Too Many Traitors Read Online Free PDF

the front stairs.
    Next to the stairs the elevator had stopped and was letting people out. Behind them Frank could hear Inspector Melendez and the policemen coming out of Martin's room. Inspector Melendez yelled in Spanish, and Joe could hear a pistol cock.
    "The elevator!" Joe said. "They won't shoot while there are other people around." He pushed through the crowd coming off the elevator and grabbed the door, holding it open. A second later Frank jumped into the car, and Joe let the door slip closed. As the elevator sank in its shaft, Joe could see Inspector Melendez furiously ordering his man down the stairs.
    On the main floor the elevator door slid open. The Hardys raced across the lobby with Inspector Melendez and his men only a few yards behind them. "Outside!" Frank said. "We'll lose them in the dark."
    But as they stepped through the door, they were greeted by the glare of the lights that lit the front of the building. "We're better targets out here than in there," Joe said reasonably. Three steps at a time, they sped down the front steps to the relative darkness of the street.
    They were halfway across the street when a dark van screeched to a halt between them and the police. Before Joe or Frank could react, the side door of the van was slid open and strong arms gripped them, dragging them inside. A damp cloth pressed against Joe's face, and the stench of chloroform burned into his nose and mouth, filling his lungs. The last things he saw before plunging into unconsciousness were his now sleeping brother and the face of the girl who had spoken to them at Picasso's birthplace.
    A coarse cloth patted Joe's cheek, and he tried to open his eyes. "Frank?" he called out. "Are you there?"
    "Your brother is here," said a rough, cold voice, and Joe's eyes snapped open. Sunlight glared into them, and he raised a hand to shield his face. There were bars on the windows of the room. He rolled his head to see Frank seated on a chair a few feet away. Another chair stood in front of him. Except for a small table with a lamp on it, the rest of the room was bare.
    Morning, he realized. He remembered the police and the van and the sting of chloroform fumes. Captured, he thought. But who?
    The girl from the plaza knelt beside him, a cloth in her hands. "Are you all right?" she asked, with genuine concern in her voice.
    "Silence, Elena! Move away from the boy," ordered the cold voice. The girl backed off. Joe stared up at a bald man with a heavyset build. Standing behind him, one on either side of the door, were two of the Russians who had chased them across Malaga the day before. The bald man scowled at Joe impatiently. "Tell me the name." Joe looked at Frank. "KGB?" Frank nodded. "His name's Vladimir. The boss, I guess. He keeps asking about some name."
    The man called Vladimir gave them a frosty smile. "The Network should not employ babbling children."
    Joe stiffened. He and Frank had worked with the super-secret government agency called the Network in the past. But there had been no contact between them for several months. Now, it seemed, the Network was back to haunt them.
    "What network are you talking about? NBC?" Frank said. "And who are you calling children?"
    "Do not play the fool." Vladimir's voice was cold and flat, but his eyes glittered with menace. "You will not get your agent back until we have received the name. We had an agreement, your masters and mine."
    "I'm starting to get it," Frank said to Joe. "The Network set us up. I gather Martin was working for them—"
    "Of course he was," Vladimir told them impatiently. "Just as you are. He reported he had passed the name to you. And now I want it."
    "The Network pulled a fast one on you, pal," Joe said. "We've got nothing to do with them."
    "Ah." Vladimir shrugged and turned away. Then he pivoted, throwing his weight into a slap aimed at Joe's face. But it never connected. Instinctively, Joe reached up and blocked the blow. Then he clenched his fist and drew back his arm.