Read Online The Lazarus Plot by Franklin W. Dixon - Free Book Online
Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
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He slammed his fist against his palm in frustration. "If we just had a clue to where they are."
"It's the Gray Man's fault," said Joe angrily. "He should have told us where to find him, instead of keeping us at arm's length, like we were a couple of kids who'd spill the beans at the drop of a hat."
"The trouble is, he wasn't so wrong," said Frank. "After all, we did give the Lazarus goons the information they wanted."
"You mean I did," said Joe. "Okay, I admit it, so don't rub it in. But I'm not apologizing. I'd do it again, if it meant saving Iola. If that makes me a wimp, then I'm a wimp."
"Nobody's blaming anybody, and nobody's calling anybody a wimp," said Frank, putting his hand on his brother's shoulder. Frank sometimes got mad at Joe, but when it came to a pinch like this, he wasn't going to see Joe hurt. "Let's not worry about water under the bridge. We have to worry about what happens now."
"What happens now is we stare at your computer and it stares back at us and," Joe shrugged and said, "We're beat."
But Frank wasn't about to throw in the towel. "When you're stumped by a problem, it means you have to look at it from another angle," he said. "We have to stop looking at this useless computer and look in other directions, starting with going through this room."
Joe shook his head. "What do you figure we'll find? Think our doubles left us a note telling us where they were going?"
Suddenly Frank said in an excited voice, "They just might have. Take a look at this." He was examining a notepad on his desk.
Joe hurried over, took a look, and then said with disgust, "Come on, Frank, this is no time for kidding. That's nothing but blank paper."
"You know how I like to keep my desk neat as opposed to yours," said Frank. "That's putting it mildly," said Joe. Frank's desk was always a model of efficient organization, while Joe's looked like the aftermath of a tornado.
"This notepad is out of place, sitting here in the middle of the desk," said Frank. "One of our doubles must have used it." "So what?" said Joe. "He took whatever he wrote with him."
"Let's see if he did," said Frank. Without explaining further, Frank emptied his pencil sharpener onto his desktop.
Joe leaned forward to watch. This had to be important, if Frank was soiling his precious work space.
Ignoring the shavings of wood, Frank took a pinch of graphite powder between his thumb and forefinger and sprinkled it on the notepad. Then he shook the notepad very gently, the way gold prospectors used to shake their pans when hunting for gold in streams, to separate grains of precious metal from the silt.
"Pay dirt!" Frank exclaimed, peering down at the paper.
The paper was no longer blank. The graphite dust had settled in indentations in the paper made when something had been written on the paper above it. .
"Now if we can just read it," Frank said, squinting hard. What he saw was: 7864 9 St.
"And then there's a couple of letters," he added.
Joe peered at the paper, his eyes straining to make out the faint black markings. "There's an S and an E."
"That's it. Seventy-eight sixty-four Ninth Street, Southeast. We've got it!" said Frank triumphantly.
"One little problem," said Joe. “We know the number, we know the street, but we don't know the city."
"But we can make a good guess," said Frank. “Washington, D.C., is the only city I know that has addresses like that. Its streets are designed to form concentric circles, and they're divided into different compass points."
"Anyway, it makes sense that the Network is located there," said Joe eagerly. "What are we waiting for? Let's go!"
“Let's do one thing first," said Frank, grabbing Joe's arm before he could dash out the door.
“What?" said Joe. ”We’re wasting time."
"Let's change clothes," said Frank. "We want to keep a low profile, and I kind of think that two guys in hunting clothes, carrying Remington hunting rifles, might attract a tiny bit of attention boarding the New
"It's the Gray Man's fault," said Joe angrily. "He should have told us where to find him, instead of keeping us at arm's length, like we were a couple of kids who'd spill the beans at the drop of a hat."
"The trouble is, he wasn't so wrong," said Frank. "After all, we did give the Lazarus goons the information they wanted."
"You mean I did," said Joe. "Okay, I admit it, so don't rub it in. But I'm not apologizing. I'd do it again, if it meant saving Iola. If that makes me a wimp, then I'm a wimp."
"Nobody's blaming anybody, and nobody's calling anybody a wimp," said Frank, putting his hand on his brother's shoulder. Frank sometimes got mad at Joe, but when it came to a pinch like this, he wasn't going to see Joe hurt. "Let's not worry about water under the bridge. We have to worry about what happens now."
"What happens now is we stare at your computer and it stares back at us and," Joe shrugged and said, "We're beat."
But Frank wasn't about to throw in the towel. "When you're stumped by a problem, it means you have to look at it from another angle," he said. "We have to stop looking at this useless computer and look in other directions, starting with going through this room."
Joe shook his head. "What do you figure we'll find? Think our doubles left us a note telling us where they were going?"
Suddenly Frank said in an excited voice, "They just might have. Take a look at this." He was examining a notepad on his desk.
Joe hurried over, took a look, and then said with disgust, "Come on, Frank, this is no time for kidding. That's nothing but blank paper."
"You know how I like to keep my desk neat as opposed to yours," said Frank. "That's putting it mildly," said Joe. Frank's desk was always a model of efficient organization, while Joe's looked like the aftermath of a tornado.
"This notepad is out of place, sitting here in the middle of the desk," said Frank. "One of our doubles must have used it." "So what?" said Joe. "He took whatever he wrote with him."
"Let's see if he did," said Frank. Without explaining further, Frank emptied his pencil sharpener onto his desktop.
Joe leaned forward to watch. This had to be important, if Frank was soiling his precious work space.
Ignoring the shavings of wood, Frank took a pinch of graphite powder between his thumb and forefinger and sprinkled it on the notepad. Then he shook the notepad very gently, the way gold prospectors used to shake their pans when hunting for gold in streams, to separate grains of precious metal from the silt.
"Pay dirt!" Frank exclaimed, peering down at the paper.
The paper was no longer blank. The graphite dust had settled in indentations in the paper made when something had been written on the paper above it. .
"Now if we can just read it," Frank said, squinting hard. What he saw was: 7864 9 St.
"And then there's a couple of letters," he added.
Joe peered at the paper, his eyes straining to make out the faint black markings. "There's an S and an E."
"That's it. Seventy-eight sixty-four Ninth Street, Southeast. We've got it!" said Frank triumphantly.
"One little problem," said Joe. “We know the number, we know the street, but we don't know the city."
"But we can make a good guess," said Frank. “Washington, D.C., is the only city I know that has addresses like that. Its streets are designed to form concentric circles, and they're divided into different compass points."
"Anyway, it makes sense that the Network is located there," said Joe eagerly. "What are we waiting for? Let's go!"
“Let's do one thing first," said Frank, grabbing Joe's arm before he could dash out the door.
“What?" said Joe. ”We’re wasting time."
"Let's change clothes," said Frank. "We want to keep a low profile, and I kind of think that two guys in hunting clothes, carrying Remington hunting rifles, might attract a tiny bit of attention boarding the New
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