The Demolition Mission (11 page)

“Hurry!” Frank cried, rushing out the door. “Tarpley's getting away!”

Frank pulled open the glass door that led outside the building and ran down the steps. Joe was right behind him.

“There he is!” Frank exclaimed, pointing to Tarpley, who was running toward a white panel truck parked in the lot.

“Someone else is in the truck, too,” Joe called.

Marvin Tarpley jumped behind the wheel of the truck. He had the engine started in seconds. In the lead, Frank sprinted across the parking area. Tarpley accelerated, and dust and gravel flew up from the truck's drive wheels.

“The front gate's closed,” Joe called as he caught up with his brother. “He's trapped.”

When Tarpley didn't slow down and didn't even
hit the brakes, Joe expected a collision. Instead, the gate swung open on its own.

“The gate's on remote control,” Frank said as the truck bounced out onto the road. “That explains how he got in here in the first place,” Frank added as the gate swung closed. “He'll be long gone by the time we get to the Saurion.”

“I think I know who the other person in Dain's office was,” Joe said. He pulled the piece of material out of his pocket.

“It's a red silk scarf,” Frank said. “Katie Bratton's scarf.”

Joe nodded. “That was probably Katie in the truck with Tarpley.”

“That means Felix Stock's trusted driver is plotting against him,” Frank said.

“Then we can't let Katie drive in the race,” Joe said.

“Maybe she never had any intention of driving,” Frank said thoughtfully, “if she's been sabotaging the car. In any case, we've got to warn Stock, and when the office opens, we need to talk to Curt Kiser and Jason Dain. I'd be very surprised if Tarpley is the brains behind this plot. Knowing what we do now, it could be Katie Bratton.”

“She did lie to us about Takeo Ota not wanting the race,” Joe said. Pointing to the speedway golf cart in the lot beside the office, he added, “Since it's so far around the track, let's borrow the golf cart.”

“Good idea,” Frank said. “We can return the Saurion when the gate opens.”

Using the track as a shortcut, Frank accelerated onto the straightaway. He drove the cart up to Building A and braked to a stop outside the open overhead door. A distraught-looking Felix Stock hurried outside to meet the Hardys.

“Have you seen Katie?” Stock asked. “I think something's happened to her. She was supposed to meet me here over an hour ago.”

“When was the last time you talked to Katie?” Frank asked Stock.

“Last night,” the engineer told him. “She helped me with the prototype until maybe midnight. Then she went home to get some rest. But she said she'd be here around six.”

“Where
is
home?” Joe wanted to know.

“She's got an apartment on Mowrye Street. Her number is in the file in my office.”

While Joe headed for Stock's office to put through a call to Katie Bratton's apartment, Frank pumped Stock for information.

“What does Katie stand to make if she wins this race?” Frank asked.

“I promised she'd receive a share of the Saurion's profits,” Stock replied.

“Did you and Katie talk about any specific amount?” Frank asked.

“Not really,” Stock said. “The truth is, I had a crush on Katie. When we started working
together on the Saurion, I hoped things might work out.”

“You've changed your mind?” Frank asked.

Stock sighed deeply. “When I told Katie how I felt about her, she said she had a lot of years of auto racing ahead of her before she could give any thought to settling down.”

“But she still didn't ask for a contract?” Frank asked.

“Come to think of it, she brought it up a couple of times,” Stock admitted. “I told her we'd have my lawyer work something out.”

“But you said you and Kiser have a contract,” Frank said. “Could I see it?”

“If I can find it,” Stock said, leading him into his small, cluttered office. He started rummaging around through the papers on his messy desk. “It's not here,” he said finally. “I'll have to get it for you later. I've got too much to do right now.”

“Katie doesn't answer,” Joe announced. He hung up the phone.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Stock,” Frank said gently, “but Joe and I don't think Katie Bratton ever planned to drive the Saurion today. We think she's in cahoots with Marvin Tarpley.”

Felix Stock sat down dejectedly in his battered office chair. “What are you talking about?” he asked, a blank expression on his face.

Joe picked up the story. “Tarpley was snooping
around Jason Dain's office earlier this morning, and we think Katie was with him.”

“Do you have any idea what she might have been looking for in Dain's office?” Frank asked.

Felix Stock frowned. “No, not at all. I trust Katie, though.”

“I think we'd better call Con Riley,” Frank said, reaching for the phone.

“I can't believe Marvin Tarpley would betray me, either,” Stock said angrily, slamming his fist on the desk.

Frank reached Con Riley at his home. Frank told Con about Marvin Tarpley's assault on Joe and gave him descriptions of Tarpley and Bratton. “We'll file charges against Tarpley as soon as we have time,” Frank told Con. “In the meantime, we need some information on brand-new white panel trucks sold in this area.”

Frank waited while Con used his personal computer workstation to locate the information. Then Frank thanked the lieutenant and hung up the phone.

“From your expression,” Joe said, “I'd say you got something.”

Frank nodded. “I sure did. Con told me Miyagi Motors bought ten of the trucks, and one other was sold to a company called International Land and Resources. And guess who owns the company.”

“Who?” Joe asked.

“Jason Dain,” Frank announced. “And Con said those fingerprints we faxed yesterday—from the letter that was supposedly from Callie—belong to Tarpley. His prints are on file with the army.”

“It looks as though you guys are getting to the bottom of this case,” Stock said, still looking a little stunned. “Although I can't figure out why they wouldn't want the Saurion to win. But if they want me out of the race, they're winning. I can't drive the Saurion if Katie doesn't.”

“I can,” Joe said seriously. “I've already had a little experience with it at high speeds.”

“Joe can do it,” Frank said confidently.

“If you're willing to try it,” Felix Stock said, brightening, “we won't have to forfeit. Do you know anything about tuning cars?”

“I've changed a few plugs,” Joe said.

Felix Stock rubbed his hands together. “Then help me finish getting the Saurion ready,” he said, breaking out into a large smile. “Maybe we can win this race yet!”

“While you two are doing that,” Frank said, “I'll talk to Curt Kiser.”

Frank headed the golf cart to the main office and returned the vehicle to its shed. Curt Kiser was checking a ledger in the receptionist's area when Frank walked in.

“Could we talk in private?” Frank asked Kiser.

“Sure,” Kiser said. “Come on back to my office.”
Kiser offered Frank a chair, then sat down at his desk.

“This is a pretty big day for the speedway, I suppose,” Frank said casually.

“As a matter of fact, this
is
a big day,” Kiser replied, “and I certainly don't have much time—”

“Is Jason Dain here yet?” Frank interrupted.

“No,” Kiser said. “He told me yesterday he might be a little late this morning.”

“On such an important day?” Frank asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Look,” Kiser said, “I don't have—”

“Do you race remote-control cars?” Frank placed the power card from Building C on Kiser's blotter.

Kiser glanced at the relay and raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Yes,” he said finally, “as a matter of fact, I do race remote-control cars.”

“Is that power card yours?” Frank asked. “When Chet Morton showed this to you the other day, you said you didn't know what it was.”

“All I meant,” Kiser said slowly, “was that I've never used this brand. It's imported. Very expensive.”

“How about your associate, Jason Dain?” Frank continued. “Does he race model cars?”

Curt Kiser laughed. “Dain doesn't have any hobbies. The Saurion's been found. Why do you need all this information?”

Frank ignored his question. “There's a mechanic
named Marvin Tarpley working here at the speedway. Do you know him?”

Kiser shook his head. “There are a lot of people working here that I don't know personally.”

Frank changed the subject. “Did you know that Katie Bratton didn't show up this morning? We have reason to believe she won't be driving in the race.”

“Who's going to drive the Saurion?” Kiser cried. “If we have to cancel that race, I'll be ruined!”

Frank watched Kiser closely. “Is there anyone who would gain from canceling this race?”

“Not me,” Kiser said emphatically. “The truth is, the speedway's almost bankrupt. That's why I had to bring in the demolition derby and why we're having this sports car race.”

Kiser sighed. “Anyway, I found an investor—Jason Dain. You don't think Dain is behind Stock's problems, do you?” Kiser asked. Then he shook his head. “That doesn't make sense. Why would he want to do that? This race brings in big bucks. If the track makes money, Dain makes money.”

“I think the answer is in the contract you drew up with Felix Stock,” Frank suggested.

Curt Kiser hesitated, then said, “I'll have my secretary make you a copy.” He pressed the button in his intercom. “Stephanie,” he said, “would you please make a copy of the Stock-Saurion contract for Frank Hardy? Thanks.”

As Kiser hung up the phone, the office door opened.

“Frank Hardy?” the receptionist asked. “There's a call for you. Line two.”

Kiser handed Frank the receiver, and he said hello.

“This is Taylor, mechanic over at the Saurion shop,” said a hoarse voice. “Your brother's been in a bad accident.”

“Is he all right?” Frank asked, alarmed.

“You better get over here,” the man said.

“There's an emergency,” Frank said quickly to Kiser. He bolted out of the office toward the lobby. Taking the contract from Kiser's secretary, Frank dashed past the surprised woman and out the door.

Rushing down the office's front steps, Frank was startled when he looked up and saw his own face reflected in the visor of a very short, helmeted man.

At the same moment he felt something hard jam into his ribs.

“Into the back of the truck,” the man in the helmet said in a low, menacing voice.

One of the two back doors on the white panel truck stood open. Prodded by what he was sure was the barrel of a gun, Frank moved toward the truck.

The man pushed Frank roughly into the back of the truck. As Frank stumbled inside, he felt a sharp blow to the back of his head. Then everything went black.

Joe, at work under the Saurion's hood, yelled across Building A to Felix Stock, “Fuel line looks good.”

“And so does that racing suit. It matches the Saurion,” Callie Shaw said as she entered the garage with Chet.

Chet turned to Felix Stock. “Mr. Stock, Callie parked your sedan out front. Right beside my jeep.”

Joe straightened up and smiled at Callie. Then he stretched out his arms to show off the red flame-retardant suit. It had blue stripes up the side.

“This suit's made from Kevlar,” Joe explained, “the same material they use for bulletproof vests.”

“The driver who's going to race the Saurion ought to be wearing that outfit,” Callie pointed out.

“I
am
the driver,” Joe told her. He explained briefly what had happened since he and Frank had been with Chet and Callie last night.

“Where's Frank?” Callie asked.

“He had some investigating to do,” Joe said. He checked his watch and frowned. “But he's been gone most of the morning.”

Just then a white panel truck pulled up in front of the building. The passenger door slid back, and Takeo Ota stepped out. Joe checked out the truck's license and saw it was a temporary tag.

“Felix,” Takeo Ota said warmly as he entered the building. “I want to wish you the best of luck in the race.”

“Thank you, Takeo,” Stock replied.

“Is your car ready to go?” Ota asked, giving the Saurion an admiring once-over.

“I've had to make one change,” Stock told him. “Joe Hardy here is going to drive.”

“What?”
Takeo Ota said, looking surprised. “This is very disappointing. I was hoping for a good race.” Quickly he looked at Joe. “Please don't be offended,” he added. “I only meant—”

“That's okay,” Joe said. “I know you were expecting Katie Bratton to drive the Saurion. But I'll give your Speedster all it can handle. By the way,” he added, “I'm curious about something. Do any of your trucks have regular license plates?”

“Not yet,” Mr. Ota replied. “That's why the
numbers weren't listed in the computer. The plates came in the mail this morning. And so did this.” He handed Stock a manila envelope. “These belong to you.”

Joe saw Stock's eyes grow wide as he pulled three sheets of paper out of the envelope. “These are my stolen wiring diagrams!” he exclaimed.

“A man tried to sell them to us,” Takeo Ota explained. “As a matter of fact, he fits the description Joe and Frank gave us the other day of a person they were looking for. I told the man no, but he's still pestering me. I have already made contact with the police.”