Training for Trouble

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “Last night was supposed to be only a warning, Frank,” Allen said. “I didn’t want it to turn into a full-blown fight. You were still asking questions. We wanted you to let Victoria take the fall and then let it drop.”

  Frank recalled that Allen had run from the van rather than fight. That fit with Frierson’s story. “And Targan? What was with the hotplate and the wild stuff in the woods this morning?”

  Allen’s jaw dropped. “This morning?”

  Allen and Joe obviously hadn’t heard about the gunman yet. Frank filled them in.

  Frierson went pale. “See that’s just it,” he said. “That’s why I came here to confess to Joe.”

  “How do you mean?” Joe said.

  “Once Sokal was named director, we stopped doing bad stuff,” Allen said. “I have no idea who attacked Joe or who shot at you or who fixed Jake’s hotplate to blow.”

  “Which means—” Frank started.

  “That someone’s still out there targeting people,” Allen said, finishing Frank’s thought. “Either Sokal’s gone completely crazy and doesn’t know when to stop, or some guy we don’t know about has started doing even more scary stuff.”

  13 Crossbow Kidnapping

  * * *

  “Scary is right,” Frank said. “William Moubray’s lucky to be alive.”

  “Go outside, Allen,” Joe said. “Say hello to those cops while I talk to my brother.”

  Head hanging, Frierson obeyed.

  Frank shut the door behind him. “What do you think?”

  Joe cracked his knuckles. “I don’t know if he’s telling the truth.”

  “It all makes sense,” Frank said.

  “Frierson’s the person who benefits the most if Targan can’t compete anymore,” Joe said. “He steps into that weight class.”

  “That’s true,” Frank admitted.

  “Allen didn’t get here until about ten minutes before you,” Joe noted. “He had plenty of time to chase you around the woods, then get over here. Maybe he injured Targan, shot Moubray, then got nervous and hurried over here to confess to smaller crimes, hoping he’d get away with it.”

  “No,” Frank said. “The guy with the gun was taller than Allen. Only an inch or so, but taller.”

  “You were being shot at, Frank. Are you positive?”

  Frank hesitated.

  “See,” Joe said. “You just answered my question.”

  “We can still use Frierson,” Frank said. “We take him to the training center with us and confront Sokal. See what he says when he finds out Frierson’s singing like a bird.”

  Joe nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

  * * *

  It was afternoon when Frank pulled the van into the Combat Sports Training Facility parking lot. Joe sat in the passenger seat, while Allen sat quietly in the back of the van.

  “The lot’s almost full,” Frank said. “Coach Sokal must be happy the place is so crowded on the first official day of his rule.”

  Allen didn’t say anything.

  “Here’s your chance,” Joe said to Allen as they all got out. “You let Sokal know you’re coming clean, confessing to all the things you did. We’ll see how he reacts.”

  “What if he goes off?” Allen asked. “I mean… if the nut’s crazy enough to shoot at people, who knows what he’ll do.”

  “There’s too much going on today,” Frank said. “He won’t try anything here.”

  Inside, it was obvious that all the coaches and athletes had been ordered to be especially helpful and happy.

  A young woman greeted them as they walked onto the gym floor. She was handing out color pamphlets describing the training center and the parts of it that were open to the public.

  Joe held up his hand. “Got one already, thanks.”

  Young kids, laughing and yelling, were getting a lesson on how to hold a foil properly. A judo blue belt tossed a medicine ball to her father. Music boomed from speakers as an instructor led a crowded aerobics class based on fencing and judo moves.

  “At least the rope’s been fixed,” Allen said.

  “You’re right,” Frank replied. “Too bad no one seems to feel like climbing it.”

  “Who are those guys who look like they’re having no fun?” Joe asked. He gestured toward the solemn young men in training center sweatshirts standing next to each door.

  “Off-duty cops, I bet,” Frank said. “Looks like Sokal hired some professional security for the place.”

  Geneve Montreux, dressed casually in a black warm-up suit, strode over to the Hardys. She looked relaxed for the first time Frank could remember.

  She smiled at the boys. “Joe,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m fine, Ms. Montreux,” Joe said. “I’m sorry you had to give up your position to Coach Sokal.”

  “Why, thank you,” Montreux said. “It is sad, I suppose. But I’m enjoying coaching these kids today. It’s been a while since I felt that way.”

  “We were actually looking for Coach Sokal,” Joe said. “Is he here?”

  Montreux shook her head. “I haven’t seen him since this morning. Check around, though. I’m sure he’s here somewhere.” Montreux said goodbye and returned to her young students.

  “Time to split up,” Joe said.

  “Sounds good,” Frank replied. “You check Sokal’s office. Allen and I will head downstairs.”

  Joe started to walk off. Frank grabbed his shoulder. “And, Joe,” he said, “if you find him, please don’t confront him. Come get us to back you up.”

  “You got it,” Joe replied. “You do the same.”

  Joe nodded at the police officer guard as he passed through the double doors leading to the long hallway outside the gym. “Going to the bathroom, okay?” he said.

  The officer raised an eyebrow. “I’ll expect a full report when you get back.”

  “Funny.”

  The hallway was empty. Glancing over his shoulder, Joe made a beeline for the offices down the way.

  Victoria’s office still had yellow crime-scene tape across the door. He peeked in. It looked exactly as it had the day before.

  The next door over had been Sokal’s, but someone had already pulled the name tag from the door. Only a film of adhesive remained. Joe guessed Sokal had started to move into Montreux’s director’s digs.

  Joe turned to Montreux’s door. Her nameplate was gone as well. He knocked. “Coach Sokal, you in there?”

  No reply.

  Joe knocked again, then returned to Sokal’s original office. He tried the door. To his surprise, it opened.

  He peered in—no one. Stepping in, he turned on the light. What he saw surprised him even more.

  Sokal’s office had been messy the day before when Joe and Frank had broken in. It had been nothing like this, though.

  If Sokal was switching offices, Joe would have expected some disarray. This was not disarray. The room looked as though a bomb had gone off.

  The heavy steel filing cabinet had been toppled. Files lay open and strewn across the floor. The desk chair was on its back. A fist-size dent marred the new Sheetrock on one wall.

  “Whooee!” Joe said. “There was some kind of major fight in here.”

  * * *

  Frank and Allen descended the stairs to explore the basement. Strangely, all the lights were off as they passed through the fire doors and onto hard composite flooring.

  Allen found the switches on the wall and flicked them on. The fluorescent bulbs shimmered pale green, then popped all the way on. A gentle hum filled the vast space.

  “No one’s here,” Allen said.

  “We’ve got to check,” Frank said. “Don’t back out now.”

  They moved to their right, toward the long indoor archery range.

  “Empty,” Frank said. “We should check all those storage rooms over there.”

  They crossed under the gymnasium floor. Over their heads, they heard the thumping of people jumping, falling, kicking.

  At the opp
osite end of the basement, another long hallway, similar to the archery range, led away from the main floor. It was lined with unmarked white doors. Future locker rooms, offices, equipment rooms, Frank figured.

  Allen entered the hallway first. He stayed close to the left-side wall, moving slowly.

  Frank turned the knob on the first door. “It’s open,” he whispered to Allen.

  Looking in, he saw only stacks of ladders, industrial-size drums of white paint, and other construction supplies.

  “He’s not down here,” Allen said. “What would he be doing here?”

  As they stepped back out into the hall, Allen froze. Frank almost bumped him, then saw what frightened Frierson.

  A man dressed in full archery gear—mesh mask, vest, gloves, pants—faced them from the center of the hall.

  He didn’t have a sword, but he was carrying William Moubray’s crossbow.

  “Oh, no!” Allen said.

  The man strode forward and pushed Frierson aside with his forearm. Allen stumbled to the side, eyes round with fear.

  The man pointed the crossbow at Frank. He said nothing.

  Squinting, Frank tried to see through the mesh face mask but couldn’t identify the man.

  The man said something, but Frank couldn’t understand him. The mask, or perhaps a cloth over his mouth, muffled the man’s voice. It sounded eerie, far away, ghostlike.

  “Get down on the ground!” the man said, louder this time.

  Allen dropped.

  Frank had already faced this freak once today. He’d had enough. With a burst of strength, he jumped, kicking at the crossbow.

  Frank’s foot connected. The crossbow fired, sending the fierce bolt rocketing into the wall.

  Frierson ran for it.

  “Allen!” Frank shouted, but Frierson was long gone.

  Frank’s attacker ran farther down the hall. Frank took off after him.

  He was gaining when the guy suddenly stopped and wheeled to face him. Somehow the guy had another bolt loaded. He leveled the bow at Frank’s chest.

  “Stop!” the guy shouted. “I won’t miss this time!”

  Frank stopped in his tracks. He’d gotten away with taking a chance once, but two times was one too many.

  “Keep your hands high!” the voice behind the mask said. “And come with me.”

  Frank followed the guy to the end of the hall. There, the man opened a door and ushered Frank through it with the razor-sharp tip of the loaded bolt.

  “Inside. Get on the ground next to your friend there!”

  It took a few seconds for Frank’s eyes to adjust to the dim light. The room was filled with folded judo mats and cork archery targets.

  Sitting in a corner, hands tied and mouth taped, was Coach Sokal. His eyes searched Frank’s for some sign of hope.

  Frank had none to give.

  “Get down!” the attacker shouted. “Sit down or I’ll shoot you both!”

  14 The Final Fall

  * * *

  Joe closed Sokal’s office door as he left. He wondered whom he should tell first. Should he go straight to the cops guarding the training center, or should he go find Frank and Allen? He didn’t have proof of anything yet. It just looked as if there had been some kind of struggle, as if someone had been after some files or after Coach Sokal, or both.

  Joe headed back to the gym. As he passed a crowd of people waiting to try out the cross-country ski machines, Allen Frierson came sprinting up to him.

  “Joe! Downstairs…”

  “Spit it out!” Joe yelled.

  “A guy with a loaded crossbow. He’s got Frank!”

  Joe led the way, taking the stairs two at a time. He stopped at the fire doors. Frierson hadn’t kept up. Joe still didn’t trust the guy and wondered if this might be a setup.

  “Allen!” he whispered

  “Right here,” Frierson said. He came down the stairs more slowly. “I don’t know if I’m up for this,” he said. “Maybe we should get the police.”

  “Go ahead then, get them,” Joe said. “I’m going after my brother.”

  Allen told Joe about the hallway where they’d run into the guy with the crossbow, then sprinted up the stairs.

  Joe entered the basement. He crossed the cold floor quickly. All the doors along the hallway were closed. He padded along, listening at each door.

  A few yards in, muffled voices reached him. He ran down to the door they came from.

  “You made me a promise!” he heard a man scream. “You break that promise, and I’ll make you pay for it!”

  Joe recognized Frank’s voice. “We can work this out. Let us go and we’ll all talk about it.”

  “There’s no time for that! It’s over for you, Sokal. I’ll close this whole place down for good if I have to.”

  Joe crossed the hall and opened the doors of one storage room after another. He found one with a wire equipment cage. Fencing vests and masks hung from hooks on the ceiling. Someone, the guy who had Frank, Joe guessed, had broken the lock.

  Quickly Joe went in and grabbed a protective vest and a mask. Digging through a wooden crate, he found a nice gleaming saber. It was brand-new, and the grips weren’t taped yet. It had the protective button on the end. Still, Joe figured, it was better than nothing.

  He ran across the hall, listening for voices. All he heard was Allen Frierson, followed by three security guards, bashing through the fire doors at the other end of the room.

  “Who’s out there?” a voice from inside the room screamed.

  Joe held up his hand, freezing Frierson and the security guards where they stood.

  “I’m coming out!” the voice shouted. “If I see cops out there, I’m going to shoot Coach Sokal. You hear me?”

  Joe kept quiet. He stepped away from the door and pressed himself as flat against the wall as he could.

  The door opened a crack.

  Joe knew this might be his only chance. He kicked the door with all his strength.

  The guy staggered back. Holding the crossbow in one hand, he pointed it at Joe and fired.

  Joe felt his blood run cold. The bolt zipped between his legs, tearing a two-inch rip in his jeans.

  Too stunned to react, Joe allowed the fencer to rush past him into the hall.

  When he turned, the guy had tossed the empty crossbow aside. Joe darted into the storage room, returning with his own saber.

  “Now we’ve got a fair fight,” Joe said. He turned his body sideways to present a smaller target and held out the saber at the ready.

  Thinking quickly, Frank ripped the tape from Sokal’s mouth. He struggled with the knotted ropes on the coach’s wrists. He had to get out there to help Joe.

  As the last strand of rope fell to the floor, Frank watched Joe and his opponent pass across the doorway, heading out to the open basement floor. He could hear the heavy steel blades bashing against each other.

  Joe could tell his opponent was no fencer. The man was awkward with the sword. He was strong, though, and quick. And while the fencing mask hid the guy’s face, Joe knew his expression was of crazed anger. He wanted to hurt Joe. That much was clear.

  Once out in the main area, they had room to move. They circled each other, sometimes using circular columns or stacks of Sheetrock to avoid the whistling blows of the blades.

  Joe feinted high. When his opponent lifted his saber to block, Joe slashed his blade down, slapping it across the man’s knee.

  “Rrraahh!” The guy let out a scream of pain. His legs almost buckled, but he recovered. Joe had to back off.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Joe spotted Allen and the officers next to the fire doors. They stood apprehensively, wanting to jump in and help but not finding an opening.

  Joe worked to back the other guy toward the cops. He hoped they could get the drop on him.

  The fencer was too smart, though. He sensed Joe’s plan and ran back to the center of the room.

  Joe gave chase. Running, he stepped on a stack of Sheetrock. He’d hop
ed to use it to launch himself onto his opponent.

  His foot slipped on some dust.

  Joe fell. He lay sprawled half on the drywall, half hanging, head down toward the floor. He was defenseless. He had to get up, now!

  Frank’s heart sank. He saw his brother fall.

  The other fencer had an opening. He lifted the saber over his head, prepared to bring it down on Joe’s exposed neck.

  “No!” Frank yelled.

  Joe rolled.

  The saber blade sank into the drywall and stuck there.

  Joe cracked his blade into the back of his attacker’s knees. This time the guy dropped to the floor without a whimper.

  Frank and the security guards were on the guy in seconds. They cuffed his hands behind his back and sent his weapon clattering far across the floor.

  Joe stood up and pushed his mask back on his head. “Turn him over,” he said. “Let’s see who this joker is.”

  Frank roughly pulled off the fencing mask.

  Allen Frierson gasped. “Dad!” he said.

  “Sokal promised to put you on the team!” Mr. Frierson shouted. “I had to do something.”

  “You did something, all right,” Joe said. “You got yourself arrested for kidnapping and attempted murder.”

  * * *

  A few days later Frank, Joe, Callie, and Iola met Geneve Montreux and Victoria Huntington at the front door of the training facility. Joe had a backpack slung over his shoulder.

  “I’m happy you could all come by,” Geneve said.

  “No. Thank you,” Callie said. “A private fencing lesson from two of the best fencers in the world? This is awesome!”

  Montreux smiled. “I used to be one of the best fencers in the world. Now it’s Victoria’s turn.”

  Victoria blushed.

  They all walked across the empty gym floor to the fencing area. “So the two of you have made up?” Joe asked.

  “Yes,” Geneve said. “Victoria’s back on the team.”

  “With a whole new attitude,” Victoria said.

  Victoria helped Callie and Iola get into vests and hooked up to the scoring lights. “I promise, no shocking experience this time.”