Blown Away

  ATAC BRIEFING FOR AGENTS FRANK AND JOE HARDY

  MISSION:

  The Billington Resort has two high-profile events on Saturday: a vintage car auction and a celebrity wedding. But they also have a bomb threat.

  You have EIGHT HOURS to find the bomb and bust the bad guys.

  LOCATION:

  Phoenix, AZ.

  POTENTIAL VICTIMS:

  Everyone staying at the Billington, as well as the resort itself.

  SUSPECTS:

  Top suspects right now are the group running the car auction and the owner of the resort.

  THIS MISSION REQUIRES YOUR IMMEDIATE ATTENTION.

  THIS MESSAGE WILL BE ERASED IN FIVE SECONDS.

  WATCH OUT FOR NEXT CASE: #11:Hurricane jee

  ALADDIN PAPERBACKS

  Simon & Schuster, New York

  Cover designed by Lisa Vega

  Cover photo copyright © 2006

  by Steve Mercer/Getty Images

  Ages 8-12

  kids.simonandschuster.com

  0606

  Ticktock, ticktock. . .

  Frank read the plane tickets. “We need to catch a seven a.m. flight tomorrow, and we come home at five o’clock that night. Not much time.”

  “I guess if we don’t find the bomb and the bad guys, we’re useless,” I said.

  Just then, Mom knocked on the door.

  I closed the video game player and called, “Come on in.”

  Mom poked her head inside and looked at us suspiciously. “I was walking by your door when I heard something strange.”

  Uh-oh. I looked to Frank, who quickly hid the plane tickets between the mattress and box spring of his bed.

  #1 Extreme Danger

  #2 Running on Fumes

  #3 Boardwalk Bust

  #4 Thrill Ride

  #5 Rocky Road

  #6 Burned

  #7 Operation: Survival

  #8 Top Ten Ways to Die

  #9 Martial Law

  #10 Blown Away

  Available from Simon & Schuster

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ALADDIN PAPERBACKS

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster

  Children’s Publishing Division

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  Copyright © 2006 by Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  THE HARDY BOYS MY STERY STORIES and HARDY BOYS UNDER’COVER BROTHERS are trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  ALADDIN PAPERBACKS and colophon are trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  Designed by Lisa Vega

  The text of this book was set in Aldine 401BT.

  First Aladdin Paperbacks edition June 2006

  Library o f Congress Control Number 2005931824

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4169-1173-9

  ISBN-10: 1-4169-1173-1

  1. Shredding

  2. The Visitor

  3. Operation Blown Away

  4. The Lay of the Land

  5. Undercover

  6. Suspicion Grows

  7. Operation Bobo

  8. Fatal Mistakes

  9. Surprise from Bayport

  10. The Chase

  11. Bobo Revealed

  12. Busted

  13. Too Little, Too Late

  14. The Awful Truth

  15. Getting Even

  Blown Away

  1

  Shredding

  No way am I gonna survive this.

  That’s what I was thinking as I tore down the icy slope, at what had to be a ninety-degree angle. There was nothing between me and the mountain but a thin fiberglass snowboard. One mistake, one rock or slick spot or bad turn, an d I’d be history.

  What a rush.

  Of course, it didn’t matter that my adrenaline was pumping. This wasn’t about fun. Frank and I had a big problem: Regardless of how fast we shredded down the mountain, Chaz and Brad were faster. It made sense, since they were pro snowboarders—or pro snowboarders turned drug dealers, to be more exact. But that didn’t mean Frank and I weren’t gonna catch them.

  This was our latest ATAC mission. We’d successfully targeted the bad guys, staked ’em out, and gathered all the evidence. Their meticulous record of drug deals as well as their latest stash were both secured in the inner pocket of my snowboard jacket. Problem was, the bad guys were getting away.

  The chase began twenty minutes after the lifts stopped running, so other than the four of us, the mountain was deserted.

  Just as we started making progress, Chaz and Brad took a detour. They were leading us down Doomed River Run, which had been closed all season because of avalanche threats.

  “They think we’re not gonna follow them,” I called to Frank. “Like a few skull-and-crossbones danger signs would ever stop us!”

  “Yeah, they thought wrong,” Frank replied, as he took a sharp left and barreled past another warning sign.

  In the distance I saw the guys in front of us crouch down, and then soar into the air. We were coming up on a jump. “Get ready,” I warned Frank.

  “I’m always ready,” my brother replied.

  I got into position, holding the edge of my board with one gloved hand.

  Then I went for it. Suddenly I was flying through the air—weightless and graceful like an eagle. It was awesome. And before I could even blink, I made a smooth landing, pointing the left side of my board straight down the mountain. I had to pick up speed—otherwise, these crooks would get away.

  When we hit the next clearing, the guys disappeared. Not good. If they made it to the bottom of the mountain they’d be able to blend in with the crowd and eventually flee. Plus, the sun was setting, and finding them in the dark would be impossible.

  There had to be another way.

  Just then I saw it. Zip line—the two words came to me in a flash of genius. Above our heads was an empty steel cable, linking the top of the mountain to the bottom in a clean, straight line. It must have been part of an old ski lift. There weren’t any chairs or gondolas attached, as far as I could tell. Using it as a zip line would get me to the bottom of the mountain in no time. I yelled my plan to Frank.

  “You’re crazy!” he said.

  “Says you,” I replied, as I skidded to a stop and ditched my board. I pulled my scarf from my neck. I was sure the fleece and wool blend would be strong enough to hold me. Well, pretty sure. Working for ATAC, I’ve jumped out of planes with broken parachutes, survived explosions and roaring fires, scuba dived to dangerous depths and more. What’s one more risk?

  By now Brad and Chaz were two specks in the distance, and even Frank was fading from my view. I had to act fast. I scrambled up the pine tree closest to the steel cable. When I was high enough, I jumped.

  Bingo. I was on, hanging literally by a thread. My legs dangled down, swaying with the wind. I slung one end of my scarf around the cable and held on tight. Then I pushed off, shifting the bulk of my weight forward.

  Woo-hoo! I was really flying.

  Trees whipped by so fast that all I saw was a blur of green. A steady rain was falling, but at my speed, the drops felt more like an assault. They stung every part of my face that wasn’t covered by my mask or helmet.

  I shot past Frank, and soon, past Chaz and Brad. It was awesome. At least, that’s what I was thinking until I spotted the gondola at the end of the line.

  Brakes. Why did n’t I think abou
t brakes?!

  Too late. I was about three seconds from crashing. I’d broken bones before, but never all of ’em at once. . . .

  I glanced down at the thirty-foot drop. Too bad for me. I had no other choice.

  I let go and fell, too scared to even gasp.

  My stomach shot up to my throat. And then, all I saw was white.

  I felt no pain, only cold. That was good. The powder broke my fall.

  Of course, the powder also buried me.

  First thing I did was carve out an air pocket in the snow so I could take a deep breath. Then I raised my hands above my head and started digging. I scrambled out as quickly as I could, pushing past the snow furiously. You’d think that powder would be light, but let me tell you—when it’s packed into a ten-foot pile that’s been sitting around since last week’s snowfall, it’s not. The powder was heavy. Very heavy. When I finally crawled to the surface my arms were sore and I was gasping for breath. Still, I bolted to the base of the run.

  On my way there I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and dialed Chief Chizzle, the head of the Lake Tahoe police department. “We got ’em at the bottom of the mountain—south side, at the end of the Doomed River Run. Yeah, I know it’s closed. It wasn’t my idea. Anyway, their ETA is about forty-five seconds. Better get a move on.”

  When I reached the base, Chaz and Brad were on their butts, unlocking their feet from their boards. I got there just in time—to get whacked in the face with Brad’s snowboard.

  Oh, man, that hurt. Doubling over, I tried to catch my breath. My brain felt like it was exploding. My eyes were tearing, and I seriously saw stars. But there wasn’t time for pain. I couldn’t let those sleazebags get away. I stood up, my whole body aching.

  I was still recovering when Frank came down the mountain, full speed ahead, and crashed right into Chaz and Brad. They went down like bowling pins.

  As Frank took off his board, the guys got up, but I managed to stall them with a quick right hook to Chaz’s chin and a fake, then a one-two punch in Brad’s fleshy gut.

  The guys were still on the ground when the cops showed.

  “Good work, boys,” said Chief Chizzle.

  A couple of his officers hauled Brad and Chaz to their feet so they could slap on the handcuffs.

  “We’ll get you for this,” Brad yelled.

  “You’re gonna have to wait about thirty years,” I replied. “And that’s only if you get out of jail early, for good behavior.”

  Chaz tried to lunge for me but the cops re strained him.

  “Come on, Joe,” my brother said. “It’s over now.”

  “Hey, he started it,” I argued, nodding my chin toward Chaz.

  “He’s already in handcuffs,” Frank said. “We’re done here.”

  “Fine,” I said. Turning to Chief Chizzle, I handed over the envelope. “All of your evidence is in here.”

  As the chief looked through the contents, he said, “Well done, boys. Please send my best to your father.”

  “Will do,” said Frank, with a quick salute to the chief. “Speaking of . . . Hey, Joe, what time is it?”

  I checked my watch. “Almost seven o’clock.”

  “Uh-oh.” Frank’s face went pale.

  I knew exactly what he was thinking.

  We both took off at a sprint. Surviving Doomed River Run and delivering a couple of sleazy drug dealers to the cops was nothing compared to our new problem: If we were late for dinner, our mom was gonna kill us.

  2

  The Visitor

  Mom noticed how busted up we were as soon as we walked through the cabin’s front door. She drop ped her book, got off the couch, and rushed over to Joe, crying, “Honey, what happened?”

  Whoops—we’d been in such a hurry, we’d forgotten to come upwith an excuse to explain why half of Joe’s face looked like raw hamburger meat.

  “Nothing,” said my brother, as he held his hand up to his cheek and winced. “Uh, I wiped out, is all. No big deal.”

  “Come on. Don’t downplay it.” I turned to our mom and explained. “You know Joe. He was showing off, trying to do an ‘Air to Fakie’ off this steep jump, and then bam!” I clapped my hands together. “He came down at some crazy angle and fell flat on hisface, in front of about thirty people.”

  Joe glared at me and I shrugged. Hey, I had to come up with a believable cover, right? My brother hamming it up for a crowd—that was a no-brainer.

  Mom headed to the freezer and started filling a plastic bag with ice. “Oh, Joe. I wish you’d be more careful,” she said. “You were at least wearing a helmet, right?”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  “You know that five to ten percent of all ski injuries involve the head. And that injuries to the head are the most lethal of all, and that—”

  “And that wearing a helmet significantly reduces the chance of a fatality,” Joe finished. “Yup, I know the stats.”

  Having a reference librarian for a mother sure keeps us on our toes.

  Mom handed Joe the ice pack. “If the swelling doesn’t go down in a couple of hours, I’m taking you to a doctor.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Joe insisted. “It doesn’t even hurt.”

  As he raised the ice to his face, he cringed. Seeing him in pain made me wish I’d hit those sleazebags harder.

  A minute later Dad came home from his afternoon of cross-country skiing. When he saw Joe, his face registered concern, but not surprise. “Come over here, son. Let’s take a look at that gash in the light.”

  Joe walked over and Dad tilted his chin up and squinted at the bruise. “How much does it hurt?”

  “Hardly at all. It was just a little wipeout,” said Joe. “I’ll be fine.”

  No need to embellish with Dad. He knew all about our mission. Dad is the founder of ATAC, American Teens Against Crime. Even though he’s retired, he’s still clued in as to what’s going on. In fact, Dad planned our family vacation at the last minute, around the snowboarding drug dealers’ bust. He said it was just a fluke that our spring break happened to coincide with the mission, and that he’s been wanting to take us to Lake Tahoe for years. As if!

  We figure Dad knew that Chaz and Brad were hard-core criminals. He was probably so worried about us, he jumped at any excuse to be nearby.

  Not that I’m complaining. It was great to be on a family vacation. Aunt Trudy isn’t much of a skier, so she’d stayed home in Bayport to take care of Playback, our pet parrot. It was just me, Joe, Mom and Dad, and the mountains. Lake Tahoe was awesome, and ski conditions were amazing.

  After four days of pursuing criminals, I was stoked to take a break. Snowboarding for fun would be great. We hadn’t even been to the back bowls yet. And maybe we’d hit Doomed River Run again. Sure it was closed, but it hadn’t seemed that dangerous. . . .

  At least that’s what I was thinking when I heard a knock on the door.

  Mom and Dad were in the kitchen finishing up dinner, and Joe was lying on the couch with the ice pack on his face, so I went to answer it.

  “Uh, hi,” I said, opening the door. Brilliant, I know. But seeing this totally cute girl on the doorstep was a shock. She was on the short side, with dark skin and large brown eyes. Her curly black hair was pulled up in a ponytail, and she was wearing the cutest pink snowsuit. My hands got sweaty and my tongue seemed to swell. Even if I’d had a clue about what to say, I didn’t think I’d be able to spit it out.

  Luckily, she wasn’t waiting. “I’m looking for Joe Hardy,” she said.

  Phew.

  “Right here,” said Joe, coming up right behind me. “Can I help you with something?”

  “I don’t think so,” said the girl. “But I can help you.”

  “Huh?” asked Joe.

  “I’m Cammie,” she said, handing Joe a snowboard. “And I believe that this is yours.”

  “My snowboard,” said Joe. “I left it by the zip line and I totally spaced. How did you know where to find me?”

  “Your name is on the board,”
said Cammie.

  “No, it’s not,” said Joe, with this completely confused expression on his face. “It’s a rental.”

  Cammie punched his arm and winked. “I said your name is on the board,” she repeated, in an urgent whisper.

  “Huh?” asked Joe.

  I cut in, whispering, “You’re with ATAC?”

  She nodded.

  “It’s okay. Our mom and dad are in the kitchen. They can’t hear us,” Joe said.

  “Okay, good deal,” said Cammie. “Great work with Chaz and Brad, guys. I’m impressed.”

  I felt my cheeks heat up. “Um . . .”

  “Thanks,” said Joe. “What are you doing later on? Maybe we can meet up tomorrow afternoon and I’ll tell you all about it. Do you ice skate?”

  Joe isn’t one to beat around the bush. Especially with girls.

  Cammie laughed. “I won’t be meeting you tomorrow.”

  Dissed, I thought. I clapped my brother on the back and said, “Nice try, guy.”

  “Okay,” said Joe, shrugging me off. “It’s cool. It doesn’t have to be ice-skating, if you don’t want. We can go bowling, or just grab a bite to eat.”

  Cammie shook her head. “I love ice-skating, but you’re really not getting it. You’re not going to be here tomorrow.”

  “I’m not?” asked Joe.

  Sometimes my brother can be slow. I whipped the board around. Taped to the back of it was a large padded envelope. “Check it out, Joe.”

  “Aha!” he said, leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms over his chest. “I get it. Other wise, you’d be happy to go out with me, right?”

  “Boys,” Mom called from the kitchen. “Dinner is ready!”

  Cammie laughed. “Sounds like you’ve got to go.”

  As she walked away, Joe called, “Okay, but would you have gone?”

  Cammie looked over her shoulder and winked. “That’s for me to know and for you to always wonder about.”

  “Harsh,” said Joe.

  Meanwhile, I ripped the envelope off the snowboard and opened it up. Inside was a disc labeled BLOWN AWAY, two passes for an antique car show, a map of a resort, and a couple of plane tickets.

  Looked like we were about to take a little vacation from our vacation. . . .