In Plane Sight (5 page)

“Looks deserted,” Joe said. “No sign of the plane either.”

“And there's no way they could hide a plane in that,” Frank said, indicating a pile of boards and rubble that had once been a barn.

“Maybe they swung south, and the northwest course was just a decoy,” Jamal said. He turned the plane around, and they circled back around Scott Field from the other end.

A short while later they still hadn't found any sign of the missing plane. Frustrated, they returned to the Fly By & Buy air show.

“I'll fuel up so we can go out again later on,” Jamal said after they'd landed.

“We'll grab some grub,” Joe said, “and meet you back here.”

Jamal nodded, and they all went about their errands.

The early morning sun had risen higher during the friends' brief flight, but most of the air show attendees were still waking up. The smell of coffee permeated the air, and rumpled-looking aviators mumbled greetings as they passed each other on the tarmac.

The airport cafeteria was an old cinder block building behind the row of big metal hangars. It wasn't too far from where the Hardys had chased
the office intruder the night before. Frank and Joe walked between two of the hangars toward the alleyway between the buildings.

As they neared the alley, angry voices drifted through the chilly autumn air.

“That sounds like Clevon Brooks,” Frank said.

“And Rock Grissom,” added Joe. “What are they saying?”

“Hang back. Let's find out,” Frank whispered.

They moved cautiously to the edge of the hangar and peeked around the corner.

Grissom and Brooks stood nearly nose to nose in the alleyway between the hangars and the service buildings. Both men looked angry.

As the brothers watched, Grissom seized Brooks by the collar and aimed a fist at the aviation innovator's face.

5 Ace Cadet vs. Space Cadet

Joe took a step forward as if to break up the fight, but Frank held him back. “Hang on,” he whispered.

As Frank spoke, Brooks shook himself free from Grissom's grasp and backed up. Joe retreated behind the hangar.

“You've gone too far this time, Dale,” Brooks said, pointing his finger at the leather-clad jet jockey. “Just back off!”

“You're lucky I don't clean your intakes, Brooks,” Grissom replied.

“You promised you'd hire me to test your new experimental planes. I was counting on that contract. I
need
that contract!”

“I know this may come as news to you, Dale,” Brooks said, “but I have needs too. One of the things
I need is for my company not to go broke. I've struggled over the years, and I'll make it through this setback too. Perhaps when things turn around, I'll still hire you—if you can control your temper.”

“Whether I control my temper depends a lot on what you have to say,” Grissom replied.

“My situation has changed,” Brooks said. “I can't afford to hire you now. If I did, I might very well sink the company.”

“That ain't fair,” Grissom said. “I was counting on that money.”

“And I was counting on a number of circumstances that failed to materialize,” Brooks said. “I sympathize with your situation, Dale. In fact I fear that I'm nearly in the same situation myself.”

“Nearly,” Grissom snarled. “Ha!”

Brooks straightened his endorsement-covered jacket. “If you're hard up for cash, perhaps you should consider selling your airplane,” he said. “Sullivan customs are gaining popularity in the market right now. You could buy a smaller plane and still have plenty left to cover your bills.”

“I'd rather run you into the ground than sell my plane,” Grissom said.

“Fortunately, I won't give you that chance,” Brooks said. He stepped back and held up his fists to fight.

Grissom lunged forward and tackled him.

The two aviators were rolling around on the
ground when the Hardys ran out from between the buildings. Joe grabbed Grissom, and Frank took hold of Brooks. The brothers pulled the two combatants away from each other.

“Back off!” Joe said.

“Get out of here!” said Grissom. “This is between that lying scum and me.”

“Keep this up, and it'll be between you and the cops,” Joe replied.

The younger Hardy's words brought both men to a halt. The two aviators stopped struggling, and the brothers let them go.

“This isn't over between us,” Grissom said to Brooks.

“Have your lawyers look into it if you like,” Brooks replied. “I've done nothing illegal. If you touch me again, though, I'll sue.”

The two glared at each other before heading down the alley in opposite directions.

“Well,” Joe said, watching them go, “we've had a break-in, a stolen plane, and now a fistfight. How do they all fit together?”

“Maybe they don't,” Frank said. “Any show this big is bound to have some conflicting personalities. Let's round up some food and get back to Jamal.”

They walked up the alley a short way and cut between two cinder block buildings to get to the airport commissary. The cafeteria was far too small to serve all the show attendees, so a big tent had
been set up in front of it to deal with the overflow. A chow line inside the cinder block house doled out bacon and eggs, doughnuts, melon, and other traditional breakfast foods, along with cups of steaming coffee and hot chocolate.

The brothers picked up some bagels with cream cheese, a few oranges, and three cups of cocoa before heading back to the tarmac. They found Jamal polishing the body of the Hawkins Air plane with a damp chamois cloth. He smiled wanly when he saw the Hardys. “Not many bugs out this time of year,” he said, “but at least it takes my mind off the missing plane.” He stashed the chamois under the pilot's seat, and the Hardys broke out the breakfast. “That food smells great.”

“We're on a tight budget,” Frank said, “but at least it's enough to keep us sharp.”

“Next time,” Jamal said, “I'll ask my dad for a real expense account. Assuming he ever lets me do this again.”

“Don't worry. We'll get you out of this jam,” Joe replied.

As the three of them ate their breakfast in the Cessna's open cabin, Amy Chow sauntered over. “Hey, Hawkins,” she said. “Was it your plane that got stolen last night?”

“I wish it were,” Jamal replied.

Amy looked puzzled.

“It was his dad's plane,” Frank explained.

“Oh,” she said sympathetically, “that's much worse.”

“Yeah,” Jamal said. “We didn't even get a chance to take it for a spin before it got hijacked. Tell me that you dropped by to replace my plane for free.”

“We could use a generous millionaire benefactor right about now,” Joe remarked.

Amy laughed and shook her head. “Sorry, guys. No bailout from me today. I guess you'll just have to settle for being part of the Sullivan Brothers mystique.”

“The Sullivan Brothers mystique?” Jamal echoed.

“What's that?” Joe asked.

“Planes customized by the Sullivan Brothers have a reputation in the industry. Sure, they're posh sky cruisers and all that. They're among the best planes available. But they've been owned by quite a number of crackpot flyboys—like Clevon Brooks, for instance.”

“I didn't know Brooks had a Sullivan Brothers plane,” Jamal said.

“Yeah, it's that fancy modified job with the big door on the side,” Amy said.

“So is there more to this mystique,” Frank asked, “or is it just that eccentrics prefer nice planes?”

Amy crinkled her nose at him. “Well, a robber named Dennis Carlson once used a Sullivan plane to escape from a police dragnet. He was employed by the Sullivan Brothers company, and he stole one
right out of their hangar. The cops never caught him, and nobody ever saw that plane again.”

“Except in aviator ghost stories, I suppose,” Joe said, winking at Frank. “You're sure this isn't an urban legend?”

Amy shrugged. “A lot of myths grow up around the flying business. That's one of the things that make it so much fun. So, what do you guys have on your agenda today?”

“Well, we were hoping to catch a bit of the show . . .” Frank began.

“But now it looks like we'll be spending most of our time in the air looking for the stolen plane,” Jamal finished.

“Bummer. Well, just steer clear of me while I'm performing,” Chow said.

“You're flying in the show today?” Joe asked.

“Provided nobody steals my plane,” Amy replied. “I'm not very impressed with the security around here.”

“Me neither,” said Frank. “It seems like they've only got one or two guys working the whole show.”

“And Mitchum doesn't strike me as a really sharp whip,” Joe added.

“I've heard,” Amy said, “that the show is really strapped for cash. That's why they chose this out-of-the-way location for it. Heck, the main organizers aren't even
here
. They've delegated all their tasks to Elise Flaubert.”

“She strikes me as pretty overwhelmed by the whole thing,” Frank said.

“Wouldn't you be?” Amy asked. “You go from being the administrator of a struggling airstrip to doing that
plus
coordinating a major show. It's a tough job, and I'm glad I'm not doing it.”

“So what are you doing in the show today?” Jamal asked.

“Aerobatics,” she replied, a big grin breaking across her face. “You've seen my plane, the
Screamin' Demon.
”

“The fancy red-and-yellow biplane,” Joe said.

“That's it. I'm going to take her up and put her through her paces. After that I intend to settle back and enjoy the rest of the show. Maybe do a bit of shopping.”

Jamal arched one eyebrow. “For airplanes?”

She smiled. “What else? You boys could help me prep the
Demon
if you want.”

“We'd love to . . .” Joe began.

“But we've got to look for our lost plane,” Frank finished.

Amy smacked her forehead. “Right! You told me that. Good luck with your search, boys. Drop by and catch my show if you can.”

“We'll try,” Jamal replied.

Amy hurried off toward where they'd last seen the
Screamin' Demon
parked. The three friends
finished their food, then checked over the Cessna, making sure it was ready to go up again. They paused only long enough to stretch their legs.

“There are more Sullivan planes here than I first thought,” Frank said after returning from a brief walk.

“Almost enough to make a squadron,” Joe added.

“I didn't think there were that many made,” Jamal said. “Just my rotten luck the thieves picked mine to steal. We'll have to search pretty quickly. They're restricting the airspace above the field once today's air demos start.”

They stowed some gear aboard, then took to the air. This time they covered the areas to the south and east. Unfortunately they had no more luck than they'd had that morning.

By the time they returned to Scott Field, the show fliers had begun to take to the air. The three friends sneaked in under the flight curfew and taxied to their spot alongside the runway. Before picking a good spot to watch the show, the three boys grabbed some lunch. They managed to avoid Jack Meeker at the commissary and steered clear of Clevon Brooks, who was arguing with a technician who had been manning the fuel truck.

Amy's
Screamin' Demon
took to the skies just as they settled in near their campsite at the old motel.

The red-and-yellow stunt plane climbed swiftly
into the air, doing a quick barrel roll as it cleared the tree line.

“Whoa,” Jamal said. “My dad would kill me if I tried something like that.”

The
Demon
climbed nearly straight up, practically stalled, then twisted and dipped right in a falling leaf maneuver. The biplane fluttered from side to side, descending a couple of thousand feet before Amy put it into a tight left turn.

She pulled out of the turn and into another barrel roll, then shot back toward the clouds once more. A quick Immelmann half loop turned the plane around, and Amy headed back toward Scott Field.

As she started another climb, however, the plane's engine stalled. The stunt plane nosed up, and its tail dipped back. It slipped to the side, flipped over, and plummeted straight toward the ground.

6 Down in Flames

“I don't think that's part of the show!” Jamal exclaimed.

“Ms. Chow's a good pilot,” Frank said. “Maybe it's just a spectacular stunt.”

“Not with the engine out,” Jamal replied. “Look how she's fighting for control!”

As the three teens watched, the plane wobbled and wove in the air. The engine remained off, and the red-and-yellow stunt flier's nose headed straight for the ground.

Joe stood, his body tense. “There has to be something we can do!”

Frank shook his head. “She's got to pull out of this on her own—if she can.”

Time stretched to a crawl as the plane plunged
toward the forested hills beyond the north runway. Slowly, ever so slowly, the nose of the
Screamin' Demon
began to inch up.

“She's doing it!” Jamal said.

“She's really close to the trees,” Joe said.

The plane leveled out barely a hundred yards above the treetops. Amy angled it for the runway.

“She's coming in too fast,” Frank said. “She's not going to make it!”

All eyes on the airfield focused on the plane as it fluttered, like an injured bird, toward the airstrip. At the last instant Amy pulled the nose up, and the landing gear touched down.

The plane hit hard. One of the wheel struts broke, and the
Demon
skidded along the runway, sending a spray of sparks into the air. It flashed past the old motel and campground and headed toward a row of planes lined up at the edge of the tarmac.