The Battle of Bayport

by Franklin W. Dixon

  I could see the Resolve from the pier as I walked back. Frank was right, it was a pretty amazing sight. I stopped for a second to admire it, when something unusual caught my eye. It was hard to tell what they were doing from that distance, but it looked like there was someone on deck. That was strange. It was after hours, and with the museum shut down by Chief Olaf until the murder investigation was over, there shouldn’t have been anyone onboard. I gave it some thought and kept walking, assuming it was probably just one of the officers. I didn’t get far though before curiosity got the better of me. I figured it couldn’t hurt to stay in the shadows and sneak a closer look before meeting up with Frank.

  By the time I got close enough to make out what was happening on deck, whoever had been there was gone. I was about to write it off and head back when a creaking noise stopped me. At first I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me when one of the Resolve’s wooden dinghies started inching its way up the side of the ship. The notion of ghosts popped its way back into my mind, and I popped it out just as fast. I couldn’t see anyone from my vantage point, but someone must have been using a winch to haul the dinghy back up to the deck. Now that really was strange. No police officer would be on the Resolve alone at night, loading and unloading dinghies.

  I hid behind one of the dock’s giant decorative anchors in case anyone was watching. I couldn’t see what was going on, but I could hear someone securing the dinghy to its place on the deck. I crept along the dock to get a closer look at the waterline where the dinghy had come from. There was another small boat tied to the dock, hidden in the shadow of the ship, and this one wasn’t two centuries old. It was a modern motorboat, loaded with what looked like duffel bags, and it was parked out of view in a place where it definitely shouldn’t have been. It was positioned perfectly so it couldn’t be seen from the public dock and wouldn’t be spotted from a passing boat without a spotlight. Whoever had parked it there hadn’t wanted it to be found. The boat appeared to be empty besides the bags. I gave a look around and then glanced back up toward the deck of the ship where the dinghy was. There was no one in sight, so I decided to do a little bit of quick reconnaissance.

  I double-checked just to be sure no one could see me, then hopped aboard the motorboat. It bobbed up and down in the current, and I carefully made my way across the bow to get a closer look at its cargo: a neatly stacked pile of large black duffel bags. I gave one a tug by the handles, and it barely budged. The bags were heavy enough to be filled to the gills with muskets or maybe even one of the Resolve’s smaller cannons. Was somebody really gutsy enough to try to rob the museum right under the cops’ noses during a full-blown criminal investigation? I wasn’t about to let them get away with it if they were.

  I leaned down, grabbed the zipper, and started to pull. The zipper barely made it an inch before something heavy slammed into me from behind, knocking the wind clean out of me. Stars exploded in my head, and I gasped for breath. It felt like an anchor had dropped on me. An anchor would have been preferable. The last thing I saw before everything went black was the Marine Corps tattoo on the huge forearm crushing my windpipe.

  UNLOCKED

  17

  FRANK

  I HAD JUST MADE IT to the Bay Breeze Inn when Dirk Bishop stepped out of his hotel room, carrying a large leather briefcase. I ducked behind the corner so he wouldn’t see me and let him get a good head start before tailing him from a safe distance as he hurried down the street in the direction of the harbor. He paused to look at his gold watch and continued on his way with a satisfied smirk, looking like he was up to no good.

  It was getting late, and with the town on edge over the Don’s murder, there weren’t many people out at night. It’s easier to tail someone without getting made if there are a lot of other people around to distract your mark, so I had to be extra careful that Bishop didn’t catch on. I followed him from far enough back that I could still see him, yet if he turned around and caught a glimpse of someone on the path behind him, he wouldn’t recognize me or be suspicious. That was the idea, at least.

  Bishop continued toward the harbor, and soon I could see the Resolve’s masts looming over the other vessels. When the grand old warship came into view, Bishop gave a furtive look around as if to make sure he wasn’t being followed and then picked up his pace. Luckily, I had slipped off the path just in time so he didn’t see me.

  Yup, there was no doubt about it, Bishop was headed straight for the Resolve. Now that I knew the where and when of Bishop’s little stroll, I was even more curious to learn the who, what, and why.

  A more pressing question surfaced as soon as I got closer to the ship. Bishop had stopped at one of the benches farther down the dock, where he checked his watch and started looking around like he was waiting for someone. But at that moment I was less concerned about Bishop than what I saw on the deck of the Resolve. Bishop hadn’t seen what I had. It was too dark to make out clearly, but the silhouettes of the big guy with the little guy slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes looked a whole lot like Bernie and my brother.

  I forgot all about Bishop and sprinted for the ship. Bishop was busy looking in the other direction so he didn’t see me, not that I really cared if he did. Getting to Joe, if that really was Joe I’d just seen slumped over the big man’s shoulder, was a lot more important.

  The gate from the dock to the gangplank was unlocked, which it shouldn’t have been, and I slipped inside and up the plank onto the Resolve. When I got there, whoever had been on the deck was gone. All that was left were the eerie sounds of windblown chains and rope slapping against wood and the ominous shadows cast by cannons and masts.

  The Resolve was huge, and I didn’t know where to begin searching. Joe had gone looking for Bernie, and the big silhouette I saw carrying the body across the deck certainly could have belonged to the hulking weapons specialist. If it had been Bernie, then the only logical destination I could think of was the armory. I shuddered. I’d already had one unpleasant run-in with Bernie Blank in that room, and I wasn’t thrilled about the prospect of another. Thinking about Joe in peril was enough to get me to swallow my fear and push on.

  Even in sneakers, my footsteps echoed off the wood floor in the empty ship a lot louder than I would have liked. Moonlight crept through the portals, giving me enough light to see, but made the ship look downright spooky. Tiptoeing through the gun deck, I was half-sure Bernie was going to leap out from the shadows and grab me.

  The armory door was open, and I couldn’t hear anything inside. I crept cautiously up to the door and sneaked a peek inside. Empty. Just cases filled with guns and sabers and other weapons. If I was going to confront Bernie again, this time I planned to be armed. A display containing an assortment of weapons worn by officers was unlocked—which, like the main gate, it shouldn’t have been. I pulled a short cutlass-looking saber from the case and felt the weight of it in my hand. I was contemplating borrowing something more intimidating as well when I heard a muffled crashing noise from the back of the ship. I sprinted toward the sound, clutching the cutlass in my hand, praying I wasn’t too late.

  A WATERY GRAVE

  18

  JOE

  WHEN I CAME TO, I was slung over Bernie’s shoulder with my hands tied behind my back. I tried to scream, but all that came out was a muffled moan. That’s when I realized the muscle-bound jerk had gagged me as well. Man, was I angry at myself for getting snuck up on like that. I had been so focused on finding out what was in those bags, I’d let myself get ambushed. I was starting to think Frank had probably been right about not splitting up.

  Bernie gave me a hard jab to the ribs with his elbow.

  “Quiet,” he snapped, then added, “Not that anyone can hear you anyway.”

  Well, that was encouraging. It wasn’t going to stop me from trying, though. I’d just have to be more clever about it. Which was going to prove tough while gagged and bound. It’s a good thing I like a challenge.

  I tried to get my bearings. We we
re deep below deck of the Resolve and going deeper. I recognized the big yellow DANGER sign in the corridor ahead. Bernie was headed for the dark no-man’s-land in the construction zone at the back of the ship, where Frank and I had hidden from the cops the day before. Just great. Bernie might as well be taking me to an underground cave. No one was going to be able to find me there, definitely not before the morning, when and if the police returned to the ship to continue their investigation. I figured I’d better come up with a plan quick or no one would ever see me again. Not alive, at least. With my hands tied behind my back, I didn’t have a lot of options, but an idea came to me. It was a stretch—literally—and I only had a split second to try it.

  As soon as Bernie stepped past the caution tape into the construction zone, I stretched my hands away from my back as far as I could and tried to use the rope Bernie had wound around my wrists to snag the edge of the CONSTRUCTION ZONE—HARD HAT REQUIRED sign. The rope caught! Bernie’s forward momentum yanked the sign down and sent it clattering to the floor. Yes! The sound echoed through the empty ship. It wasn’t much of an emergency alarm, but it would have to do. I just hoped someone was within earshot to hear it.

  I paid for my plan with another hard elbow to the ribs. I gasped for breath and nearly choked on the gag in my mouth.

  “Enough,” Bernie warned. “I don’t want to hurt you more than I have to.”

  Again, very reassuring. I wasn’t about to stop trying to escape, though. It just didn’t look like I was going to have the chance. It was pitch black in the construction zone, and Bernie didn’t bother with lights. He navigated the darkness with no problem and barely made a sound on the creaky floor as he went. It was like he really was a ninja commando. It wasn’t until I felt us descending a ladder that I realized where we were: the gaping jagged hole leading down to the cargo hold deep inside the ship.

  This was where Frank said Mr. Lakin had found the crates full of artifacts. Here, even Bernie’s ninja stealth couldn’t stop the rotted wood floor from creaking under his feet. I’d been worried about falling through the floor when Frank and I were in the construction zone. Now, beneath Bernie’s and my combined weight, I was about sure we were going to crash right through the bottom straight into the bay.

  Bernie descended another even more rickety ladder before lugging me off his shoulder and tying me to a chair. A few seconds later, flickering orange light put an end to the darkness. Bernie had lit an old oil lantern, filling the chamber with a fiery glow.

  “I’ll take the gag off, but if you yell, I’ll knock your teeth out before putting it back on,” he declared.

  “Mmmrkkyy,” I replied affirmatively. I like my teeth. I didn’t suffer through years of braces just to have them knocked out.

  Bernie removed the gag, and I sucked in a deep breath of salty, musty air. I looked around at the crumbling ship walls and rotting floorboards. From down here, it seemed like a miracle the ship even stayed afloat at all. We were on the lower level of a dusty, empty storeroom that looked close to collapse. This must have been the old cargo hold Frank had been so eager to explore. Not that there was much left to see, really, just some empty crates and a frayed, rusty rope-and-pulley system that must have once been used to hoist heavy cargo up past the ladder Bernie had carried me down to the storage loft above. The notion of pulling myself up one of the ropes to safety crossed my mind and went poof instantly. That escape route was no good, not with my hands tied behind my back and Bernie between me and the rope.

  Bernie was one of the bad guys, that much was clear, but I was still trying to figure out where he fit in with Don Sterling’s murder, Mr. Lakin’s disappearance, and Dirk Bishop’s visit. Well, I wasn’t going to get a better time to try and find out. It’s not like I had anything else to do.

  “So I guess now you get to finish what you started yesterday in the armory,” I said. It probably wasn’t smart to antagonize him, but I was itching for answers, and Frank is supposed to be the smart one anyway. Bernie grunted in response and gave me a funny look, like he didn’t know what I was talking about.

  “Frank was right about you,” I went on. “The only reason you let him go yesterday was you realized I was there to witness you attacking him, and getting rid of two bodies would’ve been a lot harder than just one. What I don’t get is why.”

  “That was an accident. I didn’t mean to hurt your brother yesterday when he surprised me, and I don’t want to hurt you,” Bernie said, sounding oddly sincere. “You may not believe this, but I really am sorry about all this. I like you boys. You have guts. You just have a bad habit of being in the wrong place at the right time. It’s too bad. You would have made good soldiers.”

  I didn’t like Bernie’s use of the past tense.

  “You could still let me go, you know. Things will go a lot easier for you when you get caught if you don’t harm a kid,” I tried to reason with him.

  “Let you go?” Bernie laughed. “Harming you is what is going to make it easier for me not to get caught. You’ve given me the perfect way to complete my cover.”

  That’s when he pulled out one of the antique flintlock pistols he and Mr. Lakin had been carrying at the reenactment and aimed it at my heart.

  AT ROPE’S END

  19

  FRANK

  I’D FOLLOWED THE CRASHING NOISE to the back of the ship past the King’s Pride exhibit, where the renovations were still being finished. The CONSTRUCTION ZONE sign stared up at me from the floor like a big, bright, yellow bread crumb. Joe hadn’t only left me a sign, he’d left me an actual sign! With a pun like that, I really was convinced it was my brother I’d seen carried across the deck of the ship.

  I turned on my mobile flashlight and ducked past the caution tape into the dark, hoping I’d get lucky and stumble on Joe and his abductor before they stumbled on me. I just wasn’t sure what I was going to do when I found them. I stopped when I reached the hole in the floor leading down to the cargo hold where Mr. Lakin had made his discovery, not really sure which direction to go from there. I had just started to head down the corridor where we’d found Mr. Lakin’s old office when I thought I heard murmuring behind me. I stopped and listened. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but someone was definitely down there.

  Yesterday I had been itching to go down and explore the cargo hold. Now that I had my chance, it seemed a lot less welcoming. I gathered myself and started down the ladder. When I reached the bottom, I quickly flipped off my light. The voices were louder, and there was a faint flicker of light coming from somewhere below.

  The cargo hold was actually two stories, and I was in the loft overhanging the main hold. I crept cautiously to the edge, peeked out from behind an empty wooden crate, and looked down. From my hiding place I could see Joe with his hands tied behind him. There was a loud clicking noise, and my brother’s eyes went as wide as ship portals. A few feet away stood the last person I wanted to see. Bernie Blank. And he had one of the big old black powder pistols in his hand, with the hammer half-cocked and ready to load.

  I didn’t have much time. Bernie could have the pistol loaded and ready to fire in under a minute. I had to act fast to save Joe. I just didn’t have a clue how I was going to do it. I looked down at the short saber in my hand. Little good it would do me from up here. That’s when the ropes caught my eye. They were hooked to the crate I was hiding behind and ran all the way up to the ancient iron pulley attached to the ceiling beam over Bernie’s head. A plan started to form. Keep him talking a little longer, Joe, I thought. Please keep him talking.

  THE BIG ZERO

  20

  JOE

  JUST KEEP HIM TALKING, I thought as I stared down the barrel of the antique gun. There was a .75 caliber ball of 250-year-old hot lead coming my way if I didn’t. Bernie had pulled out a powder horn and started loading the pistol with methodical precision. I didn’t have much time. I don’t know what I was stalling for, but I wasn’t ready to bite the big one. Even if it meant just a few minutes between now an
d the Big Zero, as Frank called it, I was going to take it.

  “We were onto you, you know. My brother and the police aren’t going to let you get away with this,” I bluffed.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, but by the time anyone finds you, I’ll be long gone,” Bernie said calmly. “They won’t even suspect me, and if they do, there won’t be any proof. Or I guess I should say, there will be plenty of proof. It just won’t point to me.”

  Bernie continued to load the pistol. I noticed for the first time that he was wearing gloves, and things started to click into place.

  “Because the fingerprints on the gun aren’t yours,” I said, realization dawning.

  Bernie looked up from the pistol. “Affirmative, private.”

  I studied the pistol in Bernie’s hands. It was identical to the one Mr. Lakin had used—in fact, I realized, the chances were good that it was the very gun that had been fired by Mr. Lakin at the reenactment and that still had his fingerprints on it. And that same gun was aimed at me now.

  One gun, two murders. Bernie would have pulled the trigger only once, but if his plan succeeded, no one would know that he had ever even held the gun at all. There would only be one set of fingerprints on it. My Second Man theory had just gotten a lot clearer. I had been right about there being a second person involved in Don Sterling’s murder. I just hadn’t been right about the shooter. Mikey had nothing to do with it.

  “The gun isn’t yours either, is it?” I asked. Bernie just grunted and withdrew the ramrod. “But this isn’t the first time you loaded it with a musket ball.”

  “Good work, private. Not that it will do you much good.” Bernie blew off the excess powder from the muzzle of the gun.

  He might be right, but if I was going to go, I at least wanted to go solving the crime.