The Deadliest Dare

by Franklin W. Dixon

  "Are you going to get down here? Or do I have to shoot you off?"

  "D - don't shoot! I mean, hey, I didn't swipe a single thing. I was just — "

  "Look, kid, I'm getting awful tired of this. Just do like I tell you and drop down here." The man's gun wavered a little in annoyance, and Frank took his chance.

  He came down, all right, but not in the way the gunman expected. Releasing his hold on the window ledge, Frank kicked hard against the wall with both feet.

  That sent him out, as well as down. He landed right on top of the surprised thug.

  Even as he was flying through the air, Frank was lining up his first blow. As they fell to the ground in a tangle, Frank's hand reached out for the gunman's wrist.

  But the thug was strong. Before Frank knew what hit him, the blond guy had the gun muzzle pressed against Frank's forehead!

  Chapter 11

  Joe, tied in an antique wooden chair with more of the same plastic line, scanned the ceiling of the cluttered storeroom. He couldn't see anything that looked like a video camera. That meant Branders and his thugs could only hear what was going on, not see Joe or Jeanne. "You go to Miss Sheridan's School, don't you?"

  The dark-haired girl was still on the sofa. But now her hands were tied behind her and her ankles were bound. "Are you really going to carry on some dumb conversation like that guy suggested?"

  Joe winked as broadly as he could. "Well, we'll be stuck here for two days, Jeanne. Might as well pass the time as pleasantly as we can."

  "I don't believe you, Joe Hardy. I thought at least — "

  He shook his head and winked again. "Come on, I know when I'm beaten."

  Jeanne stared at him for a long moment, then nodded back. "Well, maybe you're right."

  "I hear it's a pretty good school."

  "Not really. It's boring, very strict, and there are no boys. It was my mother's idea, sending me there."

  "What are you taking?" After speaking aloud, Joe mouthed another sentence, "I'm going to tip this chair over — make it break." It was barely a whisper.

  "Isn't that danger — I mean, I'm taking English. I hate it, though, because I have to read and write so much."

  "What else do you take?" He mouthed, "Keep talking to cover the noise."

  "Oh, political science. I really like that. I read the Bayport Times every morning."

  "After I fall and get clear, start screaming," he whispered.

  "Yes — uh, I think it's the duty of our generation to take an interest in the world situation. Otherwise the future's going to be as stupid as the present is."

  "Yell that I'm hurt and bleeding. You're afraid I'm dying," he mouthed.

  Nodding, Jeanne kept on talking, about school, her parents, dates, her favorite television shows.

  Joe took just a few minutes to make the wooden chair tip over. It smashed quite satisfactorily on the hard floor.

  Joe got clear, moving to a position at the side of the door, clutching a chair leg. He gave Jeanne a nod.

  "Help!" she cried, sobbing. "Oh, please, can you hear me? He fell over, and he's hurt his head. There's blood all over!"

  As the guard burst through the door, Joe circled down on him with his best roundhouse punch.

  ***

  Frank took a big chance and threw himself forward, smashing the guy's gun hand down. He heard the big automatic thump to the ground.

  Frank rose, kicked the gun into the shadows, and ran through the high, wild grass around the old academy.

  He found another break in the stone wall, ducked through, and dashed for his car. The tires screeched as he took off, barely masking the sound of the gunshot not far behind.

  He drove on, until he found a diner. The fat man behind the counter looked up as Frank came through the door. "How about a dozen doughnuts?"

  "Uh, actually, I just want some change for the phone," Frank told him.

  "A half dozen, then," the man said. "A half-dozen doughnuts for fifty cents is a good deal, my boy."

  "I'm not denying that. But I — "

  "See, I'm planning to close this place in exactly one half hour. Usually I sell out the doughnuts, but tonight I'm stuck with a full dozen left over."

  "Okay, give me a half dozen." Frank slapped a dollar bill on the counter. "I'll use the change for the phone."

  "Why not go for the whole dozen, my boy? You can have them for seventy-five cents. That's an even more astonishing bargain."

  "Fine, great. Just so I get change for the phone."

  The counterman picked up the dollar bill, carried it to his ancient cash register. After whapping it a few times with his fist, nudging it with an elbow, and pushing several keys, he got it open. He returned with the change jingling in his palm. "Eighty, eighty-five — ninety — one buck it is."

  Frank ran to the phone booth at the back of the empty coffee shop. Dropping in his money, he punched in the Hardy home number.

  His aunt Gertrude answered at once. "Hello?"

  "It's Frank. Any news about — "

  "Yes, Joe just called. He's on his way home."

  "Is he okay?"

  "Well, he claims to be, but he sounds as though he's coming down with something," his aunt answered. "He said to tell you he's found the owner of the scarf and is bringing her, too."

  "I'm on my way now." Frank had been debating whether or not to track down Kevin Branders and make him lead the way to where Joe and Jeanne were being held. But he'd decided to check home first. Now he wouldn't have to visit Kevin. Not yet, anyway.

  He was nearly out to the street when the counterman called out, "Hey, wait, you forgot your doughnuts."

  ***

  Joe dug his hand into the paper bag, pulling out another doughnut. "Sure, I can eat at a time like this," he assured his brother. "Just watch me."

  The Hardys and Jeanne, after Frank had persuaded their aunt Gertrude to withdraw, were meeting in the living room.

  "Fine — enjoy them." Frank turned to face Jeanne on the sofa. "Now explain how you got clear of the kidnappers."

  "He was very clever," said Jeanne, smiling at Joe.

  "Well, actually the guy Curt Branders left to guard us was big, but he wasn't smart," Joe said modestly as he took a bite of his second cruller. "After I knocked him out, I figured it was a good idea for us to get clear of that furniture warehouse as soon as possible."

  "You saw Branders? He's in Bayport?"

  "And he's up to his neck in whatever's going on," answered Joe. "He's just using this Circle thing as a cover for something much more serious."

  "But how does this Gramatkee fit in?" Jeanne asked.

  "Willis Gramatkee?" Frank stood up. "The big industrialist? Dad did mention last week that Gramatkee's being pressured to sell out his empire to a big European group."

  Joe frowned. "I knew the name was familiar. Sounds like Gramatkee doesn't want to sell."

  Frank nodded grimly. "But Curt Branders will take care of that, so they can buy from whoever inherits after Gramatkee dies. It works perfectly. Gramatkee has a mansion somewhere between here and Kirkland."

  "Right in Branders's old stamping grounds," Joe pointed out. "So he gets his brother Kevin to start up the Circle as a distraction for the Kirkland and Bayport cops."

  "Better than that," Frank said. "If Gramatkee got killed during, say, a burglary, it'd be blamed on the kids. Nobody would even know about Curt Branders. He'd be out of the country, with no one the wiser."

  "I think that has to be what's going on," agreed Joe.

  "Do you think he'll try to go through with it?" asked Jeanne. "I mean, his plans are falling apart. Thanks to Joe, I'm free and can talk."

  "In the league Branders plays in, he doesn't have a choice — he'll have to go ahead." Frank started pacing. "What we have to do, Joe, is get in touch with the police. I think Con may listen to us."

  Joe opened his mouth to protest, but Frank cut him off. "We may be talking about an assassination here, Joe. We need all the help we can get to prevent it." />
  "You're right," Joe agreed grudgingly.

  Jeanne asked, "What about Biff?"

  "That's right, he's tangled up in this mess, too," said Frank. "I saw him at the meeting place."

  "If we're going to the police," said Jeanne, "Biff should have the chance to come along with us. It's my fault he's in this. I don't want them treating him as though he's some kind of criminal, taking part in Curt's plan."

  "Okay, we'll call him." Joe picked up the telephone and dialed the Hooper home.

  Biff's mother answered. "Yes, hello?"

  "Hi, Mrs. Hooper, it's Joe Hardy. Could I speak to Biff, please?"

  "I'm afraid he's not here." Mrs. Hooper sounded worried.

  Joe checked his watch and noticed it was close to midnight. "Would you happen to know where he is?"

  "I'm somewhat concerned about him myself, Joe," she answered. "He came home a little while ago, very upset, but he wouldn't tell me what was wrong. Then a few minutes ago somebody came by and he went out again."

  "Who was it?"

  "A boy I don't know very well, or care for. His name is Kevin."

  "Kevin Branders?"

  "Yes, that's who. He was even more upset than Biff, saying something important had come up — they had to have a special meeting — "

  Mrs. Hooper suddenly cut off, then said, almost pleadingly, "Do you have any idea what Biff's got himself mixed up with, Joe? I can't help feeling that something is wrong. This isn't like the time he went off to that survival camp, is it?"

  Joe hesitated for a second, remembering how Biff had gotten himself kidnapped by a bunch of mercenaries. Before it was over, Frank, Joe, and Biff had all nearly been killed. "I wouldn't worry, Mrs. Hooper," he finally said. "Would you have any idea where they were going?"

  "I heard Biff say something about not being able to use the academy. And the other boy said they'd use the old barn."

  "Okay, I'm sure you'll be hearing from him soon. Good night, ma'am." Hanging up, Joe turned to Jeanne, "The old barn — where is it?"

  "It's the one at the deserted apple orchard about a mile above the academy," she said.

  "Obviously they can't use Bushmiller Academy now," said Frank. "They know somebody's been checking the place out."

  "Maybe they've been spooked into moving their schedule up," Joe said. "Maybe they'll try to do something tonight—and now it looks like they've dragged Biff into it!"

  Chapter 12

  Joe was in luck—or so he thought.

  The boys had split up. Frank's job was to find the industrialist Willis Gramatkee and warn him that Curt Branders was in town, ready to use him for target practice.

  Joe, in the meantime, was to head to the old barn where the Circle was holding its emergency meeting and get Biff away. Jeanne, with Aunt Gertrude watching over her, was remaining at the Hardy home. Once Joe called in with the good news about Biff, they were supposed to alert the cops.

  Leaving the van a safe distance from the abandoned apple orchard, Joe moved quietly through the night-darkened fields. Then he cut through the orchard itself.

  Up ahead stood a big ramshackle barn. The light of several candles showed, flickering, inside the deep shadows of the old structure.

  Then Joe had his lucky break.

  Something — someone passed between him and the candles in the barn. Joe ducked behind a tree. Peering around it, he made out two robed figures.

  "Come on, Chad, we're late."

  "In a minute. I'm not going to break my neck because Kevin Branders says so."

  "Kevin won't like that."

  "Well, too bad. Who died and left him boss?"

  The other figure sounded dubious. "I don't know, Chad. Look what happened to Jeanne Sinclair."

  "Maybe Branders can get away with pushing girls around, but just let him try me. Everyone says I'm the best boxer at Chartwell."

  Oh, please, Joe said to himself.

  "Fine—but I'm going in. See you inside, Chad."

  "Yeah, yeah, Willie."

  Very carefully Joe moved closer, darting from apple tree to apple tree.

  Chad was a lean, dark-haired young man of about eighteen. Joe didn't know him. He was standing at the edge of the orchard, about to slip his black hood on.

  Joe made a quick decision.

  Then he went walking right up to him. "Hey, Chad," he said.

  "Huh?" Chad started to turn. "Who — "

  Joe punched him twice, short jabs to the chin.

  Chad wobbled, moaned once, and then his eyes rolled up and closed, and he fell to the weedy ground.

  "Sorry about that, Chad," Joe said. "I guess the boxing class at Chartwell hasn't gotten up to that move yet."

  Swiftly Joe tugged off the kid's robe. He used Chad's belt to tie his arms around a tree and improvised a gag out of his sweater.

  A moment later Joe had on the robe and the hood and was walking into the meeting of the Circle.

  There were only nine others standing in the ragged circle made by the candles planted on the rough stone floor of the beat-up old barn. Six of them were boys, three, girls. Joe scanned the circle. One guy was much taller and stockier than the others — something even the black robe couldn't disguise. That had to be Biff. Now to move over to him . . .

  But just as Joe took a place at the edge of the group, one of the hooded figures moved to the center of the circle, where a glass bowl was resting on an overturned apple barrel.

  The guy raised his right hand. "Brothers and sisters," he began, and Joe recognized the voice as that of Kevin Branders. "Brothers and sisters of the Crimson Circle of Twelve, we have been summoned here tonight because our group faces a grave and most serious challenge."

  Joe shifted from one foot to the other, trying to see if he recognized any of the other masked figures.

  "In order to grow and thrive," continued Kevin, "a group, like the trees in this orchard, must be pruned and cut from time to time. Better that one dies than have the group perish. So I suppose you should know that this very day we have had — a pruning."

  Joe swallowed hard, looking around the circle of kids. He couldn't see their faces beneath the hoods. But just from the way most of them were standing, he could tell that they were scared out of their minds.

  "We had traitors in our group," Kevin went on. "People who lost their nerve, who would have turned us over to the police. They left messages and even gave away the place of our headquarters."

  Worried murmurs rose from the hooded kids.

  "We've taken care of the problem," Kevin cut in, calming them down. Hidden by his hood, Joe smiled. Let Kevin think that.

  "But there's still more treachery to be punished." Joe's shoulders tightened as Kevin's voice rose. "Believe it or not, we have a spy right here in our midst."

  He turned to point an accusing finger right at him. "Don't we, Joe Hardy?"

  All the members of the Circle whirled toward Joe as he yanked off his hood. "You clowns may as well quit playing this game right now," he told them, deciding to bluff. "The police know all about you. They're—" "Get him," Kevin ordered. The two nearest figures grabbed for Joe's arms as he started to dart away. He wasn't used to the robe — it slowed him down for a crucial second. Then he was mobbed.

  Joe struggled desperately, blocking punches, returning a few. But there were five guys beating on him—even Biff had joined in.

  "Biff," shouted Joe. "You don't have to do what these bozos tell you anymore. They kidnapped Jeanne. But I got her out!" The big figure he'd assumed was Biff didn't stop punching, but he did start laughing. Joe managed to get one arm free and grabbed for Biff. His hand caught in the big guy's hood, tearing it away as someone yanked him off balance.

  The hood came off—but Biff's face wasn't under it. With a sinking sensation, Joe recognized the face grinning at him. It was the guard Joe had slugged back at the warehouse.

  "I don't think I'm going to like this," Joe muttered.

  With the others holding his arms, Joe watched the guard wind up
for a knockout punch.

  "You got it, punk."

  The last thing Joe saw was an enormous fist, blotting everything out as it came toward his face.

  ***

  Frank screeched to a halt on the drive of the Gramatkee estate, jumped out, and slammed the door of the van. He ran along the flagstone path leading to the Gramatkee mansion, then flew up the steps two at a time.

  He saw lights shining in most of the first-floor windows of the large modern glass-and-redwood home. Maybe his quest would end quickly. Frank jabbed the doorbell.

  Chimes rang inside the big house, but nothing else happened.

  Frank knocked on the door with his fist.

  A minute more passed. Then the door opened a couple of inches. "Yes? What do — Hey, Frank Hardy!"

  He didn't recognize the slender red-haired girl who smiled out at him. She was pretty, about his age, and obviously knew him. Maybe that would help him. "Is Mr. Gramatkee at home?" Frank asked. "You don't recognize me, do you?" "Not actually, no. Look, it's important that I — "

  "Sandy Fuller. I met you last Christmas at that dance over in Kirkland."

  "Sandy, I have to see Mr. Gramatkee." "He isn't here. You were with Callie Shaw, and I had a date with this real nerd named — " "Where is he?"

  "That nerd? I haven't seen him since that party." "No—where's Gramatkee?" "I'm baby-sitting the two children. Mrs. Gramatkee is in Paris."

  "Sandy, this is life and death — where's Gramatkee?"

  "Down on his yacht. He goes there by himself once a week to be alone." The red-haired girl shrugged her shoulders. "The name of the boat is the Golden Fleece, and it's moored in Bayport Harbor. Are you serious about this life-and-death stuff?" "I'll tell you later, Sandy. Thanks for your help." Frank ran down the steps, hopped back into the van, and drove off.

  He had a stiff drive ahead of him — the yacht harbor was over ten miles from there.

  Frank didn't need to be a detective to tell that something was wrong at the yacht club.

  The gate in the cyclone fence that cut off the yacht harbor from the rest of the waterfront hung open. In the guard shack just inside the gate a lean, weather-beaten man lay on the floor, tied, gagged, and out cold.