The Bombay Boomerang

by Franklin W. Dixon

  Frank tensed. “Is there something wrong with him?”

  “He suffered a blow on the head that rendered him unconscious yesterday. And he told me that he lost his two companions on the ship. We searched everywhere but did not find them.”

  Frank and Tony looked at each other apprehensively. “They must have followed a lead and left the ship,” Frank said.

  “But where did they go?” Tony queried.

  Frank heaved a sigh. “That’s anybody’s guess. When did you look for them, Captain?”

  “Yesterday evening.”

  “Can we see our friend in your cabin now?” Frank asked.

  “Certainly.” The captain signaled a crewman. “Jawal will take you there.”

  Was it Joe or Phil? both boys wondered as they followed the Indian down a narrow corridor.

  Seconds later they had the answer. “Phil!” cried Tony as he pushed the cabin door open.

  “Boy, I’m glad you’re here,” Phil said. He looked pale and still suffered a severe headache. Quickly he explained the events of the previous day.

  “We’d better start searching for Joe and Nathoo right away,” Phil suggested. “Matter of fact, I was just on my way to the captain to tell him I was leaving the ship.”

  “Do you feel up to it?” Frank inquired.

  “Oh, sure. But getting rapped on the head with a blunt instrument is something I don’t recommend for a rest cure.”

  “Do you have any leads to work on? Anything you may have noticed while casing the ship before you got conked?”

  “One thing. I think the assistant engineer is one of the gang. Fellow named Luckman Kann. He was pretty put out when we came aboard. Didn’t want us to see anything on the ship, least of all the mercury. I suspect he’s the one who am-bushed me on the bridge!”

  The boys passed this information on to the captain, who sent for the assistant engineer. But Luckman Kann was missing!

  Frank, Tony, and Phil began a search, starting at the spot where Phil had last seen Joe and Nathoo, and extending over the side down onto the dock.

  “The barge has been moved,” Phil commented. “It was riding behind the freighter when we went aboard yesterday.”

  “What’s this?” Tony stared at a strip of black leather lying on the dock, pointing toward the place where the barge had been moored. He picked it up and examined the silver buckle at one end. The initials J. H. were engraved on it!

  “Joe’s belt!” Frank exclaimed exultantly. “He must have put it there so we’d know where he’d gone. All we have to do now is to find out the destination of the barge.”

  From a stevedore he learned that it had transported bales of jute to a warehouse along the waterfront. The three boys walked away from the docks to avoid being conspicuous, took a parallel street, and cut back down to the dock area. Soon they came to an enormous, dingy building, blackened by soot, and with several windows boarded up.

  Tony and Phil staked out the warehouse, while Frank sneaked through some bushes, edged along one wall to a rickety wooden door, and slipped inside. He found himself in a gloomy, cavernous building. The ceiling towered far above his head. Its crossbeams extended from one side of the warehouse to the other.

  Boxes and crates were stacked on top of one another. Bales of jute, looking like huge cubes, awaited transfer to the mills. Steel bars, each ending in a heavy bolt, lay in disorderly heaps where they had been dumped.

  Frank examined one. It was the type of bolt that had crashed through the window of the Hardys’ house!

  The boy surveyed the layout of the warehouse, noting that the back door led onto the platform where the barge cargoes came in. The office was at the far side, a mere cubbyhole in the vastness of the interior.

  Frank ducked around cartons and crates, lay down on his stomach to snake-crawl past a pile of reinforcement bars, and reached a point where he could see through a dirty window into the dimly lighted office. Figures became discernible. Frank rose on one knee for a better view.

  Suddenly his sixth sense warned him that somebody was sneaking up on him. He twisted sharply to one side and bounded to his feet, hands up to ward off an assailant.

  Then he dropped his arms. “Joe!” he gasped.

  Joe put a finger to his lips and beckoned his brother to retreat with him behind some stacks of cargo. “Don’t make any noise,” he whispered. “We’ll be in a tough spot if those birds come flying out at us!”

  Quickly Joe briefed Frank on what had happened on board the Bombay Batarang. He and Nathoo had been walking behind Phil when they heard one of the officers mention the Bombay Boomerang on the telephone. It was Luckman Kann! When the assistant engineer hung up, the boys had melted into a doorway, then followed him onto the barge. They had concealed themselves behind bales of jute. The only clue Joe had time to leave was his belt, a signal he hoped Frank would read.

  “Good idea,” Frank murmured. “Without it we still wouldn’t know where you were. But where’s Nathoo?”

  “They got him!” Joe said grimly and continued his story.

  “Kann stayed on the barge till it left early in the morning. We hid during the ride along the waterfront. When the barge stopped, we could see the warehouse, so I got out at the rear while the stevedores were opening the side doors. Nathoo wasn’t so lucky. They caught him and marched him into the warehouse.”

  “How did you get in here?”

  “By way of a broken window. I was just wondering how to handle this situation when you showed up!”

  “All right, let’s join forces and see what’s up in the office over there.”

  A piercing scream rent the silence, bouncing echoes off the walls and ceiling. “They must be beating Nathoo,” Joe whispered. “We’ve got to get him out of there!”

  Reaching the window, they looked in. Nathoo was sitting on a chair, tied hand and foot. His face was bruised where he had been struck by the four men who held him captive. Luckman Kann stood to one side, watching with approval. Next to him was the sinister Indian sailor who had tripped Joe into the hold of the Nanda Kailash, and who had instigated Nathoo to murder the Hardys.

  “You’re going to tell us about the Hardys,” one man threatened viciously, “if we have to beat you all day!”

  Nathoo groaned but remained silent.

  “What happened to Cheever and Bucko?” another demanded in violent tones. “They went off after the mercury and now we don’t know where they are!”

  “I know nothing,” Nathoo pleaded. “Nothing at all!”

  Frank placed his lips close to Joe’s ear. “The police have those goons in custody. I’ll tell you about it later.”

  One of Nathoo’s tormentors decided that their third degree would not force any information out of him. “Where are we going to get rid of this bum?” he asked savagely.

  “The harbor, of course,” a confederate retorted. “A little cement will do the trick.”

  A confused conversation followed until Frank and Joe caught the following dialogue:

  “Is the plane ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. We’ll be in the air in plenty of time to complete the job. The Super S will home in right on target!”

  The Hardys held their breath in the hope of hearing more about the missing missile. What they actually heard was a ferocious barking on the other side of the warehouse. A powerful mastiff came barreling down on them, fangs bared!

  CHAPTER XIX

  The Nerve-Gas Plot

  THE Hardys plunged headlong behind some bales of jute for protection, but the burly mastiff was nearly on them! With snapping fangs, it gave a tremendous spring over the barrier.

  A shot rang out. The dog fell onto the top bale of jute, yelping in pain. Slipping off, it tumbled to the floor and lay still.

  “You fool!” a voice rasped. “Why did you shoot? The watchdog would have killed them for us. Now we’ll have to do the job ourselves!”

  By now Frank and Joe had vanished. Using the bales for a screen, they sneake
d along the wall to a pile of reinforcement bars and crouched low.

  But one of the gang who had circled around spotted them. He raised his gun and fired. With a loud clang the bullet ricocheted off steel about six inches from Frank’s head.

  A second shot barely missed Joe. A clatter of footsteps warned of the gang converging quickly on that part of the warehouse.

  “Joe, this way!” Frank said in a hoarse whisper, and raced toward the middle of the building. There he dived headlong behind a stack of cartons. Joe was right on his heels. Panting, they peered around the corner of the pile.

  The men were scouting the floor in the vicinity of the reinforcement bars. “We’ve lost them!” one growled in disgust. “Go over this place with a fine-toothed comb. We don’t have to worry as long as they don’t get out alive!”

  The pursuers were approaching the stack of cartons. Frank and Joe dashed toward another pile of jute. Bullets cut into the floor as the gang caught sight of them and opened up with a hail of lead.

  Then the shooting stopped. “We’ve got ’em! They’re penned in! Hold your fire!” came a voice.

  Wildly Frank and Joe looked around. They were boxed into a corner of the warehouse. Suddenly Frank seized Joe by the arm and pointed to a ladder. It led up the wall to a platform on the crossbeams overhead.

  “You go first,” he hissed. “Don’t move until I create a diversion to cover the retreat!”

  He picked up a rusty pail standing in the corner. Balancing it in his hand, he lobbed it beyond the cargo, where it careened noisily along the floor. Whirling around, the gang sent a fusillade after it. Slugs tore into the pail, causing it to spin and bounce crazily.

  Joe scrambled up the ladder to the platform before the men below realized they had been tricked. Frank made it by inches as bullets splintered under his foot.

  Rough hands gripped the ladder. Heavy feet hit the rungs. The boys were about to have company.

  No retreat was left except across the platform. “Another ladder!” Frank panted as they reached the opposite end. They slid down to the racket of feet pounding after them. They found themselves near the front door and ran outside.

  To their enormous relief, they were greeted by a group of policemen! Tony and Phil had given the alarm when they heard the first shot in the warehouse!

  The gang came rushing out the door into the arms of the officers.

  Led by Frank and Joe, the policemen entered the warehouse office and released Nathoo who, despite his bruises, was not seriously injured. He promised to testify against the criminals, all of whom proved to be ex-convicts wanted for armed robbery in seaports along the East Coast.

  Mission accomplished, Phil and Tony returned home. Frank and Joe, after phoning their father, made arrangements to meet him in Washington for a top-priority meeting with Admiral Rodgers.

  During the ride to the Pentagon, Fenton Hardy told the boys some dramatic news.

  “Chief Collig got a report on the thumbprint you left with him. Teddy Blaze has a record. Started as a boy delinquent, graduated to the rank of thief, and became a disk jockey in prison.”

  Frank let out a low whistle. “I thought so!”

  “That’s not all. Collig thinks Blaze may be the ringleader of a gang of thieves operating in the East. He also suspects that this ring may have been infiltrated by agents of a foreign power.”

  Upon arriving at the Pentagon, the Hardys went directly to Admiral Rodgers’ office, who listened soberly to the detective’s summation of the case. Frank and Joe added their own comments.

  “You’ve gathered so much information,” the admiral said, “that there’s no point in holding back on the rest of what we know. I told you that the tape from Commander Wenn’s office contained classified data. Well, here’s the story:

  “One of the voices on the tape mentioned Colorado. The government has nerve gas stored there underground, in natural caves. There’s been some talk about this—residents complaining about the danger if an earthquake tremor should split the ground and the stuff got out into the air. One farmer charges that his cattle have already been affected by leakage.”

  Mr. Hardy frowned. “Is that true?”

  “No. All of these accusations are unfounded.

  The gas is in containers that can’t be cracked by an earthquake and are leakproof. The real peril is that someone might use artificial means to release it. I mean, explosives!”

  Frank and Joe looked at their father, who stared at the admiral. None of them had realized the deadly nature of the threat to the nation.

  “I see you’re startled,” Rodgers went on. “So were we when we listened to the tape the first time. Another angle. Army intelligence found a wooden shack in the woods near where the nerve gas is stored. Brand new, and clearly put up in a hurry after the last patrol had been through the area. Inside was a large electrical heating unit.”

  “A heating unit?” Frank repeated. “For what?”

  “The thing puzzled us, too. If it had been a cache of dynamite, the explanation would be simple. Enemy agents intended to touch off an explosion that would break the crust of the earth, crack the gas containers, and turn the lethal vapor loose. An electrical heating unit didn’t seem to make much sense.”

  “Is it still there?” Joe inquired.

  “Yes, but inoperable. We took no chances. A couple of key parts were removed in utmost secrecy. Of course we didn’t want to scare the agents off.”

  “Let’s see,” Mr. Hardy said thoughtfully. “We’ve got a missile missing, a store of highly dangerous nerve gas, an electrical heating unit—”

  “There’s the connection, Dad!” Frank burst out. “The Super S is programmed for heat. Whoever has the missile must have set up that heating unit in Colorado! They want to send the Super S crashing into it with enough force to smash both the cave ceilings and the nerve-gas containers!”

  The admiral nodded. “That’s what we figured.”

  “And there’s the explanation of the Bombay Boomerang!” Joe put in, barely able to control his excitement. “We’ve been assuming that Bombay is one word because we’ve only heard it spoken. We never saw it written down.”

  “I get you,” Frank said. “It might be two words: Bomb bay. The Super S is an air-to-ground missile. So bomb bay would refer to the fact that it’s launched from an airplane! And the crooks said the plane was ready!”

  Mr. Hardy spoke up. “Boomerang also makes sense. The whole operation has been planned to make the nerve gas boomerang on the United States. It’s a great code word!”

  “Your theory sounds perfectly plausible,” Admiral Rodgers said gravely. “Military precautions must be taken without delay. I’ll start the ball rolling by informing the Secretary of Defense and the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Are you going back to Bayport now?”

  Mr. Hardy nodded. “I think our mission here is accomplished.”

  The admiral pressed a buzzer and an aide came in. “Order a car for these gentlemen, please!” Rodgers said, and the aide disappeared.

  “Mr. Hardy, I’m grateful to you and your sons,” the admiral said to the detective. “You’ve done a fine job. Your car will be here in about ten minutes. Meanwhile, I’d better get to work.”

  He escorted the Hardys to the elevator and shook hands all around. Seconds later the Hardys emerged on the ground floor and made their way to a spot outside where official cars pulled in to pick up passengers.

  A car driven by a chauffeur eased up to the curb. A second man in uniform got out and opened the back door with a deferential bow to the Hardys. “Your limousine, gentlemen.”

  Mr. Hardy laughed. “The U. S. Navy is a lot speedier than Admiral Rodgers imagines!”

  “Yes, sir,” the man replied smoothly. “We do our best to please. If you will get in, we’ll have you at the airport in a jiffy.”

  As the Hardys climbed in, the uniformed man slammed the door and rejoined the chauffeur in the front. The car took off with a jolt that threw the passengers against the back seat. They
swished down the drive, through the Pentagon grounds, and out into the street.

  “He came fast and he’s going even faster,” Mr. Hardy remarked, rubbing his elbow where it had hit the armrest.

  “We’d better tell him to take it a little easier,” Frank proposed. “We’re not in that much of a hurry.”

  “Besides, we’re liable to pile into somebody,” Joe added as the car snaked swiftly through the maze of traffic.

  “Say!” Mr. Hardy spoke up in alarm. “This guy isn’t going to the airport. He must be a numb-skull as well as a cowboy. We ought to buy him a map of Washington!”

  Frank rapped sharply on the glass partition that separated the front and the rear of the limousine. The man next to the driver turned around and gave an evil grin.

  “These characters aren’t working for the Navy!” Mr. Hardy exploded. “They’re phonies! We’re being kidnapped!”

  CHAPTER XX

  Secret in the Air

  THE man leering at them slid open the glass panel on his side of the car. A long, narrow cylinder appeared in his hand, pointing straight into the back seat.

  “A pencil gun,” Joe muttered. “Just what the well-dressed thug is wearing this year.”

  Frank spoke with barbed sarcasm. “Excuse me, but you seem to be headed in the wrong direction.”

  “Have fun while you can, wise guy!” the man snapped. “You don’t have an awful lot of time left!”

  “Mind telling us where we’re going?” Mr. Hardy inquired.

  “You’re the detective. Take a guess!” The driver sniggered at his partner’s humor. The two were enjoying themselves.

  The limousine swung deeper into Virginia, and turned off into a lonely wooded section where tall trees shaded thick undergrowth. Residential districts had been left far behind. Only hunters were likely to be seen in this part of the state. And even they would not be coming through until months later when the hunting season began.

  “I’ll tell you a secret,” the driver said. “We’re on our way to a funeral. Your funeral. We’ve got a hole in the ground already dug for you.”