The Demolition Mission (8 page)

Joe remained silent.

“You come over here,” the man continued, “and turn around.”

As Joe did as he was told, Frank watched the man suddenly hit his brother on the back of the head. Joe fell to the floor, unconscious.

“Hey!” Frank shouted.

The man in black laughed.

While Frank began working at the knots binding his hands, he saw their assailant take a pile of oily rags from a workbench. He threw them under the bench, then dragged some cardboard boxes and several wooden crates over. Taking a can of high-octane additive, he emptied it on the pile.

“It's damp down here,” the man said. “Wouldn't a nice warm fire feel good?” He laughed menacingly.

Frank watched as the man raised the flare gun and aimed it at the pile of debris. The helmeted man pulled the trigger.

The sudden burst of brilliant white magnesium fire blinded Frank. Immediately he could feel the heat as the flare ignited the combustible liquid.

“Too bad it had to end this way,” the man said as he hurried off down one of the tunnels.

“Joe!” Frank called. “Can you hear me?”

But Joe was still out cold. And as smoke began to fill the basement room, Frank found it was hard to even see his brother. Frank's eyes began to water,
and the smoke in the air made it difficult to breathe. “Joe!” he tried again.

We've got to get out of this, Frank said to himself. He was growing dizzy from lack of oxygen. His head drooped forward, and he knew he was only seconds away from passing out.

Frank made a superhuman effort to stay conscious. Although Joe had tied him up, Frank knew his brother was experienced at tying slipknots.

Frank struggled with the ropes. Soon he managed to work loose his wrists and untie the ropes around his ankles. Grabbing the fire extinguisher from a nearby wall, Frank immediately smothered the flames.

He knelt down next to his brother, who was still unconscious. “Come on,” Frank said, slapping Joe's face.

Slowly Joe came to. “Did you catch him?” he asked groggily.

“He got away,” Frank said. “But we've still got the Saurion.”

“How do we get out of here?” Joe said as Frank helped him to his feet.

“We go out the same way the Saurion came in,” Frank told him.

The Hardys headed back out of the large basement room into the tunnel through which the helmeted man had fled. Joe shone the flashlight on the tire tracks that cut through the dust of the concrete floor.

“There's no question that this is the way the Saurion was brought into that room,” Frank said.

“There's a ramp,” Joe said when he saw the tunnel divide. One branch headed off to the left, the other sloped upward. Joe started up the ramp.

“These are just boards thrown over the opening from outside,” Joe said. Pushing a board aside, he found himself looking out into the late-afternoon light. He hoisted himself up. His brother followed.

“We're behind Building A,” Joe said. “There's the overhead door we thought couldn't be used.”

Frank looked around. “And this old tunnel ramp is shielded by these oil drums.”

“Let's get over to Building A,” Joe said. “Stock should have a small tractor or something to help us bring up the Saurion.”

“Got any ideas on who the guy in the black helmet was?” Frank asked his brother as they headed over to the Stock Motor Car Company.

“Maybe it was Marvin Tarpley,” Joe said.

“The guy had the same build—short and
muscular,” Frank said. “Anyway, at least now we know that because of where the Saurion was hidden, the thief and the person who's responsible for the incident is probably someone right on the grounds.”

“But who has something to gain from hiding only the Saurion?” Joe asked. “And who would want to go so far as to try and
kill
people over the car?”

“That's what we've got to find out,” Frank said. “Right now,” he added, looking at his watch, “we've got to tell Felix Stock his prototype's been found. Then you've got a new job with the derby.”

Frank saw Chet sitting in the van when the brothers reached the front of Building A.

“Hey, I thought you guys would never get here,” Chet said as they approached. “I almost ate all this food myself.” Through the van window he handed the Hardys a cardboard tray piled with hot dogs, bags of chips, and soda.

“Did you see Callie over there?” Frank asked as he unwrapped a hot dog.

“No, but I overheard Dwaine Rusk complain that Joe's late.”

“Where's Felix Stock?” Joe asked, munching on a potato chip.

“He's working on a second Saurion,” Chet said. “But he says he'll never be ready in time for tomorrow night.”

“Oh, yes, he will,” Joe said. He bit into his hot dog, then turned and entered the building. Joe was smiling when he entered Building A. He found
Felix Stock going over some paperwork at his desk, and Joe thought he looked pretty glum.

“Your prototype is parked in a tunnel under these buildings,” Joe said, getting right to the point.

Stock stared at him for a moment as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. “You
found
it?” he said finally. “But how . . . where?”

“It's a long story,” Frank said, coming up behind Joe. Hurriedly Frank told the engineer about the helmeted man and where the prototype was hidden.

Joe dodged out of the way as a now-smiling Felix Stock raced outside. The Hardys hurried after the engineer.

A few moments later Stock was standing in the basement room gazing at the Saurion, a happy expression on his face. “Thanks, guys,” he said warmly, turning to Frank and Joe. “You really came through for me.”

When they got back up to the ground, Frank attached chains to the tractor that would pull the Saurion out of the tunnel.

“It'll take all night,” Stock said, sitting at the wheel of the tractor, “but I'll have the prototype ready for that race.”

“I've got to get to the derby,” Joe said.

“Good luck,” Frank said. His brother waved and jogged toward the derby's infield compound.

Frank glanced at his watch again. Callie was probably here by now, he thought. He and Chet
turned their attention to helping Stock pull the Saurion out of the underground tunnel and up the ramp. Fifteen minutes later Stock was raising the Saurion upon a hydraulic lift in Building A.

“Why did you decide to build the Saurion here?” Frank asked Stock.

“I might be a fairly good engineer,” Stock explained, “but I put all my money into designing the car itself. I did a lot of research and hired consultants. When it came time to actually build one, there wasn't much money left. Curt offered to let me use his property here in return for a share of any profits the Saurion earns.”

“No money went to Curt up front?” Frank asked.

“Not a cent. Like I said, I couldn't have done that anyway,” Stock went on. “Every dime I've got is in the PEST system. Even if the Saurion doesn't sell, I think the PEST technology could be worth a few bucks.” He smiled, then whispered confidentially, “And I'm the only one who knows the secret circuitry!”

“What about Marvin Tarpley?” Frank asked. “Dwaine Rusk told me Tarpley knows the circuitry.”

“Yeah,” Stock said, “Tarpley may have figured it out, but he'd have no means to apply it. He'd need a financial backer if he wanted to use my design.”

“Do you think Tarpley would try to sell the design?”

“Well, I guess I never thought about that,” Stock said, frowning.

“Where is Tarpley, anyway?” Frank asked.

“I heard he quit the derby,” Stock said, “and he hasn't showed up around here in a few days. If he doesn't get in touch with me soon, I'm afraid he's out of a job.”

“Does Tarpley have any contractual rights to the Saurion?” Frank asked.

“Nope, only Kiser,” Stock replied.

“Does Kiser stand to make money only from the car or from the PEST system, too?”

“I told Curt the deal was for the Saurion only,” Felix Stock replied evenly.

“But isn't the PEST system an integral part of the car?” Frank wanted to know.

“You sound just like those lawyers,” Felix Stock said, frowning. “I say it isn't, but one lawyer I talked to claims it's standard equipment.”

“I'd like to look over the contract with Kiser,” Frank said. “Criminal motives are often hidden in fine print.”

“I'll see if I can find it later,” Stock said. “I know I need a business manager, like Kiser's got Jason Dain. But I keep putting it off.”

“Is that Jason Dain's job here?” Frank asked. “He's Curt Kiser's business manager?”

“He's Curt Kiser's partner,” Katie Bratton interrupted. She was standing a few feet away from Frank, holding an envelope. “Jason Dain is a man of
many talents. He's an accountant who also knows a lot about cars. If anyone can turn this track into a money-maker, Dain can. And—” Suddenly her eyes grew wide. “You found it!” she cried out, hurrying over to the car. “I can't believe it. Where was it?”

Frank wanted to keep as many details about the case as secret as possible, so he quickly replied, “All the facts aren't in yet, but we'll let you know. . . .” Noticing the envelope in Katie's hand, he changed the subject. “Is that a message for someone?”

Katie paused, then held out the envelope to Frank. “Jason gave this to me when I left his office. He said it was delivered less than an hour ago.”

Frank saw his name written on the front when he took the envelope. He opened it and unfolded the paper inside. Curiosity turned quickly to fear as he read the handwritten letter.

“Is something wrong?” Katie asked, seeing the worried expression on Frank's face.

Frank looked up from the paper. “This is a note from my girlfriend, Callie Shaw,” he said. “It says she's been held up and won't be able to meet me here for the demolition derby.”

“I'm sure she has a good reason,” Katie said.

“The problem is,” Frank said tensely, “this is not Callie's handwriting.”

“When did Jason Dain give you this letter?” Frank urgently asked Katie Bratton.

“Just a few minutes ago,” she said. “He knew I was coming over here.”

“How did he know that?” Chet asked suspiciously.

“Because I
told
him!” Katie said hotly. “Look, I know things have been crazy around here for the past few days, but we aren't going to accomplish anything if we accuse each other of being part of some plot.”

“I'm sorry,” Chet said sheepishly.

“It's okay,” Katie said with a nod. “I hope your girlfriend's all right, Frank. You guys do what you
have to do, and I'll help Felix get the Saurion ready.”

Frank signaled to Chet to follow him out of the building. “We've got to find Callie,” Frank said grimly.

“What do you think happened to her?” Chet asked. “Do you think she's in danger?”

“It doesn't look good,” Frank replied. “Someone is probably holding Callie for some reason. We've got to start searching.”

“Where do we start?” Chet asked.

“First we need to check out this letter,” Frank said. He hurried to the van and removed the fingerprinting kit and a high-power microscope.

Frank turned on a bright incandescent lamp inside the van and held the letter up to the light. “Twenty-pound bond,” he said. “This paper's available in any office supply store.”

Frank dusted both the paper and the envelope lightly with a fine black powder. Then he blew the excess from the surfaces. He was able to see a few whorls of what looked like a print. “I think it's a thumbprint,” he said. “Hand me the camera, please.”

Chet got the camera from the back of the van and handed it to Frank, who fitted it with a macro lens. Then, holding the camera very still, he snapped an electronic picture of the print.

“Is this the gadget that lets you take a picture you
can see on your computer screen?” Chet wanted to know.

“You got it,” Frank said. “What we do now is transfer the signals from the digital disk into our laptop fax machine, then send it through the modem to Con Riley, so he can run a check.”

“Pretty slick,” Chet said.

After sending the fingerprint to the Bayport police, Frank called Miyagi Motors to find out what time Callie had left.

“Four-thirty,” Frank said after talking with Takeo Ota for a few minutes and hanging up. “She's nearly an hour and a half late. Mr. Ota also told me they found a glitch in the software controlling the robot arm that hit me.”

“Does that take Miyagi Motors off the list of suspects?” Chet wanted to know.

“More than likely,” Frank answered in a distracted tone. “We'd better drive the van over to the front gate. It's too far to walk, and I don't want to waste any time.”

When they reached the ticket taker's window, Frank parked in the closest spot and hurried out of the van.

“I'm looking for a young woman named Callie Shaw,” Frank told the ticket taker, holding open his wallet so the man could see Callie's picture. “What I need to know is, did she claim a ticket?”

“Well, a lot of people have been coming through,” the ticket taker said, scratching his head.

“Could you just look at this photo and tell me if you saw this woman claim a ticket here?” Frank said, trying not to sound impatient.

“I'm sorry,” the ticket taker said, squinting at the photo, “but I've only been on duty for a few minutes, and I don't remember anyone matching that specific description or anyone with the name Callie.”

“Thanks,” Frank told him. “We don't know any more now than we did before,” he added gloomily as he and Chet moved away from the ticket office.