Martial Law Read online

  ATAC BRIEFING FOR AGENTS FRANK AND HARDY

  MISSION:

  To determine whether there’s a connection between injuries sustained by two students at the Rising Phoenix Martial Arts Center. One student was beaten; the other simply collapsed on the floor of the school.

  LOCATION:

  Holtsville. Just south of Bayport.

  POTENTIAL VICTIMS:

  The two students are currently in the hospital recovering.

  More students could be at risk.

  SUSPECTS:

  Sensei Paul Huang or any of the students.

  Further investigation is necessary.

  THIS MISSION REQUIRES YOUR IMMEDIATE ATTENTION

  THIS MESSAGE WILL BE ERASED IN FIVE SECONDS.

  WATCH OUT FOR OUR NEXT CASE: #10: Blown Away

  ALADDIN PAPERBACKS

  Simon & Schuster, New York

  Cover designed by Lisa Vega

  Cover photograph copyright © 2006 by

  Comstock/SuperStock

  Ages 8-12

  kids.simonandschuster.com

  0407

  Kickin’ It at the Dojo...

  Joe and I stood helpless as Trudy cut through the brown tape sealing the box. We looked at each other, panicked.

  “There you go.” Aunt Trudy stepped back, leaving us to unpack our own disaster. “Did you get what you wanted?”

  We had no choice. Slowly I reached out and opened the top flaps of the box. Please let it be something innocent looking, I thought.

  I glanced down and saw two black karate outfits with white belts.

  I don’t know what I was expecting, but not this. As I lifted the uniforms from the box, Joe reached in and pulled out a karate book and a martial-arts-themed video game. Other karate gear had been packed in under the book—exercise mats for falling and sparring gloves.

  “Yeah, Aunt Trudy, this is pretty much what we ordered. It’s, um . . . karate stuff,” I finished, hoping there would be no further inquiry.

  “I can see that. But why?” Aunt Trudy never backed down easily.

  “Actually, Trudy, this is my doing,” Dad said, coming into the kitchen just in time. “The boys mentioned they were interested in learning more about martial arts, so I ordered them this stuff online.”

  #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

  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

  www.AladdinPaperbacksPublishing.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 MYSTERY STORIES and HARDY BOYS

  UNDERCOVER 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 April 2006

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2005929899

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4169-0398-7

  ISBN-10: 1-4169-0398-4

  eISBN-13: 978-1-4424-6517-6

  1. Racing Waves

  2. Kung Fu Fighting

  3. Dis-Orientation

  4. Nerd Master

  5. Too Quiet

  6. Dough-Jo

  7. California (Diner) Trail

  8. Bad Medicine

  9. Suspect Behavior

  10. The Source

  11. Undercover Agent

  12. A New Plan of ATAC

  13. Herbal Overload

  14. Master of Lies

  15. Rumble in the Dojo

  16. Outnumbered

  17. Three Great Detectives

  1

  Racing Waves

  “Whoo-hoo!” I screamed above the roar of my engine.

  Catching some serious air on a Jet Ski always makes me want to yell. It was a perfect spring day out on the water. Blue skies, blue ocean—great for showing off and splashing down.

  My Jet Ski touched down to one side of the speedboat’s wake. I glanced over my shoulder at my older brother, Frank. He was on a Jet Ski too. You’d think he would be as psyched as me, but he didn’t look ready to whoop it up. Instead he gave me the patented Frank Hardy “get serious” glare and motioned with his hand for me to pull up on the opposite side of the boat.

  That’s Frank in a nutshell—all business. He has no appreciation for a good moment. Sure, we were out on the open seas chasing down a criminal on a case for ATAC, American Teens Against Crime. Sure, E. J. Kingdon, the lowlife we were after this time, had a gun and had already made it clear he wasn’t afraid to use it. And sure, we were racing far enough out to sea that soon our Jet Skis wouldn’t be able to take us all the way back to shore.

  But we’d been in worse shape than this before. That’s what we do—face life-threatening situations and have a seriously great time doing it. Oh, and take down the bad guys.

  And E. J. was a genuinely bad guy. Posing as a friendly janitor, he’d stolen explosives and other bomb-making materials from a local college laboratory. ATAC got wind of it and sent us in as eager high school students getting a jump on the college search process. Once he found out where the explosives were stored, E. J. bypassed the security procedures and took what he wanted. He also knocked out a few students and Ms. Cottaldo, a really cool professor’s assistant.

  Stealing dangerous material was bad enough. Violence was even worse. Frank and I were gonna bring E. J. down, no matter what it took.

  I gunned the Jet Ski’s engine and pulled up even with the speedboat. I could just see my brother on the other side of it. With the boat blocking his body, all I could see was Frank’s head bobbing up and down with the motion of the ski. Between us, E. J. stood at the controls of the boat, his arm pushing the throttle forward to full speed. From the look on his face, I could tell that the lowlife didn’t want to deal with us. He just wanted to get on with his escape up the coast.

  But that wasn’t going to happen.

  We were running our Jet Skis at top speed, making the wind whip around us. The rush of air made any kind of talking impossible. Thankfully, Frank and I had been in more chases than E. J. could even imagine. ATAC always had us saving the day—or at least lots of people—in some way or another. So we had a language all our own.

  Frank’s arm shot out, pointing to the back of the boat. Meanwhile, he started to pull his Jet Ski farther up alongside the speedboat. He was playing the decoy, getting E. J.’s attention so I could get close without being noticed.

  I let my right wrist ease up just a little, cutting the gas enough to let the boat pass me. Then, just before the V-shaped pattern of the wake caught up with me, I gunned it again, pacing the boat and pulling in tight. I didn’t want to end up behind the boat—one misstep back there and there’d be one less Hardy in the world to give criminals a hard time.

  As my ski pulled up to the starboard side of the boat, I glanced up to make sure E. J.’s attention was still on Frank. Boy, was it. E. J. stil
l had one hand on the throttle, but in his other hand he held a gun!

  He pointed it at Frank. Frank serpentined on his Jet Ski, weaving so close to the boat that E. J. couldn’t get a clear shot, then pulling back out again to keep his attention. It was a dangerous game of cat and mouse my brother was playing. But Frank could handle it. He may be a little boring at times, but the dude has nerves of steel.

  I turned my attention back to what I was doing. I had to get on that boat. It would have to be a precision maneuver. In order to reach the back of the boat, I would have to jump from farther up alongside it. Because the moment I left the Jet Ski and leaped into the air, I would start to slow down. Which meant the boat would move ahead of me. If I didn’t time it just right, I’d end up leaping into the water in the boat’s wake. Or, worse, I’d end up jumping into the engine itself. Once again, one less Hardy.

  I studied the metal railing that ran along the edge of the boat. That’s what I was shooting for. But to get there, I had to stand up and take my hands off the controls of my Jet Ski. Even without the wind whizzing by, the sound of the boat’s engine roaring, and the bouncing up and down of the waves, it would have been a challenging leap. But with all of that going on, it was going to be nearly impossible.

  And I had only one shot.

  I leaned left, steering as close to the boat as I could. I paced myself to the boat, with my Jet Ski about five feet in front of where I wanted to land. I took a deep breath and wished my Jet Ski well, since I was going to have to ditch it here in the open water.

  Time to rock and roll.

  I stood up on the Jet Ski, keeping both hands on the handlebars to steady myself. I glanced at the railing to get a feel for the distance. In one motion, I released the Jet Ski and leaped toward the railing. The Jet Ski engine stopped its racing and fell back. I saw the boat speeding by as I flew through the air. It was almost past me!

  At the very last second I grabbed the railing, my hands wrapping around the cool metal. My wrists, elbows, and shoulders jerked hard as the force of the boat pulled me along. I was dragging all my weight with just my arms—but I had reached the boat.

  Made it!

  Now for the really hard part. My feet dangled just inches above the racing water, and the wind whipping past threatened to yank me free of the railing. My biceps ached as I struggled to pull myself up onto the boat. Man, did I appreciate all those chin-ups in gym class now. I got my feet up to the level of the deck and threw my left leg over the side. Using all my strength, I pulled myself into the stern of the boat. I landed on my side and sucked in a huge breath of air.

  I like to think of myself as pretty nimble and light on my feet. But I guess I make a pretty loud thud when I land. Who knew? I looked up to find E. J. no longer distracted by my brother. Staring over his shoulder at me, he was obviously very aware that I’d boarded his boat. And with my Jet Ski quickly vanishing in the distance, I had no way off. E. J. trained his gun on me.

  I leaped to my feet and scanned the boat. There weren’t a lot of options. Speedboats don’t come with many places to hide. “Back to where I came from,” I whispered to myself. It wasn’t a good option, but it was the only one I had. I would get back onto the running board next to the engine at the stern of the boat. That would at least put the railing between the two of us and give me something to hold on to. I could duck down there and maybe—just maybe—not get shot.

  I took one last look at E. J. All I saw was the muzzle of the gun pointing straight at me. I was out of time. I threw myself over the back railing in a tight dive roll.

  I landed on the wooden planking of the running board, face-to-face with the engine. Or at least face-to-motor. My fingers grabbed the small space between the boards, stopping me inches from the roiling water and, underneath, the rotor. My eyes focused on the fuel line that fed gas into the engine.

  Excellent! We could leave this bird dead in the water. I reached into my back pocket for my trusted Swiss Army knife. I’d have to clean the salt water and fuel off the blade later, but it would be worth it. Just as I flicked open the blade, though, I heard the engine cut out. Why was E. J. stopping?

  With the engine down, Frank’s voice cut through the sound of his Jet Ski. “Joe—hurry! E. J.’s coming this way!”

  Frank was running the ski right next to me, slowing to stay even with the slowing speedboat. I started sawing through the fuel line. It was tougher than I expected. I pressed harder.

  “Don’t saw at it, Joe,” Frank yelled. “Just stab it and pull the knife out.”

  I grabbed the fuel line and wrapped my hand around it in a fist. I pulled it taut and brought the knife down, point first. If I didn’t hit it dead center, the blade would just skim off the side.

  But then, I’ve always had good aim. Perfect. Fuel shot everywhere.

  I stood up, ready to launch myself onto Frank’s Jet Ski and take off.

  “Freeze right there, kid.” I turned to look at E. J., who was standing above me on the deck, gun aiming at me from point-blank range. “I don’t know what you boys think you’re doing. But now you are in a world of trouble,” he snarled. “See, I’m not much into kids. And I’m even less into nosy kids. So we’ve got a problem.”

  “No,” Frank replied coolly. “You’ve got a problem.” Frank’s Jet Ski bobbed next to the speedboat. He sat back, a lighter burning in his hand. “You’re standing on a boat with fuel running all over the place and a hold full of explosives. That about sum it up, Joe?”

  Frank looked at me and gave me the slightest nod of his head. I winked at him to show I understood. He wanted me to jump onto his Jet Ski when he gave the word.

  “That sounds about right to me, Frank.” I used the excuse of answering him to position my feet to get the best jumping leverage possible.

  “So before we negotiate any further . . .” Frank gave me another warning look. We were almost there. “Maybe you should put down that gun. Now!”

  When he said that word, several things happened at once. My brother swung his arm violently, hurling the lighter at the boat. I took one step onto the top of the engine and leaped onto Frank’s Jet Ski. And E. J., in a fit of self-preservation, ran toward the starboard side and dove over the railing of the boat into the water.

  Once I landed on the Jet Ski and got my arms around him for safety, Frank took off at top speed, back to the shore. I ducked down, waiting for the explosion.

  It never came.

  “What happened?” I yelled into my brother’s ear as I leaned against him to stay on the speeding Jet Ski.

  Frank turned his head and yelled back, “Lighters don’t stay lit if you take your thumb off the gas lever! It’s only old-style lighters that do.” Frank smiled at me. “Can’t believe you didn’t know that.”

  I responded the only way a little brother can in that situation. “Shut up!”

  By the time we reached shore, a police boat was going after E. J.

  Frank and I high-fived. Another successful ATAC mission. There was no feeling like it.

  2

  Kung Fu Fighting

  “You two made it back just in time. You were almost too late.” Dad rushed out to greet us as we pulled into the driveway of our big house on our bikes. That’s my all-time favorite perk of being a secret ATAC operative—Joe and I both have super-cool, state-of-the-art motorcycles. If you’ve ever dreamed of a high-tech gadget that could go on a bike, our motorcycles have it.

  I yanked my helmet off. “What’s wrong?” From the tone of Dad’s voice, it sounded like an urgent ATAC type of problem.

  “Did E. J. have an accomplice? Is someone here?” Joe was already off his bike, looking around for trouble.

  Dad is the only one of the adults in our family who knows we’re with ATAC. And he only knows because he was one of the founders of American Teens Against Crime. After he retired from the New York City police force, he’d come up with the idea of using teenagers to help fight crime on the local level all across the country. But the way he worries about
Joe and me, I figure he sometimes thinks he did the wrong thing by recruiting us to the agency.

  He grabbed my overly alert brother by the collar and pulled him in for a hug to muffle what he was saying. “Shhh! No. Your mother’s about to go off to a conference for the next week. She’s been calling you on your cell phones and waiting for you to get back.” He whispered over Joe’s shoulder so only the two of us could hear.

  I grimaced. I’d been so focused on our mission that I’d totally spaced on Mom’s trip.

  Behind Dad, Mom and Aunt Trudy came out of the house, each lugging a large suitcase.

  “Boys, you made it back!” Mom’s face broke into a huge smile. She was excited to see us.

  Aunt Trudy frowned at us. “Where have you been?” she cried. “Your poor mother has been worried sick thinking she might not see you before she left.” No one could try to make you feel guilty with as much self-confidence as Aunt Trudy. If only we could tell her we were protecting our nation’s coastline!

  “That’s not important. We need to get your mother on the road, so go wish her a good conference,” Dad intervened. He’s smooth when it comes to keeping our cover.

  Joe smiled broadly and hurried across the front lawn to Mom. “Sorry we’re so late. We got caught up . . .”

  He’d gotten ahead of himself—as usual—and didn’t have a full excuse in mind. That’s my brother. His philosophy is always leap first, and look later.

  “. . . at school,” he finished lamely.

  Mom is a research librarian with a giant, always accessible hard drive for a brain. My brother and I know we’re always tempting fate trying to pull the wool over her eyes. Good thing Dad’s there to step in with a cover when we need it. Without his help, she would have found out about ATAC ages ago!

  “Since you’re finally back, you boys can carry these bags,” Aunt Trudy huffed at us, still put out. “I’m going to go in and see about making you something to eat.” She turned and tromped purposefully into the house. Joe and I laughed. So did Mom. Once Aunt Trudy started pushing food on us, we all knew she’d forgiven whatever horrible thing we’d done to get on her bad side.