“Well, I guess if you need to shop for a new plane,” Joe noted, “this is the place to do it.”
Despite the good news about Amy, the mood at Scott Field remained grim. A number of planes had been damaged by debris from the crash, and the simultaneous break-ins away from the disaster had many show attendees on edge.
“A lot of pricey custom planes were hit,” the teens overheard Rock Grissom say. “You can bet I’ll be keeping both eyes on my aircraft from now on.”
“I wouldn’t make too much of this,” Tony Manetti replied. “Most of the custom jobs happened to be parked on that side of the field. A thief would have had to take whatever was available.”
The two men walked away, continuing their conversation in hushed tones.
“Think there’s anything to that?” Jamal asked.
“It could be like Manetti said,” Joe replied.
“And it would make sense for thieves to hit the most expensive planes,” said Frank.
“Which leaves our old Cessna out,” Jamal said. “I suppose I should be glad for small favors.”
The Hardys and Jamal took a short break at the campground. Their full schedule during the day so far had left them pretty beat. As the afternoon edged toward evening, they headed back to the show.
“I want to catch this new skydiving custom job that Clevon Brooks is showing,” Joe said.
“His planes are always worth seeing,” Jamal remarked. “He usually comes up with some new twist. The one he’s showing today is supposed to have some slick automated features.”
“I wonder if that’s the plane he was arguing with Grissom about,” Joe said.
“Could be,” Frank replied. “There’s a spot down by the runway near the Cessna that should have a good view.”
The three boys watched appreciatively as Brooks’s custom blue-and-gold aircraft with the big hatch on the side rolled out onto the tarmac and headed for the runway.
“That’s the plane we looked at on the first day,” Frank commented.
“We’d better hurry if we want to see it take off,” Joe said.
They cut between a couple of parked service vehicles and slid around an unmanned refueling truck.
“When they free up the airspace,” Jamal said, “we should take another pass to look for my stolen plane again.” He rubbed his hand through his short hair. “Man! This whole day has just been unreal!”
“And I think it just got weirder,” Frank said, stopping suddenly.
Lying on the grass between the fuel truck and a parked plane was the body of Clevon Brooks.
7 Trouble in the Skies
* * *
Frank knelt beside the prone aviator and felt for a pulse. “He’s just unconscious,” he said.
“But if Brooks is here,” Jamal said, kneeling next to Frank, “who’s flying his plane?” Both of them glanced to where Brooks’s custom aircraft was heading for the runway.
“Let’s find out,” Joe said, sprinting toward the taxiing plane.
“Call the cops,” Frank said to Jamal as he rose and dashed after his brother.
The Hardys raced after the moving plane. It turned on the taxiway and headed for the runway. A startled cry rose from the crowd as the brothers sprinted toward the aircraft. Joe and Frank couldn’t tell if the person flying the plane heard the shouts or if he knew the Hardys were chasing him.
Brooks’s customized skydiving plane reached the end of the runway and revved its engine for takeoff. Then it began to roll down the aging concrete, gaining speed as it went.
Joe dashed forward and ducked under the tail’s horizontal stabilizer, aiming for the rear door on the plane’s right side. He knew Frank was right behind him, but the aircraft was picking up speed, and he couldn’t wait for his brother to catch up.
The younger Hardy grabbed on to the door handle of the rear hatch. The motion of the plane nearly pulled his arm from its socket, but he held on. The momentum yanked his feet up off the ground, and the toes of his shoes skidded over the patched concrete for a moment.
Joe pulled himself forward and pushed off the ground with his feet. His legs shot out in front of him and dangled wildly in the air for a moment. He twisted and managed to get his feet onto the fiberglass fairing covering one of the rear wheels. He clung there precariously, trying to pull the door open.
Frank sprinted under the tail and toward Joe. He was close now, but the plane’s speed was picking up fast. Joe extended his free hand toward Frank, but the elder Hardy was too far away.
The plane lurched slightly as it hit a bump in the runway, and its wheels left the ground. Joe tightened his grip on the rear cargo door to avoid falling off.
Frank made one final, desperate leap to catch his brother. He came up inches short and fell hard onto the tarmac.
Clevon Brooks’s stolen aircraft lifted into the air, taking Joe with it. The younger Hardy clung to the side of the plane, his hands on the door handle and his feet on the wheel cover. As the aircraft climbed higher and higher, he struggled with the door.
Finally, Joe managed to wrest the back door open and, without looking down, pull himself into the rear of the stolen plane.
Panting for breath, he looked up just as a ski-masked figure charged at him.
Frank picked himself up off the concrete. The crowd roared with surprise at the unexpected stunt; they didn’t realize it wasn’t part of the act. The security guards and police knew, though, and Frank heard their sirens approaching.
He heard something else as well: an airplane prop, getting louder by the second.
Frank turned to see the old Hawkins Cessna barreling down the runway toward him. Jamal was at the yobe and had left the copilot’s door open. He motioned for Frank to hop aboard.
The elder Hardy gauged his timing and jumped as the Cessna rolled past. He caught hold of the doorframe and pulled himself into the copilot’s chair.
“Buckle up,” Jamal said. “We’re going after that guy.”
“Good thinking,” Frank replied, doing as Jamal said. “Where’s Brooks?”
“I left him with the EMTs,” Jamal said.
He pulled back on the yobe, and the Cessna 182 flew up into the air.
“Think you can catch Brooks’s plane?” Frank asked.
Jamal shrugged. “Depends on how skilled the pilot flying it is. We’ve got a chance, though.”
Frank and Jamal watched as Joe pulled himself inside Brook’s plane. Frank let out a sigh of relief.
“Maybe Joe will be able to take the guy out,” Jamal said.
“Let’s hope so,” Frank replied. “Then maybe we can find your plane and wrap this case up.”
“You think there’s a connection between Brooks’s plane being stolen and ours being stolen?”
Frank nodded. “Clearly something strange is going on at Scott Field. We’ve had a break-in, two stolen planes, a fist fight, and a crash, all within a day. The question is: What’s the connection between all this?”
Joe got to his feet just in time; the masked thief was trying to push him out of the open door. Joe dodged out of the way and yanked the door shut behind him.
The thief clouted Joe on the jaw and forced him to reel back. His head hit the wood paneling on the rear bulkhead. Lights flashed before his eyes, but he recovered in time to block the masked man’s follow-up blow.
Joe hammered his fist into the guy’s belly. The thief swung as he doubled over, but Joe sidestepped past the blow.
The interior of Brooks’s plane had an open floor plan. There were two doors in the rear: the cargo hatch that Joe had come through and a wide door on the opposite side of the plane. The stowage rack opposite the big door had several parachutes in it.
Six leather seats, similar to those in the stolen Hawkins plane, lined both walls. Two wood-paneled partitions separated the pilot from the rear of the plane. Joe saw someone moving beyond the partitions but couldn’t get a good look at who it was.
“So, there are two of you,” Joe said to the winded thi
ef.
The bandit didn’t reply but came at Joe again. He threw a haymaker at Joe’s head. The younger Hardy ducked and counterpunched, landing a one, two combination on the thief’s jaw. The criminal staggered back into the rack of parachutes.
Joe smiled and stepped toward the stunned enemy.
Suddenly the plane dipped to the side, and Joe fell back against the big jump door. A mechanical whir filled the cabin. The door Joe was pinned against began to open.
Frank and Jamal set their sights on the larger plane.
“Whoever’s flying that thing’s no ace,” Jamal said.
“Lucky for us,” Frank replied.
They’d been slowly gaining on the aircraft but hadn’t managed to come alongside it yet. Jamal had kept in touch via radio with the Scott Field control tower. The authorities seemed none too pleased with Jamal’s sudden departure, but there was little they could do about it.
“The theft of Brooks’s airplane will probably keep them from coming down on us too hard,” Frank said.
“Let’s hope,” Jamal replied. “All I need is more trouble. Man, am I gonna have a story or two for my father when he gets back.”
“Here’s wishing those stories have happy endings,” Frank said grimly.
Jamal nodded. “Hey, I think I see someone struggling inside the aft cabin.” He and Frank peered intently at the windows near the rear of the stolen plane.
“You’re right,” Frank said. “That would explain why Joe hasn’t overpowered the pilot yet.” He clenched his jaw. “If only I’d gotten aboard with him!”
“I bet Joe’s thinking the same thing right now,” Jamal said.
The stolen plane quickly veered to the left, and Jamal had to move quickly to keep up.
The thief Joe was fighting grabbed on to the parachute rack to avoid falling. He laughed as the door behind Joe slowly slid open.
Joe rolled aside, grasped the jump handle next to the door, and hung on for dear life. He pulled himself out of harm’s way just as the door opened completely.
The black-masked thief seemed none too secure in his own position. He hung precariously from the parachute rack, his feet dangling toward the open door. The pilot must have sensed his comrade’s distress, though, for the blue-and-gold plane suddenly straightened out.
The thief let go of the rack and grabbed the straps of one of the parachutes. He came at Joe, swinging the parachute like a weapon. Joe ducked the blow, but the felon caught him on the backswing.
Joe lashed out with his hands, grabbing the parachute’s canvas cover to steady himself and keep from toppling out the open door.
Just then the stolen plane hit an air pocket and lurched. Joe and the masked thief tumbled across the deck, out the open door, and into the autumn sky.
8 The Long Fall
* * *
Frank’s heart jumped into his throat as he saw his brother fall out the jump door of the stolen plane.
“Oh, man!” Jamal gasped.
“Keep the plane level!” Frank called. He unbuckled himself and dived over the back of the seat into the rear of the Cessna. He yanked frantically on something stowed under the plane’s seats.
“What are you doing?” Jamal asked, a note of panic in his voice.
“I’m going after him,” Frank said. He emerged with a parachute clutched in each hand.
“That’s crazy,” Jamal said, “but I’d do the same if it were my brother. Get going!”
Frank opened the plane’s passenger door and, checking to make sure he wouldn’t hit the wing struts or the tail, jumped out.
Joe and the masked thief plummeted through the sky, each clinging desperately to the straps of their shared parachute.
The felon twisted in the air, pulling hard, trying to yank the chute from Joe’s grip.
“Cut it out!” Joe yelled, unsure if the thief could hear him. “We can get out of this if we work together!”
The thief only fought harder. Joe struggled toward him through the air, fighting the rushing of the wind. He reached for the felon’s hand. As he did, the thief spun around and kicked him.
Joe lost his grip on the parachute. The thief, struggling to put on the parachute, quickly drifted away from him.
Joe looked down. The ground was still a long way off.
Cold wind whipped against Frank Hardy as he struggled to put on one of the parachutes with his hands. He could see Joe and the thief tumbling through the air far ahead of him.
Suddenly the thief broke free from Joe, and the two separated. In his hand the thief clutched the pair’s sole parachute.
For a moment Frank’s concern for his brother nearly overwhelmed him. His concentration lapsed, and the wind ripped the second parachute from his hand. Frank watched helplessly as it sailed away into the clouds.
A moment later he saw the thief’s parachute open above him, while Joe continued to free-fall through the air.
Frank fastened the remaining chute around his body and dived after his brother.
Joe forced himself not to panic. He’d been in some tight spots before, but this was certainly one of the worst. He called to mind all the things he’d learned when he first started skydiving. None of them seemed pertinent to jumping out of a plane without a parachute.
He knew he could control his descent by splaying his body in the air. He lay flat, parallel to the onrushing earth, and stretched his arms and legs out on both sides. This increased his wind resistance and slowed him down slightly—but not enough to keep him from being killed at the end of the fall. The air around him was bitterly cold. It chilled him right through his clothing.
The chances of living through a jump without a working chute were very small. The stories Joe remembered of people surviving such a plunge all involved a soft landing. He began looking around for something to land on that might merely break some bones rather than kill him.
Lakes and ponds were out of the question. Even during the summer, falling into one from this height would be like hitting a brick wall. There was a big lake almost directly below him, but it was frozen and covered with a fine sheen of snow.
A big snowdrift might cushion his fall, but there hadn’t been enough snowfall yet to form anything suitable. Trees were the next best option, but most of the trees in the area had lost their leaves and looked more like spikes than a soft pile to jump into. Pine trees seemed little better.
The weather was too cold to find a good patch of mud or a newly plowed field. Joe gritted his teeth and shook his head in frustration. He had no good options.
A distant buzz drifted to his ears. He looked ahead and saw Jamal’s plane circling ahead of him. Joe remembered once seeing a movie stunt, where a sky diver had landed on a moving plane. Jamal was too far away to try it, though. Despite this, the younger Hardy felt glad that his friend and his brother hadn’t given up on him yet.
A shout pierced the chilly air. “Joe!”
Joe’s heart raced as he turned his head and saw Frank plummeting toward him. The elder Hardy had tucked his arms to his side and was holding his legs tight and straight, making his body less wind-resistant. He shot forward rapidly, like a hawk diving out of the sky onto its pray.
In seconds he’d closed the distance between him and Joe.
Frank floated alongside his brother, and the two clasped hands. The icy ground below them was rushing up very quickly now.
“Just like buddy diving in the school pool when we were little!” Frank hollered.
Joe nodded and twisted his body in the air. Frank came in facing his brother and clasped his arms under Joe’s arms. Joe wriggled his arms through some of the chute’s restraints and locked his fingers together around Frank’s back, making sure not to interfere with the parachute.
“Ready!” Joe said, shouting to be heard over the howling wind.
Frank pulled the ripcord, and the parachute shot into the sky. The round patch of nylon billowed open, and the brothers jerked hard as the chute slowed them down. Joe almost lost his grip, but Frank
held on tightly.
The two of them slowly spiraled down toward the big frozen lake below. Tall pine trees lined the lakeshore. Long tracks, probably from snowmobiles, crossed the far end of the lake, miles away. A bit of rusty green prefab barn shone through the trees in that direction as well.
The snow-covered ice below them looked solid enough. “Hang on!” Frank said, and he and Joe braced themselves for touchdown.
They hit hard and tumbled onto the ice. It wasn’t a controlled roll, as they’d been taught in their parachuting lessons, but it was enough to blunt the impact. A big cracking sound echoed around them, but the ice held.
Frank moaned. Joe had landed on top of him.
“Man!” Joe said. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more glad to see you, Frank!”
“Same here, little brother,” Frank replied. “But would you mind getting off me? You weigh a ton.”
Joe laughed and untangled himself from Frank’s parachute harness. He rolled to one side and lay on the ice. “I ache all over!” he said.
“It beats being spread all over,” Frank said.
“By a long shot,” Joe replied. “Thanks—a lot.”
“Don’t mention it.”
A buzzing overhead caught their attention, and they looked up to see Jamal circling the lake. Clouds had closed in overhead, and a cold fog seemed about to swallow the tiny Cessna.
“Feel up to waving?” Joe asked. They both were still lying flat on the ice.
“I’ll just call him on the cell phone,” Frank said. He dug into his jacket pocket and punched up Jamal’s number, then hit the speakerphone button on the handset. “Jamal?” Frank asked.
“Boy, am I glad to hear you!” Jamal’s voice blared. There was some interference in the signal, but they could make out his words well enough. “Are you both okay?”
In Plane Sight Page 5