Diplomatic Deceit

by Franklin W. Dixon

  He ran back into the street, yelling, "Hey, stupid, over here."

  Ansel obliged and began a three-point turn. Joe hopped back up onto the sidewalk for a few steps, then dashed into the street again. The Porsche's tires screamed as Ansel completed the turn and sent the car rocketing forward again.

  Got to get him away from the others, Joe thought as he zigzagged down the street. The roaring of the engine and the squealing of the tires were deafening. But even over the noise, Joe could hear Ansel's diplomatic brat-pack friends yelling encouragement for their driver. Screaming for blood - really nice guys, he thought.

  The block he was running down looked as if it hadn't been touched in the last century. Solid row houses built of dark bricks formed ranks on either side of the street. They appeared quietly elegant behind their cast-iron fences and gardens.

  However, the screeching of the diplomatic brats plus the engine roar of the car were neither quiet nor elegant. Lights began appearing in windows and then silhouettes of people. With luck, someone will call the cops, Joe told himself. All I have to do is survive till then.

  Of course, these kids would claim diplomatic immunity. Joe hoped Lieutenant Grant would find some way to give them a hard time.

  He reached a corner and glanced at the street sign. Church Street, one way. If he crossed over and went up that block, Ansel couldn't follow him.

  Joe took a deep breath and started up the one-way street.

  Ansel was past caring about traffic laws. He whipped the Porsche in a tight turn and sent it fishtailing up the narrow street and after Joe. A car was coming down, and for a moment it looked as if they would crash head-on into each other. At the last second, the other car swerved and ended up with two wheels on the sidewalk.

  Ansel had slowed down for a second, but the moment the obstruction was out of the way, he flew past.

  Joe hopped up on the sidewalk, and suddenly the immediate area around him was brightly lit. He glanced over his shoulder - and nearly stopped in shock. Ansel had pulled his car onto the sidewalk.

  The car kept coming. Joe looked forward and noticed the knot of pedestrians moving his way. They were teenage girls, busy talking among themselves. They hadn't noticed what lay ahead on the sidewalk.

  Joe tore down the long block, legs aching, lungs burning, yelling, "Watch out! This guy is a maniac!"

  The girls stopped, gawked, then ran for safety. Joe was amazed he wasn't dead yet.

  Then he realized Ansel had only been playing with him. He could have taken Joe out whenever he wanted. The Porsche roared with new power. Joe glanced to the side and took the only chance he had. Grabbing the top of a cast-iron fence, he swung himself up and over to land in a private garden.

  Ansel screeched by as Joe landed - right on top of a rosebush. Joe winced as he pushed himself up on wobbly weak legs, totally worn out. His outfit was ruined, thanks to all the thorns that had cut into his clothes. Of course, he would have looked a lot worse if Ansel had nailed him.

  Joe took a few long, shaky breaths and leaned against the cast-iron fence, checking down the block for the Porsche. Its brake lights had come on, and a moment later, Joe heard rapid footsteps moving toward him. He went to one knee, and tried to remain hidden in the shadows.

  "Which house was it?" Tomas's voice floated out of the darkness. "I think it was this one," he said, scaling the fence.

  He was actually standing over Joe before he realized it. "Hey! He's here! Over here!" Tomas yelled.

  Joe lurched to his feet, bringing his fist straight up from the ground. He didn't have Ansel's Porsche to hit Tomas with, but he did have the advantage of surprise. Joe's punch took Tomas right on the chin. He reeled back, then sat down hard.

  Before Tomas could say anything more, Joe was up and swinging over the fence. He dashed across the street.

  This could work out, he thought. Maybe I can lose these clowns.

  "He's crossed the street, doubling back!" a voice cried from behind him. Willem's voice.

  Regretting only that he didn't have a chance to punch out the Dutch kid as well, Joe broke into a shambling run.

  Before he'd reached the corner again, Ansel had turned the Porsche around. Willem was running along Joe's side of the street. Joe could hear the footsteps on the pavement behind him. Across the street, judging by the noise, Tomas had gotten back on his feet and had joined Willem in the pursuit.

  This old-fashioned neighborhood had large trees. Their branches cut out a lot of light from the street lamps and the moon. Joe felt as if he were running down a long tunnel with nothing at the end. His heart was pounding, his lungs burned, and his legs felt as heavy as lead. To top it off, pricks from that stupid rosebush stung. He was trying his best, but there was no way he could outrun a Porsche.

  Joe knew he was fading fast. He'd be dead soon.

  However, as he made his way down the street, he found his brother standing in the middle of the road.

  "Hey, Ansel," the older Hardy called, "stop picking on my kid brother."

  Joe had to smile at that.

  Ansel's answer, however, was to stomp on the gas. Joe started in horror as the Porsche shot out, dead on target for Frank.

  Hopping up and down curbs hadn't been good for the car. As it roared toward them, its muffler trailed along the pavement, sending out showers of sparks. The effect was like that of a rocket set to search and destroy.

  Frank stood still and faced the onrushing car, a confident smile on his face. At the last possible second, he leaped aside, landing on his shoulder in a roll that brought him immediately back to his feet.

  Ansel frantically hit the brakes. He'd been so interested in smearing Frank, he'd forgotten a very important fact.

  They were on a dead-end street. The Porsche was heading straight for an old-fashioned, cast-iron light pole.

  Ansel's yell was drowned out by the screech of brakes. Then came the sickening crunch of a fender crumpling on the light pole. Nobody in the car appeared to be hurt, but there would be a few thousand dollars' worth of damage to the Porsche. Willem and Tomas ran to help their friends.

  Frank appeared at Joe's side, taking his elbow. "Let's get out of here while they're distracted," he said.

  "I think they'll have more distractions in a minute," Joe said. From the distance came the sound of sirens. He laughed as he and Frank hustled off. "Even if they get away from the cops, they'll have to pay plenty to get that fender fixed. By the way, Frank, thanks for handling them so neatly."

  Frank grinned back. "Hey, what are big brothers for?"

  Callie and Madeleine were waiting around the corner and halfway down the next block. "You were wonderful - both of you!" Maddy said, throwing her arms around the Hardys. "But I feel so bad, making trouble for you again."

  "You can't blame yourself for this, Maddy," Callie said. "Joe just happened to lose his wallet, that's all."

  "If I hadn't insisted on taking you to the Quarter, there would have been no trouble at all." Madeleine looked at her friends. "I don't know about you, but all of a sudden, I'm starving. Why don't we stop for a snack." She grinned at them. "My treat, but you pick the place."

  They finally found a burger restaurant and took over a back booth. After a soda and something to eat, Joe began to feel human again. Maddy ordered an extra glass of seltzer and dipped a napkin in it, dabbing at Joe's face. "You have scratches on your cheek," she said, concerned.

  "Yeah, but you should see the rosebush I landed on," Joe said with a laugh.

  "You didn't come out of this unscathed, either," Callie said to Frank, pointing at his shoulder. "Trust you to roll through the only oil patch on that street."

  Frank looked at the greasy smear on his shoulder. "This is going to take more than some seltzer," he said unhappily. "I'll see what I can do in the men's room."

  "I'll walk you partway," Callie said with a grin. "I'm heading for the ladies'." She asked Madeleine, "Do you want to come along?"

  Maddy shook her head, looking at her watch. "It's ge
tting late. Suppose I pay our bill. Then, when you come out, we can all leave."

  "Sounds good to me," Frank said, leaving the table.

  After Madeleine got the check, she carefully began to count out the money to pay for it. Joe smiled, watching her serious face as she left a small pile of singles for the tip.

  Then his smile disappeared. He recognized one of those singles. It was an old friend - the Worst Bill in the World. The last time he'd seen it, the bill had been in his wallet.

  So what was Madeleine doing with it now?

  Chapter 9

  Joe's hand shot out, catching Madeleine in midcount. He had to force himself not to grip the girl's wrist too hard, but he wanted a good look at that dollar bill.

  Maddy froze, staring at him.

  "So, tell me, Maddy," Joe said, his voice mild but ice-cold. "Did you hold on to my wallet as well? Or did you just throw it away and keep my money?"

  "W - what?" she asked in total shock. The dollar in her hand dropped to the table.

  "It's plain bad luck." Joe shook his head at Maddy, pretending to sympathize. "Most people wouldn't recognize a bill that had been in their hip pocket even if you waved it under their noses.

  The words came out as if his chest were being slowly squeezed. "But I had a dollar in my wallet that was the crummiest thing I'd ever seen. I mean, that buck was worn and about as limp as toilet paper. It also had a coffee stain, right over George Washington's face. Made George look like he had a big, brown mustache."

  His finger tapped the bill on top of the pile Madeleine had been counting out. It landed right on the ring over Washington's face. "In fact, it looked just like this one. How do you explain that, Maddy?"

  Madeleine seemed to shrink into herself. When she looked up at Joe again, her eyes shone with tears. "It is my fault after all," she said, her voice quavering as she dug around in her bag. "Here."

  She pulled out Joe's wallet, then handed over what was left of his cash. Then she grabbed his hand in both of hers. "Joe, please don't tell Frank and Callie. Please!"

  "Why not?" Joe's face was set in a cold, hard stare.

  "It was all a mistake - a stupid mistake," Maddy said feverishly, begging him to understand. "My father was very angry about what happened at the store. He didn't give me permission to go out tonight. I wasn't supposed to leave the house for a week."

  "You were grounded?" Joe said.

  Maddy nodded her head vigorously. "Yes. Grounded. I had to sneak out."

  She looked at him as if that should explain everything. "There was no way I could get any money for the evening. I met Ansel and his friends outside, and they got me into the Quarter. Ansel started paying all sorts of attention to me. He ordered everything for me, telling me my money was no good with him around." Maddy shrugged her shoulders. "I - I let him, so I didn't have to worry about paying."

  Her grip tightened on Joe's hand. "But I was supposed to be treating you, my friends. How was I going to do that without any money? Especially since I had invited you to make up for everything."

  Madeleine used one hand to wipe a tear from her cheek. "Then I found the wallet under our table. It was the answer to a prayer. I thought all my problems were over. If I'd known it was yours, Joe - if I'd known how much trouble it would cause ..."

  Maddy's words ran down as Joe's gaze bored into her. His eyes were like chips of blue ice as he stared at her. It was the look a scientist would give to an unpleasant but interesting specimen.

  "Nice try," Joe said, his voice mildly impressed. "You really should consider becoming an actress - that is, if you fail at your first career as a thief."

  "But, Joe - I - you don't - " Madeleine floundered for words, thrown off balance by Joe's chilly response to her story.

  "I should have figured it out before," Joe said. 'It was obvious on the videotape from the store security camera. I ought to have spotted it back in the police station."

  Maddy was staring at him now, her face pale. "S - seen what?"

  "You used the same technique on me that you used with Callie. You jumped around and kept throwing your arm around me, getting me used to your touch - just like you did with Callie. Of course, with her, you used it to slip something into her pocket. With me, you slipped something out - my wallet."

  He kept his gaze leveled on her. "You're a skilled dip, aren't you, Maddy - a professional pickpocket."

  Her fingers left his hand as if it had turned red-hot.

  "I can't imagine how a diplomat's daughter would pick up a skill like that. Picking pockets is something you're taught, not born with." He gave her a sour smile. "Besides, diplomats are usually better liars than thieves."

  Madeleine sat huddled on the other side of the table. "I - I learned it from this girl I knew in Paris. She was - her name was Nadine - she was a street kid, working for a ring of pickpockets."

  The words tumbled out of Madeleine now, like water that had been dammed up and suddenly broken loose. "We used to - I guess you'd say, hang out, sometimes. She had many crazy stories. Then she taught me how to do it."

  She looked up at Joe with tear-filled eyes. "It started out as a joke, that's all. I was good at picking pockets. Very good. Nobody even knew when I did it - only Nadine."

  "So, since you got away with it, you just kept it up." Joe's voice was cold.

  "You don't understand!" Maddy's voice shook. "It's like a sickness. Sometimes I can't control it. I have this talent that I'm not supposed to use. Sometimes, when I'm happy or nervous, I forget."

  Madeleine buried her face in her hands. "Oh, I wish I'd never learned it!" she whispered fiercely. "All it's done is get my friends into trouble."

  She looked up pleadingly. "And if my father finds out - it will kill him. Papa works so hard at the foreign office. Any kind of scandal will wreck his career."

  Madeleine's teary eyes begged Joe for help. "I think that's why he decided to bring us to America. He was afraid that I was hanging around with the wrong crowd back home."

  She choked back a sob. "Poor Papa. He didn't know it was already too late."

  Joe looked uncertainly at the French girl. Her tears seemed real, but he had a suspicion that they came as readily as her brilliant but phony smiles. "So what do you want from me?" he demanded.

  "Don't tell your brother or Callie or my parents about - what I can do." Maddy shuddered with fear, then looked up at him with feverish eyes. "I'll make it up to you - I swear - I'll do anything."

  Her fingers clutched at his hand again. But Joe shook her off. "Cool it. Frank and Callie are coming back."

  "So," Frank said as he strolled up to the table. "Are we all set?"

  "Maddy's just taking care of the tip," Joe said. "Guess what? We found my wallet. It must have fallen out of my pocket when we were at that club."

  "Where did you find it?" Callie asked.

  "Would you believe in Maddy's bag?" Joe answered with a grin.

  That got a laugh from the other two. Maddy gazed at Joe with gratitude in her eyes.

  They decided to walk back to Maddy's house and drop her off before heading for their hotel. As the foursome strolled down the street, it quickly broke into two couples - Frank and Callie in the lead, Joe and Madeleine bringing up the rear.

  Maddy put an arm around Joe's waist and snuggled into his side as they walked along the quiet street.

  "What are you going for now?" Joe asked. "My spare change?"

  Madeleine leaped away from Joe as if he'd given her a megavolt electric shock. "I was - I just wanted to show how grateful I was." She stumbled over the words, her eyes going wide. "I thought you were being nice to me," she said in a small voice.

  They stood for a long moment on the sidewalk looking at each other. "Maybe I'm being too nice to you," Joe finally said.

  He was frowning, the troubled frown of a person who's not sure he's doing the right thing.

  "I don't know if I can trust you, Maddy," Joe said slowly. "And once you lose somebody's trust, it's hard to earn back."


  Madeleine sighed. "I'll just have to do my best," she finally said. "Come on, let's catch up with Frank and Callie."

  It wasn't easy for Joe. Sore muscles in his legs screamed in protest when he picked up the pace. He was still aching from playing hide-and-seek with Ansel's Porsche.

  As they headed down the street, Maddy took Joe's hand in hers. "At least you'll know where one of my hands is," she said with a ghost of a smile.

  Joe knew he was supposed to laugh, but the laughter just wouldn't come.

  They had cut the gap between themselves and the others to half a block when Madeleine suddenly froze, her fingernails digging into Joe's hand.

  "That parked car we just passed," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "There's a man in it - with a gun!"

  Chapter 10

  As Joe Hardy turned back to see the car, he was momentarily blinded by the sudden glare of headlights. The car was moving now - it had pulled from the curb.

  Up ahead of him were Frank and Callie, unaware that a car with an armed man inside might be following them.

  Ignoring the stiffness in his aching legs, Joe forced himself into a shambling run down the nearly deserted street.

  I'm probably overreacting. I never actually saw the gun, he thought. He couldn't stop himself from running to warn Callie and Frank, though. Must be a reaction to being chased by Ansel.

  Luckily, the car was barely gliding along. As it pulled level with Joe, he could see the bulky outline of a guy leaning out the passenger-side window. Joe couldn't make him out clearly, but the MAC-10 submachine gun cradled in the guy's hands was impossible to miss.

  The guy hadn't noticed Joe. He must have had all his attention on Frank and Callie. Unfortunately, the car had almost caught up with Callie and Frank by then.

  "Watch out!" Joe yelled. "Get down!"

  The guy in the car shot a look back at Joe, then took direct aim at him.

  Joe dived for cover behind a parked van as half the MAC-10's clip whistled through the space where his chest had just been.