw amazed him.

A wave-runner sat about twenty-five yards away, floating under a ragged hole in the top of
the tunnel. Behind the wave-runner, chunks of rock and cement were stacked in a pile almost five feet high.

Joe turned back to Frank. “DuBois and his gang are in there right now and the armory guards don't even know it.”

“It's a great plan,” Frank said. “I should've figured it out when we saw the wave-runner at the reservoir. Those things only need a few inches of water.”

“Yeah,” Joe agreed. “A wave-runner to get around fast under here, and a jackhammer to go up through the floor. I'll bet they went directly into the vault. DuBois could've been working on that hole off and on for the past two days. No one had a clue what was going on.”

Joe peered around again. “I see only one wave-runner, though. It looked like the trailer at the reservoir could hold two.”

“Don't forget the false alarm at New England National,” Frank said. “I'll bet the guy who set it off is already jetting back to the dam.”

The voices grew louder.

Joe pulled back to keep from being seen. Slowly, cautiously, he looked around again. He watched as first one man, then another, hung from the jagged hole and dropped down into the shallow water.

“It's Herve DuBois and the tattooed guy, Bobby Knapp,” he whispered to Frank.

Each man had a thick tube wrapped in plastic strapped to his back. It looked as though they were carrying three-foot-wide rolled-up carpets, but Joe knew the packages were really rolls of micro-coded paper.

The next thing the Hardys heard was the wave-runner rumbling to life.

Frank gripped the tire iron and steadied himself.

The howl of the engine grew louder. Frank made ready to swing the tire iron.

The jetcraft burbled out of the connecting tunnel, its single headlight shining a yellow square along the wall. DuBois was driving, and Knapp rode behind him. DuBois spotted the Hardys immediately. His eyes grew wide with surprise and anger. Then he steered straight at them, gunning the engine.

Frank jumped back. He pressed himself close to the cool curve of the tunnel wall.

The wave-runner rocketed past, brushing his legs and shooting out a thick arc of dirty water.

Seconds later the sound of the engine was gone. The only trace of the theft was the rippling and sloshing of the water against the storm drain walls.

Joe wiped his face. “Man, that was close.” He got the map out. “They're headed back to the reservoir.”

“Quiet!” Frank said. He pointed down the
tunnel in the opposite direction from where the wave-runner had gone. A yellow rectangle of light played along the walls. It gradually grew brighter.

Frank pushed Joe forward and into the connecting tunnel, where they could hide. He dried his hands on the front of his shirt and hefted the tire iron. “I'm not going to miss this time,” he said.

They heard a low rumble, like a speedboat idling. “It must be our friend Eddie Racine,” Joe said, “on his way back from setting off the alarm at New England National.”

It didn't take long to prove Joe right. Eddie came chugging by at a leisurely pace, and as soon as he came into view, Frank clocked him with the tire iron.

Joe caught him as he fell from the wave-runner. “He's out cold,” he said. Joe didn't want Racine to drown in the tunnel, so he hoisted the thug over his shoulder and, with Frank's help, pushed him up through the jackhammered hole and onto the floor of the armory vault. “There,” he said. “Have a great nap.”

By the time he dropped back into the drain, Frank was already on the wave-runner. Joe clambered on behind him. Frank pulled the throttle and they were off, zooming through the tunnel.

They had to stop twice for Joe to check the
blueprints, but soon Frank was sure they were getting close to the reservoir.

He cut the engine and glided around a corner. Up ahead, they saw DuBois's wave-runner. It was roped to a ladder leading up to an oversize drain cover.

Even through the thick cement walls, Frank and Joe could hear the thunder of the sluiceways above them. “We've got to be almost directly under the dam,” Frank whispered as he climbed up the ladder.

With a mighty push, he lifted the drain lid up a single inch and held it there. Circling around like a submarine captain surveying the horizon with a periscope, he scanned the area above. He couldn't see much; it was dark, except for an eerie green glow.

“Looks clear,” he said. “Wait a second . . . is that a chair?”

He shoved the lid out of the way and climbed out. He found himself in the control room of the dam. Generators hummed in the background. Valves and dials lined the walls, and two chairs sat next to a glowing computer console.

In the dim light, Frank recognized the shape of a man sitting in one of the chairs.

Frank jumped. “Who's there?”

The man made a grunting sound, but didn't move.

“Joe, quick! Hand up the flashlight!” Frank grabbed the light and aimed it at the chair. It was a man all right. He was older and balding, and he was bound and gagged.

“Get up here, Joe!”

“I'm up,” Joe said. “What is it?”

Overhead lights flickered on. Frank spun around. A door at the far end of the control room opened and Herve DuBois stepped in, followed closely by Bobby Knapp and a tall, thin man in khaki shorts and a red knit shirt.

Joe lunged forward. “Alex Stendahl!”

In a flash, Knapp had his knife out, the blade inches from Joe's throat. Joe backed off.

Stendahl held up a hand signaling Knapp to remain calm. He eyed Joe. “If it isn't Jim Harper. Or is it
Joe Hardy?
How'd you find us here? Where's Racine?”

“He's back at the armory,” Joe said bitterly. “Dreaming about printing millions in counterfeit bills.”

Stendahl pursed his lips. “That means you know our plans.”

Frank tried to signal Joe to keep quiet, but his brother didn't notice. “We know the bank robberies were just a cover,” Joe said. “A plan to fool the police while you pulled off the real heist.”

“That's enough,” DuBois said. “We've got to hurry to stay on schedule.”

Joe kept his eyes fixed on Stendahl. “You had
me going,” he said. “I thought Sylvia set up the bank jobs, but it was you, wasn't it?”

Stendahl laughed. “Herve here made it a good show by giving me this bruise on my head during the robbery. We had the cops completely fooled. Too bad you and your brother didn't stay fooled as long as they did.”

He gestured toward the man in the chair. “Since you know so much, Joe, you're in the same boat as our friend from the junkyard, Ron Quick. He's about to go for a swim, and I think you and your brother should join him.”

“I already had a swim today,” Joe said. He brought his left forearm up, knocking Bobby Knapp's knife hand into the air. As Bobby reeled backward, Joe smashed a right into his jaw. The knife clattered to the cement floor.

Knapp's mouth leaked a trickle of blood, but he recovered his balance and came back at Joe.

Frank was on Herve DuBois in an instant. He flashed out a side kick. DuBois jumped clear. Frank stepped right into a spinning back kick. DuBois ducked.

“You're quick for such a tall kid,” DuBois hissed. “But how's your defense?” He came at Frank with a windmill-like flurry of punches and kicks. Frank neatly blocked each one.

Then DuBois made a mistake. He tried a spinning backhand punch. When Frank ducked, DuBois's fist flew past and his jaw was exposed. Frank hit him with two quick rights, dropping him to the ground.

A few feet away Joe had Bobby down and was twisting one of his tattooed arms behind his back.

“Let him up!”

The voice belonged to Stendahl.

Joe looked over to see Stendahl standing behind Ron Quick. He held Bobby Knapp's knife under the scrap yard owner's chin. Joe reluctantly let Knapp scramble to his feet.

Frank stood over DuBois, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

“Over there!” Stendahl shouted, waving the blade of the knife toward Joe.

Frank unclenched his fists and walked over to stand next to his brother.

“Where's the rope?” Stendahl asked.

“I have it.” DuBois left the control room for a moment before returning with a long coil of rope. He tossed the coil to Knapp. “Tie them up in the tunnel,” he ordered.

Knapp gave Joe a shove. “Get on down that ladder,” he growled.

When Joe hesitated, Stendahl poked Quick in the neck, drawing a tiny bead of blood. Quick yelped in pain.

Joe scooted into the hole.

Down in the storm drain, Bobby Knapp made Frank and Joe sit back-to-back in the water. He bound their wrists and ran the rope through the bottom rung of the ladder. A few minutes later, he brought Ron Quick down and tied him up next to Frank.

The three of them sat huddled around the bottom of the ladder.

Herve DuBois called down to them. Joe looked up. The counterfeiter's face seemed to fill the opening to the control room above.

“You're so smart,” DuBois said. “Now guess what's going to happen.”

Joe watched DuBois look back and make a turning motion with his hand. Then he stared down at them again.

“Stendahl is turning a few valves up here,” DuBois said. He laughed. “We're going to flood the storm drain. In ten minutes you'll be completely under water.”

Joe could still hear DuBois laughing even after he slammed the drain cover shut, plunging them into total darkness.

Frank felt Ron Quick shiver with fear.

“What's that noise?” Joe asked.

“Rushing water. They're sending water from the reservoir to the bay, and it's going to go right over us.”

Joe struggled against the ropes. “We might not even have ten minutes,” he said. “The water's up to my chest!”

“Be patient, Joe.”

“Patient! Are you nuts?” Joe shouted.

Ron Quick made a frightened humming noise through his gag.

“I'm with him,” Joe said. “This is serious!”

“No. I mean, give me time to work here,” Frank said. “These ropes are made of cotton. They'll stretch when they get wet. Keep flexing your wrists under water.”

The water was up to Joe's neck now, and he kept working his wrists back and forth. He thought he felt the rope give a little.

“I'm out!” Frank said. He stood up, shaking the rope free from his arms. He then knelt down and felt under the water until he was able to untie Joe and Ron.

“Oh, thank goodness.” Ron sighed when his gag came off. “I've been locked up in this place for days.”

“You're almost home free,” Frank said.

A beam of light shot down from above.

“They're coming back,” Frank whispered. “Sit down as if you're still tied up.”

The drain lid opened all the way, and Stendahl descended, followed by DuBois and Knapp. They all carried big hikers' backpacks.
Frank guessed they were filled with the ingredients for counterfeiting—the plates, ink, and paper.

The Hardys and Quick sat quietly, letting the water rise slowly to their chins. They watched as Stendahl grabbed one of the wave-runners and wrestled it around so it faced the direction of the bay.

DuBois checked his watch and mumbled something about being behind schedule.

Frank leaned over and whispered in Ron's ear. “When I give the signal, you go up the ladder as fast as you can and close the hatch.”

Ron nodded slightly.

“Cover it with something heavy,” Frank continued. “Shut off the valves, then call the police and the coast guard. I think they're going to try to escape through the bay.”

DuBois straddled his wave-runner and cranked the engine. It burbled to life. Stendahl got on behind him, while Bobby Knapp got on the second wave-runner and turned around.

The instant DuBois started forward, the Hardys exploded out of the water. They had only seconds to act.

Frank and Joe each held one end of the rope. As Bobby Knapp's wave-runner lurched into motion, the Hardys threw the coil of rope as far in front of it as they could. Just as he got up to
speed, Bobby Knapp hit the rope and the Hardys yanked as hard as they could.

Knapp went flying off the back.

Before Knapp could recover, Joe chugged through the hip-deep water and grabbed the handle of the wave-runner. He jumped on. Frank got on behind him. They took off after DuBois just as Ron Quick made it to the top of the ladder and closed the sewer lid, leaving Bobby Knapp stranded in the drain.

Joe squeezed the throttle as far as it would go. The wave-runner blasted through the drain tunnel, chasing the faint gleam of DuBois's headlamp. Frank hung on for dear life.

After three or four harrowing turns and long, full-speed straightaways, the headlamp in front of them started to grow brighter.

Then it grew even brighter. And brighter.

“I think we're coming to the bay!” Frank shouted over the din of the engine.