Street Spies (10 page)

"Believe me, I've been thinking," Tiffany said mournfully, gulping back the sobs, "and I can't come up with anything. The door is locked and there's no other way out—except back there." She pointed into the shadows.

Joe rose to his feet and began to look around. Besides the fire door, there was a fold-up garage door at one end of the dark room, but it was tightly locked. In the back of the room, behind a tarp pile, was a heap of junk—including an ancient pickup truck. The bare bulb overhead was the only light. There was no light switch in view.

"Our friend must be on guard right outside," Joe said, indicating the fire door. He dropped down next to Tiffany again and reached for her hand.

"I wonder where the other one is?" Tiffany asked.

Joe turned to face her. Her eyes were dark wells of fear in the pale ivory of her face. "What other one?"

"There was only one in the elevator," Tiffany said. "He jumped me and took me to a locked, unused office, where another guy was waiting. They made me record a telephone message to my father." She shook her head, looking away. "As if my father cares whether I live or die," she said.

"Hey," Joe said gently, "stop that. He cares."

Tiffany stared at him for a minute and then went on. "The second man was tall and thin. He was wearing coveralls and a ski mask. I got the impression that he was the one in charge. He didn't say anything, though. He just pointed."

Joe frowned. It sounded like the same guy who had taken the shot at Lightfoot and Frank through the rear of the van. "How did they get you out of the building?" he asked Tiffany.

"I don't know," she said. "After I made the telephone tape, they knocked me out with something — something on a pad they held over my mouth and nose." She shuddered. "It smelled awful. I got dizzy, and then I blacked out, and when I woke up, I was here. All alone, for hours and hours, before you came."

Joe put his arm around her shoulders. She buried her face in his shirt and sobbed while he gently stroked her hair. But his mind was rapidly sorting alternatives, as he went through a mental checklist.

"Listen, Tiffany," he said after a minute, "it's going to be tough getting out of here. There aren't any windows we can force. Even if we had the tools to try to get through that concrete-block wall, they'd be bound to hear us. Besides, we don't know what's on the other side." He shook his head. "For the moment, I guess we just sit tight and see what happens."

Tiffany sat up and wiped her eyes. "What if they decide we know too much?" she asked.

"Well, the fact that the key man kept his face covered is a good sign," Joe said, trying to sound confident. "As long as we don't know who he is, he can afford to turn us loose—eventually."

Joe was doing his best to reassure Tiffany, but he wasn't all that confident about their chances. He chewed on his lower lip. He should have waited for Frank before he came barreling in after the crooks. It wouldn't have been so likely that they'd jump both of them. He rubbed the back of his head ruefully. He couldn't believe he'd been dumb enough to put his head down to check the transmitter on the van's bumper—without looking behind him first. That had made him a sitting duck.

But there wasn't any use sharing his regrets with Tiffany. He had to keep her confidence up, even if his was at a low ebb.

"Don't worry, Tiff," he said quietly. "My brother Frank is on the way. He'll get us out of this."

"How can he?" Tiffany asked. "He doesn't even know where we are."

Joe bent closer, so they wouldn't be overheard, and whispered in her ear, "I radioed him just before they jumped me. They had no way to know I was coming, or that I was in contact with Frank. So it's a safe bet that I was right outside their hideout—here—when it happened."

There was a pause. "I hope you're right," Tiffany said, but she didn't sound very hopeful. She tilted her head to look up at him. "I'm praying these goons don't find out that my dad doesn't care what happens to me. If they do, it'll be too bad for both of us."

"He cares about you," Joe protested, looking down at her. He swallowed. When Tiffany tilted her head that way, she reminded him so much of Iola. "He—felt very much responsible for your kidnapping."

He closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, Tiffany was regarding him with curiosity.

"Why do you look at me that way?" she asked.

"What — what way?" Joe stammered.

"It's like you know me from somewhere," Tiffany replied. Her voice softened. "And there's so much hurt in your eyes." She paused. "Who's Iola?"

"A girl I was very close to once." He picked up Tiffany's hand and held it. "She's dead now."

"Dead?" Tiffany asked wonderingly. "How did she die?"

"She was killed by a bomb that was meant for me," Joe replied. "She was in my car when it blew up. We never found even a trace of her body. For a long time, I hoped that she was still alive — that somehow the Assassins had her. But I've given up that hope now. I — I guess I'm still trying to come to terms with the fact that she's dead."

"The Assassins?" Tiffany asked. "Who are they?"

"They're a group of international terrorists Frank and I were trying to expose. Our dad is Fenton Hardy, a private investigator. Your father hired him to stop the loss of World-Wide's design secrets."

"So that's how you got involved with my father!" Tiffany exclaimed. "Your real name is Joe Hardy?"

Joe grinned a little. "I'm sorry I had to lie to you. Sometimes it's part of the job."

Tiffany smiled back. "I have to admit that I was pretty ticked off at you, Joe Hardy. I felt you were using me for something I didn't understand " She paused and looked down at their hands "But something about you told me that you were an okay guy. You seemed to really want to help me."

A sharp pang of guilt stung Joe. Help her? Sure! He helped her all right — that was why she was in this mess.

At that moment Joe heard a noise outside the fire door. They both scrambled to their feet, and he instinctively stood in front of Tiffany shielding her. The door opened slowly. A tall, tight-faced woman in a business suit stepped into the room, and the light from the bare bulb fell across her face. She was smiling slightly, and she had something in her hand, something dark blue. "Louise Trent!" Tiffany exclaimed, behind Joe's shoulder. .

Chung stepped through the doorway behind the electronics designer, his AK-47 carelessly slung over one shoulder, a silenced 9mm Browning automatic in his hand.

Joe looked at the designer uneasily. Something about the situation troubled him. "So," he said, "they got you, too."

"No," she said, with a hint of wry amusement. "In fact, it's the other way around. You see, I have them."

"What?" Tiffany gasped, with a sharp intake of breath.

"You didn't guess?" Louise Trent tossed Joe the object she held in her hand. "Actually, I'm the one who's running this operation!"

Joe looked down at what he'd caught.

It was a navy-blue ski mask.

"That's all for now, Chung," Louise said to her companion. "But you can leave me the Browning." With a cold, hard glance at Joe and Tiffany, Chung handed her the pistol, its bulky silencer pulling the barrel down in her hands. Then he left.

"Chung considers you an annoyance," Louise observed. "He deals with annoyances by eliminating them as soon as possible. As you may have noticed," she added, nodding toward the ski mask, "I tend to agree with him."

"Who is he?" Joe asked.

"Chung Lei," Louise answered. "He's on loan, from some of my business associates. A very interesting fellow, actually. He worked for the American Special Forces in Southeast Asia. After they pulled out, he looked for other suitable employment. That's when my associates picked him up."

"I'm sure he came highly recommended," Joe said sarcastically.

Louise nodded. "He speaks Chinese better than he speaks English. His specialty was prisoner interrogation." She smiled again, and tossed her head. "I've suggested that he use a more civilized weapon than that assault rifle, but he's stubborn."

"So you use him to tie up your loose ends," Joe said. He frowned thoughtfully. It was important to keep Louise talking. The longer they talked, the better the chance that Frank would find them before ... He looked away from the Browning that Louise held in her hand. "I still don't understand," he said, "why you got involved in espionage."

"That's right," Tiffany put in. "My father always speaks highly of your work. He says that you're his top designer."

"Talk is cheap," Louise said bitterly. She straightened. "Yes, I am one of the best. But I haven't been promoted to a position of any real responsibility."

"So you decided to set up MUX," Joe mused.

"Hardly," Louise remarked. "MUX was well on the way to success in the world market before I came along. You might say that I just helped them open a new division."

"What is MUX?" Tiffany asked.

"So many questions." Louise hesitated. "Oh, well, we have a few minutes to wait. I don't suppose it will hurt to tell you a little more.

"Naturally, your father and my colleagues at World-Wide aren't the only ones who know about my ability. There is a group of — shall we say-international businessmen who are constantly on the lookout for design talent. They snap up new product ideas, once the products are out of the expensive design and development stage. Then they tap the enormous Third-World labor pool. You see, it's a very cost-efficient business strategy." , "You mean," Joe said, "they steal other companys' designs and exploit cheap foreign labor."

" 'Steal' is a relative term," Louise snapped. "What would you call it when Chilton takes my designs without giving me the proper recognition? Isn't that theft?"

Joe decided that he'd pushed the point far enough. "How did you manage to set up your system with SpeedWay?" he asked.

Louise looked pleased with herself. "It was a matter of putting together the right people," she said. "Gus needed money. Lightfoot needed his job. Both of them did what they were told."

"But how did you know who Joe was?" Tiffany asked. "And why did you frame me?"

"Good questions," Louise said approvingly. "Actually, all we knew was that Chilton had ordered an investigation. Gus was suspicious of Joe when he applied — we expected some kind of investigation, and there was something about Joe's attitude. So we decided to test him by arranging the delivery of the prototype board."

"And it worked, too, didn't it?" Joe said in a congratulatory tone. "You not only identified me, but you also identified Frank and my father. And you managed to implicate Tiffany as well, so we'd concentrate on her."

"Yes." Louise nodded. "But you had already penetrated our spy network. Lightfoot didn't matter, but Gus could identify me, and I wasn't about to be compromised. So he had to be eliminated." She looked at them. "And of course, we have to deal with you two, for the same reason."

Tiffany took Joe's hand. "What are you planning to do with us?" Her voice was quavering and Joe could feel her tremble.

"Why, keep you here until Joe's brother arrives," Louise said, with some surprise. "What did you think we were waiting for?"

Joe tried to grin. "Frank? What makes you think Frank's coming here?" His mouth had suddenly gone dry.

"Joe, Joe," Louise chided softly, shaking her head. Her voice suddenly got harder. "You don't take me for a fool, do you? Of course I know Frank's coming. You see, we've got a band scanner here at the warehouse. We picked up your transmission to him."

"Uh - oh," Joe said, under his breath.

At that moment there was a low tweet from Louise's wristwatch. "I believe that's Frank now," Louise said. She gestured toward the door with her automatic. "If you'll excuse me — "

When she'd gone, Joe pounded angrily at the cinder-block wall. "We played right into her hands," he said, "just like a bunch of amateurs."

Tiffany came up behind him and put her arms around him. Her voice was soft, comforting. "But you couldn't have known — "

There was a loud scuffling outside, and then the crash of something hard against the steel door and a loud cry. Tiffany screamed and clutched Joe, pressing herself against him.

A split second later, the door swung open. A body was pitched through it and landed, motionless, on the floor at their feet.

It was Frank!

Frank lay on the floor. He could feel the cement cold and rough against his cheek. Waves of blackness sucked at him like an angry surf as he tried to push himself up. He opened his eyes to see Joe lunge furiously at Chung, standing in the open doorway.

"No, Joe!" Somewhere close to him, a girl screamed. It must be Tiffany, Frank thought bleanly. Through the haze, he saw Chung slowly and deliberately raise the muzzle of his assault rifle. Joe froze.

Frank sat up, his face twisting with pain. He raised his fingers to his forehead. A trickle of blood was oozing out of a deep cut.

Louise Trent appeared behind Chung. "I trust there will be no mote heroics," she said with a pointed look at Joe. Her eyes were gray and hard. "Now that you're all three here, you won't have long to wait. There's a ship coming in tonight. The captain offers a disposal service for hazardous wastes—at a very reasonable rate."

"Hazardous wastes!" Tiffany whispered. She looked at Joe, her face pale. "She means us!"

Louise chuckled. "Until the ship arrives, I suggest that you simply sit tight and enjoy one another's company. Remember, Chung will be just outside, waiting for any excuse to use his Kalashnikov."

With that, she disappeared. Chung stepped back and the door closed firmly behind him. Frank heard the lock click.

"Are you okay?" Joe asked, kneeling beside his brother.

Frank shook his head, trying to clear it. "Yeah, I guess," he said, feeling like a fool. "But I really blew it this time. I walked right into them."

"You and me both," Joe replied.

Tiffany pulled a tissue out of her pocket and began to blot the trickle of blood on Frank's temple. "This doesn't look bad," she said, "but you've got a huge lump on your head."

"They were waiting for me," Frank said. "I spotted the van, and when I stepped around the corner to check it out — wham!"