The Number File (7 page)

"Yes, I know," Montague said without hesitating. His manner was relaxed and friendly, and it helped ease the tension. "There's something I have to tell you boys first. Sit down." He motioned for the brothers to have a seat on the couch as he sat down on an easy chair opposite them. Alicia grabbed a cushion from the couch and sat on the floor.

Frank and Joe listened to what started like a confession.

"I know more than you think about this Kruger affair," Montague began. "And I'm not exactly a retired copper."

Frank watched as Joe fidgeted in his seat. Alicia looked up at the younger Hardy, but for the first time since their arrival at the villa almost a week earlier, Joe was unaware of her presence.

"I wasn't able to say anything until now," Montague continued. "In fact, even Alicia didn't know all the details until this morning." He paused, looking from Frank to Joe. "I'm only semiretired, and I'm not really a detective. I work for British Intelligence. And for the last month, I've been on loan to your FBI."

Joe sat still, staring at Montague. Of all the confessions he'd been preparing himself for, this was the one he least expected. Frank smiled broadly, with a look that showed he was eager to hear more.

"You see," Montague resumed, "the FBI knows of my work with British Intelligence, and I'm the only agent who's an established local."

"And the government here? Do they know about you?" Frank asked.

Montague nodded. "They're aware—unofficially. The Bermuda police haven't made any progress on the activities of Kruger's group, especially since the consequences of his actions are felt primarily outside of Bermuda, particularly in your country. The credit card distribution scam is operating mostly in the United States. But the FBI is more interested in where the credit card blanks are stamped than they are with the distribution. If they close down the counterfeiting operation, then the distribution stops."

"Then you've been working on this case all along," Frank stated.

"Yes, but I wasn't allowed to tell Alicia or you until today. Even Alicia thought I could be involved with Kruger in some way!"

Frank turned to Alicia. "You're the one who wiped the fingerprints off your father's gun."

Alicia gave an embarrassed nod. "I was in such a state that I didn't know what to do. Dad was so suspicious, so secretive. When I heard that a Bermuda policeman had been shot, I really got nervous. I knew Dad kept a gun. It was always in the study and always spotlessly clean. When I saw it had been fired, I didn't know what to think."

"I had practiced with the gun on Tuesday," Montague interrupted. "Simple as that."

"So I wiped the prints off the gun." Alicia looked down, the beginnings of a blush rising to her cheeks. "It was a rather stupid thing to do."

Joe gave her a sheepish grin. He took the revolver out of his back pocket and placed it on the end table. "Welcome to the club," he said. "You weren't the only one who thought your father might be working with Kruger. Remember that credit card we found?"

"Only too well," Montague said. "I knew you boys had your suspicions then, especially when you never told me where you found the card."

"At the scene of the crime," Joe said and raised an eyebrow. Then he laughed at himself. "It was right where our car — uh, your car— was forced off the road."

"Ah." Montague nodded, thinking. "So, Kruger planned it so I was to be your primary suspect. You see, Kruger doesn't know I'm with British Intelligence, or that I'm involved with this case in any way. However, he knew about you and your investigation, and somehow you must have worried him. He decided to arrange an 'accident. But you boys surprised him — you survived.

"So he had to try a bigger production — a bomb on board One Blue Vista. A murder, complete with someone to blame. Kruger expected you to be eliminated. And he thoughtfully supplied the police with a suspect." He tapped his finger lightly against his chest. "Me. I was the only choice since you boys had no connection with anyone else on the island, and since he made sure I had no alibi."

"Then the whole bit with Martin Powers was a setup, too," Joe suggested.

"Right. I was lured out of the house under the pretext that your lives were in danger."

"They were!" Joe interrupted.

"Yes, but the idea was to keep me out of sight during that time so I would have no alibi. Then you boys were led to believe that I was on Powers's boat. Kruger knew that once you got to the boat and found out that no one was on board, you wouldn't pass up the chance to search it. You were supposed to go out in a blaze of glory."

Alicia picked up a newspaper. "I guess you must have missed today's Nassau Guardian." She held up the front page. "You two really look cute!"

Joe grimaced and Frank laughed as the two of them looked at the photo of Joe on the front page. It showed the fire in the background, while up front was a furious, soggy, handcuffed Joe with his mouth wide open. "That must have been taken when I was yelling for the police to arrest Kruger instead of us," he said.

"Well, here's a picture of Powers being interviewed, safe and sound—and not dead, as Kruger said. And here we are, still damp," Frank said.

Joe stood up and reached into his pants pocket to pull out the wad of soggy paper and the computer disk. "I took this from the boat this morning," he said, directing himself to Montague.

"What is it?" Montague asked.

"A checkbook — I mean, the stubs that were attached to checks—and a computer disk."

"Now all we need is an underwater computer so we can read the disk." Frank grinned. "And the ink on the check stubs has all washed out."

"We won't be able to read the check stubs," Montague cut in, "but we may be able to retrieve some information from the disk. Why don't you boys go up and change, and Alicia and I'll work on it."

When Frank returned, he found Alicia and her father at work on a computer in the library. A bottle of cleaning material, some swabs, and a hair dryer sat on the desk, along with tweezers and a knife. Sunlight was dazzling the cozy room. All was quiet, except for the whining and clicking of the computer.

"We've cleaned and dried the disk," Alicia explained, "but a lot of the data has been lost."

Joe appeared and looked at the computer screen. "Looks like you're breaking a code."

"We're using a program that will fill in some of the missing information by running through plausible letter and word combinations," Montague explained. "There are still a lot of complete words or names missing, but at least we can make some sense of it."

He pointed to the top of the screen. "The disk is titled 'The Number File.' It contains hundreds of names, addresses — "

"And credit card numbers," Joe said, staring at the flickering columns. "Some of the entries even include a listing for 'mother's maiden name'!"

"They're all real people, and real card numbers," Frank explained. "That's one of the things that's making it so hard to crack this case — the crooks are using real credit card numbers—like a second card. None of the numbers are phony."

"But how do they get the numbers?" Joe wanted to know.

"I think it's possible for someone to tap into a company's computer line and retrieve information without removing it from where it's stored," said Frank. "Something like going into an office and reading files without taking the files out of the office."

"It's a new kind of theft," added Montague. "They're stealing information rather than goods. It makes it a much harder crime to crack."

"I guess we should pass this information on to Boulton," Frank suggested.

"I'll take care of it," Montague said. He dialed the phone next to him. After a pause, "Hello, Chief Boulton, please. This is Alfred Mont — Hello — Hello!" He clicked the button up and down. "The line's gone dead."

"Could have been the storm." Alicia sounded as if she wanted that to be the reason.

"Sure." Joe quickly agreed to keep her from getting anxious. "Must have been the storm."

"I still think we should take a copy of this disk to Chief Boulton," Frank said. "Will you and Alicia be okay here alone?"

"Sure," Montague replied. "I've got the revolver, remember?" He slipped another disk into the computer and hit some keys. "Here's a copy. In the meantime I'll try to clean up some more information from the original."

"Since the rain has stopped," Joe said, "we can take the mopeds. You two can have the car in case anything happens.

"Fine," Montague agreed.

They said their goodbyes, and once again the two brothers were on the road, headed for Hamilton.

Not five minutes from the Montagues' villa Frank saw the all-too-familiar black BMW in his rear-view mirror. A piece of lightweight plastic had been secured over the hole in the windshield.

"Joe," he shouted over the roar of the two bikes, "we've got company!"

Joe looked over his shoulder. "I guess they cut the phone lines just to get us out of the house." He let out the throttle on his bike.

Frank couldn't hear his reply over the roar of the two bikes going full out. But at a top speed of fifty miles per hour, they were no match for the BMW. The boys were exposed and defenseless on their bikes.

The strip of road they were driving along was narrow, with no place to turn off. They were riding single file now, Frank's bike faltering a little and lagging behind.

Frank looked over his shoulder and saw that the BMW had closed the distance between them to less than fifty feet. He leaned over the front of the bike to cut wind resistance and to make himself a smaller target for the bullets he expected would be flying at him.

He didn't expect what did happen. The car, going at least thirty miles an hour faster than the bike, rammed into the back of Frank's moped. The bike flipped. And suddenly Frank found himself spinning in midair, flying over the top of the speeding BMW.

JOE CRINGED AS he heard the sickening crash of his brother's bike flipping over again and again until it bounced off the highway and stopped. He turned in time to see the black car come to a halt. He jammed on his brakes, leaned far to the right, and turned the bike 180 degrees. He twisted the throttle, downshifted, popped the clutch, and lurched forward in the direction of the crumpled bike.

Then he noticed his brother, who was lying motionless in a large bush by the side of the road about forty feet behind the BMW. Mickey and Croaker had gotten out of the car and were sauntering over to Frank's body.

"Hold it!" Joe yelled in rage as he sped toward them.

"I knew we wouldn't have to go after you!" Mickey shouted. "You'd come back for what's left of this guy." He lifted Frank behind the legs, and Croaker was ready to take his arms.

Joe drove right up to the two men, flying off his bike and landing on Mickey like a rodeo star in a bulldogging contest. His bike went sailing past them. It leaned over until it fell to the pavement, sending sparks everywhere and sliding off the side of the road. Mickey hit the ground hard. Joe lashed out with his fist and caught him with a blow to the jaw. Then he spun around as Croaker was about to grab him from behind. He threw a right into the short thug's midsection. His arm was back, ready to land a knockout blow when someone grabbed his arm.

"I got him, Del," his new attacker announced.

"Nice work, Gus." The two thugs had joined Mickey and Croaker. As Joe struggled to break the hold on his arm, he remembered those two names. Frank had said they were back at Kruger's. With a desperate yank, Joe pulled free— just in time for Del to put a chokehold on him.

"For old times," Gus said, lashing out and punching Joe in the stomach—knocking all the air and fight out of him.

"Lock him in the trunk before I kill him," Croaker ordered as he got up off the ground, his voice even gruffer than usual. "And hide the bikes." He pointed to a small clump of greenery near where Frank's bike had landed. "This time the Hardys are going to disappear without a trace!"

"What about this one?" Mickey asked, standing over Frank's body.

"Throw him in the back seat. He won't give you any trouble — he's dead!"

Joe tried to look over his shoulder at his brother as Mickey opened the trunk. Gus spun him around, and Joe twisted frantically, struggling to see.

"I've had enough of this," Croaker growled as he placed his hand against a nerve on Joe's neck. Joe collapsed, unconscious.

When Joe awoke, his stomach ached, and his shoulder felt as if it had been stepped on. His head was swimming. And he was rocking back and forth, back and forth. Then all at once he knew the rocking wasn't in his imagination. He was on a boat, thrown in the bilge. Looking at the emptiness of his surroundings, he thought about Frank then for the first time.

Before he could go over what had happened, or try to figure out what was about to happen, a door opened on the other side of the room. Joe recognized Mickey. "Enjoy your trip!"

The thug cackled as he shoved a body into the room with Joe.

"Frank!" Joe yelled. In spite of the fact that his older brother was bruised, bloodied, and dazed, he'd never looked more welcome to Joe. "I thought you were dead!"

"I know," were Frank's first words. "Mickey was gloating about the way Croaker announced I was dead. That was Croaker's idea of a joke. He knew I hadn't been killed, but he was trying to get to you."

"He's a real piece of work — " Joe swallowed the rest of his words. "But you're okay?"

"I'll live, maybe." Frank forced a grim smile. He said he was black and blue, and his body hurt all over. "They said they didn't want me to die before they had a chance to kill me properly." He looked at his brother. "You all right?"

"Yeah. I wasn't hurt or anything. I was just given a nice, long nap." He paused, running his teeth over his lower lip. "Well, what do we do now?"

"I don't know," Frank admitted. "I checked out this room thoroughly before they brought me topside for a few questions. Did you see what's in those boxes?"

"No." Joe shook his head, still a little groggy. "I just got here." He got up and walked over to one of the boxes his brother had pointed out. "Wha - do - ya - know!" he said as he pulled out a handful of bright new credit cards, all stamped with names and account numbers.