Gold Medal Murder

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “Frank! I haven’t had a tetanus shot in years so you need to get over here right now!”

  Where was Frank? And what the hell was that buzzing noise? The only thing that was keeping these three dudes from rushing me was the two of their friends who were already unconscious at my feet—Tweetle Dumber and Tweetle Dumbest, who’d walked right up and let me knock their lights out. These ones, however, were being more careful, and it was only a matter of time before all three of these guys came at me at once. I was good—well, heck, I was great—but if the three of them attacked me at the same time, I’d give them fifty-fifty odds they could take me.

  The two in front of me had noticed the noise as well. It was now incredibly loud. They glanced behind them, and I got ready to charge them. It was my best chance. I was just about to start running when a motorcycle came flying over the hill, straight for the bridge. The two guys scattered to the sides. I heard two loud splashes as they landed in the river below.

  “Jump on!” yelled Frank. Frank slowed the bike just enough to let me leap onto the back. As my arms wrapped around him, he revved the engine again. He popped up on one wheel and drove straight for the guy who had been creeping up behind me on the bridge. The thug stood his ground for a second, but when it became clear that Frank was fine with running him over, he followed his friends into the river.

  “See ya, suckers!” I yelled as we zoomed out of sight.

  For a few minutes, Frank drove in silence, trying to get us as far from the gang’s stomping grounds as possible. Then he started to slow down.

  “Keep going!” I yelled. “Once they get on their bikes, they’ll catch up to us in no time.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Frank. “I removed all the starters before I took this one. They’re not going anywhere.”

  “I’m glad you weren’t out wasting time while I was fighting the baddies,” I said.

  “Speaking of which—where are the plans?”

  “What plans?”

  The bike skidded to a stop so fast we nearly flipped over.

  “JOE! The plans we were supposed to get from these guys—the ones they stole? Our whole mission?”

  Frank sounded kind of peeved. I let him twist in the wind for a second.

  “Just kidding big bro. Got ’em right here.” I patted the bulge in my pocket. “Now, let’s get out of here. I have hair spray all over my hands from fighting those dudes.”

  For a second, I thought Frank was going to make me walk back to ATAC headquarters.

  With everything wrapped up for ATAC, the only thing left on my weekend plan was to play ZOMG Kill 3, my favorite video game. I’d already won it twice, but until ZOMG Kill 4 came out for at-home play, it was the best game out there. My hands still felt vaguely sticky, even though I’d showered. We were in Frank’s room, since that’s where the game player was. Frank was lying on the floor, studying… something. What else was new? I heard the doorbell ring downstairs, but over the opening music of ZOMG 3, I barely noticed it.

  “Boys!” yelled Aunt T. “You shouldn’t have ordered pizza! Dinner is going to be ready soon.”

  “Pizza?” I said to Frank.

  “Did you… ?”

  I shook my head no. This could mean only one thing.

  A moment later, a familiar face loomed in our doorway.

  “Hey, Frank. Hey, Joe. Anybody order one mission with extra danger?”

  It was Vijay! Vijay Patel was a fellow ATAC agent, who specialized in intelligence and undercover operations. He’d been our contact for new missions before. He was also a big video game geek, so I loved getting to work with him. He always had the latest handheld games to play while we were on stakeouts.

  He flipped open the lid of the pizza box he was holding.

  “This will give you guys all the details on the case. I’ve got to get back to headquarters.”

  Inside the box was a familiar looking disc. I was pretty sure that was ZOMG Kill 4! Some of our missions came disguised as video games. After we watched the briefing, they worked just like the real thing! This was awesome. Vijay must have arranged it.

  There was also, however, a pizza with mushrooms and anchovies. Gross!

  “Can you take that back with you?” I asked him, pointing at the pizza.

  “And give us a hint on what the mission is?” added Frank.

  “Sorry, no can do. It would look suspicious if I left with the pizza. I think your Aunt Trudy is already a little annoyed that I interrupted her soap opera watching. And all I’m saying about the mission is this: I’ll see you guys in LA!” With that, Vijay bounded back downstairs.

  LA? I was liking the sound of this. LA meant two things to me: beaches and movie stars. Perhaps even movie stars on the beach. In bikinis. Sweet.

  Frank grabbed the disc from the pizza box, as well as a slice.

  “Ew,” I said.

  “Pizza’s pizza,” he responded, and he took a big bite. I flipped the lid of the box closed so I wouldn’t have to smell it.

  I took ZOMG Kill 3 out of the console and we popped the new disc in.

  The opening scene was of a tall, muscular young man in a Speedo and goggles getting out of a pool.

  “That’s Scott Trevor!” said Frank. “People say he’s the fastest man on Earth! Or, well, in water.” Frank was an avid swimmer and was on the Bayport High School swim team. I vaguely recognized Scott from a poster Frank had on his wall.

  As Scott waved to the crowd in the video, a voice-over on the video began to explain exactly what Frank had just said. Turned out he had, at twenty-one, already won six Olympic gold medals and set multiple world records. He’d also begun to receive numerous death threats, all focusing on the upcoming Summer Olympics in LA.

  “Yes!” said Frank. We high-fived. Going to the Olympics had always been a dream of ours, and now ATAC was sending us!

  The camera panned across the new Olympic buildings that had been built for the games.

  Up until recently, the threats had been a little less common that what he generally received, but nothing out of line. But a recent burglary at his house, combined with more frequent—and violent—threats, had made the Olympic officials nervous. The games brought in a huge amount of publicity, as well as controversy over human rights abuses in participating countries and fights about the money used to build the stadiums. The last thing they needed was more negative publicity.

  Suddenly, Vijay appeared on the screen.

  “Hey guys! So, for this mission, it’s going to be the three of us out in LA.”

  This just kept getting better. We’d had a few recent bad matchups with other agents on missions, including one who had tried to kill us in the Florida Everglades. But working with Vijay was always awesome. He was as good an agent as he was a fun person.

  On the TV screen, Vijay continued to break down the mission for us. He would mostly be working remotely, in charge of the computers and communications end of things. This mission was going to be spread over a lot of territory filled with a lot of people, and we couldn’t be everywhere at the same time. Our primary goal was to keep Scott safe.

  “As for you two,” Vijay continued, “Frank, you’re going to be posing as the head of the Bayport chapter of the Scott Trevor Fan Club, as well as an amateur swimmer—and the winner of a recent “Biggest Fan” competition held by Sportztime, the mega–sports website and TV channel. As the winner, you’ve been granted the right to follow Scott around throughout the entire Olympics, with a backstage pass that should get you entry to pretty much everywhere except the women’s locker room.”

  “Joe, you’re going to be Scott’s new personal assistant. Anyone who wants to talk to Scott is going to go through you. As will all his e-mail, phone messages, etc. If anyone tries to slip anything to Scott, you’re going to intercept it.”

  “Woo-hoo!” Frank and I shouted in unison. Almost as though he had heard us, the Vijay on the screen held up one hand.

  “There is, however, one catch. Scott will know Joe is with ATAC,
but Frank, you’re going to be in deep cover on this mission. No one—not even Scott—will know that you work for ATAC. You two will have to act as though you don’t know each other. Most of your communication will have to go through me. These threats could be coming from anyone, even someone close to Scott, and we need to have someone that Scott can’t accidentally give away.”

  Frank and I looked at each other. This was going to be tough. We worked together really well. It was, in fact, what made us the best agents in ATAC. Working separately was a whole different story. We’d be able to check in, but still. This mission was going to try our abilities to the limit.

  “Good luck guys,” said the recording of Vijay. “I’ll see you out in LA in three days. Until then—enjoy ZOMG Kill 4!”

  CHAPTER 3

  LA BITES

  FRANK

  Since ATAC hadn’t provided us with a cover story for our parents, Joe and I came up with one of our own. We were both on the swim team at school, and it wasn’t hard to make up a story about a field trip to LA for the Olympics. We faked a permission slip for our Mom to sign. If our dad, Fenton Hardy, hadn’t known the truth about ATAC and been able to cover for us, it probably wouldn’t have worked. But with him on our side, it wasn’t too hard to get our mom and aunt Trudy to believe that Bayport High was sending us to Los Angeles for two weeks, all expenses paid.

  We had a few days to prepare before we left for LA, which Joe spent playing ZOMG Kill 4. He said it improved his “hand-eye coordination,” his “strategic survival skills,” and his “likelihood of surviving an all out zombie/human war.” Mostly, it seemed to give him calluses on his hands and kept him from sleeping at night. By the time we left, he looked as much like a zombie as any one of the bad guys in the world of ZOMG.

  I decided to spend some time doing research on Scott Trevor, since I was supposed to be his number one fan, after all. I was already a little familiar with him. It was hard not to be, really. His face was everywhere: cereal boxes, TV commercials, ads for shoes. I never understood the shoe ads. You didn’t wear shoes for swimming. But I guess a famous face can sell anything.

  I watched videos of him at the 2004 Olympics, where he’d beaten his own world record in the one hundred meter freestyle event. I memorized his times, his height, and even his favorite food (pad thai with lots of tofu—he was a vegetarian). If he had been a subject in school, I would have gotten an A+. By the time we were ready to leave, Scott Trevor had even begun to appear in my dreams! And boy, were those some strange dreams.

  Joe and I took separate flights from Bayport to LA. He would be meeting up with Scott first, in an official ATAC briefing so that Scott would know exactly who and what he was. The next day, I would be presented to Scott as the winner of the “Biggest Fan” competition held by Sportztime. Sportztime was currently filming a documentary about Scott, and our first meeting was to be captured on camera. I just hoped that we had the case wrapped up before it aired!

  The taxi from the airport dropped me off outside of Scott’s giant house/complex, which was right outside LA, along the water. In all the interviews, Scott said he preferred swimming in the ocean to the pool, unless he was racing. I was struggling up the walkway when a voice yelled out to me.

  “Wait! Stop! Go back.” A man came running out of the house toward me with a microphone in his hand. He was exactly what I thought people from LA would look like: tan, tall, blond. Though in his forties, he was obviously still in good shape. A cameraman came running after him. I almost did a double take when I recognized Vijay, who pulled the camera away from his eyes just long enough to shoot me a quick wink.

  “Hi,” I said. “I’m—”

  “Frank Carson, I know.” Carson was the fake last name ATAC had given me for the mission. The man with the microphone continued talking. “I’m Alex Smothers, founder of Sportztime. And I wanted to get you exiting the taxi for the doc, but now the taxi’s gone and the shot’s ruined. Oh, well, let’s get you inside.”

  Alex Smothers had been an Olympic swimmer in the 1980s, and had managed to turn his fame into a lasting sports media empire. He also didn’t seem to breathe between any of his sentences. If he could swim as fast as he could talk, no wonder he had been so famous! I’d done some reading on him, too, since he was the host of the “Biggest Fan” competition I had supposedly won. The competition had been real enough—ATAC had just rigged the results for me.

  Scott’s house wasn’t just big, it was a complex. There were wings and levels and gardens, all climbing up a hill in some prime waterfront real estate. We entered through the gym. And this wasn’t some basement home gym, with a few weights and one of those “total workout machines” that were advertised in my spam mail. This was a full private gym: treadmills, barbells, weight machines, sauna, and Jacuzzi. And, of course, a full-size Olympic pool.

  Scott was doing laps when I entered. I’d seen the same thing in a lot (a lot) of television clips, but seeing him in person was a whole different experience. The way he moved was unreal. It was as though the water parted to make room for him. He was so at home in the water it was like he was a merman or a dolphin—something definitely not human or meant to live on the land. Before I’d even begun to grasp how fast he was moving, he had already crossed the length of the pool and was climbing out near me.

  A man ran over to hand Scott a towel. In my mind, I checked him off from the list of people and names with which ATAC had provided me. It was Lee Singh, Scott’s manager. Singh had “discovered” Scott at the age of twelve, when he’d been Scott’s coach on his middle school swim team. He had been a close friend and advisor ever since, though it was only recently that he’d taken up the position of manager as well. There were a number of other people in the room as well: Joe, in his role as Scott’s new personal assistant; Lexi Adams, Scott’s girlfriend and fellow Olympic athlete; and Lexi’s manager, who looked (from the strong resemblance) to also be her father.

  With a broad smile on his face, Scott walked over to me.

  “Hey man,” he said. “I’m Scott Trevor. I hear you’re my number one fan. Good to meet you.”

  I stuck out my hand, and he grabbed it firmly in both of his. As we shook, I could feel Vijay going in for the close-up. For a moment, I didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t hard to pretend to be a nervous fan around Scott. He was pretty awe-inspiring.

  “Uh, yeah! That’s me. Your fan. I mean—it’s great to meet you, Scott. Sir. Mr. Trevor.”

  Scott laughed. “Call me Scott,” he said. “So I hear you’re a swimmer too?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “A little.”

  The conversation halted. Neither of us knew quite what to say. Luckily, Alex stepped in.

  “Scott, what sort of advice would you have for Frank, as an aspiring swimmer, and all your other fans out there?”

  I stepped aside as Scott began to talk into the microphone about the importance of daily training and really “going for it.” I didn’t pay a lot of attention. It was clear that I had served my purpose for the documentary, and my job now was to stand here and smile. Occasionally, Alex would direct a comment my way, like “Isn’t that interesting?” I would nod and smile, and he would turn back to Scott so they could discuss their shared experience of being Olympic gold medal swimmers. Joe and Vijay took turns making faces at me when no one was looking, and I tried not to burst out laughing.

  At one point, I could feel Scott getting a little tense. I tuned back in to the conversation.

  “Now, up until recently, you were romantically linked to your former manager, Elisa von Meter,” said Alex. “But there were some people who maintained that you and Lexi were always together, and that Ms. von Meter was a red herring. Would you care to comment on that?”

  “No,” said Scott firmly. Watching the interview, I could see the angry look on Lexi’s manager’s face. Yup, no doubt about it—that was her dad.

  “Well,” Alex started again, “how long have you and Lexi been together?”

  Lee Singh stepped betwee
n Scott and the camera.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said. “But we’re running a little behind schedule, and I’m afraid Scott has to do his warm down and eat. He’s on a strict schedule these days. I’m sure you understand the pressures of being an Olympian, right, Alex?”

  Alex didn’t look pleased, but he knew how to take a hint. He put down the mic and gestured to Vijay to stop filming. While they began to pack up their gear, I asked Scott if I could use the restroom.

  “Oh, yeah, sure. You could just go in the locker room, but it’s a little gross in there. So take the third door over there, go through the long hallway, up the stairs to the next floor, and it’s the fourth door on the left off the living room.”

  This was what I’d been hoping for. Aside from meeting Scott officially, my other job this afternoon was to help hide a series of video cameras around his house. Vijay would be monitoring the cameras from the Communications HQ he had established off-site, so if anything went down, we’d know about it.

  It was also a great chance to check out the rest of Scott’s house. Unlike the training facility, which was full of equipment and people, the house was quiet and empty. Not empty like he hadn’t moved in, but empty like he wanted it that way. Everything was white, from the walls to the carpet to the furniture. In the hallway, there was a giant white vase filled with white flowers. The staircase was a spiral staircase, all white, made out of iron, and it seemed to go all the way up to the top of the house. Sun streamed down from a skylight somewhere far above.

  The place was insanely neat. Everything was in its place and there was no dirt anywhere. But it couldn’t have been too hard to keep it that way—there was nothing to get out of place. He didn’t even have any books, at least not that I could see. No wonder Scott could swim for hours a day—he had nothing else to do!

  It was hard to place the cameras in such empty rooms, but I did the best I could. They were small, about the size of a quarter. I hid one among flowers and another few on the staircase. I tried to find Scott’s bedroom, but to no avail. There were doors everywhere, leading to more white hallways and empty rooms. It was a house you could easily become lost in.