High-Speed Showdown

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “I’d better come get you,” Joe said, after explaining what had happened. “I know buoys do slip their cables now and then. But we haven’t had any storms or heavy seas in the last week or two to account for it. If you ask me, somebody did it deliberately.”

  “It sounds that way,” Frank replied. “We’d better track down the person responsible, and fast, before he or she causes a serious accident. I’ll be waiting out front.”

  • • •

  As they drove back toward the harbor, Frank said, “The first thing we need to do is find out when the buoy drifted away. Until we know that, we won’t have a hope of figuring out who helped it along.”

  “What are the chances that we’ll find anybody who saw it go?” Joe asked skeptically. “That’d be too good to be true.”

  “I know that,” Frank replied. “But we know it was gone this morning. If we can pin down the last time somebody saw it there . . . The trouble is, most of the people who are here for the meet probably don’t know this part of the sound well enough to notice whether one particular buoy is there or not.”

  Joe thought hard. “The charter boats!” he suddenly exclaimed, snapping his fingers. “They take fishing parties out every morning and lots of evenings, too. And the guys who work them know these waters better than we know our own backyard.”

  “Great idea, Joe,” Frank said. He glanced at his wrist. “And they should be coming in from their morning trips just about now, too.”

  Joe drove past the marina and parked near the head of Commercial Pier. He and Frank walked out on the pier, stopping at each fishing boat to ask the crew if they had passed Cooley’s Ledge lately. They struck out with the first three boats. All had headed east, in the opposite direction from the ledge, after leaving the harbor.

  The fourth boat they came to was Captain Bill Mares’s Susie II. Captain Bill, in wrinkled khakis and a baseball cap, listened to their question. Then he said, “Now, there’s an odd thing. That buoy was definitely there yesterday around sunset. I happened to pay attention because there was one of those big inflatable outboard rigs tied up to it. You don’t see that many of them around here. And now that you ask, it comes back to me that it wasn’t there at daybreak. I noticed without really noticing, if you catch my drift.”

  “So the buoy must have come loose at some time during the night,” Frank said, partly to himself.

  “Well, now, that’s an odd thing, too,” Captain Bill remarked. “It was pretty solidly anchored. I know, because I helped put it in place. It was attached to a big concrete block by a steel cable.”

  “How strong a cable?” Joe asked.

  Captain Bill took off his cap, scratched his head, and put the cap back on. “I wouldn’t hazard a guess as to its breaking strength,” he said. “But it was the sort of cable you might use to lock up your bicycle, if you liked your bicycle a lot.”

  Joe looked over at Frank. They both knew how easily a bolt-cutting tool could slice through even the strongest bike cable lock.

  “Isn’t it unusual for a boat to be tied up to the buoy?” Frank asked.

  “Not really,” Captain Bill replied. “There’s pretty fair fishing around Cooley’s Ledge, and it’s easier to tie up your boat to the buoy than to drop an anchor. The boat itself was a little unusual, though. Must have been about a twenty-footer, with a hefty outboard on the back. Now that I think of it, I’ve seen it before, it or its twin. Over to the marina. One of those ecological groups takes people out in it to teach them about ecosystems or something.”

  “Connie!” Joe said under his breath.

  “Thanks, Captain,” Frank said. “You’ve been a big help.”

  The Hardys hurried to the van and drove back to the marina. They checked the sidewalk in front of the inn, but there was no sign of Connie or Angelo. The guard at the marina gate looked in his directory and told them where the Earthquest boat was docked, but when they reached the slip, it was empty.

  Joe looked around. There was a white cabin cruiser moored in the next slip. A man and woman were having coffee at the small table in the cockpit.

  “Ahoy,” Joe called, feeling a little silly as he said it. “Did you see the Earthquest boat this morning?”

  “Sure,” the man said. “Connie and a friend of hers took it out about an hour ago. They wanted to check out the course for the races and find a good spot to watch from.”

  “Thanks,” Joe called. He turned to Frank and said in a low voice, “Connie wants to stop the races. Why would she want to go looking for a spot to watch them?”

  “I think we’d better ask her that question,” Frank replied. “The sooner the better. Good thing Sleuth has a full tank of gas.”

  The two Hardys walked quickly to the farthest dock, where they kept their little runabout. It took only moments to get the engine started. Frank took the helm. Joe untied the dock lines, then jumped in.

  “Where to?” he asked, as Sleuth’s bow turned toward the mouth of the harbor. “There’s an awful lot of water out there.”

  “According to her neighbor, Connie was planning to look over the course of the races,” Frank reminded him. “Why don’t we simply start at the starting line and follow the marker buoys?”

  “The course is about twenty-five miles,” Joe said. “It’s going to take a while.”

  Frank grinned. “It’s laid out in a long oval, you doofus. We can keep an eye on the return leg while we’re on our way out.”

  The morning was mostly sunny but not too warm, perfect conditions to be out on the water. The sparkling blue surface of the bay was dappled here and there by purple cloud shadows. Joe sat back in his seat and took in a lungful of the salt-tinged breeze. He half wished that he and Frank were simply taking a ride for the fun of it. Then he reminded himself that part of what he felt was the excitement of the chase. Connie and Angelo were up to something, he was sure of that. But they hadn’t counted on having Frank and Joe Hardy on their trail.

  Frank broke in on his brother’s thoughts, saying, “Those buoys must mark the start and finish line.” He steered between the two bright yellow markers. “Ready, set, go!” he added, shoving the throttle all the way.

  The nimble runabout took off between twin sheets of spray. As the bow lifted, Joe sat up straighter to get a better view of where they were going. The next yellow buoy was already in sight. So was a sport fishing boat that was approaching them bow-on. Frank backed off the throttle and turned a few degrees to starboard. The fishing boat moved to its starboard, too, following the rules of the road that allowed the two boats to pass each other safely. As soon as he was past the other boat, Frank picked up speed again.

  “See anything?” he called, over the noise of the engine.

  Joe shook his head. He had grabbed a pair of binoculars from the locker, but he was having trouble holding them steady with the boat under way. He scanned the area ahead of them. Good thing it was a weekday, he thought, since it meant there weren’t that many pleasure boats out. Most of them he could eliminate on the basis of their profiles. Then he noticed a low, dark shape about a mile away, almost dead ahead. He studied it as the motion of the waves made it vanish and reappear. It didn’t seem to be moving.

  Joe tapped Frank on the shoulder and pointed. Frank nodded, then adjusted his course to pass close to the other boat. As they drew nearer and the outlines of the boat became easier to make out, Joe became more and more sure that it was their quarry. As Captain Bill had said, there weren’t often that many big inflatables in the area.

  “That’s Connie and Angelo,” Joe announced when they were about a hundred yards away. “But what are they up to?”

  He could see that Connie was kneeling in the bottom of the boat, leaning way out over the side. Angelo was crouched next to her, with something long and narrow in his hands. As Sleuth drew nearer, he straightened up and glanced over his shoulder, then sprang to the controls. The engine must have been idling in neutral. Almost instantly, it roared to life. The boat surged forward.

 
; Then, just as Frank shoved Sleuth’s throttle all the way open, the motor on the rubber boat stalled. A passing wave slowly turned it broadside, directly in the path of the Hardys’ speedboat.

  Joe saw Angelo leap toward the stern of the boat and tug at the motor’s manual starter, frantically trying to get his boat out of the way of the larger boat barreling toward it. Connie was thrown off balance by the sudden shift in the boat, and with a cry for help, she tumbled into the water.

  “Look out, Frank!” Joe shouted, seeing Connie fall in headfirst. “Turn! We’re going to hit them!”

  8 Collision Course

  * * *

  All Frank’s attention had been focused on overtaking the other boat. Now, suddenly, he had to avoid running into it—and Connie! Clenching his jaw, Frank used his left hand to turn the wheel hard to starboard, while his right hand fell to the throttle and eased it back to idle speed. Sleuth bucked like a startled stallion and heeled to the right. It missed the smaller boat by only a few feet.

  Just then a wave rolled under the bow, catching it at an angle. For one moment Frank was sure that the boat was about to become airborne. Then the bow slapped itself down on the water. Frank felt the force of the impact in his spine and the base of his skull.

  He twisted his head to look over his shoulder. “Joe?” he called. “Are you okay?”

  Joe was on his knees, clutching the chrome railing. He managed a grin and called back, “Sure. I love water rides!”

  Sleuth came to a halt and began to rock from side to side in the swell. From behind him, Frank heard the sudden racket of a big outboard motor. When he turned to look, Connie had scrambled back into the boat, and she and Angelo were speeding away. There was already fifty yards of open water between Sleuth and the big black inflatable, and the gap was widening fast.

  “Are we going after them?” Joe asked.

  Frank thought for a moment. “I don’t think so,” he said. “We know where to find them, after all. And I’m very curious to find out what they were up to out here. They weren’t scouting for a spot to watch the races from, that’s for sure!”

  “They were obviously monkeying with the marker buoy,” Joe told him. “Let’s have a look.”

  Frank steered the boat in a wide circle that brought them to just windward of the yellow buoy, then hurried to the railing as the boat drifted down to it. Leaning over the side, he grabbed the buoy and lifted it out of the water. A length of narrow cable came with it.

  “Joe, look at this!” Frank said excitedly, after scanning the cable.

  “There’s a nick in it, just below the buoy,” Joe said after a moment. “It looks as if somebody tried to cut the cable.”

  “Or was interrupted in the middle of cutting it,” Frank said. “Care to guess who?”

  Joe shook his head. “That’s a no-brainer. I prefer challenges. We’d better go back and tell the race officials about this.”

  Frank kept the engine at full revs on the way back. The noise kept him from talking to Joe, but it didn’t keep him from thinking. They couldn’t accuse Connie and Angelo of the sabotage. They hadn’t actually seen the two cutting the cable. But still, he and Joe could alert Magnusson, then let Connie know that she and her friends were being closely watched. If that brought their sabotage to a halt, fine. And if it didn’t, he and Joe would find a way to get the evidence they needed.

  As they neared Bayport, they passed more and more boats. A couple of miles from harbor, Frank saw a cabin cruiser headed the other way that had a big Official sign taped to its side. He slowed down and gave Joe a questioning look.

  “That must be one of the check boats getting on station for this afternoon’s time trials,” Joe said, after a look at his watch.

  “I forgot all about them,” Frank confessed. “I hope we don’t have any trouble finding Magnusson. We’ve got to warn him about Connie.”

  They docked Sleuth in its usual spot, double-checked the lines, and walked quickly toward the exit from the marina. They were almost to the gate when Frank saw Dave Hayman and Barry Batten coming in their direction. Their bright orange jumpsuits were splotched all over with oil stains.

  “What happened to you guys?” Joe asked Dave.

  “A burst engine seal,” Dave told him. “We’d just fired up the engines when it happened. If it had happened while we were under way, we might have burnt out the engine. As it is, it’s just messy. We were pretty lucky, I guess.”

  Frank glanced over at Joe and raised one eyebrow. Another “accident”?

  “Lucky?” Barry said, frowning. “There’s nothing lucky about this meet. It’s jinxed. I’ve got half a mind to pull out of it.”

  A look of alarm crossed Dave’s face. Frank wasn’t surprised. If Barry carried out his threat to withdraw from the race, there went Dave’s big break.

  “Hey, come on, Barry, accidents happen,” Dave said soothingly. “Let’s go get cleaned up and get ready for the time trials. You watch—we’re going to blow the doors off the competition.”

  “Huh,” Barry grunted, and walked away.

  Frank asked, “Have you seen Gerald Magnusson?”

  “Yeah, about fifteen minutes ago,” Dave replied. “He and a bunch of VIPs were on their way to board the judges’ boat. It’s that big motor yacht that’s tied up at the end of the dock. They’re having a buffet lunch on board before the time trials start.”

  “We’d better try to catch him,” Frank told Joe.

  “Right,” Joe replied. “But, Dave? Just one thing—whatever happened with that guy Chuck, the one who got sick? Is he okay?”

  Dave looked down at the ground. “Oh, he’s a lot better today,” he said. “But he won’t be in any shape to race for a while. If we turn in a good time this afternoon, Barry’s promised to let me be his throttleman for the next few meets. I’d better go. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

  Frank looked around. Barry was standing near the gate with his hands on his hips. Dave ran to join him. The two crossed the street, with Dave making obvious gestures of apology.

  “I don’t envy Dave,” Joe said, as he and Frank turned and walked out the dock. “I know he’s getting something he wants a lot, but it looks to me like he’s paying a big price for it.”

  “I know,” Frank said. “I wonder what he’s so nervous about. Just the strain of keeping Barry happy? Or is it something more—”

  A gruff voice broke in. “Hold it right there. Where do you kids think you’re going?”

  Frank looked up in surprise. The man who was blocking their way was built like a piano mover, with a barrel chest and a belly that overhung his belt. Over one pocket of his dark green shirt was a sewn-on patch that read Newcastle Trucking. Over the other was embroidered the name Skip.

  “What’s it to you?” Joe replied, irritated. “We’ve got official passes. See?” Joe held up the pass Magnusson had given him.

  “Everybody and his uncle has official passes around here,” Skip said, not even sparing a glance at the piece of pasteboard. “Pass or no pass, you keep your distance from that boat, get it?”

  He pointed to the slip on his left. The boat was dark green, the same shade as the man’s uniform. Its twin canopies looked as if they’d been lifted from a pair of F-16s. The only decorations were the boat’s number, D-19, and the words Newcastle Trucking.

  “Nice-looking boat,” Frank said. “Pretty fast, too, huh?”

  “Never mind whether it’s fast or not,” the man growled. “The boss doesn’t want anybody hanging around here, okay? Now move it, before I decide to move it for you.”

  “I guess your boss just bought the marina, right?” Joe replied. “Funny, there wasn’t anything in the paper about it.”

  Skip bristled. “Listen, wise guy—” he began.

  Frank tugged at Joe’s arm and said, “Come on, Joe. We’ve got more urgent things to do than hang around talking to this . . . friendly gentleman.”

  As the two Hardys walked away, Frank looked over his shoulder and called chee
rfully, “Have a nice day!” He wished he could have gotten a snapshot of the guy’s expression. It would have made a great Halloween card.

  They hadn’t gone more than a few yards farther when Joe said, “Um—Frank? Guess what. No yacht.”

  Joe was right. The docking space at the end was vacant. “They must be having their VIP lunch out on the water,” Frank guessed. “Lucky them. I guess warning Magnusson will have to wait. Let’s hope that the swim Connie took will scare her into giving up her plans, whatever they are.”

  They turned around just in time to see Dennis walking toward them. There was a bounce in his step, and a smile peeked through his beard.

  “Hey, guys,” he said. “Aren’t you planning to watch the time trials?”

  “Sure, but I’m still not too clear what they’re for,” Joe confessed.

  Dennis’s smile widened. “I’m not surprised. This meet is pretty complicated, what with the different classes and different flights in each race. But let’s say we forget about the small fry and just pay attention to the big boats. There are too many for them all to race safely at the same time. So the race committee decided to narrow down the field, from eleven boats to just six.”

  “How?” Frank asked.

  “A couple of ways,” Dennis replied. “The fastest boat in today’s trials is automatically in, at pole position. Then there are two elimination heats. The first two boats in each of them get a spot in Saturday’s race.”

  “That’s just five entries,” Joe pointed out.

  “Good counting,” Dennis said with a grin. “The boats that came in third and fourth in each elimination heat get to run in the consolation heat. And the top boat in that one is in the big race, too.”

  After a moment, he added, “Not that that’s much consolation. Racing is tough on a boat. After today’s run, then the elimination races, the consolation winner is likely to be pretty battered.”

  “In other words,” Frank said, “the fastest boat in the time trials doesn’t race in the eliminations, and that gives it an automatic advantage in the big race on Saturday.”