The Mystery of the Black Rhino Read online

  That’s not going to happen! Joe decided.

  “Tie this rope around my waist, Dad,” Joe said, “and then lower me to where I can grab Frank.”

  Together Mr. Hardy and the copilot secured the rope around Joe’s waist and slowly lowered him down to where Frank was still hanging precariously by one of the plane’s wheels.

  Nothing had prepared Joe for the fierce winds that buffeted him. They began whipping him back and forth, continually bumping him against Frank and the landing gear. Joe was concerned that this might cause Frank to lose his grip and fall, but somehow, through it all, Frank still managed to hold on.

  Quickly Joe decided that the only way this was going to work would be for Frank to grab Joe around the waist the next time the winds slammed Joe against the landing gear.

  Joe pantomimed to Frank what he wanted him to do. Frank nodded that he understood.

  As if the fates were against them, the wind now seemed to pull Joe in every direction except toward Frank. Joe looked below him and could tell that they were getting even closer to the ground. In fact, now he could see the runways of Jomo Kenyatta International Airport.

  Finally, just as the plane began turning, Joe slammed up against the landing gear and Frank grabbed him around his waist. They swung wildly for several seconds, then they began rising toward the landing-gear flaps. Fenton Hardy and the copilot struggled to get the boys inside the aircraft.

  Finally they made it to the flaps of the landing gear. They were safe.

  “Hold on!” the copilot shouted.

  At that moment the wheels of the plane hit the runway, sending a choking smoke into the undercarriage.

  Frank could hardly breathe. Almost as fast as the smoke had covered them, it disappeared. The Hardy boys lay still on the cold metal and covered their ears as the pilot put the engines in reverse to slow the plane.

  When the aircraft had slowed enough to allow them to stand up, Frank and Joe, along with the copilot and Mr. Hardy, made their way back up into the first-class compartment—to the cheers of their fellow passengers in first class.

  One of the flight attendants was waiting for them with blankets and hot beverages.

  The Hardy boys accepted everyone’s thanks and took big gulps of their hot chocolate.

  “This is the best stuff I’ve ever tasted,” Joe said.

  Frank glanced out the window and shivered. He didn’t know if it was because he was still chilled or because he was thinking about what could have happened if his hands had slipped off the tire.

  By the time the aircraft reached the gate, the first-class cabin had been returned, more or less, to its original condition.

  Frank and Joe had also recovered enough that they felt they could deplane normally, although information about what had happened had been radioed ahead to the Kenyan authorities and they had informed the pilot that medical personnel would be waiting for them at the arrival gate. They wanted to make sure the famous Fenton Hardy and his sons were all right.

  Frank and Joe insisted that this was unnecessary, but Mr. Hardy said, “I think it’s best that we allow the Kenyan authorities to examine you. They feel a certain responsibility to make sure you’re okay, boys. Also, they probably want to express their gratitude.”

  Frank and Joe just hoped that everything would be kept low-key. When they walked down the gangway and saw newspaper and television reporters waiting for them, they resigned themselves to a fuss.

  “So much for anonymity,” Frank said to Joe under his breath. “Now we won’t be able to go anywhere in Kenya without people recognizing us.”

  An official-looking man rushed up to them. “This way, please!” he said.

  He ushered the Hardy boys and their father to a room close by. Besides medical staff, several government ministers were in the room.

  “The government of Kenya thanks you,” one of the ministers told the Hardy boys. “If it weren’t for your bravery, we could have lost several of our citizens, as well as citizens from other countries.”

  Frank and Joe accepted the thanks with their usual modesty.

  “If there’s anything that we can do to make your stay in Kenya more enjoyable, all you need to do is call my office,” another minister said. He handed his card to Frank.

  “Thank you, sir,” Frank said. He pocketed the card immediately. You can never tell, he thought. It’s nice to have friends in high places.

  The medical staff agreed with Frank and Joe’s earlier prognosis. The Hardy boys really were in good shape, physically and mentally, especially considering the harrowing experience they had been through.

  “We work out daily and try to eat right,” Joe told them. “It paid off today.”

  Frank nodded. “I’ll never complain again when coach makes us do extra push-ups,” he said. “I know that’s where I got the strength today to hang on to those tires.”

  A representative from the Kenya National Police Organization was waiting for the Hardys when they left the lounge. He introduced himself as Lieutenant John Kitale.

  “I apologize, Mr. Hardy,” Lieutenant Kitale said. “There was an accident on the way to the airport that tied up traffic, and I was late getting here.” He looked at Frank and Joe. “I’ve already been informed of your heroism. You’re to be congratulated. I’m just glad that everyone is safe.”

  “Thank you,” Frank and Joe said as they shook hands with Lieutenant Kitale.

  “I have a car waiting just outside the main entrance,” the lieutenant said.

  With Kitale in the lead, they cleared customs in minutes. Frank and Joe couldn’t help but notice all of the admiring looks they got.

  Just as they rounded a corner that would lead them to the main lobby of the terminal, Joe grabbed Frank by the arm and stopped. Lieutenant Kitale and Mr. Hardy were in front of them, engrossed in a conversation about the police department.

  “Look over there, Frank,” Joe said. He nodded to his right. “Do you see anybody you recognize?”

  Frank looked. “Jackson!” he said.

  Jackson was in a heated telephone conversation with someone.

  “I wish I could listen,” Joe said.

  “Yeah,” Frank agreed. “We could probably learn a lot.”

  “Boys!” Frank and Joe looked over to see Mr. Hardy and Lieutenant Kitale waiting for them. “We need to get into town.”

  The Hardy boys hurried to catch up.

  As Lieutenant Kitale had said, a police department vehicle with plenty of flashing lights was waiting for them in front of the terminal. The four of them got into the back, and the driver pulled out into traffic.

  Several people in front of the terminal stopped to look. Frank and Joe grinned at each other. They were certainly making a grand entrance into Nairobi, they thought.

  When they left Jomo Kenyatta International Airport, they turned right onto the Mombasa Highway that would take them into central Nairobi.

  Mr. Hardy had made reservations for them at the New Stanley Hotel, because he and Mrs. Hardy had once spent time there, right after they were married, and Mr. Hardy had fond memories of their stay. The conference was being held at the Hilton Hotel, which was only three blocks away, and Mr. Hardy said he wouldn’t mind the walk.

  When they arrived in front of the New Stanley Hotel, the manager and several members of the staff were waiting for them.

  The New Stanley’s lobby seemed small and dark and kind of crowded to the Hardy boys, given the size of the hotel itself. The walls were paneled in dark wood, and the furnishings were dark leather. There was a lively feel about the place, though, with people coming and going.

  Within minutes they were in their room.

  “So far, I like this place!” Frank said as he collapsed onto the bed he had chosen.

  “Who wouldn’t?” Joe said. He looked around. “Anyone for food? I’m starved.”

  “Let’s have something sent up, boys,” Mr. Hardy suggested. “I’m hungry, too, but I want to unpack, check over some of my material for my lec
tures, and call your mother.” He thought for a minute. “On second thought, maybe we’d better call your mother and Aunt Gertrude first. If they heard what happened from watching the news, they’ll be really upset.”

  “Good idea, Dad,” Frank agreed. “Knowing Aunt Gertrude, she’d be on the next plane to Nairobi.”

  Joe rolled his eyes. “I don’t think Africa is ready for Aunt Gertrude,” he said.

  Frank laughed. “Would you mind if Joe and I ate in the Thorn Tree Café, Dad? You told us it’s pretty good.”

  “That sounds like a super idea. Your mother and I loved it,” Mr. Hardy said. “You might as well get your trip started. I’m going to be plenty busy, so you won’t want to keep waiting on me to do things.”

  The Hardy boys took turns in the bathroom, rested for about a half hour, then dressed and headed for the Thorn Tree Café. They were seated at once, ahead of a couple who had been in front of them—but since the couple didn’t seem to mind, Joe didn’t bother to protest for them. Obviously the name “Hardy” was already opening doors in Kenya, just as it did in the United States.

  In the center of the café there was a live thorn tree, from which the café got its name. Its huge branches acted as a sort of canopy. To the trunk of the tree, as was the tradition, were attached messages from various guests to other expected guests. Some of the messages had been there for years. The tradition dated from an earlier time, when Kenya was a British colony. Then almost everyone who came to Nairobi stayed at the New Stanley Hotel, and, because of the scarcity of telephones and other means of communication, this was about the only way to get information to friends.

  “Today you can use cell phones,” Joe remarked. “The world has seen a lot of changes.”

  The Hardy boys looked over the menu, then decided to take a chance on what the waiter suggested.

  He suggested mushkaki, small pieces of grilled and marinated meat off the skewer. With it, they had ndizi—plantains, and maharagwe—red kidney beans cooked with coconut.

  Just as they were finishing, Joe looked up and saw Jackson strolling down the sidewalk.

  The Hardy boys looked at each other and nodded.

  Frank quickly signed the check, leaving a generous tip, and they left the café to follow Jackson.

  Jackson turned at Mama Ngina Street and headed toward Moi Avenue, the main thoroughfare of central Nairobi.

  Even though the street was crowded, the Hardy boys had no problem keeping Jackson in sight. After two more blocks, he turned into the doorway of a small shop. When the Hardy boys reached the shop, they read the sign above the door: MOMBASA CURIOS.

  Frank gave Joe a puzzled look. “He doesn’t look like the type of person who’d be buying souvenirs,” he said.

  Joe nodded. “I say we check it out.”

  When they entered Mombasa Curios, a bell jangled above the door. The shop was typical of its kind, with shelves full of wooden masks, carved animals, blankets, and various kinds of beaded work. Most of it looked relatively inexpensive.

  After several minutes, when no one appeared, Frank called, “Is there anybody here?”

  A door opened at the back of the shop, and an elderly Indian man appeared.

  Joe had a sense of déjà vu from Fifth Avenue Africana.

  “I’m sorry. I was unpacking some goods in the back. I didn’t hear you,” the man said. “Things have been very slow today. In fact, you’re the first people who have even come into the shop.”

  The boys looked at each other.

  Why was this man lying to them? Frank wondered.

  6 Riot!

  * * *

  “Well, we’ll just look around then, if you don’t mind,” Frank said. “We have a lot of gifts to buy, and we want to make sure we pick out the right ones.”

  “Of course,” the man said. He began busying himself at the counter. “Call me if you need any assistance.”

  The Hardy boys made a complete circle of the shop, pretending to browse.

  “I know that Jackson came in here,” Joe whispered. “He has to be somewhere in this shop.”

  “He’s probably in that back room,” Frank whispered. “We have to think up a way to distract the shopkeeper, so one of us can slip inside.”

  They continued to look at the goods on the shelves. Joe actually liked some of the animal carvings. He made a quick calculation of American dollars to Kenyan shillings and realized that the carvings weren’t all that expensive. If he didn’t find any he liked better, he’d probably come back to this shop before they left and buy some of them.

  After the Hardy boys had made a third pass through the shop, the Indian shopkeeper looked up and gave them what Frank thought was an unfriendly glance.

  “He’s probably going to ask us to leave soon,” Joe whispered. “We’re keeping him from doing whatever business he was doing with Jackson.”

  Suddenly Joe had an idea. He walked over to the shopkeeper. “I really like your shop,” he said. “It reminds me of one we visited in New York City.”

  “Really?” the man said. He suddenly seemed nervous. “What’s the name of the New York shop?”

  “Fifth Avenue Africana,” Frank replied.

  The man stared at them for several seconds without saying anything. Then, just as he opened his mouth, they heard chants and shouting on the street.

  “Oh, not again!” the man groaned. “Not again!”

  He ran to his shop window. Frank and Joe followed.

  “What’s going on?” Joe asked.

  “It’s the farmers and the animal rights people. They don’t like each other very much,” the man said. He looked exasperated. “I wish they’d settle their differences.”

  “What are their differences?” Frank asked.

  “The farmers want more land. They want the government to take some of the land reserved for the wild animals so they can plant their crops on it,” the man said. “The animal rights people are against it. They say the animals already don’t have enough land to exist on.”

  Just then a brick came flying through the shop window, covering the shop owner with small pieces of glass and just barely missing the boys.

  The shop owner brushed the glass off, then flew out the door of the shop into the crowd.

  “Joe—now’s our chance!” Frank said. “We can see what’s in that back room.”

  Quickly the Hardy boys raced to the rear of the shop. Just as Frank opened the door, he saw someone leaving by another door at the back of the storage room.

  “It’s Jackson!” Joe said.

  They started running.

  Right before they got to the door to the outside, the shopkeeper shouted, “You have no right to be back here. I’m going to call the police. I’ll have you arrested.”

  Quickly Joe pushed on the door. It opened onto an alley. “There he is!”

  Jackson was already at the end of the alley heading toward the crowd of demonstrators on Moi Avenue.

  The boys raced after him. But by the time they reached Moi Avenue, Jackson had disappeared in the throng.

  “What now?” Joe asked.

  Before Frank could answer, someone thrust a sign into his hands.

  “You can’t demonstrate without a sign,” a girl shouted at him. “It isn’t allowed.”

  “But we’re not really . . .,” Frank started to say.

  “You’re not really what?” the girl demanded. “You’re not really in favor of keeping the animals in Kenya alive?”

  “No, no, it’s not that,” Joe intervened. “It’s just that—”

  “I know you. I saw your faces on television,” the girl interrupted him. “You’re the Hardy boys from America. You saved all those passengers on the Kenya International Airways flight from New York this morning.”

  Before Frank and Joe could tell the girl that she was right, a shoving match began—and Frank and Joe and the girl were in the middle of it. They were all getting battered with opposition signs.

  “People have to eat! They’re more importa
nt!” a demonstrator shouted. “Animals don’t need the best land.”

  “They’re important, too!” Joe shouted back. “We can’t let African animals die out!”

  That set off two more of the opposition demonstrators. They started battering Joe with their placards.

  Somewhere in the distance, Joe thought he heard the sound of police whistles.

  Suddenly he felt himself being pulled out of the crowd. There was such mass confusion that none of the opposition demonstrators seemed to notice that he was leaving.

  When Joe finally looked at who was pulling him, he saw Frank and the girl on the sidewalk. They all crouched behind a parked car.

  “Thanks!” Joe said. “I guess I got carried away.”

  The girl smiled. “Well, at least you found out what we’re up against,” she said. She held out her hand. “I’m Lilly Mtito. I’m a student at the University of Kenya.”

  The Hardy boys shook hands with her.

  “We’re having another rally on campus,” Lilly said. “Would you care to come?”

  “After all of this?” Frank said. “You mean the police will allow it?”

  “Oh, yes. These demonstrations are a weekly event in Nairobi. The police don’t interfere too much. They more or less let us take out our frustrations on each other,” Lilly said. “Of course, they’ll step in if things get really out of hand, but they know it’s important for each side to vent its anger at the other, and they don’t consider hitting someone on the head with a placard to be much of a crime.”

  Frank looked at Joe. “I’d like to find out more about the plight of the wild animals in Kenya,” he said. “Dad will be busy putting the final preparations on his talk, so he won’t want us disturbing him. How about it?”

  Joe nodded. “And when we get back to Bayport, we can—”

  “Lilly! Lilly! The farmers have Professor Makadara!” a voice shouted. They turned to see a slender young man running their way. When he reached them, out of breath, he continued, “They’re beating him up. They blame him for everything!”