The Number File

by Franklin W. Dixon

  The intelligence man walked around the small hidden basement, shaking his legs and stretching out his arms as he continued his story. "Kruger's men had all gone, though some fellow named Croaker came back later.

  Anyway, Kroger and I were alone. I think he was used to having his men do all the dirty work, so he wasn't about to do away with me himself. And he didn't like the idea of killing a government man, even though it was probably he who ordered the hit on Conway. Besides, Kruger had nothing to gain by killing me — he knew that everything I knew was already on file with headquarters."

  Montague was still pacing, rubbing the back of his neck and shoulders, his eyes fixed on the gray concrete floor. "He wasn't going to kill me, but he couldn't just leave me free. He had to keep me out of the way for a while. So he brought me to the villa here, tied me up, and stuck me down here in the basement. He figured I'd be found eventually, but not until he was long gone." He looked up at Alicia, then at Frank and Joe, and smiled proudly. "He never thought you'd turn the tables on the boat."

  Joe grinned back. Then, anxious to learn more, he asked, "Did Kruger take all his equipment with him?"

  "Ah, you haven't really seen this place yet." He led the group to a door opposite the stairs, then reached in the room and switched on a light before ushering the group in.

  "Wow!" Joe blurted out. "Just look at this setup!" The room was filled with printing presses, stamping machines, sorting devices, computers, file cabinets, and loads of tools. "This is an entire credit-card factory!"

  "And yet it took only two or three people to run the operation," Montague said. "Kruger, and his partner, Powers, handled the computer while a couple of goons operated the machinery."

  "That would be Croaker and Gus," Joe offered. "They probably worked the machines and took some of the boat trips. Then he had two more delivery men, Del and Mickey, operating the boat. Them plus the U.S. - based crew." Joe was making a mental count as he spoke.

  "Oh, I almost forgot," the chief broke in. "The U.S. Coast Guard picked up four men in a boat off Jacksonville. The FBI was afraid they wouldn't have any evidence against the men since you boys foiled the drop, but then they found three hundred thousand dollars in cash on board. Most of the bills were marked and came from a deal that went down between an undercover agent and two crooks involved in the distribution of the phony cards.

  "The undercover man had bought some of the cards. The FBI decided not to arrest the crooks — there was a better chance of being led to the kingpin if they paid them off in marked bills and waited to see where the money showed up."

  "That means we have seven of the gang members so far," Frank calculated out loud.

  "No, eight. We picked Powers up earlier today, and we're holding him," Boulton said.

  "But what about Croaker and Kruger?" Frank asked.

  "Goodness!" Montague exclaimed. "What time is it? And what day?"

  "Saturday, exactly seven-fifty-two."

  "A.M. or P.M.?"

  "A.M."

  Montague seemed agitated. He spoke rapidly. "How long did it take you to get here from the harbor?"

  "About twenty minutes. Why?"

  "Kruger told me he was going to take the Bermuda Star to New York. That's his main U.S. distribution point. Even if I was found before the ship left, Kruger knew I wouldn't say anything as long as his men had Alicia."

  "When did the boat leave?" Chief Boulton asked.

  "It hasn't yet," Montague said, rushing his words. "Kruger said the Bermuda Star leaves at eight o'clock this morning, in eight minutes."

  Chapter 13

  "CAN WE MAKE the ship on time?" Joe asked, concerned that they might lose their last chance to pick up Kruger. "Not even if we raced the whole way," the chief said. "Well, what about calling and holding the ship until we arrive?"

  "No, the Bermuda Star always leaves on time. If anything out of the ordinary happens, it's likely to spook Kruger. If he panics and goes into hiding, it'll take that much longer to fish him out."

  "Besides," Montague added, "it'll be better if we let Kruger think he's getting away. We know he's the top man in this credit card ring, and he'll be met by the head of the U.S. operation when the ship arrives in New York. We'd like to get our hands on the New York chieftain, too. Even with Kruger behind bars, the New York head could probably keep the distribution operation going for another six months."

  "Even though we found all the machinery and know how the whole operation works?" Alicia asked.

  "The machinery is replaceable," Chief Boulton said. "And the organization still has a large stockpile of illegal cards that haven't been used. The key is to arrest the leaders — none of the other gang members will be able to carry on the operation without them."

  "What if we just let Kruger leave and then notify the FBI to catch him when he arrives in New York?" Alicia asked.

  "No, that's too risky," Montague said. "You can be sure that anyone in the business of counterfeiting credit cards will have a forged passport as well. With a disguise and a name change, Kruger could walk right through customs.

  "I think it's important for someone to take the cruise with Kruger. We can't take a chance on losing him." Montague shook his head.

  "I have no jurisdiction outside of Bermuda," Chief Boulton reminded them. "That leaves it up to you lot."

  "I can go," Montague suggested, and nodded at Frank and Joe. "And so could the boys."

  "And Alicia," Joe insisted. "We wouldn't be here now if it weren't for her."

  Montague was concerned about letting his daughter accompany them on what could be a dangerous voyage. But finally he relented.

  "We're losing precious time," Frank broke in. "How can we get on that boat?"

  "I just thought of something," Chief Boulton broke in. "If we start right now, we can get to Hamilton before the pilot boat leaves. That's the boat that brings the pilot back to port once he has navigated the Bermuda Star into open waters. We can call ahead and arrange for you to get aboard. When the pilot transfers back onto the pilot boat—you can get on the Star."

  "Sounds good." Montague nodded. "Now, what can we do about your appearances?" He looked at each of the three teens. At first Joe and Frank thought he was talking about some sort of disguise. But Alicia realized that her dad was referring to the clothes the three of them had had on for the past couple of days.

  "I'll have one of the officers at the station pick up some supplies for you," Chief Boulton offered. "There are some shops right near the station. He'll meet us at the pilot boat."

  "He'll need to hurry," Frank reminded him.

  "And so will we!" Joe nodded at Frank, then turned and threw a quick wink at Alicia.

  The group ran to the car. They raced back to town, sirens blasting, led by a motorcycle escort.

  They arrived just in time to catch the pilot boat. The Bermuda Star was already in open water; the pilot was waiting to be picked up.

  "I was just about to leave without you," the pilot boat captain said. He was an elderly man with a heavy gray beard and a heavier British accent. "But the officer here kept delaying me, insisting you wouldn't be but another minute." He was referring to one of Chief Boulton's men who stood next to the captain on the dock.

  "I hope these things fit," the uniformed man said to Montague and the three youths. "I picked up a variety of loose-fitting clothes and some toilet articles. Anything else you need you should be able to buy on the boat." He handed them three large plastic bags. "I hope you'll find the things satisfactory, miss," he said to Alicia.

  The figure of the policeman on the dock became smaller and smaller as the pilot boat bumped across the choppy waves of the harbor. They reached the Bermuda Star nearly two miles from port. The pilot climbed down before the four new passengers went up the ladder. The transfer was a bit difficult because of the wind that had come up forecasting a new storm. The three youths and Montague were happy to finally be on board. They were ready for a luxury cruise to New York.

  "I'm glad there wer
e a couple of cabins empty," Alicia said. "I'd hate to spend another night in the hold."

  "And they're connecting cabins, too!" Joe had a twinkle in his eye as he looked at Alicia, then turned bright red as he remembered that Montague was there, watching and listening to it all.

  "Let's get settled in our connecting cabins," Montague suggested with a grin. "We can change and freshen up."

  "Then we'll have to go over the passenger list and see if we can spot Kruger."

  "Remember, though," Frank cautioned, "we can't let Kruger spot us. He thinks we're dead, and if he knows we're on to him, he'll give us—and the police—the slip."

  The four were led to their cabins on C-deck by a proper and polite purser who had been instructed to cooperate with them. Only the purser, the captain, the ship's doctor, and the ship's radio operator had any knowledge of the group's mission. The purser produced a map of the ship, announced he would be at their service should they require assistance, and returned to his office.

  The two connecting cabins were near the end of a narrow corridor, slightly aft of the middle of the ship. Montague and Alicia took C-111, and the Hardys took C-112, which was closest to the door leading to the deck.

  "I hate to stay cooped up," Joe said, complaining almost instantly. "Oh. We forgot to ask the purser for the passenger list."

  "And—since there's no telephone service — one of us has to go to the purser's office to get the list," Frank said. "I wonder who should go?" he asked innocently. "Well, I guess it might as well be you, Joe, right?" he said, laughing. "Think you can make it there and back without wandering off in search of adventure?"

  Joe opened the cabin door and checked the corridor before leaving the room. He hurried along the passageway, then proceeded cautiously toward the front of the ship and up to B-deck.

  "There was no Kruger on the passenger manifest," the purser said. "So I have compiled a list. These are the men traveling without families who fit the description given us by the Hamilton police. There are eight names and room numbers."

  "Thanks very much."

  "One of the men — this one here," the purser said, pointing to a name on the list, "is in the dining room right now having breakfast; I saw him sit down a couple of minutes ago."

  "Weisberg," Joe muttered, reading the name on the list. "I guess he's as good to start with as anyone. Can you point him out to me?"

  Joe and the purser slowly made their way to the dining room. The boat was rolling more than usual — a storm was definitely going to kick up. "There," the purser said, nodding with his head. "The man eating alone."

  Joe could see a partial profile of the diner's face. He had a full head of dark hair, glasses, and the beginnings of a beard. Joe remembered Kruger as clean-shaven and with gray hair and no glasses. This man didn't look like Kruger. But there was something familiar about him. Joe kept watching. Then the man turned to order something from the waitress, and Joe got a good look at his full face.

  Bingo! It is Kruger! The eyes. Those were the same eyes, and they gave him away. "Yeah, that's him, all right! There's no way to disguise those eyes."

  There was no doubt in Joe's mind that the man he was looking at was Kruger masquerading under the name of Weisberg. For the first time, it seemed, something was going right.

  The first person on the list of possible Krugers was the head man himself.

  "That's great," Joe said when they were back in the purser's office. "Thanks very much. If anything happens, we're in cabin C-one-twelve."

  "Yes, I know," the purser said. "I have the passenger list, remember?" He paused long enough for a quick smile. "And the other gentleman, Mr. Weisberg, is in cabin B-thirteen on the deck above you—this deck—and farther forward."

  Joe started back for his cabin. Kruger just sat down to eat, he thought to himself. So there's no way I could run into him if I went past his cabin. I'll just take the long way back to my cabin, get some fresh air.

  He pushed hard against the door and went out on the deck. The wind was blowing hard, and the voyage was very rocky now. The passengers had already gone inside, and Joe found himself quite alone. He held on to the railing that ran along the side of B-deck beneath the lifeboats. He pulled himself forward and decided to go back in. There was a door. He staggered toward it and yanked on the handle. A burly man flew out and rammed right into him.

  "Sorry," the man grumbled in a gravelly voice. He was stocky and muscular, dressed in a blue turtleneck. He looked up, then froze, glaring up into Joe's astonished face.

  Joe had been so busy concentrating on Kruger that he had forgotten about Kruger's murderous henchman—Croaker!

  Chapter 14

  THE TWO OF THEM just stood there. Croaker thought Joe was dead—thrown overboard on the Sea Mist. And Joe had forgotten about Croaker. Now the two were face-to-face.

  Croaker was stunned — unsure what move to make on a ship that offered no escape. He blocked the doorway with his stocky frame, preventing Joe from entering the passageway.

  Joe stood fast. He controlled his first impulse to slug the crook. For all Joe knew, Croaker could be carrying a gun. And although the deck was empty for the moment, a passenger or ship's officer could walk by at any time.

  "There's no way out of this one, Croaker," Joe told the thug. "No place to go." He paused, his tone and his stare unwavering. "Give yourself up."

  Croaker's eyes never left Joe's. Without changing a wrinkle of his flat and fixed expression, he suddenly croaked, "Kid, you die!"

  Joe wasn't ready for those words. He also wasn't ready when Croaker lunged at him, knocking him down onto the deck. Croaker started to pin him down, and Joe could feel the shape of a revolver as Croaker's chest pressed against his.

  Joe struggled against the bulk of the muscular body. Croaker was strong, but Joe knew the thug wasn't as agile as he was. Wiggling like an eel, Joe managed to free one arm. He brought his fist down on the back of the stocky man's neck. The blow stunned Croaker just long enough for Joe to shift his body and push, toppling Croaker onto his side.

  Another powerful shove and the thug went sprawling on the deck. Joe sprang up then and pounced. But as he landed, Croaker wasn't there. The ship, hit by a heavy wave, had heeled over, sending a salty spray over the two. Croaker had rolled away, and Joe missed. A second later Croaker was trying to pin him again.

  The two of them rolled from side to side with the pitching and tossing of the ship. It seemed as though the fight was alternating between slow motion and fast forward. Balance was the key. And each time one had the advantage, the movement of the ocean liner upset that balance, and the other wound up on top.

  Joe was on the bottom now. Croaker had one hand on Joe's throat; the other hand was trying to extract his gun. Joe's left hand was clawed into Croaker's face as Joe tried to push the powerful little man off him. Croaker's neck was bent back as Joe kept pushing with all his strength. But Croaker didn't budge. Joe's right hand was busy trying to tear Croaker's fingers from his neck.

  Joe saw Croaker's right hand come out from under his jacket with a gun grasped tightly in his fingers. Joe couldn't loosen his opponent's grip on his throat, nor could he push him away.

  Releasing his hold, Joe suddenly locked his fingers together behind Croaker's neck and yanked. Croaker's head was pulled sharply downward until the thug's skull smacked into Joe's.

  The pain was excruciating for Joe, but much worse for Croaker. At least Joe was expecting it—and it was certainly less painful than a bullet would have been. Joe recovered faster than his rival, and in two quick moves was on top of him, holding Croaker's gun.

  Again the ship rocked. Joe kept his balance, but Croaker smashed out with his left forearm, sending the revolver flying from Joe's hand. The gun skittered across the deck, under the bottom railing, and into the violent waters.

  Joe slugged the squat man in the jaw. Then he got to his feet, his fingers clasped tightly around Croaker. Croaker rose, offering little resistance. They stood less than five feet from the
railing, and Joe's head was about six inches from the bottom of the lifeboat which hung overhead.

  Then the boat pitched again. Joe's head slammed against the lifeboat, his grip loosened, and the stocky man slid to the ground. The ship rolled, and Joe was tossed against the railing, with Croaker leaping at him.

  ***

  Frank was beginning to worry what was keeping his brother. Suddenly, between the sounds of the crashing waves, he heard a shrieking cry. "Man overboard! Man overboard!" He rushed out of the cabin, down the passageway, around the corner, and onto the deck.

  Once again the cry carried through the sea air. "Man overboard!" It was coming from the deck above. Frank staggered aft against the rocking motion to an outside stairway leading up to B-deck, then made his way back toward the center of the ship.

  "Joe!" he cried out.

  Joe was holding on to the railing under one of the lifeboats. Two ship's officers were moving toward the youth from the opposite direction. Frank reached his brother shortly after one of the officers. He caught the end of Joe's excited story.

  "Then the ship rolled, he lost his balance, and went right overboard."

  "What was he doing out here in this weather?" the first officer asked.

  "I have no idea. I just opened that door there to have a look outside and breathe some fresh air, and I saw him by the railing. He went over before I could even call out." Joe extended his hand, which was clutched around a small brown wallet. "This fell out of his pocket."

  As the officer took the wallet and opened it, Frank caught a glimpse of the picture on a photo ID. He tried not to show any surprise at seeing Croaker's face. He put his hand on his brother's shoulder, and waited until the officers left before he said anything.

  The officer closed the wallet and looked again at Joe. "Who are you?"

  "Joe Hardy. I'm in cabin C-one-twelve."

  "We have to get to the bridge," the second officer interjected, "and get the ship turned around. We might need to talk with you again, later."