013 Wings of Fear

by Carolyn Keene

  "You did?" Bess's eyes widened. "What did he say?"

  "He said he was looking forward to Friday," she said.

  Bess grabbed her diet soda. "I need fortification, then," she said, "if Fm going to pass this class."

  "Me, too." Nancy stood up.

  "Where are you going?" Bess asked.

  "To get fortification. Fm going to order another pizza."

  "It's all a diabolical plan to ruin me," Bess moaned, covering her face with her hands. Everyone at the table laughed.

  Later, after they'd eaten all they could and Jennifer and Sean had wandered over to the jukebox, Nancy said to Bess in a low voice, "Fve got problems."

  "What kind of problems?"

  As Nancy told her about her "unscheduled" flight, Bess's eyes grew as round as saucers. "Naacy, this is getting really dangerous," she whispered. "Someone wants you out of the picture!"

  "I know. But that's not the half of it. Ever since I got locked in the baggage compartment, Fve had these terrible suspicions about Sean."

  "Sean!"

  "Shhh." Nancy glanced over her shoulder—^but Sean and Jennifer only had eyes for each other.

  "YouVe got to be wrong," Bess protested. "Sean can't be involved!"

  "I know, I know. But think about it, Bess. Someone has to have known my every move. Besides you and Jennifer, only Sean, Mr. Talbot, and Miranda knew anything about me."

  "What about Miranda, then?" Bess asked. "Rod gave her the vase."

  Nancy sighed as she poured herself another glass of soda. "Miranda offered the vase as evidence before I even had any idea about it. Besides, she's off on a trip to Hawaii. She won't be back until tomorrow. I don't see how she could be involved."

  "Then it's Mr. Talbot," Bess said defensively. "It can't be Sean."

  "I hope you're right, but if it's Preston Talbot, then we're all in real trouble," Nancy said grimly. "Especially Jennifer."

  Bess shivered. "Why Jennifer?"

  "Because she's so wrapped up in the adventure of it all that she's forgotten the danger. She's jumping the gun all the time. I'm afraid she's going to get hurt."

  Nancy took a deep breath. "If Mr. Talbot's involved, then he's just using us until he can find a way to get rid of us. No one's safe. Not you, me, Sean, Miranda, or Jennifer."

  "So what do we do?" Bess asked fearfully. "Honestly, Nancy, you're giving me the creeps."

  Nancy knew exactly how Bess felt. She didn't like thinking Mr. Talbot was the culprit any more than she liked imagining her friends as enemies. "We just have to be careful and solve this mystery," she said. "Either that, or one of us might end up dead."

  Chapter Six

  THE NEXT MORNING, after Bess had left to continue with her flight training, Nancy spent a couple of hours thinking over the whole situation. Who had shut her inside the plane? Was it the same person who had thrown the rock with the threatening note? Or was it someone else?

  The note on the rock really puzzled her. She had assumed it was simply a threat, but now she wondered if it was a warning instead. Maybe someone wasn't afraid of her as much as they were afraid for her.

  Nancy thought that over as she drove her car back to the airport the next day. Of the people

  who had known she was coming to Seattle, Mr. Talbot had been inside the room when the rock was thrown. Jennifer and Bess had been with her. That left Sean or Miranda as the hooded figure Nancy'd seen—and Miranda had been on a flight that day.

  "ril have to check what time she got in," Nancy said to herself.

  With the help of CeHa, a friendly management trainee Nancy had met the day before, she checked Miranda's flight schedule.

  "Flight one thirty-three got in at twenty-five after four the day before yesterday," Celia told her. "The plane was late."

  "Four twenty-five," Nancy repeated thoughtfully. There was no way Miranda could have thrown the rock, escaped, and still have beaten Nancy, Jennifer, and Bess to the apartment.

  That left Sean.

  "Or someone else you know nothing about," Nancy murmured.

  "Pardon?" Celia looked up.

  "I was just talking to myself." Nancy smiled. "It's nothing new, believe me."

  Nancy said goodbye and went through the door that led to Victory's inner offices, headed downstairs, and began walking through the lower level to the baggage-sorting area to face Grant Sweeney again.

  About halfway there she noticed a sign she hadn't noticed the day before. "Customs," she

  read thoughtfully, looking down the short hallway to a locked door. So the customs station was right next to Victory's baggage-sorting room. Could this be the way the smugglers brought goods in to bypass customs?

  Nancy walked to the locked door. It was secured by a chain and deadbolt. In bold letters a sign stated clearly that no one but customs personnel was allowed inside.

  Nancy examined the heavy chain closely. "No security risk here," she muttered. She didn't see how anyone could get through that door without a key—and even then the customs personnel inside would be alerted.

  Nancy then went to find Grant Sweeney. Sweeney certainly didn't want her around, and Nancy figured there must be a reason. Maybe Sweeney had been the hooded figure!

  But Grant Sweeney didn't know I was coming to Seattle, Nancy reminded herself. Who else could have thrown the rock besides Sean?

  The baggage room was much the same as it had been the day before. Nancy recognized some of the guys, and several others came over and introduced themselves.

  Suddenly Paul appeared. When he saw Nancy, he came over and put his arm around her shoulders.

  Grinning, Nancy removed his arm. "I'd love to talk, but I really need to find Sweeney."

  Paul sighed and threw a hand dramatically across his heart. "All right. Fll let you go. But if I die of a broken heart, let it be on your conscience." Then he added, "Sweeney's office is that-a-way." He pointed to the rear of the room.

  "Thanks. You've been a real help."

  "Don't mention it. And the name's Paul, remember? By the way, what's yours?"

  "Nancy Drew."

  She headed for the back door, but halfway there she decided on another plan of attack.

  "Oh, Paul—" she said thoughtfully, returning.

  "Love of my life, you've come back to me!" Paul declared, throwing open his arms and rushing toward her. His friends hooted with laughter.

  "Get serious," Nancy said, hiding a smile. "I need to talk to you."

  "I am serious. I'm always serious. This is a serious talk? Okay, good. Yes, I'll marry you."

  "When you have a break," Nancy said, managing to keep a straight face, "I'd like to ask you a few questions."

  "Break starts—right about—" Paul looked at his watch, silently counting the passing seconds. "Now!" Grabbing his coat, he came over to her side and said, "Ask away. I'm yours forever—or fifteen minutes—^whichever comes first."

  Nancy sighed. She had probably picked the wrong guy for getting information! But she forged on. "Were you working yesterday?"

  "Uh-huh. All day. Has anyone ever told you you have the most fantastic hair?"

  "Yesterday," Nancy tried again, "I came here with Sean, and then I went outside to look in the baggage compartment of one of the seven forty-sevens."

  "You did?" For the first time Paul dropped his act and looked at Nancy seriously.

  She nodded. "And then someone shut the door —^with me inside. The plane's engines started. For a moment I thought I was heading for Singapore whether I wanted to or not."

  Paul was looking at Nancy as if she were crazy. "What were you doing in there in the first place?"

  "Just looking. Can you remember who was working here yesterday afternoon?"

  "What are you, some kind of detective or something?"

  "Or something." Nancy smiled.

  Paul opened his mouth to respond, then seemed to think better of it. A frown creased his brow. "All the guys that are here today were here yesterday. Except—Sean's not here today. He's at Ta
lbot's management trainee courses."

  ''Mr. Talbofs management trainee courses?" Nancy was quiet then. The one link between Rod, Sean, and Talbot was the management trainee program. Was it a coincidence?

  "Anything else you want to know?"

  Nancy looked into Paul's boyish face. She was glad she'd met him. "Sean told me he got paged late yesterday afternoon. He said one of the guys here sent for him."

  "That's right." Paul nodded. "Grant told me Sean had a page. He asked me to go get him."

  "You were the one who got Sean?"

  "Yeah. Why?"

  Nancy didn't enlighten him. She just gave him a smile, thanked him for his help, and went in the direction of Grant Sweeney's office. This section of the airport was poorly heated, and the floors were concrete. Nancy blew on her hands as she walked down the chilly corridor.

  Grant Sweeney's name wasn't on the door she took to be his office. A huge sign marked "Private" was the only decoration. Knocking loudly, Nancy waited for a response. When none came, she twisted the knob. It was locked.

  This, she decided, was a prime time to do some undercover searching on her own. Digging through her purse, Nancy found a paper clip. She unfolded it and inserted it in the hole in the lock, but before she had time to pick the lock, the door suddenly swung inward—and Nancy tumbled forward. As her gaze traveled up, she saw Grant Sweeney towering over her, holding a wrench high above her head!

  Chapter Seven

  FOR A MOMENT Nancy was utterly transfixed. She couldn't believe Grant Sweeney would actually hit her, but his eyes were dark and angry, his knuckles white as his fingers tightened around the wrench.

  Nancy held her breath.

  Slowly he lowered the wrench. "Sorry," he said gruffly. "I've just been taking extra precautions with all this talk about smugglers. I thought you were trying to break in."

  "Who said anything about smugglers?" she asked, her heart pounding as she stood up inside the door frame. As far as she knew, that bit of information was still confidential. Nancy had been

  careful not to mention it when she had questioned the Victory employees.

  "Well, you did. You were—^you were talking about that vase—"

  "Which vase? I didn't mention any one vase in particular."

  "Down by those crates in baggage," Grant insisted. "You were talking about some vase."

  "I didn't mention smuggling," Nancy said softly.

  "Say, who are you?" Grant demanded, bristling. "I don't think I Uke your questions. And I don't have to answer them."

  He moved to slam the door in her face, but Nancy quickly shoved her foot inside the opening. She wasn't ready to end their conversation yet.

  "If you don't want your foot smashed, you'd better move it. Now!'* he growled.

  Desperately Nancy blocked the door with her shoulder. "I'm a friend of Mr. Talbot's. He gave me clearance to come and check on security."

  "Well, everything's secure here. So you can beat it," he said.

  "What gave you the idea about smuggling?" Nancy insisted. "Did you see something? Overhear something?" Her gut instincts told her Grant was involved. He had to be getting his information somehow, and she had to know how.

  Grant's eyes narrowed. "I just heard it around, that's all." His big, beefy hand began slowly shutting the door.

  There was nothing more she could do—^unless she wanted him smashing her foot or shoulder. Nancy was forced to back away. "Someone must have told you," she said. "I just want to know who it was."

  Just before the door closed in her face, she got the impression of a cold smile twitching the comer of Sweeney's mouth. "Why don't you ask your friend Talbot?"

  The door slammed shut. Nancy stared at the panels for several moments. Ask Mr. Talbot? Was Grant giving her a clue? Or was he just trying to mislead her?

  Well, what about Preston Talbot? As president of the airline, it would be so easy for him to run ilUcit goods through Victory. There was no one above him to question his authority. And if Mr. Talbot was involved, Sweeney had to be involved, too. He must have been the hooded figure. But would Grant Sweeney point the finger at Preston Talbot if the two were working together?

  At least Nancy was relieved that the trail had turned away from Sean. Now all she had to do was prove the connection between Sweeney and Talbot and that would cinch it!

  As Nancy rode the elevator up to Mr. Talbot's ofiice, questions kept circling through her mind. Just how much contraband was getting smuggled past customs? And how was it getting through? She knew how tight the restrictions were. As far as she could tell, the only feasible way to bring in

  Stolen merchandise was to bypass customs. But how was it being done?

  Still lost in thought, Nancy knocked on Mr. Talbot's door.

  "Come on in," he called. "It's open."

  Nancy stepped through, and Preston Talbot looked up from his desk. "Just the person I wanted to see," he said. "I've been worrying about this smugghng thing day and night. Have you made any progress?"

  Nancy licked her lips. She wasn't certain how much to reveal. "Some," she admitted evasively.

  "It's true, then?" Mr. Talbot asked quickly. "Someone's using Victory Airlines to smuggle in valuables?"

  "All the evidence points that way."

  "It's got to be stopped!" Mr. Talbot slammed his fist against his desk, his face turning dark red. "I've built up the reputation of this airline single-handedly. I won't let anyone ruin it! I want these smugglers caught and put away!"

  "Is there anyone at Victory with enough power and flexibility to run a major smuggling ring?" Nancy knew she was playing a dangerous game of cat and mouse, but there was no other way to get the kind of information she needed.

  Mr. Talbot seemed taken aback. "Well, I suppose anyone in upper management could. But no one would. Victory's our whole life."

  Nancy nodded, remembering Paul's remark that the management trainee program had been Mr.

  Talbot's idea. If he was behind the smuggling ring, could the program be a front? A way to bring in new recruits to join the gang? K so, where did that leave Sean?

  "One of us . . ." Mr. Talbot said reflectively, shaking his head. "That's a frightening thought. Ask Blake Maxell, the district manager, about which employees could be involved. He'd know better than I would."

  "I'll do that." Nancy slung her purse over her shoulder and headed for the door. "Oh, by the way," she said, her hand on the knob, "I'd like to check through some airline records. Is there someone who could help me?"

  "Any of the ticketing agents could help you get what you need from the computer." He smiled tightly. "And if any of them give you a hard time, have them call me."

  "Thanks."

  Nancy left his office with mixed feelings. Preston Talbot seemed truly concerned about the reputation of the airline. But it could all be an act. She supposed talking to Blake Maxell would be a good idea, but that would mean one more person who'd know what she was up to. Deciding to postpone that talk until later, she went to the airline ticketing desk. She was relieved to see Celia there. At least she could count on Celia to be helpful!

  Nancy walked up to her and said, "I need some background information on Victory. Mr. Talbot told me to come down here and ask one of the ticketing agents to help me."

  "Your wish is my command." Celia's lips curved in a friendly smile. "What do you need to know?"

  Nancy couldn't help feehng a little guilty. Now that she'd decided on the management trainee program as the source for possible smugglers, she was even including Celia as a suspect. But it couldn't be helped.

  "I need to know everything," Nancy told CeUa. She began by asking basic questions about Victory's operation—how many planes they had, a list of all their destinations, how many offices worldwide, how many employees, and so on.

  Celia punched into the computer, pulling up the data Nancy had requested. While Celia's fingers were flying over the computer keyboard and the printer was spewing out sheets of paper, Nancy casually asked, "How do
you like the management trainee program?"

  "It's the best," Celia said enthusiastically. "We have district offices all over the world, but because Preston Talbot's in Seattle, the program's most effective here. A friend of mine went straight from the program to become assistant to the district manager in Taiwan!"

  "Wow." Keeping her eyes on the hues of data on the computer screen, Nancy asked, "Did Mr. Talbot recommend your friend for the job?"

  "I think so. No, wait—^maybe it was Blake

  Maxell. I'm not sure. I just hope I get a job half as good as that one when I'm through with training."

  When the printer had finished, Celia ripped off the papers. "Is that everything?" she asked, handing the bundle to Nancy.

  Remembering the 747 clue from Rod, Nancy said, "Just a minute. Could I get a list of all Victory's seven forty-seven planes and their destinations?"

  "Sure," she said and quickly punched a series of buttons, and the information began coming off the printer.

  Once Nancy had all the data she needed, she thanked Celia and headed for a quiet spot to study it. She flipped through page after page, groaning when she realized she was going to be spending most of the next day reading through all of it. After a few minutes she shoved the bulk of it aside and grabbed the list of Victory's 747s.

  The list was surprisingly long. Most of the huge jets flew overseas, but one of them was currently on a Seattle-New York route. She didn't see how it could be used for smuggUng goods from the Orient.

  "The trouble is I've got too much information," Nancy said, sighing as she folded up the printouts.

  She stopped into the airport caf6 that was located on a balcony above the main terminal. From there she had a bird's-eye view of all Victory comings and goings. Nancy ordered a taco salad and tea and sat down to eat, her eyes on the single door that led to Victory's inner offices and the baggage handling room.

  She wondered how Bess's second day of training was going. By the next evening Bess would be a full-fledged flight attendant. Nancy felt a pang of envy.

  Nancy finished her meal, glanced at her watch, and saw that it was almost two. The morning shift ended at three-thirty, and, she had learned, Grant would be done that day at that time.