The Arctic Patrol Mystery (12 page)

WAVES crashed over the deck, nearly swamping the
Asdis.
The boys battened down the hatches while Rex Mar switched on the pump motor.

“I could do with some of Chet's seasick pills now!” Frank shouted above the howling gale.

The little trawler endured the buffeting by the elements for two hours before the storm let up a bit. Then the winds tapered off gradually, giving the crew time for catnaps before dawn lighted up the jagged coastline.

After a breakfast of cold lamb, bread, and milk, the boys joined Rex Mar at the wheel. “We'll spell you for a while, sir,” Frank said. “You need some rest.”

The Icelander accepted the offer, but would not go below. Instead, he stretched out on a bench and fell fast asleep.

While Frank held the wheel, Gummi read the chart spread out on a table. “X marks the spot where we're to put ashore,” he said.

Frank checked the coordinates. “Wow! Look here!” he called to Joe. “This is right near the place where we transferred to the
Albert!”

The sturdy
Asdis
rode the waves for another hour, then Gummi awakened the skipper. “I think this is where we take her in,” he said.

The old man stood up stiffly, looked at the map, then peered over the water at the sullen coastline. “
Ja
. There's the inlet.”

Frank spun the wheel and guided the trawler toward shore. Near the mouth of the stony inlet, Joe exclaimed, “Hey, Frank! A rubber raft!” He reached for the binoculars on a shelf and whipped them to his eyes. “And it has a small outboard!”

“I didn't see a whale after all!” Frank said.

Joe moved toward the radio. “Shall I contact Captain Magnusson right now?”

“No. If Musselman is listening in on our wave length, it would give us away,” Frank replied.

Mar made the
Asdis
fast to the makeshift dock in the inlet and said, “Now we will have to wait until the man contacts us.”

“Meantime I'm going to check on that raft,” Frank said.

While Gummi scrambled up a low ridge near the shore to keep a lookout, Frank and Joe climbed around the jagged shore to where the raft bobbed in a small rock-strewn inlet.

Joe was first to step into the craft. “It has a watertight canopy!” he exclaimed. “I've never seen one like this before. And look, Frank, these pontoons aren't metal.
^T
hey're rubber, with valves like ballast tanks.”

“You're right. See these little compressed air containers?”

Joe grew even more excited. “Of course! This is the underwater gimmick we suspected. Musselman was towed by the
Tek
until they came near this landing spot. Then he surfaced and beat it for shore!”

“At the same time we were transferring to the
Albert.
That was a close call for him!”

Frank and Joe left the raft as they had found it and returned to Gummi with their information.

“Those guys are no amateurs,” the Icelandic boy said. “We'd better be careful.”

They had to wait almost all day for their rendezvous. When dusk began to settle over the ocean, the skipper took his binoculars and scanned the shore. “Here comes our man now,” he said, and handed the glasses to Frank. A jeep came bouncing over the rough ground. Musselman was at the wheel.

“In your disguises, quick!” Mar ordered.

Frank and Joe hastened below, attached their false eyebrows and padded out their cheeks. When they came on deck again, Musselman was there to greet them. Beneath his jacket bulged a pistol in a shoulder holster.

Frank chuckled inwardly at the confrontation. Disguise versus disguise! Obviously Musselman wore his to mislead Icelandic authorities, but the Hardys knew his secret. They hoped he would never discover theirs!

Now the man leaped nimbly on deck. Smooth-spoken, he complimented Mar for bringing the boat through such a fierce storm.

“You wanted a seaworthy boat, and I got one, Mr.——”

Musselman grinned. “Call me Chief, that's all you have to know.” He glanced at the three boys, and his eyes returned to the skipper. “You will sail to Greenland for me, but we must avoid the Arctic Patrol.”

“We are carrying contraband? What kind?”

A sly smile crossed Musselman's lips. “Are all Icelanders so inquisitive? Well, I'll tell you. I have three boxes of rare metal ore. A new find in this part of the world. But the Icelandic government will not let me take it out.” He shrugged. “So we do it anyway. Bring your crew and follow me!”

The four leaped ashore and walked to the jeep with Musselman. It was an open-top vehicle, much like Gummi's. Mar sat in front, while the youths squeezed into the back.

The jeep banged and jounced over the rough ground, heading for the interior. Presently a trail came in sight. It was nothing more than tire tracks which curved and undulated over the barren ground.

The driver increased his speed, and as they came to a bend around a small gully, the jeep slewed to the right and a rear wheel teetered over the edge.

“Look out!” Joe shouted.

The jeep banged on its rear axle before regaining the trail again. Musselman half turned his head toward the back seat.

“Did someone speak English?” he asked.

“Nei,”
Gummi replied.

“I have one bad ear,” Musselman said. “I must have heard wrong.”

Joe kicked himself mentally for the slip of the tongue and determined to be more careful in the future. One false move now, and all would be ruined!

Presently the ground became even rougher, and soon the jeep stopped. A hundred yards farther and halfway up the edge of a stony slope stood five ponies. The rugged little horses had shaggy coats and waited patiently as the five travelers approached.

The ponies were saddled and the party mounted Musselman took the lead. They trudged along and rounded a bend in the valley, then turned into a partially hidden glen, shielded by towering chunks of lava.

Behind one of these stood a large sod hut built into the hillside. A long thin antenna stuck out of the roof.

Musselman stopped, and after they dismounted led the quartet inside. The interior was sparsely furnished, yet warm and comfortable. The table, chairs, stove, and other accessories were modern.

The Hardys looked around for the three boxes. None were in sight.

“Pretty elaborate setup, Joe,” Frank murmured to his brother out of Musselman's earshot.

Just then the door opened and another man appeared.
Musselman's pal
—
the helicopter pilot who had lifted him off the glacier!
Now for the first time they heard his name—Diran. He, too, glanced at the Hardys without recognition, then spoke in low tones with his accomplice.

After a meal of beans, bread, and cold meat, Musselman dragged out some folding cots and directed the boys to turn in for the night.

Then he and his confederate slipped out into the darkness.

“Come on, Joe! Now is our chance!” Frank said.

They hastily pulled on trousers and shoes, crept across the earthen floor, pushed open the door and went out into the night.

As they rounded a large lava boulder, they heard voices. Both boys ducked down. About ten feet ahead stood the two suspects. The men spoke in a language that neither one of the Hardys had ever heard before.

Suddenly a chill of fear struck them when Musselman mentioned the name “Hardy.”

Was the boys' presence known? Had their cover been blown?

AT hearing the name “Hardy,” Frank's heart sank. No doubt the men were well armed. Making a break for it now would be foolhardy. The boys crept back into the sod house and whispered their discovery to Gummi and Mar.

“I wonder what they intend to do,” Gummi said.

“Well, we have no choice but to play it by ear,” Joe muttered glumly.

Only Musselman returned to the hut that night. His confederate remained outside. The boys concluded that he was guarding the door.

Shortly after daybreak Diran stepped in and began to prepare breakfast. He gave no sign of recognition and the boys were relieved. Perhaps everything was all right, after all.

Breakfast was a makeshift affair, with everyone eating eggs and bread in tin plates wherever they could find a place to sit.

Sidling up to Rex Mar, Frank murmured, “Ask them about those boxes.”

The seaman spoke in English. “The boxes with the contraband, Chief—I do not see any. Where are they?”

Musselman put down his plate and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Not so fast, Mar. They are not here.”

“Oh?”

With a crooked smile Musselman motioned to his accomplice. “Diran and I are leaving for a while. All of you stay here until we come back,” he ordered. “More of my men are outside.”

After they had left, Frank looked out the small window. Musselman and Diran disappeared be. hind a big volcanic boulder. “Come on,” Frank said tersely to the others. “Let's search this place.”

“Right,” Joe added. “We might come up with a clue!”

The three boys, assisted by Rex Mar, left nothing untouched. They looked into every utensil, pounded the thin mattresses, and pulled out the cots to look beneath them.

Joe was about to replace Musselman's bed when his eyes caught a thin crack in the earth floor. “Hey, Frank, look at this!”

The boys dropped to their hands and knees. Frank pulled out his pocketknife and worked it into the crack, which grew wider.

Following its course, the knifepoint outlined a square, between two and three feet wide.

“It's a trap door of some kind,” Gummi declared.

Rex Mar stood by fascinated as the young detectives worked feverishly. Frank asked him to stand guard at the window in case the two thugs should return.

The boys prodded until they found a ring, which they pulled hard.

A ladder led into the dark cellar. No light switch was in evidence. “Do you have a cigarette lighter, Mr. Mar?” Joe called out.

The man reached into his pocket and tossed a lighter. Joe flicked it on and descended.

“Holy crow, Frank! Come down and take a look at this!”

Frank climbed down the ladder, and the two found themselves standing in a small room, one side of which was literally covered with radio and electronic equipment.

“What a sending-and-receiving station!” Joe exclaimed.

Frank gasped as his eyes roved over the elaborate setup. “This is a top-quality spy center, Joe!”

The Hardys were skilled at radio transmission, and knew how to operate much of the equipment which gleamed in the glow of the flickering lighter.

“Frank, I wonder what this is,” Joe said, and lightly touched the edge of a highly polished metal box.

Suddenly there was a sizzing sound, accompanied by blue sparks. Without a word, Joe sank to the ground. The lighter fell from his hand and was extinguished.

An icy chill ran down Frank's spine as he stood in the pitch blackness. He dropped to his hands and knees and searched about until he found the lighter.
Flick
—it failed to respond.
Flick
—
flick.
Finally it burst into flame again, sending its feeble light over Joe's ashen face.

Frank felt for his brother's pulse. He was breathing. “I've got to get him out of here, and quick!” Frank thought.

Just then Gummi leaned over the trap door. “What's going on down there, fellows? Is everything all right?”

“No, Joe's been shocked,” Frank replied. “Come on down and give me a hand. We've got to get him up.”

Gummi descended, and together they lifted Joe's limp body from the floor. Gummi climbed the ladder first, tugging at the boy's arms. Frank stood beneath his brother, shoving as hard as he could. Soon the unconscious Joe was lying on the earth floor.

Frank rolled him quickly out of the way. Gummi replaced the trap door and patted the earth so that the cracks did not show. Then he put the cot back into place.

Frank, meanwhile, administered artificial respiration to his brother. Suddenly Rex Mar called out, “Here they come!”

“How far away?” Gummi asked.

“A hundred yards.”

Frank worked like fury. Joe's eyes opened and Frank and Gummi pulled him to his feet. “Snap out of it, Joel” Frank hissed, but his brother was still groggy.

Half dragging, half walking Joe to his cot, the boys put him down, tucked his hands in behind his head, and crossed his feet, making it look as if he were napping.

By now Joe was fully conscious but still weak and his left forefinger bore a slight burn.

“They stopped to talk,” Mar reported.

Frank wondered what the discussion was about. The boxes, no doubt. A thought, half submerged in his subconscious, now came to the surface strong and clear.

Frank whispered his suspicion to Joe and Gummi. Joe looked sick with fear. Were Major McGeorge, Chet, and Biff “the rare metal ore” sealed in those boxes?

Gummi was more optimistic. “We haven't seen the boxes yet,” he said. “Maybe they're only small ones!”

Joe had a plan. He wanted to break out of the door just as the others were entering, grab one of the ponies, and race back to the
Asdis.
“I could radio for help,” he said. “I'm certain these fellows have something to do with the missing astronaut.”

“No doubt,” Frank agreed, but cautioned against any rash move. “Gummi's right,” he said. “We have to get a look at those boxes before we do anything.”