No Way Out

by Franklin W. Dixon

  A Dead End

  Her voice was loud and her words were fast. “We can’t figure out what happened. There’s nothing, no clue. You’ve got to help us!”

  “Slow down,” Frank said gently as he joined Joe at the door. “Of course we’ll help. What happened?”

  “It’s Dad,” Kay said. Her glance darted from Joe to Frank and back to Joe again. Her voice was suddenly soft and shaky, as if she were trying to swallow her words. “He’s disappeared!”

  The Hardy Boys Mystery Stories

  #109 The Prime-Time Crime

  #110 The Secret of Sigma Seven

  #139 The Search for the Snow Leopard

  #140 Slam Dunk Sabotage

  #141 The Desert Thieves

  #143 The Giant Rat of Sumatra

  #152 Danger in the Extreme

  #153 Eye on Crime

  #154 The Caribbean Cruise Caper

  #156 A Will to Survive

  #159 Daredevils

  #160 A Game Called Chaos

  #161 Training for Trouble

  #162 The End of the Trail

  #163 The Spy That Never Lies

  #164 Skin & Bones

  #165 Crime in the Cards

  #166 Past and Present Danger

  #167 Trouble Times Two

  #168 The Castle Conundrum

  #169 Ghost of a Chance

  #170 Kickoff to Danger

  #171 The Test Case

  #172 Trouble in Warp Space

  #173 Speed Times Five

  #174 Hide-and-Sneak

  #175 Trick-or-Trouble

  #176 In Plane Sight

  #177 The Case of the Psychic’s Vision

  #178 The Mystery of the Black Rhino

  #179 Passport to Danger

  #180 Typhoon Island

  #181 Double Jeopardy

  #182 The Secret of the Soldier’s Gold

  #183 Warehouse Rumble

  #184 The Dangerous Transmission

  #185 Wreck and Roll

  #186 Hidden Mountain

  #187 No Way Out

  The Hardy Boys Ghost Stories

  Available from ALADDIN Paperbacks

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  First Aladdin Paperbacks edition October 2004

  Copyright © 2004 by Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  ALADDIN PAPERBACKS

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster

  Children’s Publishing Division

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  The text of this book was set in New Caledonia.

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  4 6 8 10 9 7 5

  THE HARDY BOYS MYSTERY STORIES is a trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  THE HARDY BOYS and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  Library of Congress Control Number 2004100584

  ISBN-13: 978-0-689-86738-5

  eISBN-13: 978-1-439-11363-9

  ISBN-10: 0-689-86738-7

  Contents

  Chapter 1: Bull’s-Eye

  Chapter 2: A Knight in the Woods

  Chapter 3: The Hidden Passage

  Chapter 4: The Gauntlet Is Thrown

  Chapter 5: Pay the Piper

  Chapter 6: Vanished!

  Chapter 7: Which Way to China?

  Chapter 8: Hack, You’re It

  Chapter 9: Ring of Fire

  Chapter 10: Fly-by-Knight

  Chapter 11: The Phantom Archer

  Chapter 12: Cracking the Code

  Chapter 13: The Marble Shaft

  Chapter 14: An Unexpected Ally

  Chapter 15: The Gallant Knights

  NO WAY OUT

  1 Bull’s Eye

  The cannon explosion drowned out even the bagpipes’ drone. As the crowd jumped up and cheered, Joe Hardy felt his pulse pumping. This was going to be a great week!

  He stood in the middle of the huge stadium, his arm raised out to the side. Inside his heavy leather glove, beads of sweat popped up on his fist and cascaded down his arm. He squinted against the sun, keeping his eye trained on the man standing about fifty yards away. When he heard the man’s low whistle, Joe braced himself.

  The man peeled the tiny leather hood off the head of the peregrine falcon perched on his arm and whistled again. Then he thrust his arm into the air.

  Joe didn’t move—for a few seconds, he didn’t even breathe. Then the fastest bird in the world shot straight at him like a feathered bullet, its yellow talons glinting in the sun. It hit him within seconds, landing perfectly on his arm and sinking its razor beak into the chunk of steak on his glove.

  Joe gulped a burst of air when he heard the man’s low whistle for the third time. The falcon looked deep into Joe’s blue eyes for a moment. Then its head whipped around and it rose into the air. With one powerful swoop, it folded its wings back and torpedoed to the man across the field.

  Joe took a few more quick breaths, and then the crowd noise roared through his ears again. He brought his arm down and looked at the glove, now spotted with a few glistening drops of steak blood.

  “Yes!” Frank Hardy exclaimed, running onto the field and clapping his brother’s shoulder. “That was totally awesome!”

  “Good job!” Ray and Kay Horton added in unison.

  “Give them a bow or a salute or something,” Kay urged. “You were a great volunteer! Most people duck when the bird flies at them.”

  Joe looked into the stands and waved to the spectators. “It’s a pretty incredible feeling,” he admitted. Then he and the others walked off the field.

  It was a late spring evening on Cape Breton Island, Nova Scotia. The Hardys had known seventeen-year-old twins Ray and Kay for years, but had never been to their home, EagleSpy. The twins’ father, Chezleigh Alan Horton—or Alan, as he liked to be called—was a Mazemaster, one of a few elite maze architects who had gained world recognition for their intricate and complex designs.

  Alan bought the estate because the grounds included a very old maze, which had been ignored for decades. He restored and expanded the maze into one that would challenge even the toughest maze conquerors. Then he scheduled a preview week—by invitation only—of medieval games and festivities that would lead up to the public opening of the maze. When Ray invited the Hardys to the exclusive preview week, they jumped at the chance.

  Frank, Joe, and the Horton twins walked toward the stands set up around the tournament stadium. As they approached, they heard the bagpipes.

  “You two go up to the box,” Kay said to Frank and Ray. “Joe and I will get us all some food.”

  Ray led Frank to the family seats, the best in the house. “The heraldry parade is supposed to start as soon as the pipers finish,” he said.

  “Man, what a wild group!” Frank looked around the stadium. Out on the field were sword-swallowers, jugglers, and a fire-eater up on a platform. Musicians played lutes, mandolins, and Celtic harps.

  “Are you and Joe going to be in any of the maze competitions?” Ray asked Frank. “There’ll be the main one, of course, plus relay races and other team deals. You guys can buddy up with a couple of other entrants for the relay, if you want.”

  “Absolutely,” Frank answered. “We’re up for all of it. Joe plans to win a few prizes.” The Hardys didn’t look like brothers. Joe was the same age as the twins and had the same blond wavy hair and blue eyes, but Fr
ank had short dark hair and brown eyes. Although Frank was a year older and a couple of inches taller, Joe was more athletic.

  Joe and Kay returned to the box with snacks for all. “So, are we having fun yet?” Kay yelled over the noise. A late-afternoon breeze filtered through her sun-streaked hair.

  “Definitely,” Frank said with a wide grin as Joe and Kay sat down in their bleacher seats. He started to say something, but gave up trying. The bagpipers were winding back up to an even higher pitch, and all talk was useless. Even the television broadcasters had stopped filing their reports in front of bright lights and grinding videocams down on the field.

  Men and women dressed like medieval knights, ladies, swordsmen, and peasants were sprinkled throughout the stands and on the stadium field below. Brigands, reivers, and archers swaggered through the gathering. Many of the spectators wore masks, hoods, or armor helmets. The falconer stood off by himself, his hooded raptor perched like a statue on his fist. Joe felt a rush as he remembered the bird landing on his wrist.

  “Are we on TV?” Frank asked the twins. He pointed to a couple of men with video cameras. “Or is Alan recording all of this?”

  “You guessed it,” Ray said. “Dad hired them.”

  “That studio’s pretty famous around here,” Kay said. “They do documentaries for clients all over the world. Dad’s thinking he might put together a series on mazes and market it to some cable station.”

  “Excellent,” Joe said. From his seat he could see the medieval bazaar in the large meadow between the stadium and the maze. Hundreds of vendors had set up booths and tables to sell authentic, and reproductions of, medieval wares.

  The opening parade began with a blast of long herald trumpets. Alan and his wife, Penny, leading a double column of special guests and dignitaries, rode through the stadium on horses draped with colorful cloths and sporting long, flowing ribbons braided through their manes and tails.

  After the parade, the Hardys and the twins watched a jousting demonstration. But they left early to help Alan set up for the ribbon-cutting.

  “Good job with the falcon, Joe,” Penny said when they arrived.

  “I’ll say,” Alan agreed. He clapped Joe’s shoulder in a firm grip. “Now give me a hand with this platform.”

  “The opening event in the maze is a relay,” Kay explained to the Hardys. “And the teams will all be from the international press corps that Dad invited. It’ll be fun.”

  “And great publicity,” Penny added with a wink.

  By the time the rest of the spectators arrived at the maze, twilight had crept over the horizon, swallowing up the last rays of the sun. Everyone gathered in front of the nine-foot outer hedge wall. The opening was draped in a purple cloth. The curtain was bordered by swaying poles of heraldic banners and by authentic twenty-foot-high medieval torches that shot flames toward a sky flushed with gray and orange.

  Alan stood on a small platform near the maze entrance so everyone could see him while he made his opening remarks.

  “My dear friends and colleagues,” he began, “as you all know, mazes and labyrinths have been unearthed in the ruins of nearly all cultures across the globe. They date back to 1800 B.C. This maze is not that old, but I feel as though I’ve been working on it nearly that long!”

  The crowd joined in Alan’s laughter.

  “As most of you know, I’ve worked on this maze design for nearly four years. The basics of a unique puzzle were already here, but I’ve added a few touches of my own.”

  “No surprises there, eh, mate?” a voice called from the crowd, which responded with cheers and hoots of approval. Frank looked back through the gathering. The caller was a man Ray had pointed out earlier, a maze specialist from Australia.

  “Some of you know me pretty well,” Alan said, nodding and grinning at the crowd. “That’s why you’re here. Except for you, ladies and gentlemen of the press, this group represents the fiercest maze competitors in the world, and even a few true Mazemasters. I’m proud and honored that you have accepted my invitation to try your hand at this creation. I consider it my masterpiece.”

  Another cheer exploded from the crowd.

  “As I told you in the invitation, the main competition will be a form of a scavenger hunt. You’ll need just three tools to win it: your experience with labyrinths, your proven acute powers of observation, and a Global Positioning System receiver. Most of you probably brought your own GPS. I have a few to lend, if necessary. And for those of you who are interested, embedded journalists will race with you.” He gestured toward the men with cameras.

  The Hardys nodded at each other. They had the latest version of GPS units, and had used them a couple of times to help solve crimes.

  “The invitation did not mention the prizes that will be awarded to those who solve the maze puzzle,” Alan continued.

  The crowd hushed. “Wait till you hear this,” Kay whispered to the Hardys with a wide grin. “It’s spectacular.”

  “The maze champion in the scavenger hunt competition will be awarded this.” Alan reached into a large velvet bag hanging from his shoulder and pulled out a shiny object. He held it up, and a golden glow shot off rays in the light of the blazing torches. “It’s one of the treasures from my personal collection,” he announced. “An authentic gilded gauntlet from medieval Scottish heraldry. My ancestor won this gauntlet from an archrival in a jousting match like the ones we’ll have here tomorrow. And you will have the opportunity to win the gauntlet from me by solving my maze and its puzzle.”

  The crowd erupted into a third cheer. “What’s that noise?” Joe said to his brother.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Frank called back over the rollicking shouts of the spectators.

  “No… not the crowd noise,” Joe said. “Listen!”

  The cheers died down, and Frank heard an odd whistling sound that accompanied Alan as he continued to explain the rules of the competition.

  “Is it the bagpipers winding up for the ribbon-cutting?” Frank murmured.

  “I don’t think so,” Joe answered. “It sounds more like something flying, like something in the air, like—”

  Golden-red sparks rained down on the crowd. People began slapping at their clothes and hair and at the people standing near them, snuffing out tiny embers. The whistling grew louder as a flaming arrow shot over the crowd in a perfect are and landed in the maze wall.

  2 A Knight in the Woods

  When the blazing arrow landed in the hedge wall, it flickered for a moment, and then fanned into flames.

  The crowd quickly divided into three groups. Some panicked and ran away. The reporters took notes, spoke into backpack recorders and cameras, and filmed the growing fire. Others raced to help squelch the flames.

  “Come on,” Joe said to Frank. “I think the arrow came from the bleachers. The archer could have hustled up to one of the top rows so he could get a clear view.”

  The Hardys hurried toward the stadium, reversing the direction the arrow had taken. A lot of people were running in all directions, so they had to fight to follow their route.

  “Let’s split up,” Frank suggested. “You go around that way, and I’ll take the east side. Be sure to scan under the bleachers. Look for signs of a small fire. The archer had to light the arrow somewhere.”

  They took separate paths around the field.

  Frank divided his search between weaving in and out under the bleacher stands and gazing over the field and the meadows beyond. He saw nothing suspicious. Finally, he met up with Joe at the opposite end of the field.

  “Nothing,” Joe declared.

  “Me neither,” Frank said. He peered out around the perimeter of the meadow to the edge of the forest. “He could be anywhere by now.”

  “I know—and he still could be here, too,” Joe pointed out. “Just milling around with everyone else, or even helping to put out the fire. We don’t have a clue.”

  “Let’s go back,” Frank conceded. “They might need our help at the maze.”<
br />
  As they hurried back across the field, Joe saw a rush of silver in his peripheral vision. He turned quickly and squinted into the dim light around a dense woods in the distance. “Do you see something over there?” he asked his brother. “There … toward the trees.”

  Frank looked in the direction Joe pointed. “No, I don’t see anything. What is it?”

  “I’m not sure,” Joe said. “Looked like somebody disappearing into the woods—somebody in silver.”

  “Like someone dressed in chain mail armor?” Frank said, taking off with a burst of energy. Joe was close behind.

  The Hardys sprinted toward the woods. When they got to the edge, Frank heard crunching twigs, and a swishing sound like something brushing against the leaves. They followed as far as they could until the forest was too dense and dark to navigate.

  Frank grabbed Joe’s arm and shook his head. He knew that without light they’d be foolish to go any farther. They could walk into a dangerous trap.

  “Let’s go back,” Joe whispered, as if he’d read Frank’s mind. He turned around and began retracing his steps out of the woods. With each step, he scanned the ground and the surrounding shrubs and weeds. They saw some trash left by the costumed spectators, but nothing that looked like it could be a clue to their quarry’s whereabouts or identity.

  As they hurried back to the maze, Frank stopped suddenly. “Wait a minute,” he said. “I’ve got an idea.” He led Joe over to a platform that had been rolled to the edge of the field.

  “The fire-eater!” Joe said. “Of course. Whoever shot that arrow could have used his platform.”

  “And used the fire-eater’s equipment to flame the arrow.”

  The platform was empty, and there was no sign of the trunk that contained the flammable liquids, ignition devices, and wands that the fire-eater slid down his throat.

  When the Hardys arrived at the edge of the maze wall, the fire was nearly extinguished. A small truck from the local village had arrived and pumped steady pulses of water onto the hedge. The crowd had thinned, but those who remained crowded around Alan and his family, consoling them and offering their help and support.