CHAPTER III
Snowbound
Frank's assailant grasped for the wobbling steering wheel and guided the Hardy sedan towards a thicket. Bracing for impact, the man lurched forward as the car struck a snow-coated underbrush. Frank, still unconscious, banged against the side door.
The rear end of the Hardy car had nosedived into the brush, its back tires spinning in the air!
Quickly, the man pulled Frank from the car and dragged him back towards the white jeep. The man hastily bound and gagged Frank. He hoisted the limp youth into the back of the jeep.
As he climbed into the jeep and started the engine, the man was surprised at the sudden powering up of a series of floodlights around him. The entrance to the Stanwide Mining Equipment Company was located only a few hundred yards away, its security lights now all ablaze.
Casually, the man reversed the jeep in the direction not of the airport, but Bayport proper. As he passed the main gate of the company, a flashlight shone towards the jeep.
"Sir!" a voice called from near the gated entrance.
The man in the jeep rolled down the window. "Can I help you?"
"We've heard some commotion," a security guard reported as he approached the vehicle. "Is there a problem?"
"As a matter of fact," the man said, "I just passed a disabled car off to the side of the road about 500 feet down that way!"
Concern crossed the security guard's face. "Is anyone hurt from what you can tell?"
"It appears the car is damaged but abandoned, Officer. You might want to have a look. Maybe the driver needs help!" the man suggested with a false tone of hope in his voice.
"We'll notify Highway Patrol," the guard responded. "Thanks, and drive safe!" Immediately, the man gunned the jeep down the snowy and icy road.
As he drove, he glanced behind him. Frank was stirring in the back loading area of the jeep. "You heard all that, kid?" the man scowled. "You're not going to get out that easy." Frank, anger in his eyes, could only squirm in muffled tones.
Less than a mile down the road, the snowfall had become a major snowstorm. A news bulletin on the radio advised all travelers to stay off Bayport roads.
The blizzard was so thick the man could only see a foot in front of the jeep. When he failed to properly round a bend in time, the jeep's front tire smashed into the base of a telephone pole.
The jeep choked to a stop. The kidnapper frantically got out to examine the damage. There would certainly be no driving on that tire, he thought to himself. Desperation overtaking him, he looked around for some kind of solution.
The man's eyes fell on a nearby house, lights blazing from inside. The jeep had broken down in front of the Morton farmhouse!
Renewed, the man flung open the vehicle back door. "If you're as smart as you say you think you are," he growled to Frank, "You'll be as quiet as a church mouse." He slammed the door shut.
The man trudged up the snow-covered driveway, admiring as he did a parked red Corvette, half-buried in fresh snow.
Inside, Callie Shaw was assisting her friend, Iola Morton, Chet's sister and the object of Joe Hardy's affection, and Mrs. Morton with decorating the Christmas tree. Earlier in the week, Chet and Mr. Morton had chopped it down on Farmer Kane's tree property.
A knock at the door surprised the three women. "Who could be out here in this weather?" Mrs. Morton asked, perplexed.
"I'll get it," Mr. Morton answered, emerging from the TV room. "Maybe Chet got locked out again," Iola giggled.
Chet had been occupying himself in the barn, which he had converted a portion to a studio. He had been hard at work on a miniature replica on canvas of Michelangelo's Last Judgment as a Christmas present for his mother.
Mr. Morton was surprised as he opened the door. "Greetings, kind sir," the man replied, feigning the shivers and resorting to his falsetto tone of friendliness.
"Yes?" Mr. Morton asked.
"I'm a Western Union dispatcher and afraid my vehicle broke down outside. May I use your phone?"
Iola's ears perked up. She recalled Chet excitedly mention the Hardys receiving a strange telegram earlier in the evening from Dr. Jones. When she spoke with Joe over phone briefly before Callie arrived, he confessed the peculiar feeling he felt when interacting with the messenger.
"Certainly, but what seems to be the problem with your vehicle? Happy to help in any way to get it repaired while you wait out the storm," Mr. Morton offered.
In the meanwhile, Iola calmly walked into the kitchen. She dialed a direct line to the barn, which Chet, Frank, Joe, and Phil Cohen helped install one weekend.
"Pronto!" Chet answered cheerfully on the other end.
"Chet," Iola spoke in a hushed tone, "I think the same man who dropped off that telegram at the Hardys is at our front door. He wants to use the phone. Can you listen in on the home line?"
"Jeepers," Chet whistled. "You're becoming a regular sleuth yourself, Iola. Put him on. Even us artistes need a break."
Iola returned to the living room. Mr. Morton was offering to fix the jeep's flat tire.
"I appreciate your kindness, sir," the man replied. "I'll just need to tell my supervisor of my location."
"Of course."
The man nodded to the others as Mr. Morton showed him the phone in the kitchen. The man cradled the receiver, dialed, and turned his back to the room, hunching in towards the phone.
"Agent G to Housing AD, over," the man whispered.
"Go ahead," a voice flatly returned on the other end.
"Snowbound outside Bayport. Cargo in place, but request reinforcement."
"Negative, Agent G. You have less than 30 minutes and counting."
The line clicked. The man hung up, disheartened.
Chet held his breath before hanging up. "Cargo in place?" he thought to himself. He quickly put on his hat and coat.
The man returned to the living room, sweating. He noticed the Mortons and Callie peering out the main living room window.
"Is everything okay?" the man stammered.
"Police car just sped by!" Mrs. Morton reported. "Must've been an accident down the road."
"Look!" Callie pointed in the other direction. "What's that truck?"
Mr. Morton squinted. "It's a tow truck! It's stopping right outside!"
Without warning, the man galloped out the front door, nearly skating off the front porch, racing to his broken down jeep.
Chet was crossing from the barn to the house when he saw the man flee towards the road.
"Hey!" Chet called. The man ignored the rosy-cheeked boy. "Be careful, Chet!" Iola called from the door.
By now, the tow truck driver was latching the jeep to the yoke. "Say, driver? Wh-what's the big idea?" the man panted.
"Sorry, mac," the driver said, adjusting the yoke to the front of the jeep. "Chief Collig's ordered any vehicles off the roads during the storm. Just doin' my job."
Glancing behind him, the man noticed an approaching Chet Morton stomping through the snow. Mr. Morton was trailing behind him. Before him, the tow truck driver was leaning over the crank, raising the jeep.
Instantly, the man pounced on the driver, using the same technique that rendered Frank unconscious. The man collapsed to the ground.
"Stop!" Chet cried. But the man had already assented into the driver's seat of the tow truck and rumbled away.
"We can't let him out of our sight, Dad! He's not a Western Union messenger! He's a spy!" Chet shouted through the winter wind as the two pulled the tow truck driver off the road, who shook his head as he regained consciousness.
Callie Shaw emerged from the Morton home. "Come on, Chet," she called waving her keys. "I know it's not the Queen," referring to Chet's beloved jalopy, "But I think my Corvette has a better chance of catching the tow truck!"
Quickly, Mr. Morton and Chet assisted Callie in cleaning off the Corvette. A moment later, the engine revved.
"Listen to that!" Chet smiled in the passenger seat, as Callie reversed the Corvette onto the road.
In the house, Iola placed a call to the Hardy residence. Joe answered. Iola quickly explained to him the encounter with the man. "Callie and Chet in pursuit!" Joe cried in amazement, thanking Iola for the update. As he hung up, car headlights flashed through the windows of the Hardy house.
"Frank and Dad!" Joe said to himself with relief as he went outside. He was startled to see Mr. Hardy emerge from a taxicab with his luggage.
"Dad?" Joe asked, confused.
"Hello, son!" Mr. Hardy responded. "Bayport's airport is shut down due to the weather. Took a cab from the Jersey airport, which was perilous in itself."
"But Frank went to the airport to pick you up!"
"I'm sure he's been turned back by airport security. Let's hope he's extra cautious in this storm."
Inside, Joe showed his father the telegram from Dr. Jones. As he read over the short note, Mr. Hardy's brow furrowed.
"What do you make of it, Dad?" Joe asked impatiently.
Mr. Hardy glanced dumbly at his son. "Why, I haven't spoken to Dr.
Jones in over 20 years."