The Great Airport Mystery

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  CHAPTER I - Mysterious Flare

  CHAPTER II - Factory Detectives

  CHAPTER III - The Ghost Pilot

  CHAPTER IV - Police Orders

  CHAPTER V - Warehouse Crash

  CHAPTER VI - Aerial Mission

  CHAPTER VII - A Strange Request

  CHAPTER VIII - Masked Attacker

  CHAPTER IX - Alley Escape

  CHAPTER X - Startling Discoveries

  CHAPTER XI - A Questionable Friend

  CHAPTER XII - The Cave Clue

  CHAPTER XIII - The Tornado

  CHAPTER XIV - Amazing Camouflage

  CHAPTER XV - Capture

  CHAPTER XVI - Telltale Initials

  CHAPTER XVII - A Revealing List

  CHAPTER XVIII - Air-Chart Secret

  CHAPTER XIX - Hideout Trap

  CHAPTER XX - Runway Victory

  The Great Airport Mystery

  Valuable electronic parts containing platinum are being stolen from shipments made by Stanwide Mining Equipment Company’s cargo planes, and Frank and Joe Hardy are called upon to assist their world-renowned detective father solve the baffling case.

  At Stanwide the boys pose as employees, and become suspicious of their boss’s hostility toward them. Is he involved in the racket? And what is the truth behind the plane crash at sea in which Clint Hill, chief pilot for Stanwide, was killed?

  Frank and Joe launch an aerial search for clues to the platinum thieves’ hideout, believing that they will also uncover the mystery behind Hill’s accident. The puzzling trail of clues leads the young sleuths to an uninhabited Caribbean island, near the scene of the plane crash—then to a mountaintop in Montana and a danger-filled show-down with the band of thieves. But the final discovery—and most startling and exciting revelation of all—is made in the boys’ home town of Bayport.

  Franklin W. Dixon fans will find suspense, action, and many breath-taking flying episodes in this thrilling story.

  “Those ropes will snap any minute!” Frank thought fearfully

  Copyright © 1993, 1965, 1957, 1930 by Simon & Schuster, Inc. All rights reserved.

  Published by Grosset & Dunlap, Inc., a member of The Putnam &

  Grosset Group, New York. Published simultaneously in Canada. S.A.

  THE HARDY BOYS® is a registered trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Grosset & Dunlap, Inc.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-07624-8

  2007 Printing

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  CHAPTER I

  Mysterious Flare

  “Too bad we lost so much time fixing that flat, Joe. Dad wanted us home in a hurry to start work on a case.”

  Frank Hardy speeded up the brothers’ convertible.

  Joe studied a road map. “We’re coming to a turnoff that could save us thirty miles,” he said. “Let’s try it.”

  The boys kept a sharp lookout in the gathering dusk. Presently Frank slowed and spun the wheel. The entrance to the turnoff was narrow and flanked by heavy trees and brush. If they had not been watching for it, they could easily have missed it.

  A second later Frank slammed on the brakes. The glare of their headlights showed a wooden barrier several yards ahead.

  “Oh, no! A roadblock!” Joe groaned.

  “That’s strange,” Frank murmured. “There’s no sign to explain why the road’s cut off.”

  “Maybe it’s only for minor repairs,” Joe said hopefully. “Let’s take a chance.” He jumped out to move the wood barrier.

  “Okay, but keep your fingers crossed,” Frank said. “I’d sure hate to get stuck in some pothole and break an axle—especially at this time of night.”

  Joe, blond and a year younger than dark-haired, eighteen-year-old Frank, dragged the barrier aside. Frank drove past, then Joe replaced the roadblock to its original position.

  Climbing into the convertible again, he asked, “Any idea what this new case Dad’s working on is about?”

  “No, but the way he sounded, it must be urgent.”

  Fenton Hardy, the boys’ father, was a former crack detective of the New York City Police Department. After retiring from the force to the waterfront town of Bayport, he had become a famous private investigator.

  Frank and Joe, who seemed to have inherited their father’s sleuthing talents, often aided him in his investigations. The brothers had also solved several cases largely on their own, beginning with The Tower Treasure, and, most recently, the strange Mystery of Cabin Island.

  Now a summer vacation trip had been cut short by the upcoming assignment. The boys continued their journey in the deepening darkness. Ahead, the road wound through isolated, hilly country. Here and there they encountered patches of light radiation fog, a phenomenon common to this type of terrain. After several minutes the Hardys were puzzled not to see any road construction, or any other reason for the barrier they had encountered.

  “Maybe the roadblock was just somebody’s idea of a joke,” said Joe.

  Frank was about to answer when suddenly the brothers were startled to see an intensely bright red glow appear on the road ahead. Temporarily blinded by the light, Frank jammed on the brakes. The car skidded crazily, then came to a halt up on the side of a steep embankment that bordered the road.

  “What’s that?” Joe shouted.

  “Looks like a flare!” Frank answered, turning off the ignition.

  The boys’ eyes became accustomed to the bright light just in time to spot a man scurrying off the road and into the woods. The stranger vanished quickly, but not fast enough to prevent the Hardys from getting a glimpse of his face. A split second later they heard a series of loud cracking sounds.

  “Those are rifle shots!” Joe yelled. “But where are they coming from?”

  “The woods. And they may be aimed at us! This car is too good a target. We’d better get out pronto!”

  But before either of the boys could move, a new sound captured their attention. The mounting, throaty drone was unmistakable.

  “That’s an airplane coming down!” Frank cried out.

  “And it’s headed this way!” Joe yelled.

  At that moment the boys saw two bright lights approaching obliquely from the right and very low. Frank and Joe were able to make out its silhouette against the night sky, even through the glow of the flare. The plane had two engines and a sleek, streamlined fuselage that terminated at the rear in a high, swept-back tail section. Its landing gear was fully extended.

  “That pilot’s trying to set her down here!” Frank declared as he stared in disbelief.

  “He’s so low his wheels won’t clear the top of our car! Get down!” Joe yelled frantically.

  No sooner had the brothers dived to the floor of the car than the plane passed overhead with an earsplitting roar. Its left wheel grazed the roof of the car. Already tilted on the embankment, the convertible toppled over with a smash. The Hardys blacked out.

  Several minutes passed before either of them regained consciousness. Frank was the first to move. With great effort he and Joe managed to push themselves to an upright position.

  “Get down!” Joe yelled

  “You all right?” Frank asked weakly.

  “I feel as if I’d taken a ride inside a cement mixer.” Joe groaned.

  As their heads cleared, the brothers realized that the car was lying on its side. They forced open the door on Joe’s side and scrambled onto the road, then glanced about them. The flare was gone, and the woods remained dark and silent. As far as they could tell, there was no sign of the airplane.

  Frank bent down, and with his pocket flashli
ght, examined a deep crease across the roof of the overturned car. “It’s from the wheel that turned us over,” he commented.

  “What was that idiot pilot doing?” Joe snapped.

  “I don’t know,” Frank answered. “If he was trying to make a forced landing, he would have crashed into the trees on the other side of the road. Yet there’s not a trace of any wreck.”

  “It vanished just like everything else,” Joe said. “The flare, the man who ran into the woods as we drove up, and whoever was using the rifle.”

  “Did you get a look at the face of the man with the flare?” Frank queried.

  “Yes, but only for an instant,” Joe answered. “I think I’ve seen him some place before, though.”

  “Me, too,” Frank agreed. “Maybe we saw a photo of him in Dad’s files. Let’s take a look when we get home.”

  Except for several deep dents and scratches, the car did not appear to have suffered any serious damage. The boys decided to try rolling it back to an upright position.

  “We’ll need a couple of long poles for leverage,” said Frank.

  “Maybe we can find something in the woods,” Joe suggested.

  The boys took a flashlight from the car and started into the wooded area. They searched the ground carefully for fallen trees to serve as poles. Suddenly they were startled by a sharp, snapping sound, like the breaking of a twig, behind them.

  “Did you hear that?” Joe whispered.

  “Yes. Listen!”

  There was a second snap. Then silence. The boys stared into the darkness, but could see nothing.

  “Probably some animal,” Frank said.

  “I guess so,” Joe agreed.

  The Hardys were about to resume their search when the snapping of twigs was heard again. Frank switched off the flashlight. The boys listened. From nearby came the faint rustle of leaves. It was as if someone, or something, were approaching stealthily.

  They turned and looked behind them. Suddenly the outline of a man appeared against the heavy brush. He seemed to be pointing something at them. Was he the man with the rifle? The Hardys stood frozen in their tracks.

  CHAPTER II

  Factory Detectives

  “WHO are you?” Frank demanded. He snapped on his flashlight and directed the beam toward the mysterious figure. He was not the man who had set the flare.

  “Drop that light!” the stranger ordered gruffly.

  Frank tossed the flashlight to the ground. The man then played a bright light of his own on the Hardys’ faces and slowly stepped toward them. As he approached, the boys could see that he was armed with a double-barreled shotgun.

  “What are you doing here?” he growled.

  “Our car turned over,” Frank began, “and we’re looking for—”

  “What’s that you say?” the man shouted, cocking an ear toward Frank. “Speak louder!”

  “I said our car turned over,” Frank shouted, “and we are—”

  “Your car turned over?” the stranger interrupted. “How did that happen?”

  “The wheel of an airplane struck the roof.”

  “Airplane? What airplane? Speak louder!”

  The stranger was apparently so hard of hearing he had not heard the noise. On the other hand, the boys wondered if he could be connected with the mysterious events that had occurred earlier and was bluffing. They decided to force the issue. Frank told him briefly about the roadblock, the red flare, and the low-flying plane. He also mentioned seeing a man run off the road into the woods, and said that later they had thought they were being shot at.

  “You’re both crazy,” the stranger sneered. “I didn’t see any airplane or red flare.”

  He then motioned with his flashlight for the boys to walk on past him. “You’d better get out of here right now, if you know what’s good for you! You’re on private property!”

  “We didn’t notice any fences or signs around here,” Joe retorted.

  “I don’t care what you didn’t notice!” the man shouted. “Get going!”

  As the boys walked past him, they managed to catch a closer glimpse of his face. They saw that he was middle-aged, and pale and haggard.

  Frank asked that he and Joe be allowed to find a couple of poles. The stranger hesitated, then gave permission.

  Frank and Joe soon located several fallen saplings. They picked two of the strongest and dragged them to the car. They then positioned the saplings under the convertible and pushed against them with all their strength. At first it seemed hopeless, but after another powerful lunge, the car began to move, then shivered to an upright position.

  The brothers stopped for a moment to catch their breath. They noticed that the stranger was watching them from the edge of the woods.

  “Get going!” he yelled angrily.

  Frank tugged at the jammed door on the driver’s side. Finally it opened. The boys got in and Frank turned the ignition key. After a few seconds the engine came to life. Except for the draining off of some fuel and oil, the car seemed to be in safe-driving condition. Frank maneuvered it carefully for a few minutes, then gathered speed and set off for home.

  “Wow!” Joe sighed. “I like excitement, but tonight was enough to last me for a month.”

  Trying to find some answers to all that had happened, the brothers discussed the mystery, but were unable to arrive at any conclusions. As they got closer to home, their thoughts shifted to the telephone call from their father. What could the case be? Their faces lit up in anticipation.

  Nearly three hours later the boys reached Bayport, where they lived. As they entered the living room of the Hardy house, their mother greeted them. She was an attractive, slender woman, who tried to take the adventurous life of her family philosophically. Mrs. Hardy could not help worrying, however, over the dangers she knew they must encounter.

  “Hello, sons,” she said in a relieved voice.

  “Hello, Mother,” the boys answered, and Frank added, “Sorry to be so long driving back, but we took a short cut that turned out to be time consuming.”

  “My goodness, what happened to you two?” she asked in alarm as they bent down to kiss her. She pulled them closer to a lamp. Joe had a large swelling near his temple, Frank an ugly bruise under his left eye.

  Mrs. Hardy wanted to call the doctor, but the boys assured her that their injuries were not serious. In order not to upset her further, Frank said they had been bruised when he had stopped the car short.

  Miss Gertrude Hardy, sister of the boys’ father, entered the room. She was a tall woman who secretly adored her nephews but constantly scolded them for not being cautious enough in their sleuthing. Occasionally her dire predictions of danger came true! At seeing their injuries, she immediately said, “Ice packs for both of you!”

  “Please, Aunty, not until we talk to Dad,” Frank pleaded.

  The brothers hurried to their father’s study. Mr. Hardy looked up as they entered.

  “Hello, boys,” he said. “Glad to see you back. Sorry I had to break up your visit.” Noticing their injuries, he asked, “What happened?”

  Joe told Mr. Hardy about their adventure while Frank began to hunt through the identification files. Several minutes later he held up a card.

  “I found it!” he exclaimed. “Joe, I’m sure this is the man with the flare who ran into the woods!”

  Joe looked at the photograph mounted on the card. “You’re right!”

  Frank handed the card to his father. Mr. Hardy took it and leaned back in his chair. He was a handsome, athletic-looking man.

  “Ah, yes,” he said. “I seem to remember this man. He’s an ex-convict known only by the name of Bush Barney—no aliases. He served a three-year term for robbery.”

  “I wonder,” said Joe, “if there’s some connection between Bush Barney and that airplane we saw. Could the pilot have been dropping stolen merchandise to him?”

  “It’s a possibility,” Frank replied. He reached for the telephone and began dialing a number. “I’m going
to check with the control tower at Bayport Airport to see if they know of any aircraft that is overdue.”

  Frank identified himself to the tower operator on duty, then questioned him. He was told that all flight plans to and from Bayport had been properly closed. The tower operator also said that transient aircraft, as well as those permanently based on the field, had been accounted for. Frank hung up, disappointed that he had not uncovered a lead.

  Meanwhile, Mr. Hardy had been jotting down a few notes on Bush Barney. “Perhaps,” he said, “the incidents you have told me may be linked to a new case I have coming up. That’s why I asked you boys to come back.”

  Mr. Hardy stated that earlier in the day he had received a visit from a Mr. Albert Allen, president of the Stanwide Mining Equipment Company. The plant was located on the north edge of Bayport Airport, and manufactured mechanical and electronic tools and other equipment for the mining industry.

  Mr. Allen had told the detective he was certain he had unearthed a racket within his company. He had been getting complaints from customers about shortages in orders. In each instance, a typed note had been enclosed in the shipment promising that the shortage would be made up at a later date. But the promise had never been kept, the customers said, and they needed the material.

  “What sort of material have the shortages involved?” Frank asked.

  “Mostly small, but expensive, components,” his father answered. “Especially electronic parts with a high platinum content.”

  Mr. Allen, the detective continued, had ordered an examination of the company’s books. Everything had tallied.

  Recently he had had a meeting with a Mr. Cosgrove, whose firm was one of Stanwide’s largest customers. Mr. Cosgrove had threatened to sever business relations with Stanwide because of the shortages. The publicity resulting from such a move could be extremely damaging to Stanwide, Mr. Hardy said—even more damaging than the loss in orders.

  “It sounds like an interesting case,” said Joe. “When do we begin?”

  “Tomorrow,” Mr. Hardy said. “First we’re going to stop at the doctor’s office and have him check those bruises of yours. Then we’ll drive out to Stanwide to meet Mr. Allen. I’m arranging to have you boys pose as company employees.”