splattered on his soles. "Now what?"
Frank let go of Joe's hands and started to work on Joe's ropes instead. "Now we try to untie each other before anyone gets back."
"Maybe I can be of some help." A light went on, and their uncle stood in the doorway again. His hand emerged from his pocket, holding a jackknife. "Sorry I took so long, but it took a few minutes to throw your lady friend and her assistant off my trail. I got back as soon as I could."
"Oh, we don't mind," Frank said, his voice tinged with sarcasm. "We managed to keep busy."
Hugh knelt and cut their ropes. "Honestly, Frank. If you can't get out of a little trap like this, you have no future in the business." There was laughter in his voice, but it faded as his eyes met Frank's stern gaze. More seriously, he said, "I suppose I owe you an explanation."
"True," Frank agreed. He stood, rubbing his wrists, as his uncle cut Joe free. "But it can wait until we get out of here."
"I can't give you one," Hugh continued as they ran for the stairs. "This is top security. You'll have to trust me."
Frank stopped abruptly, his eyes on a phone on a pedestal in the hall. He snatched the receiver from the cradle. "Talk to us or the cops. At this point it doesn't make much difference to me."
"No!" Hugh shouted. His hand slammed down on the cradle, cutting off the line. "All right. But it's a long story. Let's talk while we walk."
Frank nodded, and they left the house.
"Why didn't you ever tell us you were a spy?" asked Joe as they strolled toward their uncle's apartment.
Hugh laughed. "That's not the sort of thing you tell people, Joe. Especially not people you like. Have you told your parents about the work you've done for the Network?"
"He's got a point, Joe," Frank said. "Okay, Uncle Hugh, so you're a spy. It's not the past that concerns me, it's the present." He held up the crown and examined it. "Charity was right. This isn't gold." He ran his fingers over it. "It feels like some kind of glass, or plastic."
"You read computer and technical journals, Frank," his uncle replied. "I'm surprised you don't recognize the material."
"What could be so valuable that Starkey would go to all this trouble for it?" Frank snapped his fingers. "Of course. Fiber optics!"
"Fiber what?" Joe asked.
"They're used in communications, Joe," Hugh explained. "A vast improvement over wires and cables. This particular fiber is the next generation of fiber optics, one hundred times better than the batch in current use."
"So what's it doing in the shape of an Incan crown?" Frank asked. "No, let me guess. Starkey, or one of his agents, stole the fiber from the laboratory where it was being developed."
"Right," said his uncle Hugh. "And Espionage Resources was brought in to investigate, so he covered his own tracks. He's worked that way to steal American technology before. That's what tipped us off to him."
"Us?" Joe said. "I thought you were retired."
"I was," he said. "But I was asked back. They needed someone who knew the organization, someone whom Starkey wouldn't expect."
"So Starkey arranges the State Department-sponsored art exhibits through the Carlyle Museum," Frank continued. "He dummies up what he steals to look like artifacts or art, and gets things out of the country that way."
"As near as I can figure it," said his uncle, "the objects are then 'stolen' on tour by the people he's selling to."
"So everyone thinks that art is being stolen, not technology?" Joe asked as they approached Hugh's building.
Hugh nodded. "And low-grade art, at that. Low priority. No one's ever that interested in tracking it down. It's cheaper just to write it off."
"And the real art?"
"As near as I can figure, it ends up in Starkey's private collection." Hugh's voice tapered off, and his breath became uneven. Suddenly he pitched forward, nearly losing his footing. Frank caught him and kept him from falling. "Poison. Starting to eat through me. I'll be all right, though. Get me upstairs."
Quickly
Frank let go of Joe's hands and started to work on Joe's ropes instead. "Now we try to untie each other before anyone gets back."
"Maybe I can be of some help." A light went on, and their uncle stood in the doorway again. His hand emerged from his pocket, holding a jackknife. "Sorry I took so long, but it took a few minutes to throw your lady friend and her assistant off my trail. I got back as soon as I could."
"Oh, we don't mind," Frank said, his voice tinged with sarcasm. "We managed to keep busy."
Hugh knelt and cut their ropes. "Honestly, Frank. If you can't get out of a little trap like this, you have no future in the business." There was laughter in his voice, but it faded as his eyes met Frank's stern gaze. More seriously, he said, "I suppose I owe you an explanation."
"True," Frank agreed. He stood, rubbing his wrists, as his uncle cut Joe free. "But it can wait until we get out of here."
"I can't give you one," Hugh continued as they ran for the stairs. "This is top security. You'll have to trust me."
Frank stopped abruptly, his eyes on a phone on a pedestal in the hall. He snatched the receiver from the cradle. "Talk to us or the cops. At this point it doesn't make much difference to me."
"No!" Hugh shouted. His hand slammed down on the cradle, cutting off the line. "All right. But it's a long story. Let's talk while we walk."
Frank nodded, and they left the house.
"Why didn't you ever tell us you were a spy?" asked Joe as they strolled toward their uncle's apartment.
Hugh laughed. "That's not the sort of thing you tell people, Joe. Especially not people you like. Have you told your parents about the work you've done for the Network?"
"He's got a point, Joe," Frank said. "Okay, Uncle Hugh, so you're a spy. It's not the past that concerns me, it's the present." He held up the crown and examined it. "Charity was right. This isn't gold." He ran his fingers over it. "It feels like some kind of glass, or plastic."
"You read computer and technical journals, Frank," his uncle replied. "I'm surprised you don't recognize the material."
"What could be so valuable that Starkey would go to all this trouble for it?" Frank snapped his fingers. "Of course. Fiber optics!"
"Fiber what?" Joe asked.
"They're used in communications, Joe," Hugh explained. "A vast improvement over wires and cables. This particular fiber is the next generation of fiber optics, one hundred times better than the batch in current use."
"So what's it doing in the shape of an Incan crown?" Frank asked. "No, let me guess. Starkey, or one of his agents, stole the fiber from the laboratory where it was being developed."
"Right," said his uncle Hugh. "And Espionage Resources was brought in to investigate, so he covered his own tracks. He's worked that way to steal American technology before. That's what tipped us off to him."
"Us?" Joe said. "I thought you were retired."
"I was," he said. "But I was asked back. They needed someone who knew the organization, someone whom Starkey wouldn't expect."
"So Starkey arranges the State Department-sponsored art exhibits through the Carlyle Museum," Frank continued. "He dummies up what he steals to look like artifacts or art, and gets things out of the country that way."
"As near as I can figure it," said his uncle, "the objects are then 'stolen' on tour by the people he's selling to."
"So everyone thinks that art is being stolen, not technology?" Joe asked as they approached Hugh's building.
Hugh nodded. "And low-grade art, at that. Low priority. No one's ever that interested in tracking it down. It's cheaper just to write it off."
"And the real art?"
"As near as I can figure, it ends up in Starkey's private collection." Hugh's voice tapered off, and his breath became uneven. Suddenly he pitched forward, nearly losing his footing. Frank caught him and kept him from falling. "Poison. Starting to eat through me. I'll be all right, though. Get me upstairs."
Quickly
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