Hostages of Hate by Franklin W. Dixon

floor hard, arms and legs flailing. The gun left his hand, skittering across the shiny kitchen floor like a stone skipped across a lake.
    But Frank hadn't finished yet. Rising to his feet, he braced himself and kicked the table again. The tabletop flew over and landed on the horrified Karl. He had time only to scream a few curses. His hands had automatically shot up to brace against the weight. He wasn't hurt, but he was trapped for a few precious moments.
    Frank went to get the Walther, but it had skidded to a stop in front of Pia, who stood frozen in the doorway. She snapped out of her daze, crouched, and picked up the gun.
    Events had moved too fast for her. The pistol wavered in her hand, as if she didn't quite know where to point it.
    Gambling, Frank took a step toward her, reaching out with his hand. "Come on, Pia, give me the gun."
    "No!" The word came like an explosion from the trapped Dutchman. He grunted, trying to shove the table off himself. "Shoot. Kill them both. Then we leave."
    Blinking in astonishment, Pia still hesitated. She was obviously having a hard time thinking of Franz and Josef, the allies who had warned her and helped in her escape from the police, as enemies.
    Frank took another step. He was almost within grabbing range.
    But Pia finally made up her mind. Her slack face tightened up, and she swung the gun to cover him. "You tricked me!" she cried, her voice a shrill scream. "You pretended to be helping me, but all the time you were using me to get to Karl."
    Frank stood still, just a little too far from the gun to try anything.
    "You were working with the police all along, weren't you? Pretending to be recruits to the cause." She glared across the room at Joe. "I thought you were so smart, tricking those cops in Georgetown. But it wasn't so hard, was it? The same way it wasn't so hard for you to beat that Espionage Resources man by the freeway."
    Her lips skinned back from her teeth in a snarl. "It was good acting. But I bet he lay right down for you. I'm only sorry now I didn't shoot him. That would have surprised him. But no, you stopped me. Of course you would, if you were working together."
    It almost made Frank laugh. Pia thought the whole horrible journey had been a setup. If only she knew!
    But Pia went on, her voice growing shriller. "When I think that I worried about you when that tunnel caved in, when you fought—you made me like you!" She almost spat the word out. "And all the time you had another girl." If she had had a crush on him before, it was all over then. She was working herself into a fury — a murderous fury.
    "Pia!" The Dutchman had finally wormed his way out from under the table. Sitting up, he glared at her, ignoring Joe. He knew he was safe. Joe couldn't make a move before Pia shot him.
    But the Dutchman also wanted the gun in his hands. He got to his feet and walked to Pia, being careful not to get in her line of fire. "I will take care of these two. Give me the gun."
    For a second, Pia looked rebellious. But all Karl had to do was repeat her name again, more sternly. He was, after all, the leader. And she was his follower. He edged forward, confidently extending his hand.
    That was when Joe grabbed the full can of soda lying on the floor and threw it at the back of the terrorist's head.
    The Dutchman went down like dead weight. Pia stared for an instant, then turned her gun on Joe.
    Frank leaped forward, his hand sweeping down like a blade.
    The gun went off, but it was pointing at the floor. The recoil and Frank's blow jarred the pistol from Pia's hand. It clattered to the floor.
    But Pia wasn't finished. With a howl, she dropped to the floor, scrambling for the gun. Frank tried to grab her, but she twisted free. Pia's elbow caught him in the side of the head—not hard enough to knock him out, but enough to slow him down.
    She stretched desperately, snatching up the gun. Still shaky, Frank jumped on her, pinning the wrist of her gun hand to the floor. She flailed under