Hostages of Hate Read Online Free PDF Page A

Frank pushed off, lashing out with his left foot in a karate kick.
    His heel caught Gustave right on the point of the chin.
    Gustave's head snapped back, and he tumbled down to the landing below. He landed flat on his back, his arms flew out, and the knife went skittering from his nerveless grasp.
    When Gustave started taking notice again, he saw Frank Hardy wedging the knife into a crack in the concrete stairs. Frank stomped down on it, snapping the blade in two.
    Then he loomed over Gustave. He was still breathing heavily from the fight, and his face was red. But it was the murderous fury in his eyes that made the Belgian terrorist cringe. "Please — " he said.
    "Now you're asking for favors." Frank's voice was hoarse as he looked down at Gustave.
    All the fight knocked out of him, Gustave got up on his hands and knees, trying to scuttle away.
    But Frank grabbed and twisted a clump of Gustave's red hair in his hand. "Now I know you're one of those ANWO creeps. You're working for the guys who've got my girlfriend. I'm going to find out what you know, or you're going to go flying down these stairs—headfirst."
    Frank tightened his hold on Gustave's hair as he dragged him up the stairs. "Talk—while you still can."
    "Monsieur, you don't understand. They'd kill me. I — I can't."
    "We'll find out about that," Frank said grimly. Either you start talking, or I'll fling you down this flight of stairs, then the next one, and the next — " He yanked Gustave's head back so he could look him in the eye. Frank looked angry enough to do it.
    "I'll keep doing it until I run out of stairs, or until there's not enough of you left to pick up."
    Frank grabbed Gustave's belt and began swinging him back and forth. Gustave's arms waved feebly as Frank prepared to push him. "Last chance, Gustave. One — two — ughh!"
    Frank suddenly went limp. Gustave dropped to the stairwell floor, gibbering in French as his chin hit the concrete. But when Frank flopped down beside him, Gustave realized this was his chance to escape. Gustave started to scrabble away but instantly bumped into two heavy boots. He looked up into a pair of ice-blue eyes.
    A young blond man leaned against the door to the convention floor. He rubbed his left hand over a big, competent fist. "You must be Gustave," he said.
    "What — what happened?" Gustave asked.
    "Quiet!" commanded the blond man. "I took care of this fellow." His English was good, but there was a faint trace of accent — German?
    "There is trouble. The operation has been compromised. This man found you and other members of the army." He took a deep breath. "I must warn the Dutchman."
    "Your contact — " Gustave began.
    "Is now being watched!" The blond man cut him off. "The message must go through. We may have only minutes. Give me someone I can talk to. You can go, and I will warn the others." He prodded Frank Hardy's unmoving form with the toe of his boot. "I'll take care of this one, too."
    Gustave licked his lips. He wasn't so eager for grand struggles right then, especially if the whole operation was going wrong. At last, he made up his mind. "The Hole - in - the - Wall — a sweet shop on Pennsylvania Avenue. Ask for Lonnie."
    "And the recognition code?"
    Gustave hesitated.
    The blond man gave him a sharp look. "Come. There must be a recognition code!"
    Gustave finally gave in. "You must say, 'The day dawned most promisingly.' And he will answer, 'Like a new world.' "
    "That is all?"
    Gustave nodded. "That is all."
    A smile crooked the blond man's lips as he leaned over the Belgian. "Thanks, pal."
    The sudden switch from an accent to pure American English made Gustave glance up in astonishment. That's how he saw the fist flashing for his jaw. Then he didn't feel astonished. He was out cold, slumped on the floor.
    Frank Hardy groaned as he sat up. "What do you have in those boots, Joe, lead weights?" He rubbed his ribs. "And did you have to be so realistic?" he asked his brother.
    "Steel toes," Joe