Passport to Danger (7 page)

“It's the same basic message he was spouting yesterday,” Joe said.

“Only that was before the so-called two-day reign of sabotage,” Frank pointed out.

“Why has the crime increased?” Bergerac asked. “What is missing from the government of Paris, missing from the enforcement of the laws?
I
am missing,” Bergerac answered his own question. “My leadership is missing. We need to show the world a promise of security during this international event of such high visibility. We need someone pledged to ensure the safety of all involved.”

“And that would be you, right, Auguste?” Fenton talked back to the screen.

“You must join me in telling those in charge of security that we are not satisfied with their efforts,”
Bergerac concluded. “Seek out those responsible for protecting Parisians and our international visitors. Express your displeasure with them for these lapses. Demand that they answer our call for a safe, secure Paris.” The crowd erupted into raucous cheering and chants.

“He sure knows how to rally the troops,” Fenton said, switching off the set. “Most of the people at the symposium suspect that Bergerac and his henchmen were involved in the incidents at Le Stade. They consider him to be the biggest threat by far to the tournament and the stadium. He apparently will do anything to create an atmosphere that will guarantee his reelection.”

Frank and Joe told their dad about everything that happened to them that day and about the evidence and clues they'd gathered. By the time they'd finished, they all realized that each of the three had a different theory as to what was happening—and a different suspect.

“From everything I've heard from the security experts, I'd go with Bergerac,” Fenton concluded.

“Well, I'm not convinced that Montie Roberts is completely innocent,” Frank said. He might not actually be sabotaging the tournament as some people think. But I can't erase the image of him with Coach Sant'Anna in that locker room.”

“My vote's for Victoire,” Joe said. “If Coach
Sant'Anna didn't write an
M
for ‘Montie' as his clue, then it could be a double
V
for ‘Victoire.' That guy really clipped me in the Conciergerie. He wanted my backpack and that tape. The tape itself talks about the stadium and the spectators. They're probably referring to messing with the stands.”

“We know that a lot of them wear combat boots, too,” Frank said, nodding. “That guard could have been one of them in a stolen security uniform.”

“Well, whichever one it is,” Fenton cautioned, “we can at least agree that we're playing with some pretty heavy hitters. I'm counting on you two to watch your backs.”

“We'll be very careful,” Frank assured his dad. “And you, too.”

By the time they finished their meal, it was close to ten o'clock. “I've got a tour tomorrow morning—can't tell you where,” Fenton said. “But the driver's picking me up at five, so I'm hitting the sack. Remember to be careful.” With that, Fenton left the room.

“So what next?” Joe asked his brother. “I'm too wired to go to bed now.”

“Me too,” Frank said. “We're off duty tomorrow from the tournament. So we'll have all day to chase clues. Tonight let's see a little of Paris!”

“Sounds good,” Joe said. “I'll call Jacques. He'll
know some cool places to go. We can meet at the computer café by the bookstalls.” Joe gave Jacques a call, and the two boys got ready for their night out.

•  •  •

The Hardys arrived at the café first, so they ordered pizza and sodas. When Jacques came in, there was a flurry of recognition. Several customers waved and called to him. A couple in the corner stood and then fell to one knee with bowed heads, as if Jacques were royalty.

“So you're pretty famous here, huh?” Joe said to Jacques as he joined them at the table.

“I've been known to hack around a little in the past,” Jacques said, chuckling. “I put myself through university by hiring out my computer skills. Now I just use the word processor.” He looked around quickly and leaned in to whisper to the teens. “There's something I haven't told you two yet.”

Jacques spoke in hushed tones. “I'm writing a book,” he confessed. “It's a real thriller—all about spies and saboteurs. That's why I'm so hooked on what's happening at Le Stade. And that's why I want to hang with you two. You can be models for my spies!”

“Cool,” Joe said. He leaned back until his chair rested on the wall.

“See, we can solve this case together, and then I can use parts of it for my book. You cut me in on everything, and I'll trade my hacking skills. Anything
you need to find on a computer, I can probably get for you. We can be a strong team.”

“Okay,” Frank said. “Sounds good.”

The three toasted their partnership with sodas and downed the pizza. Then Jacques took them on a tour of some of his favorite hangouts. By the time the Hardys arrived back at the apartment, they were really feeling the effects of the long day.

The two Hardys were in their beds within minutes of getting in the door. Frank mumbled something about making a list of computer chores for Jacques to handle the next day. As he drifted into sleep, a weird two-toned buzz hammered through his foggy brain.

“Mmmph,” Joe muttered. “Phone. You get it.”

Frank forced himself into full consciousness and sat up. “Where is it?” he asked, turning on the light. Joe's only response was a deep, long sigh ending in a sort of rumbling snore.

Frank stumbled through the room and out into the hall. The phone was buzzing from a small shelf carved into the wall. He grabbed the receiver and cut off the sound in midbuzz.

“Hello,” he said.
“Bonsoir?”

“Frank Hardy?” a scratchy familiar voice answered in English. “This is Isabelle Genet.”

“Mademoiselle Genet,” Frank said. He shook his head; he knew it was time to be wide-awake. “What can I do for you?”

“I would like to meet with you and your brother,” she said. “I have changed my mind since our previous conversation. I would be happy to advise you on how to set up an organization like Victoire in the United States. It is an admirable goal, and I should not have been so abrupt in rejecting your request.”

“That's great news, Mademoiselle Genet.” Frank's mind had gone from nearly asleep to high alert. “When and where?”

“How about meeting at the Louvre,” she suggested. “At the foot of La Victoire de Samothrace, at three o'clock?”

“We'll be there,” Frank answered. “And thank you.”

“Au revoir.”
Mademoiselle Genet signed off, and the receiver went dead.

By the time Frank got back to his bed, the sleep curtain was closing on his brain again. He scribbled
three—Louvre—IG
on a notepad on the bedside table and quickly sank into a deep sleep.

•  •  •

Friday morning began with much better weather than Thursday had. All the fog and chilly air were chased away by sunny blue skies. Fenton was long gone by ten, the time Frank and Joe rolled out of their beds.

The unexpected invitation from Isabelle Genet made both Hardys suspicious of a setup. Over breakfast they checked out tourist guides to the Louvre. It wasn't easy trying to use small maps to get a feel for the enormous scope and scale of the famous art museum.

“We're meeting at La Victoire de Samothrace,” Frank said. “That's the sculpture of Winged Victory.”

“Victoire… Victory. I get it,” Joe said.

“Remember what Dad told us about the museum?” Frank asked Joe.

“You mean the rumors about the passageways and staircases hidden between the walls?” Joe asked.

“Exactly,” Frank said. “This place was a palace
for French kings from 1190 on. So there were escape routes built into it.”

“It's been a museum for over two hundred years. Too bad the secret stuff isn't on the map,” Joe said. He looked at another guide. “I wonder why she chose the Louvre in the first place? It's one of the most famous places in Paris.”

“That's probably why,” Frank pointed out. “She's really into high-profile places. She works hard at making sure everyone sees her and knows who she is.”

“Could be,” Joe said with a smile. “And maybe she's just an art lover.”

“Or…” Frank paused for a moment before he spoke again. “Remember what Jacques told us? No one really knows where the Victoire headquarters is. Maybe it's near the Louvre, and it's just convenient for her to meet us there.”

“Speaking of Jacques, should we call him and let him in on this?”

“We can't,” Frank said. “It's too risky. We don't know what Isabelle Genet really has in mind. If she's on the level and we bring someone along unannounced, she might get suspicious. If she's trying to trap
us,
we need to travel light. Adding Jacques to the mix could put us in jeopardy.”

“I hear you,” Joe said. “And I say we pack up some more of the symposium stuff, just in case.”

They went to their dad's room and checked
through the samples of spy gear and surveillance equipment that he had collected so far. They each packed a pair of folding night goggles, and Frank chose a voice alterer.

Then they both grabbed a powerful, twenty-first-century device. “Man, these handhelds are way cool,” Joe said, holding one of the black devices in his hand. It looked like a cross between a cell phone and a handheld computer. He checked some of the features.

“Okay, it's a phone, of course,” he told Frank. “But look. This clicks on the computer. And you can access the Internet like this.” He played with the device for a few more minutes.

“You take photos here,” he explained, “and you can store them or download them to another computer.”

“How do you set up the GPS?” Frank asked. “The global positioning system.”

Joe tried a few buttons. “There. See?” He demonstrated for Frank. “Now it's on, and this toggles it off. Dad said we can locate and track one another
from
anywhere
to
anywhere.”

“And it works underwater or underground,” Frank added.

“Right,” Joe said. “But remember, these are only prototypes. So all the bugs might not be out of them yet. We can't fully depend on them.”

“Okay,” Frank said, packing his handheld away in his backpack. “Let's go.”

They had a few hours before the meeting with Isabelle, so they decided to get in a little sightseeing. They took the Metro to the Arc de Triomphe and walked up the stairs to the observation deck on top for a panoramic view of Paris. Then they walked the Champs-Elysées back toward the Tuilleries, a large park bordering one end of the Louvre complex.

Halfway along the avenue, they stopped for
croque-monsieurs
—a popular French sandwich—and
pommes frites
. Then they continued along the Seine to the Louvre. As planned, they arrived an hour early.

They walked across the vast courtyard, surrounded on three sides by the huge former palace. They stepped into the clear glass pyramid that sat like a pointed spaceship in the middle of the courtyard. It was like walking into the middle of a prism. They bought their entrance tickets and then rode the escalator down to the underground reception area of the museum.

They stood in the large open room under the glass pyramid and surveyed their position. Gift shops, restaurants, and snack bars surrounded them. Steps led from the lobby into different wings specializing in certain periods or types of art. Crowds of people moved from the exhibits to the shops to the food and back to more exhibits.

“This is even bigger than I thought,” Joe said.

The Hardys walked into the Denon Wing, which
housed the famous sculpture of Winged Victory. They found the sculpture immediately. The huge headless body seemed about to launch itself from its pedestal and soar out over the large sweeping staircase beyond.

Isabelle hadn't arrived yet, so they wandered through some of the enormous exhibition areas. Occasionally smaller rooms led off the main larger spaces. “We don't have nearly enough time really to go through this wing,” Frank said. “Let's just do the best we can.”

“Whoa, ahead at two o'clock,” Joe said, nudging Frank to look up ahead and to the right.

Frank looked up and saw a young man with a camera around his neck. The man was standing against the wall, scanning the crowd.

Joe stepped behind a column and Frank followed. “That's the Victoire guy I taped yesterday in the Conciergerie,” Joe told his brother. “He's the one that jumped me and tried to steal my bag!”

“Isabelle's probably not far behind,” Frank said. “I don't think he saw us. Let's wait until he makes a move.”

They waited about ten minutes. Joe kept the man in sight as Frank looked in both directions for Isabelle. Finally the man stepped away from the wall and started moving away from the Hardys.

Frank and Joe followed the man at a safe distance. When they saw him pause for a minute, they
stopped and looked at a painting on the wall. When he stepped forward again, he turned quickly and ducked through an arch into one of the smaller side rooms.

The Hardys walked quickly toward the room into which the man had disappeared. They stepped inside. The room was a medium-size rectangle, about thirty feet long and twenty feet wide. The bottom half of each wall was paneled with rich mahogany wood. On the upper half of the walls hung magnificent Renaissance oil paintings in elaborately carved gold frames.

Mounted in the middle of the room was a large statue of three larger-than-life-size figures. Only two other people were in the room. They were gazing up at an elaborate mural on the ceiling.

Joe instinctively noted the location of a security camera. The red light on the camera was off. Then he glanced quickly around the room, his gaze stopping briefly on every face. “He's gone,” he whispered to Frank. “He came in here, but he didn't go back out. He totally disappeared!”