Tagged for Terror (10 page)

"That doesn't mean anything," Joe said. "The two big guys might have had guns hidden in their suit jackets. We know one of them had a pistol."

"That's why I want to get a closer look. If we can see how they're acting in the car, we'll get a better handle on the real situation."

Joe shook his head. "This late at night there's hardly any traffic—so we can't exactly blend in. If we get any closer, they'll spot us for sure."

The black sedan led them to the airport, where Mapes used a key card to enter an underground parking garage. The car disappeared inside, and the gate swung down, blocking the Hardys from following in their car.

"We could smash down the gate," Joe suggested.

"We could also set off some signal flares and yell, 'Hey, you guys! We're over here!' It's a concrete garage, Joe, and at this hour it's bound to be mostly empty. Any sound will echo from one end to the other."

Frank nodded out the window. "Park in that public lot over there. We'll go into the underground garage on foot."

Aware that they were losing precious time, Joe wheeled into the lot and parked haphazardly, not paying a whole lot of attention to fitting the car between the white lines. They both jumped out and sprinted back to the underground garage, slowing to a quiet jog as they moved through the garage.

They found the black sedan near the back of the first level. A quick glance told Frank the car was empty. There wasn't a soul in sight, and not even a single footfall disturbed the heavy silence.

Joe searched frantically with his eyes, not knowing what to do next. He couldn't help feeling that they'd let Gina down. "We've lost them!" he groaned.

"Time to regroup and plan our next move," Frank said. He glanced at his watch. "We have only a few more hours until the five A. M. deadline. Since we're already at the airport, we might as well stay here."

They headed into the main terminal and wandered down one of the wide corridors. The huge, nearly deserted terminal didn't do much to lift Joe's spirits. Here and there waiting passengers dozed in their seats, and Joe almost tripped over a guy about his age who was stretched out on the floor with a backpack as a pillow.

Frank pointed out a coffee shop that was open all night. Joe nodded, and they went in, sliding into a booth by a window that looked out into the terminal.

A waitress came over and put two menus on the table. Joe opened his menu and stared at it blankly. His stomach was grumbling — but not from hunger. It was the tension churning inside him.

Frank spoke to the waitress. "I don't think we're ready to order yet. Could we have a few minutes?"

"Take your time," the woman said with a weary smile. "Just give a holler when you decide."

After watching the waitress walk back to the counter, Frank shifted his gaze to the window and out into the terminal. He wasn't focusing on anything in particular, and his mind was barely registering the few people who drifted past the coffee shop.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Frank caught a glimpse of someone who made him snap his head around. A somewhat short and balding man walked across the terminal at a brisk pace, with a definite sense of purpose. He wore a drab gray suit, and his face was remarkably forgettable in every aspect.

It was a face Frank could never forget, though.

He bolted out of the booth and out of the coffee shop. More than a little startled, Joe jumped up and ran after him.

"What's going on?" Joe asked.

Frank stared down the empty corridor. In the few seconds that he had taken his eyes off the man, he had vanished. "This case was finally starting to make some sense," he murmured to himself. "Then he shows up."

Joe stared curiously at his brother. "Who?"

"Can you think of any reason why the Network would care about stolen suitcases?" Frank responded.

Joe frowned. "You're not making any sense."

"You're right," Frank said. "It doesn't make any sense. But I know what I saw."

Joe let out a frustrated sigh. "What did you see?"

"The most ordinary man in the world," Frank said. "The Gray Man."

"THE GRAY MAN!" Joe exclaimed, peering up and down the corridor. "Where?"

"He was here just a minute ago," Frank insisted.

Frank ran over to a door marked No Admittance and tried the handle. It was locked. He dashed into the nearby rest room. It was empty. He walked out and stood in the middle of the long, wide corridor, scrutinizing the few people who moved about the airport at that hour. None of them looked as ordinary as the Gray Man.

"Well, he's not here now," Joe said. "Are you sure it was him?"

Frank thought about the unassuming man who was a top operative for a secret government intelligence agency known simply as the Network. They first met him while tracking down the terrorists responsible for Iola Morton's death. Since then, the Hardys had helped the Gray Man out on several cases.

"I'm positive," Frank said firmly. "What I'm not sure about is the Network's connection to this case."

"It could just be a coincidence," Joe suggested.

"I don't trust coincidences," Frank said. "And when the Gray Man is involved, I get very nervous."

"We already have enough to worry about," Joe replied. "Mr. Gray can take care of himself. Gina is our top priority right now."

Frank and Joe covered as much of the airport as they could in the few hours remaining before their early-morning deadline. They prowled the corridors and tunnels for any clue that might lead them to Gina, Mapes, or the two men. The chances of finding them in the vast complex were remote at best, but Joe had to do something. Constantly moving was a way to vent some of his pent-up, restless energy.

At a few minutes before five, Frank and Joe headed for the underground train at Concourse D. Joe recalled that they had met Gina on the train their first day at the airport.

Frank knew they wouldn't have to wait long for a train. The computer-controlled electric trains shuttled back and forth between ticketing and the departure gates, less than five minutes were needed to cover the distance to the farthest concourse, a little over a mile from the ticketing terminal.

"This is where we split up," Frank said as he heard the train approaching.

"Split up?" Joe echoed. "What do you mean?"

"I'm going alone," Frank said. "We need some kind of plan, and this is it. Go back to the coffee shop. If I'm not there in half an hour, call the police, Michael Eddings, the national guard, or anybody else who will answer the phone this early in the morning."

"No way," Joe said, shaking his head. "I'm not letting you take on those guys alone."

"It's the only way," Frank said forcefully. "Think about it. If they're willing to kill Gina, do you think they'll think twice about silencing all three of us?

"If they don't know where you are," Frank continued, "what you know, or what you might do, they'll have plenty of reasons to think twice."

The train rolled to a stop, and the doors slid open. A few passengers got off as Frank stepped aboard. He turned around to wave to his brother, but Joe was already gone.

Frank was alone in the car until the train stopped at the next concourse, where Mapes, Gina, and their two escorts got on. One of them held Gina's arm in a rough grip. Gina's eyes were pleading with Frank to help her. That seemed to cinch it for Frank—she was being held against her will.

Mapes's eyes kept darting around nervously. In contrast, the two strangers studied Frank with cool detachment. The man with the stubble calmly approached Frank and · frisked him.

The other stranger whispered something to Mapes. "Where's your brother?" Mapes asked.

"He couldn't make it," Frank said. "He had a previous engagement."

"This is no time for jokes," Mapes snapped. "Where is he?"

"He's in a nice, safe, public place." Frank glanced at his watch. "If Gina and I don't join him there in the next twenty-five minutes, you'll never get out of this airport."

"What kind of stunt is this?" Mapes demanded, panic in his voice.

"Think of it as an insurance policy," Frank said.

The train stopped and a few more passengers got on. The man who didn't like to shave moved closer to Frank and gave him a glimpse of a gun tucked in a shoulder holster under his suit jacket. Frank nodded. He got the message. If he pushed these guys too far, the consequences could be deadly.

The train slowed as it neared the ticketing terminal. "This is our stop," Frank announced, and led the way.

Joe darted out of the rear car of the train just as the doors started to close. In typical fashion, he had rejected Frank's plan and improvised, jumping onto the last car at the last possible moment. He watched at every stop until Frank got off with Mapes, Gina, and the two thugs.

Since everybody got off at the main terminal, it was easy for Joe to hide even in a small group. Most of the passengers headed for the' baggage claim area, but Frank and company turned off into a side corridor. Two men, both wearing nylon jackets, apparently didn't know which way to go and trailed after Frank's, group instead of following the other departing passengers. Sooner or later they had to realize they were going the wrong way. Until then, Joe took advantage of their confusion and used them as cover.

When Frank, Gina, Mapes, and the two suits went through a double swinging door with a sign that declared Eddings Air—Employees Only, Joe thought the two guys behind them would leave for the baggage claim. To his surprise, they went through the door, too. Joe decided to get a closer look at the men and picked up his pace. As he pushed open the Employees Only door, he realized his mistake—too late. Joe found himself staring down the dark barrel of an automatic pistol.

Frank reached the storage room and nodded toward the door. "This is it."

Mapes opened the door, stepped inside, and flipped the light switch. "It's a trick," he said. "This room is full of cleaning stuff."

"We hid the luggage in the back," Frank responded.

The man holding Gina dragged her into the room. The other silent stranger took out his pistol and motioned Frank inside, too. The man with the gun then closed the door.

"All right," Mapes said. "Where are the bags?"

Frank gestured to the two drums of cleaning fluid. "Behind those."

The man with the gun nodded to his companion, who let go of Gina and started pawing through the pile of suitcases, tossing them aside one by one without looking inside. He stopped when he reached the long, slender fishing-rod case.

Frank stared at the leather bag. What was going on here? He seriously doubted that he had stumbled on a vicious gang of fishing-rod thieves.

The man took the top off the case, peered inside, nodded briefly to his partner, and put the top back on. Gripping the rod tightly in one hand, he brushed past Mapes and reached for the door handle.

"Hey, wait a minute!" Mapes exclaimed, grabbing the man's shoulder and spinning him around. "Where are you going? We had a deal. I had a nice operation going here until you came along. You got what you wanted. Now I want what's coming to me!"

The man reached into his jacket. Frank saw a brief flash of steel. Without a word, without so much as a blink, and without the slightest hesitation, the man raised a hand and struck at Mapes. Mapes staggered backward, his hands" clutching his chest, blood seeping between his fingers. He stared down at the knife wound in wild-eyed horror, stumbled to his knees, and fell over onto his side.

The man with the knife turned to Frank and Gina. The cold gleam in his eyes told Frank that the two mute strangers had no intention of leaving any witnesses.

JOE HAD NO IDEA that the situation down the hall in the storage room had just turned ugly. All he knew was that his brother might need him, and a couple of clean-cut guys wearing nylon jackets and shiny shoes were standing in his way. The fact that one of them was leveling a gun at him complicated the matter, and Joe hated complications.

"Don't move," the man with the gun ordered. "Put your hands in the air."

"Make up your mind," Joe responded sharply.

The man frowned. "About what?"

"I have to move to put my hands in the air, don't I?" Joe said.

The gun wavered as the man glanced at his partner. Joe didn't wait for a written invitation. He lunged forward and slammed into the man, bringing one Of his arms down hard on the hand holding the gun.

"Hey!" the startled man yelled as the weapon flew from his grip and clattered on the concrete floor.

Joe shoved him into the wall and sprinted down the corridor.

"Halt!" a voice behind him barked.

Joe didn't even pause. The unexpected appearance of these two new players made him even more worried about Frank and Gina. He had to make sure they were all right. §

Frank heard shouting and footsteps thumping down the corridor. Somebody was running toward the storage room. The man coming at Frank with the knife heard the commotion, too. He stopped to glance at his companion. The man with the gun opened the door a crack and peered out.

Frank made his move. His right foot lashed out in a karate kick aimed at the guy with the knife. The man reacted almost instantly, twisting out of the way and deflecting the blo with the fishing-rod case he was holding in his other hand. Frank hit the case with enough force to knock it loose. It skittered across the floor, and the man dived after it.

Frank spun around to confront the guy with the gun. The unshaven man was still standing by the door, but now he was facing Frank, the pistol held in a two-handed firing grip, aimed at Frank's head.

The door flew open just then and crashed into the man's back. The man stumbled forward, the gun discharged, and Frank flinched. A bullet whizzed past his ear and slammed into one of the barrels of cleaning fluid with a solid ka-thunk. Sudsy white liquid spurted out of the ragged hole in the metal canister.

Joe stumbled into the room. "Frank!" he called out. "Are you okay?"

"Look out!" Frank shouted. "He's got a gun!"

"He's not the only one!" Joe yelled back.