Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
Joe whirled to see Washburn slashing with a chainsaw. The roaring blade flashed down to connect with the pistol in Joe's hand, jolting the weapon away.
"I don't want to use this," Washburn shouted above the harsh metallic drone. "Hands up."
Joe put both palms up at eye level. "Sure, okay," he said obligingly. "But turn it off, huh?"
"Not until you start up those wooden stairs over there."
"What stairs?"
Washburn turned his head to nod. "Right over there, dangling from the back of the — Oof!"
Joe dove in for a tackle, coming in under the slicing blade of the chainsaw.
Washburn teetered, struggling to get his balance and lash at Joe with the turning blade.
But he couldn't stay upright and fell over backward. He hit the ground and all the air was knocked from his lungs. His chainsaw swung wildly, cutting nothing but air.
Joe swung his fist, connecting with Washburn's thick wrist.
The big man grunted, then let go of the buzzing chainsaw. It flew up and away from his hand. Growling, the chainsaw pinwheeled through the air, hitting the ground only a few feet from Joe and his opponent. It snarled, tearing at the ground, then coughed and died.
Joe flipped the groggy Washburn over, straddling his back. "I'll just borrow your belt to tie you up," he told the sprawled man.
"Bravo, mate. That was better than the bloody circus." Leaning against the wall of the mill was Leon, a 9mm automatic dangling lazily in his hand. "But that's enough fun and games for one night. Raise your hands, like a good little boy."
VERY CASUALLY, Leon straightened up and pointed the automatic at Joe. "We're running on a very tight schedule," he explained. "So just give a yell for your loving brother."
"He's not here," said Joe. "He stayed in Crosscut to help fight the fire you guys started."
"Not bloody likely," said Leon. "You two blokes are inseparable. Now I want you to call out to him, wherever he may be lurking, and tell him to give himself up. Right quick."
"Frank's in — Ouch!"
Leon had strolled up to Joe, jamming the barrel of the automatic into his midsection. "No more games." The lean man raised his voice. "Frank! You've got two minutes to give yourself up. Then I shoot your baby brother."
On the ground Washburn groaned, rocking his head from side to side. "That's what I get for treating you decent," he said angrily to Joe.
"Trying to slice me up like a loaf of bread isn't my idea of decent."
"Laddies," advised Leon, "save it, will you?"
"He was going to tie me up with my own belt," complained the thickset man, sitting up and shaking his head as though he expected it to rattle. "He knocked me down and jumped on me." He rubbed his knee. "It hurts. I must have landed on it."
"All's fair in this sort of thing," said Leon. "Now shut up. Hey, Frank! You've got one minute left to surrender. Then I put one in Joe."
"I guess you probably would." Hands held in front of him, Frank stepped around the corner of the mill building.
"Frank, he was bluffing," said Joe.
"I didn't want to take a chance on that."
"Now, now, kiddies," said Leon, chuckling, "no need to go squabbling among yourselves."
He gestured at the Hardys with his automatic, then at the wooden stairs that hung on the rear of the old sawmill. "Climb up those stairs, boys. Fast as you can."
Joe went first, then Frank. Leon, watchful, followed.
Inside the mill they found a weird combination of old wood and modern high-tech. The main room had been converted into a field laboratory. There were white tables, silvery pipes and faucets, beakers, culture dishes, two microscopes, and a computer terminal.
Dr. Winter, still wearing his overcoat, was sitting in a folding chair and working at the keyboard of the terminal. On a small table beside the terminal was an open leather notebook.
"We brought some company," announced Leon as he ushered Frank and Joe into the big white room.
"In a minute. In a minute." Winter kept his eyes on the display screen, making a "wait-there" motion with his left hand.
"Brainy stuff," said Leon.
"Where's Jenny Bookman?" Joe directed his question to the scientist's back.
The curly-haired doctor ignored him, pudgy fingers working the keys.
Leon said, "Upstairs." He pointed his free hand at the ceiling.
"What about our father?" asked Frank.
Leon pointed upward again with his thumb. "You'll be up there with them soon as the good doctor has a chat with you."
"This was no picnic." Washburn finally came into the lab. "Hobbling up those stairs with a bum leg was no fun."
"Boor chap," said Leon. "My heart goes out to you."
"There. That's done." Dr. Winter pushed back from the terminal, made a few notations in the notebook, shut it, and turned to face them all. "I find this sort of work very satisfying."
"As satisfying," asked Joe, "as cooking up bacteria to kill people?"
Winter stood, eyeing him. "The worst thing about teaching college, young man, is dealing with flippant students like you. There have been all too many over the years. Fortunately, my academic days are behind me."
"I'd say," said Frank, "that your days outside of prison are behind you."
"Ah, but that's where you're wrong." The doctor smiled. "Let me give you a bit of sound business advice. Always get most of your fee in advance. I did that in this case, and thus all the annoyances that have arisen—your father's snooping, the trouble you two have made—none of that matters. I can simply withdraw to a quieter and warmer clime, join my money, and live a much more satisfying life. Perhaps I'll do a little research, but I'll never have to face a smart-aleck student again."
"You forgot to mention that other annoyance," Frank told him. "The murder of Professor Bookman."
"I had nothing directly to do with that," Winter insisted.
"The law doesn't look at things quite that way."
"That's true, young man," admitted the doctor. "But I shall soon be where that won't matter much."
"There's also kidnapping." Joe took a couple of steps toward him.
The doctor smiled a thin smile. "Oh, one could draw up a whole list of charges if it came to that," he said. "I've violated criminal laws, moral laws, ethical laws, business laws. If I were the type that worried about laws, I should be quite upset. I'm not that type, however, and I'm hardly upset."
"So you don't mind being responsible for a few more murders tonight, is that it?" asked Frank.
"That can't be helped," said Winter. "Actually, you have yourselves to blame. Had you not come barging in and stirring up all kinds of trouble, I'd have kept things under control."
"Oh. Then you'd only have killed our father."
"Even that might not have been necessary. I had hoped to persuade him to keep quiet about his findings."
"And what? Then he'd take the blame for the death of Professor Bookman?"
"Something might have been arranged, something less—um—drastic." Dr. Winter sighed, rubbed his fingers together. "I'm afraid I have quite a bit more to take care of now. You two will join Miss Bookman and your father upstairs. I should be finished by midnight. At that time, I'll gather up my notebooks and a few other things. Then I'll give these fellows the word to douse the building with gasoline and set it afire."
"At midnight?" said Joe. "Your pals were out pouring gas around as we came up. It's already been done. Didn't you know that, Dr. Winter?"
The doctor turned to Leon, who gave him a wolfish grin. "We were just about to explain the altered circumstances to you, Doc," he said.
The furious Winter stalked toward him. "What are you talking about, Leon? The orders I gave you were to spread the gasoline after I was gone."
"Stay where you are," Leon advised, swinging his automatic to point at the doctor.
"I'll do no such thing." Winter kept coming down the aisle between the white lab tables. "You are taking orders from me, not giving them."
"I warned you." Leon shot him.
Frank stood up, moving back from the sprawled body of Dr. Winter. "That's the best I can do. He's lucky the bullet passed clean through his thigh, and I was able to dress the wound with the first-aid kit."
"Lucky?" Leon laughed. "It doesn't make much difference now, does it?"
"Meaning that Dr. Winter isn't going to live much longer," Frank said coolly. "And neither are we."
"Bingo, if this was a bloody game show, I'd give you a prize," Leon taunted. "I only let you work on the Doc so he wouldn't make such a mess lying there. It doesn't bother me, but Washburn gets faint at the sight of blood."
"That isn't true!" his big partner protested.
Winter had passed out when the 9mm slug had gone through his upper right leg. He'd stayed unconscious while Frank, using the kit hanging on the wall, had used his knowledge of first aid to do what he could. Now the wounded doctor began to stir. He moved fitfully on the floor, like a man in uneasy sleep. He started muttering, "Double-crossed me ... sold me out."
"Feeling better, are we, Doc?" Squatting beside Winter, Leon prodded him in the side with his gun barrel. "You look a mite weary to me."
"Leon? What?" The doctor's eyes blinked rapidly a few times, then he opened them wide. "You shot me!"
"That I did."
"But you're working for me."
"No, that's not so and it never was. You've been going around acting like me and Washburn work for you, that's all." Leon stood up, glancing toward Frank and Joe and pointing his gun at them again. "But the truth is, Doc, you and me both work for the same boss. You're just an employee." "And he ordered you to shoot me?" Smiling narrowly, Leon answered, "The orders weren't that specific, Doc. All we have to do is make sure you stay here when we leave. But you've got to be inside when this building goes up." He nodded at the Hardys. "If these two hadn't shown up, you'd be charcoal broiled by now." "I don't understand why he'd do this." "Maybe you should ask him. He's just arriving now."
Through the roof of the mill, they could all hear the rhythmic chuffing of an approaching helicopter.
Leon laughed. "Now the boss will have a nice evening by his fireside."
RAY GARNER WORE a pale blue denim suit. A smile touched his tanned face as he strode into the lab. "You're running behind schedule, Leon," he said. "But I see you have your reasons."
"We caught the Hardys," Leon reported. "And we had a bit of a problem with the doc."
Winter said, "For a moment, Ray, I thought this was all a misunderstanding, that your people had made a mistake." He wet his lips. "But it isn't, is it?"
"You went even faster than I expected from being an asset to being a liability," answered the lumber boss. "Disposing of you makes perfect sense—as does getting rid of these two." He nodded at Frank and Joe. "I'm not happy about killing children, but it can't be helped." He flashed the Hardys an apologetic look.
"Did it ever occur to you," asked Joe, "that you're the craziest of this whole bunch? This whole nutty scheme was only to hurt rivals—and a lot of innocent people are getting killed."
"The scheme is mine. Right you are, Frank."
"I'm Joe. You mean you were the one who came up with the idea of creating a bacteria to destroy timber?"
"Certainly. Once I saw what the biotech facilities at Farber could do, it seemed a nice little blight to destroy the trees of competitors like Selva was just the thing." He gestured at the wounded Dr. Winter. "It wasn't difficult at all to find which man in the department to use. And his price was well within the range I had in mind."
Winter said, "In your game plan, Ray, I was always intended to end up this way, wasn't I?"
"No, not at all," said Garner. "Had things worked out better—if you'd developed a foolproof, controllable bacteria as promised—we might have had a pleasant association. But you let me down. The stuff started killing people as well as trees. I have no choice but to get out. That means scuttling the whole operation."
Winter leaned forward. "But I'm very close to working out an antidote for the unfortunate side effects."
"It's much too late for anything like that," said Garner. "Everything has gotten out of hand, for which I blame Frank and Joe here. They wouldn't stop stirring things up."
"I'd say the blame is actually yours," Frank shot back. "How did you ever think you could get away with this in the first place?"
"Murdering Professor Bookman wasn't too clever either," said Joe. "Not if you didn't want to attract attention." He backed a few steps as he spoke, moving slowly nearer a lab table.
"No, that was very clever," argued Garner. "We got rid of a serious threat. And, by framing your father and bringing him here, we put another threat out of the way."
"How'd you bribe all those witnesses?" asked Frank. "Why did they swear they saw our father arranging Bookman's death?"
"Only one of the witnesses was working for me," replied Garner. "That was all I needed to persuade the others that the man I had impersonating your dad was indeed Fenton Hardy."
Frank said, "You've got another major problem, Mr. Garner."
"Oh?"
"We're not the only ones now who know what you've been doing."
"If you're referring to the Bookman girl, she's tied up right above us."
Frank said, "I'm talking about the people at Selva. We filled them in. They'll start digging."
"It makes little difference." Garner shook his head. "All the files that were at the university have been taken and destroyed. The Wheelan house is no more—as I saw during my stopover at Crosscut while my copter took the doctor and the girl here. My meeting with Mayor O'Malley was interrupted by the report of the fire." He smiled. "The sheriff and the mayor are very upset with you, Leon."
"I guess so, yeah."
"In less than an hour this mill will also be cinders." Garner smiled. "That will take care of all traces of what we've been up to here, along with Winter's notebooks—and all of you."
"Five bodies," said Frank, shaking his head. "That's going to be hard to explain."