Speed Times Five

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “Man, does this feel good after a couple nights in the woods!” Joe said.

  “Don’t get too comfortable,” Frank replied. “We’ve got a long push to the finish tomorrow.”

  “And an early-morning wake-up call,” Joe added with a sigh. Both of them lay on their backs for a couple of minutes, staring up at the ceiling.

  Finally, Frank asked, “What did you say?”

  Joe shook his head. “I didn’t say anything,” he replied.

  Frank sat up and looked toward the window.

  “What is it?” Joe asked.

  “Someone is talking outside,” Frank whispered. “Something about the race.” He and Joe rose from their beds and tiptoed to the window. Because of the fire escape, they had to lean out a bit to improve their view.

  Two men stood in the shadows of the alley below, talking. Both were dressed in dark outfits: one in a business suit, the other in jogging clothes. The shadows made it impossible for the brothers to recognize either of them. The men spoke in hushed tones, but the Hardys could make out some of the words.

  “. . . according to plan,” the man in jogging clothes said.

  “Good,” said the man in the suit. “I wouldn’t want any problems at this late stage.”

  “There won’t be any,” the other man replied. “You didn’t even need to come here tonight.”

  “I like to check on my operatives personally,” the man in the suit said. “We’ve got a lot riding on this race.”

  The man in the jogging outfit chuckled. “Don’t worry, with me and the ‘crew’ you provided on the job, this is one race I guarantee will turn out as planned,” he said. “I’ll see you after the big finish.”

  The man in the suit nodded and headed down the alley toward the street. The other man turned as though he might enter the hotel’s back door, but then he paused. He turned and began walking down the alley in the opposite direction from the other man. As he did so, he pulled the hood of his jogging outfit up over his head.

  “He must have spotted us!” Joe whispered.

  “Too late now,” Frank said. “But if we use the fire escape, we might still be able to catch them.”

  The brothers opened the window and ducked onto the wrought-iron fire escape outside. They scampered down the steps and dropped into the alley just in time to see the dapper man get into a long black limo and speed away.

  Frank peered after the car. “I can almost make out the plate number. It’s MP . . . zero one . . .or . . . Rats! It’s just too dark.”

  “We might still catch the other guy,” Joe said, looking from the vanishing car to the man walking quickly in the other direction.

  They sprinted down the alley just as the man in the hood turned left, heading away from the hotel. By the time they got to the sidewalk, he was already on the other side of the street, walking away very quickly.

  The Hardys turned the corner and ran after him.

  The man glanced back slightly and increased his pace, keeping ahead of the brothers. As he ran, he pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and began speaking into it.

  “Who do you think he’s calling?” Joe asked.

  Frank shrugged. “A cab, maybe?”

  The man turned around another bend and disappeared from view. When the Hardys rounded the corner moments later, the man was nowhere in sight. Commercial buildings lined the deserted street and there was a Montreal subway stop at the end of the block.

  “The metro?” Frank asked.

  “Must be,” Joe concluded, running to the subway entrance. A long stairway descended from a landing just inside the door. They caught a glimpse of their quarry moving away at the bottom of the stairs before he disappeared onto the metro platform.

  Tossing some Canadian bills from their pockets to the ticket taker for fare, the brothers flew down the stairway after the hooded man.

  Rush hour had long passed, and the station was nearly deserted. A train stood waiting at the platform, but the brothers saw no sign of their quarry.

  “He must have boarded the train,” Joe said. “The only exit is the way we came.”

  “Hop on,” Frank said. “The train’s leaving.”

  He and Joe darted into the nearest train car just as the doors slid closed. A look into the only car behind them indicated the hooded man must be farther forward.

  The Hardys ducked through the compartment’s front door as the train pulled out of the station. They moved from compartment to compartment as the train zipped through the Montreal underground. A few people sat quietly in some of the cars, but the brothers saw no sign of the hooded man. At each stop, the Hardys checked to make sure their quarry didn’t get off. Then they resumed the search.

  “He must be moving forward, same as we are,” Frank said.

  “Well, he’s going to run out of cars soon,” Joe replied.

  Frank’s hypothesis proved correct. As they entered the second car from the engine, they saw their target in the frontmost car. The man stood by the farthest exit door, still talking on his phone.

  “We’ve got him now,” Joe said as they ran through the intervening car. They opened the last door just as the train pulled into a new station. As the metro slowed to a stop, the hooded man exited to the platform, pushing past several men boarding the train.

  “C’mon,” Joe said, sprinting for the exit. But as he did, two of the new passengers stepped in front of the door.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” one of the men growled.

  11 Metro Mania

  * * *

  The men barring the brothers’ way were large, as large as the biggest member of Kelly Hawk’s crew. They were dressed in jeans and sweatshirts with the hoods pulled up over their heads. The Hardys could see the men’s faces, and though they looked vaguely familiar, neither brother could place them.

  “We’re getting off the train,” Frank said.

  “Not at this station,” the man in the powder blue sweatshirt said. “Not the way me and Pierre see it. Right, Pierre?”

  Pierre, wearing a black sweatshirt, nodded. “Right, Jacques,” he said.

  Frank tried to push past the men, but Jacques put out one beefy arm and stopped him. “You don’t wanna do that,” Jacques said.

  “Why not just wait,” Pierre suggested. “Get off at the next station—no hard feelings.”

  “The only hard feeling you’ll get is my fist on your nose if you don’t move,” Joe said.

  Pierre and Jacques glanced at each other. “You mean, like this?” Pierre said, swinging for Joe’s head.

  Joe ducked out of the way and slammed his fist into Pierre’s abs. The big man grunted but didn’t move. He smiled at Joe as the younger Hardy shook his fist. “The guy’s made of rocks!” Joe said.

  But Frank wasn’t listening. He was too busy trying to avoid Jacques, who had lowered his head and charged the older Hardy. Frank tried to step aside, but Jacques wrapped his arms around Frank’s waist and carried him backward.

  As the doors to the car slid closed, the only other passenger slipped back out onto the platform, leaving the Hardys alone with the thugs.

  Pierre threw another punch at Joe, but the younger Hardy danced back. Frank brought his knee up into Jacques’s stomach as the two of them hit the floor. The air rushed out of Jacques’s lungs and Frank rolled away from him.

  The elder Hardy regained his feet and aimed a martial arts kick at Jacques’s head. Jacques brought up his arm and partially blocked the blow. He staggered back, his face glowing red with anger. “Now you have made me angry!” he said.

  Frank and Joe took up defensive positions in the middle of the car, standing next to each other. Jacques charged again, with Pierre coming in behind him.

  The brothers parted in the middle as the big men bore in. Frank stepped aside and threw a spin kick at the back of Jacques’s head. Joe ducked under another punch and slammed his foot into Pierre’s knee.

  The thugs grunted and collapsed onto the row of seats just beyond the Hardys. Bef
ore the brothers could press their advantage, though, the big men spun and lunged to their feet.

  Jacques’s shoulder caught Frank in the stomach. The air rushed out of the elder Hardy’s lungs as his back smashed into the wall of the metro car.

  Joe ducked under another punch, but Pierre followed up with a quick knee that caught Joe in the ribs. Joe crashed to the floor. He grabbed a seat and pulled himself up once again just as Pierre threw a vicious kick at his head.

  His head spinning, Frank karate-chopped both sides of Jacques’s neck. The hooded thug howled in pain and backed away. Frank leaped forward and grabbed the vertical handrail in the center of the compartment. Using his momentum, the elder Hardy spun around the pole and kicked Jacques full in the chest with both feet. Jacques flew through the air and slammed into the door leading to the adjoining car.

  Joe dodged to the side and Pierre’s kick brushed by his shoulder. The younger Hardy countered with a swift right cross. He caught Pierre square on the jaw and the thug toppled backward, landing only a few feet from Jacques.

  Dazed, the big men staggered to their feet as the Hardys came at them again. With only a slight glance at each other for confirmation, the thugs opened the door into the next compartment and darted through it.

  The Hardys charged the door, but Pierre held the door handle tight while Jacques opened the door on the far side of the car. As the brothers finally yanked the door open, Pierre sprinted for the opposite door. The Hardys and the thug dashed past a few startled passengers, each trying to reach the far door first. Jacques called encouragement to his compatriot while the bystanders in the car cowered out of the way.

  Just as it seemed the brothers would pull the trailing thug down, Pierre grabbed a frightened old lady from her seat and thrust her at the Hardys. Frank and Joe stopped, making sure the old woman didn’t fall or hurt herself. But as they did that, Pierre and Jacques darted into the next car and pulled the door shut.

  They grabbed an umbrella from a passenger and jammed it in the door handles, just as the Hardys reached the door. Before the brothers could break through, the train pulled into the metro station at Lionel-Groulx.

  “They’re getting out!” Joe said, seeing Pierre and Jacques dash onto the station platform. He and Frank bolted out as the train doors slid shut once more.

  The station at Lionel-Groulx was a modern, multilevel complex, with tall ceilings and balcony walkways. The thugs sprinted up the escalator from the platforms to the first balcony, pushing surprised riders aside as they went.

  The Hardys dashed after them, though the brothers were careful not to harm any of the riders they passed. “A guy could get killed falling from these escalators,” Joe noted as they topped the first escalator.

  “Or the balconies,” Frank added. “Duck!” As he spoke, a big trash can, thrown by Pierre, sailed over his head.

  But Joe didn’t hear the warning in time. The heavy container hit him in the chest, and he toppled backward into the balcony railing. For a moment it looked as though he might go over. Then Frank grabbed the front of his brother’s shirt and hauled him back to the floor as the thugs dashed down a stairway on the other side of the balcony.

  “Phew!” Joe said. “Thanks for the save.”

  Frank nodded. “Don’t mention it. The bad guys are getting away.”

  He and Joe ran to the stairs the thugs had taken and started down it. As they did so, Pierre and Jacques boarded a train at the platform. The metro’s doors slid closed behind the thugs before the Hardys could reach the platform. As the brothers watched in frustration, the train left the station.

  Joe slapped his fist onto the concrete stair railing. “Man!” he said. “I wanted to catch those guys!”

  “They knew this station better than we did,” Frank said. “They lured us here on purpose. We didn’t stand much of a chance.”

  “If I ever see them again, though . . .” Joe said.

  “Let’s get back to the hotel,” Frank said. “Jamal and Chet must be wondering where we are.”

  Chet and Jamal had plenty of questions for the brothers when the Hardys got back to their room. Frank filled their friends in while Joe brought Vince Bennett up to date. When they’d finished, Chet asked, “And you have no idea who this hooded man is?”

  “We’re thinking he must be one of the competitors,” Frank said, “or part of someone’s crew. Whoever he is, clearly he’s up to no good.”

  “But if he’s part of the race, why didn’t he just go back into the hotel to get away from you?” Jamal asked.

  “He knew we’d spotted him,” Joe replied, “so he tried to throw us off the scent. And his buddies nearly threw me off a metro balcony.”

  “Why, though?” Chet said. “Just to win the race?”

  “Could be,” Frank said. “The guy in the suit said there was a lot riding on the race.”

  “I get the feeling we’re still missing part of this picture, though,” Joe said.

  “Maybe it’ll be clearer once we’ve slept on it,” Jamal suggested. “After all, we’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

  Joe groaned. “And I thought this was going to be the evening to rest and recover!”

  • • •

  On the last day of the race, the brothers and their friends woke before sunrise. Joe and Frank felt tired and beat up, and a quick breakfast made them feel only a little better. After eating, they all went down to the garage to check the bikes. Most of the other competitors and their crews were there as well.

  Lupin and his hired help shot a suspicious glare at the brothers as they entered the underground lot. Maggie Collins waved a weak hello, for which Quentin Curtis and Robert Frid scowled at her. Roger Baldwin ignored the brothers entirely, as did John and Jim from Kelly Hawk’s crew. Kelly, though, walked over to the Hardys’ work area as the four friends gave their bikes a final once-over.

  “See, boys?” she said. “You don’t have to hold a minority political view to get folks suspicious. Sometimes all you have to do is to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.” A sly grin tugged at the edges of her mouth.

  Joe and Frank chuckled. “Good luck today, Kelly,” Frank said.

  “Yeah, see you at the finish line,” Joe added.

  “You guys, too,” she replied. “And keep your noses clean.” She went back to her preparation area and huddled with her crew.

  Vince Bennett came by to wish all the remaining racers good luck. Once again he privately thanked the Hardys for keeping their eyes open, though he had nothing to report on the hooded man.

  Because they had helped Victoria Clemenceau the previous day, the Hardys were still far back in the pack when the race started again. Still, the road portion from Montreal to St. Jean-sur-Richelieu gave them a good chance to make up some ground.

  The remaining bike portion of the race passed uneventfully and the brothers pulled into the waterside checkpoint well before noon—back in the hunt once more. Dozens of SeaZoom personal watercraft lined the beach outside of town, waiting for the final leg of the Speed Times Five Adventure Race.

  Support crews worked feverishly, preparing the crafts so the small jetboats would be ready when their drivers’ turn to start came. Michael Lupin, Roger Baldwin, and Kelly Hawk were among the leaders, as Vince Bennett prepared to start the mad dash for the finish line in Burlington, Vermont.

  “It’ll be good to get back in the USA,” Jamal said.

  “Just make sure you’re ready to meet us for the trophy ceremony,” Joe said with a smile.

  “We’ll be there,” Chet replied, “unless Jamal’s driving gets us in trouble with the border patrol.”

  They all laughed.

  As the Hardys and their friends completed their final checks and stashed equipment, food, and water in the storage compartments under the SeaZooms’ seats, the race leaders were finishing the final paperwork before starting.

  Baldwin, Hawk, Lupin, and three others gave a last smile to the cameras before taking their positions. As they did, Frank spot
ted someone familiar walking away from Roger Baldwin’s SeaZoom.

  “Pierre!” Frank gasped.

  “Where?” asked Joe.

  “Near Baldwin’s SeaZoom,” Frank said. “In the blue paramedic uniform and hat. I almost didn’t recognize him.”

  He and Joe rose to their feet and started to dash toward the starting area.

  “We’ll never make it!” Joe said as they ran.

  With a final glance to the stands, Baldwin hopped on his jetboat and revved it up. At a signal from the starter, he gunned the engine and zoomed out into the waterway, heading toward Lake Champlain.

  “Wait! Stop the race!” Frank called.

  It was too late, though. Just a hundred yards offshore, Baldwin’s SeaZoom veered suddenly to the right. The brothers watched in horror as Baldwin headed straight for the metal pylons of an old wharf.

  12 The Black Boat

  * * *

  Baldwin struggled with the control column of the SeaZoom but to no avail. At the last second, he bailed out of the jetboat as it smashed into the rusting pylons. The SeaZoom exploded into pieces, raining fragments everywhere. People ran for cover as the shrapnel fell on the water and near the frightened spectators on the old dock.

  “Where’s Baldwin?” Joe said as emergency crews raced toward the scene of the crash.

  “I don’t see him,” Frank said, scanning the surface of the water.

  As he spoke, though, Baldwin’s helmeted head popped up. He floundered a bit as the rescue boats came nearer. Several rescue divers jumped in next to him and soon they were dragging Baldwin into their boat.

  Half frantic, Vince Bennett ran toward the staging beach. “Clear the way!” he said. “Make room for the rescue boat! We need to keep the race going, too!”

  As he passed by the Hardys, Frank stopped him and said, “Why not just restart the leg?”

  “We’ve already got racers in the water,” Bennett said. “It wouldn’t be fair to call them back, not when we’ve got a chance to keep things going. Every race has accidents.”