Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
"Agreed," Joe said. "His father mentioned he'd just gotten out of the army. Let's start with that."
Frank picked up the phone - and within a few minutes he was speaking with an army lieutenant he and Joe had met on a previous case.
"I can't get you the man's complete service record," the officer said.
"What can you tell me about him?" Frank asked.
"What it says here is that Ned Nolan served in the special forces and was an expert in unarmed combat. He was honorably discharged last year."
"Thanks, lieutenant," Frank said. He hung up and told his brother the information.
"Nothing conclusive there," Joe said. "But that guy in the white shirt was certainly an expert in unarmed combat."
"All right," Frank said. "Let's go tell Lewis."
Even at that time of night they found the detective hard at work in his office. His desk was swimming in paperwork, but he welcomed them just the same.
"Good news, fellas," Lewis said. "We got the D.A.'s office to recommend no bail for Carew and his friends."
"That's great," Frank said. "Detective Lewis, we have something we'd like to talk about with you - " Frank began.
"Let me guess," Lewis interrupted. "You want us to bring back your father, too?"
"Too?" Frank asked.
"Yeah, Hugh Nolan's kid was in here earlier today. Wanted to know if the old man could come home yet."
"What did you tell him?" Frank asked.
"I said the case wasn't closed yet. We don't know if Carew was behind the chief's poisoning - and it doesn't seem likely that Carew would kill his own son, does it?" Lewis shrugged. "Anyway, Ned talked to his dad when the chief checked in today and found out where they are. He's going to visit them."
Frank turned pale.
Just then, Lewis's phone rang. "Excuse me a second," the detective said. He picked up the phone and started talking.
"Frank," Joe began, "if Ned knows where they are - "
Frank shook his head and quieted his brother with a glance.
Lewis finished his call and turned back to the Hardys. "So, anyway - unless you can tell me who the killer is, I'm afraid we're going to have to keep your dad out of sight."
"I understand," Frank nodded. "We just want to talk to him, though. You wouldn't happen to know where they're staying - or have any way we could get in touch with him?"
Lewis shook his head. "Not till tomorrow, when they check in again. Sorry." He looked at Frank more closely. "Say, there's nothing the matter, is there?"
Frank shook his head. "Not a thing. Thanks anyway."
"You're welcome." Lewis sat back down at his desk. "Sorry I couldn't be more help," he said, picking up another stack of papers and sifting through them.
Joe waited till they got outside before he spoke.
"Why didn't you want to tell him about Ned?"
"Think about it," Frank said. "Ned's probably killed one man already and seriously injured another. Now he's looking for his father. Why? Because he's just found out that one of the basic truths in his life, that his father got a raw deal from the police, might be a lie." Frank shook his head. "He's a time bomb, just waiting to go off. If that happens while he's with Dad and Chief Peterson - "
"But how are we going to find them?" Joe asked. "We don't even know where to start."
"You're wrong - we've actually got a pretty good idea," Frank said, pulling a train schedule out of his back pocket and checking it over carefully.
"Come on, if we hurry, we can get the last train out of Bayport."
" 'I think I know the perfect place - but we'll have to stop at home first,' " Frank said, repeating the words his father had said just before he, Hugh Nolan, and Samuel Peterson had gone into hiding.
" 'Home' has to mean Bayport, but 'the perfect place'?" Joe shook his head. "You've got me there."
They were sitting across from each other on the train, trying to figure out what their father's cryptic words had referred to.
"And why would he have to come home first?" Frank added.
"Mom would have talked to him," Joe said. "She'll know."
The boys got in late and slept in their own beds until almost seven in the morning. Their mother was up by then working, trying to fix the faucet in the kitchen sink.
"Hi, Mom," Frank began. "Have you - "
"What in the world - " Laura Hardy turned to face them, an expression of shock on her face. "Where have you two been?"
"We meant to call, but - "
"Your father told me to expect you a couple of days ago!" Laura Hardy yelled, throwing down the pliers she'd been using. "And all you can say is you meant to call?"
"Mom," Frank said, "we need to find Dad."
"I don't know where he is. He came home in a rush - " She stopped yelling suddenly and looked closely at her two sons. "What's the problem? Are you in some kind of trouble?"
"No, Mom, that's not it at all," Joe said quickly. "We have a message for him."
He hated lying to his mother, but he didn't want her worrying - or calling in the police.
"Two days ago your father rushed through this house like he had a tiger on his tail," she said. "All he told me was that he had some kind of urgent case that was going to take him out of town for a while - he didn't know how long."
"And he didn't say where he was going?" Frank asked.
"Not to me."
"Thanks, Mom." Frank turned to Joe. "Let's check his office."
"Wait a minute," their mother said, smiling. "What are you going to do now - just run off again without telling me where you're going?"
The brothers exchanged a quick glance.
"Mom," Frank said, "when we find out where we're headed, you'll be the first to know." With that, he and Joe disappeared into their father's office.
An hour later, though, they were no closer to finding out where their father, Chief Peterson, and Hugh Nolan were hiding - and where Ned Nolan was heading.
"Nothing," Frank said, shutting down his father's computer. "Whatever that perfect place was, there's no record of it here. We're going to have to split up - comb the town - and find anyone who might have seen Dad leave or might have talked to him."
"Don't go far," their mother said as they were walking out the front door. "They're expecting a big storm later this afternoon - might even turn into a blizzard. I want you home before that happens."
"We'll be back before long, Mom, don't worry," Joe said.
"And if you find your father, remind him about that foreign film festival he promised to take me to. It's only running another couple of days, and I want to see it!"
"We'll do that," he assured her.
***
Frank's first stop was Callie Shaw's house.
"I've been all over town the past few days, Frank, and I haven't seen your dad anywhere," his longtime girlfriend said. The two of them were in the Shaws' den, standing in front of the fireplace. Callie was wearing a green sweater, jeans, and the thick gray socks Frank had given her for Christmas. She'd been curled up in front of the fireplace, reading a book, when Frank had rung the doorbell.
"In fact, I haven't seen your dad since Christmas, Frank," she continued. "Not that I've seen much of you since then, either. What's going on? You and Joe were supposed to be back from New York a couple of days ago."
"I can't talk about it now," Frank said. "But if you do see my dad, or talk to anyone who has seen him in the past few days, call my house and let me know. Thanks." He kissed her on the cheek and headed for the front door.
"Wait a minute!" Callie chased him as far as the front door, then stopped. She wasn't wearing any shoes.
"You could at least say goodbye!" she yelled.
"Goodbye!" he yelled back. "I'll call you later!"
She stood there in the front door for a minute, hands on her hips, staring after Frank as he drove off down the street.
***
Chief Collig hadn't seen their father.
Fenton Hardy's poker partners hadn't seen him.
Even Chet Morton, who practically lived downtown, where their father usually worked, hadn't seen him.
Joe was trudging down Bayports main street when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Hey, Joe. What's the matter? You look like your best friend died." Joe turned to see Officer Con Riley - the one member of the Bayport Police Force he and Frank always got along with.
"It's not that serious," Joe said. Yet, he added silently.
"Good," Con replied. He glanced up at the sky and shook his head. "Say, you'd better get back home. That blizzard is supposed to kick in about an hour from now. And when it does, the roads around here are going to be just about impossible to drive on."
"The blizzard," Joe muttered, shaking his head. "Terrific." He'd forgotten all about it. More good news.
"It will be - for anybody who wants to get some skiing done," Con said. "You really ought to try to make it up to my cabin sometime."
Despite his black mood, Joe managed to smile. "I will - that's a promise." Con Riley had a little cabin way back in the Vermont mountains, right near a beautiful set of ski trails, that he just loved to get away to for weekends. He'd issued an open invitation to the whole Hardy family to join him up there, "whenever you all aren't too busy solving crimes," as he put it.
"Say - how come you're not up there now, Con?" Joe asked.
"It's a little too crowded at the moment," Con said, a mischievous smile on his face.
Joe stopped suddenly in his tracks and stared at the man.
"Whoops," Con said. "Guess I let the cat out of the bag, huh?"
Joe grabbed the older man by the shoulders. "Con - that cabin. Is my dad up there now?"
Con must have sensed something in his voice, because he immediately turned serious. "That's right, Joe. What's the matter?"
"Nothing," Joe said. "Not anymore. Not as soon as you give me directions to your place."
"You're not going to go up there today? Not with the blizzard coming?" Con asked incredulously.
"I've got to," Joe said grimly. "That blizzard's not the only trouble heading their way."
Joe called Frank, who had just returned home, and told him what he'd found out.
They were on the road within the hour.
"Based on the directions Con gave us, we ought to be there around dinnertime," Joe said. He reached into the cooler on the seat between him and Frank and pulled out a soda. Before they'd left home, they'd completely stocked the van with enough food, drink, and supplies for a very long trip, which Joe sincerely hoped this would not be.
"Sit back and relax," he told Frank. "It should be smooth sailing from here on out."
The blizzard hit about five minutes later.
It was as if someone was standing in the road in front of them shoveling snow onto their windshield. Within seconds it was coming down so hard Joe had to cut their speed in half. He was thankful for the new snow tires he'd put on the van and the extra set of wiper blades he had in the glove compartment. At their highest speed, the blades could barely keep the windshield free of snow long enough to give Joe a look at the road fifty feet ahead.
"Can you see okay?" Frank asked.
"Just barely," Joe said. "At this speed, we ought to be pretty safe." He didn't bother adding that at this speed, they'd be lucky to reach Vermont by dinnertime, much less Con Riley's cabin.
This stretch of the interstate was almost completely straight, well-lit, and not at all crowded. Had it been anything but all three of those, Joe would have had to slow down even more. As it was, at several points during the day he had to stop completely and wait for the storm to ease up a little.
"Decade's biggest blizzard," Frank said during one of those stops. "You can't say they didn't warn us."
"Weather forecasters," Joe grumbled. "They're never right - except when you don't want them to be."
They soon lost track of the passing time - the storm was so fierce, it kept playing havoc with their radio reception. They were never able to keep one station coming in clearly for very long at all. It was almost midnight when they finally crossed over into Vermont and left the interstate.
Joe pulled the van off to the side of the road and shut down the engine.
"It's all small roads and mountain driving from here on out," he told Frank. "And we can't go up one of those ridges in the middle of a blizzard, in the middle of the night."
"Agreed," Frank said, yawning. "Let's get some shut-eye." They unrolled their sleeping bags and slept on the floor in the back of the van.
***
In the morning Frank didn't have a single muscle that wasn't sore.
"My neck," he muttered, climbing out of his sleeping bag and stretching. "That's the last time I sleep in this van."
He opened the back door of the van and stepped outside.
It had stopped snowing. The air was clean and crisp and still; the entire world looked as if it had been outlined with a white paintbrush. A few hundred feet back from the road they had parked on, huge power lines stretched off toward a range of snow-capped mountains, just barely visible in the distance.
"That's where we're headed," Joe said quietly. He had woken silently and was standing behind Frank, leaning out the back of the van.
"All right," Frank said. "Let's get going."
Sleeping in the van had given them one advantage; they were able to get right back on the road. They hadn't gone far, though, before they ran into another problem.
Their route up into the mountains was completely blocked by a huge, overturned tree.
"It'll take us half the day to clear that away," Joe said.
"Maybe we don't have to," Frank told him. "Look." He pointed to a signpost on the side of the road that had been partially bent by the falling tree. " 'Ranger Station - Two Miles.' They ought to have a tow truck or something."
The station, a small concrete building, was a short, fairly painless half-hour hike up the mountain road.
"Hello?" Frank called out, banging on the front door. "Is anyone here?"
Joe bent down and picked up a piece of paper off the ground. He handed it to Frank.
" 'Back at eight a. m.,' " Frank read. "It's dated today."
"And it's after eight o'clock," Joe said. "Let's try the door."
It swung open at his touch. Exchanging a worried glance with his brother, Joe pushed through and inside.
The building was set up just like a police station: a front desk, with a small, open office area behind it. Two other doors led off the main room.
"Where is everybody?" Joe asked.
"They did just have a blizzard," Frank said. "They're probably out helping people." Joe opened one of the doors that led off the main room and stepped inside; Frank decided to try the other.
He found himself in a bedroom, with a bunk bed and sink in the corner.
"Nobody in here," Frank called out, swinging the door shut behind him. "You find anything - "
The question died on his lips as Ned Nolan stepped out from the other room, carrying a revolver in his right hand.
"Frank Hardy," he said, smiling and moving forward. Frank unconsciously backed up a step.
"What an unexpected pleasure."