Read The Secret Agent on Flight 101 Online
Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
The Secret Agent on Flight 101 (9 page)
“Are you Frank Hardy?” a man asked.
“That's right.”
“I've got to see you.” There was a note of urgency in the caller's voice. “It's important.”
“First, suppose you tell me who you are,” Frank said.
“I'm Stan Mazer, pilot of the helioplane!” was the astounding answer.
CHAPTER XII
A Startling Welcome
AMAZED and perplexed by the call, the Hardys agreed to meet the helioplane pilot the following day at their home.
“Why should he want to come here?” Joe asked. “If he's an UGLI agent, you'd think this is the last place he'd visit.”
“It's sure strange,” Frank agreed. “I can't wait to hear what he has to say. In any case, I think we should notify Dell to have him followed when he leaves here.”
“Right.” Joe telephoned the SKOOL man.
Late the following morning Stan Mazer arrived at the Hardy home. He was a middle-aged man, of medium height and slender build, and had a troubled expression.
“I'm Mazer,” he announced.
The Hardys led him into the living room and they all sat down.
“You're the pilot of Hexton's helioplane?” Frank asked.
“That's right,” Mazer answered. “I was hired about two months ago.” He shifted nervously in his chair. “I needed a job so badly I snapped it up without question. But I didn't know it was connected with anything illegal.”
“Weren't you ever suspicious?” Joe asked.
“Yes, from time to time, but I wasn't sure. Actually I closed my mind to the whole situation until you tried to stop my take-off.”
“It was a pretty unnerving experience,” Frank said dryly.
Mazer apologized. “I didn't know you were clinging to the tail until you were thrown clear,” he explained. “I wanted to get out and help you, but Vordo forced me to take off.”
“What about the day we chased you and Timken?” Joe said. “You turned right into us. We nearly collided!”
“I didn't know that was you,” Mazer said, surprised. “I thought it was some hot-shot pilot wanting to play games. I pulled that maneuver hoping I'd throw a scare into him. Sorry.”
When Frank asked Mazer where he had taken Vordo and his cohorts, the pilot replied, “To a large airport near New York City. When we landed, Vordo and his companions deplaned and disappearedâI had no idea where.”
Mazer said that while he was parking the helioplane, he was confronted by a Federal agent, who told him that all FAA offices had been alerted to be on the lookout for the aircraft. To his surprise, the registration papers turned out to have been obtained under a fictitious name and address.
“The agent immediately impounded the plane,” Mazer said, “and my pilot's license was revoked pending a hearing.”
The Hardys asked him if he knew anything about their father's being kidnapped.
“I know nothing about that,” he insisted, “although I did suspect something strange was going on in the lighthouse.”
“In what way?” Joe asked.
“I was never allowed to enter,” the pilot answered, “or even to remain long on the islet after delivering my passengers.”
Frank pretended to be suspicious of the story. “Are you going to tell us you don't belong to the same secret criminal organization Hexton does? He wouldn't let you work for him if you didn't.”
“What do you mean?” Mazer asked, and his amazement seemed genuine. “I never heard about any criminal organization and I'm certainly not a member!”
Joe asked him, “How did you learn who we are, and where to contact us?”
“Vordo mentioned your names during my last flight,” Mazer replied. “He said you're smart detectives.”
Frank looked at the pilot searchingly. “What made you decide to come here and tell us all this?”
Mazer appeared harried. “After what happened at the airport, I knew I'd become involved in something that would get me into deep trouble,” he confessed. “I thought if I told you fellows what I know, you'd help me.”
Frank and Joe sensed that the pilot was being honest, and a slight nod between them said, “He's okay.” They promised to do what they could and advised Mazer to repeat his story to Kenneth Dell.
“I'll do it at once,” he said.
When the pilot left, the boys chuckled at the thought of the agent who had been assigned to follow Mazer. “I'd like to see his face when he tails him to Dell's office,” said Joe.
The Hardys spent the rest of the day packing. Their flight to the Great Circle base was scheduled for the following morning.
Late that afternoon Chet's bright-yellow jalopy screeched to a halt in front of the Hardy home and the chubby youth leaped out.
“I'm packed and champing at the bit!” he exclaimed as he greeted his friends.
“Good!” Frank said. “How about dinner? Aunt Gertrude's trying out a new recipe for beef stew.”
“Wellâokay, but I'll have to make it fast. I want to get home in time for supper!”
Chet then assumed a nonchalant air. Strolling slowly around the room, he began to whistle softly. The boys watched as he extended his arms in front of him, then clenched his left hand into a fist. From it, with his right hand, he drew out a vivid purple silk scarf, followed by a train of varicolored kerchiefs.
“Bravo!” Joe said, clapping loudly.
“Great trick, eh? I thought you'd like it.”
When the last scarf refused to come out, however, Chet became aggravated. “What's the matter with this thing?” He tugged on it violently.
“Something go wrong?” Joe needled.
Suddenly the kerchief pulled free and dragged the lining of Chet's jacket sleeve along with it. A small black container was revealed. From it popped a metal spring which shot through the air, then bounced around the floor like a grasshopper.
“So that's where all those scarfs came from,” Frank said. He tried not to laugh.
Chet whipped off his jacket and frantically stuffed the lining back into the sleeve. As he chased the bouncing spring around the room, the Hardys burst into howls of laughter.
“You fellows are a jinx when it comes to my magic tricks,” Chet said indignantly.
“Maybe Hexton will give you a few pointers when we get to his castle,” Joe teased.
By the time Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude announced dinner, Chet had regained his composure. He had a second helping of dessert, then decided he must leave.
“Thanks for the delicious meal,” he said.
Chet slowly rose from the dinner table. He stuffed the string of silk kerchiefs into his pocket and lumbered out to his jalopy.
The next day Frank and Joe said good-by to their mother and Aunt Gertrude, then drove off. They picked up Chet and went directly to the Bayport field. Jack Wayne was already warming up the engines when they arrived.
Tossing their luggage into the plane's baggage compartment, the boys climbed aboard and strapped themselves into their seats. Minutes later they were streaking down the runway on take-off.
Kenneth Dell was waiting for them at Great Circle's base. He gave a long briefing, then at six P.M. led the boys to the plane that was to whisk them overnight to Scotland. Chet and the Hardys took their seats with the other passengers. Soon the sleek jetliner roared down the runway, lifted off, and headed over the Atlantic.
After a while Chet struck up a conversation with a pretty red-haired stewardess. She managed to keep him amply supplied with food, while he related stories of his long and daring hours in the air.
“I don't like to boast,” Chet said as he munched on a plateful of cookies, “but I'm going to wake up some morning and find I've sprouted wings if I don't spend more time on the ground.”
Frank and Joe, meanwhile, studied every passenger aboard, occasionally strolling up and down the aisle on the chance they might recognize some member of Hexton's gang. But nothing seemed to be amiss. Also, no one indicated to the Hardys that he was a SKOOL man.
Suddenly the loudspeaker crackled to life. “This is your captain speaking,” announced a deep voice. “We expect to encounter a cold front in a few minutes. The weather forecast lists it as a weak system, so there should be only light to moderate turbulence. We should be through most of it in forty minutes. Please fasten your seat belts and relax.”
The boys looked out the window. Already the blue sky was beginning to be obscured by wisps of gray clouds. It grew so dark that the cabin lights had to be turned on. The jetliner began to toss jerkily. Chet fell quiet as the stewardess returned to her seat. He stared straight ahead with a blank expression.
“What's wrong with you?” Frank called across the aisle.
“IâI feel awful,” Chet moaned. Seeing the stout boy's expression, the Hardys knew he had overeaten.
Chet remained tight-lipped for nearly fifty minutes until the plane came out of the churning clouds and into clear air. By this time he was asleep.
Several hours later the captain announced that the plane was commencing a gradual descent to Prestwick Airport, Scotland. For a moment the jetliner was enveloped in a milky whiteness as it entered a blanket of stratus clouds that stretched for miles north of the Irish Sea.
Frank looked down while the plane descended through the overcast. “That chain of islands over there must be the Hebrides,” he said.
“And look!” Joe added, pointing off in the distance. “There's Ireland.”
Suddenly Chet snapped alert. “Wh-where are we?” he asked.
“Just coming up on the Scottish coast,” Joe told him. “How do you feel?”
Chet rubbed his eyes. “Ohâokay, I guess,” he answered sleepily. “But never again so much food!”
“Oh no?” Joe grinned.
At seven o'clock Greenwich time, the jetliner's wheels touched down on the macadam surface of the runway and taxied to the parking ramp.
As the boys walked across the ramp toward the administration building, a shiny black car marked “Police” sped up to them. Seated behind the wheel was a man with a large sweeping mustache and a hat pulled low over his eyes. He rolled down the window and called out, “Are you the Hardys?”
“That's right,” Frank answered. “And our friend Chet Morton.”
“Inspector Clyde sent me to fetch you chaps. He wants to see you right off. We'll send for your luggage later.”
“What about customs?” Frank inquired. “We've already arranged special clearance,” the driver explained.
Frank, Joe, and Chet squeezed into the back seat. On the floor in front a blanket covered a large package. The car started off with a violent lurch. It sped across the airport ramp, out through an exit, and onto a road leading away from the field.
At that moment the driver yanked off the blanket. A man crouched beneath it straightened up and settled in his seat. The boys were flabbergasted at his sudden appearance.
“Wh-whatâ?” Frank started to say, when the man turned around and faced them. They gasped.
Vordo!
CHAPTER XIII
Sky Spies
As the boys stared in dismay, the driver pulled off his false mustache and removed his hat. Stony Bleeker!
Vordo looked at the Hardys with contempt. “Insist on poking your noses into our business, hey?” he growled. “We'll fix you for good!”
Frank realized that the boys could not risk attacking their abductors. The driver would surely lose control of the car and all might be killed. Besides, the men undoubtedly were armed.
Frantically the Hardys searched for a way out of their dilemma. Frank noticed that Bleeker was beginning to drift to the right.
Vordo also saw what was happening. “Get over to the left!” he snapped. “You know they drive on the opposite side of the road here!”
Bleeker swerved the car sharply to correct his mistake. “Sorry,” he said, mopping his forehead. “I keep forgetting we're not in the U.S.”
“See that you don't forget again,” Vordo growled, “or the Hardys and their fat friend won't be the only ones to regret this ride!”
Farther along, the road bent sharply in a hairpin curve. As Bleeker rounded it, he again instinctively favored the right side.
“Get over, you idiot!” Vordo bellowed, seeing a double-decker bus coming head-on.
Bleeker spun the wheel and the car rocked violently. Then, with a splintering crash, it tumbled over on its side! Vordo and Bleeker were thrown clear.
The three boys scrambled dazedly from the vehicle. The bus had stopped a short distance down the road. Its driver and several passengers were running toward them.
“Are you lads all right?” shouted the driver.
“Yes!” Frank called out. He then ran around to the front of the car. “Our men! Where are they?”
One of the passengers pointed off into the distance. “I saw two men disappear over that dune as we ran from the bus.”
The boys gave chase but found no sign of Hexton's henchmen.
“We've let Vordo and Bleeker slip through our fingers again!” Joe said in disgust.
“But we're free,” Frank reminded him.
“And still in one piece,” Chet observed.
He and the Hardys walked back to the bus. Frank asked the driver to notify the police. Before long, three constables arrived to take the boys' story and examine the car. They said it was a stock model, rigged up to look like a police car.
“Clever job,” a constable remarked. “I can see how it fooled the airport police.”
He drove the boys back to Prestwick, where they checked through customs. One of the officials, recognizing their names on the passenger manifest, said that an Inspector Clyde had telephoned him shortly before they had landed.
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