The Rocky Road to Revenge

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “Don’t these people claim that the aliens examined them in some way?” Frank asked.

  “Correct,” Sykes answered. “And most of their memories are very similar, meaning it’s unlikely they’re making up their stories. And, let me point out, these people are not lunatics. They are sane, intelligent, and thoroughly believable.”

  Sykes indicated a shelf where audiocassettes were stored, each with a label. “You see these?” he asked. “These are tapes of some of those hypnosis sessions. I don’t have time to play them for you right now, but some other time I will and then you will be convinced these alien encounters are real.”

  Frank listened to the static for a moment, then wondered what else he should find out from Sykes. “We know you’re busy,” Frank said, “but before we go, let me ask you this. Why do you suppose the aliens chose Clay Robinson to abduct?”

  Sykes opened his arms in a gesture of puzzlement. “Maybe because he was driving along a deserted road and they knew they could take him without any witnesses. That seems to be common. Or maybe they were attracted to his red hair. Or maybe because he stole some moonstones twenty years ago. We’re dealing with alien minds. At this point it’s impossible to know what they’re thinking.”

  Frank wrinkled his brow. “What was that about moonstones?” he said.

  “Oh, I didn’t really mean anything by that,” Sykes said with a dismissive wave. “But I don’t mind saying I’m extremely disappointed they took Robinson. The man is not worthy of such an encounter. As long as the Visitors were whistling through Moondance Pass, they should have taken me!”

  “So you would like to be abducted?” Joe asked.

  Behind the glasses, Alastair Sykes’s eyes seemed to twinkle. “Would I like to meet an intelligent life-form from another planet? That would be the greatest scientific adventure imaginable!”

  Frank was beginning to feel he had heard enough. He headed for the door. “Okay, Mr. Sykes, we really appreciate—”

  Something in the room began beeping loudly, and now there was a buzzing noise on top of the static. Frank noticed letters lit up on one of the decks. A message read, “Possible Signal of ET Origin.”

  Joe sprang up. “What’s happening?”

  “Shh!” Sykes said as he raced to study the computer screen. He reached out to examine the paper that spilled from the printer.

  “Yes!” Sykes exclaimed as he began pushing buttons on several decks. “I’m getting distinctly nonrandom signals from some point in the upper ionosphere!”

  “What does that mean?” Frank asked. In spite of his doubts, Frank felt his heartbeat speed up with anticipation.

  Sykes sat down and put on a headset. “That means this could be it!” he cried. “My first communication with the Visitors!”

  6 The Black Elk

  * * *

  Frank and Joe watched as Sykes listened to his headset. The beeping, buzzing, and printing continued.

  Joe’s eyes were aglow. At this very moment, he thought, Alastair Sykes might be receiving a communication from an intelligent being from another planet. Maybe the Visitors who had caused the orange UFO were the ones sending the message.

  Then Sykes slowly took off the headset. He sat there a moment, as if absorbing the shock of bad news.

  “What happened?” Joe asked.

  Sykes sighed. “False alarm. I was picking up salsa music from a very powerful radio station in Mexico.”

  Frank tried to conceal a smile as Sykes began pushing buttons. Soon the beeping and buzzing stopped, and the screen no longer carried the Possible Signal message.

  “You had me going for a second,” Joe said.

  “Sorry about that,” Sykes replied. “So far it’s only been false alarms. But I guarantee you, one day the Visitors and I are going to communicate. And after what happened last night, I think that day may be closer than you think.”

  “That would be truly amazing,” Joe told Sykes.

  Sykes pulled a booklet from a shelf and handed it to Joe. “Here’s a pamphlet I’ve created. It tells you all about my work. Take it, please.”

  “Thanks,” Joe said. The pamphlet was titled The Independent Quest to Find Alien Visitors.

  “I’ll have to let you out,” Sykes said, moving to the door. “I’ve got a sophisticated security system throughout the house. The place was burglarized once, and I don’t want it to happen again.”

  As the Hardys drove away from the house, Joe said, “You think he’s crazy, don’t you?”

  “No, I think he’s a smart guy barking up the wrong tree,” Frank said as he steered the Jeep. “I’m glad we came here, though. We learned two things that support my theory about Sykes being the one who made Robinson disappear.”

  “Let me guess,” Joe said. “Reason one: Sykes doesn’t seem to like Robinson. And what was that comment about Robinson having stolen some moonstones?”

  “I don’t know,” Frank said. “He sort of took the comment back. That was very strange.”

  “Reason two,” Joe continued. “Sykes desperately needs people to believe ETs are around so he can get some funding money.”

  “Right,” Frank agreed.

  Although Joe didn’t say it out loud, another possibility had crept into his mind. Maybe Clay Robinson had really been abducted by aliens. It seemed like an awfully big coincidence that Robinson had disappeared on the same night the orange UFO appeared.

  Joe wondered if there was anyone connected to the U.S. government whom they could contact—someone who might have some real answers about whether or not aliens had ever visited the earth.

  Frank’s voice interrupted Joe’s thoughts. “I say we keep a close eye on Sykes,” he said. “But for now let’s move on to some more earthly suspects.”

  It was around one o’clock now, and the day was turning warm. Out the window, Joe saw a grassy meadow filled with yellow and scarlet wildflowers. The scene was so pretty, Joe thought, that it could be on a postcard. “So, who are these earthly suspects we’re going to talk to?” he asked Frank.

  “Sergeant Bunt said Bev and Myra live in the red house at the end of Route Forty-seven,” Frank said. “We’re on Route Forty-seven now. I thought we could stop by their place. Who knows? They might even be holding Robinson hostage.”

  Soon the Jeep came to an area of modest homes, and Frank parked in front of one that was painted bright red. Joe knocked at the door, but there was no answer. Joe walked to the side of the house and noticed curtains blowing through an open window.

  “Should we have a look inside?” Frank asked, coming up behind Joe.

  Frank glanced around to make sure no one was watching. “Keep a lookout for me,” he said, and put his hands on the windowsill to hoist himself up and into the house.

  Frank stood in a living room filled with worn-out furniture. The place smelled musty, and it was a mess—littered with pizza boxes, soda cans, magazines, and all sorts of biking gear.

  Frank checked the bathroom and two bedrooms, looking for any sign that Clay Robinson might have been there. He hoped there would be a clue to indicate that Bev and Myra had done something with him. Frank looked through everything, including the piles of dirty clothes in the bedrooms. Aside from the mess, he found nothing even remotely suspicious. After checking to make sure there was no basement, Frank climbed back out the window.

  “Did you find anything?” Joe asked.

  “If being a bad housekeeper is a crime,” Frank said, “we could make a citizen’s arrest. But other than a lot of clothes lying around, I found nothing at all.”

  Frank took off for the Jeep. “But we should try to talk with Bev and Myra later. For now let’s move on to our next suspect—Mr. Max Jagowitz.”

  The Hardys drove into downtown Coalville and, after parking, stepped through the screen-door entrance of the Black Elk, The store was one big room with wide wood plank floors. All around, shelves and racks were stocked with foods, essential supplies, and recreational gear. A gigantic elk’s head with antlers was mounted
on one wall.

  The store was empty except for Jagowitz, who sat in a rocking chair. He looked comfortable in his overalls and baseball cap as he creaked slowly back and forth in the chair.

  “That’s quite an elk,” Frank remarked in his friendliest manner.

  “Thank you,” Jagowitz said with a modest nod. “Shot it myself. One of the largest antler racks on record. That was one smart animal, let me tell you. Tracked it for half a day before I brought it down. Are you boys hunters?”

  They were, Joe thought, but not in the way Jagowitz meant. “No, not us,” Joe said with a chuckle.

  “Too bad,” Jagowitz said. He gestured to a section of the store with hunting and fishing equipment. “I’ve got guns, shells, knives—everything a hunter needs.”

  The Hardys ambled over to look at the equipment, not because they needed anything but because they didn’t want Jagowitz to suspect the real purpose of their visit. Soon Frank turned to Jagowitz. “So, you’ve lived in Moondance Pass a long time?” he said.

  “That’s right,” Jagowitz said. “My whole life.”

  As Joe looked at the supplies, Frank chatted with Jagowitz. His goal was to get Jagowitz talking to see if anything useful came out of the old man’s mouth. “I take it Coalville was once a big mining town,” Frank said.

  Jagowitz rocked a moment, then spoke. “First the Indians came to these parts, living off the elk. Then the trappers came, searching out the beavers. Then the prospectors came, hauling all their possessions on a burro’s back. They found silver to the west and gold to the north, but here they found coal. Lots of it. That’s about when my family first came here—1889.”

  “Where did your people come from?” Frank asked.

  “My great-granddad came here from Yugoslavia,” Jagowitz said with pride. “At least at that time they called it Yugoslavia. He worked the mines. So did my granddad, my dad, and myself for a spell. And let me tell you, that was some tough work—digging out the tunnels and hauling carts loaded with coal. All of it in the pitch-dark, mind you. Knowing if you weren’t careful with your lamp, the coal gases might ignite and blow you to bits.”

  “When did the mines close down?” Frank asked.

  “Early 1950s,” Jagowitz replied. “Everything started running on electricity and oil, and mining the coal wasn’t so profitable anymore. A lot of folks left the area then. Not me, though. I wanted to stay on, so I opened the store.”

  Frank felt Jagowitz was looking at him with just a hint of suspicion in his eyes. Just then Joe sauntered over. “You must like it here,” Joe remarked in a tone as friendly as Frank’s.

  “Can you blame me?” Jagowitz said with a shrug.

  “No, sir,” Joe replied. “It’s some of the most gorgeous country I’ve ever seen.”

  Frank decided it was time to probe Max Jagowitz a little deeper. “It’s so peaceful here,” he said. “It almost seems a shame Clay Robinson is building that big hotel and condominium complex.”

  Jagowitz stopped rocking. When he spoke anger thickened his gravelly voice. “Almost a shame? It’s the biggest shame I ever heard of. Look, I’m not against sharing this beautiful place with folks who want to enjoy it. Fine with me if we’ve got some resort villages, and, of course, people are certainly free to build homes out here. But this big, glitzy affair Robinson’s building, the Golden Dream . . . well, that’s different.”

  Jagowitz paused and stared into space for a moment. “I can see it now. People clogging the roads in their fancy cars. Then they’ll build stores and nightclubs. Eventually they’ll put up an airport so we can have planes zooming overhead, ruining our sleep, I say this was meant to be peaceful country, but if Robinson has his way, the only place I’ll get any peace is in my grave!”

  As Frank and Joe nodded in sympathy, a middle-aged woman entered the store. “Hi there, Max,” she said cheerfully. “I just need some paper towels today.”

  “Anything you want,” Jagowitz said, rising from his chair.

  The woman picked up a roll of paper towels. As Jagowitz rang up her purchase at the antique cash register, the two began chatting.

  Frank didn’t want to leave just yet. He felt he had touched a nerve with the talk of the Golden Dream, and he wanted to pursue the topic a little further. He saw Joe walk to a pay phone and make a call. “Who were you calling?” Frank asked when Joe returned.

  Joe gestured in Jagowitz’s direction. “Uh, I think I’ll tell you later.”

  Frank gave Joe a playful punch on the arm. “Hey, you’re not supposed to keep secrets from your big brother. Come on, tell me who it was.”

  “Later,” Joe said with a sly smile.

  Even though he had eaten a big breakfast, Joe knew he would be getting hungry again soon. He picked up a bag of potato chips from a rack and placed two quarters on the counter near the cash register. He didn’t want to interrupt the conversation between Jagowitz and the woman.

  Soon the woman left the store, and Jagowitz returned to his rocking chair Frank picked up where he had left off. “I’m surprised no one has tried to do any big developing before this,” Frank told Jagowitz.

  “Oh, they’ve tried,” Jagowitz said. “But there’s a council that oversees all the affairs of the Moondance Pass area. I’m a member myself. And we’ve got very strict ordinances against large-scale development around here.”

  “How did the Golden Dream get around the ordinances?” Joe asked.

  Jagowitz creaked back and forth in the chair. “Robinson asked the council to make an exception for his project. He said his complex would bring a lot of jobs to the area and he would do everything very tastefully. Promised he wouldn’t ruin Moondance Pass but make it better. He made a good pitch and got some of the council members eating out of his hand. The council voted to lift the ordinance just for Robinson by a vote of five to four.”

  “You must have been unhappy,” Frank said.

  Jagowitz gave a hoarse chuckle. “I hollered till the hills started shaking. But there wasn’t much else I could do, was there?”

  Jagowitz glanced at the door as a man wearing a fisherman’s vest entered the store. Frank had one more question he needed to ask before leaving. “Do you have any idea what might have happened to Robinson last night?” he said.

  Jagowitz narrowed his eyes. “No, I don’t. I’m not the type to wish harm to anyone, but maybe it’s best if he stays where he is.”

  “Where he is? What—” Frank began, but he was interrupted by the fisherman.

  “Hey, Max,” the fisherman called out, “I need a good knife for gutting fish.”

  Jagowitz rose from his chair. “Well, I got the best knife collection in the Rockies. Come on, let’s pick one out for you.”

  Frank watched Jagowitz move to the knife counter. Frank signaled to Joe, and they passed through the entrance. When they were outside, Joe said, “So, what do you think?”

  Just then the screen door flew open and Jagowitz seized Joe roughly by the wrist. There was a fierce look in the old man’s eyes.

  “Young fella,” Jagowitz growled like a grizzly bear, “I see now why you and your brother came into my store. And I don’t like it one bit!”

  7 Terror at Ten Thousand Feet

  * * *

  Jagowitz kept Joe’s wrist in his clawlike grip. “You think I don’t know what you’re up to, don’t you?” he said angrily.

  “What are you talking about?” Joe asked in confusion.

  “I see what you’ve got in your hand,” Jagowitz said. “And who knows what you’ve got in your pockets.”

  When Joe saw that Jagowitz was referring to the bag of potato chips he was still holding, he realized Jagowitz thought he had stolen the chips.

  “I paid for these,” Joe said. “While you were talking to that woman, I left two quarters on the counter.”

  “He’s telling the truth,” Frank said evenly. “My brother has never stolen anything in his life.”

  Jagowitz’s glare melted. He released Joe’s wrist. “Okay. I’
ll take your word for it. I’m just jumpy these days, knowing this whole area is about to change. I’m thinking there’s going to be all kinds of crime once that Golden Dream monstrosity opens. Come back to my store anytime, boys.”

  Jagowitz entered the store, and the Hardys walked along the street in silence for a few minutes.

  “What a temper,” Joe said. “And he’s pretty strong for someone who’s nearly eighty years old.”

  “Must be the mountain air,” Frank said with a chuckle. “As I started to say,” he added, “Max Jagowitz feels as though his family founded Coalville. He likes the town the way it is and takes it as a personal insult that Robinson wants to jazz things up. But kidnapping Robinson wouldn’t accomplish anything. Robinson would just pick up where he left off as soon as he was released. To do any good, Jagowitz would have to kill Robinson.”

  Joe caught Frank’s eyes. “The way he was talking, I wouldn’t be surprised if tomorrow we see a stuffed Robinson hanging on the wall next to the elk.”

  “Very funny,” Frank said with a groan. “But I do wonder what we should do now.”

  Joe checked his watch. “Right now we’d better get back to Silver Crest. Remember, Terry wants to take us to the top of Moondance Peak this afternoon.”

  The brothers stopped in front of the post office. “Why don’t you two make the excursion without me?” Frank said. “I want to hang around Coalville awhile and see what else I can learn. I’m sure I can hitch a ride back to Silver Crest. I’ll meet you there sometime around six.”

  “Okay,” Joe said. “Just don’t get yourself abducted by aliens.”

  “And don’t you, either,” Frank said with a grin.

  • • •

  Joe felt as if he were sailing over the treetops, watching as the base of the mountain grew farther and farther away. He and Terry were riding up Moondance Peak in a rickety but still-working ski lift.

  “Is this a view or what?” Terry asked.