us to the Director as well as anyone." Staying out of sight, they followed the two thieves to the town square, where everyone had lined up to pour jewelry and money into an old dump truck.
"A truck?" said Frank.
"Jolly said something about this," Joe explained. "It's supposed to get all this stuff off the island."
"How can a truck get out?" Frank said in disbelief. "It doesn't look very seaworthy."
"That's what we were told," Joe said. "I guess we'll find out soon enough."
"Come on." Frank glanced around. "I've got an idea." Quickly he led Joe to the nearest building. Frank jumped up, catching the fire escape. They climbed up three sets of metal stairs, until they were on a roof overlooking the bizarre scene.
They watched for a while.
"Look," Joe said, breaking the silence.
Out on the ocean, a fleet of lights grew brighter and brighter as they approached the island. A high-pitched whine became louder, then softer, then louder still.
"It's the police," Joe said.
"Then Chavo did find another radio." Frank nodded. "But the Director planned on this. Hang on, little brother. I think we're about to catch the ride of our lives."
On the ground, the criminals were reacting to the oncoming sirens. Joe watched in amusement as they frantically pointed out to sea. Several rushed the truck and tried to get into the driver's cabin, but the doors were locked.
"That's not the Director driving," Joe said.
"No, but I bet he'll be where the truck's going," Frank said, watching it careen down the street. "Get ready."
"What are we supposed to do from up here?"
"Jump," said Frank.
"Jump?"
"Jump!"
Together, they leapt.
The Hardys fell three stories, to smash into a lumpy pile of loot. They were in the back of the old dump truck, speeding through Puerto de Oro at a breakneck pace.
As he bounced around on the jewelry and cash, Frank imagined the look on the Director's face when he got to his destination and found them waiting for him.
The truck turned off the street and onto a dirt road, heading for the heart of the island. Far behind were the casinos, criminals, and police. Now the scenery was tropical forest so thick that it was almost jungle, and the road turned to a trail barely wide enough for the vehicle. It looked as if no one had ever lived on this part of the island. It was almost wilderness.
The police would never look for the Director here.
They rode up a mountain, then down the other side. Joe stood and looked out over the hood of the dump truck. The truck was heading toward a small inlet, lit orange and purple by the rising sun. There was a long stretch of beach beside the water, and on the sand, a dark winged object.
"You're not going to believe this," Joe said. "I guess you can get anything from government surplus if you try hard enough."
Frank took a look. "I believe it. It's the only way his plan could work."
The truck rolled onto the beach and into the fuselage of the cargo plane waiting there.
The Hardys lay flat on the loot as the aircraft's engines started one by one. The truck door slammed, and Frank could hear the Director barking orders. The ramp up to the airplane was pulled in, and the entrance bay closed. Then the plane started to move. Frank and Joe began to slide over the loot as the plane rose into the air.
"Frank," Joe began as the plane leveled off, but Frank clapped a hand over Joe's mouth, silencing him. The Director's triumphant laughter echoed in the belly of the plane.
Then came a grinding noise. "Oh, no!" Frank yelled, no longer caring if he were heard or not.
The front of the dump truck began to tip up.
Frank and Joe crawled through the loot, trying to reach what was now becoming the top of the mound, but the farther they crawled forward, the more the slipping pile of riches carried them back. The back gate of the truck opened, the loot spilling onto the floor of the airplane. The Director danced around the pile with joy.
Then he saw the Hardys, and his face changed. "Nick!
"A truck?" said Frank.
"Jolly said something about this," Joe explained. "It's supposed to get all this stuff off the island."
"How can a truck get out?" Frank said in disbelief. "It doesn't look very seaworthy."
"That's what we were told," Joe said. "I guess we'll find out soon enough."
"Come on." Frank glanced around. "I've got an idea." Quickly he led Joe to the nearest building. Frank jumped up, catching the fire escape. They climbed up three sets of metal stairs, until they were on a roof overlooking the bizarre scene.
They watched for a while.
"Look," Joe said, breaking the silence.
Out on the ocean, a fleet of lights grew brighter and brighter as they approached the island. A high-pitched whine became louder, then softer, then louder still.
"It's the police," Joe said.
"Then Chavo did find another radio." Frank nodded. "But the Director planned on this. Hang on, little brother. I think we're about to catch the ride of our lives."
On the ground, the criminals were reacting to the oncoming sirens. Joe watched in amusement as they frantically pointed out to sea. Several rushed the truck and tried to get into the driver's cabin, but the doors were locked.
"That's not the Director driving," Joe said.
"No, but I bet he'll be where the truck's going," Frank said, watching it careen down the street. "Get ready."
"What are we supposed to do from up here?"
"Jump," said Frank.
"Jump?"
"Jump!"
Together, they leapt.
The Hardys fell three stories, to smash into a lumpy pile of loot. They were in the back of the old dump truck, speeding through Puerto de Oro at a breakneck pace.
As he bounced around on the jewelry and cash, Frank imagined the look on the Director's face when he got to his destination and found them waiting for him.
The truck turned off the street and onto a dirt road, heading for the heart of the island. Far behind were the casinos, criminals, and police. Now the scenery was tropical forest so thick that it was almost jungle, and the road turned to a trail barely wide enough for the vehicle. It looked as if no one had ever lived on this part of the island. It was almost wilderness.
The police would never look for the Director here.
They rode up a mountain, then down the other side. Joe stood and looked out over the hood of the dump truck. The truck was heading toward a small inlet, lit orange and purple by the rising sun. There was a long stretch of beach beside the water, and on the sand, a dark winged object.
"You're not going to believe this," Joe said. "I guess you can get anything from government surplus if you try hard enough."
Frank took a look. "I believe it. It's the only way his plan could work."
The truck rolled onto the beach and into the fuselage of the cargo plane waiting there.
The Hardys lay flat on the loot as the aircraft's engines started one by one. The truck door slammed, and Frank could hear the Director barking orders. The ramp up to the airplane was pulled in, and the entrance bay closed. Then the plane started to move. Frank and Joe began to slide over the loot as the plane rose into the air.
"Frank," Joe began as the plane leveled off, but Frank clapped a hand over Joe's mouth, silencing him. The Director's triumphant laughter echoed in the belly of the plane.
Then came a grinding noise. "Oh, no!" Frank yelled, no longer caring if he were heard or not.
The front of the dump truck began to tip up.
Frank and Joe crawled through the loot, trying to reach what was now becoming the top of the mound, but the farther they crawled forward, the more the slipping pile of riches carried them back. The back gate of the truck opened, the loot spilling onto the floor of the airplane. The Director danced around the pile with joy.
Then he saw the Hardys, and his face changed. "Nick!
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