Survival Run

by Franklin W. Dixon

  He stopped knocking when Joe and Gina joined him. "I don't think anybody's inside," he said.

  "Either that or he's very antisocial," Joe offered.

  "There's only one way to find out," Frank replied, grabbing the doorknob. It turned and the door swung open. Frank poked his head inside. "Hello?" he shouted one more time.

  Nobody answered.

  Joe edged past his brother and went inside. "I don't think the professor ever took a housekeeping course," he observed as he moved around the single room. Books and clothes were strewn everywhere. A half-eaten sandwich poked out of a pile of papers littering the cabin's only table. A long, thin line of ants marched up and down a table leg, carting off tiny prizes from the forgotten meal.

  Frank walked over to the table, brushed away some of the scurrying ants, and touched the bread. It was rock hard. "This is beyond stale," he said. "This is fossilized. Nobody's been here for days, maybe even a week or more."

  "If that's Stavrogin's car outside," Joe responded, "where did he go?"

  "If the Assassins nabbed him, they wouldn't need his car," Frank noted.

  "What would the Assassins want from Dr. Stavrogin?" Gina asked.

  "That's what we came to Alaska to find out," Frank answered. He glanced at his watch. "It's getting late. Let's go back to the motor home, get some sleep, and start again in the morning.

  Joe squinted at the sunlight streaming in the window. "What are you talking about? It's not even dark yet."

  Frank chuckled. "It's the middle of summer, and we're almost standing on the Arctic Circle."

  Joe frowned. "So what?"

  "So the sun is up for over twenty hours a day," Frank explained. "And I know from a lifetime of experience that you don't function well on four hours of sleep."

  ***

  At midnight Joe was seated on one of the parked dirt bikes, watching the sun set while Frank and Gina were sound asleep in the motor home. They had agreed to take turns keeping an eye on the cabin in case somebody showed up. Since the night was more like twilight, Joe didn't have any trouble observing the cabin from across the stream. He did, however, have a lot of trouble staying awake.

  Joe had started to nod off for the third or fourth time when he thought he caught a flicker of movement outside the cabin. His head snapped up, and his eyes popped open. He watched and waited. The cabin was dark and silent. Nothing moved anywhere near it, but Joe decided to check it out since he didn't have anything better to do.

  He slithered across the bridge on his belly and then hugged the trees that lined the shoulder on the far side. If anybody was in the cabin, Joe wanted to check out the person before he or she spotted him.

  About fifty feet from the cabin, Joe saw something that made him stop and flatten himself behind the nearest tree. The front door was wide open. He was sure he had shut it tight when they left. Maybe the wind blew it open, he told himself.

  Joe crept closer. He heard a faint rustling sound from inside the cabin, and then saw a man slipping silently out the door. There was enough light for Joe to get a fairly good look at his face - and although Joe had never seen Dr. Stavrogin, he knew this guy wasn't the professor.

  Joe was staring at the curly-haired cab driver he'd had to rescue!

  The man headed into the woods behind the cabin, and Joe followed. As he moved he heard a twig snap behind him and froze in his tracks, listening. All he could hear now was his own heart pounding. Part of him hoped he'd just imagined the noise. Another part realized he had just walked into a trap.

  Joe knew he couldn't just stay there like a sitting duck. As he whirled around to confront whoever was behind him, a sharp pain exploded at the base of his neck. His vision blurred and dimmed. Joe Hardy slumped to his knees and fell facedown on the ground.

  Chapter 5

  When Joe opened his eyes, there was a dull ache in his head, and Frank was staring down at him. "What's the matter?" Joe mumbled. "What are you staring at? Did I go bald during the night or something?"

  The worry lines on his brother's face faded, and a faint smile appeared on his lips. "Well, I guess you didn't suffer permanent brain damage - no more than usual, anyway."

  With a little help from Frank, Joe sat up. "What are we doing in Stavrogin's cabin?" he asked in a bewildered tone as he took in his surroundings.

  "I was hoping you could tell me," Frank replied. "I came over here looking for you."

  Joe struggled to push through the fog in his brain. "I remember now. ... I saw somebody in the cabin - the cab driver who gave us the underwater tour of the Potomac."

  "You saw him here?" Frank responded.

  Joe nodded and instantly regretted it. "I was going to tail him," he said as he rubbed his sore neck, "but somebody else sneaked up behind me and decked me."

  "Did you get a glance at the person who knocked you out?"

  Joe shook his head and winced. He was going to have to remember not to move his head for a while. "It happened too fast." He paused and frowned. "And it didn't happen in here. I was outside, near the trees."

  Frank studied the bruise on the back of Joe's neck. "Whoever hit you was a real pro. He knew how to take you out quickly without killing or maiming you in the process. You're lucky."

  "Remind me to thank the Assassin if we ever catch him," Joe grumbled.

  "I don't think you were attacked by an Assassin," Frank said.

  "You think the cab driver is an Assassin, but you don't think I was knocked out by an Assassin."

  Frank nodded.

  "Okay, Joe said with a sigh. "Why not?"

  "Think about it," Frank said. "Would an Assassin leave you alive?"

  "I hadn't thought of that," Joe admitted. "So who was it?"

  "I don't know," Frank replied. "But I could make a pretty good guess."

  Joe knew what his brother was thinking. "A Network agent?"

  "I hope so," Frank said. "Because if it wasn't, that means a third player is involved, and this case is already complicated enough." He looked around the cluttered room. "Do you know what I think?"

  "No," Joe answered, "but I'll bet you're going to tell me."

  "I think this mess was made by somebody searching for something."

  "Something related to the fishing rod case?" Joe suggested.

  "Maybe," Frank said. "The only problem with that theory is that the Assassins already have the case. What else could they be after?"

  Joe picked up a nearby pile of papers and started to sift through them. "Let's see what we can find that the Assassins couldn't."

  "Good idea," Frank responded, grabbing a book off the floor. He scanned the cover and handed the book to his brother. "Check this out," he said.

  Joe read the title out loud: "Principles of Fusion Energy." Then he saw the author's name. "Hey! Dr. Stavrogin wrote this."

  Frank grabbed another handful of books and scanned the covers. "Here's another one," he announced. "Dynamics of Fusion Reactions."

  "So Stavrogin's a fusion expert," Joe said. "You don't think the Assassins are trying to corner the fusion energy market, do you?"

  "That depends on the kind of fusion energy," Frank replied ominously.

  Joe studied his brother carefully. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean fusion can do a lot more than crank out electricity for your toaster oven," Frank told him. "An uncontrolled fusion reaction is what makes a hydrogen bomb."

  Joe's eyes widened. "We can't let the Assassins get their hands on a hydrogen bomb!"

  "If that's what they're after, I don't know if we can do anything about it," Frank said grimly. "It may already be too late."

  Their search of the cabin didn't turn up anything that might lead them to Stavrogin or the Assassins, and they finally gave it up when Gina came looking for them. The Hardys filled her in.

  "We can't quit now," Joe insisted as they walked back across the rickety bridge.

  Frank stopped and gazed down at the stream. "Nobody said anything about quitting. We just have to figure out what our n
ext move will be."

  "I'm not sure I understand all this," Gina said. "Even if Dr. Stavrogin could make a bomb for the Assassins, wouldn't they need uranium or plutonium or something like that?"

  "That's right," Joe chimed in. "And that stuff doesn't exactly grow on trees."

  "Just because it's hard to get doesn't mean the Assassins don't have it," Frank pointed out. "We have to assume the worst."

  Joe nodded up the road toward a cloud of dust. "It looks as if we may have company in a few minutes. A car's coming this way."

  "Let's get back to the motor home," Frank said.

  "It's just a car," Gina responded. "What's the big deal?"

  "Have you seen any other cars on this road?" Frank snapped, grabbing her arm and moving her quickly across the bridge.

  "Frank hates coincidences," Joe explained, trotting to keep up with his brother.

  "I don't believe in taking unnecessary risks," Frank said, his attention on the approaching car. "Our visitors are driving a Jeep with a camouflage paint job. Would you like to hang around and ask them what they're hunting?"

  Gina jerked her arm free from Frank's grip and peered at the car speeding down the road. "What are we going to do?" she asked. "We can't outrun them in the motor home, can we?"

  "No!" Joe yelled, breaking into a run. "Our only chance is to lose them in the woods."

  He didn't head for the trees, though. He sprinted to the motor home, jerked open the door, rushed inside, and bolted back out seconds later.

  "Let's go!" he shouted, jumping on one of the dirt bikes and tossing a key to his brother. Joe jammed his key in the ignition slot of the motorcycle and slammed his foot down on the kick starter. The engine roared to life. He motioned to Gina, and she hopped on behind him.

  The Jeep was close enough now for Joe to see the grime on the headlights and the two stone-faced men in the front seat. He noticed that Frank was having trouble starting the other dirt bike. His foot pumped up and down on the kick starter, but the engine only sputtered and died, sputtered and died.

  "What's wrong?" Joe called out.

  "I don't know!" Frank shouted back. He waved his hand in the air, gesturing toward the forest. "Go on! Get out of here! Don't wait for me!"

  "No!" Joe bellowed. He gunned the engine, popped the hand clutch, and spun the bike around. The engine screamed as Joe took the bike onto the road and raced toward the oncoming Jeep, aiming the motorcycle right between the headlights. He bared his teeth in his best mad dog snarl and glared at the driver. At the last second Joe swerved away and zoomed past the Jeep.

  He hoped the trick worked; he wouldn't get a second chance. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the Jeep skid to a halt.

  His eyes shifted back to the road ahead. An accident now could be fatal. "What are they doing?" he shouted to Gina.

  "They're turning around and following us!" Gina yelled in his ear. He could barely hear her over the whine of the engine and the rushing of the wind around them.

  Joe slowed down and scanned the woods on either side of the road.

  "They're catching up!" Gina cried out.

  "Good!" Joe responded as he veered off the road onto a rutted trail that disappeared in the trees. "Are they still behind us?" he yelled, his eyes focused on the rough trail, weaving around potholes and boulders. The dirt bike wasn't made for two riders, so Joe had to be careful. If he rode it too hard, they might take a very ugly spill.

  "Yes!" Gina told him. "And they're still gaining on us!"

  Joe stole a quick look over his shoulder and saw the Jeep's knobby tires rolling easily over the rocks and ruts that had slowed him down. He couldn't play it safe anymore. He was going to have to push the bike to the limit. He crouched low over the handlebars and leaned hard into a sharp turn around a high rock outcropping.

  "Look out!" Gina screamed as they came out of the curve.

  Joe's head reared back, and he slammed on the brakes when he saw a second mottled green Jeep blocking the trail. Two men wearing matching camouflage jumpsuits stood in front of the Jeep. The submachine guns in their hands told Joe this was the end of the line.

  Chapter 6

  "Get off the bike," one of the men ordered roughly.

  Joe decided not to argue. The weapon in the man's hands could cut a person in half with a single squeeze of the trigger.

  The man giving the orders wore a baseball cap printed with the same camouflage pattern as his jumpsuit. The other man had close-cropped black hair. In addition to the stubby submachine guns they carried, they also had large hunting knives hanging upside down in sheaths strapped to their jumpsuits, just below their left shoulders.

  Joe had seen men dressed this way before: soldiers ready for combat.

  Holding the submachine gun in one hand, the guy in the cap unhooked a radio from his waist with his free hand and spoke into it. "This is Delta team. We have them."

  The radio crackled and a static-filled voice said, "You know what to do."

  Joe held his breath and clutched Gina's hand, hoping the voice on the radio hadn't just issued their death warrants.

  "Get in the Jeep," the man said flatly.

  Joe breathed again. "You go on ahead," he replied, trying to sound glib. "We'll follow you."

  The silent man with the short black hair let out a low chuckle. The other man's lips twitched. "I don't think so," he said. "Just do as you're told, and this will all be over in a few minutes."

  "That's what worries me," Joe muttered as he climbed into the backseat.

  Gina rode in the front seat next to the driver, the black-haired guy. The man giving the orders sat next to Joe.

  "Nice hat," Joe remarked, nodding at the green-and-brown cap the man was wearing. "Where can I get one?"

  The man shifted his eyes and glared at Joe. "Do us all a favor and shut up," he said gruffly.

  The man's coldness told Joe that he wouldn't want to find out what would happen if he didn't shut up. So they rode in silence as the Jeep bounced along the trail, moving farther into the Alaskan wilderness. The Jeep that had originally chased Joe and Gina had not followed. Joe hoped it hadn't gone back for Frank.

  After a while they rolled to a stop. "End of the line," the man in the cap announced.

  "I don't think I like the sound of that," Joe said.

  "You don't have to like it," the man said. "You won't be here that long."

  "I don't think I like the sound of that, either," Joe responded.

  The two armed men marched Joe and Gina single-file into the woods. Joe caught a glimpse of movement ahead, and then another glimpse off to the side. Then he spotted a large green camouflage tent and knew then that they were in the middle of some kind of paramilitary base hidden amid the trees. There were tents, men, and equipment scattered all around. The green and brown splotches and swirls that covered every man-made surface blended in perfectly with the natural surroundings, making the camp virtually invisible from any distance.

  The black-haired member of the Delta team ducked into the large tent and came back out a minute later, followed by a nondescript man of average height and unremarkable build.

  Despite his completely forgettable looks, the man's face was etched deeply in Joe's memory.

  "Mr. Gray," Joe greeted the extraordinarily ordinary man. "I should have known you were behind all this.

  "I almost didn't recognize you out of uniform," Joe added. Mr. Gray - the Gray Man - got his name from the bland gray suits he always wore. Joe had no idea what his real name was, and sometimes he suspected the Gray Man had forgotten it himself.

  The Gray Man smiled down at his military-style camouflage outfit. "I like to blend into the background wherever I am," he said.

  The Gray Man held open the tent flap. "There are some things we should discuss privately."

  "Wait a minute," Joe said. "What about Frank? Is he all right?"

  The Gray Man nodded behind Joe. "See for yourself."

  Joe glanced back over his shoulder and saw Frank coming toward t
hem, flanked by two armed guards.

  "So much for my great diversion," Joe grumbled. "You were supposed to take off into the woods while I led these guys on a wild-goose chase."

  "I did," Frank said, "but the woods were crawling with Network agents."

  "We've been watching you ever since you showed up at Stavrogin's cabin," the Gray Man explained as they slipped into the spacious tent. He sat down in a folding chair and gestured to the Hardys and Gina to do the same.

  "Why did you have the cabin staked out?" Frank asked. "And where is Dr. Stavrogin now?"

  "I didn't bring you here to answer your questions," the Gray Man said curtly.

  "I think you owe us some kind of explanation," Frank responded coolly. "First, one of your men attacks my brother, and then you kidnap us."

  "That's right!" Joe snapped. "We may be way out in the middle of nowhere - but we're still in the United States, and there are laws!"

  The Gray Man smiled and clapped his hands slowly. "Very good. Very convincing. Feel free to report this incident to the local authorities." He leaned forward, and a cold, hard expression settled on his face. "But when you do, keep a few points in mind." He stuck his index finger up. "One: You've been on federal land ever since you got within a mile of Stavrogin's cabin. The state and county governments have no authority here." He held up another finger. "Two: Officially, the Network doesn't exist, and neither do I. You can tell the police I kidnapped you, but they won't find anybody to arrest."

  He paused and took a deep breath. "Three," he said, jabbing a third finger in the air. "This is a very sensitive national security issue. You could jeopardize the entire operation, putting millions of lives at risk."

  "Since nobody will believe us, anyway," Frank said, "couldn't you at least tell us what this is all about?"

  The Gray Man shook his head. "I'm sorry. That's out of the question."

  "Okay," Frank responded. "Let me tell you what I think is going on. We know Dr. Nikolai Stavrogin is a nuclear physicist involved in fusion research, and fusion is the heart of a thermonuclear explosion. We also know the Assassins are very resourceful. If any terrorist group could build a hydrogen bomb, they'd be at the top of the list."