Countdown to Terror (7 page)

The van backed up to the dock, then Singh and one of the other guys stepped out of the back doors, carrying something between them. Neither Frank nor Joe could see it clearly. But it seemed to be a collapsible metal frame on wheels.

They set it up on the floor of the bay. Several grunts later, they had the box on their collapsible stretcher and wheeled it into their van.

Singh waved goodbye to the manager, then he took off.

After driving the forklift back to the far wall, the warehouse manager strolled back to his office.

joe could hardly wait for him to close the door. He'd found a crowbar, and he was itching to get the top off the mystery crate. He popped out of his hiding place.

Frank appeared, too, and headed past Joe to the door. "I'm going to tell Shauna what's going on," he whispered. "She's probably getting worried out there."

"Uh, right," Joe agreed. He tapped the crowbar in his open palm. "Well, I'll get started on the crate."

"Just do it quietly," Frank said. "Any sound of splintering wood will bring our friend out."

As if on cue, a muffled noise came from inside the office — the sounds of a war. Joe grinned as he heard a cavalry bugle, gunshots, and war cries. "He must have a TV in there," he said. "As long as the shooting keeps up, we can afford a little noise."

Nothing appeared to be stirring outside — then Frank caught a flicker of movement. It was Shauna, peeking round the corner of the building.

"Frank!" she gasped. "I didn't know what had happened to you."

"We pulled a switcheroo," he explained to her. "The box they left with wasn't the box they came for."

"Where's Joe?" Shauna wanted to know.

"Inside, opening the real crate. We want to know what these guys were supposed to get."

Curious, Shauna started toward the door. Frank gently took her arm to stop her. "We need you out here still. Our box isn't going to fool those guys very long — just till they open it up. Keep an eye out for them. As soon as you see them coming, warn us. Okay?"

Shauna pouted for only a second but then had to admit that Frank was right. "But I want a blow-by-blow description," she warned.

Frank grinned. "Joe has an instant camera. He'll take pictures."

He went back inside to bring his brother up to date. Joe had loosened all the nails on three sides of the box, and was working on the last one. He chuckled when Frank told him of his promise. "Well, I've got the camera right here," he said, touching a pocket in his summer-weight jacket. "I suppose we'll need the evidence, anyway."

Joe pried up the last of the nails, then silently pulled the lid of the crate free. He propped the lid against a pile of boxes, then turned back to watch Frank burrow through packing material.

"So, what is it?" Joe asked.

Frank had finally scooped enough of the packing stuff out of the way and stared down.

"Would you believe a coffin?" he asked.

FRANK AND JOE both leaned in and began sweeping the packing material out with their arms. Together, they cleaned off the whole top, creating a snowstorm of polystyrene peanuts.

The box inside the crate was dull silver in color, about seven feet long and three feet wide. The top was in two sections, with a hairline crack between them.

As he stared down at the grim-looking shape, Joe Hardy had to admit that his brother's first guess was right. They were looking at a coffin.

"Well, this explains what Singh was talking about," Frank said. "Remember when he was talking with the manager? He said something like, 'Sadness is our business.' "

Joe nodded. "Yeah. I guess if we looked up Forte Brothers in the phone book we'd find out that they're funeral directors."

"Probably," Frank agreed. He stared at the coffin for a moment, poked against the top, and then looked over at his brother. "You have your Swiss army knife? I need a screwdriver."

"What do you need a screwdriver for?" Joe asked. Then, when he figured it out, he looked at Frank's determined face, appalled. "Oh, no," he said. "Wait a minute. You're not going to open this thing, are you?"

"Just the top half," Frank admitted.

Joe stared. "You've finally lost it completely. We know what's in there. Who are you expecting to find, Count Dracula?"

"We don't know what's in there," Frank replied. "But I think we ought to find out." He held out his hand for the knife.

Joe Hardy finally dug it out and handed it over. "This coffin has spent weeks on some freighter," he said. "Remember what the manager said about the relatives waiting. Are you sure you want to open it? I mean, after all, what would you expect someone to ship to a funeral parlor?"

"You're forgetting that these guys aren't normal funeral directors." Frank bent over and reached under the sides of the coffin, feeling for the screws that held the top closed. "They shoot guns and leave bombs around. That's not normal—unless Halifax has a shortage of dead people and they're drumming up business."

"It all sounds weird to me." Joe shook his head in disbelief.

"No, it all makes a horrible kind of sense," Frank insisted as he worked on the screws. "A phony funeral home would be a perfect cover. I mean, who would bother a mortician? And if he has the odd body to get rid of, it couldn't be easier — "

He grunted as a tight screw resisted him for a second. "And if you were smuggling things into a country, what better way than in a coffin? Who'd check it out?" A little more work, then Frank straightened up suddenly. "That's it. The top should lift off."

Joe stepped away from the coffin. "What if you're wrong? This could be pretty gross." He shuddered. "Horrible, I mean."

"Don't be silly." Still, Frank took a deep breath before he swung the top open.

He looked in and quickly shut the lid. The coffin wasn't empty — it did contain a body.

"See, I told you, "Joe said.

But Frank slowly eased the lid up again for another look. This time he reached in and dug his fingernail into the face of the body.

"Have you gone crazy?" Joe said louder than he'd intended.

"Nope. And this isn't skin under my nail. It's wax. At first glance the dummy looks real, but it's made of wax."

When he pulled down the blanket covering the body, Frank found a little door in the left-hand side of its chest. Joe stared. The door was right where the heart would be on a living person.

"This poor guy isn't getting a very comfortable final rest." Joe tried a joke to cover up for his earlier nervousness. "I thought most coffins had padded silk linings. Look at this." He ran a finger along the dull, grayish black metal that lined the box. His fingernail scratched a line in it. "What is this stuff, anyway?"

Frank scratched at it, too, managing to break a thin piece off. "Lead foil, I think." He frowned, then quickly tossed the piece back into the coffin.

Meanwhile, Joe had pulled his camera out of his pocket. "I guess we ought to take some pictures," he said. "What do you think? Full face or profile? Should we shoot him lying down or sitting up?" he asked, his sense of humor returning.

Frank bent down, reaching across the coffin to the dummy's left side. "At least we should take out whatever's inside."

He hesitated a second. Something very unpleasant could be hidden inside the dummy.

Then he braced himself, grabbed the little handle on the door, and pulled.

"Huh!" Joe said, disappointed. "I thought we'd find jewels or something. But that — I don't even know what that is."

Tucked deep inside the cavity in the dummy's chest was a small metal cylinder, maybe two inches high and one inch wide. The outside was highly polished.

"Looks like stainless steel," Joe said. "I don't see any openings. Maybe it twists apart." He set his camera down on the dummy's chest and started to reach into the opening for the mysterious metal container.

Frank's hand moved like a striking snake, clamping on to Joe's wrist. "Don't touch it," he said.

Joe twisted in surprise and dropped his little instant camera into the opening. "Okay," he said. "Could I at least take a picture?"

He snatched up the instant camera and stepped back to snap the coffin, its strange inhabitant, and the bizarre opening with its mysterious cargo.

"Now don't move," he said playfully, his finger going for the shutter release. But he never took the picture.

"Hey, guys."

Joe turned at the sound of running feet.

Shauna was peering down the shadowy loading bay, trying to find them.

"Over here," Frank said.

She froze when she got close enough to see what they were bending over. Shauna stared for a second, then pulled herself together. "We've got to get out of here," she said.

Frank glanced toward the door. "They're back?"

Shauna nodded. "With reinforcements, it looks like. There's another set of lights behind the van's. And they're both driving like maniacs."

Frank slapped down the little door in the dummy's chest, then closed the top of the coffin.

He turned to pick up the wooden lid for the crate, then shook his head. "We don't have time to hide our tracks. Let's just get out."

The three of them turned and were dashing for the loading docks just as squealing brakes and angry horns announced the arrival of Singh and his men.

FRANK, JOE, AND Shauna jumped from the loading dock down to the bay, where they'd be less likely to be seen.

Crouched down, they made their way toward the edge of the building. The sooner they put a brick wall between themselves and the uproar going on behind them, the better.

Leaning against the wall, Frank could hear Singh yelling and screaming at the warehouse manager. The poor manager, of course, couldn't understand the mix-up. At least six other voices joined in the shouting.

Then the voices split up, accompanied by lots of banging and crashing. "Sounds like they've decided to search the place," Frank said. "Let's get out of here while they're still busy."

With the warehouse behind them, they tried to figure an escape route. To their right was the harbor itself, to their left the bluffs that cut the dock off from the rest of the city. At the top of the bluffs was a heavily traveled street. But getting there wouldn't be easy. The wide-open spaces around the warehouse would make them easy targets even in the dark.

In the near distance rose a redbrick warehouse, with the name "Collins" in white letters over the well-lit door. In between them and the brick warehouse were a couple of old freight cars on a railroad siding. That was it for cover. They'd be as exposed as a bug on a clean tablecloth if they made a run for it. But it was their only choice.

The yelling inside the warehouse went up another notch. "They must have found the coffin," Joe said.

Frank started out for one of the freight cars. "Come on! They'll be looking for us in a minute. We have to be out of direct sight by then."

By the time they'd darted behind the first freight car, they could hear a car engine turn over. "I don't know how you expect us to outrun a car," Shauna said.

Frank didn't answer. He was calculating their chances of making it to the next piece of cover.

About thirty feet on was an old piece of machinery that had been blocked by the freight car. The question was, could they reach it before the searchers got that far in their car?

He looked at Joe, who shrugged. "Let's go for it."

They took off, Joe in the lead, Shauna following, Frank bringing up the rear. About halfway to their goal, they heard the whine of an engine and the screech of tires.

A compact car was zooming up directly at them.

"You guys keep going," Frank said. "I'll try to get them off your backs."

Joe knew what Frank was up to. He took Shauna's hand, leading her in a wild dash to the far side of the rusted machinery.

Frank ran for the near side, staying out in the open. He'd seen what he wanted in the headlight beams — a metal bar sticking out of the side of the decaying mass. Once it had been a controlling lever, but now it was just a foot-long piece of garbage, held on by rust.

As Frank ran past, he grabbed the bar and heaved. It came off almost too easily, making him stumble.

The car veered after him. As it approached, Frank was caught in the glare from its headlights. He swung around, whipping the metal bar at the car.

His weapon flew true, working even better than he'd expected. It shuddered along the car's hood, leaving a long, jagged scratch, and then it smacked into the windshield, cracking it into a hundred tiny lines.

The little car veered wildly as the driver screamed something. Frank grinned. The guy jammed on the brakes, actually stopping the car so he could lean out the window to take a shot at Frank.

While the driver's friend hauled him back in, Frank tried to increase the distance between them.

In the meantime, Joe and Shauna were running for the warehouse. It was up to Frank to keep the bad guys' attention on himself so they could make it.

The driver was back in the car now, and he had only one thing in mind — to run Frank Hardy down. The scary thing was, his aim was good.

The little car's engine was gunned, and suddenly it seemed to roar at twice its size.

Fortunately, Frank had a better turning radius than it had. He jumped to the side, and started running back to the rusted-out machinery.

The driver jammed on the brakes, sent the car spinning wildly in a tight turn, and came after him again. Apparently, he wanted to turn Frank into a large oil spot on the pavement.

Frank dodged again, away from the machinery this time, but the car plowed on in a straight line. The driver had misjudged the angles a little. His right fender caught and scraped on the rusted mass, letting out a hideous screech.

Frank paid no attention, running for a trailer someone had parked beside the redbrick warehouse. It would give Frank lots of room to maneuver and hide behind — if he lived to make it there.

Behind him, Frank heard the car scream to life again, and the driver continued his game of cat and mouse. He was sure to blow out his engine if he kept driving that way. Maybe, though, the driver felt that would be okay, if he could just run Frank down.