Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
The car pulled away. For long seconds they watched until it disappeared in traffic.
"He's got a point," Joe admitted. "We'd better not hang around where we can be spotted." To Elena he said, "Does the offer to stay with your friends still hold?"
"Of course," Elena said, fear in her voice. "But you said you cannot find the information. How can you make a deal?"
"Konstantin doesn't need to know that," Frank said.
He turned to Joe and Elena. "It's time we changed tactics. If we can't use Martin's information to prove our innocence, we'll use Martin's killer."
"Now that we're pretty sure who he is," Joe said. He stepped into the street to flag down a cab. "I can't wait to see the look on Vladimir's face."
"Neither can I, brother," Frank replied. "I can't wait to see the look on a lot of faces."
The taxi drove down a tree-shaded street, heading toward the house of Elena's friends.
They all sat in the backseat, Elena wedged between the Hardys. Joe stared out the window at the setting sun. Frank, his Walkman over his ears, listened with his eyes closed.
"How can he enjoy himself at a time like this?" Elena asked Joe.
"Music relaxes Frank," Joe explained with a grin. "It helps him think sometimes, and we have to think up a trap for Vladimir in a hurry. We've been lucky so far, but that can't last forever." He turned to look into Elena's eyes. "You've really been a lot of help to us."
She lowered her eyes. "I — they said no one would be hurt. When they tried to hurt you, I had to ... " Giving in to exhaustion, Elena dropped her head on Joe's shoulder and began to cry. "How could I have trusted them?"
"Because you thought they believed in what you believe in," Joe said softly, putting a comforting arm around her.
The cab pulled up in front of a small house which sat on top of a hill. A long flight of stone steps led up to the house.
Joe let Elena out. "I'll get the fare," he said as she ran up the stairs. Joe reached back into the car and shook Frank. "Come on. We're here."
Frank opened his eyes and took off the headphones as Joe dug into his pocket for money.
Elena rang the doorbell. "Rafael," she called through the door. "It's me. Elena."
The door swung open, and Elena gasped.
"Stand still," said Inspector Melendez, who was standing inside the house. "Did you think the police were unaware of your activities? We have long kept track of your friends." He stepped back into the shadows and stared down at the Hardys. "Signal them to come up. Do not alarm them."
Slowly, forcing a smile, Elena turned. From the street Joe waved, and she waved back.
"Do nothing foolish," Inspector Melendez whispered. "Or you will be jailed in their place."
The inspector's words stinging her ears, Elena continued waving as Frank and Joe started up the stairs.
ELENA TOOK A deep breath and lowered her hand.
"What are you doing?" Inspector Melendez whispered angrily.
"I will not betray my friends," she said. She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted down the stairs, "Run! The police are here! Run!" Furious, Inspector Melendez clapped his hand on her shoulder and pulled her into the house.
"Arrest them!" he called out the door. At his command half a dozen policemen leapt from their hiding places among the trees and bushes along the stone steps.
"Melendez," Frank muttered. He glanced at the cab rolling down the street. It hadn't yet reached the corner. "Let's get out of here."
On the steps Joe hesitated. "Elena—" he began. He could see Inspector Melendez holding her in the doorway as she struggled to break free, but the policemen barred Joe's path.
Frank tugged him back to the sidewalk. "They're cops," Frank said. "Good guys. She'll be all right with them. Come on." The police barreled down at the Hardys.
Joe took a last look at Elena. "We'll be back," he yelled. Then he spun and ran after Frank down the street.
"Taxi!" Frank shouted as he ran. "Wait!"
The taxi came to a stop, then began to back up. Frank and Joe ran to it, opened the doors, and jumped in. "Vamos! Pronto!"
Frank flung a fifty-dollar traveler's check on the front seat. "Tell him it's all his if he puts lots of distance between us and Melendez. Hurry."
The cab driver looked at them over his shoulder. His eyes widened as he saw the policemen bearing down on his cab; he slammed his foot down on the gas pedal. With a screech the cab roared away, leaving the policemen coughing and covering their eyes in the cloud of dust kicked up by the tires.
"We've lost them," Frank said, looking out the back window. "They must've parked their cars far away so we wouldn't know they were at the house. By the time they get to them, we'll be long gone."
"Ddndi?" the driver asked in Spanish as he handed the traveler's check back to Frank. Frank began to sign it.
"Don't worry about the money yet," Joe told his brother. "He wants to know where we're going. I'd like to know that myself."
"Just tell him to drive around for a while." Gloomily, Joe relayed the message. "As long as the cops didn't get the license number, we're as safe here as anywhere. What's eating you?"
"I wish we didn't have to leave Elena like that," Joe replied. "She shouldn't have been caught."
"I'm sure Melendez will let her go once we prove we're innocent," Frank said. "If there's no crime, there're no grounds for holding her."
"That's kind of optimistic, isn't it?" said Joe. "Frank, we've never been in as bad a spot as this. Even if we live there's no way we can stay out of jail. We've run out all our leads."
"We can't give up," Frank said. "I know we're overlooking something. Let me think." He put on his headphones and slipped a Rolling Stones cassette into his tape player.
"Listening to music isn't going to help," Joe continued, although he knew Frank could barely hear him. "What are we overlooking? We can't go searching all over anyway. Every cop in Malaga is after us, and probably every Russian in the south of Spain—except Konstantin. And him I wouldn't trust any farther than I could throw him."
Frank leaned his head back and closed his eyes, the steady throb of rock music beating in his head. The cab cruised aimlessly, heading west out of the city.
"And don't forget we've probably gotten the Gray Man in trouble, and the Network wants to hang us out to dry," Joe said as Frank hummed softly. "We're stuck in a foreign country with no way out. I don't see how we're going to walk away from this one."
Frank began to laugh.
"I don't see that there's anything to laugh about," Joe said.
Frank pulled off the headphones and grinned at his brother. "I do. I just figured out where the information is."
"What? Where? Let's go get it."
"That's the best part," Frank said. "There's no need to." He glanced out the window as they passed a road sign. "What did that say? Torremolinos?"
Joe nodded. "Four miles away, yeah. Are you going to tell me, or what?"
"Trust me," Frank replied. "Torremolinos is where Vladimir's house is. Tell the driver to head there."
His smile got grimmer. "We're going mole hunting."
Like the rest of the towns on the Costa del Sol, Torremolinos was a resort town. Though far smaller than Malaga, the town had many discos that glittered under the Mediterranean night sky.
By late evening the Hardys stood in front of the Tortuga Club. Built of stone and stucco, water stains smeared its outer walls, and Joe wrinkled his nose in disgust.
"The cab driver told us this was the worst disco in the town," he said. "Why did you insist that he bring us here?"
"We don't want a place with a lot of people," Frank explained. He pulled open the door and they went in. "But they'd better have a phone in here."
"Over there," Joe said, pointing to a dark alcove off the door. He stopped. No music was playing. Only a waitress and a disc jockey were in the whole place.
"Want to tell me what's going on?" Joe asked.
"Take a table," Frank said, and Joe sat at a table just to the left of the door. Frank took out Konstantin's card. "I've got to make a couple of calls," he said, walking to the phone.
Several minutes passed as Frank made call after call, and Joe watched curiously. A couple entered, ordered drinks, finished them, and left.
The waitress hovered around Joe, waiting for an order, but Joe smiled uncertainly until she went away. At long last Frank returned.
"What was all that about?" Joe asked. "Who were you calling?"
"I started with Konstantin," Frank began.
"Konstantin?" Joe stared at his brother. "Are you out of your mind? We should be trying to get in touch with the Gray Man."
"We don't know how," Frank reminded him. "With his connections, I'm sure he'll arrive about the time Melendez and Vladimir get here."
"I think maybe I'm missing something," Joe said. "You'd better explain."
"I called both Melendez and Vladimir and told them we'd be here at midnight to turn over the information that will clear us," Frank said, looking at his watch. It read 10:25. "I told Vladimir to come alone. Melendez is bringing Elena."
"Great!" Joe said, his eyes brightening. Then a look of doubt swept over his face. "So they all come here at once. How will that help us?"
"Konstantin's coming right over. He's going to bait the trap for us." Frank eyed the disc jockey. "We should get some music going. You think the deejay takes requests?" He got up and walked to the far end of the floor just as Konstantin stormed in.
There was a flush of excitement on Konstantin's face, but when he saw Joe, he calmed down and walked over to his table.
"You have good news?" he asked.
"Your guess is as good as mine," Joe replied. He waved a thumb at Frank, who was deep in conversation with the disc jockey. "Ask him."
As the sound of the Rolling Stones filled the room, Frank came back and sat down. "We found what Martin left us," he said.
"We did?" said Joe.
From his pocket Frank dug two Rolling Stones cassette cases. He slid them across the table to Konstantin. "Identical in every way. Except I had one copy when I left New York and two after Martin used my tape player." He opened one of the cases. It was empty. He put it into his pocket. "The deejay's playing my tape. The other tape has Martin's info. I didn't know it until I took the tapes from the police warehouse."
Konstantin slowly tapped his forehead, thinking, then dropped a finger on top of the remaining case. "Ingenious. You have listened to the tape?"
Frank shook his head. "I thought I'd leave that to you."
"Good." With a flick of his wrist Konstantin flung the case open. The cassette inside crashed to the floor. Before Joe or Frank could react, he stamped it with his heel, tearing tape and sending bits of plastic flying in all directions.
"Much better. So much off my mind," the Russian said.
Joe stared from Konstantin to the wrecked cassette on the floor, his eyes growing wide with sudden realization. "It was you," he said slowly. "Vladimir isn't the mole! It was you all along."
JOE LUNGED ACROSS the table, grabbing at Konstantin. The Russian's laughter faded, and from under the table came the telltale click of a revolver hammer being cocked. Joe froze, his fingers inches from Konstantin. And trembling with frustration, he let his hands fall back to the table.
"Sit down," Konstantin said. Joe sat. A dozen men and women came in together, smiling and laughing, and walked past the table to the dance floor. "Do not move. Do not attempt to speak to anyone," the Russian warned.
"What are you going to do with us?" Joe asked.
"We'll disappear," Frank said. "Just like our chauffeur disappeared. You'd know more about that than we would, right, Konstantin?"
Konstantin gave him a cold stare.
"Funny how you knew about him," Frank continued. "We told the Gray Man about our chauffeur, and we told the Spanish police. But we never told Vladimir. And we never told you. There's only one way you could know."
"You're right," said Joe, studying Konstantin as if seeing him for the first time. "Dark wig, fake mustache, sunglasses. Konstantin was our chauffeur!"
"Shut up," Konstantin said.
"What are you going to do? Kill us here?" Frank asked as another group entered. "You'll have a lot of witnesses. It won't do much good to save yourself from the KGB only to have the Spanish police throw you in jail for the rest of your life. Seems to me we have a stalemate."
A man from one of the groups stepped to the bar and ordered a drink. Like his friends, he was dressed in tight black slacks and a bright silky shirt. But his hair had gone prematurely gray.
As he picked up his drink, he turned slightly and raised it to Frank and Joe, catching their eyes. Before Konstantin noticed, he turned back to the bar.
It was the Gray Man.
"No stalemate," Konstantin replied. "I would prefer not to cause trouble here. But should it be necessary, I can be out of the country within the hour. Please do not force my hand."
"It won't work," Joe said. "Frank called Melendez and Vladimir, and they'll be here any minute. You don't have time to do anything to us. You barely have time to get away."
Konstantin cocked an eyebrow. "You arranged for both to arrive at the same time?"
"That's right," Frank said confidently.
"Did you not think I would have Vladimir's phone monitored?" Konstantin said, looking at his watch. "You told Vladimir you would meet him at midnight. It is now ten to eleven. No, they will not arrive in time to save you."
His revolver glinted for an instant in the light from the revolving mirrored ball. He deftly transferred the gun to his jacket pocket, keeping his finger on the trigger. "Up," he said. "Time to go.
Frank looked over his shoulder at the door. "And if we don't?" he asked calmly. The outline of the gun appeared in Konstantin's pocket.
"Then you die now," Konstantin replied.
Joe sprang from his seat, his hands gripping the edge of the table, and as he stood, he began to tip the table into Konstantin. It didn't budge. He looked down to see Konstantin's foot pressed down on one of the table's feet, keeping it from moving.