Extreme Danger

by Franklin W. Dixon

  Extreme danger.

  The phrase reminded me of a road sign warning—sort of like FALLING ROCKS or SLIPPERY WHEN WET.

  I really wanted to do a little more snooping around online—check out some other extreme sports Web sites—so I packed my laptop along with my clothes.

  “Ready to roll?” I asked Joe. He strolled into my room with his backpack and motorcycle helmet.

  “Dad said he’d drive us to the garage,” he said.

  “Did you fill him in on our mission?”

  “No, not yet,” Joe answered. “Prepare to be interrogated by the master.”

  My brother wasn’t kidding. Our dad, Fenton Hardy, used to be one of the New York City Police Department’s top investigators. He could wrangle a confession out of anyone—mobsters, counterfeiters, jewel thieves, and yes, even his own sons. But even though he’d had more than his share of danger, he still got nervous when he heard what we were up to.

  “We probably shouldn’t tell Dad about our little skydiving incident,” I said to Joe.

  “No way. He’d totally freak.”

  “Okay, so here’s our story. We found the pirated DVDs and handed the evidence over to the police, who arrested Wings after the dive. No snags. No surprises. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  “Good.”

  I zipped up my backpack, grabbed my helmet, and followed Joe downstairs. Mom and Dad were sitting in the living room watching the six o’clock news on TV.

  “Okay, we’re ready to go, Dad,” Joe announced.

  Mom looked up and frowned. “Go where?” she asked.

  Dad shifted nervously in his chair. “Honey, I, um, told the boys they could take a little trip to Philadelphia for a few days,” he told her.

  “Oh, you did, did you?” she said. “And what, may I ask, is the purpose of this little trip?”

  I thought fast. “We’re studying the birth of American democracy in history class next fall,” I lied. “Joe and I figured we could get a head start with an educational tour of Philadelphia.”

  “Oh, really?” Mom said, narrowing her eyes.

  “Yeah,” Joe jumped in. “You know, I’ve always wanted to see the Liberty Bell.”

  “Uh-huh,” Mom responded with more than a hint of suspicion. “And I suppose your little trip has nothing to do with the Big Air Games, which happen to be in Philadelphia this week?”

  She pointed to the TV set. A reporter was interviewing a group of extreme sports athletes while skateboarders zipped up and down a ramp in the background.

  Clearly Mom had learned a few tricks from Dad.

  “Well, you know—if we have time,” I said, “we might check out a few of the Big Air events.”

  Mom nodded and sighed. “Okay, you can go,” she said. “But promise me you won’t get any crazy ideas about all this extreme sports stuff. I don’t want you taking risks like that. I don’t even want you to ride your motorcycles at night. It’s too dangerous.”

  “Don’t worry, Mom. It won’t be dark for a couple more hours,” Joe assured her.

  “We’ll be extra careful,” I added.

  Dad stood up and fetched his car keys from the entry hall. “If you want to make it to Philly by nightfall, we’d better get going, boys,” he said.

  Joe and I grabbed our stuff and headed for the front door. But we froze in our tracks when we heard a familiar voice behind us.

  “Those boys aren’t going anywhere.”

  We turned around to see Aunt Trudy standing in the dining room with two plates of food.

  “That’s right,” she said. “Those boys aren’t going anywhere until they finish their dinner. They’re growing boys, and they need to eat.”

  “Wow, that’s awfully sweet of you, Aunt Trudy,” I said, trying to butter her up. “But we have to hurry off to Philadelphia now. You wouldn’t want us to ride our motorcycles in the dark, would you?”

  Aunt Trudy adjusted her glasses. “No, I guess not. But let me pack you a doggy bag. It’ll just take a minute.”

  “We don’t have a minute, Aunt Trudy,” I explained. “We really have to go. Now.”

  She sighed. “All right, then,” she said. “But what’s the big rush? What’s waiting for you in Philadelphia?”

  “The Liberty Bell, Trudy,” Mom chimed in. “The boys are going to learn that the bell cracked in 1753, the very first time it was rung. And the note it plays is E-flat.”

  Mom winked at Joe and me.

  Pretty cool for a librarian.

  But Aunt Trudy wasn’t satisfied. “What about my VW?” she asked.

  “I’ll tell the guys at the garage to check it out,” Dad volunteered.

  Phew.

  “Okay, but what about that bird?” said Aunt Trudy. “It doesn’t even have a cage. It’s going to poop all over the house.”

  I gave her my sweetest look. “Do you think you could take care of him while we’re gone?” I asked with a smile. “It’ll only be for a couple of days.” I worked harder at my sweet smile.

  Aunt Trudy melted. “Oh, all right,” she gave in. “I’ll feed him. But I won’t clean up his messes!”

  “Love you, Aunt Trudy,” I said, giving her a peck on the cheek.

  Joe and I hugged Mom and headed out the door. “Bye!”

  “If you can remember, pick me up some Band-Aids!” Aunt Trudy shouted after us.

  Once we were loaded into Dad’s car, I let out a big sigh of relief. “Glad to get that over with,” I whispered to Joe.

  I’d spoken too soon.

  “Okay, boys,” said Dad, pulling out of the driveway. “Tell me all about your last mission.”

  Once again Joe and I were forced to tell some little white lies—and Dad was harder to fool than Mom and Aunt Trudy. Taking a deep breath, I gave Dad the watered-down version of our skydiving mission. He listened quietly, waiting until I was done.

  Then he said, “That’s an interesting story, Frank. But you left out the part about your pull cords being cut.”

  My jaw dropped open. “How did you—?”

  “Lieutenant Jones is an old friend of mine,” he explained. “We were on the police force together in New York. And he told me everything that happened. Unlike you.”

  I felt my face get warm. “Dad, we hate lying to you, but…”

  “We didn’t want you to freak out,” said Joe.

  Dad glanced at us through the rearview mirror. “Look, guys. When I left the force and started up American Teens Against Crime, I knew it would involve risks. But I also knew that you boys can take care of yourselves … and each other.”

  Joe nudged me in the ribs. I nudged him back.

  “I was always impressed with the amateur detective work you did a couple of years ago,” Dad continued. “The cops at the station used to call you the Sherlock Brothers of Bayport. You solved some major crimes. Cases even the police couldn’t crack. And you mixed with some major criminals. Sure, I was worried. But I couldn’t be prouder.”

  I smiled. “Thanks, Dad.”

  “Yeah, thanks,” said Joe.

  Dad’s expression changed. “But now … I don’t know,” he said, lowering his voice. “It’s a tough world out there. Maybe it’s too much to ask teenagers to go undercover. It’s just too dangerous. And now that I’m semiretired, I can’t keep a close eye on you boys.”

  “But Dad, we have the entire ATAC team looking out for us,” I told him.

  “Yeah, man, we’re covered,” said Joe.

  Dad took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I guess you’re right,” he said. “But you can’t blame a guy for worrying about his kids. Especially when they’re jumping out of planes and busting smugglers.”

  “That’s what we live for!” said Joe.

  Dad chuckled. “So tell me all about this new mission. What’s up with the Big Air Games? Are the athletes using steroids, or bribing judges, or what?”

  “I wish it was that specific,” I said. Then Joe and I filled him in on the details.

  “Basi
cally they want us to keep an eye on the other teenagers,” Joe explained.

  “We’re just undercover baby-sitters,” I added with a sigh.

  “Don’t be so sure,” said Dad. “The ATAC team wouldn’t be sending you unless they detected something suspicious. Just stay on your guard. And have some fun … within limits. Remember my motto.”

  “Suspect everyone,” Joe and I said at the same time.

  “Good boys.” Dad steered the car off the highway and pulled into the front lot of the Bayport Auto Garage. “Go get ’em,” he said.

  My brother and I hopped out and dashed into the garage. We were dying to see our bikes. Butch, the head mechanic, had promised to upgrade our motorcycles with some new parts.

  “Yo, bros,” Butch greeted us. “You prepared to be blown away?”

  “Go ahead,” said Joe. “Make my day.”

  The mustached mechanic waved us into the garage. “Feast your eyes on these babies,” he said.

  One word: Wow.

  These were no ordinary motorcycles. These were total high-tech speed machines decked out with all the latest features! Polished chrome controls, high-grade leather seats, stainless steel exhaust pipes—the works—and they were customized with flaming red double Hs.

  “This is too much!” Joe yelped. “This kicks butt!”

  I couldn’t believe my eyes. “What …? How …? Why did you do all this, Butch?” I said, stammering. “I mean, we just brought our bikes in for a tune-up.”

  Butch laughed and walked over to the motorcycles. “Check this out,” he said, demonstrating the new features. “Hydraulic clutch. Optimized suspension. Fog lamps with flint protectors. Hazard warning flashers. Digital clock, CD player, and CB radio. Electric power socket for accessories.”

  “Dude! Stop! You’re killing me!” Joe whooped out loud, faking a heart attack.

  “But wait. That’s not all,” Butch went on. He flicked a switch, and a series of digital panels lit up on the dashboard. “Check it out, guys. Here you have your security tracking device and computerized navigation system.”

  “Unreal!” Joe hooted.

  I stared in shock.

  This was unbelievable.

  Finally I managed to speak. “You weren’t kidding when you said you’d upgrade our bikes, Butch. But the problem is, I don’t know how we’re going to pay for all this.”

  “Forget about it,” said the mechanic. “It’s taken care of.” He nodded toward a man standing in the doorway.

  “Dad!” Joe shouted. “You totally rock!”

  “You boys deserve it,” Dad said with a big grin. “Now saddle up and make your father proud.”

  Joe hooted and hopped on his bike. I looked my father in the eye. “You didn’t have to do this,” I said.

  He shrugged. “I just thought you boys should have all the new safety features when you’re chasing down bad guys.”

  I smiled. “Okay, cool. Thanks.” Then I turned and tested out the new leather seat of my bike.

  “Just do me one favor, Frank,” Dad said when I reached for the ignition. “Don’t take this new mission too lightly. They must have named it ‘Extreme Danger’ for a reason.”

  “That’s what I told Joe.”

  “Well, be careful,” said Dad.

  Joe and I slipped our helmets over our heads and revved up our engines. Then, waving good-bye to Dad, we roared out of the parking lot and headed down the highway.

  Joe was so happy he looked like he was going to self-destruct.

  I glanced over my shoulder for one last look at Dad. He was standing in the middle of the lot, watching us ride off. Even from a block away, I could see the concern on his face.

  A warning sign.

  Unfortunately, I should have been paying attention to other signs—like the road signs in front of me.

  Because I’d missed the turn for the interstate.

  And Joe was nowhere in sight!

  5 Killer Wheels

  Philadelphia, here we come!

  Man, I was having a blast. With the new killer wheels beneath me and the open road in front of me, I was ready to take on the world—or, at least, tackle our latest mission.

  There was just one problem: Where was Frank?

  Turns out he’d fallen behind. But thanks to our new navigation systems, he was able to catch up with me on the next interstate ramp. Zooming up next to me, he grinned and gave me a thumbs-up.

  All systems go.

  We made good time. Weaving our way through the rush-hour traffic, we reached the outskirts of Philadelphia by eight o’clock. My motorcycle handled like a dream.

  Heck, I could have kept riding all night long.

  Minutes later we found the hotel and pulled our cycles into the parking garage. “Do I have to leave my bike here?” I asked Frank, turning off the engine. “Do you think they’ll let me park it in my room? I could say it’s my luggage.”

  “You could also say you’re Elvis, but I don’t think they’ll go for it,” said Frank. “Come on. Let’s check in.”

  We gathered up our stuff and grabbed an elevator to the lobby. When the doors opened, we thought we’d come to the wrong place.

  The joint was rocking!

  It was a total zoo. Every inch of the hotel lobby was crawling with punked-out dudes and dudettes sporting Mohawks and Day-Glo dye jobs. Across the room, a gang of bikers in red leather knocked their helmets together and cheered. A pack of T-shirted skateboarders did railslides down the entry steps. A ponytailed trio of identical triplets zipped past us on Rollerblades.

  “Hey, Frank,” I said, nudging my brother. “If they can skate around in here, maybe I can ride my bike, too.”

  “Give it a rest, Joe.”

  Frank pointed me toward the reception desk. Zigzagging our way through the crowd, we walked up to the check-in sign—and found ourselves face-to-face with a bald-headed desk clerk who didn’t look at all amused by the hotel’s current clientele.

  “May I help you, gentlemen?” he said with a tired sigh.

  “I’ll take care of this,” Frank told me.

  “Sure, knock yourself out.”

  My brother loved handling this sort of official business. Fine with me. It gave me a chance to scan the room and check out the action.

  I turned around—and nearly knocked a girl over.

  “Whoa! Sorry,” I said, grabbing her wrist before she fell. “Are you okay?”

  The girl looked up. “No problem. I’m okay.”

  She was more than okay. She was a total knockout—a brown-eyed beauty with jet black hair, ruby red lips, and a hot-pink skateboard tucked under her arm.

  This mission was looking better all the time.

  “I’m Joe. Joe Hardy.” I extended my hand.

  The girl slapped it and smiled. “I’m Jenna Cho. And I’m so embarrassed.”

  “Embarrassed? Why?” I asked.

  She held up her skateboard and shrugged. “Well, it’s like this. Twenty minutes ago I did a 540 air spin on the half-pipe and had no problem landing on my board. Then this dude bumps into me in a hotel lobby and I totally wipe out.”

  I laughed. “This dude sounds like a jerk,” I said.

  “No, not really,” Jenna said with a wink. “In fact, he’s kind of cute.”

  Nice.

  “Are you competing in the games?” Jenna asked me.

  “No, I’m just a fan,” I said. “But I skateboard a little myself. I wish I’d brought mine with me.”

  “Well, if you want to borrow mine, I’ll be practicing in FDR Park tomorrow,” said Jenna. “All the Big Air boarders hang out there.”

  “Sure, I’ll drop by,” I said, even though I wasn’t thrilled about riding a hot-pink skateboard.

  “Jenna! Come on!” someone yelled across the lobby. I looked over to see a group of skateboarders in front of the elevators.

  “Chill out! I’m coming!” Jenna yelled back at them. She threw her board on the floor and hopped on. “I’m in room 514,” she whispered. “Ca
ll me if you want to hang.” Then she skated away.

  Excellent.

  “Who was that?” asked Frank, coming up behind me.

  “A beautiful girl who just gave me her room number,” I bragged.

  “Why was she whispering?”

  “Probably because she didn’t want you to hear it.”

  “Or maybe she has something to hide.”

  “Oh, come off it, Frank. Stop playing detective for two minutes and enjoy yourself.”

  My brother looked annoyed. “We’re here on a mission, Joe,” he said, lowering his voice. “We’re supposed to be gathering information.”

  “Yes, and the best way to do that is by blending in and hanging out with the athletes,” I replied. “And besides, I did get some information. Jenna told me that all the skateboarders practice in FDR Park.”

  Frank raised an eyebrow. “Okay, well, that’s useful,” he admitted. “Anyway, I have our room keys. Let’s go.”

  We took the elevator up to our hotel room, unpacked our stuff—and suddenly realized we were starving.

  “We should have taken Aunt Trudy’s doggy bags when we had the chance,” said Frank.

  “Let’s go out and grab a slice of pizza,” I suggested. “We have the whole city of Philadelphia at our feet.”

  Frank agreed.

  We left our room and went downstairs, passing through the circus in the lobby and heading for an exit. When we got outside, we were surprised to see that the sidewalks were just as crowded as the hotel.

  “Man, the whole city is buzzing,” said Frank, staring at all the extreme athletes and fans passing by.

  I could tell he was trying to eavesdrop on their conversations—listening for anything suspicious. That was my brother. Always on the case.

  We walked a few blocks, just enjoying the sights, until we stumbled on a small skateboard store. The place was a little run-down but seemed to carry all the latest boards and equipment. A sign above the door said OLLIE’S SKATE SHOP.

  “Let’s go in,” said Frank. “We can ask the owner if he’s heard any rumors about an attack.”

  I was starving, but I didn’t feel like arguing with my brother. He was a man on a mission.

  A little bell jingled when we opened the door and stepped inside. The place was packed with merchandise, but not many customers. There were just a few teenaged boys trying on helmets, and two girls looking at T-shirts.