• • •
At 10:02 that night, the three of us sat in our car, in a parking lot by the baseball field at Waltham Park. Our headlights were trained on the field.
“Nobody’s here,” Joe said, his voice heavy with defeat. “Is this another setup?”
“If it is, I’ll keep you safe,” Owen said, looking up from his phone, where he was playing a game. “Just hang out for a few minutes. Maybe the kid’s just late.”
Joe sighed. I stared out the window, willing Diego to show up. We need answers, I thought. As much as we knew about the hazing on the basketball team, we still had no idea who was behind it.
Then, finally, at 10:07, a dark red sedan arrived. It pulled into a parking place a few yards away, and then the engine turned off and the driver’s-side door opened. A smallish guy got out. I recognized his dimples from the photo on Facebook: Diego.
I looked at Joe.
“I guess it’s not a setup after all,” he said, looking pleased. We unclipped our seat belts and climbed out, leaving Owen in the backseat.
“Hey,” I called to the kid. “I’m Frank, and this is my brother, Joe.”
He looked nervous, even though we hadn’t seen anyone for miles. “Um, hey. Diego.”
“So, Diego,” I began, moving closer. “What can you tell us about what happened to you?”
“Well . . . ,” Diego said. He was looking around, like he expected to see the masked guys jump out from the woods. “It was a long time ago. . . .”
“This past fall, yeah?” asked Joe.
Diego nodded. “Right, yeah, this fall. I wasn’t playing well.”
“Were you not playing well like you were playing badly, or were you just new?” I asked. This seemed like an important distinction as far as hazing was concerned.
Diego looked at me. “Um, I was new, I guess.” He paused. “Anyway, I . . . They told me to meet them. . . .”
“Who did?” asked Joe.
Diego looked confused now. “It was—they were—”
“Who told you to meet them?” I asked.
Diego looked from me to Joe. Is this guy for real? I wondered. I guessed it was understandable for him to be nervous, but this guy was all over the place.
“It was . . . it was Jason who invited me,” he said finally. Jason, I thought with a frown. I wanted to believe Jason was a nice guy . . . but could it be coincidence that he seemed so involved in setting up the victims? “But I don’t know whether he knew what would happen. Maybe he told other people I was meeting him, and they took the opportunity to grab me. He told me to meet him at Athlete’s Warehouse, so he could give me advice on what sneakers to buy to help improve my game.” He paused again. “As soon as I got out of the car, someone put a bag over my head and shoved me in a trunk. When they took off the bag, it was pitch dark, and there were these guys wearing masks.”
Sounds familiar. “Were you the only victim?” I asked.
“No.” He shook his head. “I was never the only victim.”
“How many times did it happen?” Joe asked.
Diego puffed up his cheeks and then blew the breath out of his mouth. “Ay, I dunno. Five or six times, at least. The last time, they hit me so hard they broke my arm.”
“They broke your arm?” I asked. “Did you tell anyone?”
“No,” Diego replied. “Not even my parents. They said they would ruin my life if I told.”
Also sounds familiar. “Did you ever have a suspicion about who the guys were?”
Diego looked down. “Not at the time,” he said. “But after . . . months after . . . I realized . . .” He glanced up, into the woods. I wondered if he seriously thought someone might be in there, listening. These guys really did a number on him, I thought, if he’s this paranoid months later!
“What did you realize?” Joe prompted. I realized my brother was leaning forward, hanging on Diego’s every word. He was as excited by this as I was. Finally, some answers!
“I realized . . .” Diego looked from us to the woods again. Stop it, I wanted to say, there’s no one listening. But then suddenly he opened his mouth wide and screamed, “BANAAAAAAANAAAAAAAA!”
It had to be some kind of code word he’d been told to say, because that’s when all hell broke loose.
At least ten guys ran out of the shadows in the woods, dressed all in black, with ski masks over their faces. They were running right for us. Diego gave us a grim look and then ran for his car. Within seconds, I heard him squealing out of the lot.
Meanwhile, Owen threw open the back door of our car and came barreling out, Taser sparking. “Hold it right there!” he yelled. “I detain you all on behalf of Safe ’n’ Sound Security Solutions!”
But two of the largest guys paused, looked at each other, and then ran right at Owen. Owen screamed and sparked up the Taser, but before he could aim it at them, the larger one reached over and grabbed it out of his hand.
“MY TASER!” Owen yelled, winding up to punch the guy. But he’d lost track of the guy behind him, who calmly pulled a billy club off his belt loop and brought it crashing down on Owen’s head.
“Uhhhhh . . . ,” Owen moaned, and fell over, out cold.
Oh shoot. I looked at Joe. There went our protection. I looked up to see three guys advancing on me, three on Joe.
“Just fight!” Joe cried, but I could hear the fear in his voice.
I tried my best self-defense moves on the guys, using their weight to my advantage, aiming for their vulnerable spots. But there were just too many of them. After getting one good jab in at the first one’s eyes, I was tackled to the ground and felt the familiar bag going over my head. Not again . . .
But what was even more disturbing than the sudden attack was the whap-whap-whap sound that started in the distance, but was getting closer . . . and closer . . . and closer.
It sounded like a helicopter landing on the baseball field.
14
HIT AND RUN
JOE
ARE YOU KIDDING ME?
I was not happy when those guys started streaming out of the woods and Diego took off. I was even less happy when they beat our security guard over the head with a billy club and started running for me and Frank. I was SUPER-DUPER IRRITATED when they threw a bag over Frank’s head.
I was SURPREMELY DISPLEASED when I heard the helicopter.
But at least part of my annoyance was with myself. I knew the meet-up sounded fishy when Diego said he wanted to talk at an abandoned baseball field one town away.
But I guess I also wanted to believe that Diego was legit. We needed his story if we were ever going to crack this case. And I wanted to crack this case. Plus, we had our very own bodyguard. What could go wrong?
Oh, just everything.
So when the bag slipped over my head, I wasn’t really in a “just cooperate and see where they go with this” kind of mood. No, I kicked upward with all I had in me, and I heard the guy scream and fall. I swung out with my elbows, making contact with at least one of the other guys’ skulls, and then I just started running.
I’d gone a few yards by the time I got the bag off my head.
Which was when I looked up to see a huge white helicopter landing on the field with BOUND INDUSTRIES painted in blue letters along the side.
What the heck . . . ?
So this meeting has given us answers. Clearly, Jason was behind all this, or at least heavily involved. I grabbed my phone out of my pocket and dialed 9-1-1.
“9-1-1, what is your emergency?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m at the baseball field at Waltham Park in Toms River, and my brother and I have just been attacked by a bunch of goons in ski masks. They’re trying to load us into a helicopter.”
There was silence for a moment on the other end of the line. I heard typing. “So just to verify, sir, these goons are in Waltham—”
SLAM! Someone jumped out of the shadows to my right and tackled me to the ground, knocking the phone out of my hand. No sooner was I on the gr
ound than three or four more people came out of nowhere to jump on top of me. They picked me up by the armpits and dragged me to my feet.
I was facing the copter now, and my blood ran cold when I saw about three other figures forcing my brother into the helicopter. The blades were still rotating—WHAP-WHAP-WHAP—and the thing was hovering just a few inches off the ground. It looked like they were loading Frank into the copter to take off—taking him who knows where.
“Wait!” I yelled at the same time one of the goons holding me yelled the same thing.
The person pushing my brother inside looked over, and the one who’d yelled gestured to me. “We got the other one! Wait!”
No voice distortion. I tried to place the person’s voice, but no one immediately came to mind. And I didn’t have a lot of time to think.
The person on the copter helped the others shove Frank inside. Right before the door closed the person shook his head, yelling, “It’ll be even worse punishment for them to be separated!”
Nooooo! I felt my guts go cold. One of the things my dad has drilled into us, if we’re going to solve mysteries and put ourselves in danger, is that you never let them split you up. We were always safer together. And I felt a visceral sort of horror seeing the door to the cockpit close, knowing my brother was inside and the thing could take off at any second.
It started to rise up from the ground. The wind from the blades was blowing the dust from the baseball diamond around. Where are they taking Frank? I had no idea. I wasn’t even sure who these guys were, except that one of them had to be Jason.
“Where are they going?” I yelled, and when no one answered, I screamed it again. “WHERE ARE THEY GOING?!”
No one said a word. I felt something harden within me. When the copter was hovering about five feet off the ground, I lunged at the guys holding me, kicking and scratching at their faces, and kneeing another. It wasn’t an elegant attack, but it was enough to make them loosen their grip for just a second—which was all I needed. I ran for the copter, pausing over Owen’s inert form. He was out cold. A few yards away from him, I spotted what I was looking for. I reached down and grabbed it, shoving it into my waistband.
Then I ran for the copter like my life depended on it—or like Frank’s did. It was too late to board, but I could sure as heck make things awkward. I grabbed onto the landing skid.
“No way are you guys taking my brother!” I screamed.
The people who’d been holding me had recovered and run over, but soon I was ten feet off the ground, then fifteen.
AAAAUUGH! Looking down, I realized I hadn’t quite thought this through. I hate heights.
The cockpit door swung open and one of the masked figures came out, carefully climbing down onto the landing skid.
“You freaking psycho,” the person shouted, looking down at me, “what on earth are you doing? Do you want to die?”
I just looked up and screamed, “YOU’RE NOT TAKING MY BROTHER!”
“Aren’t we?” asked the figure, then lifted his foot, placing it just over my right hand.
Oh no. I really didn’t think this through. My hands were frozen on the landing skid, so I couldn’t reach for anything to help me. I closed my eyes, wondering if I was about to die. Well, you had a good run, I tried to tell myself. Living beyond your teens is overrated.
But nothing happened. The crunch of shoe-on-knuckle that I had braced for never came.
When I opened my eyes, the masked person had reached down. “Come on, take my hand,” the person grunted. “Don’t be a hero.”
I realized that whoever it was, he was trying to help me into the cockpit.
15
CAUGHT IN THE COCKPIT
FRANK
I CANNOT TELL YOU HOW relieved I was to see Joe climb through the door into the cockpit.
“Joe!” I cried. The abductors had removed the bag from my head once the helicopter took off, but bound my wrists and ankles. It allowed me to see all the people on the copter with me: three masked goons, a middle-aged pilot I didn’t recognize, and now, Joe.
They bound Joe’s wrists and ankles like they had mine. Then one of the masked figures spoke—and to my amazement, he was using the voice modulator again.
“It’s become clear to us that the two of you morons aren’t going to give up. You’re determined little buggers. So you’ve left us only one choice: we’ll lock you up somewhere no one will find you until BHS has won the state championship.”
The state championship? I tried to remember the dates in my head. It was at least two weeks away.
“Where are you going to lock us up?” I asked.
The goon who’d spoken looked to the pilot, who chuckled casually, like this was all a mildly amusing lark.
“I have plenty of access to empty warehouses where no one would think to look,” the pilot said in a smooth voice. “A couple of kids in chains shouldn’t arouse much suspicion on the industrial waterfront. Oh, I do apologize—I haven’t introduced myself.” He paused and glanced behind him at Joe, then me. “I’m David Bound, and I invented the selfie stick.”
“Gee,” Joe said, not bothering to hide his sarcasm. “Thanks.”
The guy smiled. “And I am also Jason’s father.”
He turned back to the controls for a moment, then looked back. “My disguised friends, you can probably lose the masks now too. We’ve won. These boys won’t be bothering you anymore.”
All at once, the goons in black reached up and pulled off the masks. Joe and I looked around in amazement—they were Dorian, Kelly Pritzky, and Coach Noonan!
I stared at the three of them, openmouthed. Then I realized someone was missing.
“Where’s Jason?” I asked. “Was he one of the guys on the ground?”
David laughed. “Oh, Jason would never let us get away with a stunt like this. He’s far too sportsmanlike. We’ve had to keep our whole process secret!”
“Process?” asked Joe. “What process?”
“Well,” said David, “I’ll take credit where credit’s due. My son’s talent was evident last year, but I felt that he was held back by the less-talented players on the BHS team. When I talked to Principal Gerther and Coach Perotta about dissuading them from playing basketball, Perotta had the nerve to get all moral on me. He said at BHS, everyone has equal access to all the activities. He reminded me that every player had passed tryouts for the varsity team, and said they would improve with time.” David snorted. “But as you all well know, student athletes have only so much time to prove themselves! Why, when I was a teenager, I narrowly missed getting a sports scholarship to my chosen university, because they gave all their scholarships to teams that had ranked higher in the state. Can you imagine?” He shook his head, still staring out the windshield. “I knew I couldn’t allow that to happen to Jason. We have the wherewithal to send him to college, of course, but he works too hard to have his talents overlooked. And it was clear Coach Perotta wouldn’t help me. So this year, I came up with the idea to weed out the weaker players and make sure BHS had a winning team, all the better to showcase Jason’s talents and make him the star he deserves to be.”
“Weed them out by beating and terrifying them,” I filled in. “Hazing them.”
David shrugged. “Whatever you want to call it.” He continued. “Anyway, it wasn’t hard to convince Assistant Coach Noonan to help me, since it would be easy to frame Perotta for the hazing and then Noonan here would get his job. Noonan recruited Dorian with the promise that he’d get similar treatment next year—the two of them planted masks and robes in Jason’s locker to put the blame on him. I knew I could talk the principal out of taking action against his star player. Then, Dorian recruited Kelly, Jason’s girlfriend, who hopes to attend Duke with him next year. It wasn’t hard to fill out the group with team members.”
Jason’s girlfriend. I hadn’t realized they were dating, since none of the players had mentioned it. They must have kept their relationship quiet.
I looked from Kell
y, to Dorian, to Coach Noonan. But none of them would meet my eyes.
At least they have the sense to be ashamed. But that was cold comfort, considering our current situation.
I still have my phone. I realized this all at once and had to stop myself from jumping up and down in my chair. If I could very carefully pull it from my pocket, then maybe hit 9-1-1 without anyone seeing . . .
Suddenly Kelly yelled, “Frank! None of that.” She leaned over and grabbed my phone from the pocket I’d been subtly trying to reach.
“Oh man,” she said, showing the phone to Dorian and Coach Noonan. “We don’t want him to have that!”
Uh-oh. I looked helplessly at Joe as my last ray of hope dissolved. We can’t let them put us in that warehouse, I thought. Whatever David was or wasn’t saying . . . I knew that once we went in, we’d never get out.
Joe looked away from me then, raised his bound wrists to his face, scratched his nose, and placed his hands back by his waistband—where he very, very subtly pointed. I looked where his finger landed and sucked in my breath.
He’d shoved the Taser in his waistband.
Then Joe reached up and tugged on his ear.
I knew what that meant.
Go time.
16
DANGER ZONE
JOE
I COULD SEE IN FRANK’S expression that he understood. I could also see that he wasn’t at all confident that this was going to work. But I could also also see that he was my brother, and he trusted me, and we didn’t have a ton of options trapped in a helicopter with four people who wanted to kill us.
Suddenly Frank jumped in his seat and began forcefully shaking, almost like he was having a seizure. “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” he whimpered, “not now . . .” He moaned.
David whipped his head around, then back to the windshield. From the large buildings below us, I guessed that we were flying over Newport, which was a few towns over from Bayport. “What’s happening?” he demanded.
“He’s having a panic attack,” I said. “He gets them sometimes.”
Bound for Danger Page 9