A Game Called Chaos

by Franklin W. Dixon

  The man reached the car, a white Toyota compact, and fumbled with his keys. Frank got there just as the man finally got the door unlocked. “Hold it!” said Frank, leaning on the car door so it couldn’t be opened wide enough for the man to get in.

  The man spun and raised his hands in a defensive gesture. Frank balled up his fist, ready to throw a punch if the guy made a false move. As Joe reached the car, the man said plaintively, “I give up! Don’t hurt me!”

  Joe almost laughed, but Frank remained stern. “Who are you? What were you doing in Royal’s condo?”

  The man relaxed a bit. “I . . . I could ask you the same thing,” he said.

  “Look, you,” Joe said, taking a menacing step forward, “don’t give us any trouble.”

  The man backed up and raised his hands again, even though it was obvious to both Hardys that he had no idea how to defend himself in a fight. He was only about five-foot-eight and had curly reddish hair and a rectangular-shaped face. He wore a gray hooded sweatshirt and pants.

  “I’m Zeb Winters, a friend of Royal’s,” the man said. “I came by to see him.”

  Just at that moment Chelsea caught up with the brothers. She had a cell phone in her hand. “Should I call the police?” she asked.

  “We’re not sure yet,” Joe said. “Do you know this guy?”

  Chelsea looked surprised. “Why, yes I do. He’s Zeb Winters.”

  “And he’s a friend of Royal’s?” Frank asked.

  “Ha!” Chelsea laughed. “Bitter rival is more like it. He and Royal have been trying to one-up each other for years.”

  Winters crossed his arms over his chest and sneered. “And I’ve won that battle more times than I’ve lost.”

  “Okay, wise guy,” said Joe. “Now tell us why you’re really here.”

  “Why should I?” Winters said.

  “Because somebody ransacked that apartment, and right now you’re our number-one suspect,” Frank said.

  “Hey,” Winters complained, “Royal’s place was tossed before I got there.”

  “We have only your word on that,” Joe said. “If you didn’t wreck the place, tell us why you came.”

  “Okay, okay. I came to confront Royal. I’ve seen his Town Called Chaos demo on the Internet, and I know that Royal stole my 3-D source code to make it. Town is way above Forest of Chaos, and Royal just doesn’t have that much programming talent. Everybody in the industry knows that Anne Sakai was the brains behind that partnership. Royal’s got a talent for marketing and promotion, yeah, and he’s a pretty fair hacker, but there’s no way he wrote that program himself.”

  “Who’s Anne Sakai?” Frank asked.

  Winters stared at Frank as though he couldn’t believe the question. “Who is Anne Sakai?” Winters repeated. “She was just the woman who put Steven Royal on the map! She did the lion’s share of programming on the first two Chaos games—everybody knows that.”

  “I remember that,” Joe said. “Katherine Chaos was supposedly modeled on Sakai herself.”

  “Katherine Chaos was with Royal on the strategy book we saw, right?” Frank asked.

  “She’s the game’s main character,” Joe replied. “She’s an adventurer like Indiana Jones, and a real looker, too. That’s one of the reasons the Chaos games have been so popular.”

  “Yes, and that was Sakai herself in the picture with Royal.”

  “Wow,” Joe said. “So the character was based on her.”

  “Okay,” Frank said. “Where is this Sakai? If she and Royal broke off their partnership, we may want to talk to her, too.”

  Winters laughed. Chelsea said sheepishly, “You can’t talk to her. She died in a plane crash two years ago.”

  “Yeah,” Winters added. “Sharks got her body. Pretty nasty. She kicked off right after Caverns of Chaos. Royal had to do Forest of Chaos solo, which is why it stank. And that’s why I know that Royal stole my source code. He had to because Sakai isn’t around to help him with the programming.”

  “And I suppose you found proof of this in his apartment,” Joe said sarcastically.

  “Well, no,” Winters admitted. “Like I said, I went up to confront Royal, but no one was home. His door was unlocked, though, so I went inside. I saw the place had been tossed, so I decided to look around on my own. Then you guys showed up. Who are you anyway?”

  “We’re working with Viking Software,” Joe said. “We’re looking for—”

  Frank cut him off. “We’re looking for someone who’s been making threats against Royal and the company. And I’d say that you fit the profile.”

  “Look,” Winters said, “I’m telling you that I didn’t toss Royal’s place.”

  “Then why’d you run?” Joe asked.

  “I thought maybe you were the ones who wrecked the joint, and maybe you’d come back for another go. I wasn’t about to stick around to find out.”

  “Well, I think you should stick around until the police check out your story,” Joe said. He pulled Winters’s car keys out of the door lock and pocketed them.

  “Aw, come on!” pleaded Winters.

  “Just sit tight. The cops’ll be here in no time,” Frank said. He nodded to Chelsea, and she punched the number into her cell phone. The Hardys turned to go back toward the condo.

  “Hey!” Winters called after them. “Where are you guys going?”

  “To make sure you didn’t take anything from the apartment,” Joe said, trying not to smile.

  • • •

  When they got back to Royal’s condo, Joe said, “Thanks for the save back there, Frank. I almost spilled to that guy that Royal is missing.”

  “Yeah,” Frank said. “The fewer people who know, the better.”

  Chelsea caught up to them. “The police said they’d be here shortly.”

  “Then we’d better not waste any time,” Frank said. “I doubt they’ll let us search the place once they get here. Let’s fan out. Joe, you take the back rooms, I’ll take the front. Chelsea, see what you can find on Royal’s computer. Try not to disturb any more evidence than we already have.”

  Chelsea and Joe nodded and the three set about their respective tasks. A few minutes later they gathered by the desk where Chelsea was working at the computer. Frank and Joe pulled up chairs and sat on either side of Phil’s cousin.

  “Only thing I found,” Joe said, “is this letter.” He held out a framed letter so the others could see it. “It’s from someone named Ian Tochi. He says he’s going to make trouble for Royal because of something in Forest of Chaos, though he doesn’t say what.”

  “I know what that is,” Chelsea said. “Tochi was an old friend of Royal’s. He invented the Bombo Bear animatronic doll.”

  “You mean that sappy talking bear that spouted clichés about loving everybody?” Joe asked.

  “What’s so funny about peace, love, and understanding?” said Frank.

  “That’s the one,” Chelsea said. “Anyway, Tochi got it in his head that the bear character in Forest of Chaos was a parody of Bombo. He’s been making a stink about it ever since, but Royal never took it seriously.”

  “Seriously enough to have it framed,” Frank said.

  “That was just Steven’s idea of a joke,” Chelsea said. “I think he likes ticking people off.”

  “Which, I suppose, is why we’re all here,” Joe said. “You find anything, Frank?”

  Frank shook his head. Just then the phone rang. Royal’s answering machine picked it up after one ring. “This is Royal,” the machine said in the game designer’s voice. “I’m either off saving the world or conquering it. Leave a message.”

  “Not a big ego,” Joe said sarcastically.

  “Wait! Listen!” hissed Frank.

  After the beep, the party on the other end of the line said, “This is Rosenberg. I’m waiting for you at my office, as you asked. But ten minutes from now, I won’t be waiting any longer.”

  “He must be waiting for Royal,” Joe said.

  “Royal’s sold us
out!” Chelsea cried.

  3 In Cahoots

  * * *

  Frank and Joe got to their feet at the same time. “If we’re lucky,” Frank said, “we can catch Royal and Rosenberg together.”

  “How do we get to Rosenberg’s office?” Joe asked Chelsea.

  Chelsea stammered out quick directions, and the Hardys headed for the door.

  “You stay here and wait for the police,” Frank told Chelsea. “We’ll catch up with you after we talk to Rosenberg—and Royal.”

  Joe tossed Winters’s keys to Chelsea on the way out. He and Frank made their way from the building to their van. A glance from Joe as they passed told Winters that he’d better stay put. The rival designer leaned his chin on his fists and fumed.

  Driving quickly but carefully, Frank and Joe arrived at the offices of Wondersoft nine minutes later. It was a five-story building that looked as though it had been constructed in the nineteen twenties. Like most of the buildings in Jewel Ridge, it showed signs of recent renovation. A tastefully painted sign on the glass of the front door read, Wondersoft. The Hardys dashed inside and past the guard at the door.

  “Mr. Rosenberg’s expecting us,” Frank said.

  “We’re here on behalf of Steven Royal,” Joe added.

  The guard nodded them past, and the Hardys made their way to the elevator bank at the center of the lobby. A sign there told them Rosenberg’s office was on the top floor. They called the elevator and rode it up.

  When they got off, they found themselves in a reception area, but the desk was deserted. Through an open door beyond the desk, they saw a balding, middle-aged man talking on the phone and smoking a cigar. He took the phone from his ear and stared at the brothers as they entered the room.

  “Mr. Rosenberg?” Joe said, addressing the man. “I’m Joe Hardy, and this is my brother, Frank. We’re here to talk to you about Steven Royal.”

  Rosenberg put down the phone. “The guard said you were on the way up. Where’s Royal? He was supposed to be here an hour ago. Why didn’t he come?”

  “We were hoping you could tell us,” Frank said. “We expected to meet him here with you.”

  Rosenberg took a pull on his cigar. “That Royal is a pain. If he weren’t a genius, I’d never put up with him.”

  “So, you have seen him,” Joe said.

  “Not recently. I just got an e-mail from him this morning . . . Say, if you guys are with him, you should know that.”

  “We never said we were with him,” Frank said. “We just said we were here to talk to you about him.”

  Rosenberg stood up behind his oak desk. “Who are you guys?” he demanded.

  “We told you our names,” Joe replied. “But if you’re asking us what we’re doing here, we’re waiting for Steven Royal, same as you.”

  “We’re investigators, working on a problem Royal’s having with his present employer,” Frank said.

  “Police?” Rosenberg said, cocking the cigar to the side of his mouth.

  “Private investigators,” Joe said.

  Rosenberg sat back down in his padded leather chair and blew smoke. “Then I don’t have to talk to you, do I?”

  “That depends on who you’d rather talk to—the police or us,” Frank said. “I’m sure the boys in blue will be happy to stop by here once they finish up at Royal’s condo.”

  Rosenberg leaned forward and frowned. “What are the police doing at Royal’s place?”

  “Oh, sorry. We must have forgotten to tell you,” Joe said, “Somebody broke into Royal’s place and tossed his stuff. And since Royal’s out of town, and since you were the last person to hear from him, I’m sure the police will want to talk to you.”

  “Okay, look,” Rosenberg said, “I don’t know anything about any break-in. All I know is I got an e-mail from Royal this morning, saying maybe he’d consider coming back to Wondersoft—if I made him the right offer. But, like I said, he never showed up. How was I to know he was out of town? Maybe the e-mail wasn’t really from him. People are using the Internet to play pranks all the time.”

  “Could be,” Frank said. “Maybe we could figure it out if you showed the note to us.”

  “Why should I do that?” Rosenberg asked, sounding suspicious.

  “Because we want to help Royal out, just like you,” Joe said. “And if we do, you might benefit.”

  Rosenberg pulled a piece of paper out of his desk drawer. “You boys make a good team,” he said, handing the paper to Frank.

  Frank scanned the paper. “Mind if we keep this?” he asked.

  “Go ahead,” Rosenberg said. “I can always print another.”

  Frank nodded, then said to Joe, “We’d better check in with the police.”

  “Right,” Joe said. “Here’s our number in case you need to reach us.” He scribbled the phone number of the van on a piece of paper and handed it to Rosenberg.

  Rosenberg stood as the Hardys left his office. “Tell the cops I was helpful,” he called after the brothers. “I don’t want any trouble.”

  When they reached the van, Frank took the wheel and handed the paper to Joe. “See what you make of the note at the bottom,” he said.

  “Another riddle!” Joe said.

  The King is in the counting house; the Queen is in the dungeon. Their fortunes may be reversed when all the roosting bats come home. Side you with Ignorance or Knowledge? Seek not the apprentice, but the master.

  “This certainly seems to imply that Royal is in the money,” Joe said. “But who is the Queen in the dungeon? Chelsea? She certainly is in hot water.”

  “Maybe,” Frank agreed. “If she found Royal—and/or the game prototype—her fortunes would certainly be reversed. There’s so much we don’t know about this case yet. I hope Chelsea can shed more light on it.”

  Joe nodded, then said, “The return address on both the messages Royal sent are different, but I’m betting they came from the same machine. Do you think Phil could trace them?”

  Frank smiled. “You bet he could. Call him and put him on it. I’m sure he’ll take the time to help his cousin, even though he’s working.”

  Joe called Phil Cohen on their car phone and gave him the info he needed. As they talked, Frank picked up some burgers and drinks from a drive-through. When they arrived back at the condo, the sun was setting and Winters’s car was gone. They didn’t see any signs of the police, either. They found Chelsea sitting on a picnic bench by the parking lot; she looked tired.

  “The cops wouldn’t let me stay in the condo,” she said. “But I wasn’t sure where you guys would end up, so I just hung out here.”

  “Too bad they kicked you out,” Joe said. “I was hoping to poke around Royal’s place a bit more.”

  “I did some more snooping while you were gone,” Chelsea said. “But I didn’t turn up anything useful.”

  “We brought you some food,” Frank said, handing Chelsea a bag with a burger and drink. “We also put in a call to Phil, to see if he could trace your e-mail and another one that was sent to Rosenberg.”

  “Great. Thanks,” she said, managing a weak smile. “I’m beat. Why don’t we head back to my place and eat there. You can fill me in on what you found.”

  “Good idea,” said Joe.

  They all piled into the van and headed to Chelsea’s apartment, which wasn’t far away. Her home was both newer and smaller than Royal’s, and it didn’t have a view of the river.

  The three of them finished eating, and then the Hardys filled Chelsea in on what they’d found out. Afterward she told them what had happened at the condo after they’d rushed off to see Rosenberg.

  “Basically, the cops questioned Winters and me,” she said. “He stuck to the story he’d told us—except when he told it to the police, he left out his being inside the condo. I just told the police the truth. Since they knew I’d been worried about Royal, they pretty much took me at my word. They looked over the condo, but didn’t find anything.”

  “You mean, aside from the mess,”
Joe said.

  “Yeah. They said the place had probably been robbed by someone who knew Royal was on vacation.”

  Joe nodded. “We gave Rosenberg a similar story,” he said. “It makes a certain amount of sense.”

  “Only if you can believe the robber just happened to miss an expensive computer sitting in plain sight,” Frank said.

  Chelsea smiled. “Yeah. Jewel Ridge must have dumb crooks. Anyway, the cops kicked us out and sealed up the place—until Royal gets back, of course. They let Winters go because they really didn’t have anything to hold him on. None of us even saw him in the condo. They promised to keep an eye on him, though, and also said they might want to talk to you guys. Check in with them before you leave.”

  “We’re used to checking in with the police,” Joe said.

  “Okay,” Frank said, “it looks as if Royal may have put one over on Rosenberg, too. Rosenberg wouldn’t have called Royal here if he knew where Royal is. In fact, he seemed surprised when Joe and I hinted that Royal was out of town. Winters doesn’t know Royal’s gone, either. That sure doesn’t leave us much to go on.”

  “Except for the riddles,” Joe said. “I’ve been thinking about them. If ‘My past is the key to the future,’ maybe we need to know more about Royal’s past. What can you tell us, Chelsea?”

  “Well,” she began, “I did some research when we were trying to lure him to Viking Software. His is one of those typical came-out-of-nowhere computer genius stories. Apparently, he and Anne Sakai became friends in college—they had a mutual interest in computers and adventure gaming. Together they came up with Katherine Chaos and the Chaos saga idea. In their spare time, they programmed Caverns of Chaos. It sold well and they landed a contract with Wondersoft, but their second game, School of Chaos, really took off.”

  Chelsea took a sip of her drink and continued. “The two of them became famous in the computer gaming community. They traveled all over the world doing gaming conventions and promotional appearances. It probably helped that Anne looked a lot like the game’s heroine.