ATAC BRIEFING FOR AGENTS FRANK AND JOE HARDY
MISSION:
Investigate threats sent by an extremist environmental group—STEMM—to the owner of the local mall. These fanatics may resort to drastic measures to protect nearby wetlands. That is, if members of STEMM are really the ones behind the threats….
LOCATION:
Eastside Mall.
POTENTIAL VICTIMS:
Chet, lola, and other teens who work and hang at the mall.
SUSPECTS:
The slightly wacky hippie who manages a store at the mall. The seedy night watchman who seems busier guarding secrets than stores.
THIS MISSION REQUIRES YOUR IMMEDIATE ATTENTION. THIS MESSAGE WILL BE ERASED IN FIVE SECONDS.
WATCH OUR FOR NEXT CASE: #18: Pushed
ALADDIN PAPERBACKS
Simon & Schuster, New York
Cover designed by Lisa Vega
Cover photograph copyright © 2007 by
Justin Ouellette/Getty Images Ages 8-12
kids.simonandschuster.com
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Retail can be deadly!
Adriana showed me around the store for about fifteen minutes. By the time closing time rolled around, the rain had let up, and the sky was getting a little brighter.
She got out her keys, and we stepped out onto the promenade so she could lock up. I was kind of hoping she’d let me walk her to her car. That way, I could get to know her better—and question her some more about the case, of course.
As I waited, I heard a cracking noise coming from above my head—a noise that sounded like …
I looked up, just in time to see a huge pane of glass separate from the ceiling and come hurtling down, headed right for us!
#1 Extreme Danger
#2 Running on Fumes
#3 Boardwalk Bust
#4 Thrill Ride
#5 Rocky Road
#6 Burned
#7 Operation: Survival
#8 Top Ten Ways to Die
#9 Martial Law
#10 Blown Away
#11 Hurricane Joe
#12 Trouble in Paradise
#13 The Mummy’s Curse
#14 Hazed
#15 Death and Diamonds
#16 Bayport Buccaneers
#17 Murder at the Mall
Super Mystery #1: Wanted
Super Mystery #2: Kidnapped at the Casino
Available from Simon & Schuster
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ALADDIN PAPERBACKS
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www.SimonandSchuster.com
Copyright © 2007 by Simon & Schuster, Inc.
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
THE HARDY BOYS MYSTERY STORIES and HARDY BOYS UNDERCOVER BROTHERS are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
ALADDIN PAPERBACKS and related logo are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Designed by Lisa Vega
The text of this book was set in Aldine 401 BT.
First Aladdin Paperbacks edition July 2007
Library of Congress Control Number 2007926412
ISBN-13: 978-1-4169-3930-6
ISBN-10: 1-4169-3930-X
ISBN-13: 978-1-4424-6535-0
Chapter 1: Hard-Boiled Hardys
Chapter 2: Reality Bites
Chapter 3: Dangerous Work
Chapter 4: Help Wanted?
Chapter 5: Shattered Illusions
Chapter 6: Picking Up the Pieces
Chapter 7: New Angles
Chapter 8: Up on the Roof
Chapter 9: Murder at the Mall
Chapter 10: We Get a Clue
Chapter 11: The Big Chill
Chapter 12: A Friend in Need
Chapter 13: Big-Time Evil
Chapter 14: Over the Edge
Chapter 15: The Chase Is On
1.
Hard-Boiled Hardys
My skin was burning!
Every breath was like sucking fire straight into my lungs. I pounded on the door, but it was locked from the outside.
Now, I love a good sauna—most of the time. But 180 degrees? Give me a break!
“Any great ideas?” I asked my brother Frank—not because he’s a year older than I am, but because he has a long history of thinking us out of trouble.
We’d been on the trail of a notorious people trafficker—a really bad, really rich guy. This sleazebag happened to belong to the very exclusive Moscow Health and Fitness Center—that’s Moscow, as in Russia.
Working with ATAC (American Teens Against Crime) in partnership with Interpol, Frank and I had followed Mr. Bigski all the way across the Atlantic Ocean and right into this sauna that was about to broil us alive.
Since this particular bad guy had made a specialty of smuggling teenagers, Interpol decided that it had to be teenagers—Frank and me, disguised as bait—who would track this bad boy down.
Well, we’d tracked him down, all right—straight into this sauna. The only problem was, he’d been onto us—maybe from the very start—and now Frank and I were the ones who were cornered!
When our mark got up and left the sauna, we waited a minute or two, like any good investigator who’s tailing a suspect. Only then did we try to follow him. That’s when the door refused to budge, and we realized he’d locked us in!
A quick check of the thermostat showed he’d jimmied that, too—the control lever was gone. While 180 degrees Fahrenheit isn’t technically boiling, it was plenty close enough to finish us off.
I wondered where the pool boy had gone off to. Mr. Bigski must’ve paid him a handsome tip to get lost, I figured.
“Okay, big brother,” I said, folding my arms and sitting back on the redwood bench as the waves of heat rose all around us. “Now what do we do?”
“First, I would like to point out,” Frank stated, “that it was your idea to trail this guy to the health club. Not mine.”
“This is no time to argue,” I said. He was right, though. It was my idea. “Come on, Frank, you know you’re the brains of this outfit.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere,” he said. “Even if it’s true.”
“I can’t even think in this heat.”
“Well, if you’ll just stop talking for a minute, I’ll take a stab at it.” He sighed and lowered his head into his hands.
The heat kept radiating from the lava rocks, hitting me in little waves … thwap … thwap … thwap …
If it got any hotter in here, I was definitely going to pass out.
“Don’t take too long about it, Frank.”
Right on cue, he cried, “I have an idea! Got any metal on you?”
“Metal? Frank, we’re in our bathing suits!”
“Your chain, man.”
“This? This is gold, dude—twenty-four carats!”
“Joe, we haven’t got time to fool around here.”
It hurt me, but I took off the chain and handed it to him. Then I leaned back on the bench and closed my eyes. I was on the edge of fading out, and I had to keep biting my lip just to stay awake.
Frank grabbed a towel someone had left behind on the bench and wrapped it around his hand to protect it. Then he reached into the pile of steaming lava rocks, jamming the chain deep into the sauna’s power source.
There was a sudden spark, and a loud POP! In an instant, al
l the lights went out, and we were in total darkness.
“Frank?” I gasped, fully awake now. “Are you okay?”
I sure hoped he hadn’t electrocuted himself trying to save us!
“I … I think so,” he said in a shaky voice. “I did get shocked pretty good….”
“That was a stupid, stupid thing to do, Frank.”
“I didn’t see much choice, Joe. Either the heat got short-circuited, or we did. It ought to start cooling off in here pretty soon.”
“Aw, our brains’ll be boiled by then! And meanwhile, we’re still locked in.”
“You think so? Try the door.”
“What?”
“Just try it.”
I did—and guess what? It opened.
Man, that Frank is smart! How did he know that the lock on the sauna door was hooked up to an electronic release?
“I’ve gotta hand it to you, Frank,” I told him. “In this heat, I couldn’t even have thought of my own name, let alone an idea like that.”
“Ah, it’s nothing.”
“Sure you’re all right?”
“Nope. Now could we please get moving?”
A faint glow from the club’s emergency lighting system filtered in. It pierced the steam that rose from the whirlpool and filled the entire pool enclosure.
In the dim light, I turned and saw Frank—and jumped backward in shock!
His hair was sticking straight up. The ends looked a little charred, and so did his eyebrows—but otherwise, he was definitely alive. His eyes were opened wider than I’d ever seen them. The dry towel that had protected him was charred and smoking as he unwound it from his hand and dropped it on the floor.
“Come on,” he said, brushing past me. “Let’s get out of here—we’ve got to catch that guy before he gets away!”
“You think he’s still hanging around?” I asked as we entered the shower room. “I doubt it. If I were him, I’d be long gone.”
But I was wrong. Again. Because suddenly the door to one of the shower stalls banged open behind me.
Instinctively, I ducked—and a good thing, too. The gunshot missed my head by inches, ricocheting off the wall and sending pieces of tile flying everywhere.
I went into a roll and buckled the guy’s knees. He let out a yelp and went down in a heap, just in time for Frank to yank away his gun while I pummeled him into total submission.
“That wasn’t a very nice thing to do, mister,” I told him. “But then, you’re not a very nice guy, are you?”
He didn’t answer. In fact, I’m not sure he heard me. He looked pretty out of it, thanks to my poor sore fists.
“I’ll alert the police,” said Frank, stepping outside and pulling out his cell phone. “You okay in here alone with him?”
“I’m fine now,” I answered.
Getting off the passed-out crook, I stepped into a shower stall and turned on the cold water. I needed to cool off now, before I passed out myself.
“Sure you’re okay, Frank?” I asked. “You look kind of … electric.”
He ran a hand through his hair, which kept standing straight up anyway. “I’m fine,” he insisted. “Never felt better in my life. I’m all … tingly!”
His whole body shuddered, and I could swear I saw sparks flying. But charged up or not, he was definitely alive, and that was a big relief.
“Ahhh,” I said, letting the cold water of the shower pour all over me, while I kept a wary eye on the motionless Mr. Bigski. “You know, you’re right, Frank. I do feel pretty good. And I’ve never felt cleaner, either!”
2.
Reality Bites
Ah yes, it was great to be back in the U.S. of A! Russia’s a fascinating place to visit, but not when you’re being cooked alive.
Besides, after spending the whole school vacation week out of the country, it was nice to have Sunday to veg out before starting school again the next morning.
And with all of Sunday off, what better way to relax than by hanging out at the food court of the good old East Side Mall with our friends, Chet Morton and his sister Iola?
“Tell me the truth,” Iola was saying. “I look like a freakazoid in this uniform, right? Come on, you can be honest. I can take it.”
“Okay, you look like a freakazoid,” Joe said, eyeing her up and down.
“Ahhh! I can’t take it!” Iola blew her hair out of her eyes, then shook her head and groaned. “I’m going to quit this job. Right now.”
“Wait,” I said, putting a hand on her shoulder to keep her from getting up. “You said you need the work.”
“I don’t need it that bad,” she said, looking down at her weird uniform from Phil’s Phranks ’n’ Phries—the one that made her look like a Phrank with mustard.
Chet put a hand on her shoulder. “Just keep thinking, ‘I’m going to Montreal on the class trip…. I’m going to Mon—”
“Okay, okay!” she said, letting out a huge sigh. “I won’t quit. But this outfit is just too much. I’m a walking fashion nightmare!”
“Hey, it could be worse,” Chet said. “You could be dressed as a taco.” He nodded toward Tio’s Tacos, whose workers were all wearing taco shell hats.
See, that’s the great thing about East Side Mall. It’s not like all those new squeaky-clean megamalls that have no character at all.
No, East Side is a dinosaur among malls. Its stores are mostly independents, not chains—and they sell really cool, unusual stuff, too. Maybe that’s why it’s been a favorite hangout for Bayport’s teens since the day it opened, thirty long years ago.
True, the place had seen better days. Everything looked just a little bit shabby, and the crowds weren’t what they used to be. Over the past couple of years, some of East Side’s biggest and best stores had closed—including that great old one-of-a-kind department store, Raymond’s.
Maybe it was because the East Side neighborhood was a little out-of-the-way. Other than the mall, there weren’t too many reasons for townies to drive way out here—not yet, anyway. But I remembered reading in the paper that the East Side was going to be Bayport’s next hot neighborhood.
“How are you going to afford the trip, Chet?” asked Iola.
“Huh?” It was obvious he’d never even thought about it.
“The trip? Montreal? You said you were coming, remember?” Iola reminded him. “And our parents aren’t paying for it.”
“You got that right,” Chet said, snorting. “I still haven’t paid them back for the repair work on their Chevy.”
“The one you backed into the fire hydrant?” Joe asked.
“Is there another?” He sighed sadly. “I guess I’m gonna have to find a job too.”
“Phil’s still hiring,” Iola suggested. “He’s always hiring.”
“No way,” said Chet quickly. “I’m not sinking that low. There’s got to be a better job than that.”
“Good luck,” she told him. “I looked for two weeks before I gave up and took this one.”
“Well, if I get desperate, I’ll let you know,” said Chet.
“How ’bout you two?” Iola asked me and Joe. “You thinking of coming on the trip? Maybe you ought to get jobs here too.”
“Uh … yeah, I guess,” I responded, giving Joe a look.
“Maybe,” said Joe, equally uneasy.
See, the thing is, not many people know about our undercover work for ATAC. Certainly not Iola and Chet—knowing would only put them in danger, and might also mess up one of our missions.
But it’s hard to take a job when you might have to quit at any moment to go after some bad guy or other. Same goes for class trips. We must have lost our deposits at least three times.
“You guys ought to consider it,” Iola urged. “Working builds character.”
We all stared at her uniform, shaking our heads.
“In my case, a lot of character,” she added.
“You know, I really should get a job,” Chet said, suddenly getting serious. “I’ve been working with m
y personal trainer, and he’s not cheap, believe me. I know my mom and dad are happy to pay for it, but I really should start contributing.”
“Hey, man—whatever you’re paying him, he’s worth it,” said Joe. “Frank, check out these biceps.” He squeezed Chet’s arm, and Chet made a muscle so we could all admire the trainer’s expensive work.
“I’ve been bench-pressing over three hundred pounds,” Chet bragged.
“Get out!” I said.
“Uh-huh,” replied Chet, with a smug smile on his face. “Eat your heart out.”
For almost his whole life, Chet had been … well, overweight. But something must have snapped, because suddenly he swore off the junk food and started working out with that trainer of his. In just a few months, Chet’s stomach went from a hunk of flab to a concrete slab.
“I think I’ll take a little stroll around and see who’s hiring,” he said, flexing his pecs.
“Now?” asked Joe.
“Hey, there’s no time like the present,” Chet shot back. Wading through the lunchtime crowd, he disappeared from view.
Iola sipped on her chocolate milkshake and said, “You know Phil, my boss? He says this mall’s going downhill fast, because of all the kids hanging out.”
I glanced around the food court. Sure enough, most of the people at the food court were kids around our age.
“What’s wrong with kids hanging out?” Joe asked.
“He says it scares people with real money away.”
“I don’t get it,” said Joe. “What’s so scary about kids?”
Iola arched her eyebrows and turned toward the food court entrance, where a group of teens about our age had taken up positions along the low stone wall.
I counted seven of them—five guys and two girls. The guys all had the same buzz cuts, rippedup T-shirts, and cargo pants. Their shoes had either no laces, or laces that weren’t tied. Three of the guys had tattoos on their arms or necks, and two of them had eyebrow rings.
The two girls had about five earrings in each ear, pierced noses, and ripped jeans. One of them was wearing a tank top that showed a navel ring and a tattoo on her back. The other was wearing an old motorcycle vest, so I couldn’t tell what else she’d done to herself.
Murder at the Mall Page 1