Charlie!" he called, going for the pistol stuck inside his belt.
Joe dived, tackling him. A shot rang out, ricocheting off the wall of the plane. Then Joe reached the Director, grabbed his gun hand, and tore the pistol from his grip.
"Drop it," a voice snarled. "Hands where we can see them." Joe spun, pistol ready, to find himself facing two unshaven men with automatic rifles. The one who spoke wore a T-shirt, and his black hair was cut close to his head, almost like a skullcap. His gun was aimed straight at Joe. The second gunman trained a rifle on Frank.
Sagging, Joe dropped the pistol and raised his hands.
"This one's no problem, Nick," the other man said as he shoved Frank to Joe's side. The Director picked up his fallen pistol.
"The Hardys," the Director said. "Is there no getting rid of you?"
"Smarter guys than you have tried," Joe answered defiantly.
A slow smile spread over the Director's face. "That may be true. But I'll be the one to succeed." He signaled the two other men, who nudged Frank and Joe toward the bay door.
"Let me introduce Nick and Charlie," the Director went on. "They've had quite a bit of experience with smuggling by air. For instance, do you know what they do with contraband when the police are closing in?"
He hit a switch, and the bay doors opened. Frank and Joe looked out over the dark Pacific, half a mile below.
"We dump it," Nick said with a grin.
The Director grinned back. He pointed to the bay door, then turned to the Hardys. "To have gotten into the truck, you must be good at jumping."
The smugglers cocked their automatic rifles and pressed them in the Hardys' ribs.
"I'd like to see a demonstration," the Director said. "So jump."
Chapter 17
"A HIGH-DIVE COMPETITION is no fun with just two people, Director," a woman's voice said. "Maybe you should join them."
The Director and the Hardys all turned at once, shock on their faces.
"Charity!" Joe yelled.
"Get her!" the Director shouted to the smugglers. Nick just turned where he was, training his rifle on his supposed boss.
Charity stepped from the cockpit. "I don't think your men will follow your orders anymore, Director. I've bought them off."
"Impp-ossible." The Director stuttered over the word. "I offered them a cut of the loot! How could you top that?"
Charity shrugged. "I offered them half the loot. Once we take it from you, of course. Now, if you'd be so kind—" She waved them toward the open bay door.
"You can't!" Joe said.
She laughed. "True enough." To the Director she said, "Close that door. I've never killed anybody, and I don't want to pick up bad habits."
"Any more bad habits?" Joe sneered.
Charity feigned a brokenhearted look. "Why, Joe. And after I just saved your life. How ungentlemanly." She signaled, and the two smugglers shoved the Hardys and the Director into the plane's interior. Charity reached into her pocket, pulling out two pairs of handcuffs.
"Souvenirs from police I've run into," she explained.
The smuggler named Nick opened the driver's door of the dump truck, lowering the window. He stuck Joe on one side of the open door and Frank on the other, holding their hands up. Then Charity snapped the cuffs over their wrists. They were stuck, trapped by the door. The smuggler named Charlie handcuffed the Director to the truck's rear bumper, just out of reach of the loot.
"You lied to me," Joe accused Charity. "You're no government agent."
She began to laugh. "Of course I lied. I'm a thief. It worked out so much better this way."
"I can understand why you wanted to rip off the Director," Frank said, looking back at the loot. "But why bring us into it?"
"The oldest reason in the world, Frank," Charity said. "Misdirection — keeping the enemy off guard. You were the wild cards. While the Director was busy watching you, he couldn't keep an eye on me."
"So you pulled that heist in Bayport just to lure us in." Frank was talking out loud to explain it to himself.
"I think you'll agree it worked out
Joe dived, tackling him. A shot rang out, ricocheting off the wall of the plane. Then Joe reached the Director, grabbed his gun hand, and tore the pistol from his grip.
"Drop it," a voice snarled. "Hands where we can see them." Joe spun, pistol ready, to find himself facing two unshaven men with automatic rifles. The one who spoke wore a T-shirt, and his black hair was cut close to his head, almost like a skullcap. His gun was aimed straight at Joe. The second gunman trained a rifle on Frank.
Sagging, Joe dropped the pistol and raised his hands.
"This one's no problem, Nick," the other man said as he shoved Frank to Joe's side. The Director picked up his fallen pistol.
"The Hardys," the Director said. "Is there no getting rid of you?"
"Smarter guys than you have tried," Joe answered defiantly.
A slow smile spread over the Director's face. "That may be true. But I'll be the one to succeed." He signaled the two other men, who nudged Frank and Joe toward the bay door.
"Let me introduce Nick and Charlie," the Director went on. "They've had quite a bit of experience with smuggling by air. For instance, do you know what they do with contraband when the police are closing in?"
He hit a switch, and the bay doors opened. Frank and Joe looked out over the dark Pacific, half a mile below.
"We dump it," Nick said with a grin.
The Director grinned back. He pointed to the bay door, then turned to the Hardys. "To have gotten into the truck, you must be good at jumping."
The smugglers cocked their automatic rifles and pressed them in the Hardys' ribs.
"I'd like to see a demonstration," the Director said. "So jump."
Chapter 17
"A HIGH-DIVE COMPETITION is no fun with just two people, Director," a woman's voice said. "Maybe you should join them."
The Director and the Hardys all turned at once, shock on their faces.
"Charity!" Joe yelled.
"Get her!" the Director shouted to the smugglers. Nick just turned where he was, training his rifle on his supposed boss.
Charity stepped from the cockpit. "I don't think your men will follow your orders anymore, Director. I've bought them off."
"Impp-ossible." The Director stuttered over the word. "I offered them a cut of the loot! How could you top that?"
Charity shrugged. "I offered them half the loot. Once we take it from you, of course. Now, if you'd be so kind—" She waved them toward the open bay door.
"You can't!" Joe said.
She laughed. "True enough." To the Director she said, "Close that door. I've never killed anybody, and I don't want to pick up bad habits."
"Any more bad habits?" Joe sneered.
Charity feigned a brokenhearted look. "Why, Joe. And after I just saved your life. How ungentlemanly." She signaled, and the two smugglers shoved the Hardys and the Director into the plane's interior. Charity reached into her pocket, pulling out two pairs of handcuffs.
"Souvenirs from police I've run into," she explained.
The smuggler named Nick opened the driver's door of the dump truck, lowering the window. He stuck Joe on one side of the open door and Frank on the other, holding their hands up. Then Charity snapped the cuffs over their wrists. They were stuck, trapped by the door. The smuggler named Charlie handcuffed the Director to the truck's rear bumper, just out of reach of the loot.
"You lied to me," Joe accused Charity. "You're no government agent."
She began to laugh. "Of course I lied. I'm a thief. It worked out so much better this way."
"I can understand why you wanted to rip off the Director," Frank said, looking back at the loot. "But why bring us into it?"
"The oldest reason in the world, Frank," Charity said. "Misdirection — keeping the enemy off guard. You were the wild cards. While the Director was busy watching you, he couldn't keep an eye on me."
"So you pulled that heist in Bayport just to lure us in." Frank was talking out loud to explain it to himself.
"I think you'll agree it worked out
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