“Dude!” I shouted out.
The six bikers skidded and swerved past us. Hurtling toward an even bigger ramp, they picked up speed, hit the curve, and shot into the air again, even higher than before.
“All right!” Frank cheered.
Finally the bikers were making their final round—their last chance to build up momentum for the big finish….
The Monster Loop.
Faster and faster, they flew around the track with their engines roaring.
And that’s when I noticed something.
One of the bikers’ wheels was wobbling.
“Frank!” I yelled. “Look at number four’s front wheel!”
We watched helplessly as the biker headed straight for the Monster Loop.
“Stop! No!” my brother and I screamed.
One, two, three of the motocross bikers hit the loop, rising up—thirty, forty, fifty feet in the air—one after the other. Up, up, and over.
Biker number four was right on their heels. The guy must have noticed that his front wheel was wobbling, but it was too late to stop. He hit the curve and rose straight up, his whole bike shaking. Higher and higher he went, until he was nearly upside down at the top of the curve.
“He’s not going to make it,” Frank gasped. “He’s going to fall!”
But no, he didn’t fall. The bike completed the upper part of the arch, then plunged its way downward.
That’s when the front wheel snapped off.
The front of the bike started grinding into the metal edge of the loop, sparks flying everywhere. The biker tried to lean back—but then the whole bike went tumbling forward, somersaulting down, falling and falling.
Finally biker number four slid to a stop at the bottom of the Monster Loop. The last two bikers managed to swerve out of his way.
But that wasn’t the end of it.
Number four’s bike burst into flames.
12 The Biker in Black
I couldn’t believe my eyes.
Mr. X had struck again.
And we were too late to stop him.
As the motocross support crew rushed to the burning bike, dousing the flames with fire extinguishers, I lowered my head and replayed the tragedy in my mind.
If only we’d gotten there sooner. We could have warned them. We could have told them to double-check their bikes for sabotage.
I watched in stunned silence as the ambulance pulled up to the scene. Paramedic Carter Bean and his partner, Jack, jumped out and rushed to the biker’s side. On the sidelines Monroe held up his camera and clicked away.
I felt like I was reliving the same nightmare, over and over.
Suddenly biker number four sat up, coughed, and threw his hands in the air.
“He’s all right! Look!” Joe shouted.
The crowded whooped and cheered.
The biker tried to pick himself up, but Carter and Jack insisted on helping him onto a stretcher. I guess they wanted to make sure he didn’t have any broken bones or other injuries. They loaded the guy into the ambulance and turned on the flashing light on the roof Then they began to drive away.
But not before Maxwell Monroe could snap a few more pictures of Carter and his patient through the rear window.
Everybody—athletes and fans alike—broke into applause as the ambulance left the stadium. I stared down at the ground for a few moments, then looked up at Joe. I didn’t know what to say.
“We tried, Frank,” he said. “We did everything we could.”
“Let’s go talk to some of the other bikers,” I told him. “Maybe they saw someone suspicious hanging around.”
We walked over to a group of guys in motocross jackets standing with the crew. They were all talking about the “accident.”
“Do you think it was Mr. X?” one of them said.
“It had to be,” said another.
“I can’t believe Mike’s okay. Did you see how he fell? Head over heels, man!”
“Mike’s lucky he’s alive.”
I interrupted the conversation and asked them if they’d seen anything strange before the race. “Did you notice anyone near the bikes?” I asked. “Someone you didn’t know?”
A biker with long hair shook his head. “No, dude,” he told us. “There’re too many security guys around. Everyone’s worried about Mr. X.”
Another biker agreed. “The only people I saw had official clearance. You know … guards, crew, medics, safety inspectors.”
I nodded. The guys went back to talking about Mike McIntyre—biker number four—and his amazing Monster Loop crash. Apparently Mike was not only a star athlete, but also a great guy. Everybody seemed to like him.
“Who’s that over there?” I asked, pointing to the sidelines.
In the middle of the crowd was a motocross biker dressed head to toe in black. He sat on a black bike and wore a black helmet, too. The shield was lowered, so I couldn’t see his face.
“Huh, I don’t know,” said the long-haired biker. “Never saw him before.”
I turned to ask the other guys if they knew him. They all shook their heads. When I turned back for a second look, the mystery man was gone.
“Frank, we have to go,” Joe said, looking at his watch. “It’s almost time for Jenna’s event.”
I wanted to stick around and track down the biker in black—but my brother had promised Jenna we’d be there to cheer her on. Jumping on our motorcycles, we headed for the nearest exit.
We almost didn’t make it in time. It took forever to weave our way through the outdoor food stands and vendors to get to the next stadium. But with our athletes’ passes, we were able to zip right through and ride our cycles out to the field.
The women’s skateboard competition was starting.
“Jenna! Hey!” Joe yelled, spotting her on a bench.
Jenna picked up her skateboard and ran over to meet us. “Hey, guys! You made it!”
“Just barely,” I said.
“Man! I am so pumped!” she said with a huge smile. “I’m ready to go for the gold, baby. Look out!” Then her expression changed. “So what’s up with you guys? Any sign of Mr. X yet?”
I glanced at Joe.
He shot me a quick look, then smiled at Jenna. “No. Everything’s cool,” he said. “Go out there and show the world what you can do.”
Jenna gave us both a big hug, then dashed back to the bench.
I looked at Joe and raised an eyebrow.
“What?” he said. “I didn’t want to give her bad news right now. It could break her concentration.”
I smiled. “Joe and Jenna, sittin’ in a tree …”
“Whatever, Frank.”
We watched the first skateboarder, a young girl from Florida. She was incredible, riding the half-pipe like a pro. Then it was Jenna’s turn.
I could tell Joe was nervous by the way he clenched and unclenched his hands.
Please, no more accidents, I thought to myself.
Jenna took her place on the edge of the half-pipe. Taking a deep breath, she hopped on her board and went hurtling down the hard concrete curve. She swiveled and swerved, then rode the arch upward, leaping and spinning in the air like a ballerina, smooth and graceful. I’d never seen anyone do skateboard stunts like this before.
“Go, Jenna, go!” Joe shouted beside me.
She ended her routine with a wild 540-degree spin—and the crowd went crazy.
“That’s my girl!” Joe hooted.
I turned to tease my brother about his choice of words when I noticed someone on the sidelines.
It was the biker in black.
He sat there on his motocross bike with his arms folded across his chest. He was still wearing his helmet—and shielding his identity. I don’t know what it was about him, but he made me itch.
“Joe, look,” I said, pointing to the man in black.
Joe spun around.
The mystery man spotted us.
Then he jumped up, kick-started his motocross bike, and took off
across the field.
“Come on!” I yelled to Joe. “After him!”
We ran and leaped onto our motorcycles, revving them up as fast as we could. A second later we were racing across the stadium in hot pursuit of the mysterious motocross biker.
The audience cheered and clapped wildly. They must have thought we were part of the games.
But this was no game.
The faster Joe and I went after the guy, the more recklessly he rode—zooming to the left, skidding to the right, then heading straight for the concrete half-pipes.
My brother and I nearly flew off our cycles when we hit the concrete, swerving back and forth between the arching curves like a swinging pair of pendulums.
Finally the biker in black jumped off the final ramp and hit the ground hard, wheels spinning in the turf. Joe and I were right behind him—and he knew it. So he headed for the inline skating track.
My brother and I soared off the last ramp. We both landed hard but managed to steady our bikes and take off after him.
Once we hit the track, the mystery rider didn’t stand a chance. His motocross bike didn’t have the power or the speed that our motorcycles had.
But he was one step ahead of us. Rounding the bend, he slammed on his brakes and made a hard turn off the track.
Joe and I zoomed right past him—and plunged straight into an inline skating race!
Oops.
Lucky for us, the skaters saw us coming. They veered out of our way, skating to one side or the other so fast that they looked like blurs. Finally we were in the clear.
But where did he go?
Joe and I screeched to a halt and looked around the stadium.
“There he is!” Joe shouted out, pointing across the field.
The biker in black shot out from behind a half-pipe. He headed right for the south exit—and disappeared.
I wasn’t about to give up. I nodded at Joe, and we raced to the exit. Rocketing up the ramp, we hurtled headlong into a dark hallway. People screamed and jumped out of our way. Seconds later we were out of the stadium—and lost in a maze of food stands and vendors.
Where was he?
I skidded to a stop, my rear wheel swerving beneath me and bashing into a ring toss booth. Dozens of stuffed animals showered down on me.
“Sorry, ma’am,” I said to the startled booth lady. “I’ll pay for this. I promise.”
I hopped back on my bike and rode slowly through the crowd until I found my brother.
Eating a hot dog.
“Joe!”
“Hey, I was hungry!” he said, taking a bite.
I was about to respond when I spotted the biker in black. “There he is! He’s going into the main stadium!”
Joe shoved the rest of the hot dog into his saddlebag. “For later,” he explained.
We revved up again and headed for the athletes’ entrance. Minutes later we were inside the stadium, searching for the mystery rider.
“Frank! I see him!”
My brother pointed me toward the motocross track. Our mystery man was trying to blend in with the other bikers. But since he was the only guy wearing all black, his plan didn’t work.
Joe and I raced up the field after him. As soon as he saw us coming, he revved up his engine and hit the racetrack at full speed.
We kicked into high gear and followed him. In seconds we were gaining on him—until we hit the first series of ramps. The speed of our motorcycles sent us flying too high and too far into the air. We landed with a bone-crunching thud on the top of each ramp, our bikes bucking with each jolt.
Ow.
Back on level ground, we were able to pick up speed again, closing in fast on our target. But the mystery rider was going straight for the last and largest ramp—and he was totally gunning it.
Up, up, and into the air he soared, with Joe and me right behind him.
Whoa! Watch out!
For a second I thought we were going to land right on top of him. Flying and falling, I looked below me. The biker bounced out of the way in the nick of time—and kept right on going. But Joe and I were hot on his heels.
From this point on, it was full speed ahead.
Straight into the Monster Loop.
No, I thought. Not that.
There was no turning back. We were just too close—and going too fast.
The three of us hurtled into the giant upward curve of the Monster Loop—the biker first, then Joe, then me. The roar of our engines echoed inside the loop. I watched Joe and the biker go up, up, up, higher and higher, until they were no longer in front of me—they were above me.
My stomach turned.
And so did we.
The whole world, it seemed, was rolling beneath my wheels. I glanced down and saw nothing but blue sky below me. At first I didn’t understand. Then it hit me.
I was upside down!
But not for long. Soon we were plunging downward on the other side of the loop. Joe and the motocross biker were right below me.
We were coming down to earth now—and fast.
The mystery rider plunged downward and outward. Swerving and wobbling, he hit the level ground, rode straight out of the loop—and totally wiped out.
Joe and I had to hit our brakes as hard as we could to avoid hitting the guy.
Finally we came to a stop. Jumping off our cycles, we dashed over to the fallen biker in black.
He lay on the ground next to his bike and moaned. But he didn’t seem to be injured, because when he saw us, he jumped to his feet and tried to run away.
Joe and I grabbed him and held on tight.
“Okay, mystery rider,” I said. “Let’s see who you are.”
Joe reached up and pulled off the biker’s helmet.
I couldn’t believe it.
13 “Meet Me at Midnight”
Frank and I had risked our lives, raced with death—even rode the Monster Loop—and for what?
To unmask a mystery man who turned out to be …
Chet Morton?
Chet was one of our best friends from home and, until now, we’d never seen any hint of his wild side. He was definitely the last person I expected to see underneath that black helmet.
“You’re not Mr. X,” said Frank.
“More like Mr. Y,” I said. “As in W-H-Y are you here, Chet?”
Chet looked embarrassed. “I dropped by your house yesterday, and your mom said you were at the Big Air Games. At first I was a little insulted. Why didn’t you ask me to come along? Then I figured you must be working on a case. So I decided to help you out and go undercover. Just like you.”
He pointed at my Mohawk and Frank’s blue hair.
“When you spotted me, I guess I freaked out,” he went on. “I was afraid you’d think I was a suspect.”
“Well, yeah,” I said. “We did.”
Just then the biker crew and medical team swarmed around Chet to see if he was okay. Joe and I backed away from the crowd.
“What are we going to do with him?” I asked Frank. “Chet could ruin the whole mission.”
Frank shrugged. “Maybe he could help us out,” he said. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Yeah, but he helped us out when we were amateur detectives. We’re on the ATAC team now, Frank. These are serious missions … with major risks involved.”
Frank looked at me. “Did you see how he jumped those giant ramps and tore into that Monster Loop? You have to admit, Joe. The guy is fearless.”
Maybe Frank had a point.
A few minutes later—after Chet convinced the paramedics that he didn’t need to go to the emergency room—we invited our friend to stay with us in our hotel room, if he needed a place to crash.
“Can I? Cool!” he answered.
We decided to hang out for a while and watch a few more events—but then I remembered something.
Jenna.
I told Frank and Chet that I wanted to go back to the other stadium. They weren’t thrilled about riding through that maze
of food stands and vendors again, but once I told them why I wanted to go, they agreed. Believe it or not, Chet’s bike was still in working order.
As we slowly rode our way out of the stadium, Maxwell Monroe started shouting to us from the press box.
“Joe! Frank! I want to talk to you guys!” he yelled at the top of his lungs.
Frank rolled his eyes. “He probably wants to interview us about our little bike chase,” he said.
Neither of us was in the mood to answer the reporter’s questions. So I waved back at Max, pointed to my watch, and shook my head. Then we rode our bikes through the exit and headed for the other stadium.
Jenna was thrilled to see us.
“I was so worried about you guys,” she said. “What was up with that crazy bike chase? Who were you chasing?”
We introduced her to Chet.
“So? Did you win?” I asked her.
Jenna held up a medal. “Second place!”
I gave her a big hug. “Congratulations,” I said. “Second place, huh? That’s great.”
“Yeah. But it’s not first place.”
“Hey, there’s always next year.”
“Will you come to watch me?” she asked.
“Of course,” I replied.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
I also promised to join Jenna and some of her skateboard buddies later that night to celebrate her victory. Frank and Chet were invited too, of course.
The four of us found some seats and watched a few more events. My favorite was the skysurfing contest. The competitors were actually dropped from planes overhead. These dudes “surfed” through the air, doing all kinds of crazy spins and twirls, before landing with their parachutes right in the middle of the stadium. It was totally awesome.
I would have enjoyed it even more if my own parachute cord hadn’t been cut the other day.
The rest of the games were pretty uneventful, which was cool with me. By the time we got back to the hotel, Frank, Chet, and I were pretty hungry and tired. We flopped down on the beds and considered ordering in some food.
That’s when Frank noticed the blinking light on the hotel phone.
“We got a message,” he said, picking it up and pushing a few keys on the touchtone pad.
Frank listened for a minute. Then his face turned white.
Extreme Danger Page 8
