Double Exposure (5 page)

A minute later Joe walked into the room carrying two steaming mugs of cocoa and handed one to Frank.

"Thanks," he said, sitting back on the couch and taking a sip of the hot chocolate. Joe sat down next to him.

"Now," Frank said, picking up the remote control and setting the VCR to Play. "Let's see what's on this tape."

At first they saw nothing but snow — no signal at all. Then the screen turned black and some letters appeared.

" 'Janosik Project — DD Insertion'?" Joe read aloud.

"Beats me," Frank said, shaking his head.

The letters cleared, and for a moment there was static again. Then a picture appeared. On the screen, it was winter—outdoors, in a rural area. Two men, one old, one young, both wearing army uniforms, stood on the steps before a large white frame house. They were talking, but the tape had no sound.

"Those are Russian uniforms!" Joe exclaimed.

Frank nodded. Something about the scene seemed terribly familiar. "The older one's a colonel, but the picture quality is really terrible. I'm surprised. With all that video equipment Chris had ... " His voice trailed off.

On the screen the two men were arguing now. The older man's face betrayed confusion and surprise. He gestured angrily.

The younger man's face became frozen, an expressionless mask. Without betraying what he was about to do, he raised a gun. The older man fell backward down the steps of the building, his blood staining the snow.

Frank turned white and leaned forward, spilling his hot chocolate on the couch.

Joe's eyes widened. "Frank — that soldier ... "

Frank nodded, his mouth suddenly dry. He rewound the tape till he reached a single closeup of the young soldier, then pressed Freeze-Frame on the remote control.

The face on the screen, the man who had shot the older officer — It was Chris.

"YOU'LL GO to the police now, right?" Callie asked Frank. It was the next morning, and she was sitting in the Hardys' den, facing Frank.

"Wrong." Frank released the Freeze-Frame button on the remote control and rewound the videotape. He'd watched the shooting too many times since last night.

"Yeah," Joe said, walking out of the room and returning with two suitcases. "We're not going anywhere—except where we're going." He smiled.

"Which is Boston and Cambridge," Frank said. He took Callie's hand and smiled reassuringly. "We don't have anything to tell the police. What would we say? We may have witnessed a tape of a murder in Russia? If we go to Boston, we'll be near Janosik, we'll be able to talk to that newspaper reporter, and we'll — "

"Be right in the line of fire if Chris decides to shoot Janosik, too!" Callie said angrily.

She leapt up and began to pace the room. "Frank, he's not what he pretended to be. He's a killer — a member of the Russian army, maybe even the KGB! What if those two guys from the Czech secret police — whatever their names are — "

"Krc and Liehm," Joe said.

"Right—what if they're trying to stop Chris from killing Janosik? Did you think of that? What if they're the good guys?"

"If they're good guys, I'll never eat a burger again," Joe said. He stood in front of Callie. "Take a look at this." He lifted his shirt, revealing an ugly bruise that practically covered one whole side of his body. "Good guys don't kick you when you're tied up."

"I don't think they're on Janosik's side," Frank added. "And we don't know whose side Chris is on. But I think you're right about one thing — Alexander Janosik's life could be in danger."

"So we're flying to Boston," Joe said. "We want to make sure that Janosik is safe."

"And how are you going to do that?" Callie asked. "You told me the police wouldn't even let you talk to him on the phone. Once that symposium begins, you won't be able to get near him."

"We'll manage," Frank said. The doorbell rang. "Come on in — it's open!" he yelled.

"Hi, everybody," Phil Cohen said, walking into the room. "You're all set." He handed Joe a piece of paper. "Go to this address and ask for the Beast. He'll get you into Janosik's symposium."

Callie threw up her hands in defeat.

"The Beast?" Joe asked, his eyes widening as he studied the note. "What kind of name is that?"

"He's a friend of mine," Phil said defensively. "I don't know his real name — I just exchange messages with him on a computer network. He goes to Harvard and knows how to do things with computers I'd never even think of trying."

"How's he going to get us into the symposium?" Frank asked.

Phil shrugged. "I didn't ask. And I don't want to know."

Joe grinned. "Good enough for me." He picked up the suitcases. "Come on, Frank, we've got a plane to catch Frank turned to Callie. "We'll be staying at the Charles."

"You're going to stay there? Frank, that's the most exclusive hotel in Cambridge! How are you going to afford it?"

"Oh, we'll figure out a way."

"Maybe the Beast can help you," Callie suggested wryly.

"He probably could," Phil offered. "Once he told me about the time that he — "

Frank smothered a laugh. "We'd better catch that plane."

The plane ride was uneventful. They arrived at Boston's Logan Airport in late morning and took a cab to Cambridge, emerging into an early-September afternoon.

"This is Harvard," Frank said as they walked through an open gate in the fence that surrounded the "Yard," the old part of Harvard's campus. "That's the Quad, where all the dorms are." He pointed straight ahead, then stopped to take a jacket out of his bag and slip it on. It had been unseasonably cool the past week.

"Wow," Joe said, studying the beautiful old campus and ivy-covered buildings. "This is really great."

Frank smiled and took a long look around. Everyone walking by seemed to be a student — not much older than they were.

But they were at Harvard for reasons other than sightseeing. "Come on," he said to Joe. "What's that dorm where Phil's friend is?"

"The Beast." Joe shook his head and pulled the note out of his pocket. "Columbus—building F."

They stopped a campus security guard and asked him for directions. He pointed off to the left. "Columbus," he said. "It's a whole new set of buildings back that way. You can't miss it."

"Thanks," said Frank. He and Joe followed the instructions. The buildings they passed were all hundreds of years old, four-and five-story brick dorms, classroom halls, a Greek-looking building with the single word Philosophy carved above its door.

For a second Frank felt as if he and Joe had traveled in time — perhaps to some ancient English university like Cambridge or Oxford. But when they came to a group of squat, modern three-story buildings, they were definitely back in the present.

"There," Joe said, pointing to a building in the middle. The door was locked, so Joe rapped loudly on it.

A girl opened it. "Yes? Can I help you?" she said. She was beautiful, and when her eyes met Joe's, she gave him a dazzling smile.

Joe gulped but said nothing. Frank gave him a quick poke with his elbow.

"Oh — ah, yes, we're looking for someone named—the Beast," Joe said, clearing his throat.

The girl's face fell. "Corner room all the way down the hall." She held the door open to let them pass. "Just follow your nose."

"Phil's friends are loved everywhere," Joe said, watching her walk away. They found the corner room. Frank set down his suitcase and knocked on the door.

It opened a crack. This time, it wasn't a beautiful girl who answered, but a slight young man. He looked about fourteen, and had short blond hair and wire-rim glasses. His T-shirt said Computers Are People, Too. And drifting out of his room came the odor of stale popcorn. "Who are you?" he asked, peering at them suspiciously.

Frank exchanged a glance with Joe. "We're looking for the Beast. Phil Cohen sent us — we're Frank and Joe Hardy."

"Oh." The little blond student squinted up at them and nodded. "That's me — I'm the Beast."

Joe did a double take. "You? The Beast? You don't look like a beast." In fact, he added silently, you don't look old enough to be in high school, much less college.

"I know, I know," he said, pushing his glasses back up on his nose. "My real name is Larry — Larry Biester — so they call me the Beast. Hold on a minute." He shut the door.

Joe looked at the pages of computer printout that were plastered across the face of the door, and then looked at Frank. "The Beast."

Frank nodded. "The Beast."

When the door reopened, Larry emerged and handed Joe an envelope. "These'll get you into the government symposium — it's over at the JFK Center, across campus."

"Thanks," Joe said. Beyond the Beast's shoulder, he could see a dark room, dominated by a flashing computer terminal and to the side of it a pyramid of empty soda cans.

"Okay," the little guy said and shut the door so fast it almost slammed.

"Wow," Joe said. "And I thought high school was strange."

"Yeah," Frank nodded. "Maybe college isn't such a good idea after all."

The guard they'd gotten directions from before told them where the JFK Center was, and they found it without much trouble. It was an entire group of buildings, combining classrooms, offices, and a research library. They also found something else.

"The Charles," Joe said, pointing to a building on the hill behind the JFK complex.

"Where Janosik is now," Frank said. He stared at the large, fenced-off construction area that spread between the campus and the hotel. "Looks like they're building a parking garage here."

"When does the symposium start?" Joe asked.

Frank studied the announcement schedule on the center's bulletin board. "According to this, today — continuing over the next three days. Janosik doesn't speak till Saturday, though."

Joe continued to stare up the hill at the Charles. "You know what I'm thinking? Maybe we should go to the hotel, register, dump these bags, and find Janosik. Tell him what we know."

"Good idea," Frank said. "We can also call that reporter—Eykis—and see what she's got that proves Janosik was being paid by the CIA."

They followed the sidewalk up the hill to the Charles. It was a huge building, sprawled across the top of the hill and down one side, all the way to the Charles River. Its ground floor was a series of restaurants and shops, tailored for Harvard's visitors.

The lobby itself was so overcrowded that at first Frank had trouble spotting the registration desk. Finally he saw it at the far end of a long corridor lined with stores. He and Joe made their way to the desk.

"Hi," Joe said to one of the six or seven women behind the long desk. "We'd like a room for tonight, please."

She didn't even bother to look down. "I'm sorry, sir, we're totally booked through the weekend."

"Oh, no!" Joe leaned over the counter and tried to look horrified. "Couldn't you please double-check — isn't there anything?"

The girl leaned over her computer terminal. "I'll see if there are any last-minute cancellations," she said doubtfully. Joe waved Frank over to the desk, not so much because he thought she might find them a room, but so that Frank could see what she was doing on the computer.

"No, nothing," she said. She smiled at them. "There's a motel down the street you might try."

"Thanks," Joe said. "Could we leave our bags here for a couple of hours?"

The girl started to say no. But Joe smiled his most winning white-toothed smile, and she nodded and pointed to a spot beside the desk. Then Joe and Frank walked out of the lobby.

"There was an office around back," Frank said. "I'll bet there's another computer in there. All I have to do is get on that reservations systems for a minute, and I'll have the best suite in the house."

"It'll have to be later," Joe said, studying the crowd. "When this place clears out." He brightened. "Let's go down to the river and check it out."

He stopped suddenly as he realized Frank was no longer walking beside him. His older brother had halted a few paces back, staring to the left.

"What is it, Frank? What's the matter?"

"There," Frank pointed. An elderly man sat on one of the benches in the courtyard in front of the hotel, engrossed in reading a book. "That's Janosik!"

He and Joe walked toward the benches and sat down next to him.

"Alexander Janosik?" Frank asked.

The man looked up from his book slowly, staring at Frank. His hair was almost entirely white, and his deep-set eyes were friendly. Heavy bags under them made him look as if he hadn't slept in years.

"Yes, I am Alexander Janosik. Who are you?" Unlike Gregor or Liehm, his English was almost entirely unaccented.

"My name is Frank Hardy, sir. This is my brother, Joe — but we're not important right now," he began. "Mr. Janosik, I have reason to believe your life could be in danger. Have you ever heard of two men named Krc and Liehm?"

To Frank's surprise, the man began to laugh. "Heard of them? Yes, I have, young man—but I'm quite safe. I have some very qualified people watching over me."

"Really?" Joe, amazed at Janosik's disregard for his safety, moved forward. "Like who?"

"Like me." Suddenly a large black man towered over them. "Move away from him—now!"

FRANK AND JOE STOOD CAUTIOUSLY.

"Please, Lieutenant," Janosik said. "These young men are harmless enough, surely."

"Let's see some ID," the man said, ignoring Janosik.

Frank tried desperately to think of what to do— and then remembered the envelope that the Beast had given them. He handed it to the man.

That should buy them some time to think of a story, at least.

"What's this?" The security man tore the envelope open and pulled out two cards, scrutinized them and then looked at Frank and Joe.

It was over, Frank realized. He started to look for a way to explain that they only wanted to help Janosik, but the man interrupted him.

"Why didn't you say you were grad students?" he asked, handing them back their cards.

Frank looked at his. There was his picture—on a Harvard graduate student ID. He looked at Joe, who was studying his card with the same apparent confusion.