Tagged for Terror

by Franklin W. Dixon

  "It'll be two hours later by the time we get to Porterville," Frank countered, "and people get up early in the country."

  "Two hours!" Joe groaned. "I don't suppose we could stop and get something to eat on the way?"

  Frank chuckled. "It's too early. Nothing's open. But we'll probably find some kind of restaurant or coffee shop in Porterville. We'll stop there, have breakfast, and see if we can get directions to the Minifee farm. If we're lucky, we may find some folks who can tell us something about Danny."

  "Good plan," Joe said, "especially the part about breakfast." Then he drifted off to sleep.

  Joe didn't wake up until Frank turned off the highway onto a side road. Five minutes later they were in Porterville. Less than a minute after that they had gone from one end of town to the other. Joe counted one stoplight, four stores, two gas stations, and one restaurant.

  Frank pulled into the parking lot of the Porterville Cafe When the Hardys walked through the front door, every head in the restaurant turned to look at them. There was a moment of dead quiet, then the customers went back to eating and talking.

  Frank and Joe sat at the counter and ordered breakfast. When the waitress brought their food, Frank casually mentioned that they were looking for Danny Minifee.

  "I don't believe I've heard that name before," she said with a thin smile. "You must have the wrong town. Maybe he lives in Potterville. That's about seventy miles from here. People get the two confused all the time."

  Joe watched as the waitress moved down the counter to another customer. "I don't think we're going to get much help here," he said to Frank. "These folks aren't going to open up to a couple of outsiders."

  By the time they finished eating, the restaurant was nearly empty. Frank was about to ask for the check when a short, round man approached them.

  "I heard you say you were looking for Danny Minifee," he said, glancing around the restaurant. "What kind of trouble is he in now?"

  "What makes you think he's in trouble?" Frank responded.

  "I'm Roger Starke," the pudgy man said. "I run the grocery store down the street." His eyes darted around the room again, and he lowered his voice. "That boy is crazy, if you ask me, and dangerous, too."

  Joe couldn't believe what he was hearing. This man couldn't be talking about the same Danny Minifee, not the Danny that Joe knew. Maybe Joe didn't know Danny at all. Now was the time to find out about the real Danny Minifee.

  Chapter 10

  FRANK STUDIED the jumpy little man. "What makes you think Danny Minifee is dangerous?"

  "He tried to kill me once," the man claimed as he sat down on the stool next to Frank. "Back when his old man got sick and I gave his mother a job. I couldn't pay her as much as my regular workers. I only hired her because I wanted to help the family out, and I'm not made out of money!" the man shouted, pounding his fists on the counter.

  "Hey, take it easy, mister," Joe cautioned.

  "One day the kid shows up at the store waving a shotgun around," the man continued in a lower voice. "He accused me of cheating his mother out of what she had rightfully earned. Imagine that!"

  Joe had no problem imagining what he'd do if he found out some tightwad store owner had taken advantage of his family's hardship to hire cheap labor. "So what happened?" he asked.

  "The judge bought Minifee's story and gave him a suspended sentence." Starke shook his head slowly. "The way I see it, the law's too soft.

  "Anyway," he concluded, "I just thought you should know." His eyes flitted around nervously again. Then he got up and abruptly left the restaurant.

  "I don't believe a word of that guy's story!" Joe declared.

  "That's good," another voice replied, "because there wasn't much truth in it."

  Joe turned to see the waitress standing a few feet away. "What do you know about it?" he asked.

  The waitress sighed. "Everybody in town knows about the bad blood between Danny Minifee and Roger Starke. Danny was only about fifteen at the time. The two of them had words, and Danny was carrying his father's shotgun — but it was still in the case. I think he was taking it to the hardware store for some repair work."

  The three of them talked for a few more minutes, and the waitress finally agreed to give the Hardys directions to Danny's house, which was only a short drive out of town.

  Frank couldn't help thinking the farm was a little like Danny himself, neat and unassuming. The white frame house had been painted recently, and rows of bright flowers lined the side of the house and walkway leading to the front door. Frank wasn't surprised to see Danny's pickup truck parked down near the barn.

  They found Danny fixing an old tractor. "I figured somebody would come looking for me," he told them. "But I didn't think it would be you. What are you doing here?"

  "We want to help you," Joe replied.

  "Tell us everything you know about the luggage theft operation," Frank said.

  Danny's expression hardened. "I never stole a single piece of luggage."

  "But you know people who did," Frank prodded.

  Danny fixed his eyes on the ground. "I wasn't sure until yesterday. When Ted bailed me out, he admitted that he was responsible for that stuff that the police found in the apartment."

  Joe stared at him. "He told you that he planted the jewelry and the silver tags?"

  Danny nodded. "And he was the one who knocked you out, Frank."

  Joe frowned. "Why would Ted go to all the trouble to frame you and then bail you out?"

  Danny shrugged. "Ted's not really bad. He just got in too deep with some bad people. It was all a game to him until I got arrested. When he realized I might get convicted and sent to prison, he tried to undo the damage."

  "You mean he went to the police and confessed?" Frank responded.

  "Ted?" Danny laughed. "No, he's probably halfway to Mexico by now. He promised to write a letter clearing me. That's about the best I can hope for." Danny smiled. "You must think I'm a real dumb country boy."

  "No," Frank said. "I think you're a pretty smart guy, and the smart thing to do is go back to Atlanta and tell the police what you know."

  "What do you think this is?" Bob Briggs bellowed when Frank and Joe showed up very late for their shift. "Some kind of vacation resort?"

  "Sorry," Joe said. "We ran into a little traffic." He left out the minor detail about the small detour that took them almost two hundred miles out of the way.

  "It won't happen again," Frank assured the foreman.

  Briggs scowled. "If we weren't already shorthanded, I'd fire you on the spot. I added some guys from the other shifts, but you two had better pull more than your weight if you want to keep your jobs. And I expect you to work overtime to make up some of the time you missed this morning," he added.

  Joe forced himself to smile. "No problem, boss."

  After four hours of nonstop lifting and loading, Joe decided that it was, in fact, a fairly major problem. At the end of their regular shift, he wanted to find a place to lie down and go to sleep for about a day. He had to settle for a ten-minute break.

  Joe trudged into the employee lounge with his brother. He had just gotten a. soda from one of the vending machines when Gina walked in.

  "I just heard about what happened to Danny," she said as she sat down at the table with Frank and Joe. "Arrested for stealing luggage! I can't believe it."

  "Neither can we," Joe replied.

  Frank shot a warning look at his brother. "Have you seen Ted Nance lately?" he asked Gina. "He didn't show up for work yesterday or today, and he didn't call in sick."

  "I hope he's okay," Gina said.

  "I hope he's still in the country," Joe muttered. Frank kicked his brother's shin under the table.

  Gina's eyes widened. "Do you think that Ted was involved in the luggage theft ring with Danny?"

  "What do you think?" Frank responded.

  Gina shrugged. "I never thought about it until now. Everybody knew Danny was desperate for money for college. But all Ted has to do is
sit back and wait for his father to cool off, and then he'll have enough money to do whatever he wants. Why would he steal luggage?"

  "Good question," Frank said. He turned to his brother. "Time to get back to work."

  Joe was a little perturbed at Frank's tight-lipped routine every time they saw Gina, but he didn't get a chance to bring up the subject. Bob Briggs hollered for them to hurry up and join a crew that was loading bags into a waiting jumbo jet.

  The work was simple, and Frank and Joe had both gotten the hang of the routine. Standing on either side of the mobile conveyor belt that angled up from the ground to the belly of the big bird, they quickly got into the rhythm of pulling suitcases off the luggage carts and throwing them on the conveyor belt. Another baggage handler grabbed the bags at the top and stacked them in the plane's cargo hold.

  Frank noticed the catering truck that had just pulled up behind his brother. He was fascinated by the elevator platform that the truck used to lift the heavy steel food carts up to the plane.

  "We're running out of time," Joe said, and Frank pulled his eyes away from the catering truck. "If the guys running the luggage theft ring haven't already shut down the operation completely, they'll probably move it to another airport or switch their ID system."

  "I know," Frank said. "But I don't know what we should do next."

  Frank glanced up at the catering truck. An attendant was pushing the food carts from the elevated platform into the plane. Suddenly the catering truck lurched backward, just inches behind Joe.

  Frank's attention was riveted on the attendant and the fully loaded food cart. The man was trying to grapple back from the gaping chasm that had opened between the edge of the elevated platform and the loading hatch of the plane.

  The heavy cart teetered on the edge. Frank knew the attendant couldn't hold it. The cart ripped free of his struggling grasp and hurtled down—right toward Joe's head!

  Chapter 11

  "LOOK OUT!" Frank shouted as he stretched across the luggage conveyor belt to grab hold of Joe's blue coveralls. Frank clutched the fabric as he yanked his brother off the ground and onto the moving conveyor belt.

  The runaway food cart from the elevated platform smashed into the ground right where Joe had been standing. Plastic trays flew through the air. Frank was only dimly aware that something soft splattered on his chest. Someone shouted nearby. Frank barely noticed.

  "Joe!" he called out as the conveyor belt carried his brother up toward the belly of the plane. "Are you okay?"

  Joe stared down at Frank in stunned confusion, wondering why his brother had mixed vegetables and mashed potatoes smeared all over the front of his uniform. He heard people yelling and spotted the food cart lying on its side on the asphalt and swallowed hard as he took in what had happened. Frank's split-second reaction had saved his life.

  Somebody finally stopped the conveyor belt before it dumped Joe in the cargo hold, and he scrambled back down to the ground. He joined his brother and a group of other workers around the crumpled metal cart.

  The man who had been loading the carts into the plane lowered the elevator platform and rushed over. "Are you all right?" he asked Joe. "I'm really sorry. I tried to hold the cart, but it all happened so fast."

  Joe glared at the man. "Do you expect me to believe this was an accident?"

  The man gave him a startled look. "What are you talking about? Of course it was an accident. Why would I do something like that on purpose?"

  "That's what I'd like to know," Joe retorted, his hands curling into fists.

  Frank put his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Hold on, Joe. I saw what happened. Don't blame this guy. Somebody moved the truck while he was putting the cart on the plane."

  The three of them walked around the catering truck to the driver's side. The door was wide open. The cab was empty.

  "What's going on here?" a voice bellowed behind them. Frank turned to see Bob Briggs rushing across the pavement.

  Frank and Joe told Briggs what had happened. The burly foreman nodded his head gravely. "You boys go home and get some rest. You must be pretty shaken up." He paused and scratched his head. "I've never seen an accident quite like this before."

  "It wasn't an accident," Joe insisted forcefully. "Somebody deliberately moved the catering truck while it was being unloaded."

  "You don't know that for sure," Briggs said calmly. "But I'll see to it that Hank Forrester is informed. We'll let him handle it."

  Briggs turned to Frank. "Take your brother home. He's had a rough day."

  Frank took hold of Joe's arm and got him moving. "The man just gave us the rest of the day off," he said. "Don't argue."

  "Why is Briggs suddenly being so big-hearted?" Joe muttered as he and his brother moved out of earshot of the crew boss.

  "He sure seemed determined to get us away from the scene in a hurry," Frank replied. "If I wanted to cover up a phony accident, the first thing I'd do is make sure there weren't any witnesses hanging around."

  "Do you think Briggs moved the catering truck?" Joe asked.

  "Even if he didn't, he might be involved. Remember, this luggage theft ring is a big operation. And this isn't the first time someone tried to scare us off. Don't forget about that little drive-by shooting."

  Joe nodded. "So what do we do now?"

  Frank thought for minute. "Let's do exactly what he told us to do. Go back to the apartment and get some rest. We've been up since four. A couple hours of sleep wouldn't hurt."

  "I'm too tired to argue," Joe said.

  Frank was opening the apartment door as the phone rang. Joe darted in and grabbed the receiver while Frank was still taking the key out of the lock.

  "Hello?" Joe said.

  "Hardy?" A gruff voice spoke in the phone.

  "Who wants to know?" Joe responded cautiously. He didn't recognize the man's voice.

  "I don't have time to play twenty questions," the voice snapped. "We want those bags you took."

  "What's going on?" Frank whispered.

  Joe held up his hand. "What are you talking about?" he asked the man.

  "You know what I'm talking about. Now let me tell you something you don't know." The man's voice was cold and menacing. "That little accident today was just a sample of what happens to people who cross us."

  "What is it?" Frank whispered urgently.

  Joe covered the receiver with his hand. "Somebody finally took the bait. They want the luggage we snatched."

  "Stall," Frank advised.

  Joe spoke into the phone. "We'll see what we can do. What's it worth to you?"

  "Your lives," the icy voice replied.

  "Oh," Joe said. "That sounds like a deal we can live with—but it'll take us some time to get the luggage."

  "Tonight," the man stated flatly. "We'll contact you."

  A sharp click on the line ended the conversation abruptly.

  Joe hung up the phone slowly and turned to his brother. "That guy knew we took the bags. And there's only one person who saw us doing it." The name stuck in his throat.

  Frank nodded. "Gina."

  The Hardys left the apartment and headed back to the airport. When they got there, they went to the checkin counters assigned to Eddings Air in the main terminal.

  "I don't see her anywhere," Joe said.

  Frank walked up to one of the ticket agents on duty. "Hi, Stacy," he said, reading her name tag and acting as if they were old friends. "We're looking for Gina. Have you seen her?"

  The woman looked at him uncertainly. "You mean Gina Abend?"

  Frank nodded. "Of course. Who else would I mean?"

  "I — I don't know," the woman said hesitantly. "Do I know you?"

  Frank ignored the question. "She must have forgotten she was supposed to meet us and went home already." He started to leave, but then stopped and turned back to the ticket agent. "Hey, Stacy. I don't have Gina's home phone number with me. Could you get it from the computer?"

  The woman laughed. "Nice try. If you want Gin
a's phone number, you'll have to get it from her."

  Frank smiled and shrugged. "You can't blame me for trying."

  "I know where we can find Gina's phone number and address," Joe said as they walked away from the checkin counters.

  "I do, too," Frank responded. "Forrester's personnel files."

  Joe glanced at his brother. "Do you think he'll let us see Gina's file?"

  "I doubt it," Frank said. "But he might be willing to tell us where she lives. Let's give it a try."

  The stiff receptionist at the Eddings Air offices gave them a frosty reception. "Mr. Forrester is out of the office at the moment. Can I take a message?"

  Joe glanced around in a secretive way and leaned across the counter. "It's all right. Nobody can hear us. We can drop the cover."

  "Wh - what are you talking about?" the woman stammered.

  "Swordfish," Joe whispered.

  The woman stared at him blankly.

  "You know," Joe prodded. "The password. Swordfish."

  The woman blinked.

  "He didn't tell you?" Joe reacted with dismay. "He assured us that we could count on you! Oh well, we'll just have to take a chance and trust you." He turned to his brother and whispered, "Forrester has a list of passwords in his top right desk drawer." He continued out loud for the receptionist's benefit, "You go check the chiefs office. I'll sweep this area."

  The woman reached for the phone as Frank walked briskly toward the security chiefs office.

  "Good idea," Joe declared, snatching the receiver from her grasp. "The first place to look for bugs is the phone system. We'll make a first-class operative out of you yet."

  Frank slipped into Forrester's office and closed the door behind him. He turned on the computer and found the list of passwords right where Joe said it was. After a few false starts, he found the password that opened the personnel records, and soon had Gina's file on the screen.

  What he saw created more questions than it answered. Gina's address was there, and so was the date she was hired. Other than that, the file was completely blank. No references, no previous employers, no school records. Nothing.