Daredevils

by Franklin W. Dixon

  Joe examined the map, locking the stunt flyers’ advice in his mind. He noted where all the turn markers were, three on the beach and one offshore. He didn’t think he could win the race, but he certainly wanted to be in the competition.

  When the van arrived at Aceto-Zimmer Bluff, Joe and Terrence took some extra time to examine their hang gliders. After the parachute incident, Joe wanted to be sure that the hang gliders had not been touched.

  Satisfied that the equipment was not sabotaged, Joe and Terrence mounted their hang gliders.

  The two were matched against each other in the second qualifying heat. Caleb and Antonio had just completed their race, and though the conceited Lawrence had just barely edged out the fun-loving stuntman, both competitors posted very impressive times. Joe and Terrence would be hard-pressed to fly fast enough to qualify for the next round.

  “Good luck, Joe,” Terrence said.

  “I’m here to watch your back,” Joe replied, “but I’ll give you a run for your money.”

  The race began. Terrence vaulted into the air, and used his superior skill to gain an early lead. Aceto-Zimmer Bluff dropped away behind them, and the two flyers dove toward the first set of beach markers. Joe had a bit of trouble making the sharp turn toward the cove, so he lost sight of Terrence for a moment.

  Joe tightened his legs to streamline his profile a bit more as he entered the cove. He glanced down at the rocks below him. The ocean waves crashed against the rocks, splashing water high into the air. Joe jigged his body to the side to keep the water from glancing off his wings.

  Joe avoided the sea spray, but raising the glider allowed too much air to get under his wings. He exited the cove on an updraft that propelled him at a steep angle. He had too much altitude and knew that he wouldn’t be able to make the sharp turn around the marker fifty yards down the beach from the rocky cove. Still, he headed toward the marker to finish the race even if he wouldn’t post a good time.

  As Joe angled toward the marker, he spotted Terrence a dozen yards ahead and below him. The seasoned stunt flyer had already made the turn and would quickly head out toward the ocean for the final turn marker. Joe admired how Terrence handled his glider, floating effortlessly just above the treacherous rock outcroppings.

  Suddenly something else came into Joe’s field of vision. It was small and moving fast, and it was coming up from behind Terrence. At first Joe couldn’t make out what the object was, but he was certain where it was aimed.

  Then Joe realized that the object was a remote-controlled model airplane. He felt helpless as he watched the plane fly straight through the wing of Terrence’s hang glider, ripping the fabric. The wing collapsed, and Terrence went plummeting toward the jagged rocks below.

  7 Cut and Run

  * * *

  Joe twisted his body. Thanks to his accidental altitude gain, he had a chance of saving his friend.

  A chance, he thought, but only one.

  Joe pointed the nose of his hang glider down, and the craft immediately began to lose altitude. As it descended, the hang glider gained speed, closing the gap between Joe and Terrence.

  The stuntman struggled to keep his own craft together. The hole in the wing forced Terrence to let go of the guide bar so that he could stretch out his arms to bolster both wings.

  To Joe, Terrence looked like a wounded bird. With his arms spread out as they were, Terrence could not steer his craft. The hang glider went into a slow spin as it lost altitude. Joe broke into a sweat. He was gaining on Terrence but not fast enough.

  He’ll hit the rocks, Joe thought. I have to knock him clear.

  Joe was still slightly above and a few yards away from Terrence. He knew that in just a few moments Terrence would smash into the rocks in the shallow water below.

  “I hope the water’s warm,” Joe said out loud. He let go of his guide bar. Doing so caused Joe’s feet to swing forward with a violent jerk. As his body’s momentum shifted, he grabbed hold of the emergency strap release on his harness. He pulled the release, and his body began to fall away from his glider.

  As soon as his feet were clear of the glider, Joe pulled his knees up to his chest. He arched his back as his legs came up, thus putting his body into a sort of backward somersault.

  He rotated twice, and as he came out of the second revolution, Joe kicked his legs away from his body.

  “Contact!” Joe shouted, hoping that he had calculated the maneuver correctly. His feet flailed outward, smashing into the side of Terrence’s collapsed hang glider.

  The force of the blow had the desired effect. Terrence was violently pushed a few yards to the side. He hit the water, missing the jagged rocks by no more than four feet. Joe’s own momentum splashed him into the water nearly on top of Terrence. Buoyed by the fabric of Terrence’s demolished hang glider, the two young men floated in the Pacific Ocean.

  “You—?” Joe struggled to gain his breath.

  Terrence nodded his head, indicating that he was okay. Joe smiled.

  Three minutes later a Daredevil Fest safety crew motored up to the two exhausted competitors. Veteran stuntwoman Donna Roman, along with lifeguard Justin Stanfield, fished Terrence and Joe out of the bobbing waves.

  “Oxygen?” Stanfield offered a mask to Terrence and Joe, who were both having a little trouble catching their breath. Both took a long drag from the oxygen tank.

  “What happened out there?” Donna asked.

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Terrence replied.

  Both Roman and Stanfield gave Terrence a quizzical look.

  “Equipment failure,” Joe stated flatly as he watched the remains of Terrence’s hang glider sink beneath the surface of the water. He glanced at Terrence to indicate that no more information than that should be shared with the rescue team.

  “That’s twice now,” Donna commented as she put the boat into gear.

  “You’ve got a dark cloud over you,” Stanfield added as he draped warm blankets around both wet young men.

  Joe and Terrence just nodded.

  • • •

  Twenty minutes later, as Terrence and Joe changed into dry clothes, their parents came bursting into the competitors’ trailer.

  “What was it this time?” Brian McCauley asked. “Sniper?”

  “Low-flying aircraft,” Terrence said.

  “What?” Mr. Hardy asked.

  “It was one of those remote-controlled model airplanes,” Joe explained. “It came swooping in on T and cut straight through his wing.”

  “Did you see what direction it came from?” Mr. Hardy asked.

  “It came from the direction of Aceto-Zimmer Bluff,” Joe said. “And then it spiraled into the ocean after shredding the wing of the hang glider.”

  “Well, that finishes it,” Brian said. “Someone’s definitely trying to knock you out of this competition—if not permanently—and I say we give him what he wants.”

  “Dad!” Terrence protested.

  “Mr. McCauley,” Joe cut in, “if we take T out of visible circulation, we may lose our best opportunity to flush his attacker into the open.”

  “But that means my son is nothing but bait,” Brian said.

  “Joe’s right,” Mr. Hardy offered. “Whoever is behind this appears to be willing to come after Terrence wherever he is or whatever he’s doing. I’m not keen on exposing T to any danger, but Daredevil Fest may be our best forum to trip up this villain.”

  “But that puts a bull’s-eye on my son’s chest.”

  “It is my chest, Dad,” Terrence said. “And we McCauleys don’t live in fear.”

  “All right, we can see where this is heading,” Mr. Hardy said. “Let’s just let Terrence stay in the games. And the assignments stay the same. Joe, you make that target on Terrence’s chest harder to hit. Meanwhile, Brian and I are going to hunt up some scuba equipment. I want to do a little late-night Pacific Ocean diving to see if we can recover that model plane. That could be a good clue.”

  • • •


  While Joe and Terrence had been gliding above the ocean, Frank was doing some legwork on the ground. Knowing that the truck that played bumper cars with them the other night was registered to Silver Lining Productions, Frank drove over to their offices.

  Seeing the building, Frank got the distinct impression that Phil Silver was a very conservative and shrewd businessman. His office was one of a few in a small Santa Monica four-story office building. Unlike most people who try to set themselves up as Hollywood high rollers, Silver had spent his money wisely. Modest office, probably a lean staff, and as his DMV search had revealed, only one company truck and one company car.

  Being a smart money manager didn’t put him above attempted murder though, Frank thought. He scanned the parking lot for the truck. If he could find the vehicle with any damage on it, it could be key evidence.

  There were very few cars in the lot on a Saturday afternoon, and the pickup truck was not among them.

  He probably took it to a body shop to cover himself, Frank thought.

  Frank made his way into the building. Inside the lobby, there was a cleaning woman sweeping the floor and a little boy, probably her son, playing with action figures. Neither one so much as glanced up at Frank.

  Frank scanned the directory and saw that the complex held only seven businesses. Silver Lining shared the second floor with the law offices of Drake & Zaccheo.

  “Well, if he’s guilty,” Frank mused, “Silver won’t have far to travel to get legal counsel.”

  Frank made his way across the lobby to the stairwell. He walked up to the second floor. After making sure the hallway was empty, Frank left the stairwell. The door to Drake & Zaccheo was closed.

  He made his way down the hall to Silver Lining Productions. The office door was closed and locked, but there was no indication of any sophisticated security system.

  Low rent probably means low security, Frank thought. He took out his lockpick set and examined the two locks on the Silver Lining door. He selected one small and one oversize pick and within a matter of seconds was inside the office.

  Frank was right about Silver’s business savvy—the man had a spartan office. The reception area had a few chairs for waiting visitors and a desk for a secretary. The workstation was kept neat, Frank noticed.

  What I want is probably through there, Frank thought as he quietly closed the main door behind him. He headed for the door to an inner office. Once inside the office, Frank scanned for places to begin his search.

  I’ll start with the filing cabinet, he thought.

  The first two drawers of the cabinet offered little to tie Phil Silver to any attempts on Terrence’s life. There were several movie scripts with notes written in the margins. The only indication that Silver even had an interest in Terrence was a penciled reference on one script that it might make a good first film if the stuntman decided to turn actor with Silver Lining.

  The third file drawer also bore little fruit. There were lists of contact names—scriptwriters, production crews, agents—but little else.

  Frank turned his attention to Silver’s desk. He turned on the computer and began to go through the desk drawers while he waited for the machine to boot up.

  “Pay dirt,” Frank said triumphantly. On top of some papers inside Phil Silver’s drawer, there was a third-party life insurance policy quote. The quote was for a $1 million–dollar accidental death policy, and the name of the potential insuree was none other than Terrence McCauley.

  Frank began to flip through the insurance paperwork, looking for the beneficiary and any official signatures. Just then, however, a telephone ring broke his concentration.

  Frank stared at the phone. After two rings, the answering machine picked up. The volume was turned up rather loud, and Frank was forced to listen to Silver’s businesslike greeting.

  After the tone, Frank was riveted to the voice that left Phil Silver a message.

  “Mr. Silver,” came the recognizable voice, “Ian Edrich here. I have something I think you’d be interested in seeing. I’m going to ring your mobile phone, but just in case I don’t catch you, call me back as soon as you can. I won’t sit on this for long.”

  “That’s an interesting message,” came a voice from behind Frank. “But not as interesting as finding you here.”

  8 Strange Partners

  * * *

  “So,” the stranger asked Frank, “who are you and what are you doing here?”

  For a split second Frank thought about trying to bluff the stranger who had surprised him in Phil Silver’s office, but instead he decided to be evasive.

  “I should be asking you that question,” Frank said boldly. “What are you doing in Phil Silver’s office on a Saturday?”

  “Well, seeing as I am Phil Silver,” the man replied, “I can come to my office whenever I want.”

  “Phil Silver, huh,” Frank said. “Prove it.”

  The man held up a set of keys.

  “I have the keys,” he said. “I didn’t have to break in.”

  Frank knew he could no longer bluff or be evasive. He was caught red-handed, but he still had one trick left—direct confrontation.

  “Well, Mr. Silver—if that’s who you really are—then you have a lot to answer for.”

  “Answer for? To some teenager who obviously broke into my office?”

  Frank kept his cool. “I’m part of a team hired to investigate the recent attempts on Terrence McCauley’s life,” Frank said. “And I have to say, you’re looking pretty good as a suspect.”

  “If I’m a murderer,” Silver replied, “you just took a big chance being caught alone with me in my office.”

  “Who said I’m alone?” Frank asked. “I said I’m part of a team. Expect my backup to be close by.”

  “Don’t worry,” Silver responded. “You have nothing to fear from me. If you’re really here to protect Terrence McCauley, then you can expect full cooperation from me.”

  “Really?” Frank was surprised. “Given the evidence against you, I would think you’d be bolting for the exit.”

  “What evidence?”

  “Well, let’s start with the truck registered to Silver Lining Productions,” Frank began, “the truck that tried to run Terrence McCauley off the road the night of the Flame Broiled party.”

  “How do you know it was my truck?”

  “I’m pretty good with license plates,” Frank replied.

  “Did you get a look at the driver?”

  “Can’t say that I did. The windows are tinted, as you know. But I’m sure once I put my hands on the truck, I’ll have all the evidence I need to prove you tried to run us off the road.”

  “It wasn’t me, uh—what is your name?”

  “Frank.”

  “It wasn’t me, Frank,” Silver began again. “The truck was stolen. I filed a police report Friday morning.”

  “But the ‘accident’ happened Thursday night,” Frank stated. “So a Friday morning police report gives you plenty of time to ditch the truck.”

  “I didn’t know the truck was missing until I got to work Friday morning,” Silver explained. “And, anyway, I have witnesses who can verify that I was elsewhere Thursday night. Check it out if it makes you feel better.”

  “Oh, I’ll check it out,” Frank said. “You can be sure of that.”

  “Look, Frank,” Silver said, “I’m not trying to hurt Terrence. In fact, if you ask him, I’ve been trying to get him to quit stunt work and become an actor for me.”

  “Maybe you are,” Frank responded. “But he has refused to sign with you, so maybe you’re looking for revenge.”

  “Revenge isn’t my game,” Silver said.

  “But maybe insurance scams are,” Frank accused. He held up the million-dollar life insurance quote he had found on the desk.

  “Good try,” Silver said. “But that piece of paper proves nothing.”

  “Then why have you been looking into accidental death policies on Terrence McCauley?”

  �
�I’m a businessman trying to launch a movie studio. I want Terrence to sign a long-term contract with me as a way to entice investors. That means that people want to know that their investments are protected. Given that Terrence might want to do his own stunts in Silver Lining films, it makes sense for me to see how much it would cost to insure him. If you dig deeper into my desk, you’ll find policy quotes on half a dozen people.”

  “That still doesn’t make you any less a suspect,” Frank said. “You might be looking to get Terrence insured, kill him, and collect.”

  “Look at the policy you’re holding. It’s unsigned and is only in effect if Terrence is under contract with Silver Lining. If money was my goal, I wouldn’t be trying to hurt him before he was on my payroll.”

  Frank flipped the pages of the policy. After a moment, he spoke again.

  “Okay,” he said, “I think you’re on the level. But I do have one more question.”

  “If it’ll help keep Terrence safe, you can ask me anything.”

  “What was that message from Ian Edrich all about? The one I was listening to when you came in.”

  “That Edrich is some character,” Silver said. “He keeps telling me he’s going to be the next kingmaker here in Hollywood. Says the press can make or break anybody. He keeps offering me dirt on actors, but I keep turning him down.”

  “Why?” Frank asked.

  “Why does he offer it? Because he’s trying to position himself as a man of importance.”

  “No,” Frank said. “I meant, why have you turned him down?”

  “I don’t do business the same way the rest of Hollywood does. Movies are an important part of America’s past, and the world’s future. Movies can be so much more than moneymakers or status symbols. I’m trying to build a company based on principles here. Buying dirt from a weasel like Ian Edrich will just make me as dirty as the other producers here in Hollywood.”

  “A man of integrity,” Frank said. “The world sure needs more of those.”

  “Thanks,” Silver said. “Now get out of my office and go protect Terrence.”