The Mystery of the Black Rhino

by Franklin W. Dixon

  When they finished, they stood together for a few seconds right behind Jackson’s seat. They were close enough to hear a slight snoring noise, letting them know that he was asleep. Then they started back toward first class.

  Mr. Hardy was just closing his book when Frank and Joe got to their seats. “I take it you two were on a reconnaissance mission,” he said.

  Frank nodded. “Subject is asleep at the rear of the plane,” he said.

  “Then I think that’s probably what we should do,” Mr. Hardy said. “You won’t want to spend your first day in Nairobi in bed, right?”

  Frank and Joe settled themselves into their comfortable seats, arranged their pillows and blankets, and turned out their lights.

  In just a few minutes, they both drifted off to sleep.

  • • •

  It was almost dawn when the flight attendants began awakening everyone for the landing in Dakar.

  The aircraft was only on the ground long enough to refuel and take on a few passengers. The Hardy boys thought, from their formal appearances, that these people were businessmen and -women headed to Nairobi.

  When the plane was airborne again, the flight attendants started serving breakfast. Frank was surprised to see an omelette, with hash browns and toast—much like a breakfast his mother would serve. This gave him a feeling of comfort.

  The pilot announced that they had crossed the border of Senegal and were now over Mali.

  Joe looked out the window. “Hey! I wonder if we’ll be flying over Tombouctou,” he said, naming the fabled city that was often used as a metaphor for faraway places.

  Frank got a route map out of the seat pocket in front of him and handed it to Joe. “Check it out,” he said.

  After a few minutes of searching, Joe said, “It’s probably too far north. It looks way out of the way.”

  “You never know, Joe,” Frank said. “Pilots don’t always fly in straight lines.”

  A consultation with a flight attendant who checked with the pilot proved that Joe was right. They would be flying south of Tombouctou.

  Over the loudspeaker, the pilot informed everyone that they were now flying over Bamako, the capital of Mali. He reminded the passengers that a route map was available in their seat pocket and that their flight path would pretty much follow it.

  Joe could see that they would cross over Burkina Faso, Ghana, Togo, Benin, Nigeria, Cameroon, Central African Republic, Congo, Uganda, and then Kenya. Joe tried to remember the history of each of the countries that he had studied in class.

  Later, just as the pilot announced that they were flying over Kampala, the capital of Uganda, the aircraft started shaking violently.

  Several passengers screamed.

  The Hardy boys looked at each other.

  Frank swallowed hard. “I hope that was just turbulence,” he whispered to Joe.

  “Frank, I don’t think it was,” Joe said. He pointed out his window. “That engine is on fire.”

  Frank leaned over to get a closer look. Joe was right. Below them he could see only the green of the jungle.

  “Boys, keep your seat belts fastened,” Mr. Hardy called to his sons, “and listen carefully to any instructions that you’re given.”

  Joe could see that his father had his cell phone in his hand. Is he thinking of a way he can contact Mom and Aunt Gertrude? he wondered. Joe’s stomach was beginning to feel queasy.

  Frank was thinking of some of the movies he’d seen where planes crash landed in African jungles. Several people always survived, but they had a hard time coping—with each other, and unfriendly people they encountered in the jungle. How much of that is true, Frank wondered, and how much of it is just Hollywood?

  There was a sudden crackling noise, and then the pilot’s voice was on the loudspeaker. “We have lost one of our engines, and we’ve begun to lose altitude, but we think we can make it into Nairobi with the remaining engines. The flight attendants will be passing through the cabin, giving you instructions on what to do in case we have to make a forced landing.”

  The flight attendant who had just hours earlier been telling the Hardy boys all about the wonderful food in Kenya was now showing them how to hide their heads in pillows in their laps to protect them during a crash.

  Frank couldn’t help thinking it wouldn’t do much good, because he was sure that a jet going as fast as they were going would be torn apart by all of the trees—but he wasn’t going to express that opinion now. He had to hope that everything would be all right.

  Joe was looking out his window. “So far so good on this side,” he said. “Maybe we’ll . . .”

  At that moment a loud explosion shook the entire plane. It seemed to have come from Mr. Hardy’s side of the cabin.

  “Dad! Dad!” Joe shouted. “What happened?”

  Mr. Hardy was looking out the window. When he turned around, Frank could see that his father’s face was drained of all color. “We just lost another engine!” Mr. Hardy managed to say.

  4 Danger over Africa

  * * *

  The plane began to fall rapidly. People were screaming and crying throughout the aircraft.

  “Do you think that Jackson had something to do with this, Frank?” Joe whispered.

  “What do you mean, Joe?” Frank said. “That he’s responsible for what’s happened? No.”

  “Well, if he didn’t do it himself, then maybe he made somebody mad,” Joe countered. “He’s certainly capable of doing that. Maybe this is all happening because he’s on board.”

  Frank hadn’t considered that possibility, but it seemed remote, and he told Joe so. “No, I think it’s our bad luck. I just hope we can make it into Nairobi on two engines.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the pilot’s voice began again. “The two remaining engines seem to be stabilized, and we’re just thirty minutes out from Jomo Kenyatta International Airport in Nairobi.” There was a loud cheer from the passengers.

  The pilot didn’t say anything for several seconds, and Joe knew they were in for some bad news. “But . . . ,” the pilot began, to the groans of several people. “Our nose landing-gear unit seems to be stuck. If we can’t get it unstuck, we’ll have to try to make a landing on soft foam. We should be all right.”

  “I don’t like the way he said ‘should,’ ” Frank whispered to Joe.

  “Me, either,” Joe said. He looked over at Frank. “What could be making it stick?” he asked.

  “Something could have come loose somewhere when the engines went out. It really shook the plane good,” Frank said. “It could have fallen into the nose landing-gear unit.”

  He and Tony Prito had spent last summer working with Jack Wayne on a small jet Jack had bought at an auction. Jack was Fenton Hardy’s charter pilot when Mr. Hardy needed to fly across the country while on cases. Frank and Tony had learned a lot about the inner workings of jets.

  “So the solution could be as simple as removing it from the nose landing-gear unit,” Joe said, “provided there was someone to do it.”

  “Forget it, guys,” Fenton Hardy said. “That would be extremely dangerous.”

  “Dad! We’re already in danger,” Joe said. “There’s no guarantee that when the nose of the plane hits the foam on the runway the aircraft won’t break apart.”

  Fenton Hardy took a deep breath. “This is one of those times when I wish your mother and I hadn’t reared two smart kids,” he said. “I don’t have a counterargument to your reasoning.”

  “Do you think the pilots would let us take a look, Dad?” Frank asked. “Jack showed me what to do last summer if something like this happened. He’s had to do it before.”

  Mr. Hardy thought for a minute. “Well, we won’t know until we ask them, will we?” he finally said.

  Needless to say, the pilots didn’t think it was a good idea, and initially refused the Hardy boys’ request. At Fenton Hardy’s insistence, though, they agreed to contact one of Mr. Hardy’s most important acquaintances in Johannesburg, South Africa, who
vouched for him, saying that if Fenton Hardy thought it was a good idea, then it was a good idea.

  Below the carpet in first class there was a trapdoor that led down into the undercarriage. The retractable nose landing-gear unit was inside this space.

  At Mr. Hardy’s request, the flight attendants closed the curtain that separated first class from the rest of the cabins—so that none of the other passengers could see what was taking place.

  “It’s best that we not unnerve them any more than we have to at this point,” Fenton Hardy explained. “They might get nervous if they think two teenage boys are trying to solve this problem.” He winked at his sons.

  The Hardy boys quickly removed the carpet that covered the center aisle. Their father and one of the flight attendants helped them.

  After the carpet was removed, it was rolled up and placed in one of the empty seats. It didn’t take the Hardy boys long to open the trapdoor.

  With flashlights in hand, the boys slowly began their descent into the belly of the plane.

  “I’m glad I helped Jack work on his plane this past summer,” Frank said. “This all looks really familiar. There’s just more of it.”

  With Frank leading the way, the Hardy boys climbed deeper into the undercarriage of the nose of the airplane, toward the landing-gear unit. The noise was deafening, and the deeper they went, the colder it got.

  “We’re almost there,” Frank shouted.

  When Joe didn’t respond, Frank pulled on his sleeve and pointed. He mouthed that they were almost there, and this time Joe understood him.

  Joe shined the flashlight around the area. He could see some strips of metal dangling from the top of the ceiling, which was the underside of the floor of the first-class passenger cabin. He didn’t know as much about this part of the aircraft as Frank did, but he did know enough to realize that whatever had happened to the engines had probably also caused this damage.

  “Shine the flashlight down here,” Frank called. He also motioned his instructions with his hands.

  Joe did as Frank asked.

  “I see the problem,” Frank said, enunciating his words so his lips could be read. “One of those strips of metal fell into the cavity and wrapped around the gears. They won’t move because of that.” Slowly, Frank lowered himself onto the landing gear to reach the foreign object. When he tried to remove it, though, it was stuck tight. “I can’t find the end of the metal strip to get any leverage,” he shouted up to Joe. “When the captain tested the landing gear for landing in Nairobi, I think that must have caused this stuff to become wedged even more tightly.”

  “Do you think we can lower the gear manually?” Joe asked.

  “That’s what we’ll have to do,” Frank replied. He thought for a minute. “You’d better climb back up and tell Dad. He needs to tell the captain not to use his controls to try to lower the landing gear. I don’t want to be working on them if that happens.”

  “Okay,” Joe shouted.

  While Joe climbed back up to relay the message to the pilot, Frank set to work seeing if he could release the landing gear manually. He knew from working with Jack Wayne approximately where the gear handle was that would allow him to do it. When he found the handle, he tried to turn it with one hand while holding the flashlight with the other, but it wouldn’t budge. It was going to take both his hands and probably even Joe’s to turn it.

  A light from above told Frank that Joe was returning from delivering the message to the pilot.

  “One more problem,” Joe shouted when he reached Frank’s side.

  “What?” Frank asked.

  “We’re running low on fuel,” Joe yelled.

  “We just refueled in Dakar, Joe,” Frank told him. “How could we be running low on fuel?”

  “Well, it’s just one of those things that passengers are never told, Frank,” Joe replied. “It seems that the fuel reserves are low at Dakar, for some reason, and airplanes are only being given enough fuel to make it to their destinations.”

  “You’re kidding me,” Frank said.

  “Nope. It’s true. They know how long it takes to fly from Dakar to Nairobi, so that’s how much fuel we got. Not a drop more,” Joe said. “In other words, the pilot can’t circle the airport until we get the landing gear unstuck.”

  “Listen, Joe, here’s how this plane works,” Frank shouted. “Without the front landing gear down, the plane will hit the ground nose first. Bad angle. It would be better if we had lost the main landing gear, because at least that way, the front of the plane would be elevated.”

  “I see what you mean,” Joe said. He took a deep breath. “Well, let’s get to work. This won’t be the place to be when we hit the runway.”

  Joe found a place that would hold their flashlights securely and still give them the light they needed to see as they tried to unstick the landing gears. Together they pushed on the manual handle—but it still wouldn’t budge.

  “I’ve got to get underneath the wheels to find the end of the metal strip,” Frank said. “That’ll mean standing on the retractable doors, which is kind of dangerous. But I don’t know what else to do.”

  Joe knew that if for some reason the doors happened to open with Frank standing on them, his brother would fall several thousand feet to the jungle below.

  Slowly Frank made his way underneath the landing gear. He stepped tentatively onto the nose gear flaps, making sure that most of the pressure remained in his upper body rather than in his legs.

  He used his flashlight to search the area for the end of the metal strip. He was just about to give up when he spotted it.

  “I found it, Joe!” Frank shouted above to his brother.

  “Can you get it out?” Joe shouted down to him.

  “I think so,” Frank shouted back.

  There was no good place to lay the flashlight so Frank held it under his arm, freeing his hand to try to remove the strip of metal. He could budge it but he still couldn’t free it.

  “Hey, Joe!” Frank shouted. “Use the manual handle, but this time, turn it the other way. I think that’ll work.”

  “Okay, Frank,” Joe shouted.

  Above, Joe grasped the handle with both hands, and using all the strength he could muster, began to turn it. It started to move very slowly.

  Suddenly the lever turned several inches and a great rush of freezing air filled the undercarriage.

  “Frank! Frank!” Joe shouted.

  Frantically Joe tried to turn the lever in the other direction, but now it was moving of its own accord. Joe didn’t have the strength to stop it.

  Below, Frank had just grasped one of the wheels when his foot fell through the opening flaps.

  “Joe! Joe!” Frank shouted. “Close the flaps!”

  Even as he said it, Frank knew that Joe couldn’t hear him. Besides, he was still able to reason, his brother knew enough to do that anyway. If it wasn’t happening, it was because Joe couldn’t do it.

  Now the landing gear itself began to lower—and Frank with it. In just a few seconds, he was outside the airplane, dangling from the wheels. The fierce, icy winds were whipping his body unmercifully. Frank’s grasp on the wheel—and on his life—was tentative at best.

  Frank still had enough wits about him to know that the only way he was going to get back inside the body of the plane was by pulling himself up. Against the incredibly strong winds, he managed to lift his head.

  He squinted his eyes to protect them from the blasts of frigid air. Suddenly he saw Joe.

  Frank knew Joe was saying something to him, because he could see his mouth working. There was no way he could make out what it was. Then he saw something in Joe’s hand. It looked like a piece of rope.

  Somehow Joe had been able to . . .

  Frank blinked. For a moment he was sure that beside Joe, he had seen his father. Yes! Together they had managed to secure a rope to something inside the plane. He might make it after all.

  Joe was shouting something at him. Just then the rope dropped
in front of him, but the wind started whipping it back and forth, so that he couldn’t grab it. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold on to the wheels, either. He could no longer feel his hands. They were almost frozen. The rope continued to whip around him, several times slapping at his face, causing an almost unbearable sting. It reminded him of cold winter days in Bayport, when he was a kid, playing outside with his brother. When Mrs. Hardy told them it was time to come in, he remembered the stinging sensation as the warmth began to return to his face and hands.

  Suddenly the rope disappeared. Frank looked up and squinted. What was happening? Had they given up?

  No! Joe was going to lower the rope again—this time, Frank hoped, closer to where he was.

  Frank grasped the wheel tighter. Was it just his imagination, Frank wondered, or were the winds less strong now? He glanced below and thought that the ground seemed closer. Then he could see houses, roads, and even vehicles.

  Frank swallowed hard. They had reached Nairobi. He knew that there wasn’t enough fuel for them to circle the city. The pilot had to land the plane as soon as possible.

  5 The Shopkeeper in Mombasa Curios

  * * *

  There was no way that Joe Hardy was going to let anything happen to his brother. He had a plan, which Fenton Hardy at first vetoed. When Joe pleaded with his father, telling him that this might be the only way they could save Frank, Fenton Hardy finally relented. In fact, he let it be known that he couldn’t have been prouder of Joe for being willing to risk his own life for his brother.

  One of the copilots had now joined them in the undercarriage. He brought with him some dire news.

  “We’ll be on the ground in about five minutes,” he said. “We’ve got to get your son back into the undercarriage.”

  Joe knew what the pilot wasn’t saying. Even though it made him angry, he tried to understand. If they had to wait any longer for them to get Frank inside the plane, there wouldn’t be enough fuel for a safe landing. They couldn’t take that chance. If it meant sacrificing one person to save the rest of the passengers, well . . .