The Arctic Patrol Mystery

by Franklin W. Dixon

  Joe grew even more excited. “Of course! This is the underwater gimmick we suspected. Musselman was towed by the Tek until they came near this landing spot. Then he surfaced and beat it for shore!”

  “At the same time we were transferring to the Albert. That was a close call for him!”

  Frank and Joe left the raft as they had found it and returned to Gummi with their information.

  “Those guys are no amateurs,” the Icelandic boy said. “We’d better be careful.”

  They had to wait almost all day for their rendezvous. When dusk began to settle over the ocean, the skipper took his binoculars and scanned the shore. “Here comes our man now,” he said, and handed the glasses to Frank. A jeep came bouncing over the rough ground. Musselman was at the wheel.

  “In your disguises, quick!” Mar ordered.

  Frank and Joe hastened below, attached their false eyebrows and padded out their cheeks. When they came on deck again, Musselman was there to greet them. Beneath his jacket bulged a pistol in a shoulder holster.

  Frank chuckled inwardly at the confrontation. Disguise versus disguise! Obviously Musselman wore his to mislead Icelandic authorities, but the Hardys knew his secret. They hoped he would never discover theirs!

  Now the man leaped nimbly on deck. Smooth-spoken, he complimented Mar for bringing the boat through such a fierce storm.

  “You wanted a seaworthy boat, and I got one, Mr.——”

  Musselman grinned. “Call me Chief, that’s all you have to know.” He glanced at the three boys, and his eyes returned to the skipper. “You will sail to Greenland for me, but we must avoid the Arctic Patrol.”

  “We are carrying contraband? What kind?”

  A sly smile crossed Musselman’s lips. “Are all Icelanders so inquisitive? Well, I’ll tell you. I have three boxes of rare metal ore. A new find in this part of the world. But the Icelandic government will not let me take it out.” He shrugged. “So we do it anyway. Bring your crew and follow me!”

  The four leaped ashore and walked to the jeep with Musselman. It was an open-top vehicle, much like Gummi’s. Mar sat in front, while the youths squeezed into the back.

  The jeep banged and jounced over the rough ground, heading for the interior. Presently a trail came in sight. It was nothing more than tire tracks which curved and undulated over the barren ground.

  The driver increased his speed, and as they came to a bend around a small gully, the jeep slewed to the right and a rear wheel teetered over the edge.

  “Look out!” Joe shouted.

  The jeep banged on its rear axle before regaining the trail again. Musselman half turned his head toward the back seat.

  “Did someone speak English?” he asked.

  “Nei,” Gummi replied.

  “I have one bad ear,” Musselman said. “I must have heard wrong.”

  Joe kicked himself mentally for the slip of the tongue and determined to be more careful in the future. One false move now, and all would be ruined!

  Presently the ground became even rougher, and soon the jeep stopped. A hundred yards farther and halfway up the edge of a stony slope stood five ponies. The rugged little horses had shaggy coats and waited patiently as the five travelers approached.

  The ponies were saddled and the party mounted Musselman took the lead. They trudged along and rounded a bend in the valley, then turned into a partially hidden glen, shielded by towering chunks of lava.

  Behind one of these stood a large sod hut built into the hillside. A long thin antenna stuck out of the roof.

  Musselman stopped, and after they dismounted led the quartet inside. The interior was sparsely furnished, yet warm and comfortable. The table, chairs, stove, and other accessories were modern.

  The Hardys looked around for the three boxes. None were in sight.

  “Pretty elaborate setup, Joe,” Frank murmured to his brother out of Musselman’s earshot.

  Just then the door opened and another man appeared. Musselman’s pal—the helicopter pilot who had lifted him off the glacier! Now for the first time they heard his name—Diran. He, too, glanced at the Hardys without recognition, then spoke in low tones with his accomplice.

  After a meal of beans, bread, and cold meat, Musselman dragged out some folding cots and directed the boys to turn in for the night.

  Then he and his confederate slipped out into the darkness.

  “Come on, Joe! Now is our chance!” Frank said.

  They hastily pulled on trousers and shoes, crept across the earthen floor, pushed open the door and went out into the night.

  As they rounded a large lava boulder, they heard voices. Both boys ducked down. About ten feet ahead stood the two suspects. The men spoke in a language that neither one of the Hardys had ever heard before.

  Suddenly a chill of fear struck them when Musselman mentioned the name “Hardy.”

  Was the boys’ presence known? Had their cover been blown?

  CHAPTER XVI

  The Boxes

  AT hearing the name “Hardy,” Frank’s heart sank. No doubt the men were well armed. Making a break for it now would be foolhardy. The boys crept back into the sod house and whispered their discovery to Gummi and Mar.

  “I wonder what they intend to do,” Gummi said.

  “Well, we have no choice but to play it by ear,” Joe muttered glumly.

  Only Musselman returned to the hut that night. His confederate remained outside. The boys concluded that he was guarding the door.

  Shortly after daybreak Diran stepped in and began to prepare breakfast. He gave no sign of recognition and the boys were relieved. Perhaps everything was all right, after all.

  Breakfast was a makeshift affair, with everyone eating eggs and bread in tin plates wherever they could find a place to sit.

  Sidling up to Rex Mar, Frank murmured, “Ask them about those boxes.”

  The seaman spoke in English. “The boxes with the contraband, Chief—I do not see any. Where are they?”

  Musselman put down his plate and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Not so fast, Mar. They are not here.”

  “Oh?”

  With a crooked smile Musselman motioned to his accomplice. “Diran and I are leaving for a while. All of you stay here until we come back,” he ordered. “More of my men are outside.”

  After they had left, Frank looked out the small window. Musselman and Diran disappeared be. hind a big volcanic boulder. “Come on,” Frank said tersely to the others. “Let’s search this place.”

  “Right,” Joe added. “We might come up with a clue!”

  The three boys, assisted by Rex Mar, left nothing untouched. They looked into every utensil, pounded the thin mattresses, and pulled out the cots to look beneath them.

  Joe was about to replace Musselman’s bed when his eyes caught a thin crack in the earth floor. “Hey, Frank, look at this!”

  The boys dropped to their hands and knees. Frank pulled out his pocketknife and worked it into the crack, which grew wider.

  Following its course, the knifepoint outlined a square, between two and three feet wide.

  “It’s a trap door of some kind,” Gummi declared.

  Rex Mar stood by fascinated as the young detectives worked feverishly. Frank asked him to stand guard at the window in case the two thugs should return.

  The boys prodded until they found a ring, which they pulled hard.

  Up came the trap door!

  A ladder led into the dark cellar. No light switch was in evidence. “Do you have a cigarette lighter, Mr. Mar?” Joe called out.

  The man reached into his pocket and tossed a lighter. Joe flicked it on and descended.

  “Holy crow, Frank! Come down and take a look at this!”

  Frank climbed down the ladder, and the two found themselves standing in a small room, one side of which was literally covered with radio and electronic equipment.

  “What a sending-and-receiving station!” Joe exclaimed.

  Frank gasped as his eyes roved o
ver the elaborate setup. “This is a top-quality spy center, Joe!”

  The Hardys were skilled at radio transmission, and knew how to operate much of the equipment which gleamed in the glow of the flickering lighter.

  “Frank, I wonder what this is,” Joe said, and lightly touched the edge of a highly polished metal box.

  Suddenly there was a sizzing sound, accompanied by blue sparks. Without a word, Joe sank to the ground. The lighter fell from his hand and was extinguished.

  An icy chill ran down Frank’s spine as he stood in the pitch blackness. He dropped to his hands and knees and searched about until he found the lighter. Flick—it failed to respond. Flick—flick. Finally it burst into flame again, sending its feeble light over Joe’s ashen face.

  Frank felt for his brother’s pulse. He was breathing. “I’ve got to get him out of here, and quick!” Frank thought.

  Just then Gummi leaned over the trap door. “What’s going on down there, fellows? Is everything all right?”

  “No, Joe’s been shocked,” Frank replied. “Come on down and give me a hand. We’ve got to get him up.”

  Gummi descended, and together they lifted Joe’s limp body from the floor. Gummi climbed the ladder first, tugging at the boy’s arms. Frank stood beneath his brother, shoving as hard as he could. Soon the unconscious Joe was lying on the earth floor.

  Frank rolled him quickly out of the way. Gummi replaced the trap door and patted the earth so that the cracks did not show. Then he put the cot back into place.

  Frank, meanwhile, administered artificial respiration to his brother. Suddenly Rex Mar called out, “Here they come!”

  “How far away?” Gummi asked.

  “A hundred yards.”

  Frank worked like fury. Joe’s eyes opened and Frank and Gummi pulled him to his feet. “Snap out of it, Joel” Frank hissed, but his brother was still groggy.

  Half dragging, half walking Joe to his cot, the boys put him down, tucked his hands in behind his head, and crossed his feet, making it look as if he were napping.

  By now Joe was fully conscious but still weak and his left forefinger bore a slight burn.

  “They stopped to talk,” Mar reported.

  Frank wondered what the discussion was about. The boxes, no doubt. A thought, half submerged in his subconscious, now came to the surface strong and clear.

  Three boxes and three missing people!

  Frank whispered his suspicion to Joe and Gummi. Joe looked sick with fear. Were Major McGeorge, Chet, and Biff “the rare metal ore” sealed in those boxes?

  Gummi was more optimistic. “We haven’t seen the boxes yet,” he said. “Maybe they’re only small ones!”

  Joe had a plan. He wanted to break out of the door just as the others were entering, grab one of the ponies, and race back to the Asdis. “I could radio for help,” he said. “I’m certain these fellows have something to do with the missing astronaut.”

  “No doubt,” Frank agreed, but cautioned against any rash move. “Gummi’s right,” he said. “We have to get a look at those boxes before we do anything.”

  “Quiet!” Mar ordered. “They are coming now.”

  The door opened and the two men stepped inside.

  Gummi, who stood beside Frank, quickly stepped to the other end of the room. In doing so, his foot accidentally banged into Diran’s leg. The fellow cursed and hit the Icelandic boy with the back of his hand. Gummi staggered before regaining his balance, but said nothing.

  “Outside, all of you!” Musselman commanded. He spoke in English, and the Hardys pretended not to understand. The chief jerked his thumb toward the door. Frank and Joe walked out behind Gummi and Mar.

  Waiting behind a boulder were three carts with ponies harnessed in readiness. The two men hopped into the first one and beckoned the others to follow. Mar got in one cart with Frank.

  “That fellow Diran didn’t curse in Icelandic,” the seaman whispered.

  “What was it?”

  “Some kind of Balkan language. I heard it when I was shipping in the Black Sea.”

  The lead pony cart wound in and out among the boulders on a trail which slanted up the hillside. Finally the boys realized what their destination was when the yawning blackness of a cavern appeared before them.

  Flashing powerful lights, Musselman and Diran drove right into the cave, beckoning the others to follow. Then Musselman stopped and everyone jumped down.

  “Follow me!” ordered the chief.

  They walked deeper until the light revealed three rectangular boxes in one corner of the volcanic cave. They were made of fresh wood and stood against the wall like oversized coffins!

  CHAPTER XVII

  Shut In

  THE sight of the three boxes propped against the wall of the cave struck fear into the hearts of the boys. Joe gulped and looked about for a possible clue. His eyes lighted upon a khaki jacket crumpled on the hard floor. It bore the U.S. insignia of majorl

  No doubt any more. The astronaut must have been here! Frank also spied the jacket and glanced at Joe. Both had the same plan in mind. With Gummi and Mar they would make a break out of the cave at any cost, and try to get back to the Asdis.

  Joe signaled Gummi, and Frank motioned to Rex Mar. Then Joe let out a bloodcurdling war whoop and made a dash toward the daylight at the mouth of the cave.

  Frank and Gummi raced after him, but Mar had no chance to escape. Musselman had blocked his way the very instant Joe let out his cry.

  Just as the three youths dashed into the open, the cave echoed to the crack of a pistol shot. Two men, lying in wait outside, reacted to the signal.

  They jumped Frank and Gummi and sent them flying. Joe whirled around to join the fierce fracas which followed. Fists flew. Gummi was downed by a blow to the head, but Frank staggered his opponent with a right cross to the jaw.

  Then Musselman and Diran plunged into the fray. A swinging pistol butt sent Joe Hardy to the ground. Frank was seized, and it was all over.

  Pulling stout cords from their pockets, the men tied the boys’ hands behind their backs.

  Just then Rex Mar, looking bewildered, walked out of the cave. “What are you doing to my crew?” he demanded.

  “Quiet!” Musselman snapped.

  The three were dragged to their feet, still reeling under the impact of the assault.

  “These boxes will be of good use after all,” Musselman said and nodded toward the cave. Then he laughed loudly.

  “The major and that fat kid would have been awful heavy anyway,” one of his henchmen said.

  “So would his buddy, the tall one,” said the other.

  Musselman looked grim. “That is not the point. Bring the boxes out. We will go back to the hut and await instructions.”

  The two fellows went inside and carried the boxes out one by one. Then they stacked them on one cart. Musselman ordered the three boys into the second cart, which he drove himself, while Diran and Mar took the third.

  Soon they were back at the sod hut. Frank, Joe, and Gummi were pushed inside and shoved onto the cots. Mar followed and fell into a chair.

  Musselman and Diran sat down also, while the other two men lifted the trap door and disappeared into the radio room below.

  “So we have captured the Hardy boys at last!” Musselman sneered.

  “How did you recognize us?” Frank demanded.

  “Your brother spoke English in a moment of danger. It was not very smart!”

  Joe gritted his teeth. You won’t get away with this, Musselman!”

  His captor merely smiled and went on quietly, “We have gotten away with it already. And it was not easy. You slipped through our net in Bayport, but we caught the little sardines in Iceland!”

  “Let us go!” Gummi hissed. “I’m an Icelander. My countrymen will find us and you’ll pay for it, you finky foreigners!”

  Color rose to Musselman’s face. He pointed to Diran. “Mr. Ionescu and I happen to have Icelandic passports.”

  “Fake ones, of c
ourse,” Joe said sarcastically.

  “Why did you try to get rid of us?” Frank asked.

  “We knew your father was working on the astronaut case and suspected he sent you up here to help.”

  Frank stiffened. So the spies had known all along that his father was involved in the case. Would they try to capture him, too—or perhaps had done so already?

  “Then you tried to pose as Rex Hallbjornsson to get the fifty thousand dollars,” Frank went on.

  Their captor snapped his fingers. “Fifty thousand dollars! It is nothing compared to our real prize. We wanted you—as a ransom to get your father off the case, but now it is too late. You are expendable.”

  Diran Ionescu pointed a finger at his superior. “But you almost did not catch them. They slipped away at the airport, and they got off the glacier, too!” He laughed.

  Musselman snarled, “Quiet! If you had had that plane’s engines tuned up, I could have flown them to the east coast and then to our—”

  He was interrupted by one of his henchmen, who poked his head through the trap door. “I just made contact. Plan B is in operation. They are on their way.”

  Musselman smiled. “Excellent. We are ready.”

  “Ready for what?” Frank thought frantically. He tried to stall further action by taunting their enemies. In a sarcastic voice he said, “You think you’re clever. But we know you got Major McGeorge and threatened to throw him into the sulfur pit unless he gave you NASA secrets. And the Icelandic authorities know it, too!”

  Musselman looked startled, and Frank went on, “But he wouldn’t talk, would he?”

  “He’ll talk when we get him out of this country,” Ionescu boasted. “Then we will have the facilities to make him talk!”

  “And what is your Plan B?” Gummi spoke up.

  Musselman shook his head and said, “You will never know.”

  Just then the sounds of a radio broadcast issued from the trap door. It was from the American base in Keflavik. In terse, short sentences the newscaster broke the big story:

  “Major McGeorge has vanished on his trip to Iceland. A force of Marines is prepared to comb every nook and cranny of the island....”