Read The Deadliest Dare Online
Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
"What was the shooting about on the yacht? Did Gramatkee show up or what?"
Curt turned away from Kevin for a moment. "Something like that," he finally admitted.
The boat chopped its way toward the far end of the harbor.
Joe finally spoke up. "Why don't you tell him that you shot Gramatkee?" he asked.
"What are you doing here?" Curt gave Joe a deadly scowl. "You know," he said, "there are too many Hardys in this world."
Kevin asked, "Did you have to shoot Gramatkee?"
"I was shooting at Frank Hardy and Biff Hooper," answered his brother angrily. "Your buddy Biff was trying to kill me."
"Not Biff," said Kevin, shaking his head. "He's not that kind of guy."
"Why don't you keep your mind on steering this thing?" Curt said. "And leave the thinking to me."
"Give him a break," Joe told the hit man. "Don't take it out on Kevin because your plans went wrong."
Grinning coldly, Curt said, "Oh, not everything's gone wrong. I've just suffered a temporary setback, Joe."
Kevin was still glancing nervously at his brother. "But, Curt, there wasn't supposed to be any shooting."
"Obviously there was, Kev," Curt said stonily.
"Getting Biff and the others into trouble with the cops is one thing," said Kevin as he killed the engine again. "But you promised me that nobody was going to get shot or seriously hurt."
"So things changed some." Curt lifted the gas can. "Now quit whining and pay attention. We've got some serious business ahead of us."
Curt's left hand swung out with a jerk, pointing in the direction of the Golden Fleece. "Gramatkee's still aboard that thing," he said. "And thanks to Frank and Biff, he's still alive. I accepted money up-front on this hit. So I can't leave here until he's dead."
Kevin's hands dropped to his sides. He inhaled sharply through his mouth, and his voice trembled as if he were close to crying. "It's true," he said numbly. "It's all true."
He sounded like a little kid who's been told there's no Santa Claus. Joe realized that Kevin Branders was losing his childhood hero.
"We've got to douse this boat with gasoline, aim it at the yacht," Curt went on, not even noticing the look on his younger brother's face. "We'll jump before it hits, and just at that instant I'll set it afire. You understand me, Kev? The timing on this is important."
"Murder," murmured Kevin, staring at him. "You're going to murder Gramatkee—and Frank and Biff, too."
Now Curt looked his brother in the face. "Great, you finally got the point. Now start the launch."
Kevin said, "And what about Joe?"
"He stays in the boat."
"You mean you kill him, too."
"I mean that we kill him, too." Curt's tone was full of barely restrained impatience, as though he were trying to explain something basic to an extremely stupid person. "We can't leave a witness around to tell people what we did."
He gave Kevin a friendly tap on the shoulder. "This is graduation night for you, kid. You have to run with me now. All the kid stuff is over and done."
"And I can never come back here again." Kevin glanced at Joe, remembering the things he'd said on the trip out to the Golden Fleece.
He shook his head. "No, I can't do this," he said. "I can't let you kill Joe or — "
"Forget about Joe then." Curt slammed the can down, bent, and hauled the tied-up Joe to his feet. Joe tried to struggle, but the ropes prevented that.
"We don't need him for anything," said Curt, looking over the launch's gunwales. "We might as well get rid of him right now."
***
As soon as the dark figure leapt over the rail of the Golden Fleece, Frank Hardy hurled himself across the deck. He pounced on the remaining figure, then drew back in surprise.
"Biff?"
Frank rose to his knees. "So Curt Branders is the one who went overboard."
Biff Hooper shook his head a few times. "I've got to tell you," he said as he got up with help from Frank, "I've felt lots better than I do right now."
Frank searched the planks of the deck. "Here's Curt's gun," he said, picking it up. "When he lost that, he must have decided a retreat was in order."
"I'm not completely clear on what's going on," admitted Biff, holding on to the rail. "I was supposed to swipe a yachting trophy from Mr. Gramatkee's cabin. I didn't want to do it, but after they kidnapped Jeanne, they told me—"
"They don't have Jeanne anymore, Biff. She's safe." Frank moved to the rail, looking down. "I thought I heard another boat approaching."
Down below light bounced from the headlights of Kevin's motor launch off the white side of the yacht, and Frank saw Curt being pulled aboard the small craft.
Frank also saw another figure stretched out on a seat. The smaller craft was lit as bright as day.
"Joe," Frank said, recognizing his brother.
"They've got Joe." For a second he looked at the gun in his hand. No way could he risk a shot at the bobbing boat. There was too great a chance he'd hit his brother. And if he tried a bluff - well, Curt Branders had a hostage right at hand.
Frank abruptly turned from the rail. "Biff, go into the cabin and look after Gramatkee," he said, tucking the Beretta into the waist of his pants. "You can call for help with the ship-to-shore radio."
"Got you," said Biff. "I'm real sorry I got everybody into such a mess."
"Apologies come later." Frank ran to the rope ladder that dangled over the side of the yacht. Down in the water beyond him, the motor on the Branderses' launch roared to life.
By the time Frank swung down the top rung of the swaying ladder, Kevin, Curt, and the bound Joe were heading for the mouth of Bar-met Bay — out to sea?
The motorboat Frank had come in was still quietly rocking in the water, bumping against the side of the yacht. He climbed down as rapidly as he could, got in, and started its engine.
Soon he was chasing after the Branders brothers, but they had a lead that he couldn't narrow. Finally, though, the other launch stopped and Frank started to catch up, speeding across the moonlit bay.
He was close enough to make out everyone aboard — including Joe.
Curt Branders had lifted him off the seat, pressing him against the low side of the launch.
Curt gave Joe a vicious shove.
Joe hit the water and sank like a stone.
Joe Hardy was frantically fighting two separate battles.
First, he had to break free of the line that held his arms and legs bound and useless. The knots were so tight, his hands and feet were almost numb. And the chilly water didn't help. Still worse, his writhing, twisting, and struggling against the ropes was eating up his tiny reserve of oxygen. His chest was heaving as he struggled to keep from opening his mouth and letting out the air that was now burning his lungs.
And every second these battles went on, Joe Hardy kept dropping deeper and deeper beneath the surface of Barmet Bay. By now, the lights of the launch were only shapeless glows at the end of a dark wavering tunnel.
His struggle against his bonds was churning up the water, and bubbles and foam swirled around him. Every now and then a bubble would catch the light from far above and glisten for an instant like some strange cold jewel.
Finally Joe decided it was no use. His hands and feet were held fast — he couldn't even feel them anymore. And he knew he couldn't hold his breath much longer.
He began hearing a ringing inside his head. Then came an odd roaring hum. It reminded him of a recording he'd once heard — the strange underwater song the whales sing. The glistening bubble-jewels above him were turning beautiful colors now — gold, silver, and yellow. Then it seemed that all the gems were turning crimson. Or was that something that was happening to his eyes?
Then Joe thought he saw something dark come knifing down through the water toward him. A shark? He tried to puzzle that out, forcing some thoughts through his oxygen-starved brain. Sharks in Barmet Bay? That didn't seem right. But Joe's vision was so fuzzy now, he couldn't tell what it was.
All he saw was a diving blur, coming ever closer.
Something caught him, an arm roughly taking hold across his chest. Joe really couldn't be bothered to pay much attention, so he - ' closed his eyes.
He was thinking about how nice it would feel to open his mouth and let out all the needles that filled his lungs and throat.
There was a reason why he couldn't do that. But he couldn't remember the reason anymore.
So Joe decided to go ahead. He let out the air he'd been storing for so long. And then he gulped in a breath.
What he got was mostly air, along with some spray.
He coughed, then breathed in and out once more.
Wait a second. Something was wrong here. Joe opened his eyes and looked around.
Slowly his surroundings came back to him and everything became less blurred. He was bobbing on the surface of the water again, his head back and sucking in the blessed air.
Joe turned to see who had saved him.
Kevin Branders had one arm around him and was treading water, keeping them both afloat. "I couldn't let Curt kill you," he told Joe.
Joe laughed, a sound that was almost a sob. "Good idea," he said. "I think — " He didn't finish the sentence, though — he had already passed out.
***
"Joe!" Frank stared in horror when he saw his brother, tied hand and foot, hit the dark water of Barmet Bay. But he was still too far away to stop Curt Branders—or to help Joe.
Frank's hands were clenched so tightly on the steering wheel that his knuckles went white. He gunned his boat's engine, counting the passing seconds under his breath.
Up ahead, he saw Kevin Branders give Curt a shove and go diving from the other launch.
"You idiot!" shouted Curt. Then he dashed to the wheel of the craft and started the engine. The boat came alive, circling away from the spot where Joe and Kevin had gone under.
For some reason, Curt seemed to be heading back to Bayport—or back toward Gramatkee's yacht. Frank hoped Biff had gotten in touch with the harbor police by now. Maybe they could give the hit man a warm reception.
Then, forgetting about the escaping Curt, Frank put his own launch into a pattern of wide circles around the area where his brother had disappeared.
He switched on a spotlight, playing it across the surface of the dark water as he moved around and around in slow, wide arcs.
It seemed to Frank that Joe and Kevin had been under much too long. Another few seconds and he'd have to dive down himself.
Then he saw bubbles and spray forming on an illuminated patch of water. Water shot up, then the head and shoulders of a young man appeared above the surface of the bay. It was Kevin—and he was holding Joe. With a sigh of relief, Frank killed his engine, letting the craft drift over to where the two boys had surfaced. "Kevin," he called out, "hold on. I'll be there in a second."
"He's okay," Kevin managed to gasp.
"Don't worry about Joe. . . . Just passed out."
The boat had drifted almost to them. Frank tossed Kevin a line. "Hook that around Joe — let's get him out first."
Still treading water, Kevin quickly wove the rope through the bonds on Joe's arms, then flung the end back to Frank.
Carefully striving not to capsize his small boat, Frank hauled his unconscious brother on board. Then he threw the line to Kevin, who was already swimming toward the boat. It took only seconds to pull him aboard.
Joe coughed, spat out water, and opened his eyes. "Frank?" he murmured.
"Right here." Frank pulled out his pocket knife and went to work on the ropes.
Kevin huddled disconsolately against the side of the boat. A puddle of seawater spread around him. "I guess I really didn't know the score, Joe. I thought that Curt — "
He suddenly cut himself off. "Maybe you'd better leave the knot cutting to me," he said to Frank, "while you start up this boat."
Kevin stood, pointed after his brother's boat.
"We've got to stop Curt somehow," he said, nodding at the quickly retreating launch.
"He's covering the boat with gasoline to turn it into a huge firebomb—and then he's going to ram it into Gramatkee's yacht!"
Frank was at the wheel of the motorboat again. The small craft shook as it raced along in the wake of Curt's launch. Frank shook his head in frustration. "I don't think we can catch up with him," he said.
"We've got to try," said Kevin. "Biff's on that yacht, too, isn't he?"
"As far as I know," answered Frank, watching the distance between the two speeding launches diminish all too slowly.
"Suppose we try to ram him," suggested Joe.
"That would blow us up."
"I mean if we jumped before we hit."
Frank shook his head. "Too risky."
"Come on, Frank. We can't let him kill Biff and Gramatkee without even trying to stop him."
"Joe, you're in no shape for another plunge in the bay."
"Look, I can do it if I have to," Joe insisted. "So let's get close enough to him so we can give it a try."
"That's what I'm trying to do."
Kevin cried, "Look!"
Incredibly, the launch ahead of them slowed, then stopped.
"He's too far away from the yacht," Frank said. "What's he doing?"
"Maybe he shouldn't have used that gas can to decorate the deck," Joe suggested. "What if Chad forgot to fill 'er up?"
As they came closer to the motor launch, their lights caught Curt Branders in the rear of the boat. He had the housing off the engine and was frantically working with it.
"He must have flooded the engine or something," Kevin said.
"This gives us a chance." Frank jockeyed the steering wheel. Now they were even with the hit man's launch.
Frank cut the engine. "Branders!" he called over. "Give it up!"
Curt Branders paid no attention. He stayed crouched over the engine, fiddling.
"So much for the voice of reason," Joe said.
"Curt!" Kevin yelled across the water. "You can't get away — it's hopeless." He pointed back toward the white bulk of Gramatkee's yacht, with the lights of Bayport beyond it.