Terry's hair was cropped close to his head. His brown eyes were almond shaped, and they glittered with an alert curiosity that even his surroundings couldn't lessen.
Terry was as tall as Joe, with a thin, wiry build. His handshake was firm.
"Hey, Terry," Frank said. "How did you wind up here?"
Terry shrugged. "Just lucky, I guess." He grinned. "Biff's talked a lot about you two. Your reputation precedes you."
He gestured awkwardly toward Biff's battered body. "We've tried to help Biff as much as we could. They worked him over pretty thoroughly a couple of days ago." Terry breathed harshly. "Not much we could do for him. They confiscated all our medical equipment."
"You were one of the game players at Ultimo?" Joe asked.
"Yeah. Seemed like a good idea when I signed up. My father's an intelligence agent." Terry looked down at his muddied fatigues. "I thought I could follow in my dad's footsteps. Figured I'd impress him."
He took a deep breath. "Now I could kick myself for being so clever in covering my own tracks. I made it impossible for him to trace me."
In the silence, they could hear rat claws raking through dirt.
Terry turned to the remaining prisoner, who stood behind him.
"I suppose you'd like to meet the third occupant of our little abode." He held a palm out to indicate the figure, who stepped forward.
A girl! Joe thought, then corrected himself, a woman. She was about his age, seventeen. Did that make her a girl or a woman? Her handshake was as firm as Terry's. "I'm Lauren Madigan," she announced in a confident voice.
Her hair had been lightened by the sun to a golden blond. Her face was tanned, and her eyes were a clear blue. She stood just over five feet.
Lauren rubbed her hands together to keep them warm. "As long as we're telling life stories, I'll give you the condensed version of mine." She looked up at the high, hard ceiling, as if she could see her past up there. "I come from a large family in the Midwest, five brothers and three sisters. The first time I ever played a survival game, it was like a revelation to me."
"What do you mean?" Joe asked.
Lauren kicked out at a rat that was creeping near her booted foot. "Oh, it's hard to explain. I guess it was the first time I felt like I'd achieved something on my own."
She stared after the squealing rat. "When you have so many people around you—brothers, sisters—you just feel like you're part of a group. That you've lost your own personal identity."
She looked directly at Joe. "Every time I played at survival, it gave me a feeling of independence. It was something none of my brothers or sisters could or would do. My parents didn't approve of the games. They thought the games were endorsing violence. I thought they were offering freedom." She surveyed the walls glumly. "And for a time, they were. But not anymore."
It was the weirdest dinner party Joe had ever attended.
In the early evening, Brand had visited their cell, inviting the five of them to dine with the colonel.
Not that there was a choice. Brand and several armed guards led them to a large room on the second floor of the fortress. Two guards supported Biff between them. Frank wondered how his friend would be able to sit through the meal.
Hammerlock's inner sanctum was a combination dining room and armory. The walls and floor were decorated with a vast array of weaponry: guns, crossbows, suits of armor, broadswords — a virtual history of weapons collected in one room.
The center of the room was dominated by a long, elegant table, surrounded by high-backed, hand-carved wooden chairs. A sumptuously woven tablecloth covered the entire length. Joe shook his head in amazement at the embroidered scene it depicted: medieval knights charged on horses; samurai warriors attacked with swords; Civil War soldiers battled with bayonets and cannons; and modern soldiers marched with M-16s. There were ornate candlesticks placed along the center of the table, each with a tapered, flickering candle. Seven filigreed metal plates were set out.
Colonel Hammerlock sat at the head of the table, and at his nod orderlies appeared and served dinner. I should have expected this, Joe thought as they placed army ration packages on top of the metal plates.
"Dig in!" the colonel ordered. He immediately ripped open his package, pulled out a can, and attacked the top with a small can opener.
"This tops everything," Terry muttered to Frank.
Joe found the can opener in his package, and pulled out a green painted can labeled Peaches. He cut open the lid. Flecks of paint shredded into the syrup.
"Who designed these things, anyway?" he complained. "Is that paint supposed to add vitamins to my peaches?"
"Stop bellyaching!" Hammerlock ordered through a mouthful of food. "The paint just gives it a little texture." He chomped steadily, swallowed, and looked up at Joe. "I can see you don't have the kind of stamina necessary to be a part of our team."
Frank opened a can of Spam. "And just what team is that? The one you've created by kidnapping teenagers?"
The side of the colonel's face that was not paralyzed twitched. "What we have done is not kidnapping," he said with exaggerated calm. "It is merely the recruitment of a new fighting unit — my fighting unit!"
Joe noticed that Biff was barely eating. The colonel wiped some food from his lip. "True," he admitted after a long moment. "Some members might come unwillingly. Until they learn how their ability for combat — their individual strength—can be used to change the world."
"Then again," Brand interjected, staring at Lauren and Terry, "some recruits never learn."
Ignoring him, Hammerlock glared across the table at Joe and Frank. "Bureaucratic red tape ruined my military career. The essentials of how that happened are not important. What is important is that I have created an independent fighting unit that does not need to be sanctioned by any government or chain of military command to get a job done!"
Hammerlock continued, becoming more excited by his vision. The more fervent he became, the more he slurred his words.
"We have already begun. Perhaps you read about a strike on an airliner full of hostages taken by terrorists?"
Frank remembered. There had been speculation in the news at the time as to the identity of the rescue force. If his recollection was correct, a number of the hostages had died instead of being saved. And the mysterious rescuers had opened fire on law enforcement officials as well as on the terrorists.
"Oh, yeah, that fiasco," Frank said, knowing he was treading on thin ice.
Terry shot him a grin, but Hammerlock's face was mottled with rage. He pounded a fist on the table. "We'd have saved them all if it hadn't been for those pussy-footed police! They interfered with our plan!"
Since the ice was already cracking around him, Frank decided to ask about the San Marcos deal he had read about in the files he'd discovered at the Ultimo Survival Camp.
"You sound indignant and righteous," Frank said, carefully choosing his words. "But if you're so honorable, how could you provide mercenaries to San Marcos? There aren't any high ideals in that kind of business. It's a matter of making profit from human suffering."
Hammerlock stared past the candle flame that fluttered in the space between him and Frank. He slammed down his hand, snuffing out the flame with his palm.
"I don't know what you are talking about," he said in a very quiet voice.
"But I saw — "
Hammerlock cut Frank off. "I will not allow you to sully what I have worked so hard to achieve. The time of my private army has come. My troops do not exist for personal gain. If I discover the location of missing POWs in Vietnam, I will go in with a crack unit at a moment's notice. My men will never negotiate with terrorists. We will deal with a ruthless enemy in a ruthless fashion."
Frank did not back down. "You could end up endangering the lives of hostages, you could end up killing innocent people — have you considered those factors?"
Hammerlock gestured abruptly, stabbing his plastic fork in Frank's direction. "A soldier takes risks with his life.
And we are all at war. It won't be long before the public understands this and comes to adore us!"
Joe shook his head in apparent admiration. "Colonel, you are no ordinary man." He paused for a second. "You're a real loony tune!" He pushed his canned peaches away. "Think I'll skip the peaches a la lead poisoning."
Hammerlock looked at Joe as if he were a mutant from outer space. Then he barked out an order to have the table cleared. Orderlies picked up the cans.
Lauren snatched a small package of gum from one of the orderlies. "Just a second, I wasn't finished."
Once the table was cleared, the orderlies returned to deposit a collection of knives in the center of the table. The blades were all sheathed.
Hammerlock picked one up and drew the wicked-looking blade out halfway. "These are Malin M-Fifteen survival knives. Each one contains a precision ZF-Three-sixty Liquid Damped Compass, plus a small survival kit within the handle, including an eighteen-inch cable saw and waterproof matches, among other items."
He shoved the sharp, silvered blade back into the sheath. Metal scraped metal.
"Get up!" Hammerlock ordered.
Joe and Frank supported Biff between them. Biff gamely tried to stand. "I'll be all right," he muttered.
"Just hold on to us for a while, tough guy," Frank murmured.
Hammerlock let the lethal, heavy knife drop to the table. He spoke slowly as if to let every word sink in.
"Recruits, grunts who don't live up to our expectations or who become a threat, get to play our survival game." Hammerlock paused, raising his head from the knives to pierce Terry with his gaze. Terry's eyes did not blink, nor did he look away. "For real!"
Hammerlock picked up the knives and walked around the table, dropping a knife before each of them. "Hunting you down—gives me the chance for a little rest and relaxation."
Terry picked up not only the knife that had been provided for him but Biff's as well. "We'll set you up with this later, Biff."
"You want to get on with it?" Lauren asked coldly.
"The five of you will be set loose in the jungle terrain beyond our fortress." Hammerlock thought for a moment, his expression grave, then nodded, as if in agreement with himself. "I'll give you until dawn and then start after you. I think that's a sporting chance.
"I'll probably be back in time for breakfast, but it will be a pleasant surprise if the five of you are tough enough to make the hunt last until lunch."
Hammerlock drew his Super Blackhawk pistol. He twirled the gun around his forefinger.
"Just consider this the final exam."
Hammerlock suddenly stopped the spinning gun. It was pointed right at Joe's head.
"And I mean just that. You flunk this course— and you die!"
Chapter 12
"THIS IS THE place," Frank Hardy agreed, looking back along the trail. The dawn light rose in a milky haze over the palmetto trees. "If we're going to ambush Hammerlock, we should do it here."
The Hardys, Terry, and Lauren had made their way as quickly as possible along a sandy trail that cut through the scrub and palmetto. They took turns carrying Biff.
Lauren had suggested they use the fireman's carry, straddling Biff over both shoulders. "But how could you — " Joe began.
Lauren answered by slinging Biff over her shoulders and stalking into the woods. They'd had no choice but to follow her.
There was little light among the trees and they had to watch out for tangled roots twisting up in the sandy path.
Joe followed closely behind Lauren. Hanging over her shoulder, Biff looked back at Joe in desperation.
"You won't tell anyone back home about this, will you?" he pleaded. "Me, saved from death by a girl barely five feet tall."
"They'd have to tear my fingernails out first," Joe assured him. "They'd have to boil me in oil, pluck my eyebrows. And I still wouldn't give them word one."
"Yeah, I've heard that before," Biff said.
Frank nudged Joe, who was staring at Biff, bobbing slightly as Lauren made her way along the path.
"I'll bet Lauren could get it out of you in three seconds flat," Frank said with a grin.
Joe looked sharply at his brother. He hoped Lauren hadn't heard Frank's comment. She kept walking.
"I saw the way you were looking at her," Frank went on. "Definite interest — maybe even admiration?"
Joe stared at him, exasperated. "Will you shut up? She'll hear you."
Frank shook his head in mild amusement. "In about an hour we're going to have a certifiable homicidal psychopath using us for target practice, and you're worried about what Lauren is going to think."
"Yeah, well, you're the one who brought her up. Are you just jealous because she likes me better than you?" Joe asked.
"Oh, right, can't you see my heart is breaking?" Frank replied. "Lauren," he called, putting an end to the conversation. "Why don't you let me take Biff for a while?"
With seemingly no effort Lauren transferred Biff to Frank's shoulders.
"You've go to stop eating all those burgers, Biff!" Frank grunted as they started off again.
They discussed possible scenarios against Hammerlock as the sky slowly brightened. Frank was the strategist.
"I think the major thing that we have to keep reminding ourselves is that we can't afford a physical confrontation with Hammerlock. He's skilled at this sort of hunting and far stronger."
"So, what you're saying," Joe said as he accepted Biff on his shoulders, "is that our only chance is to outwit him."
It was just before dawn. They knew they had fifteen minutes at most before Hammerlock would set out after them.
"Maybe we should set some sort of ambush for him. No one, outside the colonel and his elite squad, lives on this island," said Terry.
"We have no idea how far away the next Caribbean Island is," Frank continued with the planning, "so there's no reason to head for the beach, which is what I'm sure he'll expect us to try. We just can't chance swimming, without knowing how far and in what direction the closest inhabited island is."
Lauren picked the actual spot in the trail where they would stage their ambush. "You see how the trail zigzags here very sharply. So when Hammerlock approaches this point, he's blind to anyone stationed nearby."
Joe looked excitedly into her vivid blue eyes. Her pupils seemed to enlarge slightly.
"You've got a plan!" he said with a note of triumph. He turned to Frank. "I love it! She beat you to the punch!"
Frank rolled his eyes.
"You haven't heard my plan yet," Lauren reminded him coolly.
Joe nodded. "That's true. But when I do, I know I'm going to love it!"
Lauren tried not to smile and failed. Turning to Frank, she asked, "Is he always like this?"
"Only when his life is in danger," Frank replied.
Terry disappeared while they were working out the actual logistics of the trap.
"I'm not sure I like this," Frank said as the sky began to turn a light peach color.
"What's wrong, Frank?" Lauren asked as she inspected a tree near the edge of the path. She was going to climb up one trunk, and Terry another, in the hopes that they could drop down on the colonel when he passed below.
"I'll tell you," Joe said, picking a spot alongside the path where the scrub brush was densest and would make the best hiding place. "Frank doesn't like the idea of us taking direct physical action against Hammerlock."
"Let's say I have a few reservations," Frank said grimly.
"Look at it this way, Frank. What we've really done is combine our collective intelligence with force," Joe reasoned.
"It sounds good when you put it that way," Frank admitted grudgingly.
Lauren tested the lower branches of the tree. She nodded to herself. The branches would support her.
Then she turned to Frank. "I think our best bet at this point is to try to put Hammerlock on the defensive," she explained, her sapphire eyes thoughtful. "He's bound to think we'll be concentrating on finding a way off h
is human game preserve."
Biff was hidden deep in a thicket off to the side of the trail. He seemed stronger than when the boys had first found him, but he was still weak and bruised from the beatings.
"I'm reduced to being a mere 'spotter,' " he grumbled.
Frank studied the sky. "Sun's up. Hammerlock must be on his way by now. It won't be long."
Joe whirled about, looking left and right, obviously disturbed.
"What's wrong, Joe?" Lauren asked.
"Terry! Where's Terry? Anybody see him?" His voice rose in concern.
"Calm down, Joe." Terry's voice came from the trees. He appeared a moment later, carrying all their canteens.
"Where'd you go? What'd you take our canteens for?" Joe asked.
Terry handed Joe one of the canteens. "Try some of this."
As Terry pushed through the brush to hand a canteen to Biff, Joe unscrewed the cap. He took a sniff. "What is it?" he asked, wrinkling his nose.
"It's a drink made from crushed cinnamon, ginger, and a special tree bark," Terry replied. "Drink up. It's actually good, and it'll give you strength." Terry caught Joe looking distrustfully at his canteen. "Stop making faces, Joe. Set a good example for Biff."
Terry silently worked his way through the thicket, back out onto the path. "Hammerlock won't expect any of us to know how to live off what's at hand on this island. This puts us one up on him already."
Joe took a cautious sip. "Hey, this isn't so bad, after all."
"How'd you learn to make this?" Frank asked. "I told you my dad was an agent. He was stationed in the Caribbean for a while when I was a kid, and he taught me how to make it. I guess he was doing some kind of counterinsurgency stuff. He never talked much about it," Terry answered as he studied the tree he was to climb.
"Time to get ready," Frank said when he had finished the exotic drink. "Take your places."
Lauren climbed nimbly up the tree she had chosen. She had her knife drawn, and for an instant sunlight glinted off the razor-sharp metal.
"Watch it!" Joe called up to her. "Hammerlock could spot that."
She realized what had happened and scraped the knife blade against the bark of the tree to dull the shine. "Sorry," she said in a whisper. "I didn't realize. And you'd better keep your voice down, or he'll hear us for sure."
Deathgame Page 6