Oh, dear. Is there any other flight I can— When? ... Tomorrow morning? That'd be great. Two tickets, please. ... Hardy. ... Yes. You've been very helpful."
Frank hung up the phone, cold determination on his face. "Let's go, Joe. We have some packing to do."
"Where do you think you're going?" Renner snapped.
"San Diego," Frank said, trailing Joe out of the room. They slammed the door behind them.
Joe Hardy woke the minute the plane touched down on the runway in San Diego. He and Frank both knew that that might be the last time they'd have to sleep in days. They had drifted off as soon as they left New York.
Joe almost wished he hadn't. His rest had been constantly interrupted by nightmares of Charity.
He nudged Frank awake. "I've been thinking—" he began, as the plane rolled up to the terminal, but Frank interrupted him.
"Me, too. Something's not right here." Frank yawned and stretched. "It strikes me that Charity could've escaped from us several times. Why was she so slow?"
"Slow?"
"Sure. First, she dangles on that rope until we see her, then she stays on the scaffolding outside until I get there."
Joe nodded. "And she was way ahead of us in the barn. She could have flown away before we got anywhere near her."
"But instead she closed the doors and played with us," Frank agreed. "Sounds a little like she was trying to make sure we stayed on her trail, doesn't it?"
"You think she left the number for us to find?"
"I don't know. There's only one way to find out."
"Right," Joe said. "Catch Charity." The flight attendants opened the doors, and the passengers started filing out of the plane. Trapped in their seats until the flood of people passed, Frank and Joe watched each of them move by. Finally, when the plane was almost empty, the Hardys got up.
"Here's something else that's funny." Joe lowered his voice. "I just recognized about half a dozen of the people on this plane."
"Me, too," Frank said, frowning. "We've seen their faces in those investigator's updates Dad gets. They're criminals."
"Thieves," Joe added. "Just like Charity. What are they all doing in San Diego at the same time?"
"Do criminals have conventions?" Frank asked jokingly. Then his face grew serious "Something's going on. The question is, what, and what are we going to do?"
They stepped into the terminal. Already the passengers were dispersing, but just ahead Joe saw a familiar hairless head, polished to a shine. "That's a second-story man out of Baltimore, named Chrome Lasker. Why don't we ask him what's going on?"
The Hardys pushed through the crowd, closing in on Lasker. The bald man didn't notice them. He was busy speaking to a guy in a white suit. In profile, the second man had a thick mustache and what looked like tiny, ratlike eyes.
"Lasker," Frank said, clamping a hand on the bald man's shoulder. Without missing a beat, the mustached man clipped Frank with a massive hand, knocking him down. The two men took off running.
"They're heading for the exit," Joe said as he helped Frank to his feet. Frank looked down the corridor where the two men had gone. It ended in double doors.
"That's not an exit," Frank said. "It leads to a service area. We've got them cornered. Come on."
They pushed through the double doors into darkness. As the doors slammed shut behind them, each of the Hardys felt something thin and cool wrap around his throat. Frank and Joe felt hot breath raise the hairs on the backs of their necks. The men behind them were taller than they were, and, if they could go by the grip the men had, they were a lot bigger too.
Wires held in strong hands tightened and began to bite into the Hardys' throats, slowly squeezing the life out of them.
Chapter 4
JOE HARDY RAISED a foot and brought it down as hard as he could on the toes of the man strangling him. The man howled and loosened his grip on the wire. Joe rammed an elbow into the man's stomach.
Pain shot through Joe's arm, as if he'd just smashed into a rock. With a grunt
Frank hung up the phone, cold determination on his face. "Let's go, Joe. We have some packing to do."
"Where do you think you're going?" Renner snapped.
"San Diego," Frank said, trailing Joe out of the room. They slammed the door behind them.
Joe Hardy woke the minute the plane touched down on the runway in San Diego. He and Frank both knew that that might be the last time they'd have to sleep in days. They had drifted off as soon as they left New York.
Joe almost wished he hadn't. His rest had been constantly interrupted by nightmares of Charity.
He nudged Frank awake. "I've been thinking—" he began, as the plane rolled up to the terminal, but Frank interrupted him.
"Me, too. Something's not right here." Frank yawned and stretched. "It strikes me that Charity could've escaped from us several times. Why was she so slow?"
"Slow?"
"Sure. First, she dangles on that rope until we see her, then she stays on the scaffolding outside until I get there."
Joe nodded. "And she was way ahead of us in the barn. She could have flown away before we got anywhere near her."
"But instead she closed the doors and played with us," Frank agreed. "Sounds a little like she was trying to make sure we stayed on her trail, doesn't it?"
"You think she left the number for us to find?"
"I don't know. There's only one way to find out."
"Right," Joe said. "Catch Charity." The flight attendants opened the doors, and the passengers started filing out of the plane. Trapped in their seats until the flood of people passed, Frank and Joe watched each of them move by. Finally, when the plane was almost empty, the Hardys got up.
"Here's something else that's funny." Joe lowered his voice. "I just recognized about half a dozen of the people on this plane."
"Me, too," Frank said, frowning. "We've seen their faces in those investigator's updates Dad gets. They're criminals."
"Thieves," Joe added. "Just like Charity. What are they all doing in San Diego at the same time?"
"Do criminals have conventions?" Frank asked jokingly. Then his face grew serious "Something's going on. The question is, what, and what are we going to do?"
They stepped into the terminal. Already the passengers were dispersing, but just ahead Joe saw a familiar hairless head, polished to a shine. "That's a second-story man out of Baltimore, named Chrome Lasker. Why don't we ask him what's going on?"
The Hardys pushed through the crowd, closing in on Lasker. The bald man didn't notice them. He was busy speaking to a guy in a white suit. In profile, the second man had a thick mustache and what looked like tiny, ratlike eyes.
"Lasker," Frank said, clamping a hand on the bald man's shoulder. Without missing a beat, the mustached man clipped Frank with a massive hand, knocking him down. The two men took off running.
"They're heading for the exit," Joe said as he helped Frank to his feet. Frank looked down the corridor where the two men had gone. It ended in double doors.
"That's not an exit," Frank said. "It leads to a service area. We've got them cornered. Come on."
They pushed through the double doors into darkness. As the doors slammed shut behind them, each of the Hardys felt something thin and cool wrap around his throat. Frank and Joe felt hot breath raise the hairs on the backs of their necks. The men behind them were taller than they were, and, if they could go by the grip the men had, they were a lot bigger too.
Wires held in strong hands tightened and began to bite into the Hardys' throats, slowly squeezing the life out of them.
Chapter 4
JOE HARDY RAISED a foot and brought it down as hard as he could on the toes of the man strangling him. The man howled and loosened his grip on the wire. Joe rammed an elbow into the man's stomach.
Pain shot through Joe's arm, as if he'd just smashed into a rock. With a grunt
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