Death and Diamonds

by Franklin W. Dixon

  She leaned over and kissed me on the forehead. “You’re such a sweetheart. And this is going to be so hard for me. . . .”

  That’s when Bobo cut the engine. “Okay,” he said, letting go of the rudder and coming toward me. “Let’s get this thing done.”

  16.

  The Chase Is On

  I got to the boathouse just a little too late, and you know what they say—a miss is as good as a mile. I ran straight down to the waterside, in time to see the boat pull away from the shore, with my brother on it.

  I knew that if I didn’t want it to be his last ride, I’d better get after them somehow.

  I looked around. There were a couple dozen boats moored by the dock at the water’s edge, but only one of them looked fast enough to catch the boat Frank was on. I hopped aboard and started hot-wiring it.

  I know, I know, stealing a boat is against the law. But at that moment, I didn’t have much of a choice. Later on ATAC would have to reimburse the owner for gas . . . and whatever damage I wound up doing.

  It only took me a minute or so to get the motor running. I cast off and headed out after them, pedal to the metal in the direction I thought they’d gone (it was hard to tell in the darkness).

  It was a pretty cool boat, I have to say. Way faster than any I’d ever been on before. They’d gotten a big head start on me, but after two or three minutes, just when I thought I’d lost them, I spotted their wake far ahead of me, lit by the light of the rising full moon.

  Two or three minutes later, I was close enough to see people on board. Three people, it looked like. And they were getting closer every second.

  I realized they’d cut their engine and were coming to a stop, because I was gaining on them quickly now. Then one of them seemed to see me, because he panicked and headed back to the wheel. A big guy—I thought I recognized him as Bobo Hines. I was surprised, but only mildly. Whoever it was, I was going to have to deal with him if I wanted to save my brother.

  Just as I was slowing down, about to come alongside, the other boat pulled away again.

  Soon we were both going full speed, side by side. Every few seconds the other boat veered away to the left, away from me. I’d veer over too, but then it would veer left again. We were soon going around in circles, side by side.

  I could see them perfectly now—Bobo at the wheel, with Naomi leaning over the stern, heaving her guts up every time he made a sharp left.

  But where was Frank?

  I figured he must have been down on the deck, tied up. Otherwise, he’d have been up there like before. The boat’s motion must have thrown him down when it kicked into gear.

  We were just a few feet apart now. One false move, and the two boats would smack into each other. If that happened, we’d all die out here.

  Suddenly, I saw Bobo turn toward me and level a gun.

  BAM!

  I ducked, just as the bullet whizzed by.

  He was a pretty good shot. I mean, we were both speeding in circles, bouncing up and down on each other’s wakes, and he only missed me by inches.

  The second shot was even closer. If this kept up, I was going to get hit with the next shot, or the one after that. I knew I had to do something to change the odds.

  So I did. Taking off my leather jacket, I stuffed it in between the wheel and its housing, so my boat wouldn’t change course. Then, without warning, I ran to the rail and leaped over, landing on the other boat.

  I did a somersault roll and came up right in front of Bobo. He looked frozen in surprise, which was a good thing. Because before he could level his gun at me, I had a hand on his firing arm, forcing it away from me.

  He fired twice more as I banged his arm down on the gunwale. The third whack separated the gun from his hand. It slid down the deck, away from us and toward Naomi.

  She saw it and tried to reach for it, with one hand holding on to the rail for dear life—but it slid just out of her reach, straight through one of the gaps in the railing, and into the bay.

  Well, that was a good thing. But Bobo’s stranglehold on my neck was not so good.

  Lucky for me, Frank somehow managed to free his hands, just in time to deal Bobo a swift karate chop to the back of the neck. He crumpled, and I could breathe again—not a moment too soon, either, because I was already seeing stars, and they weren’t the ones in the sky.

  Frank slowed the boat down to a crawl. The other boat kept going around in speedy circles. It would probably keep going till it ran out of gas. I sure hoped it wouldn’t slam into anything—like us, for instance.

  Bobo had gotten to his feet again, and I could see from the look in his eyes that he wasn’t done with us yet. He fished a knife from his belt and waved it in front of him.

  “Frank?” I said.

  “On three,” he replied. “One . . . two . . .”

  He never got to three. Bobo rushed at me, waving the knife. I ducked, grabbing his leg and flipping him. Then Frank stomped on the arm with the knife, separating it from his grasp.

  Bobo was strong, all right. It took both of us to lift him into the air and throw him overboard.

  “Bobo!” Naomi screamed, climbing onto the railing and making like she wanted to jump ship and join him. “Help me!”

  “I can’t!” he yelled back. “I can’t swim!”

  “Better throw him a life preserver,” Frank said.

  I fished one out and threw it overboard, while Frank got hold of Naomi and made her climb back down onto the deck.

  “I guess we’d better haul him out,” I said.

  “Sure thing,” Frank agreed, going to the wheel and steering us over next to Bobo.

  In the distance I saw bright searchlights coming toward us. “Nice,” I said. “That’d be Chief Collig’s port patrol unit, just in time.”

  “Actually,” Frank said, “we could’ve used them ten minutes ago.”

  “Oh, well,” I said. “Better late than never.”

  I went over to Naomi, who had crumpled in a heap and was crying. “Well, Frank,” I said, “I guess it’s true what they say—beauty is only skin deep.”

  17.

  When Love Comes Calling

  We were sitting in the kitchen, Joe and I, reading through the Bayport papers, cutting out all the articles about the heist. The headlines read: BAYPORT POLICE BREAK BIG CASE; SUPERMODEL, BODYGUARD HELD IN DIAMOND SWITCH.

  Another paper featured a series of mug shots: Shakey Twist, Carlos Sanguillen, Bobo Hines, and Naomi Dowd. There were red Xs through Shakey’s and Sanguillen’s photos, indicating that they were dead. FOUR BIRDS WITH ONE STONE, the headline read. Underneath was a photo of the mayor pinning a medal on Chief Collig, with the caption: “Man of the hour.”

  “Can you believe this?” Joe asked, showing it to me. “That is so bogus!”

  “Never mind, Joe,” I said. “We don’t want the publicity. You know how ATAC protects its secrecy.”

  “I guess,” he said, frowning. “I just hate to see Chief Collig grab all the credit.”

  “That was probably the mayor’s doing,” I said. “The chief’s a good guy, you know that.”

  “I guess,” he said again. Then, “You know what really burns me?”

  “What?”

  “We never got to date the girls.”

  “Well, in my case, that’s probably a good thing,” I said. “She may not have been a murderer, but she knew people would die if her scheme succeeded, and she went along with it, all the way.”

  “Well, that’s you. What about me, huh?”

  I shrugged. “If you feel that badly about it, why don’t you give Shakira a call?”

  His eyes brightened. “Hey, that’s right—she gave me her cell number! Now, where did I put it. . . ?”

  He started fishing through his pockets.

  “Joe, I was just kidding,” I said.

  “Whatever—I’m gonna call her, man.” He pulled a crumpled business card out of his pocket. “Here it is!” He fished out his cell phone and started dialing.
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  “Joe, forget her, man. Let’s just move on, okay?”

  “Yeah, right—you move on, bro. I’m movin’ in.” He listened for a minute, then said, “Shakira? It’s Joe! How’re you doin’?”

  He listened again. “Joe Hardy. You know, your bodyguard? In Bayport? At the show?”

  He listened again, his smile fading. “Well, you said to call you if I wanted to get in touch with you. . . . Yeah, I know you meant during the diamond show, but I thought . . .”

  Joe looked like he’d been slapped in the face. “But you said . . . yeah, I know the papers didn’t mention us, but . . . but . . .”

  He held the phone away from his ear, shaking his head. “She hung up on me! Can you believe that?”

  “What’d she say?”

  “She didn’t see my name mentioned in any of the papers, so I’m still a nobody to her!”

  “Man, that really bites.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Forget about it,” I said. “Remember what you told me back on that boat?”

  “No. What?”

  “You said, ‘Beauty is only skin deep.’”

  “Did I say that?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What was I thinking?”

  “You were right,” I said. “It’s personality that counts in the end.”

  He sighed and put his cell phone back in his pocket. “I guess you’re right. She sure was fine, though, wasn’t she?”

  “They both were.”

  “Man, I’m never gonna let myself fall for somebody like that again.”

  “Me neither,” I agreed.

  “So . . . what’s next?”

  “Uh . . . how about school? It starts in twenty minutes.”

  And so it was. Everyday life strikes again. Yesterday we’d been this close to being famous. Today we were back to being just us—a couple of average guys, with a secret identity that was doomed to remain secret.

  Joe got up from his chair, groaning like an old man. “Oh, well,” he said with a sigh. “Easy come, easy go.”