This Side of Evil

by Carolyn Keene

  George frowned. “No, I didn’t see her,” she said slowly. “But I—”

  “Her?” Ned broke in.

  George nodded, looking pleased with herself. “I couldn’t see her face, but it was a woman. I’m sure of it. I could tell by her voice.” She grinned. “I got even, too—at least a little,” she added smugly. “I bit her, right on the hand.”

  “You bit her,” Nancy repeated, in a wondering tone. Something was nagging at the back of her mind, but she still wasn’t sure what it was.

  “Yes,” George said, “she came to bring me something to eat, and when she took the gag out of my mouth, I—”

  But George didn’t get to finish her sentence. The helicopter engine had begun to sound funny, as if it had to work harder to keep going. Then, suddenly, there was just silence—a terrifying silence.

  George grabbed Ned’s arm. “What’s going on?” she cried.

  “Engine failure,” the pilot said tersely, snapping switches on the control panel in front of him.

  Nancy stared at the panel. The gauges were all falling toward zero—all except the altimeter. It was spinning counterclockwise, faster and faster. Nancy’s stomach felt the way it did in an elevator, when it went down too fast. And then from behind her, she heard George’s thin, high-pitched scream.

  “We’re going to crash! We’re all going to die!”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “WE’VE GOT TO find a clear spot to put down—and fast,” the pilot told Nancy. “I’m going to have my hands full. Get on the radio!”

  Nancy looked at the radio doubtfully. “How does it work?” she asked.

  “Pick up the mike. When you want to talk, press the button on the side. I’ll tell you what to say.”

  Nancy picked up the large black microphone clipped to the instrument panel, the flexible cord dangling beneath it.

  “Now, press the button and say, ‘Mayday, Mayday. This is Bell Whiskey Seven Seven One Zero Three Alpha. Over,’ ” the pilot directed. The copter lurched to the left and he righted it, but with difficulty.

  Nancy pressed the button and blurted out, “Mayday! Mayday! This is Bell Whiskey Seven Seven One Zero Three Alpha. Over.”

  “Now let go of the button,” the pilot commanded. “They can’t answer while you’re on the air.”

  There was a long silence. Nancy wondered if anyone had heard them. Then she heard a crackle of static and a calm voice came through.

  “Roger, Seven Seven One Zero Three Alpha. This is Montreal Air Traffic Control Center. What is the nature of your emergency?”

  Nancy took a deep breath and tried to keep her voice as calm as the radio voice. “We’re having engine failure,” she said.

  “Roger, Seven Seven One Zero Three Alpha,” the voice responded. “What is your location? Can you return to base? Over.”

  “Negative!” the pilot replied. “We have total engine failure. We’re at twelve hundred, descending at seven hundred feet per minute.”

  “The pilot says we’re going in, fast,” Nancy said, glancing down. “We’re somewhere just north of the river.”

  “Hey, isn’t that City Hall?” Ned asked as he leaned forward, pointing over Nancy’s shoulder.

  “We’re just southwest of City Hall,” Nancy added.

  “Roger, Seven Seven One Zero Three Alpha. We have you on the screen. Suggest you try an emergency landing in Place Jacques-Cartier. Wind northwest at fifteen, gusting to twenty-five. Emergency equipment is on the way. Good luck.”

  “Roger, out,” responded the pilot.

  “Roger, out,” Nancy repeated.

  “Okay, everybody,” the pilot said. “Hang on! I’m going to autorotate!” He began to turn the rotor control.

  “What’s that?” George gasped.

  “He’s changing the angle on the rotors,” Ned told her. “It’ll slow our fall a bit.”

  As if an invisible hand had lifted them, Nancy felt the copter’s descent slowing. But they were already over the plaza, and she could tell that they were still falling too fast. They were going to crash! Feverishly, the pilot began to flip switches. Suddenly the lights went out. The cabin was pitch dark. A second later, with a sickening crunch, the helicopter slammed into the concrete.

  There was silence.

  “Nan?” Ned asked. “Are you okay?”

  Nancy took a deep breath. She was jammed into her seat at a crazy angle, and her blouse was torn where she had caught it on something. But other than that, she was fine.

  “I’m okay. What about George?” she asked, unbuckling her seat belt. Beside her, the pilot was struggling to get his door open.

  “I’m still alive,” George said in a dazed voice. “I can’t believe it, but I’m still alive!”

  Nancy pushed the door open and jumped out onto the pavement. The force of the impact had crushed one of the skids and the copter was tilted over. The tip of one rotor had ripped through a bed of pansies, scattering wet flowers all over the sidewalk.

  “Everybody out!” the pilot shouted. “This thing could blow sky-high any second!”

  Working quickly, Nancy helped Ned pull George out and take her to a nearby bench. Fire trucks, their sirens wailing, pulled up at the curb. Police cars were right behind them.

  Nancy turned to the pilot. “Can we find out what happened to the engine?”

  “Not now. I wouldn’t want to risk being near it if it blows up,” the pilot said cautiously.

  “But if it goes up, we’ll never know,” Nancy pointed out. “And I have the feeling that this is important.”

  Nancy and the pilot ran to the rear of the helicopter. Something black and gooey was oozing out from under it.

  “Looks like an oil problem to me.” He took a look at the engine. Black goop was everywhere.

  “Incredible!” the pilot exclaimed. He stared uncomprehendingly at the mess. Then he bent over and began to explore underneath the engine with his fingers.

  “What is it?” Ned asked, coming up behind Nancy and the pilot.

  “Looks like the oil drain plug fell out,” he said. “If that happened, the pressure in the system would blow all the oil out in seconds.” He wiped his hands on his pants, a puzzled look on his face. “Funny thing, though, the warning light never came on.”

  Ned disappeared around the helicopter. As she watched him go, Nancy became aware of a new, sharper smell, mixing with the heavy, oily smell of the engine.

  “What’s that smell?” she asked.

  “Aviation gas!” the pilot exclaimed. He grabbed her arm and yanked her away. “The fuel line must’ve broken. Let’s get out of here!”

  The fire chief ran up. “We’ve evacuated the entire area,” he said. “Now, you get back, too!”

  “Ned!” Nancy yelled, looking around. A tiny blue flame was licking up at the engine compartment. “Ned, where are you!”

  Then, to her horror, she saw him. He was on his back on the floor of the cockpit, legs dangling out the door. He was examining something under the instrument panel.

  “Ned!” Nancy screamed. “Get out! It’s going to explode!”

  Ned worked for an instant longer, and then slid out from under the instrument panel and bolted toward them. Behind him, the blue flame suddenly burst into bright yellow and rapidly enveloped the rear of the disabled copter.

  It exploded with a tremendous Bang! Nancy felt a whoosh of superheated air rush over her head, just as Ned crashed into her and they both went down. Above them, large pieces of metal sailed up in a column of yellow flame and thick black smoke.

  “Ned?” Nancy pushed Ned’s heavy weight off her and sat up. Bits of metal were raining down onto the wet pavement. The helicopter was burning out of control.

  “I’m okay,” Ned grunted. “Are you?”

  “Yes,” she said, rubbing her knee where she’d skinned it on the pavement as she fell. “What were you doing in the cockpit? One more second and you’d have been killed!”

  “I was looking for a broken wire,” Ned said grimly. “T
he wire to the oil warning light.”

  “Did you find it?”

  “Yeah, but it wasn’t broken. It was cut!”

  The pilot came up behind them. “You mean somebody sabotaged us?”

  Nancy turned. “Someone must have loosened the drain plug and cut the wire.”

  “Right,” Ned put in. “And if we’d crashed into the river, nobody could ever have figured out why.”

  Nancy stared at him. “Ned,” she said, “I think I know who it was.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “NANCY DREW! WHAT are you doing here!”

  Nancy turned quickly. It was Annette LeBeau, wearing a raincoat. She had an umbrella in one hand and a microphone in the other. Behind her were two guys with lights and TV cameras, shooting the burning helicopter.

  “Annette!” Nancy exclaimed. “What—”

  “We heard the police bulletin about the crash,” Annette told her. “I was there, so the station manager sent me to cover the crash. We need to get the spot filmed in time for the ten o’clock news.” She looked at the burning helicopter. “Hey, isn’t that a Cherbourg helicopter?” She looked back at Nancy, comprehension dawning, “Wait, you mean, you—”

  Nancy nodded. Then suddenly she got an idea. “Listen, Annette,” she said, “I need to ask you a favor.”

  But Annette wasn’t listening. “What a story!” she said excitedly. “ ‘Helicopter crashes in downtown Montreal. Nancy Drew survives!’ All the networks will pick this one up.” She turned as Ned and George came up. “Are these your friends?”

  Nancy nodded. “Yes, this is Ned Nickerson,” she said, introducing them. “And George Fayne. George was kidnapped from Olympic Stadium. We were rescuing her when the copter went down.”

  “Better and better. A rescue effort, a thwarted kidnapping—that’ll make the story gold!” She pointed toward the helicopter, where the pilot was talking with police. “Listen, the three of you go stand right over there, with the police in the background. I’ll interview you.”

  “Wait,” Nancy said, trying to interrupt. “I have to talk to you.”

  “After we shoot,” Annette replied hurriedly. “Ned, you put your arm around Nancy. We’ll play up the romance angle.” She gestured to one of the cameramen. “Max! Get the camera over here on the double! We’ve got survivors to interview! I want as much smoke and flame in the picture as possible. And be sure to get the cops, too.”

  Nancy grabbed her arm. “Wait!” she cried. “I don’t want you to do a story—at least, not this one. Not now!”

  Annette frowned at her. “What do you mean, you don’t want a story? This is a terrific story! We’ll probably make all the American shows tomorrow.”

  Nancy shook her head violently and pulled Annette over to the side. “Listen,” she said, in a low voice, “can you kill the survivor angle?”

  Annette nearly dropped her mike. “What do you mean, kill it? You’re all alive, aren’t you? I mean, everybody walked away from the crash. Right?”

  “Right,” Nancy said. “But a certain person needs to believe that this was a fatal crash—that there were no survivors.”

  Annette stared at her. “Who? Who needs to believe it?”

  “The person who’s blackmailing you,” Nancy replied soberly. “The same person who kidnapped George and sabotaged the helicopter.”

  Annette’s mouth dropped open. “Am I hearing you correctly?” she asked.

  Nancy nodded.

  “If I don’t mention any survivors, will it help you catch the blackmailer?”

  “I can almost guarantee it,” Nancy said. “Now, here’s what I want you to do.”

  When Nancy had finished giving instructions, Annette hesitated.

  “Well,” she said slowly, “I don’t like it, but okay. I have no idea how I’m going to explain it to the manager. He won’t be happy that we’ve missed this story.”

  “If this thing works, you’ll have an even bigger story,” Nancy told her. “You’ll be able to scoop every newspaper and television station in Canada. And you’ll have the blackmailer off your back.”

  Reluctantly, Annette nodded. “Okay, I’ll do it,” she said, looking at her watch. “But you’ll have to give me about twenty minutes. It’ll take us at least that long to get back to the station and air this.”

  “Great,” Nancy said. “That’s just about right.” She grinned. “Keep your fingers crossed.”

  “You bet,” Annette said. “Good luck!” She stood up and raised her voice. “Hey, Max! Let’s get over to the helicopter. We’ve got some filming to do if we’re going to be on the air at ten.”

  Max looked at Nancy and her friends. “What about them?” he asked.

  “Who?” Annette asked blandly. “Come on, get that camera rolling! Lights? Where are the lights?”

  “Okay, gang,” Nancy said to George and Ned, “let’s get out of here.”

  “Boy, I’m ready,” George said with a sigh. She pulled Nancy’s sweater closer around her, shivering. “Hot shower, here I come.”

  Ned laughed. “I think Nancy has something else in mind,” he said.

  “Yeah, something like wrapping up a case,” Nancy replied. “We promised Ashley Amberton that we’d let her know when we got back so she’d know we’re safe. Let’s go pay her a visit.”

  In the taxi Nancy told Ned and George what she had figured out, and what she wanted them to do.

  “The important thing here is the timing,” she said. “Surprise is absolutely necessary, so it’ll all have to run like clockwork.”

  Ned picked up Nancy’s hand and squeezed it. “Don’t worry,” he assured her. “It will.”

  “I certainly hope so,” George said. She was shivering so hard that her teeth were rattling. “I want to get out of these clothes. I’m freezing! And I must smell like a locker room.”

  Nancy grinned. “I’ve got to admit that you are pretty ripe,” she said. “But what can you expect from somebody who’s been living in a barrel?”

  She ducked the punch that George aimed at her.

  At the Cherbourg Building, they signed in with the guard at the lobby desk and went up in the elevator. The deserted building was dark and spooky. But when they got to the fifteenth floor, Nancy could see the light at the end of the hall. Ashley Amberton must still be there, working late just as she’d promised.

  Quietly, with Ned and George right behind her, Nancy tiptoed down to the end of the hall and pushed open the door to Ms. Amberton’s outer office. It was dark and empty, but through the glass window over the secretary’s desk, they could see into the inner office. Ms. Amberton was there, sitting behind her desk, signing papers with her bandaged left hand. The door to the outer office hung slightly ajar, and Nancy could hear the scratch-scratch of the woman’s pen on the paper.

  “It’s dark in here,” Nancy whispered, “so she can’t see us.” She gave Ned a little push. “Okay, Ned,” she said. “Get going. And be careful out there!”

  Ned touched her cheek affectionately. “I will. You, too, Nan,” he said. “Watch yourself.” He disappeared into the darkness.

  “What time is it?” George whispered.

  Nancy looked at her watch. “Three minutes to ten,” she said quietly. “That phone should ring just about now.”

  As if on cue, the telephone on Ashley Amberton’s desk rang. She reached for it.

  “Hello,” she said curtly. And then, with a little surprise, added, “Oh, hello, Ms. LeBeau.” She listened intently for a moment, her lips tightening. “A Cherbourg helicopter?” she asked, a deep note of concern in her voice. “Yes, of course. I’ll turn it on right now. Thank you for calling.” She put down the phone and picked up the television remote control and flicked it on.

  A few minutes later, the news came on. It was the usual scene, Nancy saw—two anchor-people sitting beside each other, behind a desk. “And now,” one of them said, in a deep voice, “we take you to Annette LeBeau, at the scene of the crash. Annette?”

  The scene shifte
d to the dark, rain-swept plaza. In the background was Nelson’s Column, and beside it, the blazing wreckage of the helicopter. The camera was focused on Annette LeBeau’s somber face as she stood in front of the fire. Behind her were a half dozen firemen and policemen. The pavement around her was strewn with bits of metal.

  “Thank you, Carl,” Annette said into the microphone. The rain was dripping off the black umbrella she held. “We’re at the scene of a tragedy that apparently took four lives in downtown Montreal just moments ago. A Cherbourg Industries helicopter crashed on Place Jacques-Cartier, directly in front of Nelson’s Column. Narrowly missing the few evening strollers braving the rain as it lost power and crashed, the helicopter burst into flames almost immediately. First reports are that there were four people on board, but there appear to have been no survivors. We’ll get back to you as soon as we have more details.” The camera left Annette and zoomed in on an ambulance, parked at the curb. “A terrible tragedy in downtown Montreal,” Annette concluded. “And now, back to you, Carl.”

  Ashley Amberton turned off the television set. Then, as Nancy and George watched from the darkened office, a triumphant smile spread across her face. She reached in her desk and poured herself a drink. Then she took out a file folder and pulled out a newspaper picture of Nancy. She held it over an ashtray on her desk and lit it with a cigarette lighter.

  “Ah-ha, Nancy Drew!” she said, gloating as the flame spread across Nancy’s face and the paper disintegrated into ash. “Who’s the best mind of crime? It’s no longer you, Nancy Drew—it’s Ashley Amberton, blackmailer, kidnapper, and murderer extraordinaire!” And she lifted the glass in a toast to herself.

  Just then Nancy opened the door and stepped into the office.

  “Sorry, Ashley,” she said calmly. “But it appears that your little plan didn’t work so well after all.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “NANCY? NANCY DREW? But I thought—” Ashley Amberton stood up behind her desk and swallowed hard, her face turning a pasty white. “But the television broadcast just said that the helicopter crashed! It said that you were all dead!” She pulled off her glasses, obviously fighting for control. “I was simply thunderstruck. How could such a horrible, horrible thing have happened?”