Terror at High Tide (11 page)

Slamming on the brakes, Frank felt the Jeep skid, and sand sprayed up around him. Moments later the Jeep careened around the turn. Looking through the rearview mirror, Frank saw the dune buggy take the turn, then zoom up within ten feet of the Jeep. “Unbelievable,” Frank muttered. “This guy doesn't give up.”

Frank gunned the engine, determined to keep far enough ahead of Cartwright to avoid being
rammed. “We've got to be getting near something,” he said. “Unless this is a dead end.”

Frank drove the Jeep over a small ridge, entering an area where the fog wasn't as dense.

“Hey!” Joe exclaimed. “What's that?”

Two tiny pinpricks of light were crossing the road about fifty feet ahead. “They look like car headlights. We must be at a crossroads or something.”

“The sky's lighter over there to the right—maybe we're near a town.”

Barely slowing the Jeep at the crossroads, Frank made a sharp turn to the right. It took him an instant to realize that he'd turned onto a paved road. “Joe, a real road. It may actually take us somewhere—”

Frank stopped talking as he realized what was causing the brightness in the sky. Looming ahead on his left was a lighthouse, the beacon slicing through the fog like a knife.

“Wow,” Joe said. “This has to be the Sankaty Lighthouse outside of 'Sconset. I noticed it on our bicycle map. I wonder if anyone's in there who could help us.”

“I doubt it,” Frank said. “The Coast Guard usually keeps lighthouses locked. But we're near the town—Cartwright wouldn't dare try anything with other people around.”

Shooting another look through the rearview
mirror, Frank saw Cartwright behind them, now about twenty feet back.

“Frank, stop,” Joe said. He pointed left. “It looks like there's a man walking toward the road. He's wearing a Coast Guard uniform.”

“Hang on,” Frank said. He put on the brakes, causing the Jeep to careen to the left and bringing it to a stop by the side of the road.

Caught off guard by the surprise move, Cartwright zoomed down the road past the Hardys. Frank and Joe were out of the Jeep in seconds.

“Where did the guard go?” Joe asked, looking up and down the road as far as he could in the fog. “He's nowhere in sight.”

Frank shrugged. “Maybe he went back to the lighthouse—let's check.” Frank and Joe tore over a golf course green toward the lighthouse. When the Hardys reached the lighthouse door, they found it slightly ajar.

“If the guard's not inside, then he's probably coming right back,” Joe said.

Frank pushed open the door and stepped inside. “Hello?” he called. There was no answer. Glancing up, Frank saw a spiral staircase. It must lead up to the beacon, he thought.

“Frank, look out!” Joe cried from just inside the door. “Cartwright's here.”

Frank whipped around. Joe was trying to slam the door shut, but Cartwright had wedged his
foot and shoulder in and was pushing hard. With a final shove, Cartwright managed to open the door wide enough to slide through. He was holding his knife.

“Upstairs!” Frank shouted to Joe. “The guard must be up there. He could radio for help.”

The Hardys rushed up the spiral stairway. Toward the top, they paused for a moment, pulses racing from the steep climb. Then they continued on.

In the tiny room upstairs the huge beacon flashed through the fog, alerting ships to the nearby shore.

“The guard's not here,” Frank said. “Now we're trapped.”

“Maybe Cartwright won't make the climb—he
is
pretty old,” Joe said, breathing hard.

Just then he heard Cartwright's heavy tread on the stairs. A moment later Cartwright appeared in the doorway, holding the knife. Hunched over, he took a second to catch his breath.

“He's in better shape than I thought,” Joe whispered to Frank. “But if we can get the knife away from him, we can overpower him.”

Cartwright straightened up. “Why were you boys snooping around my house today? I don't take kindly to trespassers.”

“You mean you don't take kindly to us figuring out your little scheme, Mr.
Harris.”

Cartwright fixed Frank with his steely gaze, his
eyes gleaming with hate. “The name's Cartwright.”

“Tell that to George Geovanis, the guy you're holding prisoner on your property somewhere,” Joe said.

“George Geovanis?” Cartwright said. “I don't know what you're talking about. I barely know the man. As I told you, George and I had that little discussion about Fund-raising at the Ferriers' party, but I haven't seen him since.”

Frank laughed. “You expect us to believe that? If that's true, then you have a pretty rude way of discouraging trespassers. Do you always attack them with knives—when they're on a public road next to your property?”

“You were at my house first,” Cartwright spat out, “checking out my garage and my car.”

Joe looked surprised. “If you saw us at your house, then how did you get to the cranberry bog before we did?”

Cartwright smirked. “So Frank and Joe Hardy don't know everything?” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “What a surprise. Well, if you must know, I suspected you were casing my house ever since our encounter the day before. I told my housekeeper to call me on my cell phone if she saw anyone fitting your description sneaking around.”

“So you chased us all over the moors in the fog just to tell us to get lost?” Frank scoffed. “Even
though we weren't on your property at the time? What a lame story. You were onto us as early as yesterday morning, when you tried to run us off the road. I'll bet you got Mr. Geovanis to tell you we were detectives.”

Cartwright stared at Frank and Joe, unfazed. “You were on back roads not far from my property, and, as I said, I don't take kindly to trespassers.”

“If you use your knife on us here,” Joe said, “you'll be murdering us in cold blood—on Coast Guard property.”

“I'm not going to kill you,” Cartwright said with a sneer. “You boys aren't worth doing jail time for. But if I find you on my property again . . .” He stopped, slashing his blade through the air. “Let's just say you've been warned.” Keeping his eyes on Frank and Joe, he slowly backed down the stairs, his knife in front of him.

When the Hardys heard the downstairs door creak open, Frank turned to Joe. “We've got to find Mr. Geovanis. He must be somewhere on the bog—the cuff link is our clue. Cartwright wouldn't chase us down like that if he had nothing to hide.”

“It's true,” Joe said. “What better place to hide a guy than in that deserted shed?”

The Hardys rushed down the stairs, but just as they were pushing open the lighthouse door,
they came face-to-face with the Coast Guard officer.

“Sorry, boys,” the man said, “no tours today. The lighthouse is closed to the public. The only reason I'm here is to fix this lock.” He held up a screwdriver, then pointed to the lock in the door. “I had to go into town to get the right kind of screws.”

“We need your help. It's an emergency.” Briefly Frank told the guard the location of the shed and that George Geovanis had been kidnapped. The guard looked shocked, but he agreed to radio for a police unit.

“This had better not be some kind of hoax,” he muttered as he took his two-way radio out of his pocket.

Without wasting another second, Frank and Joe raced back across the golf course and hopped into the Jeep. As Frank jabbed the key into the ignition, he prayed that Cartwright hadn't sabotaged the car. To his relief, the Jeep started right up. The Coast Guard guy must have come along at just the right time, he guessed.

“Floor it, Frank,” Joe said. “We don't have a second to lose.”

Frank made a U-turn, then careened back up the road. Soon he and Joe were bouncing up the dirt road through the moors. At the edge of the cranberry bog, they began scanning the landscape. “There it is!” Joe cried, pointing
at a ramshackle shed set back in a grove of trees.

Frank slammed on the brakes, and he and Joe jumped out. At the shed Frank flung open the rotting door, then froze in horror. The shed was empty!

Frank whipped around toward Joe. “We're too late,” he gasped. “Cartwright must have taken Mr. Geovanis. We didn't get here fast enough.”

“Could we have been wrong about the shed?”

Stooping down, Frank picked up a small piece of rope and a rag from a corner. “I don't think so. Looks like he gagged him with this.”

“I hope he hasn't killed him,” Joe said.

Frank blew out his breath. “You and me both.” He glanced up and down the road but saw nothing. “Cartwright knows the police are probably looking for Mr. Geovanis by now. My guess is he won't risk being on the open road with his captive. Let's head for Cartwright's house.”

“The police would have to get a warrant to
search his house,” Joe said, “and that takes time. Cartwright would have Mr. Geovanis alone for a few more hours.”

“Yup—and that's all he'd need,” Frank said grimly. Frank tossed the rope and rag back on the floor, then the Hardys rushed to the Jeep. Once inside, they peeled up the dirt road toward Cartwright's.

Halfway down the driveway, Frank parked the Jeep next to some sumac trees. “We've got to keep a low profile—Cartwright won't exactly be happy to see us.”

“That's for sure,” Joe said. The Hardys stepped out and moved stealthily toward the house, keeping close to the trees. Just as the woods gave over to a lawn, Joe pointed to the side of the driveway. The blue dune buggy was lying on its side, the front fender smashed. “Man, is that guy out of control, or what,” Joe said. “Well at least we know he's around here somewhere.”

“I just hope Mr. Geovanis is okay,” Frank said. When they drew closer to the house, the Hardys saw a moped propped up on its kickstand. Frank frowned. “I wonder who that belongs to?”

Joe felt his stomach knot. “It looks an awful lot like Alicia's. I hope she didn't panic and decide to come here at the last minute.”

A scream filled the air. The Hardys stiffened, every sense on alert. “It's coming from the front
of the house,” Frank said. “And it sounds like a girl. Come on.”

Frank and Joe took off around the left side of the house, tearing up grass as they ran. The fog was still thick, but they could see the edge of the lawn, where it spilled down over a sandy bluff. Beyond that, the harbor was invisible under a blanket of gray.

Another scream rang through the stillness. “It's definitely Alicia,” Joe said. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead.

“Over the bluff!” Frank yelled, rushing to the edge of the lawn. A loud roar ripped through the air as Frank gazed down the hill. His mouth went dry. About ten feet off shore Cartwright was starting up a motorboat. Inside were George and Alicia Geovanis, tied up back to back.

“No!” Joe shouted at Frank's side. Alicia looked up as if she heard him, her eyes wide with terror. Then the boat disappeared into the fog.

“Joe, look,” Frank said, pointing up the beach. Anchored to a dock about twenty feet away were two more speedboats. “One of those babies has our name on it.”

In seconds Frank started up one of the speedboats while Joe unhitched it from the dock. A moment later they headed into the fog.

“This is even worse than the moors,” Joe said from the prow. “At least we had a road to follow then. How will we ever find them?” He stared
ahead, trying to make out the horizon, but the sea disappeared into a gray cottony void.

“We can follow in the wake of their boat,” Frank said.

Looking down, Joe saw the long V-shaped trail left by Cartwright's propeller in the water. “Good thinking, Frank. We'll just pretend it's a road.”

Frank revved the engine, and the boat sped along, bouncing through the waves. Soon Joe heard the roar of another boat ahead. “Cartwright,” Frank said. He opened up the engine full throttle. “I can't catch him—he's going too fast. But at least I can keep up.”

They zoomed along for what seemed like hours, when Joe noticed a light stabbing the sky to his left. “Is that the Sankaty Lighthouse?” he asked. “It's in the wrong place.”

“It must be the Nantucket Lighthouse,” Frank told him. “I'll bet we're going through the neck of the harbor, out into the Atlantic.”

“Where's Cartwright going?” Joe muttered. “To Europe?” He glanced to either side. As the beam of light swooped through the mist, he could make out yachts and speedboats bobbing at their moorings. “Cartwright's the only bozo crazy enough to take a boat out in this weather.”

“Or desperate enough,” Frank added.

Past the lighthouse the water became choppier, and Joe felt his stomach lurch. Several minutes
passed while the Hardys stared grimly into the curtain of fog ahead of them.

Suddenly the boat pitched. There was a loud crunching noise. “We've run aground!” Frank said, frantically trying to steer the boat off the shoals.

Joe leaned over the prow. He could see a brown oval shape under the surface of the water next to the boat. He was relieved not to see any holes in the hull. “It looks like we've hit a rock, Frank. I don't see any damage, but then I can't see the whole hull.”

“Hope you're right, but just in case, let's put on these.” Pulling out two life vests from under the stern, Frank tossed one to Joe.

Joe put on his vest, then sat impatiently in the prow. How would they ever save Alicia and her father now? he wondered. Even if they could get their boat out of the shoals, Cartwright's wake had already blended into the choppy ocean surface.

The sea was ominously quiet. Joe leaned over, pulling off his sneakers. He couldn't stand doing nothing for one more second. “I'm going into the water to try to push us off the rocks,” he announced.