Deathgame (11 page)

"I wouldn't," Brand said.

Hammerlock stood very still, trying to understand what was happening. He took a threatening step toward Brand, and the other two men swung their weapons to cover him.

Hammerlock stopped dead. He was too much the seasoned warrior to move, knowing that the odds were against him.

Hammerlock ignored the others, staring only at Brand. "Am I to understand that you are like those bureaucrats who betrayed me so many years ago? Am I to understand that the bonds that held us together in the face of war have been destroyed?"

"So, the death game comes full circle," Joe said mockingly.

Hammerlock stared at Brand in honest bewilderment. "I saved your life," he said.

"That was a long time ago," Brand replied. "You couldn't possibly expect subservience forever."

"Subservience, no, but loyalty, yes!" Hammerlock snarled.

"Brand believes in money more than loyalty, right, Major?" Joe asked sarcastically. He was thinking of the documents Frank had found.

"It's the San Marcos business, isn't it?" Joe continued. "Hammerlock was telling the truth when he denied knowing anything about that mercenary deal." He shook his head. "He is a psychopath, who thinks there are simple answers to complex world problems. But at least he's not out to make big bucks from them."

"Is that true, Orville?" Hammerlock asked. His face became unreadable again.

"Why don't you give me a harangue about honor, Colonel? Honor is an illusion. It's in your mind. It's a disease that has prevented you from seeing how what we created could make us rich men!" Brand's anger seemed to get the better of him, and Joe was afraid he might open fire.

"I created Ultimo," Hammerlock stated, but it was in a dead voice, as if he had already decided the argument was over.

"But I'm going to turn the squadron into the highest-paid independent mercenary unit ever," Brand informed him. "With or without Ultimo. In a little over two weeks, I'm going to take command of our forces and lead them in a strike into San Marcos."

Hammerlock's guttural voice was devoid of threat, just flat and distant. "I'll never let you turn this noble fighting unit into a collection of hyenas and jackals."

Brand shrugged. "Yes. That's the problem. You see, Colonel, I wish I could leave you here on this island to play your little games, but I know you would oppose me."

"You should know that. You've known me long enough."

"The troops have been training for this operation and this operation alone. They think you approve of it." Brand's dark, sunken eyes shone. "If I let you return to camp, you could create tremendous divisiveness within the troops. Right now, as long as they think you endorse it, they're hungry to go into battle."

"Over my dead body," Hammerlock said.

Brand's thin lips parted in a smile. "Exactly, Colonel."

Terry picked himself up, anticipating what was coming. "Oh, and let me guess," he said. "You're going to use us as the scapegoats. You're going to make it look like one of us killed the colonel during his little foray."

"Brilliant, Terry," Brand said. "Your father would be proud of you. Of course, he'll never know."

"Because we'll all be dead. You'll have had to avenge the dear colonel," Terry said.

Brand nodded. "Yes. That should make you happy, Colonel. The troops will love the revenge angle. You've trained them so efficiently on the subject." Brand paused, then added, "And, of course, in the end, I will make over a million dollars."

Brand aimed his machine gun at Joe. One of the other men kept Hammerlock covered. The third man aimed at Terry.

Biff started crawling again. He shouted, "No!" but no one bothered to react to him.

Brand's thin lips pulled up over his large teeth. "Looks like you're on the firing range again, Joseph! Only this time there are no wooden targets. Game's over." He nodded toward the other men. "Ready on the firing line. Ready!" A dra-matic pause for effect, and then the command, "Aim!"

Frank Hardy's boots slammed into Brand's mouth, driving the last command down his throat. Brand fell backward, Frank on top of him. Frank's hands went for Brand's machine gun, trying to wrest it from him.

"Go for Hammerlock's gun, Joe! Get the gun!" Frank shouted. The machine gun in his hands quivered like a living thing as he grappled with Brand, its barrel swaying back and forth before his face. If Brand got his finger inside the trigger guard, Frank's plan would turn into another disaster.

Frank had heard the gunfire, which told both Brand and him where the colonel was located. Then he had followed Brand and company, climbing a tree while Brand confronted Hammerlock. All the time Frank kept trying to figure out the best plan of attack against four weapons when he had none!

Brand had forced the issue, with his decision to carry out an on-the-spot execution. Frank had to do something immediately.

He had tensed his muscles for the jump, choosing his target. It had to be Brand. Frank knew Joe would go into action, and he suspected that Lauren and Terry would do the same. Even Hammerlock should be on their side in the resulting skirmish.

When Frank and Brand tumbled into the sand, the two mercenaries looked around in confusion, as if trying to decide whom to shoot first. They did not have more than a couple of seconds to consider.

Joe dove wildly, hit the sand on his right shoulder, grabbed Hammerlock's pistol in the middle of a roll, and came up on one knee. The gun felt heavy and gritty with sand.

Hammerlock elbowed the mercenary nearest him in the stomach and had that man's weapon in his hands before Joe was in a firing position. The last soldier swung his gun toward Hammerlock, but the huge man was gone, swallowed up by the jungle.

Terry hurled himself into the other soldier with a jolting body block that sent the man and weapon flying.

The man Terry had hit lay curled up on the ground, gurgling. He did not look as if he would want to move for a long, long time.

Brand was up, bashing Frank's hands against a sand-covered rock. Once! Twice! Frank tried to hold on to the weapon, but once he realized it was useless, he let go and scrambled away. Brand tried to bring the weapon to bear on Frank, but thought better of it when Joe snapped off a shot with the Super Blackhawk.

The gun's heavy recoil shook Joe's gun hand, jerking it up.

Before he could get off another shot, Brand thrashed away into the jungle. They could hear him running.

Joe looked at the gun in his hand with new respect.

Frank got to his feet, rubbing his knuckles where Brand had battered them. Joe ran over to him.

"Miss me?" Frank asked with a grin.

Frank was the color of mud, from head to toe.

Joe looked him over in disbelief. "You look like a walking lump of oatmeal."

"That's a nice way to talk to someone who just saved your life."

Joe hugged him fiercely. "I don't care if I do get crud all over me!"

Terry ran up to them, holding one of the machine guns. His face was glowing with victory.

"I can't believe we did it!" he shouted, and then all three were hugging one another.

"Someone keep telling me, 'I'm alive! I'm alive!' " Lauren said, joining the group.

Terry spoke excitedly. "When that spear got Hammerlock and he just yanked it out, I told myself, 'It can't be.' And then when he aimed his gun at you," — he shook Joe happily — "I've got to tell you, I didn't figure your chances were very hot."

Joe grinned. "Imagine how I felt." He took a deep breath. We all fought Hammerlock. We're all on the same side!

Terry backed away from the group, wiping mud off his clothes. He took a long look at Frank.

"Frank," he said, "you're a mess."

He smiled. "Yeah. But we made Hammerlock miss his breakfast."

Lauren gave a good imitation of being contrite. "Yes, I feel bad about that." She broke into a laugh of relief. "But I think I can get over it."

Joe noticed the wet bloodstain on Lauren's side. "How bad is it?" he asked, worried.

"Not bad," she replied gamely, but he knew it hurt.

"We should get you patched up. Let's take a seat over here." He indicated a fallen log almost under the tree where Frank had hidden. "Frank and Terry can tie up the big bad men over there."

"One of them has a lump on his head you wouldn't believe," Frank said as he stopped by the mercenary lying prostrate along the trail.

"I put it there with his weapon after I took it away from him," Terry said.

Joe helped Lauren apply an impromptu bandage made from his T-shirt. He wanted to say something to thank her. But every sentence he started just sounded like a cliche. What could he say to someone who had just saved his life?

"I was so — " He stopped. "I don't know what word to use."

"What are we talking about?" Lauren asked.

"When you got shot. When I thought you were dead." He looked away from her, his brow furrowed. "I thought, 'It's happening again. I've failed.' "

"Failed?" Lauren said. "I can't imagine you ever worrying about failing at something."

"There was someone—very close to me ... When you got hit, it was like reliving the moment that I lost her. I felt so helpless."

"Now, that's something I know you're not," Lauren said with a smile. A special light was sparkling in her bright blue eyes.

He stared into her eyes for a long moment, then nodded. "No. I don't feel that way right now."

"What do you feel like?"

Joe grinned. "Like getting the bad guys.

Terry examined the job he and Frank had done of tying the mercenaries to trees. "I think that'll do," he said, satisfied.

Joe approached them. "I've got a plan."

"I think I heard it already. It's called, 'Get the bad guys,' " Frank responded.

"Right. We return to Hammerlock's fortress. No one, but no one, is going to be expecting us to try a move like that." Joe's grin turned wolfish. "We'll catch them with their pants down."

"He's got a point," Lauren agreed, walking up to them. "And we have some weapons now, besides."

"Not only that," Terry added, "but they have a communications center there-And it just so happens that my dad taught me how to send and receive. Do you read me?"

"We're going to get rescued!" Joe said, beaming.

"Or at least call the police and marines and a planeload of psychiatrists for these loony tunes," Terry said.

Suddenly they heard a distant shout from deep in the jungle.

"Brand!" a voice shouted. Hammerlock's voice.

No answer came. All four of them listened, startled by the intrusion.

Finally Hammerlock shouted again from somewhere. "Brand! Forget the others! You're mine!"

The jungle went still again-They listened for a long while.

Biff made his way painfully over to the group, limping. "Hey! Did you guys forget about me?" he complained.

Joe clapped his hands together. "Nope. We waited around just for you. Come on, it's time to move out and take over the fortress."

Biff looked from Frank to Terry to Lauren. "What's he talking about?"

Joe picked Biff up and slung him over his shoulder. "Don't worry. You'll love it!"

Dark clouds crept over the mountainside. They used the shadows from them for cover until they were close enough to take their first prisoner, one of the guards on the outer perimeter.

The man wasn't about to argue with two guns aimed at his head. He gladly handed his weapon over to Lauren.

No one had alerted the men in the fortress to be on the lookout, so it was relatively easy to approach them. They made their prisoner march ahead of them for cover and took new prisoners as they moved deeper within.

At last, they came to the stairs that led to the dungeon chambers.

"Terry," Lauren said, brightly, "how would you like to escort me as I show these model prisoners the latest in dungeon accommodations?"

"Sounds delightful," Terry replied.

Some of the captured guards turned to see if they were joking. Terry and Lauren smiled and pointed the way with raised gun barrels. The prisoners all decided it would be a very good idea to check out the dungeon area.

"While you do that Joe and I will look for their communications center. It has to be somewhere on one of the upper floors," Frank guessed, looking about for the stairs that had taken them up to Hammerlock's inner sanctum.

Frank walked over to a high-backed chair and shifted Biff off his shoulders and into it.

"And what am I going to be doing?" Biff asked.

"Pretend you're the king," Joe suggested as he and Frank began to search the premises.

Biff waved the hand holding the machine gun. "With this, I guess I am."

The Hardys found the stairs. They searched room after room on each floor. Finally they found the radio room on the fourth floor. Two radio operators sat with headphones on, absorbed in the equipment in front of them.

Frank came up behind them and quickly jerked the headphones away. The two radio men turned to see Joe aiming the Super Blackhawk pistol in their direction; the seven-and-a-half inch barrel was a silent but imposing presence in the room.

"Recognize it?" Joe asked.

They tied up the operators with extension cords from one of the closets.

"Let's go find Terry and let him get this thing operating for us," Frank proposed.

Frank was feeling pretty good. They hadn't run into any real opposition. No one had been seriously hurt. On the way up the stairs he'd passed a mirror and for once, he had to agree with Joe. He did resemble a walking lump of oatmeal, but it seemed a small price to pay.

Then as they left the communications room they got lost.

They had covered so many corridors and gone through so many different rooms that somewhere on the route back they made a wrong turn. They realized it when they entered a long corridor, carved out of solid rock.

"I don't remember being here before," Joe said.

"Excellent deduction," Frank commented. They walked slowly down the corridor. It was dimly lit with a single sixty-watt bulb. The shadows they cast upon the clammy walls looked like elongated gray ghosts.