The Bombay Boomerang

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “You look for it hard enough!” she accused them sternly.

  Frank and Joe chuckled as they headed for their convertible. Just then a shiny new car pulled into the driveway. It belonged to a friend of Mrs. Hardy.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Jackson,” Joe greeted the woman at the wheel. “Here, let me help you out.”

  “Nice little runabout you have there,” Frank added admiringly.

  “That’s a compliment,” Mrs. Jackson said with a smile. “I selected it myself. One drive around the block, and I was hooked. It’s a gift from my husband for our wedding anniversary, so you can bet I’ll take good care of it!”

  She went into the house, and Frank and Joe drove to Phil’s. Callie and Iola were already there, along with Biff, Tony and Chet, and most of their friends.

  “We’ve got a mystery for you,” Joe announced.

  “Suppose we get to the chow first,” Chet urged, patting his rather expansive waistline. “Mysteries are more solvable when the inner man is satisfied.”

  Soon the group were enjoying hamburgers and hot dogs, which the girls had barbecued.

  “What mystery?” Biff queried.

  Joe pulled the bolt from his pocket. Extending it on the palm of his hand, he asked, “What do you make of this object?”

  Tony Prito picked it up and examined it. Since his father was a building contractor, he had seen many bolts of all sizes, shapes, and makes. He looked at this one with an expert eye.

  “It’s a type used in the construction business on the end of reinforced bars,” he told the others. “Nothing unusual, as far as I can see.”

  “What’s unusual,” Joe observed, “is that somebody pitched it through our window today.”

  Phil shook his head in mock surprise. “The kind of games you two play!”

  Frank nodded. “Great fun. It had a warning attached to it that we might get acquainted with a barrel of cement!”

  Their friends immediately became serious. “Maybe it’ll tell us something if we can find out where it came from,” Chet suggested.

  Tony cautioned that the bolt could have come from lots of places. “Every contractor uses this kind of fixture. There must be dozens of warehouses near Bayport where you could find them piled up.”

  “Isn’t that the point?” Biff put in. “The guy who threw Frank and Joe a curve might be in the construction business. If he works for a contractor, he’d have a supply of bolts to pick from whenever he got the urge to go on a window-breaking spree.”

  “Yes, but if he’s a crook, he could have stolen this one,” Phil reasoned. “Suppose he slipped into one of the warehouses Tony mentioned and left with the bolt in his pocket?”

  Joe turned that suggestion over in his mind. “I don’t see the point in stealing a single bolt. Why would anyone go to that trouble when a rock would have carried the message just as well?”

  “We don’t know that he only stole this bolt,” Phil replied. “What if he took a whole shipment? He could have decided to use the bolt as a carrier pigeon on the spur of the moment, because it happened to be the handiest thing available.”

  Mrs. Cohen came into the room while the discussion was going on. She told Frank and Joe that their mother was on the phone.

  Frank took the call. “Hi, Mom,” he said.

  Laura Hardy sounded frantic. “Come home right away!” she cried. “Something terrible has happened. Mrs. Jackson is in a state of shock, Aunt Gertrude is having hysterics, and I don’t know what to do!”

  Frank turned to his brother. “We’d better leave right now.”

  Calling out a quick explanation to their pals, the boys ran outside and jumped into their convertible.

  An appalling sight met their eyes when they turned into the Hardy driveway. Mrs. Jackson’s spanking new car, so bright and lustrous when they first saw it, was a total wreck! All the windows were broken. The hood, chassis, and fenders were dented and twisted. The dashboard was smashed in.

  Frank whistled. “This car has been wrecked deliberately!”

  “And here’s the weapon,” Joe declared.

  He picked up a steel bar from the driveway. About four feet long and a little over an inch thick, it was flecked with paint from the car, and it fitted into the deep dents on the hood. The wielder of the steel bar had pounded the new car into ruins!

  But why? Joe pointed to the side of the vehicle. There, written in spray paint, was the warning:GET OUT OF THE MERC RACKET

  “These guys sure want us to get the message,” Frank commented. “Nothing subtle. Strong-arm all the way!”

  “No wonder the women are in a tizzy,” Joe added. “We’d better go inside and see how they are.”

  When the women calmed down, Mrs. Jackson revealed that she had seen the vandal attacking her car with the steel bar. Her description matched the beefy fellow in the beret!

  Frank and Joe exchanged glances, then Frank turned to Mrs. Jackson. “If it’s any consolation to you,” he said, “this vandalism was not aimed at you. Whoever did it made a mistake. He was trying to scare us and thought he was wrecking one of our cars.”

  “But why anyone would do a thing like that!”

  “It has something to do with a new case our father is working on,” Joe explained.

  Mrs. Jackson shook her head. “It’s terrible. Simply terrible.”

  “Have you called the police?” Frank asked.

  “Certainly we have,” Aunt Gertrude put in.

  “They were here before you arrived and surveyed the car. Then Chief Collig called and said you should get in touch with him in case you have any suspicions or clues.”

  Frank telephoned the chief to confirm that the vandals, no doubt, were the two men they had encountered earlier. He also told Collig about the warning.

  “I’ll alert all our men in the Bayport area to be on the lookout for those two,” Collig said. “Let me know if something new develops.”

  “Sure thing,” Frank promised and hung up. Then he turned to Mrs. Jackson.

  “Is vandalism covered by your insurance?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. Oh, I hope it is!”

  “Let me have the number of your agent and I’ll find out,” Joe suggested.

  Mrs. Jackson pulled out a business card from her handbag. “We had the agent over just the other day. Here it is.”

  Joe phoned the man and learned that luckily the damage was covered. The news helped Mrs. Jackson to regain control over her nerves, and she left shortly afterward in a taxi.

  Frank and Joe discussed the latest event.

  “Those thugs are determined to get us out of the way,” Joe declared, “and they have no scruples about how they do it!”

  “When they realize that we won’t give up, they’ll undoubtedly use even more drastic methods,” Frank added.

  Aunt Gertrude had another fit of hysterics. “Attacked by brutes who think the Hardy family’s concerned about their old mercury! Why, I haven’t even heard the word since high school chemistry! Oh, why can’t Fenton leave crime to the police!”

  Frank and Joe were hoping their father would call that night. To their disappointment, the phone remained silent.

  “Whatever Baltimore dive he’s investigating,” Joe said, “he probably can’t get to a phone.”

  “Might make a suspect suspicious,” Frank agreed. Finally they turned in for the night.

  They were up early Tuesday morning to get ready for their trip. Aunt Gertrude had prepared breakfast and she fussed about their eating too fast. Meanwhile, their mother packed two overnight bags, just in case they had to stay over until the next day. “Don’t forget to call Jack Wayne,” she reminded them.

  Fenton Hardy’s pilot was at the airfield and had just finished his inspection of the plane.

  “Everything A-OK,” he told Joe over the phone. “We can leave as soon as you get here.”

  The boys decided it would be risky to leave their mother and aunt alone in the house with the thugs prowling around. They contacted thei
r friends, who all agreed to take turns guarding the Hardy home while Frank and Joe were out of town.

  At the airport Jack greeted them with some disturbing news. “Two toughs have been asking questions about you. I didn’t know who they were so I kept my mouth shut and they went away no wiser than when they came.”

  “What’d they look like?” Frank asked.

  Jack described the pair.

  “Snap Brim and Beret,” Joe commented.

  “What’s that?” Jack asked.

  “That’s the headgear they were wearing when we first met them,” Joe explained. “You see, we’re real close to those two. In fact, too close for comfort.”

  “New case?” Jack inquired.

  “Right,” Frank replied. “Could their angle this morning have been to arrange an accident for our plane?”

  “They might have had that in mind, but I didn’t let them anywhere near it. Every working part is in order. Well, I’d better turn the engine over a few times. Warm her up for take-off. Won’t take more than a few minutes.”

  “Okay,” Frank said. “I’m rather thirsty, so I’ll grab a quick cup of tea in the cafeteria meanwhile.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Joe said. “We’ll meet you at the plane, Jack!”

  As they were sipping their steaming tea, a voice echoed over the loudspeaker. “Calling Frank and Joe Hardy! Calling Frank and Joe Hardy!”

  They looked at each other in surprise. “What do you make of that?” Joe asked.

  Frank shrugged. “Let’s go find out!”

  They hastened to the desk and were informed that Mr. Marks wanted them to meet him at one of the airport repair shops. The clerk gave them directions.

  “So Dad finally surfaced and right here!” Frank said. “Wonder why he picked this place.”

  “I was there with Jack Wayne once,” Joe replied. “He told me that it’s hardly ever used in the morning. At this time it should be vacant.”

  “This could mean two things. Either this is on the level and Dad doesn’t want to be seen, or it’s a neat little trap set up by our two buddies.”

  “Let’s proceed with caution,” Joe advised as they approached the shop. No one was in sight. Frank slowly opened the door. There were power tools in one corner; drills, auger bits, and screwdrivers along the wall.

  “Mr. Marks?” Frank called out.

  “Sh! Over here, Frank!” came a whispered reply.

  The boys walked inside. Parts of a dismantled engine lay on a broad workbench. Crates stood piled up behind it. There were no workmen in sight.

  Suddenly Frank and Joe had visions of roman candles going off, followed by an explosion of blinding light. Then they blacked out!

  CHAPTER V

  The Missing Missile

  A VOICE that seemed to come from far off said, “Frank, Joe, wake up!”

  Groggily Joe opened his eyes. The repair shop came into focus. So did Jack Wayne, who was squatting on his heels and shaking him by the shoulder.

  “Boy, whoever clouted you on the head really did a good job!” the pilot said as the boys came to. “You both were unconscious when I found you!”

  “You can say that again,” Frank groaned. “The place seemed empty when we came in. Somebody whispered ‘Over here,’ and it sounded just like Dad. Then, pow! The building caved in on us.”

  Joe rubbed the back of his head gingerly, wincing when he touched the bump caused by the blow. He rose unsteadily to his feet, bracing himself with one hand on the doorknob. “I didn’t see anyone, either. I’d swear we were mowed down by a runaway jetliner! Whoever sapped us must have been hiding behind the door.”

  “And he, or they, laid you two out like a couple of iced mackerel,” Jack observed.

  “We walked right into that trap,” Frank said ruefully. “Should have known better. I bet Snap Brim and Beret never left the airport after talking to you, Jack.”

  “Sure. They sneaked around here, baited the trap with that bogus message from L. Marks, and knocked us out,” Joe added.

  “They must have been pretty sure you’d fall for it,” Jack went on. “Who’s L. Marks, anyhow?”

  “An alias Dad used,” Frank explained.

  “Well, that’s how I found you,” Jack said.

  “The desk clerk told me that you were paged by Marks, who asked you to meet him in the repair shop.”

  “One thing is certain,” Frank said. “They know about Dad. His cover is blown. We must alert him right away!”

  “But we have no way of contacting him,” Joe pointed out. “We’d better get on with the Washington assignment and hope for the best.”

  The boys discovered that their jackets were missing. A search of the repair shop failed to turn them up.

  “We’re minus our wallets, money, and driver’s licenses,” Joe lamented.

  “We’ll have to call Chief Collig,” Frank said.

  They all went to the administration building, where they telephoned police headquarters.

  Collig took down the details. He promised to have his men comb Bayport for the thugs who had knocked the boys out.

  “Meanwhile, what do we do for money?” Frank asked after he had hung up.

  Jack Wayne came to the rescue. “Don’t worry about financing your expedition to the Pentagon. I’ll loan you the money. And there are a couple of jackets in my locker that you can borrow.”

  Wayne cashed a check, then the three boarded the plane. Receiving the green light from the control tower, Jack gave her the gun, zoomed down the runway, and lifted the nose into a perfect take-off. Smoothly the aircraft gained altitude. The pilot locked the automatic controls.

  They flew over Baltimore. Frank and Joe looked down at the Maryland city, wondering whether their father was still there.

  Their speculations came to a halt as Jack brought the plane down to a smooth landing at the Washington airport. While he stood by, the Hardys hailed a taxi and rode to the Pentagon.

  A naval officer escorted them to Admiral Rodgers’ office. A model warship stood on a bookcase. A multicolored map of the Pacific hung on the wall behind the desk.

  The admiral was in uniform with a row of service stripes on his sleeve. He had fought in many battles on the high seas without flinching. But now he looked worried!

  He asked the Hardys to tell him all they knew. Joe gave a rapid account of his attempt to put through a call to New York City, only to find that he had dialed incorrectly and had reached an office in the Pentagon.

  Frank related the sound of scuffling, the call for help, and the reference to the Super S data. “And then,” he added, “there were those mysterious words about the Bombay Boomerang!”

  Admiral Rodgers listened with a grave expression. “You’ve stumbled into a real-life drama here at the Pentagon,” he said. “Happened down the hall in the office of Commander Wenn, who’s been directing secret research on our latest missile systems.”

  “Was he the one who answered our call?” Joe asked.

  “Yes. He was still on the line when the intruders appeared. Luckily he had a split second in which to press a button underneath the edge of his desk. This triggered a tape recorder in a false bottom of one drawer. We’ve got a tape of everything that was said, including what you heard.”

  “What happened then?” Frank inquired.

  “Someone bashed the commander over the head, knocking him out. They ransacked his office. Looked as if a tornado hit it. Drawers overturned, locks broken, files rifled, official documents strewn around like confetti!”

  “Wow!” Frank exclaimed.

  “The worst part is that they found what they were looking for. You heard Commander Wenn’s shout about the Super S data. Well, they took it! And that is what’s got us in a serious jam!”

  “But what does it all mean?” Joe was baffled.

  “The Super S is the newest addition to our missile program. Air-to-ground. This one zeros in on heat. The instrumentation is sensitive enough to be set for any degree of temperature above the l
evel of lukewarm water. You probably know from your scientific experiments in high school that precisely equal degrees of heat are rarely found together outside the laboratory. The Super S will ignore every heat level except the fraction of a degree it’s programmed for.”

  The admiral ran his fingers through his hair. “Virtually nothing can fox this missile,” he concluded. “The target is a dead pigeon the moment the pilot launches a Super S.”

  “Are we the only nation who has it?” Frank asked.

  “We used to be,” Rodgers said grimly. “We’ll run into international competition if those thieves smuggle the information out of the country, though! I could mention a number of foreign powers that would be interested in a deal at any price!”

  “Is that what the thieves are planning, sir?” Joe inquired. “I mean, selling the information. Does the tape indicate that?”

  The admiral frowned. “No, it doesn’t,” he replied slowly.

  Frank pursued this line of questioning. “What about the phrase Bombay Boomerang? Joe and I could swear that we heard it mentioned.”

  “You did,” the admiral told him.

  “It could mean that India is involved.”

  “It could.”

  “What else is on the tape, Admiral?”

  Rodgers held up one hand. “Sorry. I’ll have to flag you down on that question. Can’t give you the answer.”

  “Why not, sir?”

  “Because it’s classified information. No one has security clearance on the missile program except those directly assigned to Super S research.”

  The Hardys’ expressions showed that they were keenly disappointed. They were depressed that they had made the trip to Washington, only to find the riddle as perplexing as ever.

  “Don’t be so dejected,” Admiral Rodgers went on. “You both know what it means to be sworn to secrecy, don’t you?”

  Frank and Joe nodded. “You’ve proved yourselves in helping your father with some difficult cases. I have some information for him which I will give you now. But it’s strictly confidential.”