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Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
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that ought to let Andreas move down the hillside without being seen. Andreas, you have a watch?"
"A stopwatch for my running," he replied, pulling one from a pocket.
"Great!" exclaimed Joe. "Give us, say, ten minutes from the time we move out before you take off. And one last thing—when you get to that junction, stay out of sight until you're sure that the people you see seem friendly. Got that?"
Andreas's eyes gleamed with excitement. "I understand," he assured Joe. Then he smiled at his sister. "Take care, and good luck."
Clea gave Andreas a quick hug. "Run well, my brother."
Leaving Andreas looking at his watch, Joe and Clea worked their way down the slope. They carefully started around the fortress, using all available cover once they were within sight of the attack force.
Dodging from scraggly bush to little hillock of earth, to one of the many boulders scattered around the area, they moved in behind the enemy. They climbed a hill, at their opponents' backs. The gunmen never noticed a thing.
"Over here," Joe whispered. He'd seen just what he wanted — a thick tangle of bushes on the hill's crest. From there they could see a section of road where Andreas should soon appear. The nearest of the opposition was about sixty yards away. Joe checked his watch and found that eight minutes had passed. They had two minutes to establish their diversion.
Joe motioned Clea to lie flat and pulled out the automatic pistol, flipping off the safety. He drew a bead on the rock the nearest enemy was using for cover. Then, gripping the heavy pistol in two hands, as his father had taught him, he squeezed off a shot.
Sixty yards away, the bullet smashed into a rock only a foot from the gunman, who jumped in fear and stared wildly around. Joe fired again, and a bullet ricocheted off a rock on the man's other side, sending up a shower of stone chips.
Joe and Clea could hear the man cry out in shrill, panicky tones. Joe kept shooting until the clip was empty. The result was a frantic scramble as the bewildered attackers looked for better hiding places against gunfire from both the tower and this new threat. A burst of wild automatic fire tore through the top of a tree, but the gunner had no idea where to aim.
Clea reached out to tap Joe on the arm. "Look! On the road!" she whispered urgently.
Joe swung around and saw Andreas, arms churning, thin legs pumping, as he sprinted away, completely unseen by the enemy. The diversion had worked!
Seconds later heavy fire erupted from the tower, and the attackers, now totally rattled, turned back to face their original target.
Joe nudged Clea. "I think Phil and Prynne are giving us some cover. Let's take advantage of it and get out of here. Stay low and move slowly—at first."
They put some distance between the fortress and themselves before they felt it was safe to take off across the jagged terrain at a rapid clip. The noise of shooting soon faded behind them.
They moved through a landscape of barren earth and stone. Drab, colorless, low trees and : bushes were the only silhouettes breaking up the monotony. There were no buildings, no signs of paved roads, in fact, no evidence that people had ever set foot there. Clea had some knowledge of the country and led the way. At one point, Joe called a brief halt and discarded their pistol, hiding it under a pile of small rocks. Clea asked, "Why don't we keep the gun?" "If we're stopped by anyone," answered Joe, "it's better if we look like a couple of innocent backpackers. And an empty pistol isn't going to be of much use anyway."
They plodded on for a while in silence, each wrapped up in his or her own thoughts and worries about friends and relations.
Joe began to be aware of the straps of his pack cutting into his shoulders. And his legs were sending painful messages that all this up-and downhill was getting very old very fast.
He stopped and drew in a deep breath. "Listen, Clea." She turned to face him. "Uh, how are you doing? You want
"A stopwatch for my running," he replied, pulling one from a pocket.
"Great!" exclaimed Joe. "Give us, say, ten minutes from the time we move out before you take off. And one last thing—when you get to that junction, stay out of sight until you're sure that the people you see seem friendly. Got that?"
Andreas's eyes gleamed with excitement. "I understand," he assured Joe. Then he smiled at his sister. "Take care, and good luck."
Clea gave Andreas a quick hug. "Run well, my brother."
Leaving Andreas looking at his watch, Joe and Clea worked their way down the slope. They carefully started around the fortress, using all available cover once they were within sight of the attack force.
Dodging from scraggly bush to little hillock of earth, to one of the many boulders scattered around the area, they moved in behind the enemy. They climbed a hill, at their opponents' backs. The gunmen never noticed a thing.
"Over here," Joe whispered. He'd seen just what he wanted — a thick tangle of bushes on the hill's crest. From there they could see a section of road where Andreas should soon appear. The nearest of the opposition was about sixty yards away. Joe checked his watch and found that eight minutes had passed. They had two minutes to establish their diversion.
Joe motioned Clea to lie flat and pulled out the automatic pistol, flipping off the safety. He drew a bead on the rock the nearest enemy was using for cover. Then, gripping the heavy pistol in two hands, as his father had taught him, he squeezed off a shot.
Sixty yards away, the bullet smashed into a rock only a foot from the gunman, who jumped in fear and stared wildly around. Joe fired again, and a bullet ricocheted off a rock on the man's other side, sending up a shower of stone chips.
Joe and Clea could hear the man cry out in shrill, panicky tones. Joe kept shooting until the clip was empty. The result was a frantic scramble as the bewildered attackers looked for better hiding places against gunfire from both the tower and this new threat. A burst of wild automatic fire tore through the top of a tree, but the gunner had no idea where to aim.
Clea reached out to tap Joe on the arm. "Look! On the road!" she whispered urgently.
Joe swung around and saw Andreas, arms churning, thin legs pumping, as he sprinted away, completely unseen by the enemy. The diversion had worked!
Seconds later heavy fire erupted from the tower, and the attackers, now totally rattled, turned back to face their original target.
Joe nudged Clea. "I think Phil and Prynne are giving us some cover. Let's take advantage of it and get out of here. Stay low and move slowly—at first."
They put some distance between the fortress and themselves before they felt it was safe to take off across the jagged terrain at a rapid clip. The noise of shooting soon faded behind them.
They moved through a landscape of barren earth and stone. Drab, colorless, low trees and : bushes were the only silhouettes breaking up the monotony. There were no buildings, no signs of paved roads, in fact, no evidence that people had ever set foot there. Clea had some knowledge of the country and led the way. At one point, Joe called a brief halt and discarded their pistol, hiding it under a pile of small rocks. Clea asked, "Why don't we keep the gun?" "If we're stopped by anyone," answered Joe, "it's better if we look like a couple of innocent backpackers. And an empty pistol isn't going to be of much use anyway."
They plodded on for a while in silence, each wrapped up in his or her own thoughts and worries about friends and relations.
Joe began to be aware of the straps of his pack cutting into his shoulders. And his legs were sending painful messages that all this up-and downhill was getting very old very fast.
He stopped and drew in a deep breath. "Listen, Clea." She turned to face him. "Uh, how are you doing? You want
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