The Demolition Mission Page 5

  “No one here at police headquarters thought you were guilty of larceny,” Con told Chet, “but the evidence meant we had to hold you.”

  “We’re going to find out how this stolen stereo is related to the other problems out at the speedway,” Joe told Con.

  “I’m sure you can take care of it,” Riley said as the three left the station.

  “Tell us what happened from the beginning,” Frank said to Chet as Joe drove away from police headquarters.

  “The police woke me up around eight this morning,” Chet said. “They pounded on the door until I let them in. Con Riley was holding a car stereo and asking me where I got it.”

  “What did you tell him?” Joe asked.

  “I told him it wasn’t mine.”

  “Then he asked me if it was my jeep that was in the driveway, and I told him yes,” Chet continued. “He said he had found the radio in it.” Chet shook his head. “I couldn’t believe it.”

  “Where was the jeep parked?” Joe asked.

  “In the driveway, right where it stalled.”

  “Con said specifically the stereo had been in the Saurion?” Frank asked.

  “The anonymous caller said it was, so Con Riley talked to Felix Stock,” Chet replied, “and Stock told him the serial number matched. He said the Saurion has custom-made stereos.”

  “Whoever made that call is probably behind the threats against Stock and Katie,” Frank said.

  “And the caller knows where the Saurion’s hidden,” Joe added. “Looks as if he wanted to frame Chet.”

  “Let’s get out to the speedway and look around again,” Frank said.

  Joe headed the van north out of Bayport. Using the cellular phone, Frank put through a call to the speedway. Stock picked up the phone on the first ring.

  “Have you found the Saurion?” Frank asked.

  “No,” Stock told him grimly. “And I don’t see how we’ll be able to finish one of the production cars in time for tomorrow’s race. Too much work has to be performed by hand. And Marvin doesn’t answer my calls,” he added.

  “Marvin Tarpley?” Frank asked, remembering the man’s name from last evening’s computer check.

  “My mechanic,” Stock told Frank.

  “We’ll solve this case,” Frank said to Stock. “And we’ll find that prototype.” He hung up and told Joe and Chet what Stock had said.

  “We’d better add Tarpley to our list of suspects,” Joe said. “He was banned from the racing association. There might be a motive there.”

  “And I want to check on something strange I noticed yesterday at the speedway,” Frank added. “Those strips of dead grass between the buildings. Why would grass burn out like that?”

  “No sprinkler system?” Chet suggested.

  “But the grass is green on both sides of the browned-out areas,” Frank remarked.

  Joe slowed the van as they approached the speedway entrance. He wrote Callie’s name on the back of one of the demolition derby passes Curt Kiser had given Chet and left it at the pass gate.

  “What a bunch of junkers,” Chet said as Joe slowed the van so they could look at the preparations for the evening’s demolition derby. “They look as if they’ve already been demolished.”

  Joe didn’t see a model made less than fifteen years ago, and most were older. All of them were dented and rusty, but they were brightly painted.

  Joe hit the brakes when a wiry young man in greasy jeans stepped out into the roadway and signaled for them to stop.

  The man peered into the driver’s window. “Is one of you the guy who’s driving tonight?” he asked. “They’re supposed to send someone right over to take a practice run. I’m in a bind since Tarpley left.”

  Joe immediately recognized the man. He was the tough guy’s companion from the Circuit Diner. But the young man didn’t seem to recognize Joe.

  “What happened to Tarpley?” Joe asked.

  “Who knows,” the man said disgustedly. “He was bragging about making some real money.”

  Frank and Joe exchanged glances.

  “So who’s the driver?” the man wanted to know. “That guy there?” He pointed at Chet.

  “Not me,” Chet said, shaking his head. “No way.”

  “He’s our manager,” Joe said quickly. “I’m the one who drives. That is, I’ve driven racing cars.”

  “Park your van over there in the infield by that block building,” the man said. He started to step back, then reached his hand through the window. “Name’s Rusk,” he said, “Dwaine Rusk. I’m managing tonight’s derby.” He peered at them. “It seems like I’ve seen you guys somewhere before.”

  “Frank and Joe Hardy,” Joe said, shaking hands. “And that’s Chet Morton.”

  “Are you nuts?” Chet whispered.

  “Probably,” Joe admitted. He turned the van toward the derby pit area and then stopped while he waited for a tow truck to pass. “But that’s one of the men from the diner yesterday.”

  “It definitely is,” Frank said, nodding. “I recognized him, too. And I have a feeling it was Marvin Tarpley he was having lunch with.”

  “These your new drivers, Dwaine?” a familiar voice asked. Joe turned to see that Curt Kiser was approaching, wearing his usual sunglasses.

  Rusk nodded and shrugged. “The blond guy’s driving,” he told Kiser. “He seems pretty green, though.”

  “I can drive,” Joe told Kiser calmly.

  Kiser’s eyes opened wide in surprise when he recognized Joe.

  “We’ll find out,” Rusk said with a snort. “Start up that purple job over there, and I’ll give you a little test.”

  Rusk was chuckling as Joe got out of the van and walked toward a heavily dented purple sedan.

  “And get that van parked,” Rusk ordered Frank.

  “Was Joe bitten by the racing bug?” Curt Kiser asked as he slipped into the passenger side when Frank got behind the wheel.

  “One of his fantasies is to drive in the Indianapolis five hundred,” Frank told the speedway owner.

  “The demolition derby is starting at the bottom,” Kiser said, shaking his head. “But Rusk likes to challenge his drivers.”

  “Tell me about Dwaine Rusk,” Frank said.

  “Dwaine would like to drive in the Indy, too.” Kiser chuckled. “But he’s having too much fun running the derby.”

  “Is Marvin Tarpley a friend of his?” Frank asked.

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Kiser replied. “Tarpley’s one of those guys who’s always bragging about some big deal. The last big deal he was involved in got him thrown out of auto racing.”

  Frank remembered the information about Tarpley on the computer. He was about to ask Kiser what the deal was when Chet tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Hey, Joe got that ugly junker started.” Chet pointed at the purple car with the large yellow letters reading Purple Machine.

  Pulling into a space next to the wooden derby fence, Frank looked out into the arena where Joe was fishtailing the purple car.

  “He handles it pretty well,” Chet said.

  “He’d better,” Kiser said, “because here comes Rusk. I’ve seen Dwaine Rusk ram into a car at full speed, even when the driver in the other car lowered his flag.”

  “Lowered his flag?” Frank asked.

  “You mean your brother doesn’t know the rules?” Kiser asked. “See that little red flag right above the driver’s window? Whenever a driver’s in trouble, or wants to throw in the towel, he breaks off that flag. You never hit a car that’s snapped off its flag.”

  Handling the purple junker was a far cry from driving the Saurion, Joe realized, but the old car had some power. That allowed him to accelerate, then simultaneously hit the brakes and spin the steering wheel.

  Joe was pulling out of a spin when he caught sight of a black and white zebra-striped car bearing down on him from the pits. With its grille gone, the car appeared to be leering at him.

  Joe righted the Purple Machine, neatly dodging his
zebra-striped opponent.

  “Brace yourself, loser!” Rusk shouted at Joe as he roared past the Purple Machine.

  Wrenching the wheel, Joe maneuvered into an angle toward the back end of the zebra-striped car. He floored the accelerator, and the Purple Machine glanced off the fender of the junker, smashing the taillight and popping the trunk lid. He saw an expression of rage come over Rusk’s face when he looked over his shoulder at Joe.

  The black and white car swung around and caught up with Joe. He had to admit that Rusk’s car was faster. Rusk accelerated to full speed and smashed into the back of the Purple Machine.

  Joe felt his breath knocked out of him. Without the shoulder harness he would have flown straight out the windshield. Clearing his head, Joe realized the engine had stalled. He turned the key and pumped the gas pedal. The grinding noise diverted his attention from the growing roar from Rusk’s car.

  Wham! The zebra-striped car hit Joe once more, knocking the Purple Machine sideways.

  Joe turned the key again. This time the car didn’t even grind. Joe decided he had better get out of the Purple Machine. He heard Rusk’s car roaring straight toward him.

  Joe struggled with the safety belt. It seemed to be jammed.

  “Break off your flag!” Frank Hardy yelled across the arena at his brother. But Joe couldn’t hear over the roar of the other car.

  Frank sprinted out into the arena toward the Purple Machine. As he ran, he saw the black and white car crash broadside into Joe’s car.

  “Joe!” Frank cried. But Joe had disappeared from sight. In fact, the Purple Machine itself seemed to disappear. The last Frank saw of Joe’s derby car, it was collapsing like an accordion file of purple metal.

  7 Swallowed Up

  * * *

  Frank raced up to the wrecked purple car. He saw that the Purple Machine had rolled over on its side, and the roof had collapsed. “Joe!” he shouted hoarsely.

  “He didn’t break down his flag!” Dwaine Rusk said defensively as he climbed out of the zebra-striped car.

  Frank peered inside the car. The driver’s seat was completely flattened under the twisted roof supports.

  “These old cars sure have roomy backseats,” Frank suddenly heard his brother say.

  “Joe, are you okay?”

  “Of course I’m okay. Just help me out of here.”

  Frank wrenched the mangled driver’s bucket seat to the side. There was barely enough opening for Joe to wiggle through.

  “Now, that was fun!” the younger Hardy insisted as Chet reached the wreck. “But I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to slip out of that safety harness. I thought it was jammed. But then it just popped open.” He took off his helmet and combed his hair with his fingers.

  “It’s not supposed to do that. A driver could get hurt,” Rusk said. “The harness must be broken.”

  “How did you get into the backseat?” Chet asked.

  “As quick as I could,” Joe said with a grin. “I ripped off the harness and did a fast scramble.”

  “Do you realize almost every car you’ve been in in the past couple of days has crashed?” Chet asked his friend.

  “You want to crash a few more cars,” Dwaine Rusk told Joe, “you can drive in the derby tonight.”

  “So you can ram him again?” Frank demanded.

  “It’s all right,” Joe assured his brother. “I wasn’t hurt.”

  “Your brother’s got guts,” Rusk admitted.

  “Thanks,” Joe said, trying to look modest.

  “Be here by six at the latest,” Rusk told him.

  “I know you think I’m crazy,” Joe told Frank as they started back across the arena, “but maybe if I hang out with these guys, I’ll learn more about Tarpley.”

  When they got back to the van, Jason Dain came up to them in one of the speedway’s golf carts. Curt Kiser was sitting next to him. Dain smiled at the Hardys and Chet. “Curt tells me you’re taking up a new career. I guess the investigation isn’t going too well.”

  “Any sign of the Saurion?” Joe asked, ignoring Dain’s remarks.

  “Maintenance workers searched the grounds thoroughly yesterday,” Curt Kiser told them. “If that prototype were still here, they would have found it.”

  “If it doesn’t turn up soon,” Dain added,- “and Stock and his group can’t get another car ready, the speedway stands to lose a pile of money.”

  “Have you sold a lot of tickets to the race?” Frank asked.

  “It’s sold out,” Kiser told them.

  “We believe the car is still on the speedway grounds,” Frank said. “You don’t mind if we look around again, do you?”

  “Not at all,” Kiser said with a shrug. “Let’s go, Jason.” Dain turned the cart and headed in the direction of the main office.

  Rusk walked up to them. “Don’t forget, six o’clock,” he told Joe.

  Frank turned to Rusk. “Was that Marvin Tarpley you had lunch with yesterday at the diner?”

  “That’s where I saw you!” Rusk exclaimed. “Are you looking for Marvin?”

  “That depends,” Joe replied. “Did Tarpley mention how he was going to make that big money he was talking about?”

  “He told me it’s spying,” Rusk said. “Industrial spying. He said he had the circuitry for this great new invention, and he was going to sell the plans to Miyagi Motors. He said it would make him rich. That’s why he quit the derby. He thinks his days working grub jobs are over.”

  “You don’t think he really had anything to sell?” Joe asked Rusk.

  “I think he might know how Felix Stock’s new PEST system works,” Rusk said. “After all, he is Stock’s mechanic.”

  “Did you know the Saurion prototype disappeared yesterday?” Frank asked.

  “Sure,” Rusk answered. “There were people over here searching the area.”

  Frank thanked Rusk, then turned to Joe and Chet. “We’ve got to find Tarpley, but first we have to find the car. I think we should split up and search again,” he said. “We’ve missed something.”

  “Since it’s lunchtime,” Chet said, “I’ll start my search at the lunch wagon parked by the office.”

  Frank and Joe started off in the direction of Gasoline Alley. “Here’s that brown grass you’re so interested in,” Joe said as the brothers cut across the infield.

  “Weird, isn’t it?” Frank said slowly. “It’s like someone drew lines. There’s green grass on one side, brown grass on the other.”

  “Let’s not worry about it now,” Joe said. “I’ll take the north half, you take the south. Besides the Saurion,” he added, “we’re looking for a machine that counterfeits license plates.”

  “And let’s ask around for anyone whose hobby is remote-control cars,” Frank added. “I’ll meet you at Building A.” Frank jogged off toward the south end of the racetrack, then systematically went about visiting every building.

  An hour later Frank had still not made any progress. Scanning the speedway property, he started walking toward Building A. Suddenly he stopped.

  “Wait a minute,” he said to himself. “Where are they?”

  “Where are what?” a nearby woman’s voice asked.

  Frank turned and found himself facing Katie Bratton. “The electric poles,” Frank said. “They’ve got lights around the track, but where are all the wires? There aren’t any power lines on the grounds.”

  “I don’t know. I guess I never thought about it,” Katie admitted.

  “They must be underground,” Frank murmured, answering his own question.

  “It’s too bad you haven’t found the Saurion yet,” she said sadly. “That race meant so much to Felix.”

  “The race means just as much to Takeo Ota,” Frank told her pointedly. “By the way, Joe and I don’t think he had anything to do with the Saurion’s disappearance.”

  “Maybe it’s someone else out at Miyagi Motors,” she suggested.

  “We were thinking more along the lines of someone right here at the spee
dway,” Frank said.

  “That’s ridiculous,” Katie insisted. “Who would want to harm Felix Stock?”

  “How about Marvin Tarpley?” Frank said. “Do you have any idea where he is?”

  “Hey,” Katie said casually, “racetrack people are here one day, gone somewhere else the next.” Katie shrugged and walked away.

  “Did you find anything?” Joe asked his brother as he approached from the north end of the grounds.

  “I didn’t find the Saurion, if that’s what you mean,” Frank said. Before he could say more, Chet jogged over to the brothers.

  “No Saurion,” he said, breathing heavily, “but I did go all the way up to the top of the officials’ tower, and from up there you can see those patches of dead grass running every which way.”

  “Is there a pattern?” Frank asked quickly.

  “It’s like they’re in between the buildings,” Chet replied. “Not all of the buildings, though. Just the older ones.”

  “That’s it!” Frank snapped his fingers. “I think I know where the Saurion is hidden.”

  Frank broke into a run. Joe and Chet looked at each other, exchanging a puzzled glance, and hurried after him.

  “I thought you were nuts for driving that derby car,” Chet told Joe, “but your brother’s acting even crazier.”

  Rounding Building B, Frank headed for a ramshackle wooden shed attached to the end of the warehouse. Looking at the ground, he saw that the shack sat squarely in the middle of a strip of burned-out grass.

  Joe saw his brother pull open the door and disappear inside the old shed. Suddenly he heard a loud crash and the sound of Frank crying out.

  Joe sprinted into the shed. In the dim light he didn’t see the gaping hole. “Help!” Joe yelled as he pitched forward and down into the black void.

  8 Fire!

  * * *

  “Frank! Joe!” Chet cried as he looked down into the trapdoor set in the floor of the shed. “Are you down there?”

  Joe heard Chet’s voice dimly at first, then, as his head cleared, the voice seemed to grow louder.