The Genius Thieves Page 3

  "What happens when the computers come back on?" Joe asked.

  "That's where Waldo comes in," Trilby said. His eyes were flashing with an optimism Joe hadn't seen before. "The pirates have been so careful in encoding their transfers that Waldo says it'll take months to figure out where all the stolen money went—all except for the last theft."

  "He traced that one?" Joe said excitedly.

  "He sure did," Trilby answered, rubbing his hands. "Either the crooks blundered or Waldo was on the ball, but he traced a transfer of twenty-five thousand dollars to a nearby account. Immediately after that the crooks must have gotten wise, because the money was transferred out of that account to someplace he couldn't trace, possibly overseas."

  "What was the first account?" Joe asked.

  "A small electronics firm based in Kirkland. The company's name is ChipShape, Inc."

  "Did Waldo get the name of the owner?" Fenton asked.

  "I was in the process of finding that out when you arrived, gentlemen," he said. He turned back to his computer; the screen was lit up with a list of names that looked like the Yellow Pages. "I've accessed a list of local Kirkland businesses. Now let's call up 'Electronics'—" He punched a couple of keys. "And now, 'Kirkland'—" A couple more keys. "Here it is! ChipShape!"

  He pressed two more keys and the screen glowed with information about ChipShape.

  Trilby read aloud from the screen: " 'Small electronic parts, computer software — '"

  "That makes sense," said Joe.

  " 'Mail order, limited retail, sales eleven thousand two hundred and fifty dollars,' " Trilby continued. "Hmm, a small company. Let's see, 'Founder, owner, and president Trilby stopped reading and looked as if he'd seen a ghost.

  "Who is it, Mr. Trilby?" Fenton asked. "Someone you know?"

  Trilby kept staring at the screen and said softly, "It's a friend of my son's at Chartwell — Jed Wilson."

  It took no time for Joe to call Frank and give him the news. Frank was stunned.

  "He owns a company?" said Frank. "I met him last night! He's younger than you are!"

  "Well, you know, these computer geniuses start early," Joe replied over the phone. "His parents probably have custody of the money."

  "Okay, thanks. I have to run and meet a teacher for office hours," Frank said.

  "Office hours?" Joe was surprised. If Frank needed help with classwork,' he was kind of glad he didn't get in to Chartwell.

  "It's unbelievable, Joe. They're teaching stuff we have never learned at Bayport. I feel like I'm in college."

  "I figured that would happen," said Joe with a little triumph in his voice. "That's why I purposely messed up that entrance exam!"

  "Right." Frank shook his head, hung up, and raced over to Mr. Castigan's office. After a half hour of discussing chemistry, he and Castigan grabbed a basketball and ran out to the courts near one of the school parking lots.

  For a forty-year-old man, Castigan wasn't bad. What he lacked in quickness, he made up for in rebounding strength and dead-accurate jump shots. After fifteen minutes, the score was tied 8-8.

  "Time out!" Castigan called. "You're wearing me out, Kenyon! Taking advantage of a tired old man!"

  Frank laughed. "Give me a break, Mr. Castigan! I never thought anyone your age could block my lay-ups!"

  "Well, don't put me in a nursing home yet! Okay, your ball. Next basket wins."

  Frank put the ball into play. He dribbled to the top of the key, with Castigan close behind him. Then he faked left, dribbled behind his back, moved to the baseline, and jumped. The ball flew out of his hands, but only traveled about two inches before Castigan whacked it out toward the foul line.

  "Pretty good move, Castigan!" Frank said, panting.

  Now Castigan had the ball. As he dribbled it, he challenged Frank, face-to-face. In both of their eyes was fierce concentration. Frank darted his hand out for the ball. Castigan bounced it out of his reach. Frank retreated. Castigan looked right but moved left. Frank was thrown off balance but scrambled to follow Castigan as he darted toward the basket.

  Neither of them noticed the battered old sedan that was coming close to them, swerving all over the parking lot at top speed.

  Castigan went under for the lay-up. Frank caught up with him and jumped up to block the shot. Castigan barreled into Frank, and Frank went tumbling out of bounds—right into the path of the speeding sedan!

  Chapter 5

  FRANK SPRAWLED ON the ground, two feet from the careening car.

  "Look out!" Mr. Castigan shouted.

  Screeeeech! The sedan skidded to a stop inches from Frank's face. He rolled out of the way and sprang to his feet.

  The noon sun glared off the tinted windshield, making it impossible to see who was driving. Somebody's on to me, Frank thought, and he braced himself to run. The car would probably try to pull out of the parking lot—or come after him again.

  Instead, the driver's door opened. He's probably got a gun! Frank dove onto the ground behind the passenger side. He watched for the driver's feet under the car. He figured the only thing he could do was keep the car between himself and the killer.

  The driver's feet swung out and hit the ground. Red high-top sneakers.

  "Wow! Still stops on a dime, eh, Mr. Castigan — just like the car in Speed Racer! Hey, where's Frank?"

  Frank recognized the voice. He rose and looked over the car.

  It was Arnie.

  Castigan's arms were folded tightly, and he looked at Arnie with a mixture of shock and relief. "Young man, do you have any idea — "

  Arnie slammed his door shut and saw Frank staring at him from the other side. "Kenyon!" he said. "What is this, some sort of hide-and-seek? Did you forget about lunch today?"

  Frank saw Mr. Castigan's mouth open wide in disbelief. Arnie looked from one to the other and scratched his head. "Is something wrong?"

  "Uh, Arnie," Frank said, leaning his elbows on the vinyl roof, "I'll go with you under two conditions: that I get behind the wheel, and that we have a long talk—about how you learned to drive."

  Arnie agreed, and the two of them drove off— slowly—to the Speedy Burger.

  That night Frank began his investigation. He waited until midnight, when most of the students and faculty were asleep, and then sneaked out to go into the administration building.

  The autumn wind rustled the ivy on the building walls as he passed. There were no lights inside the building, and no guards.

  After four days in the school, Frank had learned all about its security there — or lack of it. Crime was practically unheard of at Chartwell, except for the occasional sabotaging of science projects and stealing of homework. The campus was patrolled by two guards, one of whom seemed to spend most of his shift napping in the arts center.

  Frank crept up the front stairs. To his amazement, the door was open. They must really trust one another here, he thought. He walked up the two flights to the registrar's office and peeked through the glass door. The light of the moon shone into the room and lit up a row of four-drawer file cabinets. Next to the cabinets was a photocopy machine and a computer. This door was locked, but Frank opened it easily with his plastic student ID card.

  He walked in, took out his pocket flashlight, and turned on the photocopy machine. The sudden, mechanical whirrr was startling in the silence. Frank hoped it wouldn't attract attention.

  Next he found the file drawer marked W. He pulled it open and riffled through the files until he saw "Wilson, Jed." He read through the file and made copies of some papers. Then he returned the file to the drawer and went over to the computer.

  He flicked it on and accessed a student list. Good, he thought, they describe the students' interests here. I can find out who all the computer whizzes are, and then get a printout. He pressed a few keys, trying to figure out how exactly to do it.

  Suddenly Frank thought he heard footsteps. He froze. There were only two possibilities of escape: jumping out the window to the ground two stories below or goi
ng into the next office through a connecting door.

  Choosing the less painful route, Frank started for the door—just as the light flicked on in the office. "Okay, hold it right there!" a voice bellowed. Frank turned helplessly around. A man stood with his right hand on the light switch. His face was blocked by the open top drawer of the file cabinet, but Frank could see by his uniform that he was a custodian. Just my luck, Frank thought.

  The man let go of the light switch and pushed in the file drawer, revealing his face.

  Frank's eyes popped open. "Joe!" he cried. "What are you doing here?"

  "Well, I had to get into Chartwell somehow," Joe said. His blond hair was sprayed jet black, and he was wearing a thin false mustache. "They had an opening for a custodian in the graveyard shift. I applied today under a false name, and they hired me on the spot." He smiled proudly. "I figured it had to be you in here. Did I scare you?"

  "Of course not," Frank replied. "Until I saw that hideous disguise, that is."

  "Don't worry. The hair color is strictly temporary."

  "All right, there's no time to waste. Shut off the light, stop talking, and help me find some information."

  Together they went over to the computer and Frank hit a couple of keys. While they waited for the information to show up, Frank said, "Look at these copies of Jed Wilson's file."

  Joe took the papers off the photocopy machine and grabbed his own flashlight. Before he could read anything, they both heard more footsteps in the hallway.

  "You didn't get Dad a job here, too, did you?" asked Frank.

  "No!" said Joe. "Quick, let's get out of here!"

  "Go ahead! First I've got to cover all traces — I'll be right behind you!"

  Joe disappeared through the door that led to the next office. Frank first turned off the computer and then the photocopy machine. He ran to the inside door and stepped into the other room. Quickly he glanced back into the registrar's office to double-check.

  And there, sitting all alone on top of an empty table, was his student ID card. He had left it there when he first came in.

  Great detective methods, he said to himself and raced over to the table. He grabbed the card, stuffed it into his pocket, and ran back to the side door.

  "Stay right where you are, young fella!" Frank turned to face a plump, elderly man in a uniform, who looked more afraid than Frank was. Frank recognized him as the guard who liked to take naps. In one of his waking moments, he must have seen the office light when Joe had flicked it on.

  "Wh - wh - what are you doing in here?" the man sputtered. "Are you a student?"

  "Yes. Isn't this the student lounge?" Frank asked with a smile.

  But the guard was in no mood to joke. "I'm afraid you'll have to follow me," he said.

  They walked into the hallway at the same time that Joe had decided to sneak out of the office next door.

  The guard gasped and shouted, "Stop, you!" Joe fled the stairway—where he was met by another man! The man grabbed him by the arm and brought him back down the hallway toward Frank.

  In the shadows Frank didn't recognize the man. He said, "I must say I'm extremely disappointed in both of you." The voice was familiar.

  Then the man snapped on the hall light. It was Castigan.

  Pulling Joe roughly, Castigan walked up to the old guard and said, "Thank you for notifying me about this, Mr. Lucas. And thanks for investigating it alone before I arrived." He turned to Frank and said, "If you're going to snoop around, my young friend, you'd stand a better chance of succeeding with the lights off."

  "Mr. Castigan — "

  "As for you," he said to Joe, "you are, of course, fired, effective immediately. And you'd be wise never to be seen on this campus again." Then he turned to Frank with a look of both anger and pity. "I can't tell you how sad this makes me, Frank — "

  "Please let me explain — "

  "You have nothing to explain to me," Mr. Castigan cut Frank off again. Frank was a little surprised at his abrupt change of manner. Why won't he even give me a chance? Frank wondered. I guess he's not quite the guy I thought he was.

  Mr. Castigan continued speaking. "You'll have to take it up tomorrow morning with a tribunal of your fellow students. That's the way it's done here at Chartwell. Mr. Lucas, let's escort these two gentlemen out of the building."

  The tribunal was arranged for ten o'clock the next morning. Frank walked into a small classroom to find seven students behind a long, wooden table — four of them were guys and three girls. As they stared at him with serious expressions, he sat in a chair facing them. He noticed the large clock above their heads. It seemed to be ticking awfully loud — almost as loud as his heartbeat.

  In the center was Lloyd Pierce, the student Frank had met in the admissions office on Monday. Today he seemed considerably less friendly. He rose and said, "Frank, this is a court of your peers, in accordance with Chartwell rules. I am the presiding judge." He indicated the students to his immediate right and left. "My two counselors are Stu Goldman and Ty Farnsworth, Junior. It has been reported to us ... "

  This is right out of a bad movie, Frank thought as Lloyd droned on.

  "Do you understand the charge?" Lloyd asked at the end.

  "Yes, sir," Frank replied. "I mean, yes!"

  "Do you have an explanation?"

  Frank's alibi was all ready. He tried to appear cheerful and relaxed. "I'm really embarrassed, Lloyd," he said. "Last night as I went to bed, I realized I had no idea where my eight-o'clock class was being held this morning. I thought it might be posted on a list outside the administration building."

  "It's never done that way," Stu said.

  "Well, I found that out from Joe, the new custodian, who was walking into the building to clean it. He told me the lists were in the hallway, so I went in with him."

  "But the registrar's office is on the third floor," Ty said.

  "Right. Joe said he was going up to clean that office. And when I heard that, my curiosity got the better of me. I sneaked up after him and saw that he had left the office door open. When I went inside, Joe had already gone through into another office." Frank blushed and shrugged his shoulders. "And, yes, I'll admit it—I was dying to see what the evaluators wrote on my admissions file."

  At that, a couple of the students smiled and nodded their heads. They sympathized—obviously, some of them had had the same idea themselves. Good, it's working, Frank thought.

  Lloyd stood up once again. "Thank you, Frank," he said. "Unfortunately, it seems that the custodian was there illegally, too — although you couldn't have known that. Now please wait here while the tribunal recesses. We will decide on a penalty to recommend to the administration."

  Frank waited while they all went into another room. He felt confident his alibi had worked. He'd probably get off with a reprimand.

  The tribunal returned after about ten minutes. Lloyd Pierce came in last, with Stu and Ty, and read from a piece of paper. "Frank, as we all know, grades are important in school. But more important is what we learn about right and wrong."

  Oh, just get on with it, Frank thought.

  "It is always sad when a student shows that he or she does not understand this difference and is incapable of living up to the standards of Chartwell Academy. Your actions cannot be condoned.

  "Therefore, by majority vote, we have decided to recommend expulsion to the Chartwell administration."

  Frank's stomach sank. The mission had just gone up in smoke.

  Chapter 6

  As THE SEVEN students left the room, Frank felt stunned. The investigation was back to ground zero.

  Slowly he stood and picked up his books. "Guess I won't be needing these anymore," he muttered out loud.

  "Oh, don't be so sure," a friendly voice said. Frank looked around and saw a sandy-haired girl in the doorway; she was smiling at him. He recognized her as one of the students on the tribunal.

  "I'm Sarah Waterbury," she said. "I believed you. I think it's rotten they decided that way
- give them a little power and they think they're the Supreme Court. You look like you're taking it pretty hard."

  "Well, those are the breaks." Frank sighed as he walked past her to the door. "I'm sure you'd feel the same way."

  Sarah laughed. "No, not at all. You don't know this school, Frank. This whole thing is usually just a show — makes the students feel important. The administration never takes these recommendations seriously. Besides, they're too afraid to expel students because of what their parents might do — the rich ones would stop donating money to the school!"

  "No kidding," Frank said. "So you think they'll let me stay?"

  "You'll get a lecture from Mr. Castigan, a slap on the wrists, and they'll send you off to class and have something to gossip about at the faculty dinner."

  She cocked her head slightly, and the ends of her mouth curled up in a quirky smile. There was something about this girl, Frank thought. She had a kind of strength and sense of humor that he found attractive. If he weren't going out with Callie, he'd want to get to know her better. And from the look in her eyes, he could tell she was thinking the same thing about him.

  Come on, now, Frank, he said to himself. Don't lead her on. "Thanks, Sarah, that really makes me feel a lot better," he said. Then he looked at his watch. "Whoops! I'm going to be late for math. See you!"

  "Wait!" she said. "You've got five whole minutes. I'll walk with you. I have to go to physics."

  Together they strolled through campus. Frank tried to walk at a brisk pace, but Sarah wanted to chat.

  "Aren't you in my English class with Mr. Osborn?" she asked. "Yes."

  "Are you prepared for that Shakespeare test Monday?"

  "Ha!" Frank said. "It took me three days just to get through Henry the Fifth. Now I have to figure out what all the words mean!"

  Sarah laughed. "It's not so bad as you think. Why don't you come over to study with me tomorrow?"

  That definitely sounded like a line. Frank could see Callie's disapproving eyes. But he was so lost in the course, and Mr. Osborn didn't do anything to make it less confusing.

  "Maybe I will, Sarah," he said as they entered the building, "If you're right and they don't kick me out."