The Arctic Patrol Mystery

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PRIVATE
investigator Fenton Hardy enlists the aid of his teen-age detective sons in a search for a missing man being sought by an insurance company. All leads to the sailor's whereabouts have petered out and the boys fly to Iceland, the man's native land, hoping to find a new clue.

From the moment Frank and Joe arrive in Reykjavik, the capital city of Iceland, they are in constant danger. They are shadowed by a mysterious blond man who is later responsible for the crash landing of their chartered plane on a vast glacier. Stranded in a fierce blizzard, the detective brothers narrowly escape death. Other perils confront them when their friends Chet Morton and Biff Hooper vanish under alarming circumstances.

In the spine-chilling pursuit that follows, Frank and Joe uncover a diabolical espionage plot that threatens the life of a U.S. astronaut and NASA's moon project.

Copyright © 1997, 1969 by Simon & Schuster. Inc.

All rights reserved.

Published by Grosset & Dunlap, Inc., a member of The Putnam & Grosset Group, New York. Published simultaneously in Canada.
S.A. THE HARDY BOYS
^®
is a registered trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
GROSSET
&
DUNLAP
is a trademark of Grosset & Dunlap, Inc. Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 69-12164

eISBN : 978-1-101-07661-3

2008 Printing

“How would you boys like to fly to Iceland?” Mr. Hardy asked his sons.

Frank and Joe, seated in their father's study on the second floor of the Hardy home in Bayport, looked stunned.

“Iceland? Up near the Arctic Circle?” asked blond-haired, seventeen-year-old Joe.

Frank, dark-haired and a year older, had the same incredulous look as his brother, but he realized that his famous detective father was not joking. “Of course, Dad! What's the pitch? Another mystery?”

Fenton Hardy rocked slightly in his high-backed swivel chair. “I would call it a mild mystery compared with some others you've handled. But it could develop into the most dangerous one yet, provided...” Frowning, he paused for a moment.

Joe queried excitedly, “Provided what, Dad?”

“That depends on another assignment I'm not at liberty to reveal. It's top secret—for the moment at least. Your job is to find a man named Rex Hallbjornsson. An insurance company wants to pay him fifty thousand dollars.”

Frank smiled. “That's not hard to take. Who left him that tidy little fortune?”

“A person whose life he saved at sea.”

“Then this Hallb—what's his name—is a sailor?” Joe asked.

“Right. Probably one reason why Hallbjornsson hasn't been found. And I have a hunch his long Scandinavian name might have something to do with it, too.”

Mr. Hardy quickly outlined the important facts. The missing man's last known address was a London steamship company. That was before his ship was sunk by a drifting mine off the coast of France. European detectives tracked him to a family on the coast of Brittany, but Hallbjornsson had long since gone from there. He did leave a clue—a scrap of paper which bore the word ‘Island.'

“Island is the Icelandic word for Iceland,” Mr. Hardy explained. “Hallbjornsson would be in his sixties by now. My guess is that he returned to his native land. Your mission—track him down. There's a direct flight from New York to Reykjavik, the capital of Iceland.”

“What about Chet?” Joe asked. “Can he come With us?”

Chet Morton was the Hardys' best friend. He was a stout boy, great as a lineman on the Bayport High football team, but less than enthusiastic as a sleuth. Chet would side-step danger, if possible. However, when the chips were down, he always proved to be a true pal. He was fond of food and hobbies, the latter changing as often as the weather.

Mr. Hardy pondered the question about Chet in silence for a few moments. “Yes,” he said finally, “Chet might be of assistance as well as good company. But you must warn him to be silent. Premature disclosure of our plans could prove disastrous.”

Frank and Joe made careful note of their father's warning, because Fenton Hardy was an expert in detective work and security. He had been a crack member of the New York Police Department, and his superiors hated to lose him when he left to start his own agency. Now he was world-famous and his sons were following in his footsteps.

Their first case, known as
The Tower Treasure,
had whetted the boys' appetite for mysteries, and they had solved one after another, their latest being
Mystery of the Whale Tattoo.

“Great, Dad!” Frank said, jumping to his feet. “With spring vacation coming up we won't miss any time at school!”

“Are your passports up to date?” his father asked.

“Sure, we always keep them that way.”

A telephone call brought Chet Morton and his old jalopy backfiring to a halt in front of the Hardy home on Elm Street. Chet lived on a farm several miles out of town. He had a sister, Iola, who was Joe's girl friend.

Frank's special date was Callie Shaw. But girls were far from the minds of the young detectives as they ran out to greet their friend.

Chet hopped out of the car, his round face beaming. “Hi, fellows. Another mystery? By the way, how's your Aunt Gertrude fixed for pie?”

“Come in. We'll find out.”

Laura Hardy, the boys' mother, had gone marketing, leaving Aunt Gertrude in sole charge of the kitchen. Miss Hardy, their father's sister, was tall, spare, and decisive.

She often looked askance at the mysteries in which her nephews became involved. Nonetheless, Frank and Joe were very special to her as was Chet Morton, chief connoisseur of her excellent culinary abilities.

“Well! You sound like a bunch of elephants tramping in here!” Aunt Gertrude said.

“Chet's hungry again,” Frank declared with a wink.

“What else?” Joe joked. “That's a permanent condition with him.”

“Aw, cut it out, fellows,” said Chet, pulling out a kitchen chair and sliding his ample frame into it. “What's your latest in pies, Aunt Gertrude?”

Miss Hardy pursed her lips in a mock look of annoyance, yet she was secretly pleased with her reputation as a baker.

“Rhubarb pie, Chester. It's chilling in the refrigerator.”

A sly smile spread over Chet Morton's face. He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “My favorite! You must have known I was coming!”

“Cut out the baloney, Chet,” said Joe. “You'd eat anything.”

Chet's hurt look vanished when a large wedge of pie was placed before him, along with a tall glass of milk.

“Thank you, thank you,” he said as Aunt Gertrude left to take care of other household chores. Then he turned to his friends. “Now what's this latest proposition?”

“We're going to Iceland,” Frank said seriously, “and would like to take you with us.”

Chet grinned broadly. “Good thought!”

“But you must keep this absolutely mum,” Joe warned. “Not a word of it to anyone.”

“You can trust me to be quiet,” Chet stated between mouthfuls.

“And we mean
quiet!”
Frank added emphati cally.

“Okay, I'm with you.” Chet savored a long swig of milk. “And what are we going to do there?”

Briefly the Hardys told of their mission, and Chet seemed delighted with the idea. “Finding somebody doesn't seem too dangerous,” he said. “Besides, I'd like to see some real Eskimos.”

As he finished speaking, Chet banged the side of his hand on the kitchen table, making the pie plate jump.

“What are you trying to do?” Joe demanded.

“Just practicing my karate chop.”

“Your latest hobby?” Frank asked.

“Sure. The art of self-defense. Got to get the old hands toughened up. Never can tell when you need it.”

“You're a nut,” Joe said, grinning, as the boys stood up and walked to the front door.

“Thanks for the pie,” Chet said to Gertrude Hardy whom they met in the hall. “It'll give me lots of strength for our next case.”

“Quiet!” Joe said. “You're spilling the beans already.”

Aunt Gertrude sniffed, as if scenting a danger, and her eyebrows raised above the rim of her glasses. “Another case?” she asked, looking from Frank to Joe. “What is it?”

“Something simple,” Frank assured her. “An easy investigation. Don't worry.”