Rocky Road
ATAC BRIEFING FOR AGENTS FRANK AND JOE HARDY
MISSION:
Someone is suspected of planning the destruction of Niagara Falls.
Find and detain the culprit before any damage is done.
LOCATION:
Niagara Falls, Canada.
POTENTIAL VICTIMS:
Tourism in the area. Tourists.
SUSPECTS:
No further information at this time.
THIS MISSION REQUIRES YOUR IMMEDIATE ATTENTION.
THIS MESSAGE WILL BE BRASED IN FIVE SECONDS.
WATCH OUT FOR OUR NEXT CASE: #6: Burned
ALADDIN PAPERBACKS
Simon & Schuster, New York
Cover photo copyright © 2005 by
Steve Casimiro/Getty Images
Cover designed by Lisa Vega
Ages 8-12
kids.simonandschuster.com
0805
I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream. . . .
“Joe, we’d better go get showered and changed,” I said.
“Right. Don’t worry, Aunt Trudy,” he added. “We’ll have plenty of room for dinner. We’re growing boys, remember?”
We went inside before they could ask where we’d been for the last two days. Since the summer began, we’d already been gone several times on missions for ATAC, and I was beginning to run out of excuses.
Joe took a shower, then it was my turn. I was just in the middle of getting dressed again, when I heard a prerecorded tune being blasted on speakers just outside the bedroom window. It sounded like it was coming from an amplified jack-in-the-box, except it was a little out of tune.
I recognized the song right away—“I’ve Been Working on the Railroad.”
Looking out the window, I saw that it was an ice cream truck. CAPTAIN CREAMY was painted on the side.
I’d seen the truck before. There were always a few of them around town during the summer months—one at the town pool, another at the marina by the bay, and a third near the town hall and library.
The tune played on and on, over and over again. No kids were lined up to buy ice cream—yet the truck didn’t move.
Weird . . .
#1 Extreme Danger
#2 Running on Fumes
#3 Boardwalk Bust
#4 Thrill Ride
#5 Rocky Road
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 © 2005 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 is a trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
ALADDIN PAPERBACKS, HARDY BOYS UNDERCOVER BROTHERS, and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Designed by Lisa Vega
First Aladdin Paperbacks edition August 2005
Library of Congress Control Number 2005920484
ISBN 1-4169-0006-3
ISBN: 978-1-4169-0006-1 (print)
ISBN: 978-1-4424-6514-5 (eBook)
1. Fish Food
2. Captain Creamy
3. Over a Barrel
4. Slowly I Turn
5. Into the Whirlpool
6. Home Again, Home Again, Jiggety-Jig
7. A Job for Supermen?
8. Tourist Trap
9. Crime Wave
10. A Poor Wayfarin’ Stranger
11. The Bad Seed
12. Deep Freeze
13. Cold, Cold Heart
14. Famous Last Words
15. We All Scream for Ice Cream
16. The Big Chill
17. Dead Zone
18. Back to School
1.
FISH FOOD
Shark!
He was speeding toward me, his jaws wide open, showing hundreds of razor-sharp teeth. His eyes were dull and dead. They held out no hope for mercy. Clearly, all he saw in me was a great big human Happy Meal.
The shark wasn’t the only one who wanted me dead either. Two bad guys in scuba gear, complete with loaded spearguns, were ready to finish the job—if the shark left anything over.
Before I could think about them, though, I had to deal with Jaws.
The shark was closing fast. I ducked at the last second, shoving him away. His sandpaperlike skin brushed hard against my wet suit, shredding part of it—but otherwise, I was still in one piece.
Or was I? No sooner had I dodged him than I realized I couldn’t breathe. Looking over my shoulder, I saw that my air hose had been cut. The shark had bitten it clean in half!
I grabbed the free end of the hose, which was gushing bubbles. Removing my mouthpiece, I stuffed the hose directly into my mouth.
Ah. Better.
But only as long as I held the hose in place with one hand. Easy enough, in theory—but now the shark had circled around and was coming back for the rest of me.
This time I’d have to fend him off one-handed.
Luckily, I had my underwater flashlight with me. It’s about a foot and a half long and made of superstrong carbonate steel. I pulled it out of the pocket of my wet suit and held it upright in my free hand.
Just as the shark was about to snap his jaws together and cut me in half, I shoved the flashlight into his mouth, as deep as I could. It jammed his jaws open, and he jerked away from me—but not before I grabbed hold of his dorsal fin.
Here we go!
He was pretty furious. I knew if I let go, I’d be swatted into oblivion by his flailing tail.
Holding on was no picnic either. The shark’s fin was sharp and rough, and I only had one free hand for grabbing (the other was busy holding the air hose to my mouth). But as long as I didn’t let go, I knew I had a chance to survive this nightmare.
I tugged to the right, trying to turn the shark around. And what do you know, it worked! Before I could say “Mayday,” Jaws was headed straight for the two guys with spearguns!
They panicked and fired their spearguns at us. Of course, when you’re panicking, your aim is pretty miserable. I was counting on them missing—and I was right. The spears whooshed by, doing no harm.
Even better, the two goons had no time to reload. They were too busy swimming for their lives! I let go of Jaws, and he swam after them, still trying to spit out my flashlight.
I had to get to the surface right away, before my air gave out. It wouldn’t be long now—my tank had already been near empty when Frank and I were ambushed by those two thugs.
Speaking of Frank—where was he? He’d been right next to me when the fight started.
Uh-oh . . .
Had the shark eaten him before turning its gaze on me?
No! There he was, hiding behind a huge chunk of coral, aiming something at our two would-be assassins. Then I recognized it as the nifty little gizmo we’d brought along on our mission to nab these shark poachers.
Many species of shark are endangered these days, but that doesn’t stop the owners of some very fancy gourmet restaurants. They hire poachers, like these two goons, to bring in the forbidden fish.
Frank and I had been sent here to put a stop to it.
Frank fired his weapon, and something shot out in a blur. It exploded right next to the gruesome twosome, opening into a giant net that snared them for good.
Now all we had to do was drag our catch to the surface, where a boat was waiting with a half-dozen police officers on board.
Mission accomplished!
2.
CAPTAIN CREAMY
We motored back to shore on the Marine Police Emergency Team (MPET) boat with our two poachers in cuffs.
It was late August—almost Labor Day weekend. School would be starting soon, and my brother and I would be back at Bayport High, acting like normal kids for a change.
All summer long we’d been involved with one mission after another for ATAC (American Teens Against Crime), the elite teen undercover unit our dad had founded a little while back.
I didn’t know about Joe, but I was going to be glad to let things quiet down for a while. We’d had some pretty close calls lately. If you’ve never come close to dying, believe me—it isn’t something you want to repeat often.
Our boat tied up at the dock, and Lieutenant Rogers shook our hands. “Boys, we couldn’t have done it without you,” he said.
“Don’t mention it,” said Joe. He meant it too. ATAC is a top secret organization. People find out about it only on a need-to-know basis.
We said good-bye to the crew and walked over to the end of the marina where our rides were parked. Joe and I are the proud owners of a pair of sport bikes you wouldn’t believe: lots of chrome, flaming double H’s painted on the sides, engines that’ll do 14,000 rpm without breaking a sweat, twin front ram-air scoops, and a whole lot of other neat features (some of which wouldn’t even be legal if we weren’t ATAC agents).
Joe fished out his key and unlocked his seat cabinet. “I don’t know about you, Frank, but I’ve gotta get out of this wet suit and into some dry clothes.” He pulled out a T-shirt and a pair of jeans, along with some socks and sneakers.
“Where are you planning to get changed?” I asked.
“How ’bout that gas station across the street?”
I looked over at it. There was a bathroom on the side wall, but it didn’t look too clean. Still, if we arrived back in Bayport in our wet suits, our mom and Aunt Trudy would want to know why.
They’re not in on the ATAC secret—which makes for some awkward times around our house. Sometimes, we have to out-and-out lie to them, which doesn’t feel good at all. But we don’t really have any choice—when you’re a Hardy, fighting crime comes first.
“Okay,” I said, and followed Joe over there. I held my breath while I got changed and washed my hands twice after I was done. Yuck.
Finally, we were back on our bikes and heading home. “That shark nearly got you!” I yelled to Joe over the roar of the wind.
“You’re telling me! Lucky I had that flashlight!”
“You know, that’s not what flashlights are for.”
“Ha, ha! Not funny.”
“No? I thought it was a riot! You should have seen the look on your face!”
I was just kidding, of course. I couldn’t even see his face through the diving mask. Besides, there were all those bubbles from his busted air hose.
I just like yanking my younger brother’s chain, that’s all. It never gets old.
About an hour later we were back in Bayport. About a mile from home, Joe signaled me to pull over. “I need some ice cream,” he announced, parking his bike in front of Mike’s Frosty Freeze.
That’s Joe for you. Totally impulsive. I have to rein him in sometimes, so he doesn’t go totally hog wild.
In this case, though, I didn’t try to stop him. Ice cream sounded like a good idea to me. We hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and after what we’d just been through, we deserved a treat.
“Rocky Road, double scoop,” Joe told the girl behind the counter. Then he turned to me. “Same for you, Frank?”
“You know I can’t stand Rocky Road,” I said, giving him an elbow to the ribs. “Vanilla, please,” I told the girl. “With butterscotch syrup.”
“You are such a nerd,” Joe told me. “Mr. Plain Vanilla.”
“Don’t forget the butterscotch,” I reminded him.
“Oh, right, the butterscotch—how daring!” He laughed.
I let him have his fun at my expense. I knew I’d get back at him later.
We rode home with our cones in one hand, steering our bikes with the other. Wouldn’t you know it, Mom and Aunt Trudy were right out front, weeding the flowerbeds.
“Look at these two, will you?” Aunt Trudy said. “Don’t you kids know better than to ride with one hand?”
“Boys,” our mom said, shaking her head. “You know that’s not safe.”
“Sorry, Mom,” Joe said. “We won’t do it again, will we, Frank?”
“ ’Course not,” I agreed. “We were just so hungry, and we didn’t want to be late getting home.”
“Late for what?” Aunt Trudy asked. “Dinner’s not till six.”
I looked at my watch—it was four o’clock. Hmmm . . .
“Speaking of dinner, you boys are going to spoil your appetite, eating all that ice cream so late in the afternoon,” Mom added.
“Aarrk! Bad boys! Bad boys!”
Ah, the unmistakable voice of our pet parrot, Playback. I looked up and saw him, perched in the branches of our Japanese maple tree, flapping his wings to show off how beautiful they were.
Playback belongs to all of us. Lately, though, Aunt Trudy has been treating him as her special child (she has no children of her own, even though Joe and I give her plenty to worry about).
“Be quiet,” Joe yelled up at Playback. “Nobody asked your opinion.”
“Aarrk! Fresh! Go stand in the corner!”
Playback’s got a real mouth on him. Joe was about to show him whose mouth was bigger, but I put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. Getting into a swearing competition with a parrot in front of your mother and your aunt is never a good idea.
“Joe, we’d better go get showered and changed,” I said.
“Right. Don’t worry, Aunt Trudy,” he added, “We’ll have plenty of room for dinner. We’re growing boys, remember?”
We went inside before they could ask where we’d been for the last two days. Since the summer began, we’d already been gone several times on missions for ATAC, and I was beginning to run out of excuses.
Joe took a shower, then it was my turn. I was just in the middle of getting dressed again, when I heard a prerecorded tune being blasted on speakers just outside the bedroom window. It sounded like it was coming from an amplified jack-in-the-box, except it was a little out of tune.
I recognized the song right away—“I’ve Been Working on the Railroad.”
Looking out the window, I saw that it was an ice cream truck. CAPTAIN CREAMY was painted on the side.
I’d seen the truck before. There were always a few of them around town during the summer months—one at the town pool, another at the marina by the bay, and a third near the town hall and library.
The tune played on and on, over and over again. No kids were lined up to buy ice cream—yet the truck didn’t move.
Weird.
Amazingly, Aunt Trudy hadn’t come out of the house to chase the guy away. She was probably back in the kitchen cooking dinner, I figured, and couldn’t hear the annoying jingle—at least not as loudly as I did.
Joe came into the room, fully dressed and combing some disgusting green gel into his hair. “That song is driving me crazy!” he said.
“So go down there and tell him to shut it off.”
“Me? What about you?”
I rolled my eyes. “Tell you what—we’ll both go. That way, if the big bad ice-cream man won’t go away, we’ll show him our big bad muscles and scare him off.”
Spin it like muscle power might be needed, and Joe’s there.
We went downstairs and headed toward the front door. Just as we got to it, Aunt Trudy’s voice stopped us cold.
“You’re not going to eat more of that junk before dinner, are you?”
Mom appeared behind her. “You know, boys,” she said i
n her best librarian voice, “an ordinary ice-cream cone contains eleven teaspoons of processed sugar, along with dozens of other chemicals that aren’t the least bit good for your health.”
“We weren’t actually going to—”
“Kids these days!” Trudy said bitterly before I could finish. “Between the candy, and the ice cream, and the pizza, and the chicken nuggets, and the nachos . . .”
“It’s terrible,” Mom agreed. “Did you boys know there’s an epidemic of obesity in this country? Everybody’s gaining too much weight—especially young people.”
“We’re becoming a whole nation of fatties!” said Aunt Trudy, wide-eyed.
“No more ice cream today,” Mom said. “We’re having organic vegetables and whole wheat pasta for dinner.”
“Yum,” Joe said glumly.
It’s not that Joe hates healthy food, but Mom has been on this vegetarian thing for the past couple of weeks, and both Joe and I were getting a little tired of green and orange food.
“Okay, Mom,” Joe promised. “But we’ve gotta get that truck to move before that stupid song drives us crazy.”
We went outside and walked over to the truck.
“What can I getcha, fellas?” the guy inside the truck said, leaning out the window.
“Oh, nothing, thanks,” Joe said.
“We’re not hungry,” I added.
“Aw, come on!” the guy insisted. “It’s hot out. Gotta cool off with a two-scoop special!”
He looked to be about nineteen years old—tall, with pimples, a long, thin nose, eyes that were a bit too close together, and curly blond hair that stuck out in all directions. His Captain Creamy hat would barely stay on, and he had to keep steadying it with his hand.
“No, seriously,” I said. “We don’t want any. We just had some ice cream a little while ago.”
“Not like my ice cream! Try it. Here, have a free sample!”
He grabbed a tiny cone from a stack next to the ice-cream dispenser. “Vanilla, chocolate, or swirl?”
“Nothing. Thanks. Really.” Joe was starting to get annoyed. I could see it in his face, but this guy didn’t seem to want to take the hint.