set at their tops. Water dripped somewhere in the deep shadows.
"We keep transgressors down here," the colonel informed them.
"Transgressors?" Frank asked.
"Recruits with capabilities that could have made them invaluable additions to our organization. Some foolishly decline our offer to serve, as if they think they really have an option. Others are simply too rebellious."
The colonel stopped at a door midway along the corridor and took keys from a belt about his waist. "Some are not willing to be, uh, team players."
"My kind of people!" Joe exclaimed defiantly.
The colonel unlocked the door. "Good!" he said, thrusting the door open. "Then you can enjoy dying alongside them!"
Brand shoved them through the doorway, and the steel door slammed shut with an ominous clang.
Frank and Joe stood still for a moment, waiting for their eyes to adjust to the darkness. The room they were locked in was a dirt-floored dungeon. Rats scampered near a battered, bloodied figure that lay very still, half-obscured in shadow.
"Oh, no," said Frank, darting forward. "Biff!"
Chapter 11
A LARGE RAT was sniffing around Biff's ankles.
Biff's hand feebly swiped at the rodent's well-fed body. Whipping its tail around, the animal let out a squeaky screech of protest, then fled into the shadowy recesses of the damp cell.
Frank felt a surge of adrenaline when he saw that weak gesture. It meant Biff was alive!
The Hardys knelt on either side of their friend. Gently, they propped him up against the stone wall.
Biff's face was swollen and bruised, but he managed a weak smile. "I knew you guys would find me. Knew it all the time."
"Yeah, we've got to get you back to Bayport. Football practice starts soon," Joe said, trying not to let Biff see how concerned he was. He knew he had to bolster Biff's hopes for escape.
Suddenly, Frank and Joe became aware of a shuffling sound behind them. They turned to see two other prisoners who shared the same dungeon quarters.
"Frank?" Biff mumbled.
"Yeah?"
"This is turning out not to be fun." Biff sagged back against the wall.
Frank nodded solemnly. "The real thing seldom is." He stood and faced the two other prisoners. "Where are your manners, Biff? You haven't introduced us to your cellmates."
"Hi. I'm Terrence Scott. Just call me Terry," said a black teenager as he extended his hand in greeting. He was in much better shape than Biff.
Terry's hair was cropped close to his head. His brown eyes were almond shaped, and they glittered with an alert curiosity that even his surroundings couldn't lessen.
Terry was as tall as Joe, with a thin, wiry build. His handshake was firm.
"Hey, Terry," Frank said. "How did you wind up here?"
Terry shrugged. "Just lucky, I guess." He grinned. "Biff's talked a lot about you two. Your reputation precedes you."
He gestured awkwardly toward Biff's battered body. "We've tried to help Biff as much as we could. They worked him over pretty thoroughly a couple of days ago." Terry breathed harshly. "Not much we could do for him. They confiscated all our medical equipment."
"You were one of the game players at Ultimo?" Joe asked.
"Yeah. Seemed like a good idea when I signed up. My father's an intelligence agent." Terry looked down at his muddied fatigues. "I thought I could follow in my dad's footsteps. Figured I'd impress him."
He took a deep breath. "Now I could kick myself for being so clever in covering my own tracks. I made it impossible for him to trace me."
In the silence, they could hear rat claws raking through dirt.
Terry turned to the remaining prisoner, who stood behind him.
"I suppose you'd like to meet the third occupant of our little abode." He held a palm out to indicate the figure, who stepped forward.
A girl! Joe thought, then corrected himself, a woman. She was about his age, seventeen. Did that make her a girl or a woman? Her handshake was as firm as Terry's. "I'm Lauren Madigan," she announced in a confident voice.
Her hair had been lightened by the sun
"We keep transgressors down here," the colonel informed them.
"Transgressors?" Frank asked.
"Recruits with capabilities that could have made them invaluable additions to our organization. Some foolishly decline our offer to serve, as if they think they really have an option. Others are simply too rebellious."
The colonel stopped at a door midway along the corridor and took keys from a belt about his waist. "Some are not willing to be, uh, team players."
"My kind of people!" Joe exclaimed defiantly.
The colonel unlocked the door. "Good!" he said, thrusting the door open. "Then you can enjoy dying alongside them!"
Brand shoved them through the doorway, and the steel door slammed shut with an ominous clang.
Frank and Joe stood still for a moment, waiting for their eyes to adjust to the darkness. The room they were locked in was a dirt-floored dungeon. Rats scampered near a battered, bloodied figure that lay very still, half-obscured in shadow.
"Oh, no," said Frank, darting forward. "Biff!"
Chapter 11
A LARGE RAT was sniffing around Biff's ankles.
Biff's hand feebly swiped at the rodent's well-fed body. Whipping its tail around, the animal let out a squeaky screech of protest, then fled into the shadowy recesses of the damp cell.
Frank felt a surge of adrenaline when he saw that weak gesture. It meant Biff was alive!
The Hardys knelt on either side of their friend. Gently, they propped him up against the stone wall.
Biff's face was swollen and bruised, but he managed a weak smile. "I knew you guys would find me. Knew it all the time."
"Yeah, we've got to get you back to Bayport. Football practice starts soon," Joe said, trying not to let Biff see how concerned he was. He knew he had to bolster Biff's hopes for escape.
Suddenly, Frank and Joe became aware of a shuffling sound behind them. They turned to see two other prisoners who shared the same dungeon quarters.
"Frank?" Biff mumbled.
"Yeah?"
"This is turning out not to be fun." Biff sagged back against the wall.
Frank nodded solemnly. "The real thing seldom is." He stood and faced the two other prisoners. "Where are your manners, Biff? You haven't introduced us to your cellmates."
"Hi. I'm Terrence Scott. Just call me Terry," said a black teenager as he extended his hand in greeting. He was in much better shape than Biff.
Terry's hair was cropped close to his head. His brown eyes were almond shaped, and they glittered with an alert curiosity that even his surroundings couldn't lessen.
Terry was as tall as Joe, with a thin, wiry build. His handshake was firm.
"Hey, Terry," Frank said. "How did you wind up here?"
Terry shrugged. "Just lucky, I guess." He grinned. "Biff's talked a lot about you two. Your reputation precedes you."
He gestured awkwardly toward Biff's battered body. "We've tried to help Biff as much as we could. They worked him over pretty thoroughly a couple of days ago." Terry breathed harshly. "Not much we could do for him. They confiscated all our medical equipment."
"You were one of the game players at Ultimo?" Joe asked.
"Yeah. Seemed like a good idea when I signed up. My father's an intelligence agent." Terry looked down at his muddied fatigues. "I thought I could follow in my dad's footsteps. Figured I'd impress him."
He took a deep breath. "Now I could kick myself for being so clever in covering my own tracks. I made it impossible for him to trace me."
In the silence, they could hear rat claws raking through dirt.
Terry turned to the remaining prisoner, who stood behind him.
"I suppose you'd like to meet the third occupant of our little abode." He held a palm out to indicate the figure, who stepped forward.
A girl! Joe thought, then corrected himself, a woman. She was about his age, seventeen. Did that make her a girl or a woman? Her handshake was as firm as Terry's. "I'm Lauren Madigan," she announced in a confident voice.
Her hair had been lightened by the sun
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