having difficulty focusing.
"What do you think, Frank?" Joe asked. "Will Brand be surprised when we come waltzing in here tomorrow or what?"
Frank let the cup drop out of his hand onto the mattress.
Joe yawned. "Hey, Frank? Why don't you say something?" He turned toward Frank and was surprised to see him half-lying on the bed, his feet still on the floor.
"What are you doing, falling asleep on me at a time like this?" Joe asked, standing.
Then he staggered. "What the — ?" Joe grabbed for the bunk edge, missed. Frank's body on the bed seemed to blur. Drugged! The thought went through his mind. Only the lowest of the low would drug the Gatorade!
Joe tried to pull himself together. Anyhow, how did Brand or his people even know we were here and drinking Gatorade?
As he slumped to the floor, Joe was aware that people were entering the room from the far end. Three, maybe four people at the most.
He could not make out their features. Flesh tones melted into cloth.
Someone knelt beside him. Was that a skeleton smiling?
No! The sunken eyes, burning darkly. He could make out the eyes — Brand's!
Brand's voice sounded very distant. "I told you I was looking forward to meeting you again."
They were the last words Joe heard. Then the world became lost in darkness.
Chapter 10
SOMETHING HURT!
Joe Hardy heard the harsh sound of flesh striking against flesh. Pain followed immediately. Slowly, he came to. Someone was slapping him across the face.
Again, Brand backhanded Joe, and the resulting surge of pain brought him fully back to awareness. Instinctively, Joe moved to defend himself, ready to hurl himself at Brand and take him out, no matter what the consequences. But his body jerked against a restraint at his waist. He couldn't move his hands.
Joe tried to comprehend why he couldn't strike out at Brand. He looked down at his wrists. They were strapped to the arms of a seat. He was belted across the stomach into a seat of plush maroon velvet.
He became aware of the drone of an engine as Brand straightened up. They were on a private plane.
"Stop hitting him!" he heard Frank say and realized that his brother was strapped into the seat beside him.
Brand gazed from Frank to Joe. The dark eyes held a flicker of joy — an eerie thing to see on that face.
"You both thought you were so clever," Brand said smugly, his narrow lips stretching in a cruel smile. "Well, you were, in a way. I try to give credit where credit is due." He shook his head. "Too bad about Collins. You were right, Joseph, I was surprised to find out about those goggles. Collins now has a matching scar on the other side of his head."
Frank tested the straps biting into his wrists. They didn't give an inch.
"On the other hand," Brand continued, "I always review the roster sheets when I hand them out. When I spotted both a 'Fred' and a 'Jim Cassidy' listed, specifically when I did not recall interviewing any trainees with the same last name, I knew it had to be you two. I figured I'd wait you out to see what your game was."
"Yes," Frank said bitterly. "We noticed you like to play games. With people's lives."
"You should feel honored." Brand walked over to the window and peered out at the clouds. "You are being taken to Colonel Hammerlock's private sanctuary." He turned back to stare at them. "To one of the best hunting grounds in the world."
Joe decided to goad Brand. It was a standard ploy he and Frank had agreed upon in case they were caught by an enemy: try to create a situation that might lead to a chance for escape. Keep the adversary talking — information could be a powerful weapon.
"Is that his real name, Hammerlock?" Joe asked sarcastically. "I know a wrestling coach who would love to have him on the Bayport High team."
Brand stalked impatiently past them in the center aisle of the plane. "Hammerlock is the code name he went under during the war. He was a hero then."
He leaned toward Joe, flashing his cadaverous smile. His hand whipped up,
"What do you think, Frank?" Joe asked. "Will Brand be surprised when we come waltzing in here tomorrow or what?"
Frank let the cup drop out of his hand onto the mattress.
Joe yawned. "Hey, Frank? Why don't you say something?" He turned toward Frank and was surprised to see him half-lying on the bed, his feet still on the floor.
"What are you doing, falling asleep on me at a time like this?" Joe asked, standing.
Then he staggered. "What the — ?" Joe grabbed for the bunk edge, missed. Frank's body on the bed seemed to blur. Drugged! The thought went through his mind. Only the lowest of the low would drug the Gatorade!
Joe tried to pull himself together. Anyhow, how did Brand or his people even know we were here and drinking Gatorade?
As he slumped to the floor, Joe was aware that people were entering the room from the far end. Three, maybe four people at the most.
He could not make out their features. Flesh tones melted into cloth.
Someone knelt beside him. Was that a skeleton smiling?
No! The sunken eyes, burning darkly. He could make out the eyes — Brand's!
Brand's voice sounded very distant. "I told you I was looking forward to meeting you again."
They were the last words Joe heard. Then the world became lost in darkness.
Chapter 10
SOMETHING HURT!
Joe Hardy heard the harsh sound of flesh striking against flesh. Pain followed immediately. Slowly, he came to. Someone was slapping him across the face.
Again, Brand backhanded Joe, and the resulting surge of pain brought him fully back to awareness. Instinctively, Joe moved to defend himself, ready to hurl himself at Brand and take him out, no matter what the consequences. But his body jerked against a restraint at his waist. He couldn't move his hands.
Joe tried to comprehend why he couldn't strike out at Brand. He looked down at his wrists. They were strapped to the arms of a seat. He was belted across the stomach into a seat of plush maroon velvet.
He became aware of the drone of an engine as Brand straightened up. They were on a private plane.
"Stop hitting him!" he heard Frank say and realized that his brother was strapped into the seat beside him.
Brand gazed from Frank to Joe. The dark eyes held a flicker of joy — an eerie thing to see on that face.
"You both thought you were so clever," Brand said smugly, his narrow lips stretching in a cruel smile. "Well, you were, in a way. I try to give credit where credit is due." He shook his head. "Too bad about Collins. You were right, Joseph, I was surprised to find out about those goggles. Collins now has a matching scar on the other side of his head."
Frank tested the straps biting into his wrists. They didn't give an inch.
"On the other hand," Brand continued, "I always review the roster sheets when I hand them out. When I spotted both a 'Fred' and a 'Jim Cassidy' listed, specifically when I did not recall interviewing any trainees with the same last name, I knew it had to be you two. I figured I'd wait you out to see what your game was."
"Yes," Frank said bitterly. "We noticed you like to play games. With people's lives."
"You should feel honored." Brand walked over to the window and peered out at the clouds. "You are being taken to Colonel Hammerlock's private sanctuary." He turned back to stare at them. "To one of the best hunting grounds in the world."
Joe decided to goad Brand. It was a standard ploy he and Frank had agreed upon in case they were caught by an enemy: try to create a situation that might lead to a chance for escape. Keep the adversary talking — information could be a powerful weapon.
"Is that his real name, Hammerlock?" Joe asked sarcastically. "I know a wrestling coach who would love to have him on the Bayport High team."
Brand stalked impatiently past them in the center aisle of the plane. "Hammerlock is the code name he went under during the war. He was a hero then."
He leaned toward Joe, flashing his cadaverous smile. His hand whipped up,
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