Trouble in the Pipeline Read Online Free Page B

side of the structure. A chimney seemed to grow out of the roof.
    "Come in, come in," Virgil said, ducking through the door and gesturing for them to follow. Inside it was dark but warm and comfortable. The floor was hard-packed dirt. Hunting and trapping equipment hung on the dried mud walls, along with beautifully carved fishing spears. Six cots were stacked neatly on top of one another in one corner. Virgil went to the cast-iron stove and opened it up.
    "I'll get this going a little better. Tea okay?" They both nodded.
    "I bring folks here for the fishing," Virgil explained as he busied himself with the tea. "Every month in the summer I have a new group."
    He chatted about his copter and the fish and game as the Hardys quietly sipped the hot, sweet tea.
    Abruptly in the middle of a good fishing story Virgil stopped, his head bent toward a window and his eyes unfocused. He was listening. "Someone is coming." Frank and Joe heard nothing, but they followed Virgil outside. The dogs were all standing up and looking in the same direction. Virgil stared off into the sky.
    "What are we supposed to be hearing?" Frank asked.
    "A chopper — maybe more than one," Virgil said. "Maybe someone looking for you?" He looked at them intently.
    Frank shrugged. "Could be," he said. He and Joe exchanged nervous glances.
    "I hear it now," Frank said. They watched as Virgil lifted his arm to the sky.
    "There they are, three of them!"
    The dogs began to whimper with excitement, but Virgil didn't seem to notice. He kept his eyes on the choppers.
    "Are they coming here?" Joe asked.
    "Don't know," Virgil said, shading his eyes. "Looks like they're flying a search pattern. They're moving slow and low to the ground."
    The distinctive shuddering whirr of helicopter rotors, grew louder and louder. The choppers were zigzagging back and forth, but Frank realized they were probably following the path of the river.
    "Hmm," Virgil said, slightly surprised. "I think I recognize them." He squinted into the sun. "Yes—North Slope Supply. I thought they went out of business."
    "What are they?" Joe asked.
    "A small company," Virgil replied, still keeping his head raised to the approaching craft. "Small construction projects — they work for larger companies as subcontractors."
    Frank and Joe nodded. The choppers must have noticed the camp, since they were coming toward them. The hovering machines couldn't have been more than a hundred feet above the ground.
    Frank and Joe could see the North Slope Supply logo emblazoned across the sides of all three copters. The noise became almost unbearable as the choppers came closer. The wind from the whirling blades felt hard and unpleasant against their faces.
    When the copters were about forty feet above the ground, the side door on one of them slid open abruptly. A man stood framed against the interior darkness. In his hands was a submachine gun with a string of shiny brass cartridge cases flying from the chamber.
    Flaming death was spitting from the gun's muzzle, and it was aimed at the boys and Virgil.

Chapter 5
    FRANK AND JOE lunged directly under the hovering chopper to get out of the line of fire. Virgil sprinted for the sod house, zigzagging across the open space. Unable to take aim at the Hardys, the man in the chopper followed Virgil with his heavy weapon.
    His bullets stitched the earth, but because of the position of the chopper and Virgil's quick and erratic movements a hit was impossible. The Hardys could hear the gunner yelling at the pilot to spin the copter around.
    As the bird began its turn Joe pointed to the fishing boat lying on its side. They dashed from under the shadow of the chopper, ducking and weaving as Virgil had. Halfway to the boat they were hit with clods of earth as bullets ripped up the ground behind them. The chopper was zeroing in—and fast. The sound of the copter got louder, and they could feel the shadow on their backs.
    "Hit the dirt," Joe yelled. They dove apart, belly-flopping on