Foul Play Read online

  High Stakes on the Field …

  A strange voice came over the line. It sounded almost like a computerized voice, flat and distorted. But there was something human and threatening in the tone, something a computer could never be.

  “Aloia. I know you took bribes from a booster. I have proof. And I’m willing to take it to the Ethics Board,” the voice said.

  Anthony’s mother gasped.

  “There is only one way to stop me,” the voice went on. “You have to drop the ball on Saturday.”

  “What? What is that supposed to mean?” Mr. Aloia sounded frightened.

  “It means he wants me to throw the game,” Anthony said. “And I have to do it.”

  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

  Copyright © 2007 by Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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

  THE HARDY BOYS MYSTERY STORIES and HARDY BOYS UNDERCOVER BROTHERS are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  ALADDIN PAPERBACKS and related logo are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  Designed by Lisa Vega

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

  First Aladdin Paperbacks edition November 2007

  Library of Congress Control Number 2007921737

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4169-6165-9

  ISBN-10: 1-4169-6165-8

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  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  Cat Attack

  Big-League Mission

  The Suite Life

  Practice

  Dinner with the Enemy

  Playing by the Book

  All About the Money

  Paying for the Past

  Conspiracy

  A New Suspect?

  Superstition

  Tricks

  Fumble!

  Game Day

  Dropping the Ball

  Score!

  A Good Tackle

  Halftime Show

  A Winning Season

  1.

  Cat Attack

  The tiger was asleep.

  That was the first thing I noticed when I opened my eyes.

  A sleeping tiger is better than an awake tiger, I thought. But there’s no such thing as a nonthreatening Bengal tiger. And this one was about five feet away from me.

  I could just see my brother, Joe, over the tiger’s giant white head. And I could see metal bars all around us.

  We were trapped in the tiger cage.

  I ignored the pounding in my head and tried to recall how I got here.

  Fearless must’ve gotten the jump on us, I realized. As in Fearless Fontana, Master Trainer. An over-the-top Las Vegas showman. ATAC—that’s American Teens Against Crime, the organization Joe and I work for—had sent us in to investigate Fearless and his business partner, Roland Pritchard. They suspected the two of running an underground animal fighting ring using their Vegas tiger act as a front. And they were right, as usual. Joe and I had discovered that Fearless and Pritchard made most of their money by staging animal fights between members of endangered species.

  We infiltrated the “Fearless Fontana” act with me as an usher and Joe as a stagehand. It didn’t take long to figure out that Fearless was slipping hidden messages into his snappy onstage banter. Half the time, it sounded like the dude was speaking in code. Because he was! Pritchard would sell the code key to his wealthy clients. Then they would go to the Fearless Fontana show, listen for the code words, and figure out where and when the next fight would be held. It was like a game to these sick people.

  Joe and I had cracked the code for the next fight. It was between a Florida panther and a Canada lynx. And it was happening tonight. Maybe even right now.

  I checked for my cell phone to look at the time, but my cell was gone.

  Fontana must’ve jumped us, taken our phones, and stuck us in here so he could get himself and the animals to the fight on time.

  A sound from behind startled me. I turned, slowly, to see a second Bengal tiger sleeping nearby. And snoring, with his gigantic mouth hanging open so that I could see each razor-sharp tooth.

  Terrific, I thought sarcastically. That one’s even bigger than the first one.

  “Psst!” Joe waved, beckoning me over to the cage door. I sat up and backed away from the magnificent creature in front of me as quietly and carefully as I could. Then I inched slowly between the two tigers. As an usher in the show, I had learned to respect these animals.

  The Bengal tigers were beautiful, with white fur marked by dark brown stripes. They were probably nine feet long and more than four hundred pounds each. Based on the size of these two, I figured they were both males. All in all, not the type of cat I wanted to mess with. Predators like this spend most of their days sleeping, but they can wake up at the sound of a pin dropping. If we could get the door open, we’d be okay. But if the cats woke up hungry …

  It would be ugly.

  The cage was large enough for the two big cats to pace and play. I estimated it at twenty feet by twenty feet, with the top—also made of metal bars—about eight feet off the ground. It was in an empty room in the middle of a warehouse that had been turned into an exotic animal stable. Even if the tigers were awake, Joe and I could yell for help for hours and still not be heard. As it was, though, it was more important to be quiet.

  When I finally reached Joe, I found him fiddling with the door.

  “I need some metal,” he whispered.

  “Huh?”

  “To pick the lock,” he said, gesturing to the padlock he held in his hand. It was old, not meant to keep human beings in. Still, it wasn’t going to just fall open on its own.

  “My pocketknife doesn’t have a thin enough blade,” he told me. “We need something long and thin, like a needle.”

  “Fontana didn’t take your knife?” I asked, shocked.

  “He didn’t find it.” Joe shrugged. “I keep it in my shoe. Sometimes.”

  “Weirdo,” I muttered.

  Joe and I both looked around the cage, trying to find anything that might work. After a few minutes of searching, Joe gestured to me from the far corner. I started toward him to see what he had. But just as I stepped over the tail of the larger tiger, Joe took a sharp breath.

  I glanced up to see his pocketknife falling through the air. He must’ve dropped it when he was trying to pry a sliver of wood off of a beam just outside the cage.

  Clank!

  The sound of metal on metal echoed through the huge warehouse. I whipped my head around to look at the big cat three inches away. His ears rotated slightly toward the sound and his tail began to trace a lazy arc along the floor. The other cat stirred too, but neither opened their eyes. I exhaled slowly … and noticed something.

  The thick white leather collars the tigers wore for the show were still around their necks. I’d never seen them this close up before. It looked as if they were reinforced with thin strips of metal, probably to make sure that the cats couldn’t rip them off.

  If I can get to those metal strips, Joe might be able to make something with them, I thought.

  I took a deep breath and held it, so I wouldn’t accidentally breathe on the tiger’s whiskers as I stepped gently toward his head. As I leaned down, I had to marvel at his size. His paws were larger than my feet, and hi
s head was the same size as my chest. I studied the collar, which was held together by a heavy-duty clasp system. It looked kind of like the clasps on rock-climbing straps.

  I knew how to work those clasps because Joe and I were expert climbers. Still, it wasn’t gonna be easy. And I was already running out of air. Concentrating, I lifted the metal clip and slowly slid the leather out, expanding the collar. I checked on the tiger—so far, so good. I pulled the tongue out of the metal housing until it was fully open. That’s when I realized what the really big problem was.

  The open collar lay flat on the cage floor. But the tiger’s massive head was still lying on top of it.

  Just go for it, I told myself.

  I pulled fast, trying to slide the collar out like a magician pulling a tablecloth out from under a full place setting.

  But I’m no magician.

  The tiger’s eyes snapped open. He immediately lifted his huge head, his penetrating blue eyes boring into me.

  Not good.

  I tossed the collar to Joe, who was back at the cage door. He grabbed it out of the air and immediately began sawing the metal strips out with his pocketknife.

  The movement of the bigger tiger must have triggered something in the smaller one, because he suddenly woke up as well.

  They both stayed where they were. Staring at me.

  “Hurry, Joe,” I said cautiously and calmly. From watching the act, I knew better than to agitate these tigers. They were used to people, having been raised in captivity the way most white Bengal tigers are.

  They don’t seem very hungry, I thought, relieved. Fearless must have been in too much of a rush to bother worrying about finding a cage with ravenous tigers to lock us in.

  Joe freed the first metal strip. He stuck it between his teeth and started on the second.

  The smaller tiger lifted himself slowly up. He looked at Joe and lazily raised one paw to his mouth to lick. His tail swished back and forth. Putting the paw down, he took a step in Joe’s direction.

  It wasn’t threatening exactly, but it wasn’t friendly, either.

  Then the bigger tiger sat up. He focused his blue eyes on my brother. His long tongue came out and licked his chops.

  Joe ignored the tigers and kept working.

  I knew it was up to me to keep them away from him.

  I didn’t have a whip or a chair, but I needed something to get the cats’ attention. I pulled my belt out of my jeans and folded it in two with one end in each hand. I jerked my hands apart, snapping the belt to make a whip sound.

  The tigers jerked their heads toward me. The big one stood up, staring at me. The other one turned away from Joe and took a step in my direction.

  “Nice kitty,” I said.

  Slowly I backed up against the wall opposite Joe, putting as much space between the cats and me as possible. I snapped my belt again. Both tigers blinked. The big one growled. But they were used to whips. The whiplike sound kept them at bay for the moment.

  The smaller tiger moved over to stand next to the big one. Now they were both directly between Joe and me.

  Between me and the door.

  “Got it!” cried Joe, holding up the second piece of metal. “This shouldn’t take long.” He stuck the metal into the padlock just as the big tiger took a swipe at me.

  I snapped the belt again.

  The tiger opened his gigantic mouth and roared, the sound making the metal bars vibrate against my back. But he took a step backward. The roar was still only for show.

  The other tiger pinned his ears back, gazing at me intently.

  My belt trick wasn’t going to work for much longer.

  The big tiger dropped into a crouch and took a step toward me. The other one walked to the side, circling around. My stomach lurched. These cats were hunting.

  Hunting me.

  “Let’s go!” Joe threw open the door.

  The big tiger pounced.

  I had no time to think. I jumped up as the tiger went forward. Somehow I managed to get over his head. I swung my belt into the air, aiming for the bars at the top of the cage. One end went over a bar, and I grabbed at it desperately.

  Just when I was about to land in the tiger’s mouth, my fingers touched leather. I had one end of the belt in each hand, with a loop over the bar. I hung on tight, using my arms to pull myself up higher.

  They can jump, a voice in my head whispered.

  “Here, kitty, kitty!” Joe yelled from outside the cage. The smaller tiger turned toward him and stared, confused.

  I swung myself toward the cage door and stuck one foot down, pushing off of the bigger tiger’s back to get myself moving.

  He snarled and raked his claws through the air about half an inch from my leg.

  On instinct, I pulled my leg up and over him. The momentum carried me forward, sliding along the metal bar on my belt.

  When I was two feet from the door, I used all my strength to hurl my body forward. I let go of the belt and flew through the air.

  Out the door.

  And onto the floor.

  Joe slammed it behind me.

  We both stared at the roaring, furious beasts in the cage. The bigger one had his entire leg between the bars, still trying to get me.

  “Come on,” Joe said. “We have to find a phone and call ATAC. They’ll send the police to the endangered animals fight.”

  “Yeah.” I frowned back at the two big cats. They had managed to get my belt down from the top and were tearing it to pieces.

  “What?” asked my brother. “We solved the case. The police are gonna get the bad guys. Mission accomplished.”

  “I know,” I said. “It’s just … I really liked that belt.”

  2.

  Big-League Mission

  “Hurry up, Joe,” my brother called through the bathroom door.

  I ignored him and just kept swishing the Listerine around in my mouth. Frank is always in a hurry. I like to mess with him by taking my time getting ready.

  “Fine, I’ll just open this box by myself,” Frank said. I heard his footsteps receding down the hallway.

  A box? I thought. As in a package from ATAC? That could only mean one thing—a new mission. I spit out the mouthwash, jerked open the door, and tore down the hall to Frank’s room. My brother sat at his desk, opening up a box … of doughnuts.

  “It’s just doughnuts?” I groaned.

  Frank grinned. “I can eat them all if you don’t want any.”

  “I didn’t say that,” I replied quickly. I managed to snag a Boston cream before he pulled the box away. The first bite tasted terrible because of the mouthwash. But the next bite was heaven. “Where’d you get the doughnuts?” I asked with my mouth full.

  “From Vijay,” Frank said nonchalantly.

  I almost spit out my cream filling. “What? When?” Vijay Patel was an ATAC agent. He often brought us our mission assignments.

  “He delivered them while you were in the shower.” Frank finished off a cinnamon-coated cruller. “You should’ve seen him. He was dressed like an old-fashioned baker, with a big white hat and everything. He told Aunt Trudy that the Donut Hole was doing a promotion where they were giving away free doughnuts to everyone under the age of twenty.”

  “And she bought it?” I asked, surprised. Our aunt is suspicious of everything. And she’s especially suspicious of things that are free.

  “Not really,” Frank said, laughing. “She tried to send him away. She said we don’t need any more sugar in our diets. I thought Vijay’s head was going to explode!”

  I chuckled and reached for a jelly doughnut. “What did you do?”

  “Oh, I just grabbed the box from him and took off running,” said Frank. “I sprinted up the stairs before she could catch me.”

  “Wow,” I said approvingly. “That sounds like something I would do.”

  “Yeah.” Frank stuffed a sprinkle-coated chocolate doughnut into his mouth. “I bet she’s complaining to Mom right now about us gorging ourselves on sugar.�
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  “Like we’d do that.” I threw two doughnut holes into the air and caught them both in my mouth.

  Frank gestured to the box. “That’s it for the doughnuts,” he announced. “Want to check out what’s underneath?”

  “You know it.” I closed the bedroom door while my brother peeled up the fake bottom of the doughnut box. Underneath were two little silver gadgets and a disc with the silhouette of a football player on the cover. Frank grabbed the disc and popped it into his computer while I studied one of the gadgets. “It looks like an iPod or something,” I said.

  “Shh, it’s starting.” Frank turned up the volume on the fast hip-hop music. On the monitor, a football flew straight at us, getting bigger and bigger until it filled the whole screen.

  “Baseball is called ‘America’s Pastime,’ but football is where the big money is,” a voice said over the music. “The big gambling money.”

  The football disappeared and was replaced with an image of a giant board, the kind you see in Las Vegas casinos. “Vegas oddsmakers keep track of statistics for all the major college football franchises,” the voice went on. “Betting on college games isn’t legal in all states, but you can bet it happens anyway.”

  “Hah! The ATAC announcer dude made a joke,” Frank said.

  “You’re a dork,” I informed him.

  Aerial footage of a stadium filled the screen. The place was packed. “The average attendance at a top-ranked college game is more than ninety thousand,” the voice went on. “The money from ticket sales and concessions from a single game is more than most students pay for tuition for all four years. The money from television and Internet broadcasting rights is greater still.”

  The scene switched to a field-level view of a bunch of huge guys charging one another.

  “For a college with a highly rated team, the income is substantial,” the announcer said. “Many people—from alumni, to members of the college board, to students themselves—stand to profit from a successful team. But when that kind of money is at stake, people’s ethics often get shaky.”

  The scene went to slow motion as one gigantic dude took out another one by grabbing the face mask on his helmet and yanking his head to the ground.