07-Deathgame by Franklin W. Dixon

Author:Franklin W. Dixon [Dixon, Franklin W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General, Juvenile Fiction, Mysteries & Detective Stories
ISBN: 9780671736729
Google: TeUu4RnhTtEC
Amazon: 0671736728
Publisher: Simon Pulse
Published: 1987-09-15T13:45:50+00:00

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 to a golden blond. Her face was tanned, and her eyes were a clear blue.

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