The Demolition Mission (4 page)

When the ladder was placed against the side of the building, Joe scrambled up the rungs. Slowly he peeked over the edge. “No one here,” he called down.

Frank followed his brother up while Chet stayed on the ground with Katie and Felix to steady the ladder.

Joe took one half of the roof area, Frank the other, and they scoured the gravel and tarred surface for footprints and clues.

“Nothing,” Joe admitted. “There's no sign that anyone's been up here for years.”

“Find anything?” Chet yelled up from the foot of the ladder. “I mean, if there's nothing up there, maybe we could . . .” His voice trailed off.

“You wouldn't be getting hungry, would you?” Frank called down to him.

“I was thinking maybe we could take a break for lunch,” Chet replied.

“Get the jeep,” Joe said, backing down the ladder.

While Frank told Stock and Katie to keep their eyes open, Joe assured them that he and Frank would get to the bottom of the Saurion's disappearance. Five minutes later Chet pulled up in his jeep.

“You sure that antique shouldn't be in a museum?” Felix asked Chet as he looked over the battered, rusty vehicle.

Frank and Joe laughed as they climbed in the jeep. Chet ignored his friends' laughter. Instead he asked Stock directions to the Circuit Diner.

“Didn't Katie say the Circuit is where all the race car drivers hang out?” Chet asked as he guided the jeep out of the main gate and onto Shore Road.

“Right,” Joe said. “Maybe we can pick up some information about the case there.”

When they pulled into the parking lot of the diner, Frank said, “Look at the customers' cars. Every one of them is waxed and polished.”

Inside, Joe led the group past a long counter with a row of swivel stools in front of it. He headed for one of two empty booths along the side wall.

Frank glanced around at the customers. Most of them were men in jeans and T-shirts. Frank guessed they had been working on their cars. The two men in the booth next to them looked particularly grimy.

Frank got up to get a third table setting from the
counter. On his way back he got a better look at the men in the next booth. The dark-haired man with his back to Joe and Chet's seat wore torn, grease-stained jeans, black leather boots, and leather bands on both wrists. He was short and muscular. The other man had light brown hair and was thin and wiry.

After the three placed their orders, Frank looked at Chet and asked, “You and Curt Kiser studied that electronic part carefully, right?”

Chet nodded. “And Jason Dain hardly glanced at it,” Chet replied. “He told me right off it wasn't anything that went in any car he'd ever seen.” Chet paused while he looked over at the grill to see how their lunches were coming. “I didn't come away empty-handed, though,” he added with a grin. “Kiser did give me passes to the demolition derby tomorrow. You want to go?”

“Sure, we'll probably be on the grounds, anyway,” Frank said, “especially if we don't find the Saurion soon.”

The waitress brought the orders of burgers and fries the three friends had ordered.

Joe was putting ketchup on his fries when the voices coming from the next booth caught his attention. Frank glanced up to see Joe freeze in midmotion.

“What's wrong?” Frank whispered.

Joe leaned back against the vinyl, straining to hear more.

“Is something wrong?” Chet finally asked.

“I'm not sure,” Joe said in a low voice. “The guys behind us are talking about a car race. I didn't hear any names, but one of the guys said that if she goes through with it, it'll be the last race she'll ever run.”

“You sure you heard him say ‘
she'?”
Frank whispered.

Joe nodded grimly. “Yeah, and another thing. He called the car the Death Car.”

Frank frowned. “Stock received a warning with those same words, remember? These guys could be tied in to what's been happening on the speedway.”

“Do you think one of these guys pushed over those shelves?” Chet asked.

Joe silenced Chet while he listened to the voices in the booth behind him.

After a moment Joe said, “I don't know, but what they're saying about the race is more important right now. They're saying that if Katie Bratton races the Saurion on Saturday, she's going to die.”

Joe got up from his seat.

“Where are you going?” Chet asked.

“I'm just going to do a little investigating,” Joe told him in a low voice. “I want to get a look at the guys in the next booth.”

Joe hurried over to the counter. “I'd like another soda,” he told the waitress.

“Sure, it'll be right out,” she answered through a wad of chewing gum.

As he walked back, Joe stared boldly at the two men. Their conversation stopped abruptly, and the short, stocky man looked up at Joe. The other man, who was finishing a piece of cherry pie, remained silent.

“Hey, kid, what are you staring at?” the stocky man snapped.

Joe noticed that the man needed a shave and his mouth was twisted into a scowl. “Sorry,” Joe said pleasantly. “I thought I recognized you.”

“Well, you were wrong,” the man growled.

But Joe wasn't ready to give up. “Don't you work out at the speedway? I've seen you at the demolition derby.”

“Keep it up,” the man warned, “and you'll be seeing stars.” He laughed at his own threat. “Now get lost.”

“Okay, okay,” Joe said, holding up his hands. “My mistake.” He walked away as the two men got up, sauntered over to the counter, and paid their check.

As they left the restaurant, Joe went to the front window. He watched the stocky man get into a brand-new white panel truck and drive away. Joe jotted down the license number. The thin, brown-haired man left on a motorcycle.

“While you were ordering that soda,” Frank said when Joe sat down again, “the thin one told the short guy that if he was serious about getting work at Miyagi Motors with this scheme, he'd end up in the state pen.”

Before Joe could comment, the waitress brought his soda. He slid it over to Chet.

Joe walked back over to the counter. Sounding
like the world's biggest racing fan, Joe asked the waitress, “Weren't those guys the famous Indy car drivers Henry Conlon and Bob Lynd?”

“Nah,” the waitress said. “Those guys are from the demo derby. I don't know their names. All I know is that one guy is the mechanic. The other drives. And they never tip.”

Joe returned to the booth and sat down. He told Frank and Chet what the waitress had said.

“Do you think those guys are behind the sabotage?” Chet asked.

“Could be,” Frank said thoughtfully. “Katie was saying that someone out at Miyagi Motors was behind it,” he added. “As long as we're this close, let's head over to Miyagi Motors and have a look around.”

“You just want to see your girlfriend,” Chet said to Frank in a teasing tone. “Isn't she interning at Miyagi Motors?”

“That's right,” Joe said. “Callie is completing a business internship there.”

“I'll give her a call and see if she can set up a meeting with Takeo Ota,” Frank said.

While Chet and Joe paid the check, Frank used the pay phone to call Callie.

“The Miyagi plant has been open about a year,” Joe said as Chet turned the jeep onto the road that led to the sprawling Miyagi Motors Assembly Center.

Located north of Bayport and the speedway, the
four-acre building complex was as sleek and uncluttered as the cars Miyagi was famous for designing. The only break Joe could see in the straight horizontal lines of the one-story factory was a block of windows in the center of the first floor.

“Miyagi's very successful,” Frank commented as Chet braked to a halt at the guardhouse just outside the main gate. “The paper says they sell every sedan they make.”

“Mr. Ota is expecting you,” the guard told them after Frank explained they had an appointment.

When the jeep entered the visitor parking lot next to the managerial offices, Frank could see Callie Shaw standing next to a Miyagi sedan. Her blond hair shone in the sun, and she was smiling. With her was a Japanese man.

The Hardys and Chet got out of the jeep and walked up to Callie and the man. Frank saw that the man was wearing a yellow hard hat and identification tag on his white shirt.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” the man said. “I am Takeo Ota. I am the project engineer for our new sports car, the Sata Speedster.”

“Mr. Ota is my supervisor while I'm here at Miyagi,” Callie explained.

“Welcome to Miyagi,” Mr. Ota added. “It is a pleasure to have you visit. Please follow us in your car.”

Mr. Ota and Callie got into the sedan. Frank admired the curving lines of the car, then got into
the jeep with his friends. Joe helped Chet force the gearshift into first so they could keep up with the sedan.

“I read that this building is a half mile long,” Frank said as they neared the factory.

“Did that article say anything about Miyagi using unmarked panel trucks?” Joe asked. He pointed to a white truck parked in the lot. “That tough guy at the diner was driving a panel truck just like that one.”

“We can check on it later,” Frank said.

Chet parked beside the sedan. Then they all followed Mr. Ota into the factory. Joe took the visitor tags from Mr. Ota and handed two to Frank and Chet.

“I am sure you will enjoy looking at the Speedster,” Mr. Ota said confidently as he led them down a long hall and through a doorway to the main assembly room.

The room was huge and contained two steadily moving lines. One, Frank saw, carried drivetrain assemblies. Along the other, sedan frames paraded one by one, each receiving its own engine, transmission, and rear axle.

“This assembly line is as clean as an operating room,” Frank said to Mr. Ota.

“And safe, too,” Mr. Ota reported over the noise of the line. “And to keep it that way, please put on these hard hats and protective goggles.” Callie handed out the equipment to her friends.

Joe watched as the separate sections of sedan frames were grasped by a robotic arm from rows of components on both sides of the line.

“Wow,” Chet said. “Are these what they call industrial robots?”

“That's right,” Mr. Ota replied. “They might not look human, but each robotic arm duplicates human movements. One difference between robots and humans, though, is that robots are tireless.”

“That means no lunch break,” Joe said, grinning at Chet.

“The new Speedster is down this way,” Mr. Ota said, leading the four teens along the line.

“Watch your head,” Callie warned as they crossed under the assembly line through a narrow wire cage underpass.

“Beautiful!” Frank said in an awed tone when he saw the bright yellow Sata Speedster parked in the center of the cavernous design studio.

Joe nodded in agreement. The Saurion might look more futuristic, but he thought the Speedster had a more balanced design. With its engine housed in its rear end, the body flowed forward smoothly into an aerodynamically angled nose.

“Felix Stock said the Saurion is made out of some kind of composite material,” Chet said. “Is this one plastic, too?”

Mr. Ota smiled gently. “I know Felix Stock very well. His new model is a fine machine, in many ways much more advanced than the Speedster. Each
Saurion is being built mostly by hand, but we cannot do that here. We designed the Speedster so it could be built on an assembly line. Even so, the Speedster has a magnesium frame with an aluminum skin,” he explained. “Many actual racing cars are built from the same materials. It makes our car very light.”

“It should reach close to two hundred miles an hour on the straightaways Saturday night,” Callie said.

“Let me ask you something, Mr. Ota,” Frank said. “Why do you want to race Mr. Stock?”

“The publicity,” Mr. Ota said quickly. “In the automobile's early days, that is one of the ways the different companies established themselves. Miyagi Motors is a small company, and we are new in your country. Even if we lose to the Saurion, we will get a lot of publicity. Besides,” he added, smiling broadly, “I really enjoy a good car race.”

Frank and Joe exchanged glances. “Then you really want this race,” Joe said.

“Of course I do!” Mr. Ota replied enthusiastically. Then he frowned. “Has anyone suggested anything to the contrary?”

“There have been a bunch of weird incidents over at the speedway,” Chet blurted out. “Frank and Joe are just looking around for Felix Stock.”

“People aren't saying
I
have had anything to do with that?” Mr. Ota asked, looking concerned.

“No, Mr. Ota,” Frank said quickly. “Of course not.”

“Well, I did
not
!” the project engineer said emphatically. “And if anyone at Miyagi Motors were involved in such a thing, they would be released.”

“We believe you,” Joe said to Mr. Ota in a reassuring tone.

The Hardys, Callie, and Chet followed Mr. Ota back through the short tunnel to the far side of the assembly line.

“Soon every tenth car coming down this line will be the Sata Speedster,” Mr. Ota said, beaming. “It's going to take a tremendous amount of coordination. When a different model comes by, the robots will have to adjust their movements.”

“How does a robot know what car's next?” Chet asked, stopping beside one of the robot arms. “Do these things have brains?”

“Not exactly,” Mr. Ota said. “They are controlled by computers, which have to be preprogrammed before production can begin. It's been done in only one other auto assembly plant.” He paused while one of the long arms slithered past overhead, tilted, then dropped its mechanical hand into a bin containing windshield assemblies. “The arm is equipped with sensors,” the engineer continued, “that are wired into interlocks so the computer can tell when something is wrong. If there's a
problem, the computer immediately shuts down the arm.”