Read The Deadliest Dare Online
Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
"Look, I understand," conceded Joe. "But I wouldn't admire the way your brother is going about it. He really is a hit man, Kevin."
Ignoring Joe, Kevin said, "Most of the kids around here think I live on some little trust fund money somebody in my family left for me." He laughed again. "But everything — our big house, the servants — is paid for by Curt's activities."
"Some joke."
"That's not the best joke," he said. "The best one has to do with how I dreamed up the Circle and talked all those fools into joining it. It was beautiful the way the poor little rich kids went for it."
Kevin's face lit up with a bitter grin. "See, Joe, we've just about come to the payoff now. I'm going to go away soon and leave them here to face the consequences of all the fun they've been having."
Joe frowned up at him. "You really don't know, do you?"
"Know what?"
"Your brother is using the Circle as a cover for something else," Joe told him. "He's going to see they get blamed for a lot more than vandalism."
"I know all about it. Tonight he's going to pull a major burglary." Kevin nodded, smiling to himself. "Too bad I won't be around to see them trying to get out of that."
Outside in the night a horn honked.
Kevin said, "About time. We'll be going now, Joe."
"Where to?"
"Well, to play out the last hand in the game."
***
"Actually, Frank, I wish I had a bit more time," said Curt Branders, glancing at the clock on the wall behind the unconscious Gramatkee. The Beretta in his hand pointed unwaveringly at Frank. "You seem like a relatively intelligent guy. Maybe we could have had an interesting conversation."
Frank stared at the hit man. "What exactly are you planning to do, Branders?"
"Is that really how you want to spend your final minutes?" the killer asked impatiently. "Basically the setup is this. The police will believe that your pal Biff Hooper sneaked aboard the Golden Fleece to pull off a burglary. Poor Biff—goaded into that reckless sort of stunt by the thrill-seeking rich kids who belong to the Circle."
Frank nodded. "So you did set up that Crimson Circle stuff just as a cover." "Of course," Curt Branders said. "Not that my brother didn't enjoy making fools of those spoiled idiots with checkbooks for brains."
"And you're going to kill Gramatkee?"
"That's exactly what I was hired to do by some of his business rivals. In fact, I was just about to take care of that chore when you came stumbling aboard."
The hit man shook his head. "If you're going to play spy and secret agent, Frank, you'll really have to learn to move a good deal more quietly." Curt paused, laughing. "But none of that will make any difference after tonight, will it? I ought to apologize for criticizing you during your last minutes on this planet."
"You figure to kill Gramatkee and then rig it to look as though Biff did it while attempting to pull off this dare?"
"That's it, yes. Gramatkee has a gun in his desk there — I've already made sure of that." The assassin moved closer to the unconscious man's desk.
Curt pointed down at Biff. "The jock here is surprised by our business tycoon friend. The old boy has his gun in hand. Biff, noted for brawn rather than brains, panics and grabs for the weapon. It goes off and Gramatkee is fatally shot. But as he is breathing his last, he manages to shoot Biff. And then he shoots — "
"Me," supplied Frank. "Sure, that's the only way it's going to work now. You have to silence me, too."
"I'm afraid so, Frank." Curt eased behind the unconscious man's desk, keeping his eyes and the barrel of the pistol aimed at Frank.
"What do the police think I was doing here," asked Frank, "according to your master plan?"
"You were helping your pal carry out his dare."
"That won't wash." Frank shook his head. "They know I'm not a member of the Circle."
Curt gave an indifferent shrug. "Then perhaps you trailed Biff aboard in hope of persuading him to give up his life of crime and pranks."
He slid open the desk drawer with his free hand. "It's an old, familiar story for the police. There was a struggle, a gun went off, and people got killed. There are any number of variations, but they've seen them all. Whichever one I end up arranging, Frank, you're going to be dead and done for."
"Eventually the authorities are going to pin this on you."
"Eventually I'll be safely out of the country and lying low at my villa in — " Branders grinned at Frank. "Let's just say in an out-of-the-way spot." Slipping a pencil through the trigger guard, Curt lifted a .32 caliber revolver out of the drawer of Gramatkee's desk.
While the gun was still in midair Frank said, "Only one major flaw, Branders."
Curt hesitated. "Oh? And what might that be?"
Frank knelt down beside Biff on the cabin floor. "You're never going to be able to convince anyone that Biff did any shooting. You hit him too hard on the head," said Frank. "He's dead!"
"He's what?" Involuntarily the assassin looked away from Frank and over at Biff.
Frank had been waiting for that. He scooped up the fallen wastebasket, hurling it right at the hand that held the 9-millimeter Beretta.
Curt's hand was knocked up and to the side. His finger squeezed the trigger, and the gun went off. The roar of the shot mixed with the smashing of the desk lamp.
The room went dark.
Two more shots rang out.
The motor launch cut across the dark waters of Barmet Bay, sending up chill foam and spray. Kevin Branders glanced back from his place at the steering wheel. "I love this sea air. Are you enjoying the ride, Joe?"
Joe Hardy, his hands still tied, was sprawled uncomfortably on one of the seats. Before taking him aboard, Kevin had also run a loop of rope around Joe's ankles. The younger Hardy could hardly move. He had to squint into the darkness, since the spray rolling back off the boat's bow kept splattering his face.
"Is your brother already on Gramatkee's yacht?" Joe asked. "Sure. Why do you think we came over to Bayport tonight from Kirkland? I'm bringing this boat to pick him up."
"And you still won't believe me, will you, Kevin? I'm telling you, Curt is on the Golden Fleece to kill Gramatkee."
Kevin laughed. "You'll have to try harder, Joe. No way am I going to fall for a desperate story like that. Curt's out there, all right. He's making sure your friend Biff gets framed with a burglary rap."
Joe kept his eyes on Kevin. "Why does he need you to meet him?"
"After I pick him up, we'll be going to — to a place where there'll be a plane waiting."
Was it only hope, or did Kevin sound a little less sure of his brother's story? Joe decided to press the issue.
"Why didn't he take his own motorboat out to the yacht?"
"He was waiting on the boat Biff picked up at the yacht club. It actually belongs to your new pal Chad," Kevin explained, his eyes on the course ahead. "I thought that was a nice touch."
"Great," Joe said.
"Of course, Biff didn't know Curt was hiding out on his boat. That way any witnesses who happened to be around will see only Biff heading for the yacht at the time of the burglary."
The launch hit a rough patch of water and the gas can stored near Joe's bound feet rattled on the wooden boards of the boat's bottom.
"How about tomorrow?" asked Joe. "What will you be doing then?"
"I'll be going away with Curt for a while, until this whole Circle thing blows over." Kevin gave him a wolfish grin. "But I'll want to come back eventually, so I can laugh at all you jerks."
Joe shook his head. "You're never coming back, Kevin."
Kevin Branders gave him a quick angry glance over his shoulder. "I don't like that kind of stuff, Joe," he said angrily. "You go talking about things that are going to happen and—and it jinxes them."
"The police are going to find Gramatkee's body on that yacht tomorrow," Joe said. "I hope you'll be able to live with yourself when you find that out. Because part of the fault— the guilt—will be yours."
"Stop trying to twist things around," Kevin burst out furiously. "You don't know what you're talking about. Gramatkee isn't even on that stupid yacht."
"Did your brother tell you that?" Joe rocked back and forth in his seat as the boat hit choppy water. Kevin was more busy glaring at Joe than steering the launch.
"Yeah, and Curt never lies to me." The conviction in Kevin's voice tore at Joe's heart. "I don't know how it is with you and your brother, Joe, but Curt and I never lie to each other. We decided that a long time ago."
"Well, maybe you never lie to him."
"Lay off me," shouted Kevin. "I don't need to hear any more of this garbage."
"Kevin, your brother is a hired killer," persisted Joe. "I've seen the files on him, trust me. The FBI knows about him, the Federal Crime Bureau—and so do the police in a dozen other countries. If he's told you he's nothing more than a sort of dashing gentleman thief, then he has been lying to you. And he's been lying to you for years."
"Shut up, Joe!" Kevin's voice was ragged. "Just shut up!"
"Right now he's planning to kill Gramatkee. And more than likely he'll kill Biff, too."
Kevin glared at him. "No, he'd never do anything like that."
Joe shrugged. "Okay, when you pick him up, ask him.
"I will. Then you'll see how wrong you are, jerk!"
Ahead in the darkness, the lights of the Golden Fleece drew nearer.
As Kevin swung the launch around to approach the yacht, they heard the rapid crack of a gunshot. The echo of the shot moved out across the dark water. Then came a second crack—followed rapidly by one more.
"I don't understand this," said Kevin, a nervous note entering his voice. "There wasn't supposed to be any shooting."
***
After the slug tore through the desk lamp and plunged the cabin into blackness, Frank made a grab for the .32 revolver that had dropped from Curt's hand to the desk.
His fingers closed on darkness. He'd missed the gun! Groping desperately, he managed to scoop it up on the second try. Frank dropped to the floor, rolling into the safety of a dark corner.
Curt blindly aimed his Beretta toward the sound of Frank's shuffling and fired twice. He missed, but the cabin was illuminated by the flash of the shots.
Frank crawled behind a chair. It was a fat armchair on wheels, and he rolled it quickly in front of himself to serve as a shield. Then he started backstepping, pulling the chair with him toward the partially open door of the cabin.
Curt sent a bullet into the chair.
The bullet dug into the padding but got lost there. Even so, the impact lifted all four legs of the chair off the floor, setting it to wobbling wildly.
Frank thrust the gun around the chair and pulled the trigger. The hammer clicked on an empty chamber.
He kicked the chair forward into the room. Again, Curt Branders fired blind. While he was murdering the armchair, Frank managed a shaky somersault that threw him out the doorway. Hitting the outside deck, Frank pushed to his feet and started running.
His feet thumped on the damp teak planks of the deck. The next door he came to, he grabbed hold of the handle and pushed.
Then he dived inside.
Frank found himself in a large room, illuminated by a single night-light. This was a library, with shelves of books covering three walls and a half-dozen armchairs circling a low oak coffee table.
Sprinting, Frank threw himself behind one of the heavy chairs and dropped to one knee to examine the gun he'd just gotten hold of. But when he flipped the chamber open, he only sighed. Great, he said to himself, the thing's not loaded.
He took a quick survey of the cabin to see if he could find anything to use as a weapon against Curt.
The floor lamp next to the chair he was using for a shelter might do. Frank yanked the lamp's plug out of the wall and grabbed the five-foot-long metal shaft.
He stood by the door, hefting the metal tube for what felt like forever. Where was Branders?
Then, out on the deck Frank heard angry shouting, followed by gunshots. He cautiously edged the door open.
"Try to shoot me, will you?" one voice shouted angrily. "Idiot!"
It was Biff Hooper and Curt, wrestling around on the misty deck in the darkness. Biff must have recovered consciousness and gone for Curt just as Frank had headed out of Gramatkee's cabin.
He couldn't make out the two of them very clearly, but he could hear the grunts and punches. Apparently Biff was keeping Curt from using his gun again.
Finally, one of the figures staggered to its feet. It went lurching toward the rail, then seemed to be trying to climb over it.
The dark figure hesitated there for a moment, then dove overboard.
Kevin Branders cut the engine on the launch when he saw someone leaping from the Golden Fleece.
"Curt?" he called across the water. "Curt, is that you?"
The swimming figure raised an arm, waving it.
"Over here," cried Kevin. "Come on."
Joe Hardy squinted across the dark waters of the bay. So, it was Curt Branders who'd dived over the railing of the yacht. Now the hit man was floundering in the water near Kevin's idled launch.
"Give me a hand," Curt Branders gasped.
With a good deal of splashing, Kevin finally managed to haul Curt into the launch.
The older of the Branderses leaned against a seat, shedding water and coughing. "Quick, get us clear of here," he ordered. "Sooner or later one of those idiots will find my gun and start shooting."
"What happened?" Kevin wanted to know. "What went wrong?"
"That dumb jock was getting the best of me."
Kevin started the engine and guided the motor launch away from the Golden Fleece. "Where are we heading?"
"Straight out—away from the yacht and the town. Just head for the mouth of the bay, for a few minutes, then kill it." Curt Branders was staring down at the can of gasoline. Joe didn't like the look in his eyes.
"But I thought — "
Curt Branders cut his younger brother off. "Just do what I tell you, Kev."