Speed Times Five

  Fast and Dangerous Times

  Joe hit the pedals of his bike and lurched out of the starting gate and down the steep, bare ski slope.

  “Yahoo!” he whooped. Yelling wasn’t very professional, but the thrill of descent felt glorious. Stones and dust kicked up behind Joe as he zoomed toward the first turn.

  He came in hard and clenched the hand brake to slow himself a little. The bike skidded sideways a bit, costing him some time, but he regained control and headed for the second steep turn.

  A tall stand of pines rose up before him as he neared a jog to the right. He squeezed the brakes lightly to take the edge off the turn.

  The grips caught for a moment, then pressed all the way to the handlebars. The brakes didn’t catch. Unable to control his speed, Joe careened toward the tall pine trees.

  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.

  First Aladdin Paperbacks edition June 2002

  Copyright © 2002 by Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  ALADDIN PAPERBACKS

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster

  Children’s Publishing Division

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

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

  The text of this book was set in New Caledonia.

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

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2001098777

  ISBN 0-7434-3746-2

  ISBN 978-1-4391-1446-9 (eBook)

  Contents

  * * *

  Chapter 1: To the Mountaintop

  Chapter 2: A Long Way Down

  Chapter 3: Accidental Meetings

  Chapter 4: Water, Water, Everywhere

  Chapter 5: Rapidly Deteriorating

  Chapter 6: Not Just Another Walk in the Woods

  Chapter 7: A Rock and a Hard Place

  Chapter 8: Running in Place

  Chapter 9: Collision Course

  Chapter 10: City Life

  Chapter 11: Metro Mania

  Chapter 12: The Black Boat

  Chapter 13: Shipwrecked

  Chapter 14: Duel at Sea

  Chapter 15: The Final Deception

  1 To the Mountaintop

  * * *

  “Pull ahead and get out of the car,” said the Canadian border guard.

  Joe Hardy pulled the van into the indicated parking space, and he, his brother, Frank, Chet Morton, and Jamal Hawkins got out.

  “Is there any trouble, Officer Benson?” Joe asked, reading the nametag on the guard’s lapel.

  Officer Benson, a balding, middle-aged man with a short beard shook his head. He and a female guard opened the van’s doors and looked inside. They peered under the seats, into the back, in the glove compartment, and into the spare tire well. “Just a routine check,” Benson said.

  “I never thought there’d be much call for smuggling from America to Canada, or vice versa,” Jamal said good-naturedly.

  “You’d be surprised,” Officer Benson replied.

  “Cigarettes, alcohol, medicine, weapons,” the woman officer, whose name badge read Scott, replied. She finished peering at the van’s underside and added, “Even exotic animals.”

  “Any of those clinging to the van’s underside?” Chet asked with a grin.

  Officer Scott smiled back. “Not a one.”

  “I need to check your IDs,” Officer Benson said. He looked over the four friends’ birth certificates and asked, “What’s the purpose of your visit to Canada and how long will you be staying?”

  “We’re here to compete in the Speed Times Five race at the Fire Creek Mountain Resort,” Frank said.

  “That’s what all the gear in back is for,” Joe added. Officer Scott carefully checked through their equipment as the teens spoke to Officer Benson. “We’ll be in the country about a week,” the younger Hardy finished.

  Benson nodded. “Can I see your race entry forms, please?”

  “Sure thing,” Frank said, digging their registration forms out of his luggage. “Joe and I are competing; Chet and Jamal are our support team.”

  “All this seems to be in order,” Benson said. “Did you find anything, Officer Scott?”

  “Nothing unusual,” Officer Scott replied. She turned to the four friends and asked, “Is this the cross-border race from the Laurentians to Vermont?”

  “That’s the one,” Joe said.

  “Biking, hiking, climbing, and a water race,” Jamal added. “It’s a real test of skill and endurance.”

  “Well, good luck,” Officer Benson said, handing back their papers. “You can go.”

  The four friends piled into the van and soon left the border crossing behind. They headed north, leaving the wooded back roads near the U.S.–Canadian border and joining Highway 133 heading for Montreal.

  As they drove, Chet fiddled with the radio, changing from one station to the next.

  “What are you looking for, Chet?” Joe, behind the wheel once more, asked.

  “I was hoping to hear something about the race,” Chet replied, “but I can’t find anything in English.”

  “I learned some French to help my dad out,” Jamal offered. Jamal’s father ran an air taxi service and sometimes had dealings with the Canadian cities of Montreal and Quebec. “Let me give it a try.” He scanned the dial for a few minutes, listening intently.

  “Anything interesting?” Frank asked.

  “Stuff about the prime minister and a trade deal, a break-in at a pharmaceutical plant, some news about a local Native American protest group . . . Oh, wait. Here’s something. It’s a promo ad for the race, celebrating the reopening of the Fire Creek Mountain Resort.”

  “Well,” Chet said, “I guess that qualifies, but I was hoping for something a bit more.”

  “That’s our Chet,” Joe said jokingly, “always looking for publicity. You’d think he’d be satisfied after his brief stint as a TV star.” Joe spotted the exit they needed and took it north, past Montreal and into the Laurentian Mountains.

  “Don’t worry, Chet,” Frank added. “The race crews never get the glory anyway.”

  Chet shrugged. “I’m not asking for national coverage,” he said. “I just thought the race would get more notice.”

  “There are plenty of reality shows on the box already,” Jamal said. “Now, if you added some stock cars . . .”

  They wound their way through the scenic roads between Montreal and the mountains north of the city. As they left the suburbs behind, summer forests sprang up around them, leading in a continuous green swath up toward the Laurentians.

  They passed the town of St. Esprit and turned off the highway shortly thereafter. Frank checked the map while Joe drove, keeping them on course through the wooded back roads.

  “This sure is a strange time to head for a ski resort,” Jamal observed.

  “The resort is only the starting point for the competition,” Joe said. “They’re using the downhill ski slopes for the first leg of the mountain bike race.”

  “The race will follow the same track we’re taking to reach the resort, right?” Chet asked.

  “More or less,” Frank replied.

  “Of course, during the race we’ll be traveling through the countryside,” Joe added. “I don’t think we see any real roads until the fifth day or so.”

  “You know,” Jamal said, “there have been times when I
wished I’d entered this race myself.” A broad smile broke across his handsome brown face. “Then I think of all the dirt and the bugs and the poison ivy and the lack of food and water . . . and then I’m glad to be on your support team instead.” He laughed and the others laughed with him.

  By the middle of the afternoon, the Hardys, Chet, and Jamal reached the Fire Creek Mountain Resort. After checking their passes, a guard waved them through to the parking lot reserved for competitors.

  “Boy! Look at all the sponsor stickers on those cars!” Chet said. Colorful decals with the names of sodas, sports equipment, medical technology suppliers, and Web sites decorated many of the vans and SUVs parked in the lot. There were also a number of trucks decked out with television broadcast dishes.

  “These mostly look like local stations,” Jamal said, checking out the TV call letters, “though there’s one from the UAN network, as well.”

  “That makes sense,” Joe said. “UAN is planning to cut the race footage together into a show for broadcast later. We had to sign a TV release when we registered.”

  “I’m seeing stickers from some pretty big sponsors,” Chet said. “I saw a TV show on LaTelle Medical and Pharmaceutical. Their founder, Phil LaTelle, built them up from nothing, and now they’re at the cutting edge of medicine and technology. SeaZoom, QuickAid, and StarTel are big companies, too.”

  “I guess your worries about lack of publicity were unfounded, Chet,” Frank said. He and the others got out of the van and walked across the parking lot toward a small collection of buildings at the base of the ski slopes.

  The Fire Creek Mountain lodges had the look of an old-time resort. The buildings’ walls were made from cut logs, and wooden shingles adorned their roofs. A large, central hotel dominated the other buildings. It was three stories tall and had large banks of windows overlooking the natural beauty that surrounded it.

  The resort’s scenery was breathtaking. Pristine mixed-wood forests reached up the mountainside like blue-green fingers. A mixture of new green grass, moss, and tan earth covered the ski runs. In the distance, the Laurentian Mountains stretched toward the deep blue sky.

  Numerous ski-lift cable lines traced up the mountainside, winding between the trees and the ski trails. Sleek, modern lift platforms stood at the bottom of the slopes.

  A sign reading Competitor Sign-In directed the teens toward a smaller building with a high-peaked roof. Joe and Frank noted that despite the resort’s old-fashioned appearance, none of the wood on the buildings’ exteriors looked very weathered. They had all either been recently constructed or recently restored.

  “Nice place,” Jamal noted as they walked toward the smaller building.

  “Yeah,” Chet said. “Winning a year-long pass to this place would be pretty cool.” He winked at Jamal. “Let’s hope our racers come through for us and win that prize!”

  “We’ll do okay,” Joe replied, “assuming our support team can cut it.” He grinned.

  “A prize would be nice,” Frank said, “but we’re in this for the competition.”

  Chet rolled his eyes. “Not the prizes, not the glory . . .”

  “And with Callie and Iola at home,” Jamal added, “definitely not the girls.” He reached for the door handle of the registration building and was nearly bowled over as the door flew open and a man burst out.

  “Oh! Sorry, mates!” the man said. He was slightly shorter than the teens but solidly built. He wore a floppy beige hat, matching fatigues, and an equipment vest. With his clothes and his five o’clock shadow, he looked like an escapee from a jungle adventure movie. He smiled at the four friends.

  “You’re competitors, right?” he said. “I can always spot ’em. I’m Vince Bennett, the race organizer.” He extended his hand and shook with all four of them.

  “I’m Jamal Hawkins,” Jamal said. “The big guy is Chet Morton, the blond is Joe Hardy, and the dark-haired one is his brother, Frank.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Joe, Frank, and Chet said.

  “Pleased to meet you all, too,” Bennett said, flashing a set of perfect teeth. “Get yourselves checked in. I’ve got some last-minute fires to put out, but I’m giving all the racers a rundown on the event later.”

  “We’re looking forward to it,” Frank said.

  “Great,” Bennett said. He turned and sprinted off toward the main lodge.

  “He seems just the same as he does on TV,” Chet said.

  “Yeah,” Jamal said. “I’ve caught a couple of his previous adventure races.”

  “Somehow,” Frank said, “I doubt this will be as perilous as swimming with sharks in Australia.”

  “Or hiking across an active volcano in Chile,” Joe added.

  Jamal held the door and all four of them went inside. “Still,” he said, “there’s always some kind of danger in a Bennett-sponsored race.”

  “I don’t know if I’d call it danger,” Chet replied, “more like . . . excitement.”

  It took the Hardys and their crew a half hour to check in and get all their paperwork cleared. Other competitors drifted in and out of the registration lodge as the teens worked. Some competitors had complaints; others were completing their paperwork like the Hardys. As the friends finished the last of their forms, a tall, thin, bearded man wearing a red T-shirt and jeans stalked in.

  “Well,” he said angrily, “it looks like I’ll have to sign up for a race-sponsored support team after all. My trainer got into a car accident on his way through Wisconsin. He’s laid up with a busted leg and can’t make it for the race.”

  The woman working the registration desk looked perplexed. “Mr. Lupin, I’m not sure that we have any support teams still available.”

  “That’s Michael Lupin,” Chet whispered to the others. “He was on one of those TV survival shows.”

  “Did he survive?” Jamal whispered with a smile.

  Chet shook his head. “No. He was voted off.”

  “Julie, I know it’s inconvenient,” Michael Lupin said, speaking to the registration woman, “but we both know that I’m one of the reasons people might tune in to see this show. Ask Bennett if he wants me sitting out the race.”

  Julie frowned. “I’ll see what I can do,” she said.

  Lupin nodded. “Good. Thanks. I knew you’d come through for me. I’m taking the lift up to the summit lodge. I’ll take the good news there.” He turned and left the building.

  Joe and Frank handed in the last of their paperwork. “Tough customer, that guy,” Joe said to Julie, the registration woman.

  Julie shrugged. “No tougher than most of the competitors. Though I’m sure he wants you to think so.” She smiled and handed the teens their race ID tags. “There are two lifts to the big summit lodge,” she said. “The gondola will take your bikes up. You can either go up with them, or you can take the high-speed quad. It’s open-air, so you get a better view, and it’s faster as well.”

  “Chet and I will take the bikes and equipment up if you want to ride the quad,” Jamal said.

  “Sounds good,” Frank replied. “We’ll help you load the stuff first, though.”

  The four of them unloaded their gear from the van and took it to the gondola platform. Then Frank and Joe headed for the quad chairlift.

  When the brothers arrived, there were two other people waiting for the next chair. One was Michael Lupin. The other was a short, tanned woman with long, straight black hair. She wore a black muscle shirt, and jeans with an ornate beaded belt. She and Lupin stood silently, watching the lift approach. A race staff member checked Joe’s and Frank’s credentials as they passed.

  “Hi,” Joe said as the brothers approached Lupin and the woman. “Joe and Frank Hardy.”

  “Michael Lupin,” Lupin said, shaking hands.

  “Kelly Hawk,” the woman said, doing the same. “Are you boys racers, or support?”

  “Racers,” Frank replied.

  Lupin and Hawk nodded.

  The chairlift arrived, and the four of them seated themsel
ves. In a few moments they were whizzing up the mountainside, suspended from a cable high in the air.

  Frank and Joe watched the scenery as they rode. The view was spectacular, taking in Fire Creek Mountain, the resort below, and the wooded countryside and mountains beyond. The late afternoon sun painted the trees and hillsides a golden color. Ahead lay the summit lodge, a hotel-like structure whose high roofs and many windows echoed the larger buildings of the resort below.

  As they drew within thirty yards of the top, the chairlift jerked and bounced on the cable. The chair came to a sudden stop and swayed precariously in the wind.

  Joe and Frank looked down. “If this chair lets go,” Frank said to his brother, “we’ll need a parachute to survive.”

  2 A Long Way Down

  * * *

  Kelly Hawk looked around nervously as a vibration from the cable made the chairlift shudder. “What do you think happened?” she asked.

  “Some kind of mechanical problem, I’d guess,” Frank said.

  “I’m sure they’ll have it sorted out in a couple of minutes,” Joe added.

  Michael Lupin checked his watch. “They’d better,” he said. “No way I’m spending the rest of the afternoon in this chairlift.”

  The lift swayed dangerously on the cable. “Just stay calm,” Frank said. “They’ll fix it soon.”

  Ahead of them, the next loaded chair had already made it to the platform. Downhill, another set of passengers dangled nervously in the air.

  Joe gazed up at the hardware securing the lift to the steel cable. All the connections looked intact. “Frank’s right,” Joe said. “We’re not in any danger here. We should just sit tight.”

  Kelly Hawk, seated on the far end of the chair, looked skeptically at the two of them. “You guys are brothers, right? Do you always agree on everything?”

  The Hardys chuckled. “Not nearly,” Frank said.

  “But we’ve been in a few tight scrapes before,” Joe added, “and come out okay.”

  “Forgive me for not being more trusting,” Hawk said, “but my people have gotten some bad advice over the years.”