Tagged for Terror

by Franklin W. Dixon

  "These other guys are Abel Cantu and Evander Renshaw," Danny said.

  Frank smiled weakly. "Sorry we had to meet under such strange circumstances."

  "Hey, Danny," one of the two men said. Frank wasn't sure which name went with which face. "We'd better get back to work. People are waiting for their luggage."

  "Are you going to be okay?" Danny asked Frank.

  "My head hurts," Frank responded, "but other than that, I'm fine. Just give me a hand off this thing and you can start it up again."

  Joe and Danny helped Frank climb off the luggage carousel, and then Danny went back to the loading area. When the carousel started moving again and suitcases began to roll out, the small crowd lost interest in Frank and turned back to the important task of pouncing on their bags.

  A paramedic team showed up with a stretcher and an emergency aid kit. Frank faded into the stream of travelers, pulling his brother with him.

  "You really should let those guys take a look at you," Joe protested as they moved away from the baggage claim area. "There's no time for that," Frank insisted. "We have to get back on the trail before it gets cold." He told Joe about his discovery in the storage room. "We've got to get security down to that storage room right away. Whoever whacked me on the head isn't going to wait around to see if I tell anybody about the stash of stolen luggage. They'll move the stuff out as fast as they can."

  The Hardys headed straight for the Eddings Air offices, brushed past the startled receptionist, and burst into the security chiefs office.

  "What is it now?" Forrester barked as he rose out of his chair.

  Frank quickly repeated his story. Forrester listened in silence, tapping a pencil on his desk the whole time.

  "So you saw some luggage in a storeroom," Forrester said, "and got conked on the head. From that you conclude that you uncovered a secret cache of stolen bags and were attacked by one of the culprits.

  "But you don't know if the bags were stolen," the security chief continued, "and you didn't actually see anybody hit you. Are you sure you didn't just bump into something?"

  "Oh, right," Joe retorted hotly. "Then he staggered out of the storage room, made it all the way to the baggage carousel, and keeled over onto it." He turned to his brother. "Let's go. We'll bring back some of the evidence and stack it up in here."

  "Now, hold on," Forrester responded, his voice rising. "At this point I'm ready to follow any lead—no matter how slim. Show me this pile of loot you found."

  Frank led the way. He made a few wrong turns in the maze of corridors but finally found the storeroom. He knew it was the right one because the motorized cart he had commandeered earlier was still parked nearby. "This is it," he said, gesturing to the closed door. Joe tried the door. "It's locked." "That's strange," Frank said. "It was open when I was here before."

  Forrester pulled a large key ring out of his suit-coat pocket, flipped through the assortment of keys, slipped one into the lock, and pushed open the door. Murky darkness greeted them.

  Frank brushed past the security chief and hit the light switch on the left-hand wall. The harsh overhead lights glinted off the sparkling clean linoleum floor, revealing a wide-open space with absolutely nothing in it. "This is exactly what I was afraid would happen," Frank said bitterly. "We wasted too much time. They've already moved the stuff." Forrester shook his head and sighed. "I know you boys are trying to help, and maybe you can help if you stick to the program." He directed his gaze at Frank. "I wouldn't mention this little incident to Mr. Eddings if I were you." "Why not?" Frank responded. "Because if you tell him your wild theory about stumbling on a storeroom filled with stolen luggage, I'll have to tell him what I think really happened."

  Joe glared at the security chief. "And what's that?"

  Forrester kept his eyes on Frank. "You were nosing around the luggage carousel, accidentally whacked your head on something, and imagined the rest."

  "Is that a polite way of calling me a liar?" · Frank asked in a cool voice.

  "I don't think you're lying," Forrester replied. "I just think you're a little over eager and that blow to your head scrambled your memory. Sometimes our minds play tricks on us."

  "Not mine," Frank said evenly. Forrester sighed and glanced at his watch. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

  Forrester ushered the Hardys out of the storeroom, locked the door, and strode Off down the corridor. "I'd like to get back in there and check out the space for clues," Joe said after the security chief was out of sight.

  "I doubt if we'll find anything," Frank replied. "That room wasn't just emptied out it was cleaned out. The floor was still wet in a few places where it had been mopped."

  Something on the ground caught Joe's eye. He bent down and picked it up. "Hey, Frank, remember those diamond-shaped luggage tags you told me about?" He handed Frank a silver tag. "Is this one of them?"

  "What are you guys doing back here?" a voice called out.

  Frank and Joe peered down the corridor and saw Solomon Mapes, the pilot who had flown Michael Eddings's private jet. Joe immediately noticed that Mapes wasn't alone. He had an arm around Gina Abend.

  "What are you two doing here?" Joe responded lightly, trying to hide his disappointment at the way Gina was clinging to the pilot. "We were looking for you," Mapes answered. "You guys certainly get around. First, I find out that you've already met my girlfriend. Then I hear you were playing tag on one of the luggage carousels. Finally I run int Hank Forrester, and he tells me some wild story about an invisible stash of stolen luggage." Joe felt a rising anger that Forrester had revealed so much.

  "I thought I saw a guy stealing luggage Frank said, "and I thought he hid the bags in this storeroom. So I figured I'd score some points by reporting it to the chief of security. Instead, I wind up looking like a complete idiot. The room was empty."

  Not bad, Joe thought. Frank had managed to tell enough of the truth to make the story believable and not blow their cover. "We've heard that there's been a big problem with luggage thefts around here the last few months," Joe contributed. "We figured we could track down the bad guys in our spare time and get a bonus."

  Gina smiled. "Sounds like fun. I always wanted to be a detective."

  Joe looked away from her big green eyes. "Well, we probably won't have time for that now. Our new jobs should keep us pretty busy."

  Frank nodded. "We start training first thing in the morning." He held out the silver luggage tag. "Does this look familiar to either of you?"

  Gina shook her head.

  Mapes scrutinized the tag. "Never saw one like it before. Anyway, the reason I came to find you is to tell you the news." "What news?" Joe asked. "A preliminary check of the landing gear on Mr. Eddings's plane came up with a possible reason for the landing gear failure. It's pretty weird. In fact, I'm sure a more thorough check will come up with a more logical explanation."

  "Why don't you give us the weird version," Frank responded.

  "I'm getting to that," the pilot said. "It seems that somebody might have tampered with the landing gear."

  Joe's eyes narrowed. "Do you mean sabotage?"

  Mapes shrugged. "I know it sounds crazy, but there were two bolts missing from the front landing gear. There was no way the gear could lock for a safe landing."

  Chapter 5

  "SABOTAGE?" Gina exclaimed. "All of you could have been killed!"

  "It doesn't make any sense," Mapes said, shaking his head. "Who would want to kill Mr. Eddings?"

  "Maybe he wasn't the target," Joe ventured.

  Mapes stared at him. "What do you mean?

  Do you think somebody is after you?"

  Frank quickly covered for Joe's near-blunder. "No, of course not," he said quickly. "What about you? Do you have any enemies?"

  The pilot laughed. "Me? I may rub some people the wrong way, but I don't think anybody hates me enough to bump me off. No, I think the attempt, if it was one, must have been on Mr. Eddings."

  "Have you told him yet?"
Frank asked. Mapes shook his head. "No. I don't want to ring any alarms until I'm absolutely sure." "So why are you telling us?" Frank responded.

  Mapes shrugged. "I guess I wanted to tell somebody. And since you guys were on the plane, I figured you had a right to know."

  Joe heard a-low beeping coming from either Gina or Mapes. "Either one of you has a watch with an alarm, or you've got a concealed microwave and your popcorn is ready." Mapes pulled a small metal object out of his pocket. "It's my beeper. I'd better call in." He walked back up the corridor, and Gina went with him.

  "Let us know if you find out anything else," Joe called after them.

  Gina swiveled her head to peer over her shoulder. "And you let me know before you chase any more bad guys. I want to get in on the action."

  The next morning Frank was up before the sun. By five-fifteen he was dressed and ready to go. By five-thirty he had hounded Joe out of bed and into his clothes, even though Joe was basically asleep on his feet. They got to the airport a few minutes before six and reported for work right on time.

  They spent most of the morning in a training class with several other new employees. The only part that interested Joe was when they got to drive the baggage tugs that hauled the luggage to and from the big jets. With three or four baggage carts hooked behind the tug, Joe felt as if he were driving a miniature, trackless train.

  At ten A. M. they got a "lunch" break and wandered into the employee lounge. Joe was just peeling the plastic wrap off a mystery sandwich when Danny Minifee and Ted Nance walked into the lounge.

  "Hey, guys," Danny said, greeting them with his friendly smile. "How do you like the job so far?" Joe shrugged. "We haven't actually done any work yet, so I can't complain." "Frank, you met Danny Minifee yesterday," Joe said. "And this is Ted Nance, another baggage handler." "Nice to meet you," Frank said, shaking Ted's hand. "I see you've decided to try our exotic cuisine," Ted said, nodding at Joe's sandwich. "I think they load the vending machines with food the inmates at the county jail refuse to eat."

  Joe eyed the grayish substance between the two wafer-thin slices of bone-white bread. He was hungry—but not that hungry. Ted chuckled as Joe tossed the sandwich into the nearest trash can. "Sorry. I didn't mean to spoil your appetite."

  Danny turned to Frank. "How are you feeling? Is your head okay?"

  Frank rubbed the sore spot on the back of his neck. "Let's just say I'm in much better shape now than when we met yesterday. Thanks again for your help."

  "I was just doing my job," Danny said. Ted groaned. "Captain Modesty strikes again! Cantu told me about how you practically flew off the tug and hit the carousel's emergency shut-off switch. The other guys were still standing around wondering what all the shouting was about while you were racing down the conveyor belt. If you're going to be such a fired-up go-getter, at least learn to make it pay off for you."

  "You would have done the same thing," Danny contended.

  "Probably," Ted conceded. "But I would have tried to weasel a reward or a bonus out of it. You're not exactly rolling in dough, my friend, and your college tuition isn't cheap." "Tell me about it," Danny muttered. "If I don't find a roommate to split my rent with me, I'm going to have to move out of my apartment."

  "How about two roommates?" Frank asked. "We need a place to stay." Joe stared at his brother. The hotel where they were staying was very comfortable, and it had a nice, big swimming pool. He started to object but held back because he knew what Frank was doing. This was a great opportunity to get close to Danny. Maybe he could provide some clues for the case.

  Danny's face brightened. "Great! Meet me here when the shift's over, and I'll show you the apartment. It needs a little work, but there's plenty of room for three."

  "That's because you don't have any furniture," Ted remarked.

  When the break was over, Danny and Ted went back to loading luggage, and Frank and Joe went to a lecture on the many hazards and safety regulations involved in hauling baggage around an airport.

  "I didn't know lugging suitcases around could be so dangerous," Joe whispered to his brother. "I'll try to remember not to stick my head in any jet engines."

  The training class ended a few minutes after two, and the Hardys found Danny and Ted waiting for them at the employee lounge.

  "The apartment only has two bedrooms," Danny said as they strolled out to the parking lot. "So you guys will have to share. I hope that's okay."

  "No problem," Frank said. "What about beds?" Joe asked, thinking about the comfortable mattresses at the hotel.

  "I'm sure we can find something at a secondhand store," Danny replied. "Until then, a couple of sleeping bags on the floor is about the best I can offer."

  "Sounds okay to me," Frank said cheerfully. "We don't mind roughing it for a few days. Right, Joe?" Joe forced a smile. "Uh, right. You bet." They came to a sleek, red Corvette. Ted fished a set of keys out of his pocket, unlocked the driver's side door, and slipped inside. Joe let out a low whistle. "Nice set of wheels."

  Ted shrugged. "The gas mileage is lousy." He turned the key in the ignition, the engine roared, and Ted drove off, waving goodbye as the convertible top rolled back and folded itself down behind the bucket seats.

  "The car was a high school graduation present from his father," Danny explained. "Ted flunked out of college after the first semester, and his old man's so mad now, he won't give him a penny. That's why Ted's working here. If I had a car like that, I'd sell it and use the money to help pay my tuition."

  "School's really that important to you?" Frank asked.

  "I'm the first in my family to go to college," Danny responded. "Everybody back home is sort of counting on me. My high school grades were good but not good enough for a scholarship. That's why I'm working, too."

  He gave the Hardys directions to his apartment and climbed into a rusty pickup truck. The engine needed quite a bit of coaxing before coughing and rumbling fitfully to life.

  Frank and Joe watched Danny drive away in the old truck. "He seems like a really honest and open guy, doesn't he?" Frank mused.

  Joe nodded. "Either that, or he's very slick."

  The Hardys went back to the hotel in their rental car, showered, rested a bit, and packed their luggage. Then they followed Danny's directions past the new housing developments that had grown up around the airport to an older area of Atlanta with tree-lined streets. As they neared their destination, Frank noted that the well-worn charm of the sprawling old homes gradually gave way to neglect.

  "Big house," Joe commented as they parked in front of the address on Magnolia Avenue that Danny had given them.

  "But who knows how long it'll remain standing," Frank said, taking in the sagging porch roof and the faded and peeling paint. "From the way Danny described his place, I don't think he rents this whole house. It must be split up into apartments."

  Joe checked out the other houses. Most of them were in pretty bad shape. "This is definitely a low-rent neighborhood. If Danny is involved in the theft ring, he's not getting rich from it."

  Danny's apartment turned out to be in the back of the house, on the first floor. He took them on a quick tour of the four small rooms. Joe suspected that the ancient stove and refrigerator in the kitchen would be worth more as decorative antiques than as working appliances. Moving into the living room, Danny dropped onto a worn-out couch and invited Frank and Joe to sit on a couple of chairs that could have been rescued from a trash dump. "Well, at least we won't have to worry about burglars," Joe remarked. "There's nothing in here worth stealing."

  "I'm kind of on a tight budget," Danny said a little sheepishly. "Maybe the three of us can pitch in together and fix the place up a little."

  Someone banged on the front door. "Let us in!" a voice shouted.

  Danny opened the door, and Gina, Solomon Mapes, and Ted Nance crowded into the apartment. Joe's attention was drawn to the stack of pizza boxes in Ted's hands. The spicy scent wafting from the boxes reminded Joe that he had hardly eaten anything al
l day. He was starving. "Ted told us you were moving in with Danny," Gina said. "So we decided to have a little welcoming party."

  Ted plopped the boxes on the floor and tore open the top one. Within seconds half the pizza was gone and they all stood around chomping on thick slices that oozed hot cheese.

  Frank noticed that Solomon Mapes seemed a little uncomfortable. He didn't really fit in. After a couple slices of pizza, Frank got thirsty and wandered into the kitchen to see if there was anything to drink. He found a sixpack of soda in the refrigerator and took out a can. When he turned around, he found Mapes standing in the kitchen doorway.

  "I'm afraid I was a little out of line when I mentioned sabotage yesterday," Mapes said. Frank frowned. "You think the damage to the landing gear was accidental?"

  "We found a broken-off piece of one bolt in the nose wheel housing. The other bolt could have worked loose, causing too much stress for the remaining bolt to handle."

  "Well, I guess that makes more sense than sabotage," Frank replied. Or was it the work of a professional who knew there'd be an inspection after the accident? he wondered. He didn't mention that idea to Mapes because the man seemed determined to play down the possibility of foul play. "Anyway," Mapes said, "I just wanted you and your brother to know it was probably just an accident." Then he walked back into the living room, leaving Frank alone in the kitchen.

  Frank remembered the unopened can of soda in his hand and pulled the pop top. Soda foamed out of the opening and dripped onto the floor. The foam kept bubbling out of the can as Frank rushed over to the counter. He tossed the can in the sink, but not before half the soda inside had found its way onto the floor.

  Searching for a towel or something to mop up the wet, sticky mess, Frank rummaged through the kitchen cabinet drawers. The first drawer was full of cheap silverware. The second one held a jumbled assortment of utensils. The third drawer yielded a checkered dish towel.

  Frank pulled out the dish towel, froze, and stared down in stunned surprise. The towel had concealed a sealed plastic bag in the bottom of the drawer—and the bag was bulging with silver, diamond-shaped luggage tags.