The Genius Thieves (8 page)

The door flew open, and Mr. Rogers stepped out. In the glow from the overhead light it was impossible to misread the expression on his face. He oozed anger. He slammed the door and stormed over to Frank and Joe's van and yanked the door open. Seeing nothing, he spun around and walked toward the river. "All right, Kenyon, I know you and your greasy buddy are around somewhere!"

"Greasy?" said Joe. "Hey, where does he get off — "

"Shhh!"

Rogers jerked his head in Frank and Joe's direction. He reached into his breast pocket. Frank's body tensed as he watched Rogers pull out a shiny object.

"It's a gun!" he whispered.

"QUICK, OUT OF sight!" Frank said. Crouching low, he and Joe ran for the dock of the boathouse and crawled underneath it.

A shot rang out as Rogers ran toward the boathouse. Frank and Joe heard a splash as the bullet sailed over the dock and into the water. Rogers cursed under his breath. The sound of muffled footsteps was all the brothers could hear for the next minute—and then there was total silence.

Carefully, they positioned themselves so they could see out from under the dock.

Rogers had found Jed's car and was examining the contents of the cardboard box.

"He put his pistol away," whispered Frank.

"Maybe he thinks those little electronic things are ray guns or something," said Joe.

From within the boathouse came a crashing noise. Rogers ran toward it, jumped onto the dock, and found the open door.

"Feeling a little clumsy tonight, Kenyon?" he snarled. Pulling a flashlight out of his pocket, he stepped inside.

Dzzzzit! The flashlight flickered out.

"These cheap dime-store pieces of trash!" he muttered to himself. He gave one last look into the boathouse, but obviously could make out nothing in the pitch blackness.

Frank and Joe heard the crick, crick, crick of the dock's wooden planks as Rogers walked directly above them.

Then, with a sigh of disgust, Rogers put the flashlight and the electronic device into his pocket and strode back to his car.

As the car drove off, Frank and Joe climbed out from under the dock. "Jed short-circuited Rogers's flashlight, didn't he?" Joe said.

"Right. He must have one of those little gadgets with him," answered Frank.

Joe's voice was filled with excitement. "And those must be the things that — "

He was interrupted by another loud crash from inside the boathouse. Frank and Joe turned toward the sound. A light went on inside. And out from the open door ran Jed Wilson, his face strained with fear.

When he saw Frank and Joe, he turned and ran off the other side of the dock and along the river.

Frank and Joe sprinted after him. In seconds Joe was right behind Jed. He dove through the air and grabbed Jed by the waist, pulling him to the ground in a perfect tackle. From out of Jed's pocket, one of the little devices fell to the ground.

Frank ran up next to them and stood over Jed. He grabbed the device and showed it to Joe. "All right, Wilson," he said. "Something's fishy around here, and I'm not talking only about the boxes you threw in the river. Want to talk?"

Jed's face was taut with anguish. "Okay, okay, I give up!" he blurted out. "Turn me in! I deserve it! Honestly, I didn't mean any harm—"

"Whoa! Slow down," said Joe. "Maybe you should start at the beginning."

"I should have known the minute I invented Electrojam I'd get into trouble. It was just for fun! I didn't realize that everyone would start short-circuiting other people's radios, TV sets, stereos — "

"You mean those little gizmos — Electrojams— are what's blowing out all those box radios?" asked Joe.

"Yes! I admit it," Jed said. "I invented them by mistake, but when I saw what they could do, I decided to sell a few of them through my company, ChipShape.

"Usually I just sell software and computer games, but I thought I'd branch out with Electrojam. I thought it could be used for emergency shut-off switches, disarming electronic weapons.

And—once in a while—for sabotaging radios. But I never thought it would get out of hand like that!"

"Could they jam a computer?" Frank asked. Jed nodded. And Frank looked at his brother and smiled. A tie-in.

"Finally, I went to all of my customers and told them I was recalling the Electrojams for a defective part. But really I was planning to destroy them all!"

"Why did you run away from us?" Joe asked.

"Well, I recognized Frank when he came here. And I thought it was only a matter of time before he figured out who I was and what my connection was to the sabotaged radios. When I saw you two tonight, I could tell you were coming after me to turn me in to the school authorities. So I figured the river was the quickest place to dump my Electrojammers. You have to understand how much it means to my parents that I'm at Chartwell — "

"We're not going to turn you in," Frank said.

"You're not?" Jed looked relieved, but puzzled. "Then why are you chasing me?"

Frank thought quickly. "To protect you from the man we just saw. He's my roommate's father, and he works for the Bayport Bank and Trust. I overheard him say that he wanted to trail you."

Joe was getting the idea. "Seems he suspects something about a large withdrawal from your account."

Jed thought for a minute and then nodded his head. "Yes, there was something funny on my last statement. It showed that twenty-five thousand dollars was put in and taken out on the same day. I just thought it was a bank error." He smiled. "I wish my company did that much business in a day."

"You have no idea where the money could have gone?" Joe asked.

"Believe me," Jed said. "If I'd had that much, I'd have held on to it!"

Frank and Joe looked at each other. Jed seemed sincere. Could he have been framed?

"Hey - y - y, wait a minute," Jed said, picking himself up from the ground. "You guys are after that money, aren't you?"

"What?" asked Joe. He and Frank exchanged baffled looks.

"Yeah, you want to track down a quick twenty-five thousand dollars," he said. "What are you going to do if you can't, steal my idea? Try to get a patent? Oh, I've got your number — "

"Easy, Jed," Frank said. He and Joe hadn't expected that. "You've got this wrong — "

"Prove it," Jed answered, "I dare you."

"We're out of here," Joe muttered to Frank. "Uh, listen, Jed," he said, backing away. "We've enjoyed meeting you, but we can't stay and talk. Maybe some other time — "

With that, Frank and Joe turned to jog back to the van. "Dad's going to laugh when I tell him about this one," Joe muttered as they climbed in.

Jed stood by the river, hurling insults at them as they drove away.

The next day Frank mulled over the scene with Jed on his way to English class. He was so lost in thought that he walked right by Sarah.

"Hey, why the cold shoulder?" she asked.

"Oh, sorry, Sarah," said Frank. "Guess I'm just tense about getting my exam back today. I still think I blew it."

Sarah laughed. "Something tells me you're in for a surprise," she said.

They sat down in class, and immediately Mr. Osborn started handing out the papers.

"Not bad, most of you," he said as he got to Brad's desk. Out of the corner of his eye, Frank could see Brad's grade: C + . Brad seemed pleased.

"Mr. Pierce — " Osborn continued, "Miss Waterbury — " He handed Sarah her paper. A bright red A - was written at the top. Frank breathed a sigh of relief, realizing his must be close to the same grade.

Sarah turned around and gave Frank a thumbs-up sign. Frank smiled back. Before long Mr. Osborn called out Frank's name and handed over his exam. Frank snatched it eagerly and looked at it. His face fell when he saw the grade.

D-.

He couldn't understand how it happened. He knew his answers were the same as Sarah's. Bewildered, he glanced through the exam. It was full of red marks. He read what he had written— and suddenly it all became clear.

All the answers were different from the ones he remembered, and the handwriting wasn't quite right. Someone had forged his exam and switched it with the real one.

At the end of the exam was a note: "Frank, I expected more from you. Dean Castigan has asked that you see him in his office at the end of the school-day — Mr. Osborn."

After class, Frank went up to Mr. Osborn. "I didn't write these answers, Mr. Osborn," he said. "I think someone is playing a trick. This looks like my handwriting, but I swear it's not! Someone substituted this test for mine. Please let me take the exam over."

Mr. Osborn looked at Frank and said, "We might be able to work something out, Frank, but the test has to count. And I'd be careful about making a serious charge like forgery. You're obviously very upset, but I can't do much about it."

Frank stormed into the hallway, where Sarah was waiting. "What happened?" she asked.

"Someone wants me out of Chartwell," Frank said angrily. "And I don't know who."

The rest of the day, he couldn't concentrate in his classes. At the end of last period, he marched down to Mr. Castigan's office.

"Have a seat," Mr. Castigan said gravely. "I need to have a talk with you. You know, you haven't exactly gotten off to a good start at Chartwell."

"Mr. Castigan, my English exam was forged. None of the answers matched the ones I put on the exam. And the handwriting wasn't mine."

Castigan began pacing the floor. "Frank, I have your file here. Let's look at your admissions essay." He pulled out a piece of paper from Frank's admissions file, which was on his desk. Next to it he held up the English exam. "It looks like the same handwriting to me."

"I know. It's a very good forgery. But you've got to believe me!"

"I wish I could, Frank. But I can't ignore what I've seen this week. First it was the episode in the file room, and then the fire in your dorm room. I told the administration not to suspend you, just to keep a close eye on you—because I thought you had potential. But now even your schoolwork is suffering."

"I swear to you, Mr. Castigan — "

"Swearing won't be necessary," Castigan said. He looked directly into Frank's eyes, scowling.

"Claiming forgery is the oldest trick in the book, Frank. You know, students have been expelled from Chartwell before. Don't make it worse for yourself. You are definitely on thin ice."

WHEN HE GOT back to his room at four, Frank pored over his notes on the case. Nothing seemed to fit, and he was having a difficult time concentrating. He wished he could be at home, his feet up in Dad's den, thinking things through. At Chartwell he was never completely free. Arnie was at a math club meeting, and Brad was at the gym, but any minute one of them could come back.

Frank felt angry. Someone was outwitting him. He paced back and forth, wondering who could have forged his writing and switched the exams without Mr. Osborn finding out.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. "Who is it?" he asked.

"It's me, Sarah. Can I come in?"

"Uh, just a minute!" His desk was covered with papers about the case. He scooped everything up, threw it into a manila folder, and shoved it in a desk drawer. "I'll be right there!" he called out. He slammed the drawer shut and walked over to the door.

"Welcome to the Chartwell pigpen!" he said as he opened the door. Sarah looked around. The walls of the room had just been painted, so all of the furniture had been moved to the center of the room. "We haven't had a chance to straighten it out," said Frank with a shrug.

"Hey, I'm used to this," Sarah said. "I have brothers." She looked closely at Frank. He smiled but kept a cool distance. "Is something wrong, Frank? What took you so long to come to the door? What was that shuffling I heard?"

"Shuffling? I was probably practicing my tap dancing." Frank grinned, hoping she'd drop the subject.

Sarah laughed. "Come on, something's bothering you. Is it the English exam? You never told me what you got on it." She went to sit down on his desk chair, but a piece of paper had fallen onto it. She picked it up and read out loud, " 'Chartwell computer scam—notes re: suspected students and personnel — Frank Hardy.' What does all this mean?"

Frank grabbed the paper from her and pretended to look at it as if he'd never seen it. "Hmm, what's this? Maybe Brad's writing a school newspaper article."

"Under the pen name 'Frank Hardy'?" Sarah gave him a knowing look. "You're trying to pull something, aren't you?"

Frank sat at the edge of his desk. "Sarah, I'm sorry. I can't talk right now about certain things. But someday — "

"Don't you feel you can trust me, Frank? I trust you."

Frank looked straight into her eyes. She looked so open and hurt. He began to feel some of the same things he had felt by the river on Saturday. She was demanding an answer from him. But he realized he, too, had something to settle.

"I'm not sure I do trust you," he said. "Tell me the truths — are you still seeing Stu Goldman? Someone told me he saw you two behind the tennis courts the other day."

Sarah's face turned red. "It must have been that snob roommate of yours, Brad Rogers. I saw him giving us a look." She shook her head and smiled sadly.

"Poor Stu. He was following me around like a puppy dog, trying to apologize for that fight with you. I had to talk to him for about two hours when he cornered me behind the courts, but I laid it on the line, and he finally took no for an answer." Frank nodded. "I see — " "Okay. You have my story. Now you owe me one."

Frank hung his head. He didn't know what to do. The mission had to be a secret; Frank and Joe had both agreed to that. But Sarah was so trusting—and besides, she was one of the brightest people he had met. Maybe she would be a help in cracking the case. Anyway, she already knew too much, after seeing that piece of paper. It would be better to try to get her on his side. He took one more look into her questioning blue eyes and decided what to do. He took a deep breath, hoping he was doing the right thing.

"Will you promise me two things, Sarah?" he asked.

"Name them."

"Don't think I'm crazy, keep this whole thing secret, and promise to help me out."