"That's right, Chiefy, Virus Strain A - intended to leave its victims totally unconscious, but alive." A hoarse laugh grated through the speaker. "And you'll be happy to know it works. It works perfectly. Fenton Hardy will stay just the way you saw him until we stop feeding him through IVs or cure him with a special antibody we've created. So," the voice said after a slight pause, "are you convinced?"
"Convinced of what?" Peterson was keeping his voice calm and level, but the effort was showing.
"That we have the scientific capability of carrying out our threat. You know, for a guy that's running for mayor, you're not so smart."
Peterson ignored the slur. "I have no definite proof, but I'll have to believe you. Now may I ask what threat?"
"Well," the voice said, “Virus Strain A isn't our only weapon. We also have Virus Strain B. So far we've used it only on laboratory animals, but it kills those little rats amazingly quickly after several minutes of excruciating agony, that is."
There was a silence. Then the voice said what? No more questions? I thought for sure you would jump in with the one you should be dying to ask."
“Which is?"
“What do we plan to do with Virus B?" said the voice gleefully. Peterson took a long, deep breath. “Okay, what are you planning to do?"
“We are going to release Virus B in six of New York's largest buildings. There'll be at least fifty thousand dead-and that'll be just the beginning. The entire city will go crazy with fear. New York will turn into a madhouse-and then into a ghost town."
"You're the one who's crazy, if you expect me to believe that," said Peterson.
"You've seen what we've done to Fenton Hardy. And you said you believe us. And you also witnessed what we were able to do at your gathering this evening. It will be just as easy to fill buildings with our virus as it was to fill that room in the hotel with smoke." "Let's say for the sake of argument that you can do it," said Peterson. “Why would you?" "Once again you're not asking the right question," the voice said sharply. “The only question that should concern you is why we wouldn't do it.”
"Okay, why wouldn't you?"
"We won't do it if we receive twenty million dollars in used fifty and hundred dollar bills.”
Peterson was poker-faced as he answered, "How do you expect me to come up with that kind of money?"
"This city is filled with banks, big businesses, millionaires, and tax collectors, Mr. Police Chief.
I'm sure if you explain to certain people what they will lose if the money isn't paid, they'll decide that the price is cheap." "But all that will take time."
"We're willing to be reasonable," said the voice. "We'll give you three days to get the money together. After you've done that, we'll tell you how to deliver it."
"Three days! That's not - "
"Actually," said the voice, "if you don't get it in two days, we'll help you speed up the collection process."
"What do you mean?"
"Believe me you don't want to find out. Oh, yes," the voice went on, "one more thing. Don't try to use the time we're giving you to hunt us down. The moment we spot a single cop, Fenton Hardy dies." "But - "
"But nothing," said the voice. "Just goodbye."
"Not so fast," said Peterson. "I want - ” Then he realized he was speaking into a dead line, and his expression tensed. "I was hoping to keep him on longer," he told Joe and Frank. "But I guess he talked long enough."
Frank understood immediately. "You've got a tracer on your phone. That's it, isn't it?"
"Sharp thinking," the chief said. "The tracer is part of a computerized system. As soon as I heard the kidnapper's voice, I pressed this button here. The call was instantly traced, and the nearest patrol cars were sent to the address. We should be getting news of the capture any minute now. I can't wait to see the look on your dad's face when he learns how fast we've rescued him. That should show him how far we've come since he left the force." The phone rang. Smiling, Peterson picked up the receiver.
"Well?" he said expectantly. "You have him?" His smile vanished. "That's impossible," he said. "Check it out. And if you can't come up with anything, check it out again." Peterson slammed down the receiver. "These so-called technical experts can't do anything right!" he exploded. Then he got control of himself. "It’s the tracer system," he said in a cold, even voice. "It doesn't work."
"What's the trouble?" Frank asked anxiously. "They couldn't trace the call?"
"They traced it, all right," said Peterson. "But the computer readout said the call had been made from a spot in the middle of Lexington Avenue, between Forty-second and Forty-third streets."
Joe slumped in his chair, as his brother sat up. "Maybe the call was made from a car phone," Frank suggested.
"Not a chance," Peterson came back. "The person making the call didn't move one inch. And not even a city traffic jam would result in a car's sitting in one place that long-at least, not without our knowing about it."
"Then what's going on?" Joe wondered.
"A snafu," said Peterson bitterly. "We're back where we were before we started. Square zero." He paused, and when he spoke again his voice was hoarse. "Actually, we're worse off. We can't make a move without putting your dad's, life on the line. You can bet that from now on those scum will be watching for any sign of our coming after them. So for the time being, we're paralyzed. "
Frank suddenly got to his feet, his abruptness startling not only Peterson but Joe as well. "Well," he said, "if we can't do anything but wait, there's no sense in our hanging around. We might as well head back to Bayport. At least that way we'll be able to make excuses for Dad's absence if it lasts more than a few days."
"But we can't leave the city” Joe protested. "I'm sorry, but Frank's right," Peterson said. "There's nothing you kids can do here."
"That's what you say," said Joe, his temper flaring.
"Come on,” Frank said, pulling at him. "You know, it's really a drag always have to keep cool for both of us."
"What's really a drag is you playing Mr. Goody Goody all the time," Joe answered, the expression in his eyes furious.
"Look," Peterson said, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice, "I know how upset you must be, but I don't have time to waste listening to your squabbles. I've got things to do, people to contact. "
"What do you mean, 'people to contact'?" Joe snapped. "I thought we were paralyzed."
"I'll be talking to people about raising the ransom," Peterson said. "I don't intend to pay those scum" his eyes went down "but I don't want to let your father or the city down, either."
Frank nodded. He tugged at Joe's arm. "We might as well get out of here and let Chief Peterson do what he has to."
Joe's first reaction" was to shake Frank off, but then he caught the message in his brother's eyes.
"Okay, big brother, don't push too far," Joe said, angry for Peterson's benefit. "I'm coming. We'll settle this outside."
Peterson shook hands with both boys. Then he put an arm around each of them as they walked to the door.
"Remember, Frank," he said, "keep your head and make sure your brother hangs on to his."
"I'll do my best," Frank promised convincingly.
"All right, what's up?" Joe demanded as soon as they were out of Peterson's office. "I could see from that look you gave me that something's going on in that busy brain of yours.
"We need a good night's sleep," Frank said. "We're going to a hotel, and tomorrow we're going into action!"
Chapter 4
OUTSIDE IN THE morning Joe had only one question. "Where to?" He felt too tired to say more than that. He had spent an awful night, twisting and turning. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw his father lyihg in that coffin, barely breathing.
Frank too, hadn't slept well. He had had nightmares about searching for his father through scenes of plague and desolation. New Yorkers Were struggling like rats in traps, spreading the deadly virus until the whole city was exterminated. He blinked his eyes and finally ans
wered his brother's question. "Grand Central Station."
"Great," Joe complained, looking at the crowded sidewalks. “We'll never get there."
"If we don't crack this case; there won't be anyone in the streets," Frank muttered, pulling his brother into a subway entrance. “The police can't make a move without putting Dad in deadly danger, so it's up to us to track down the kidnappers."
"Call them terrorists because that's what they are," said Joe, his fists clenched.
"Whatever you call them, they won’t be on the lookout for us," said Frank quietly, and he ran to buy two tokens. "That's why I didn't tell Peterson about the lead I thought of. He might have been tempted to send cops out to follow it up," he said after he and Joe were on the train.
"Brilliant observation, Sherlock," said Joe. "But tell me one other thing. What's this lead of yours? Or do you want to keep me in the dark too?"
"I'm surprised you didn't spot it right away," Frank said in the maddening manner he sometimes had.
"I was too busy seeing red. Frank, just thinking about those terrorists made me - "
"You know," Frank broke in, "if you saw less red, you might see more clues."
"Look," Joe snapped, "forget the big brother lecture and just give me the lowdown." "Always so impatient." Frank sighed. "But, if you insist, it was the videotape, Mr. Detective. A weird off-brand. Kajimaki Industries, it said. There can't be many stores that carry it and maybe we can find out if a clerk remembers anyone buying some recently. The brand's unusual enough so that it might stick in someone's mind. The lead's worth checking anyway seeing as we have nothing else to go on."
“So where are we heading now?" asked Joe.
"There's a hole-in-the-wall computer store near Grand Central," said Frank, who was a dedicated PC buff. "I've bought hard-to-get computer parts there, and I've noticed the place carries a lot of cheap foreign videotapes. If nothing else, we can ask them the names of other stores to look in."
"Hmm," Joe grunted grudgingly. “Once in awhile you do come up with an Okay idea."
"Let's hope this one pans out," said Frank. "As Peterson said, otherwise it's back to square zero."
Joe looked out the window. "Well, here's where we find out," he said as the train came to a grinding halt at the Grand Central Station stop.
The boys joined the flow of passengers moving rapidly out of the car. Ina minute they found a sign telling them which ramp to take to the surface.
"What a maze down here," said Joe. "Makes me feel like A mouse in a laboratory experiment." He looked around at all the people jostling past. It was as if everyone was in a race to be the first up the ramp. "One mouse in a mob of mice.”
“The subways are just part of the underground," said Frank. "There are the railroad lines here, too. Plus a lot of other facilities. I once read a newspaper article on Grand Central Station. It said that so many different things have been built under the station since it first went up that nobody has a complete map of them all."
"Who would want one?" said Joe as they reached the top of the ramp. "Give me life above ground anytime."
Joe didn't feel much better, though, after they made their way through the crowded station and exited up on the street.
"I still feel like I'm underground,” he said. They were on a sidewalk that lay in the permanent shadow of towering buildings. Only a narrow strip of bright blue sky above them proved that it was still broad daylight. Edging the blue were dark gray clouds that would bring rain later.
Frank put his hand on Joe's arm. "Wait," he said. "Here's the store."
On the window was a big sign proclaiming SUPER SALE! GOING OUT for BUSINESS! with the word for written in nearly invisible ink. Inside were display counters jammed with every conceivable kind of electronic goods.
"Kajimaki videotape?" said the salesman. "You're in luck. We're the only place in town that carries it. The company went out of business last year, and we snapped up their last shipment. That's why we're able to offer it at an unbelievably low price. In fact, if you buy one of our new VCRs, also on special sale, we'll toss in five tapes free." “Actually, we just want some information," said Frank. The eager gleam in the salesman's eyes faded. “You want information?" he said. “There's a big booth inside Grand Central Station that'll give you information. They'll even give it for free. This place is a store. We sell things. You give us money, we give you merchandise. Got it?" Frank and Joe exchanged glances. This man was so warm-so friendly. “Look, I'd like to buy Some of those video tapes," Frank began. “in fact, if the price is right, maybe I'll buy you out. But first I want to be sure the stuff is okay," he said. "You ever get any complaints ?"
“Absolutely not," said the salesman indignantly. "Do you think this establishment would sell anything not backed up with an iron-clad guarantee?"
"Is that your guarantee?" Frank asked, pointing. A small, faded sign was attached to the wall with peeling Scotch tape. In tiny letters, the sign said, "All sales final. Absolutely no refunds." "Oh that," said the salesman. "That's just to discourage cranks." That got a smile from Frank. "Well," he said, "not that I don't believe you, but maybe you can tell me if you've sold many of these tapes."
"Sold many? Of course we have," said the salesman.
"How many?" asked Frank.
“A lot," said the salesman.
"How many is a lot?" asked Frank.
"Quite a few," said the salesman.
"How many is quite a few?" asked Frank. "A number," said the salesman.
"What number?" asked Frank.
"Just yesterday a guy came in and bought a couple of tapes," the salesman said.
"Just one person has bought Kajimaki tape?"
"For pete's sake, kid, we just got the shipment in a couple of days ago. Kajimaki doesn't have brand recognition."
"So why did this guy buy it?" asked Frank. "To tell the truth, he didn't actually buy it. I offered to toss it in free when he was trying to decide if he wanted to buy a video camera-also on special sale, incidentally. Maybe you'd like to take a look at one. I'll make you a deal you won't believe. "
Frank pretended to consider. He looked at Joe, as if asking an opinion. Joe shrugged. "I'm not so sure," he said. "You think we can trust this guy?"
Frank turned back to the salesman. "Look, don't worry about my friend here. It's not that I don't trust you, but maybe you could tell me who this other person was who bought the tape. Maybe you even have his name on a credit card receipt. That way I could get in touch with him. I could check out if he's happy with it." "No luck," the salesman said. "The guy paid in cash for the whole thing. Some people do it that way. Crisp hundred-dollar bills. I don't ask where they get them."
"Actually, I buy things the same way," said Frank. "In fact, most of my crowd does." He knew he had to try to squeeze out the last bit of information fast, before the salesman began to get suspicious. "Actually, this guy might be somebody I know. A real big spender a video freak, too. He told me he was going to buy some new equipment. Was he a tall, skinny guy with red hair?"
"No," said the salesman. "This guy was tall all right, but he must have weighed three hundred pounds. Plus, he was bald and had a black beard. A little weird looking, you might say, but easy to remember."
"Guess it wasn't Tim," said Frank, quickly mentioning a name. "Too bad there's no way I could find out who he is, or be able to contact him. Look, if he ever comes in again, maybe you could get more information about him and call me. I can give you a phone number."
"Yeah, right," said the salesman, his interest fading as his hopes for a sale dimmed. Then suddenly his eyes brightened. "Hey, what a break!" Frank and Joe wheeled around to see where he was looking. Filling the doorway was the mountain of a man that the salesman had just described.
Before they could make a move, the salesman was out from behind his counter and past them to greet the customer.
"Hello, sir!" he said. "Glad to see you again. Hope you were happy with that great Kajimaki tape you got. As a matter of fact
, these two young men are interested in buying some. Maybe you could tell them - "
He didn't get to finish his sentence. The big, bald, bearded man pivoted instantly and vanished from the doorway.
The salesman turned toward the Hardy boys. "Hey," he said, "I'm sorry. I don't know what got into - "
But he didn't get to finish that sentence either. Frank and Joe tore past him, desperate to get to the sidewalk before the big man disappeared down the street.
"Hey, wait!" the salesman shouted after them from the store doorway. "I'll give you a deal you can't - " But by that time they were almost out of hearing range. They had spotted the big man racing into Grand Central Station and were running after him, weaving through swarms of pedestrians who constantly held them back. But they did manage to make it into the station shopping arcade just in time to see the man going down a flight of marble stairs.
"Let's go” Joe said, leading the way.
At the top of the stairs, Frank saw a sign: To Trains.
"Quick," he said to Joe, who needed no urging. "He's going to leave town." When they reached the next level down, they saw the man darting into the farthest entrance way in a line of tunnels that led to the different train platforms.
"Let's hope his train isn't pulling away right now," said Joe as they ran after him. They got to the entrance, dashed through, and saw nothing. There was no train on either of the tracks. In front of them, under dim electric light, the long concrete platform stretched empty into the distance. .
Joe clenched his teeth angrily. "He got away!" "But where?" said Frank. "I don't see any way out of here other than the entrance we just came through. And he couldn't have vanished into thin air. Let's check the tracks. Maybe he's crouched down there, hiding." Joe took one side of the platform, Frank took the other. They moved cautiously, ready to spring into action. Every second or two, they glanced across the platform at each other in case one of them suddenly needed help. "Nothing," said Joe disgustedly when they reached the end. "So, what now?"
Frank thought a minute. "Maybe, just maybe," he said, "the creep escaped down the tracks."
Edge of Destruction Page 2