Infinity Clue Part 11

Just then, seemingly out of nowhere, a boat appeared, cras.h.i.+ng through the waves in the direction of the helpless youths. It was an old, wooden sloop with a single raked mast. Frank and Joe yelled and waved at the approaching vessel. When it was close enough, the skipper threw a line with a life ring attached to the end. "Hold tight!" he yelled from aboard the sloop as the brothers grabbed the life ring.

Wet and s.h.i.+vering, they were soon pulled onto the boat's deck by a st.u.r.dy old man in a yellow rain slicker. "Go below and dry yourselves," he ordered.

Joe started to thank him for saving them, but the sailor interrupted by repeating his command. Then he returned to the sloop's tiller without another word.

In the boat's cabin, the boys found towels and blankets. Removing their wet clothes, they wrapped themselves in the blankets and huddled below deck until the storm was over. The dark clouds rolled away as quickly as they had come, and warm sunlight greeted the youths as they emerged from the cabin.

The sloop was manned solely by the old sailor, who had removed his rain slicker. Long, white whiskers flowed from his leathery skin. "You kids were stupid to be out here in this kind of weather," he scolded.

"You're very lucky I spotted you. That skiff didn't have a chance in this storm."

Frank thanked the skipper for rescuing them, and explained that they had not expected the storm would be so severe.

The man's steel gray eyes softened. "Most of the time the bay is as gentle as a pond," he said, gazing across the expanse of water. "You could sail a dinghy from one end to the other. Then, just when you think she's a piece of cake, one of these thunder-b.u.mper's will blow down out of the north. Can hit you like a brick before you have a chance to trim your sails, and all at once it's like being caught in a big was.h.i.+ng machine. Many a skipper has learned the hard way to have respect for these waters."

The old salt paused for a moment to let his words sink in, then continued in a lighter tone. "I've seen it raining frogs from the skies during these storms."

"Raining frogs?" Joe asked, not sure if he had heard correctly.

The sailor chuckled. "Sometimes the wind comes up so hard and fast, it picks up little frogs from the sh.o.r.e and blows them out in the bay. Had a few land on my deck."

Finding the story hard to swallow, Frank just nodded politely and changed the subject. "You're a crabber?" he asked, having noticed some crab pots piled in the sloop's stern.

"In the summer I am," the old man replied. "The rest of the year, I'm an oysterer. Been at it my whole life."

"Do you know Mosquito Island?" Joe queried.

The white-whiskered skipper looked curiously at his two pa.s.sengers. "Spent many a year working out that way. What makes you ask?"

"We have a friend who's being held captive there," Frank said directly.

The old salt's curiosity turned to surprise as the boys explained that the island might be the headquarters for a gang of terrorists, who presently held Chet at their mercy. Without hesitation, he volunteered to take them there.

"This could well be dangerous," Frank warned. "Those men would as soon get rid of us as swat a fly."

"When you're my age, you haven't time to be scared of anyone," the skipper said with a glimmer in his eyes. "By the way, my name is Jake, and the boat's called Marybelle."

"Frank and Joe Hardy," Frank introduced himself and his brother.

Jake acknowledged it with a grin, then let out the sloop's sail and set course for Mosquito Island. The boys changed back to their clothes, which they had hung out on deck to dry. The wind was still fresh from the north, and the old sailing vessel made good time as it cut its way through the choppy bay waters.

"Mosquito Island is next to the island I came from," Jake told the sleuths.

"You lived on Chapel Island?" Joe asked.

"That's right. I'm descended from the original settlers."

"Are you a Stone?"

The old skipper nodded. "Jacob Stone the Sixth. How do you know about the Stones?"

Frank explained how they had visited Chapel Island the day before and met Jeremiah Stone. Then he asked why Jake had left the island.

"Wanted to get out and see the world," was the old man's reply. "I got itchy with all their talk about how evil it was. Made me go and take a look for myself. I've been around the world several times on boats, and believe me, I've seen more than my share of it. Now I'm thinking of going back to the island and retiring there in peace. Only from what you boys tell me, even Chapel Island has trouble brewing on its back porch. It's a shame."

"Well, with your help," Frank said, "we might be able to put an end to it right now."

Jake sailed the sloop around Chapel Island, and the smaller, mosquito-infested island came into view.

"Take the tiller," the skipper told Frank as they approached.

Frank took control of the sloop's steering while Jake stepped down into the cabin. The old man reappeared a moment later with a bottle of greenish liquid, which he applied to his face and arms. He then handed it to his pa.s.sengers. "Here, put this on. It'll keep those mosquitos from eating you alive."

The boys doused themselves liberally with the homemade insect repellent. It smelled like rotting fish.

"Phew!" Joe exclaimed at the odor. "I sure hope it works."

Rounding Mosquito Island, Jake sailed into the channel, which was lined with thick underbrush, and negotiated his way expertly along its winding course.

"There's the landing," Joe said in a hushed tone as they rounded a corner.

A run-down wooden shack and a dock were the only constructions at the landing site. The oyster boat wasn't there, and there was no sign of anyone. Noiselessly, Jake pulled up to the dock and the two sleuths hopped from the boat.

In crouched positions, Frank and Joe crept toward the wooden shack. If someone was inside, they wanted to catch him by surprise. Frank motioned for Joe to sneak behind the shack while he tried the front entrance.

After listening intently for a few minutes, Frank opened the door with a swift kick. It flew back without resistance, and he prepared to defend himself.

At first, the shack did seem to be empty. But as the young detective's eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw three figures lying on the floor, bound and gagged. Just then Joe came back, and both boys rushed inside.

"Dad!" Joe cried out.

CHAPTER XVII.

The Chase Quickens Fenton Hardy and Chet, both bound by their wrists and ankles with heavy rope, made anxious noises through their gags. The third captive was a girl with long, chestnut brown hair. She stared at Frank and Joe with fear, not knowing whether they meant her harm or not.

"See if Jake has a knife," Frank said to his brother.

Joe ran back to the sloop while Frank quickly untied the captives' gags. Mosquito bites covered their exposed faces and arms.

"What happened? What are you doing here?" Frank asked his father, who was supposed to be in Germany.

"I'd like to know the same thing from you," the famous detective replied with a smile. "But I'm certainly glad you came. We haven't much time left. I'll tell you all about it later. Right now let's get these ropes off."

Using the sharp edge of an oyster sh.e.l.l he found on the floor, Frank started cutting his father's ropes. Joe returned with Jake's rigging knife, which he used to free Chet and the girl.

"Boy, I'm "sure happy you guys showed up." Chet groaned as he rose to his feet. "I must have been lunch for five hundred mosquitoes!"

"Well, now you know what it's like to be the eatee instead of the eater," Joe kidded his pal.

"All I know," Chet replied, swatting his arm as another mosquito prepared to dine, "is that I want to get off this island, and p.r.o.nto!"

The chestnut-haired girl, realizing that the boys were there to help them escape, let out a flood of words in German. Teary-eyed, she thanked her rescuers. She seemed to be about sixteen. Joe began to question her, wondering how she became mixed up in this affair. But Mr. Hardy insisted that they make their escape without hesitation.

Hurrying from the shack, the group boarded the old sloop. Jake hoisted his sail. In a few minutes, they were back on the bay.

Mr. Hardy listened eagerly to his sons' story. "It all seems to fit," he said, once the boys had finished recounting their adventures. "The Rabbit was hired by a terrorist organization called Vici, which means 'I conquered,' in Latin. Vici, in turn, is under contract by a Middle Eastern group involved in the illegal export of oil. The man who tried-to buy the stolen diamond from you, Wayne Jensen, is the American connection for the Middle Eastern organization."

The young detectives seemed puzzled. "But why does Jensen want the diamond?" Frank asked.

"And what is the gang doing here?" Joe added. "And why are the geologists involved?"

Frank frowned. "Wait a minute. You say Jensen is involved in oil dealings, Dad?"

Mr. Hardy nodded.

"I wonder if there's a nuclear power plant near Yellow Clay Cliffs," Frank went on.

"As a matter of fact, there is," Mr. Hardy replied. "It's a couple of miles west of the cliffs."

"That's it!" Frank cried out. "I think I know what that gang is up to!"

Joe and Mr. Hardy caught on the same instant.

"You mean they're fabricating earthquakes to sabotage nuclear power plants in order to further their oil interests?" Joe asked his brother.

"It's possible," Mr. Hardy said. "I learned that the terrorists were actively producing small and powerful nuclear bombs, but I didn't know for what purpose. I was on the gang's trail when they transported the bombs to a waiting freighter on the coast of Spain. Unfortunately, I was captured while attempting to save this young lady from being kidnapped aboard the s.h.i.+p. I was then taken on the same freighter myself, where I was kept prisoner until we arrived here a little over a week ago."

"Do you know who the girl is?" Frank asked.

"No. But I overheard the men saying that the last piece of the bomb was being taken to Yellow Clay Cliffs today, and that the whole thing would be over by this evening."

"But if the gang is causing the earthquakes with the bombs, what is Dr. Werner's part in this?" Joe spoke up.

Just then the German girl, who had been trying to understand what she could of the conversation, became excited. "Werner!" She exclaimed. Speaking in her native tongue, she told them that she was Katerina Werner, Dr. Ha.s.so Werner's daughter. She had been kidnapped from her home in Germany while her father was working on a geology project in the United States.

Joe snapped his fingers. "That explains why Dr. Werner got mixed up with the terrorists! They forced him into serving them by kidnapping his daughter!"

"It also explains why Werner wanted us to stay out of his way," Frank put in. "He was trying to protect Katerina, and he didn't want us to become victims of the Rabbit and his gang. That's why he tried warning us off the case!"

The sun began to sink below the horizon as the sloop neared the mainland sh.o.r.e. Jake, now almost as anxious as his pa.s.sengers to apprehend the gang, steered a steady course toward the geologists' drilling site. Mr. Hardy continued to discuss the mysterious case with his sons. Katerina gazed ahead. Her thoughts were filled with worry about her father being in the clutches of the terrorists, who might try to dispose of him once their mission was completed.

"We'll be getting there before long if this wind keeps up," the old sailor said, judging their distance from the yellow cliffs.

Frank stood up and surveyed the approaching sh.o.r.e. But they were still too far out in the bay for him to see any signs of activity on the beach.

"How did you come upon the information about the meeting at the Smithsonian?" he asked his father as he sat down again.

Mr. Hardy grinned. "I discovered some communication between two members of the terrorist ring," he replied. "At the time, I didn't know what it meant, or else I would have given you more specific instructions. Shortly afterward, I was captured. I'm glad the message got to you through Amba.s.sador Kriegler, even though it was a dangerous mission."

"We've had some close calls," Frank admitted. "And it looks as if we still have a rough time ahead of us.

If the Rabbit means to use his bomb tonight, none of us are safe by a long shot."

"We also left the amba.s.sador's son, Fritz, in a bad spot," Joe put in.

The detective appeared thoughtful. "Our only hope is to catch the men before they have a chance to carry out their plan," he declared. "We should also contact Kriegler as soon as possible. We're outnumbered by those in the gang, and Kriegler might be able to get his men down here in time to pitch in. Werner may also be of great help to us once he finds out his daughter is safe."

When their father had finished speaking, Frank and Joe stationed themselves at the sloop's bow. Night had fallen as they drew near the beach. The oyster boat was not there, and the site was abandoned. The drilling equipment had been removed! Jake ran his boat up on the sand, and his pa.s.sengers climbed out.

"We're too late!" Chet moaned, seeing that the cylinders were gone as well.

"We'll have to warn the power plant," Mr. Hardy declared. "And we'll have to catch those crooks. If the Rabbit can set this bomb, he may also be able to deactivate it. We'll have to act fast!"

"I can get you to the power plant," Jake volunteered. "My place is just a short trip up the coast and I have my car there."

All except Frank and Joe returned to the sloop.

"I'll contact Kriegler from the power plant," Mr. Hardy called to his sons as he boarded the boat. "Do what you can to find those men. But be careful!"

The brothers turned and began to scale the steep path up the bluff face. Once up to the clay cliff road, they ran in the direction of Werner's bungalow.

CHAPTER XVIII.

Night Rendezvous The lights were out in the geologist's house. But the pickup truck was in the driveway, and another car was parked next to it.

"A gray Peugeot," Frank muttered. "I bet that's the car that trailed Fritz and Chet to the dock!"

"But where are the men?" Joe asked, puzzled. "They didn't leave their truck so they could hike their way out of this wilderness!"

"No," his brother agreed. "They must be around somewhere."

The two stopped in their tracks, not knowing in which direction to go. The night was calm, the only sound the constant chirp of crickets and the was.h.i.+ng of waves on the beach far below.

"The oyster boat," said Frank in a hushed tone. "It wasn't at the island or the drilling site. Maybe that's how they're making their getaway!"

The boys hurried to the edge of the bluff and looked out over the dark water.