knew his parents didn't have the faintest idea where he had gone. And he was good at the game, a natural for combat. Perhaps I was a little eager."
The dark eyes turned to Joe, displeased. "Unfortunately, Biff did not tell me he had confided in you. I must admit, I was a little taken aback by first the inquiries and then your sudden visit."
The plane dipped. Joe's stomach lurched. The plane's wheels touched ground, bumping them about in their restraints.
"What's happened to Biff?" Frank asked, dreading the answer.
Brand shook his head sadly. "He hasn't been totally cooperative."
"Good old Biff!" Joe said with a laugh.
Those dark, reptilian eyes turned on Joe. "When you two showed up with the sheriff, well, you can imagine. I radioed the colonel—our people here had to interrogate the boy rather severely." Brand's voice made that sound as if it was a pity. "I'm rather afraid to see what, if anything, is left of him."
With that, Brand strode to the plane's cockpit. Moments later the Hardys were untied and escorted from the cabin at gunpoint.
Frank and Joe halted on the plane steps, stunned. Built into the side of a rust-colored mountain they saw a fantastic, old-fashioned fortress. High bastions stood at each corner of the stone edifice, and uniformed, armed guards patrolled the battlements. "It's authentic," Brand said proudly, "built in the eighteenth century to deal with pirates. With some renovations, it was quite suitable for the colonel's needs."
But Frank and Joe weren't noticing the scenery. Standing before the plane, directly ahead of them, was Colonel Hammerlock himself.
Brand shoved them forward. Both of the Hardys almost fell down the steps.
"Now, move!" Brand commanded.
Frank knew that Joe wanted to attack; his brother had been itching for action from the moment they'd been untied.
"Not now!" he whispered quickly. "Let's find out where Biff is and what kind of shape he's in first."
"Yeah. You're right," Joe muttered as they marched toward the colonel. In person, the colonel looked much as he had in his picture, but even larger and more impressive. He was bare-chested, except for a shoulder holster and a bandolier of ammunition. He stood in the hot sun, his powerful torso gleaming with sweat.
"Where do you think we are?" Joe whispered.
"Some deserted island in the Caribbean," Frank replied with a shrug.
Brand shoved Frank again. "Don't speak until you're spoken to," he ordered.
Colonel Hammerlock did not move until they reached him. He wore a red bandanna knotted about his head. He held a Super Blackhawk pistol trained on the Hardys. As he raised it level with Joe's eyes, a snake tattoo rippled along his arm muscles. The heavy gun seemed puny in his huge fist.
He surveyed Frank and Joe as if he could not believe what he saw. "You mean to tell me, Brand, that it was two no-accounts like this who forced us to close the center?"
Brand looked uneasy. "Sorry, sir. These are the ones."
Frank pointed to the gun. "That's not one of your trainee's target pistols," he observed. "You're right," the colonel said in a guttural voice. "This weapon fires eighteen rounds of MTM forty-four Magnum ammunition." Some of the colonel's words were slurred, and Joe realized that he suffered from partial paralysis on the right side of his face.
Colonel Hammerlock looked at the gun lovingly, then gazed at Frank. "The weapon has been tested on Asiatic water buffalo, as well as wild boar. Goes right through 'em. Imagine what it does to humans." With a laugh, the colonel turned and started toward the entrance to the fortress. Brand nudged the Hardys, and reluctantly they followed.
Inside, the colonel led them to a set of stone steps that descended into a network of subterranean corridors. The stone walls were damp. The air smelled of mud and decay.
"Where are you taking us?" Joe demanded.
"You'll see," Brand replied.
Finally they reached a cobblestone corridor that led past huge metal doors with small barred windows
The dark eyes turned to Joe, displeased. "Unfortunately, Biff did not tell me he had confided in you. I must admit, I was a little taken aback by first the inquiries and then your sudden visit."
The plane dipped. Joe's stomach lurched. The plane's wheels touched ground, bumping them about in their restraints.
"What's happened to Biff?" Frank asked, dreading the answer.
Brand shook his head sadly. "He hasn't been totally cooperative."
"Good old Biff!" Joe said with a laugh.
Those dark, reptilian eyes turned on Joe. "When you two showed up with the sheriff, well, you can imagine. I radioed the colonel—our people here had to interrogate the boy rather severely." Brand's voice made that sound as if it was a pity. "I'm rather afraid to see what, if anything, is left of him."
With that, Brand strode to the plane's cockpit. Moments later the Hardys were untied and escorted from the cabin at gunpoint.
Frank and Joe halted on the plane steps, stunned. Built into the side of a rust-colored mountain they saw a fantastic, old-fashioned fortress. High bastions stood at each corner of the stone edifice, and uniformed, armed guards patrolled the battlements. "It's authentic," Brand said proudly, "built in the eighteenth century to deal with pirates. With some renovations, it was quite suitable for the colonel's needs."
But Frank and Joe weren't noticing the scenery. Standing before the plane, directly ahead of them, was Colonel Hammerlock himself.
Brand shoved them forward. Both of the Hardys almost fell down the steps.
"Now, move!" Brand commanded.
Frank knew that Joe wanted to attack; his brother had been itching for action from the moment they'd been untied.
"Not now!" he whispered quickly. "Let's find out where Biff is and what kind of shape he's in first."
"Yeah. You're right," Joe muttered as they marched toward the colonel. In person, the colonel looked much as he had in his picture, but even larger and more impressive. He was bare-chested, except for a shoulder holster and a bandolier of ammunition. He stood in the hot sun, his powerful torso gleaming with sweat.
"Where do you think we are?" Joe whispered.
"Some deserted island in the Caribbean," Frank replied with a shrug.
Brand shoved Frank again. "Don't speak until you're spoken to," he ordered.
Colonel Hammerlock did not move until they reached him. He wore a red bandanna knotted about his head. He held a Super Blackhawk pistol trained on the Hardys. As he raised it level with Joe's eyes, a snake tattoo rippled along his arm muscles. The heavy gun seemed puny in his huge fist.
He surveyed Frank and Joe as if he could not believe what he saw. "You mean to tell me, Brand, that it was two no-accounts like this who forced us to close the center?"
Brand looked uneasy. "Sorry, sir. These are the ones."
Frank pointed to the gun. "That's not one of your trainee's target pistols," he observed. "You're right," the colonel said in a guttural voice. "This weapon fires eighteen rounds of MTM forty-four Magnum ammunition." Some of the colonel's words were slurred, and Joe realized that he suffered from partial paralysis on the right side of his face.
Colonel Hammerlock looked at the gun lovingly, then gazed at Frank. "The weapon has been tested on Asiatic water buffalo, as well as wild boar. Goes right through 'em. Imagine what it does to humans." With a laugh, the colonel turned and started toward the entrance to the fortress. Brand nudged the Hardys, and reluctantly they followed.
Inside, the colonel led them to a set of stone steps that descended into a network of subterranean corridors. The stone walls were damp. The air smelled of mud and decay.
"Where are you taking us?" Joe demanded.
"You'll see," Brand replied.
Finally they reached a cobblestone corridor that led past huge metal doors with small barred windows
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