Countdown to Terror Read Online Free Page B
Author: Franklin W. Dixon
top of a high hill. But they didn't find a fort — just a brass plaque, indicating that a fort had once stood there.
Joe stared around. "Somehow, I don't think this is the fort Dundee meant. I'd have a hard time imagining the bad guys hanging out here," he said, gesturing to a playground.
Frank was looking at the strange monument that stood in the middle of the park, a thirty-foot-long cement wall with an arch and old-fashioned church bells hanging from it. He and Joe went over to check it out.
"It's a monument to the Imo disaster," he said, reading a plaque. "Back in World War I, a ship full of artillery shells collided with a ship, the Imo, in the harbor here." The park had a perfect view of the waterway out of the harbor.
"According to one of the guidebooks I read last night, a quarter of the city was destroyed. The whole area behind us was blown flat."
Joe looked back along the quiet streets lined with neat houses made of concrete block. "Yeah — those houses all look like they were built at the same time," he said. "That must have been quite a blast."
Frank nodded. "It was the biggest man-made explosion until the atomic bomb went off over Hiroshima." He shook his head. "They found pieces of wreckage twenty miles away."
"Well, that's interesting, but we are looking for a fort," Joe said. "Where do we go now?"
Frank told him and then led the way down Gottingen Street to central Halifax. It must once have been a bustling shopping area, but now many of the stores were boarded up, and others looked pretty seedy. Then they began climbing again, a different hill, steeper than the first. Joe read a sign that said The Citadel.
"This is the biggest of the old fortifications," Frank said. "I think we should check it out."
"But wouldn't he have said citadel instead of fort?" Joe asked.
The wound their way up a path that climbed the hill. Slowly the fortress came into view. The outside of the wall was a grassy hill, which protected the inside granite wall from cannon fire. Frank and Joe joined a stream of tourists entering through the only gate, a thin bridge across a ditch.
"Quite a place," Joe said, looking around the stone walls, which butted up to the hill.
"Complete with Hungry Guardsmen," Frank said, watching as a file of red-coated young soldiers in kilts came marching up. Another young soldier not in formation walked by just then and stopped beside them.
"You've been to the Hungry Guardsman?" he asked, smiling. "It's one of our favorite hangouts—out of uniform, that is." He glanced down at his finery. "When school's on we go there for lunch."
"School?" Joe asked.
"You didn't think we were full-time soldiers, did you?" the young corporal asked. "This is a summer job, to help pay for college." He grinned under his jaunty Scots highland bonnet. "We study the drillbooks from 1869 and our routines are completely authentic. Watch us put on our show." He pulled out an old-fashioned pocket watch. "And you should stay for the firing of the noon gun."
Another officer strolled over. "Corporal Bell, shouldn't you be at your post?"
Bell snapped to attention. "Yes, sir!" He trotted off to join the marching troops.
Lining up, the summer soldiers went through the drill of loading and firing their weapons like well-trained professionals. The crowd was firing away, too, clicking cameras like mad.
"That must take a lot of practice," Joe said, watching as the troopers reloaded and fired again. Even though they were firing blanks, the sharp crack of the volleys was pretty deafening.
"There sure is a crowd," Frank said. "I don't think the guys we're looking for would hang around — "
He bit off his words suddenly as he recognized a face and turban at the edge of the crowd. It was the guy from the airport and the pursuit car, Mr. Mustache.
Apparently, he realized he'd been spotted. As the Hardys tried to push their way to him, he was already moving across the drill grounds, heading for the ramp up to the earthen parapets
Joe stared around. "Somehow, I don't think this is the fort Dundee meant. I'd have a hard time imagining the bad guys hanging out here," he said, gesturing to a playground.
Frank was looking at the strange monument that stood in the middle of the park, a thirty-foot-long cement wall with an arch and old-fashioned church bells hanging from it. He and Joe went over to check it out.
"It's a monument to the Imo disaster," he said, reading a plaque. "Back in World War I, a ship full of artillery shells collided with a ship, the Imo, in the harbor here." The park had a perfect view of the waterway out of the harbor.
"According to one of the guidebooks I read last night, a quarter of the city was destroyed. The whole area behind us was blown flat."
Joe looked back along the quiet streets lined with neat houses made of concrete block. "Yeah — those houses all look like they were built at the same time," he said. "That must have been quite a blast."
Frank nodded. "It was the biggest man-made explosion until the atomic bomb went off over Hiroshima." He shook his head. "They found pieces of wreckage twenty miles away."
"Well, that's interesting, but we are looking for a fort," Joe said. "Where do we go now?"
Frank told him and then led the way down Gottingen Street to central Halifax. It must once have been a bustling shopping area, but now many of the stores were boarded up, and others looked pretty seedy. Then they began climbing again, a different hill, steeper than the first. Joe read a sign that said The Citadel.
"This is the biggest of the old fortifications," Frank said. "I think we should check it out."
"But wouldn't he have said citadel instead of fort?" Joe asked.
The wound their way up a path that climbed the hill. Slowly the fortress came into view. The outside of the wall was a grassy hill, which protected the inside granite wall from cannon fire. Frank and Joe joined a stream of tourists entering through the only gate, a thin bridge across a ditch.
"Quite a place," Joe said, looking around the stone walls, which butted up to the hill.
"Complete with Hungry Guardsmen," Frank said, watching as a file of red-coated young soldiers in kilts came marching up. Another young soldier not in formation walked by just then and stopped beside them.
"You've been to the Hungry Guardsman?" he asked, smiling. "It's one of our favorite hangouts—out of uniform, that is." He glanced down at his finery. "When school's on we go there for lunch."
"School?" Joe asked.
"You didn't think we were full-time soldiers, did you?" the young corporal asked. "This is a summer job, to help pay for college." He grinned under his jaunty Scots highland bonnet. "We study the drillbooks from 1869 and our routines are completely authentic. Watch us put on our show." He pulled out an old-fashioned pocket watch. "And you should stay for the firing of the noon gun."
Another officer strolled over. "Corporal Bell, shouldn't you be at your post?"
Bell snapped to attention. "Yes, sir!" He trotted off to join the marching troops.
Lining up, the summer soldiers went through the drill of loading and firing their weapons like well-trained professionals. The crowd was firing away, too, clicking cameras like mad.
"That must take a lot of practice," Joe said, watching as the troopers reloaded and fired again. Even though they were firing blanks, the sharp crack of the volleys was pretty deafening.
"There sure is a crowd," Frank said. "I don't think the guys we're looking for would hang around — "
He bit off his words suddenly as he recognized a face and turban at the edge of the crowd. It was the guy from the airport and the pursuit car, Mr. Mustache.
Apparently, he realized he'd been spotted. As the Hardys tried to push their way to him, he was already moving across the drill grounds, heading for the ramp up to the earthen parapets
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