Speed Times Five

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “This race has had more than its share, though,” Frank said. “I saw someone near Bennett’s SeaZoom before he started—one of the guys Joe and I had a run-in with last night: Pierre.”

  “He was pretending to be part of the medical crew,” Joe added. “Which is why he seemed familiar when we ran into him in the subway.”

  “Maybe they’ve been working the race, causing trouble all along,” Frank suggested.

  Bennett frowned, glancing from the brothers to where the rescue team was docking with Baldwin. The former triathlete seemed to be waving away all attempts to help him. Bennett walked in that direction, and the Hardys tagged along.

  “Did you actually see this Pierre try to sabotage the race?” Bennett asked.

  “Well, no, but . . . ,” Joe said.

  “Look, guys,” Bennett said, stopping just short of the rescue boat, “the sponsors would kill me if I stopped the race now. Talk to my security chief about the man you saw. I don’t know what we can do about him, though, even if he was involved with this accident.” He turned to Baldwin. “Hey, Roger, are you all right?”

  “All right?” Baldwin snarled as he pulled off his helmet. “I’m bruised and wet and out of the race. How would you be?”

  Bennett looked sheepish. “I’m sure the press would like a word or two with you,” he said. “If you feel up to it before the medics check you over.”

  Baldwin hopped out of the rescue boat. He was bruised and scraped, but didn’t look much the worse for wear. He let out a long, angry sigh. “Sure,” he said, “I’ll say a few words before I head home.”

  “I’ll get you to the EMTs right after,” Bennett said.

  “I can find my own way to the medics,” Baldwin countered. “Let’s just get this over with.”

  Bennett put his arm around the dejected racer’s shoulders. “That’s the spirit,” Bennett said. Together, the two of them walked toward the group of reporters. As they got there, Bennett turned to one of his staff members and said, “Keep the race going.”

  Joe fumed. “I can’t believe he’s not even going to investigate this,” he said.

  “Business is business,” Jamal said. He and Chet had caught up with the Hardys as the brothers were speaking to the race organizer.

  “Let’s talk to the security chief and get back to our boats,” Frank said.

  “Yeah,” Chet urged. “Your start times are coming up quickly.” As he spoke, the starters launched another competitor’s boat into the water.

  “Get the final prep done,” Joe said to Chet and Jamal. “Frank and I will be there in a few minutes.”

  It frustrated Joe that the security chief spent so little time talking to them. Still, Frank pointed out that the man obviously had a lot to keep track of with the start of the last leg under way.

  “He said he’d check with the LMP medical crew,” Frank noted. “We really couldn’t ask for more with so much going on. Our best bet is to get back to the competition and keep our eyes open.”

  Joe nodded and the two of them rejoined their crew near the beach staging area. As they arrived, Baldwin left in one of the LaTelle Medical & Pharmaceutical vans. The ambulance pulled away quickly, its siren blaring.

  “Boy, I hope he didn’t have a delayed reaction to the crash,” Joe said.

  “They’re probably just being cautious,” Frank added.

  The atmosphere at the starting line was one of controlled frenzy. Race officials scurried everywhere, making last-minute preparations as the lead competitors launched in rapid succession.

  Michael Lupin started shortly after the Baldwin crash, and Kelly Hawk zoomed off the line a few racers later. More competitors hit the water, and the Hardys’ start time approached quickly. Just ahead of them, Curtis, Collins, and Frid churned up the placid waterway.

  “You guys still have a chance to win,” Jamal said to the brothers, “but you’ll have to make up a lot of time.”

  “So no detours along the way,” Chet cautioned.

  “We’ll keep our noses clean,” Joe said with a smile.

  “Which should be easy, since we’re racing in the water,” Frank added with a chuckle.

  When their numbers were called, the Hardys and their friends quickly carried their SeaZooms to the water’s edge and made their final checks. The race had gone smoothly since Baldwin’s rough start, and even Bennett was smiling once more. The TV crews seemed thrilled with the excitement of the competition. Helicopters buzzed in the distance, tracking the leaders.

  As the starter yelled, “Go!” Joe, Chet, and Jamal pushed the younger Hardy’s sleek jetboat into the water. Joe hit the throttle and zoomed out into the cold, clear channel. Frank pulled on his racing helmet. Less than a minute later, Chet and Jamal launched Frank’s boat as well.

  The elder Hardy quickly caught up with his brother, and the two of them kept pace as they zipped across the water.

  The day was cool and sunny, with just a hint of a breeze churning up the surface of the raceway. The noise of the SeaZoom engines was loud in the brothers’ ears, making normal conversation difficult. Still, they could hear the engines of the competitors in front of them, and the buzz of the pack trailing behind.

  Chet had stowed a pair of waterproof walkietalkies in with the brothers’ gear, and Frank hauled his out as they zipped along. He motioned to Joe, and the younger Hardy did the same.

  “I think I see Hawk and Lupin up ahead, past those channel islands,” Frank said.

  “They’re making good time,” Joe said. “We’ll have a tough job catching up to them. The college kids are a lot closer, though. We might be able to pass them by the time we hit the border.”

  The late morning was perfect for water racing, and as the sun arced past noon, the air warmed as well.

  The brothers’ sleek craft bounded over the waves, spraying tiny rainbows into the afternoon sky. The Hardys ate on the fly, pulling prepackaged food from pouches hanging at their belts—under their life jackets—and then stowing the wrappers.

  The wind picked up a bit as they crossed the U.S.-Canadian border. The water grew choppy as the brothers passed beneath the bridge near Rouses Point. As the water became rougher, the racers began to bunch up once more.

  “The waves are slowing down the pack,” Joe said into his walkie-talkie.

  Frank nodded. “That gives us a better chance,” he said. “But we’ll have to drive really well to catch Lupin and Hawk.”

  “Yeah,” Joe replied. “They’ve got a good lead. I can only see them when we’ve got a straight, clear stretch of water.”

  “With the wind coming from the east, they’re using the central islands as a wind break,” Frank added. “That makes them harder to see and also lets them drive in smoother water.”

  Joe smiled. “Sounds like you think we should adopt that strategy, too,” he said.

  “Well,” Frank said, “do you want to win or not?”

  In response, Joe gunned the throttle and surged ahead of his older brother once more. Frank leaned forward over his sleek craft and zipped after Joe.

  By carefully plotting their course between the islands and the open water, the brothers made up even more ground. They’d closed on Frid, Collins, Curtis, and the middle of the field and—as the group passed Isle La Motte—came within striking distance of the front of the pack.

  Swirling waves had slowed Lupin, Hawk, and the leaders further, despite their clever island-hugging strategy. Hawk and Lupin jockeyed for the lead, weaving back and forth just enough to fend off other competitors.

  “They’re lucky that the Clemenceaus and Baldwin are out of the race,” Joe said. “Very lucky.”

  “A motive for sabotage, you’re thinking?” Frank replied.

  Joe shrugged as he bounced over the chilly water. “We haven’t come up with a better motive than wanting to win,” he said. “And we know that Hawk’s crew was thinking of putting the kibosh on other racers.”

  “I was beginning to think it was Baldwin,” Frank said. “He alway
s seemed to be around the ‘accidents,’ even when he wasn’t involved. Remember when we passed him in the woods without seeing him? He could have KO’d Georges during that time and pulled his body off the trail.”

  “He’s certainly strong enough to overpower someone,” Joe said, “and fast enough to keep pace with runners like you and me. But now that he’s in the hospital . . . ,” He shrugged. “I keep thinking that there’s some vital clue we’re overlooking.”

  “This case would be easier to solve if we weren’t trying to run a race at the same time,” Frank said with a sigh.

  Occasional helicopters buzzed overhead as they raced down the lake past the wooded shores of Grand Isle. Most were observation craft, covering the race for TV stations. A few, though, were tourists, just wanting a first-hand look at the contest.

  Spectators occasionally dotted the lakeshore as well, and private boats sometimes trailed the fast-moving racers for a while.

  The pack dipped and swooped around the small islets dotting the edge of Grand Isle, each racer looking for the best water—the best conditions to outrun the other competitors.

  A racer near the front of the group hit a submerged log and tumbled into the cold water. She popped to the surface immediately and waved for the trailing rescue crews.

  Her accident, though, forced Lupin and Hawk to veer out of the way and cost them both precious time. The rest of the pack took advantage of the mishap and nearly caught the leaders.

  Frank glanced back as the rescue boat picked up the floundering racer.

  “A normal accident, you think?” Joe asked.

  “At this point, who can tell?” Frank replied, frustration showing through in his voice. “Let’s just catch the leaders.”

  He throttled up and zoomed through the pack toward Hawk and Lupin. Joe followed in his wake, angling for the smooth water to save time and fuel.

  They passed between Maggie Collins and Robert Frid, neither of whom was taking the best tack. Quentin Curtis was hugging closer to the islands than the rest and remained slightly in front of the brothers, though behind Lupin and Hawk.

  As the Hardys set their sights on the leaders, something to the east caught their eye. A huge black SeaZoom burst into the lake from behind one of the small barrier islands.

  “Another spectator, maybe?” Joe asked.

  “If he is, he’s coming in awfully fast,” Frank said. “Doesn’t he know the race has the right of way?”

  If the driver of the black jetboat knew, he didn’t care. Rather than veering off as he neared the racers, he drove straight toward the pack.

  13 Shipwrecked

  * * *

  “Look out!” Joe cried as the black SeaZoom swooped toward them.

  At the last second, though, the intruder turned and fell into pace with the rest of the pack.

  “Who does he think he is?” Joe asked.

  The other racers had spotted the intruder as well and cast nervous glances at the black-helmeted rider in their midst.

  The black jetboat was larger and faster than the one-person SeaZooms the competitors were riding. It paced the group easily as its driver checked out the individual racers.

  “I think he’s looking for something,” Frank said.

  No sooner had Frank spoken than the black-garbed racer zoomed ahead of the Hardys and to the left, toward the small islands.

  “He’s heading for Quentin Curtis!” Joe said.

  The black SeaZoom rocketed toward where the college student was navigating the smooth waters closer to the shore. The intruder cut in front of Curtis, forcing the racer to veer sharply.

  Curtis turned toward the islands to get out of the new racer’s way. The black craft dogged him, forcing him farther into the shallows. Curtis fumbled for his emergency radio, his wet fingers having trouble getting a grip on the radio’s plastic surface.

  The black SeaZoom dashed past him on the right. The bigger craft’s wake shook Curtis’s jetboat, and he lost hold of the emergency phone. It tumbled through the air and landed in the lake.

  Curtis tried to turn back toward the rest of the field, but the black boat cut him off once more. Even as the two moved down the lake, the intruder was slowly but surely forcing Quentin Curtis toward the rocky shoreline.

  Seeing their friend’s predicament, Maggie Collins and Robert Frid left the pack and angled toward Curtis and the intruder.

  “I don’t know what’s going on here,” Frank said into his walkie-talkie, “but I think we should put a stop to it.”

  Joe nodded. “We’re closer than Curtis’s friends,” he said. “It means giving up any chance of winning the race, though.”

  Frank paused for only a moment. “If that’s the way it’s got to be . . . ,” he said. He angled his boat for the shoals and turned the throttle up all the way.

  Side by side the Hardys shot over the water, heading toward Curtis and the black SeaZoom. Collins and Frid trailed behind them, but they were neither as close to Curtis nor as skilled in their boats as the brothers.

  The black racer seemed to notice the pursuit and pressed his harassment of Curtis. He cut closer and closer to the harried student, barely missing colliding with the smaller SeaZoom. Curtis maneuvered his boat frantically, trying to avoid the rocky shoals, and the larger craft circling him.

  Curtis dodged, then wove, then nearly floundered. He turned too sharply and water washed over the back of his SeaZoom. The black racer darted past, reached out with one hand, and yanked Curtis from the saddle.

  The college student sailed through the air for several feet before crashing face first into the water. The intruder swung back around and threw a rope around the smaller craft. Then he gunned the engine and headed for a channel between the small islands along the coast with Curtis’s SeaZoom in tow.

  Curtis bobbed to the surface, his head and neck supported by his life preserver.

  “What is going on here?” Joe asked.

  Frank shrugged. “It seems like a lot of trouble to steal a SeaZoom,” he said. “We’d better get to Curtis. Even with that life vest he might still drown if he’s unconscious.”

  Curtis swayed gently in the waves as the brothers came to his rescue.

  “He’s out cold, all right,” Joe said. “Get on the horn and get the rescue team in here.” He pulled near the unconscious racer and hopped off his SeaZoom.

  “Check,” Frank said, holstering his walkie-talkie and taking out the emergency radio.

  Using rescue swimming techniques, Joe quickly towed Curtis alongside Frank’s watercraft. “I don’t think he’s hurt badly,” Joe said. “The water’s pretty chilly, though.”

  “The medics are on their way,” Frank said. “And here come Curtis’s friends, too.”

  Maggie Collins and Robert Frid skidded over the waves toward the Hardys and the unconscious student. The Hardys saw concern in the eyes of the other coeds.

  “Is he all right?” Maggie asked, pulling off her helmet.

  “We should try to get him out of the water,” Joe responded. “It’s pretty cold and we don’t want him going into shock.”

  Working together, they lifted Curtis aboard the back of Maggie Collins’s SeaZoom. Curtis groaned and coughed. “Don’t move him too much before the EMTs arrive,” Joe said. “He might have some internal injuries.”

  Collins cradled her friend’s helmeted head on her lap while Frid kept both their boats steady.

  “Do you have any idea who might have done this, or why?” Frank asked the students.

  Collins and Frid shook their heads. “I can’t imagine,” Collins said. “I don’t know why anyone would want to hurt Quentin.”

  Joe climbed back on board his SeaZoom. “Was there some reason someone might have wanted to steal that SeaZoom?” he asked.

  Collins and Frid exchanged a nervous glance.

  “You don’t think he wants the medicine, do you?” Collins asked.

  “It couldn’t be,” Frid said. “The medicine can’t be worth that much.”

 
; “What medicine?” Frank and Joe asked simultaneously.

  “A guy back in the States hired us to bring some meds across the border for him,” Collins replied. “He said his mother needed them, and the price was too high in the U.S. We were bringing back a whole year’s supply.”

  Frank nodded. “I’ve heard that the Canadian health-care system sometimes makes prescriptions less expensive than in the U.S.”

  “Someone delivered the meds to us just before the start of the Speed Times Five competition,” Frid said. “We stashed it with our race equipment and took turns carrying it during the race.”

  “Let me guess,” Joe said. “Quentin Curtis was carrying it today.”

  Robert Frid and Maggie Collins nodded sheepishly. “It was in the storage compartment under his seat—along with his emergency gear.”

  Frank let out a long, slow breath. “You two take care of your friend. The medics will be here soon,” Frank said. “Come on, Joe. We’ve got work to do.”

  “Are you getting back in the race?” Maggie Collins asked, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes.

  “No,” Frank said. “We’re going after the guy who did this.”

  He and Joe kicked their SeaZooms back into high gear and sped away on the same course the black SeaZoom had taken.

  Joe hauled out his walkie-talkie again. “I guess it didn’t occur to the three of them that this was a pretty complex plan just to smuggle prescription medicine,” he said.

  “Yeah,” Frank said. “I think that black racer, whoever he is, has bigger fish to fry.”

  “Among the racers, Lupin and Hawk were at the top of my list,” Joe said. “But they were dueling for the lead, and I doubt either one could have doubled back and changed SeaZooms. It could be Hawk’s crew, though, or one of the thugs we ran into before.”

  “We saw Pierre at the boat launch,” Frank said. “Though he could have gotten ahead of us using a car or chopper, I suppose. Or it could be Jacques in that boat.”

  “We’ll know as soon as we catch this perp,” Joe replied.

  The brothers raced between the small islands and soon caught sight of the rogue SeaZoom once more. Though the intruder’s vessel was larger and faster, towing Curtis’s boat was slowing it down.