The Demolition Mission Read online

  “I can’t believe Marvin Tarpley would betray me, either,” Stock said angrily, slamming his fist on the desk.

  Frank reached Con Riley at his home. Frank told Con about Marvin Tarpley’s assault on Joe and gave him descriptions of Tarpley and Bratton. “We’ll file charges against Tarpley as soon as we have time,” Frank told Con. “In the meantime, we need some information on brand-new white panel trucks sold in this area.”

  Frank waited while Con used his personal computer workstation to locate the information. Then Frank thanked the lieutenant and hung up the phone.

  “From your expression,” Joe said, “I’d say you got something.”

  Frank nodded. “I sure did. Con told me Miyagi Motors bought ten of the trucks, and one other was sold to a company called International Land and Resources. And guess who owns the company.”

  “Who?” Joe asked.

  “Jason Dain,” Frank announced. “And Con said those fingerprints we faxed yesterday—from the letter that was supposedly from Callie—belong to Tarpley. His prints are on file with the army.”

  “It looks as though you guys are getting to the bottom of this case,” Stock said, still looking a little stunned. “Although I can’t figure out why they wouldn’t want the Saurion to win. But if they want me out of the race, they’re winning. I can’t drive the Saurion if Katie doesn’t.”

  “I can,” Joe said seriously. “I’ve already had a little experience with it at high speeds.”

  “Joe can do it,” Frank said confidently.

  “If you’re willing to try it,” Felix Stock said, brightening, “we won’t have to forfeit. Do you know anything about tuning cars?”

  “I’ve changed a few plugs,” Joe said.

  Felix Stock rubbed his hands together. “Then help me finish getting the Saurion ready,” he said, breaking out into a large smile. “Maybe we can win this race yet!”

  “While you two are doing that,” Frank said, “I’ll talk to Curt Kiser.”

  Frank headed the golf cart to the main office and returned the vehicle to its shed. Curt Kiser was checking a ledger in the receptionist’s area when Frank walked in.

  “Could we talk in private?” Frank asked Kiser.

  “Sure,” Kiser said. “Come on back to my office.” Kiser offered Frank a chair, then sat down at his desk.

  “This is a pretty big day for the speedway, I suppose,” Frank said casually.

  “As a matter of fact, this is a big day,” Kiser replied, “and I certainly don’t have much time—”

  “Is Jason Dain here yet?” Frank interrupted.

  “No,” Kiser said. “He told me yesterday he might be a little late this morning.”

  “On such an important day?” Frank asked, raising his eyebrows.

  “Look,” Kiser said, “I don’t have—”

  “Do you race remote-control cars?” Frank placed the power card from Building C on Kiser’s blotter.

  Kiser glanced at the relay and raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Yes,” he said finally, “as a matter of fact, I do race remote-control cars.”

  “Is that power card yours?” Frank asked. “When Chet Morton showed this to you the other day, you said you didn’t know what it was.”

  “All I meant,” Kiser said slowly, “was that I’ve never used this brand. It’s imported. Very expensive.”

  “How about your associate, Jason Dain?” Frank continued. “Does he race model cars?”

  Curt Kiser laughed. “Dain doesn’t have any hobbies. The Saurion’s been found. Why do you need all this information?”

  Frank ignored his question. “There’s a mechanic named Marvin Tarpley working here at the speedway. Do you know him?”

  Kiser shook his head. “There are a lot of people working here that I don’t know personally.”

  Frank changed the subject. “Did you know that Katie Bratton didn’t show up this morning? We have reason to believe she won’t be driving in the race.”

  “Who’s going to drive the Saurion?” Kiser cried. “If we have to cancel that race, I’ll be ruined!”

  Frank watched Kiser closely. “Is there anyone who would gain from canceling this race?”

  “Not me,” Kiser said emphatically. “The truth is, the speedway’s almost bankrupt. That’s why I had to bring in the demolition derby and why we’re having this sports car race.”

  Kiser sighed. “Anyway, I found an investor—Jason Dain. You don’t think Dain is behind Stock’s problems, do you?” Kiser asked. Then he shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would he want to do that? This race brings in big bucks. If the track makes money, Dain makes money.”

  “I think the answer is in the contract you drew up with Felix Stock,” Frank suggested.

  Curt Kiser hesitated, then said, “I’ll have my secretary make you a copy.” He pressed the button in his intercom. “Stephanie,” he said, “would you please make a copy of the Stock-Saurion contract for Frank Hardy? Thanks.”

  As Kiser hung up the phone, the office door opened.

  “Frank Hardy?” the receptionist asked. “There’s a call for you. Line two.”

  Kiser handed Frank the receiver, and he said hello.

  “This is Taylor, mechanic over at the Saurion shop,” said a hoarse voice. “Your brother’s been in a bad accident.”

  “Is he all right?” Frank asked, alarmed.

  “You better get over here,” the man said.

  “There’s an emergency,” Frank said quickly to Kiser. He bolted out of the office toward the lobby. Taking the contract from Kiser’s secretary, Frank dashed past the surprised woman and out the door.

  Rushing down the office’s front steps, Frank was startled when he looked up and saw his own face reflected in the visor of a very short, helmeted man.

  At the same moment he felt something hard jam into his ribs.

  “Into the back of the truck,” the man in the helmet said in a low, menacing voice.

  One of the two back doors on the white panel truck stood open. Prodded by what he was sure was the barrel of a gun, Frank moved toward the truck.

  The man pushed Frank roughly into the back of the truck. As Frank stumbled inside, he felt a sharp blow to the back of his head. Then everything went black.

  14 Up Against the Wall

  * * *

  Joe, at work under the Saurion’s hood, yelled across Building A to Felix Stock, “Fuel line looks good.”

  “And so does that racing suit. It matches the Saurion,” Callie Shaw said as she entered the garage with Chet.

  Chet turned to Felix Stock. “Mr. Stock, Callie parked your sedan out front. Right beside my jeep.”

  Joe straightened up and smiled at Callie. Then he stretched out his arms to show off the red flame-retardant suit. It had blue stripes up the side.

  “This suit’s made from Kevlar,” Joe explained, “the same material they use for bulletproof vests.”

  “The driver who’s going to race the Saurion ought to be wearing that outfit,” Callie pointed out.

  “I am the driver,” Joe told her. He explained briefly what had happened since he and Frank had been with Chet and Callie last night.

  “Where’s Frank?” Callie asked.

  “He had some investigating to do,” Joe said. He checked his watch and frowned. “But he’s been gone most of the morning.”

  Just then a white panel truck pulled up in front of the building. The passenger door slid back, and Takeo Ota stepped out. Joe checked out the truck’s license and saw it was a temporary tag.

  “Felix,” Takeo Ota said warmly as he entered the building. “I want to wish you the best of luck in the race.”

  “Thank you, Takeo,” Stock replied.

  “Is your car ready to go?” Ota asked, giving the Saurion an admiring once-over.

  “I’ve had to make one change,” Stock told him. “Joe Hardy here is going to drive.”

  “What?” Takeo Ota said, looking surprised. “This is very disappointing. I was hoping for
a good race.” Quickly he looked at Joe. “Please don’t be offended,” he added. “I only meant—”

  “That’s okay,” Joe said. “I know you were expecting Katie Bratton to drive the Saurion. But I’ll give your Speedster all it can handle. By the way,” he added, “I’m curious about something. Do any of your trucks have regular license plates?”

  “Not yet,” Mr. Ota replied. “That’s why the numbers weren’t listed in the computer. The plates came in the mail this morning. And so did this.” He handed Stock a manila envelope. “These belong to you.”

  Joe saw Stock’s eyes grow wide as he pulled three sheets of paper out of the envelope. “These are my stolen wiring diagrams!” he exclaimed.

  “A man tried to sell them to us,” Takeo Ota explained. “As a matter of fact, he fits the description Joe and Frank gave us the other day of a person they were looking for. I told the man no, but he’s still pestering me. I have already made contact with the police.”

  Joe asked Takeo what the man looked like, and he described someone who Joe was sure was Tarpley.

  “Thank you, Takeo,” Felix Stock said, shaking hands with Mr. Ota again.

  The Miyagi Motors’ project engineer turned and walked to the truck. “May the fastest car win,” he said as he drove off.

  Stepping over to Felix, Joe said, “It looks as if Tarpley’s got another count against him.”

  “Yeah,” Stock said. “Tarpley better not show his face on these grounds ever again. I wonder where he’s hiding himself. Anyway, it’s time to take the Saurion to the pits,” Stock said, looking at the clock on the garage wall. “It’ll be two o’clock soon.”

  Joe grabbed a red and blue striped racing helmet and a pair of driving gloves. “I’m sure Frank will track down Tarpley sooner or later,” he said.

  • • •

  “Where am I?” Frank Hardy asked himself. His head ached, and he felt a knot just above his neck.

  At first he thought he had been blindfolded, but then he realized he was back in one of the underground utility tunnels. He also realized that the person who knocked him out wasn’t Marvin Tarpley. The person had been very short, barely five feet tall. Frank was sure it was Katie Bratton.

  He sat up very slowly, not wanting to draw attention to himself if someone was guarding him. He listened carefully for a minute, then decided he was alone. Frank crawled across the floor until he reached a wall. Fighting the feeling of dizziness, he braced himself against the tunnel’s side. He checked to see if Kiser’s contract was still stuffed in his back pocket. It was.

  Taking a step forward, he bumped into a table, knocking it to the concrete floor. A clatter that sounded like aluminum pie pans and the thunk of heavy metal echoed through the tunnel. He knelt down and felt along the floor. His hands touched several light metal rectangles with raised letters and numbers on them.

  “That clattering sound was a stack of fake license plates,” Frank murmured. He continued to feel around. Suddenly he touched a heavy steel device. “And this has got to be a stamping machine. I have to get out of here and tell Joe.”

  • • •

  Joe Hardy felt butterflies in his stomach as he looked at the cheering crowd in the speedway grandstand. He could see that every seat was taken, and hundreds of spectators stood outside the tall fence.

  “This crowd is definitely ready for a race,” Curt Kiser called as he passed by the pits in a brightly stickered pace car.

  “And so am I!” Joe called out. Then he turned to Chet. “Something’s happened to Frank,” Joe said. “We didn’t have any specific plans to meet, but I’m positive he wanted to be here for the start of the race. Would you look around for him?”

  “Right,” Chet said, taking off.

  Waving to the pit crew, Joe climbed into the red Saurion and snapped on his seat belt. Bright flashes lit up the car’s interior as the press photographers crowded around.

  “Testing one, two, three,” Callie said, walking up to the Saurion with Felix Stock. She was wearing a radio headset that allowed her to speak with Joe during the race. “Am I coming through clearly?”

  “Sounds good,” Joe said, and pushed the button on the remote to start the Saurion. The engine caught immediately and roared to life. Felix gave Joe the thumbs-up sign, and Joe returned it.

  Joe saw a streak of yellow pass the pits. It was the Sata Speedster, already out on the track. Joe shifted the Saurion into first and roared out onto the straightaway.

  Joe saw the Sata Speedster hugging the pace car. It was weaving to heat up its tires. Joe kept his eye on the starting official as the three cars cruised around the fourth turn. Because the rules called for a flying start, Joe had to stay abreast of the Speedster until the starter dropped the green flag. Then it was one hundred laps to the victory lane.

  “Go!” Callie shouted in Joe’s headset when the starter dropped the green flag.

  Like a rocket, the Saurion zoomed low and ahead of the Speedster. Joe’s strategy was to head for the inside. The power excited him. Faintly above the roar of his car, Joe could hear the cheering of the crowd. I’m going to win this, he thought.

  • • •

  From the tunnel underground Frank heard the noise as the race began. “I hope Stock got those handling problems repaired,” he said to himself.

  Suddenly a piece of the puzzle fell into place. “Handling problems!” he exclaimed, his voice echoing in the tunnel. “It’s so obvious, why didn’t we think of it earlier?”

  Realizing his brother was in deadly danger, Frank stepped cautiously through the tunnel, hoping to find a way out. He had walked a few yards when he saw a small beam of light shining down. He looked up and spotted a manhole cover that was partly open. He looked around and saw two rusty milk crates against the wall. He placed the crates on top of each other under the manhole cover and stepped up onto them.

  Frank raised his arms and jumped. After three tries, he finally managed to push the manhole cover aside. He jumped again and grabbed the opening’s lip. Slowly Frank started to pull himself up. He crawled up onto the grass and saw he was between two buildings.

  As he tried to get his bearings, Chet came running up. He’d been driving his jeep around the grounds in search of Frank. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Chet cried out. “Are you all right?”

  “Is Joe driving the Saurion?” Frank asked anxiously, ignoring Chet’s question.

  “He sure is,” Chet said, “and he’s winning.”

  “The car’s been tampered with,” Frank said. “If we don’t get him off that track, something terrible’s going to happen.”

  Frank quickly climbed into the jeep beside Chet. “Hurry!” he urged.

  “Callie’s on the radio phone,” Chet told Frank as he pointed the jeep in the direction of the pit area. “She can call him in.”

  • • •

  Joe was beginning to think that Indy-style racing really wasn’t as exciting as driving in a demolition derby. He kept the pedal to the floor and eased through the turns. The onboard computer told him he was averaging 154.26 miles per hour. Not bad, he thought. Callie had told him he was well ahead of the Speedster.

  Suddenly Joe sensed something was wrong. The car roared out of turn three and approached turn four too high and too close to the wall. Joe tried to bring the Saurion back, but the machine wasn’t responding. He took his foot off the accelerator. The speed continued to climb, from 162 miles per hour to 164.

  “Frank!” Callie cried as he and Chet jolted to a stop behind the pit area. “Joe said he can’t control the Saurion.” Callie removed the headphones. She’d been relaying all of Joe’s messages to Felix. She handed Frank the earphones.

  Frank had to shout above the crowd into the earphones. “Joe, you’re going to lose control. Back off a bit.”

  “Can’t,” Joe said curtly. “The pedals don’t work, and neither does the steering.”

  Frank told his brother to hang on. “I don’t have time to explain,” he added, giving the earp
hones back to Callie, “but the car’s been rigged. Katie Bratton, Tarpley, maybe even Jason Dain—one of them is driving the Saurion by remote control, and they don’t intend for Joe to win. Or even finish.”

  “What are you talking about?” Felix Stock asked.

  “They installed remote-control devices in your car,” Frank explained hurriedly. “The electronics override the steering, accelerator, and brakes. Someone even rigged the silver Saurion so the PEST system would go black last night.”

  Spotting Curt Kiser not far away, Frank ran over to the speedway owner. “Where’s Jason Dain?” he asked.

  “Dain? He should be up in the tower.”

  Frank turned and looked up at the officials’ tower. He didn’t see Dain.

  “You mean the Saurion’s being operated like one of Curt Kiser’s remote-control cars?” Stock asked when Frank returned.

  “Exactly,” Frank said. “When we found the Saurion down in the tunnel, there were marks on the inside of the brake disks. One of those crooks installed receivers and solenoids there and in other spots. Now we’ve got to find the person who has the control box.”

  “Frank!” Callie cried suddenly. “Look at the Saurion!”

  Frank could see his brother fighting for control of the sports car. Joe was whizzing by at speeds well beyond the red line.

  “He’s doing one ninety!” Stock read from his stopwatch.

  “He’s going to beat the Speedster,” Chet said.

  “With the course he’s on now,” Frank said, “Joe’s going to hit the Speedster.”

  “Joe,” Callie called into the headset several times. “I can’t talk to him,” she said to Frank. “All of a sudden I’m getting static.”

  Joe turned off the squawking radio and said to himself, “I don’t know who’s driving this car, but it sure isn’t me.”

  Suddenly it dawned on him. The Saurion was being guided by remote control. “That’s what happened when I test drove the Saurion the other day, and that’s why the Saurion was stolen,” he said aloud, “so they could install the power cards and the solenoids that would operate the brakes, accelerator, and steering.”