Hostages of Hate Read Online Free Page A

you for your comments!" da Campo called.
    Fenton Hardy shook his head as he rejoined his sons. "Let's get to that phone," he said.
    While their father made his calls, Frank paced back and forth, trying to work off his anger.
    "You've got to hand it to these ANWO guys," Joe said. "They've got guts. How do you think they managed to gimmick all the TV sets in here?"
    "A VCR broadcaster, like the gadget that lets us see rented films on all the sets in the house," Frank responded absently. Then he stopped in his tracks. "That's the question I should have asked," he said. "I'm really losing it."
    "Well, you answered it now," Joe said. "Maybe we could track it down."
    "With all the TV people around here?" Frank shook his head. "Network, local news, foreign syndicates like the one that nailed us on the floor out there." He paused. "What was it that terrorist said on the tape? That the demands would be passed on to the media."
    The Hardys looked around the conference center, which was still crawling with TV crews. "What better place to give a tape to a newsman?" Joe asked.
    Fenton Hardy returned, "My friends in high places thanked me for the information but don't know what to do with it. Officially, the government is still formulating policy."
    "Which translates to stalling for time," Frank said.
    "But they do have a new line on this Army for the New World Order," Fenton Hardy said. "It's a real lovely group. They recruit anybody, from either end of the political spectrum. The only unifying force is that they want to destroy the world as it is now. When that's done, they'll fight among themselves to decide what the new world order will be."
    "Sounds great," said Joe.
    "Problem is, their ideas may be nutty, but their leader is brilliant." Fenton Hardy's face was grim. "He's only known as the Dutchman. CIA reports have him coming from Germany. The FBI's files say he's from Holland. And Espionage Resources believes he's a South African. He'd worked for a lot of wild causes, then went freelance, planning raids and bombings for other terrorist groups. Looks like he was raising money for his own bunch the whole time."
    "So now we have AN WO." Frank ran a hand through his hair. "We just had a thought about their next move."
    Fenton Hardy nodded as he listened to the boys' suspicion that the taped demands would be passed on to one of the media people. "I think we can ignore the small outfits and the foreign groups," he said. "These guys will go for the big league." He smiled. "Well, there are three network news offices here, and three of us. What do you say we each keep an eye on one of them?"
    The news office was humming, everyone moving at high speed. People walked in and out, getting new film packs, batteries, and cups of coffee to recharge themselves. Frank even saw some familiar faces as correspondents checked in.
    But his job was boring. All he could do was keep an eye on as much as he could see. That wasn't what he wanted to do. He wanted to move, to do something to help Callie. Frank almost grinned to himself. Now I know why Joe hates stakeouts so much, he told himself.
    He stifled a yawn and looked longingly at half a ham sandwich left on one of the desks. Then a man passed the desk, and Frank came alert.
    Gustave, the redheaded cameraman who had chased him across the convention floor, walked into the office. He stopped by a rack of videotapes and slipped a cassette box out of his pocket. The boxes in the rack were all black. The box in Gustave's hand was red. He slipped it into the rack, turned around, and walked out.
    Frank stepped back, not wanting to be recognized. But he did notice one thing — the badge on Gustave's chest. It was a network badge, not the EuroNews tag he had worn before.
    Letting Gustave get a small lead on him, Frank swung onto the cameraman's trail. He's up to something, Frank told himself. But will he be our first link to ANWO?
    All of Frank's attention was on Gustave. So when he felt a hand on his shoulder,