The Bombay Boomerang (16 page)

A car driven by a chauffeur eased up to the curb. A second man in uniform got out and opened the back door with a deferential bow to the Hardys. “Your limousine, gentlemen.”

Mr. Hardy laughed. “The U. S. Navy is a lot speedier than Admiral Rodgers imagines!”

“Yes, sir,” the man replied smoothly. “We do our best to please. If you will get in, we'll have you at the airport in a jiffy.”

As the Hardys climbed in, the uniformed man slammed the door and rejoined the chauffeur in the front. The car took off with a jolt that threw the passengers against the back seat. They swished down the drive, through the Pentagon grounds, and out into the street.

“He came fast and he's going even faster,” Mr. Hardy remarked, rubbing his elbow where it had hit the armrest.

“We'd better tell him to take it a little easier,” Frank proposed. “We're not in that much of a hurry.”

“Besides, we're liable to pile into somebody,” Joe added as the car snaked swiftly through the maze of traffic.

“Say!” Mr. Hardy spoke up in alarm. “This guy isn't going to the airport. He must be a numb-skull as well as a cowboy. We ought to buy him a map of Washington!”

Frank rapped sharply on the glass partition that separated the front and the rear of the limousine. The man next to the driver turned around and gave an evil grin.

“These characters aren't working for the Navy!” Mr. Hardy exploded. “They're phonies! We're being kidnapped!”

 

 

 

 

THE man leering at them slid open the glass panel on his side of the car. A long, narrow cylinder appeared in his hand, pointing straight into the back seat.

“A pencil gun,” Joe muttered. “Just what the well-dressed thug is wearing this year.”

Frank spoke with barbed sarcasm. “Excuse me, but you seem to be headed in the wrong direction.”

“Have fun while you can, wise guy!” the man snapped. “You don't have an awful lot of time left!”

“Mind telling us where we're going?” Mr. Hardy inquired.

“You're the detective. Take a guess!” The driver sniggered at his partner's humor. The two were enjoying themselves.

The limousine swung deeper into Virginia, and turned off into a lonely wooded section where tall trees shaded thick undergrowth. Residential districts had been left far behind. Only hunters were likely to be seen in this part of the state. And even they would not be coming through until months later when the hunting season began.

“I'll tell you a secret,” the driver said. “We're on our way to a funeral. Your funeral. We've got a hole in the ground already dug for you.”

“I would like to register a protest.” Joe was talking tongue-in-cheek. “I'm allergic to funerals, especially my own.”

“Actually,” the second man commented, “I'm glad it worked out this way. There wasn't any sense in giving you guys all those warnings to get off the mercury case. Cheever and Bucko dreamed that up. They always were a couple of dimwits. We'll see to it that our method is more effective.”

Frank decided to trick the two thugs into revealing more information. “Well, one good threat deserves another. You might as well forget about operation Bomb Bay Boomerang. You'll never get away with it now.”

“That's what you think. It'll work out all right. And there'll be a hot time in the old USA when it hits. That nerve gas will knock out enough people to start riots from coast to coast. The government will be overthrown.”

Fenton Hardy knitted his brows. “The last piece of the jigsaw puzzle has just fallen into place. Mercury fulminate is an explosive used for such things as cartridge detonators. You plan to put the liquid metal and the missing missile together!”

“Smart guy. You guessed it. We've developed a super warhead made of mercury fulminate. Get the picture? The bomb sets up shock waves so devastating they can crack the crust of the earth for miles and miles!”

“How?”

“You'll keep our secret—you won't be alive to tell it. The missile will home in on a heating unit we've set up in Colorado right under the nose of the military. We'll get the underground defenses one after the other. The gas will be all over the state in a matter of minutes, with a terrific toll!”

The driver glanced at his watch and snapped on the radio. “Time to listen to a little music,” he said.

Teddy Blaze's program came on. Stomping rhythms blared for a couple of minutes before the disk jockey stopped the recordings and went into his patter.

“Endsville for now, chums. Midnight tonight our program will leave Bayport. Good-by, Balto. Deadline for the big shakeup. Are you with me out there? Let's go, one and all!”

The driver clicked the radio off.

“So,” Frank reasoned aloud, “the troops are being called in from Baltimore. Your plane will leave tonight with the Super S aboard from Bayport, bound for Colorado!”

The two gangsters in the front seat were visibly astonished by the accuracy of the deduction.

“You know about Blaze, do you?” snarled the driver. “Cracked his code? Never mind. When you are out of the way, no one will be any wiser.”

“Tell me,” Joe said amiably, “where did you hide the Super S?”

“In Teddy's garage in Bayport. Good place, eh? He was building an addition, so the truck which delivered the missile also carried some roofing sheets and cement. All in order.” The man chuckled.

His partner, however, objected to his frankness. He nudged him. “Get to the graveyard fast. I want to plant these characters.”

The car picked up speed along a rough dirt road. Branches scraped the sides as it lurched over boulders and down into potholes, jouncing those inside up and down until they reached for the nearest support.

Taking advantage of the jolting ride, Joe leaned down toward the floor. The man with the pencil gun pushed his hand through the partition. “Sit up,” he ordered, “or I'll see to it that you stay down permanently!”

Joe came up with a karate kick that slammed the thug against the dashboard. Reacting instantaneously, Mr. Hardy reached through the partition, grabbed the driver by the arm, twisting it until he yelled with pain.

The car, out of control, careened wildly off the road. Bouncing across a gully, it zoomed into a clearing, hit a massive tree with a swipe that caused the vehicle to turn over, and came to rest back on its wheels.

Frank and Joe were thrown clear as the impact jarred a back door open. Mr. Hardy and the two abductors were still inside, but out cold.

Frank sat up. “Joe—Joe, are you all right?” Joe answered with a grunt. “I hope so. Where's Dad?”

“Still in the car.”

While the boys were picking themselves up, a patrol car stopped by the side of the road. Several policemen led by Captain Stein piled out and rushed across to the limousine.

“Just in time!” Frank called out in relief.

“We've been tailing you ever since you left the Pentagon,” the captain explained. “Your real driver saw you go off with these phonies. He checked with the admiral, then told us you were being kidnapped.”

“He was right,” Frank said dryly.

The three occupants of the limousine were lifted out onto the grass. “They'll be okay,” one of the officers declared. “Temporarily separated from their senses. Nothing worse. In fact, they're coming around now.”

Frank and Joe were kneeling anxiously at their father's side. Mr. Hardy soon revived and gave an account of the abduction at the Pentagon, and said he would prefer charges against the hoodlums.

The two prisoners, glaring in anger, were marched to the squad car as soon as they could walk. Two more police cars arrived with reinforcements.

“National security is involved,” Joe told the captain. “We must get back to Bayport as fast as we can.”

“No problem. Get into the first car, and we'll take you to the airport in no time.”

Minutes later, the car reached the highway, and with siren screaming for traffic to get out of the way, sped to the Washington airport. After thanking Captain Stein for his help, the Hardys quickly joined Jack Wayne on their private plane for the flight home.

“What's our next step?” Joe asked when they were airborne.

“The gang's plane won't leave until midnight,” Mr. Hardly replied. “We might as well go home and be back by eleven. That should give us enough time to stop the take-off.”

“Shall we alert the airport police?” Frank asked.

“No. Admiral Rodgers wants as few people as possible to know about the whole thing. We'll handle this ourselves. But I'll call him as soon as we land about having FBI men on hand.”

The plane touched down in Bayport and the Hardys took a taxi home. Mrs. Hardy gave them an affectionate welcome. Aunt Gertrude opined crisply that they would have done better if they had stayed in Bayport.

“If this is where the action is, what was the point of going to Baltimore?”

Joe grinned. “Well, Aunty, we couldn't have known where the action is if we hadn't dug up clues in Baltimore.”

“And we did have a rather exciting time when we were there,” Frank added.

“In any case,” Joe said, “you'll be glad to hear that we expect to conclude this case tonight.”

“I hope so!” Miss Hardy said. “It's about time that you stayed home for a while!”

Frank called his friends and asked them to come over. Soon they arrived in Biff's car, Chet with an armful of boomerangs.

“Since we might have some spare time on our hands,” he announced, “I brought something to occupy us.”

Before the Hardy boys could answer, their father came dashing out the door. “Admiral Rodgers just called. He's picked up some information that the midnight flight has been changed. The plane will take off earlier!”

Frank and Joe were aghast. “We've got to leave right away!” Frank exclaimed.

“Right. Hurry up!”

“What's going on?” Biff asked.

“We'll tell you later,” Frank said. “Just follow us!” He jumped behind the wheel of their convertible. Mr. Hardy and Joe slid in beside him. When they reached the airport they sped directly out to the runway.

A private, single-engine jet was gathering speed for take-off. Blazoned on its nose was a large crimson boomerang!

“That's the plane!” Joe yelled. “What can we do to stop it?”

“Use our boomerangs!” Chet quickly threw a couple to each of his friends.

As the jet roared past a few feet from where they were standing, the boys hurled a barrage of weapons at it. Two struck the air intake, and were sucked in, causing the engine to quit. The plane slowed to a halt.

Teddy Blaze, glowering furiously, shook his fists at the boys through the window.

Joe chuckled. “I guess he knows by now that although we're not his most enthusiastic music fans, we do have a certain interest in his career!”

FBI agents swarmed aboard the plane. Overpowering the thugs who made a brief resistance, they cleared the intake. An FBI pilot turned the craft around and taxied back to the hangar, where Blaze and his confederates were removed in handcuffs for the trip to jail.

The pilot flipped a switch, and while the Hardys and their friends, who had followed the plane in their cars, looked on, the bomb-bay door swung down.

A glistening cigar-shaped missile came into view, perched in its rack, complete with sinister warhead, programming mechanism, and spreading tail fins.

The Super S!

The Hardys' friends stared in utter amazement. While Frank and Joe filled them in on the importance of their caper, Mr. Hardy left to phone the Pentagon. When he returned, he addressed the group of boys with him.

“Admiral Rodgers is very relieved that the conspirators were caught before they could launch their attack. He says the final report by his staff shows that Teddy Blaze is indeed the gang leader who mixed crime instructions with his music patter over the radio.”

Chet whistled. “And before Frank and Joe suspected him, we thought he was just a kooky talker!”

Mr. Hardy nodded and went on. “The Blaze gang has been stealing defense secrets and military hardware for a foreign power. They were on such an assignment when they ransacked Commander Wenn's office for the Super S data.”

“And we got involved when I dialed the wrong number and got the Pentagon!” Joe said.

“Exactly. The same foreign power paid for the theft of the mercury, and even sent an airman to pilot the plane to Colorado. They set up the heating unit for the missile to home in on.”

“Which foreign power?” Frank asked.

“The admiral is not at liberty to say,” his father replied. “One more thing. We're receiving a commendation from the Defense Department for services to the nation.”

He was about to turn back to the car when a sudden thought struck him. “You know,” he said with a smile, “one of us did more than the rest to ground that plane. I think he deserves a special vote of thanks.”

Chet grinned and held up a hand. “Say no more, sir. I get the message. The Bomb Bay Boomerang was knocked out by a Chet Morton Special!”

The laughter and banter that followed put everyone in a happy, relaxed mood. But it was not to last long, because another mystery—
Danger on Vampire Trail—
soon was destined to test the sleuthing ability of the Hardy boys.