Chief Malrova led us to his car and opened up the trunk. He pulled out two small, black rectangular boxes. Each one had a screen, like a matchbook-size television. “These are call tracers,” the chief explained. “They have their own internal Global Positioning Systems. If you put one on your phone, it’ll track down your caller’s location.”
Chief Malrova clipped the device onto Frank’s phone and turned it on. A map of the resort appeared on the tiny screen. There was a green dot indicating where we were.
“Cool,” I said.
“Yes, it is cool,” the police chief said. “It’s also highly functional.”
He asked for Frank’s number, walked a few steps away, and then dialed.
Almost as soon as the phone started to ring we saw a tiny, blinking red dot, showing where Chief Malrova was standing.
“What do you think?” asked the chief when he came back.
“Excellent,” I said.
“This’ll be helpful if the caller tries me again,” Frank added, examining the tracer. He looked up at Chief Malrova and me. “And that’s assuming the caller is close enough. What if we can’t get to him or her in time? What if the caller moves?”
“That’s the really innovative thing about these devices,” said Chief Malrova. He walked about five yards in the other direction and turned left. “Take a look at the screen, boys,” he called.
The red light actually traced his steps. When Malrova jogged toward us, the red dot flashed in time with his steps.
“The phone connection triggers an infrared tracing device. The marker will linger for fifteen minutes after the caller hangs up,” Chief Malrova explained. “And whoever planted that bomb is no more than fifteen minutes away. That much I’m sure of.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“Experience,” said Chief Malrova. “The terrorist worked too hard and cares too much. He knows this place is crawling with cops and private security. His phone call, and the fact that he knows who you guys are, proves that he’s watching you. He’s not going to disappear until he’s sure his plan is played out.”
“Okay,” said Frank. “So what are we supposed to do until then?”
“Let’s lie low for a while,” I said. “Beller should be getting out pretty soon. All we need to do is stay close, come up with an excuse to talk to him, and figure out what this Operation Bobo thing is all about.”
“Watch your back, boys,” said Chief Malrova. “We’re obviously dealing with a ruthless killer. I’d hate to see either of you get hurt.”
“We’ll be careful,” I promised.
Frank said, “Will you keep an eye on Tanner McCarthy, also? He’s one of Henry’s car handlers. I have a hunch he’s linked to Beller in some way.”
“Sure thing,” said Chief Malrova.
“Thanks,” Frank replied.
We said good-bye to the chief and headed away from the parking lot mess.
We’d gone only a few steps when we heard someone call out, “What the heck are you two clowns doing here?”
The voice was all too familiar.
Frank groaned. “Do not tell me Brian Conrad is here.”
I looked over my shoulder. “I could tell you he’s not if you really want to hear it, but I’d be lying.”
Just when I thought that things couldn’t get any worse, they did. Brian Conrad was the biggest jerk in Bayport. Running into him in Phoenix, while we were on a top secret mission? It was a total nightmare.
Of course, he’d already spotted us, so we had to talk to him. We both turned around.
“Hey, Brian,” Frank said.
“Did you guys see the explosion?” Brian asked. His eyes were shining and he had a sick smile pasted on his face. “It was so awesome. Stuff went flying and there was glass and smoke everywhere. The guy in the car must have been blown to bits. Man, that was cool.”
“A guy died,” I said, feeling my throat get tight. “There’s nothing cool about that.”
“Dude, why are you so serious all the time?” asked Brian. “You need to chill. And what are you doing here, anyway?”
“We’re on a family vacation,” Frank said.
“I thought you guys were supposed to be skiing in Tahoe,” said Brian.
“There was a change of plans,” I said. “Our dad twisted his ankle and he can’t ski on it, so we came here instead. We’re supposed to meet our parents on the croquet courts in a little while.”
“Whatever,” said Brian. “Don’t let me stop you.”
“Hey, how did you know we are supposed to be in Tahoe?” I asked.
I was a little paranoid, but it wasn’t without reason. Brian tends to show up at the most inconvenient times. He’d gotten in the way of too many missions. Sometimes I wondered if he was on to us.
Brian rolled his eyes. “For some dumb reason, Belinda likes to keep track of these things. Don’t ask me why. I keep telling her not to waste her time, but my sister is stubborn.”
“Is she here?” I asked.
“She and my mom are at the spa,” said Brian.
Great. Not only did we have no idea who was behind the bomb, there was also a chance that Belinda Conrad saw us in white, fluffy robes. Did I mention how cute she was? The last thing I wanted was for a cute girl to see me looking like a fool. Not that she ever noticed me, anyway. Everyone knew Belinda had a major crush on Frank.
Well, everyone except for Frank, that is. He wouldn’t admit it.
“Let’s go,” said Frank.
“Hold on a second,” I replied. “What are you doing here, Brian?”
“I’m here for the car auction. What else? My dad is selling his old BMW 507. Come on, I’ll show it to you.”
Brian led us over to a bright red convertible. I hate to admit it, but it was an awesome ride. It was in mint condition, with shiny chrome fenders and a black-and-white leather interior. Even the radio looked authentic.
“It’s from 1957. Only a hundred fifty-three were ever made,” Brian told us as he leaned against the hood of the car. “Dad and I have been working on it together for a couple of years now, rebuilding the engine and stuff.”
Suddenly someone started shouting. “Brian, what the heck are you doing? I told you never to touch my car! You’ll mess it up.”
A tall man with gray hair—basically, an older version of Brian—stormed over to us. He grabbed Brian by the elbow and yanked him away from the car. “I’m not going to tell you this again,” he said through clenched teeth. “Next time you’ll really be sorry.”
“Sorry, Dad,” said Brian, as his face turned bright red. He really looked terrified. “I was just showing the car to my friends Frank and Joe Hardy. They’re here from Bayport.”
Friends? Did Brian Conrad actually call us friends? This trip was getting weirder by the minute.
Brian’s dad grunted a hello but otherwise ignored us. “Just stay out of trouble,” he said to Brian before walking away again. “If you screw up the sale of this car, you’re really going to get it.”
“I said I was sorry,” Brian said in a wavering voice.
Frank looked at me with raised eyebrows. I knew exactly what he was thinking. “Uh, we need to get going,” I said.
“Yeah, you really should scram,” said Brian. Now that his dad was gone he was suddenly tough again. “You guys don’t belong here, anyway. If you knew anything about cars, you wouldn’t be tooling around on your dumb little bikes.”
“What’s wrong with our motorcycles?” I asked.
Frank pulled me away. “It’s not worth it,” he said. “Let’s go. Mom and Dad are waiting.”
“Listen to your brother, Joe. I could mess you up so easily,” Brian said.
“Whatever,” I replied, as Frank and I left the parking lot.
We weren’t completely lying about the croquet. Between Tanner’s threat, Beller’s security guard, and the ominous phone call, one thing was clear: Too many people were suspicious of us. We had to start acting like normal tourists. And apparently, a
t this place, croquet was something that normal tourists played.
We were thinking strategically, too. We chose croquet because the courts were close to the spa. Picking up some mallets and balls, we headed over to play.
Although I’d heard of the game, I didn’t actually know the rules. Turns out Frank didn’t have a clue either. We stared out at the courts. They were grassy and filled with white metal squares. They looked like miniature football goalposts, turned upside-down. We started hitting balls through. Simple enough.
“So what do you think?” I asked. “It’s got to be Beller, right?”
“Maybe,” said Frank. “We know he couldn’t stand Henry, but murdering someone on your wedding day seems a little extreme. Did he hate him that much? It’s hard to imagine.”
“But he didn’t do it himself. He just ordered someone else to take care of the whole Operation Bobo thing, right?”
“Yup,” Frank replied. “I just wish we knew what that stood for. If it has anything to do with the bomb, that is.”
“How could it not?” I asked.
“Who knows?” said Frank. “We could be way off. Maybe Henry was trying to get back at Beller by destroying part of the resort. It’s possible that he planted the bomb in one of his cars to throw everyone off, and then accidentally blew himself up.”
“If that were the case, he’d have picked any other car. No way would Henry blow up the Duesen berg,” I said. “He compared it to a work of art. He loved that car.”
“You’re sure he wouldn’t even do it to frame Beller?” Frank asked.
I shook my head. “There’s no way. I’m positive.”
“Hey, can I play?”
I turned around. Ashley, the cousin of Ella’s we’d met by the pool, was behind us, holding a croquet mallet. I wondered how much she’d heard.
Frank and I looked at each other. I thought we’d silently come to an agreement, but I said, “Yes,” just as Frank was saying, “No.”
“Oh, come on, Frank,” I said.
Ashley laughed. “Maybe you guys want to discuss this amongst yourselves?” she teased. “I could give you some privacy.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “What my brother means is, of course you can play. It’s just that we don’t really know what we’re doing, so it may be boring for you.”
“That’s okay,” said Ashley. “I can teach you.”
Frank glared at me. He clearly thought this was a bad idea. Too bad for him, though. Ashley was too cute to blow off.
“That sounds great, Ashley,” I said, handing her my mallet and flashing my brightest smile.
“So, you guys were just talking about the explosion, right?” She shuddered. “What kind of crazy person would do something like that? It makes me nervous, just being here.”
“Yeah, it’s bad,” Frank said. “We were thinking of going home early. In fact, we’re supposed to meet our parents in a little while. They’re discussing it now.”
“Which building are your rooms in?” asked Ashley.
My mind went blank. I looked toward Frank, who turned to Ashley. “We’re over by the orchid garden.”
“In the C block, you mean?” she asked.
“Yup.” We both nodded.
Ashley grinned as she bent over the mallet and stepped on one of the croquet balls. “Did you guys hear the explosion?” she asked, swinging her mallet and knocking a ball through one of the little goalposts.
For some reason, I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I must have still been feeling weird over Henry’s death. “We sure did. It was pretty gruesome, huh?”
“The worst,” said Ashley. “And I heard there’s going to be another one. I figured they’d be warning all the guests by now. You know, so they could evacuate in time.”
“How did you hear about the bomb threat?” asked Frank.
“Well, I—”
The rest of Ashley’s sentence was drowned out by gunshots. Soon after that we heard shouting, and then the sounds of a car peeling out.
Suddenly I saw a black Corvette Roadster race by. In the driver’s seat was none other than Justin Jones, the M&P car handler.
And he was getting away.
10
The Chase
Justin was on a rampage. He sped across one of the tennis courts, ripping through the net and giving four people in tennis whites the scare of their lives. Veering to the right, he almost took out a golfer, but luckily, the old guy got out of the way just in time.
Joe started running after the car, but I stopped him. “Hold on. He’s totally panicked.”
“Come on,” said Joe, brushing my hand from his arm.
I shook my head. “He doesn’t know where he’s going, and you don’t want to get in his way. It’s too dangerous. I’m surprised he hasn’t run anyone over yet.”
“So what are we supposed to do?” my brother asked.
“Wait for him to self-destruct,” I replied.
Wait is not a word my brother likes to hear, but for once he listened to me.
It was a good thing, too. Because moments later we heard sirens in the distance, getting louder and louder.
As we neared the car, we saw Justin driving in circles, because huge trucks blocked most of the paths out. Cop cars were closing in from every direction. Justin had nowhere else to go. Not until one of the trucks happened to pull away, leaving a gaping hole that led straight to the exit. Justin sped toward the open path. It looked like he was going to get away. But in the nick of time, two police cars pulled in front of the Corvette, forcing it to a screeching halt.
Justin was trapped, but he didn’t seem to know it—or at least, he wasn’t willing to accept it. Basic physics would have told him it was impossible to get around the roadblock. I guess Justin didn’t know much basic physics, though, because he sped up and turned sharply.
He crashed straight into the back of one of the cars. The Corvette crumpled like an accordion, and it started smoking almost immediately. The windshield cracked into a spiderweb pattern where Justin hit his head.
We raced to the car, but Justin was out of there before we could stop him. He doubled back across the croquet courts and sprinted past the lap pool.
At least now we were on equal footing. Joe and I were only ten feet behind him when he made it to one of the largest buildings. Chief Malrova and some of his police officers were coming at him on either side. He was cornered.
Or so we thought.
Justin darted inside the building. And by the time Joe and I got there, he’d locked the door behind him.
“Now what?” asked Joe.
Chief Malrova ran up and said, “This door and all of the windows are secure. He’s not getting out of there. All we have to do is wait.”
Waiting sounded like a horrible idea. Who knew how long he’d try and stay in there? I was counting on Justin to have information about the second bomb. And what if this entire theft was set up to distract us from the real crime?
“With all due respect, chief,” I said, “we’re running out of time. I think we should go in after him.”
Chief Malrova looked from me to the locked-down building. “You boys know what you’re doing?” he asked.
Joe and I nodded.
“All right,” said the chief. “Go ahead.”
Joe didn’t think twice before pulling off the screen of a nearby window. Struggling to pry open the glass, he said, “No dice. It’s locked.”
“Stand back, everyone,” I called. Shielding my eyes with my forearm, I kicked a hole in the glass with the heel of my shoe. It shattered loudly. Pieces flew everywhere. I ripped my shirt off and wrapped it around my hand up to my elbow. Reaching inside, I unlocked the window.
After I pulled it open, Joe and I carefully slipped through. We landed on our feet, crunching shards of glass into the plush red carpet. Other than that, the room was silent.
“Now what?” whispered Joe.
I shrugged. We were in some sort of fancy ballroom, and it was a clu
ttered mess. A tower of crystal champagne glasses balanced in the center of the room. A large chocolate fountain gurgled in one corner. There was a huge, multitiered wedding cake by the stage, and a bunch of large round tables. Each one was draped with a floor-length tablecloth and was decorated with centerpieces of glass and flowers.
There were hiding places everywhere, and no sign of Justin. “He could be under any of these tables,” I whispered as we carefully crept around the room.
“So this is where Beller and Ella are getting married,” Joe said. He looked around. “I still think a million bucks is way too much to spend on all this crap.” He picked a flower out of a nearby centerpiece, sniffed it, and scrunched up his nose. “Blech.”
“Shh.” I raised a finger to my lips and then held my breath, straining to listen. There was some sort of rustling noise coming from underneath the table by the stage.
Joe and I locked eyes and nodded. This had to be Justin. I tiptoed over and lifted up the tablecloth.
Suddenly a small, white, furry creature shot out the other end.
“What is that thing?” Joe yelled as he jumped backward.
“It’s just a dog,” I said.
We both stared at the animal. It was barking up a storm and darting between the stage and me and Joe.
“I know that, but where’d it come from?” Joe asked.
I shrugged. “How should I know?”
Joe was just crouching down to pet it when we heard something at the other end of the room. Justin.
He was about to get away. Again.
That’s when we noticed the service entrance at the back of the room. Justin was trying to pull the door open, but it was bolted into the floor. He worked the lock open quickly, but we were faster. I made it to Justin first and pounced on him. He went crashing to the floor.
“Dude, get off me!”
“As if,” I said through clenched teeth. “Why were you trying to steal the car?”
Justin glared up at me. “What do you care?”
“Why do I care?” I asked. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I care because I don’t want to see hundreds of people die.”
Suddenly Justin pulled on the leg of a nearby table, tipping it over so that it came crashing down across my back.
Blown Away Page 6
