Blown Away

by Franklin W. Dixon

  Beller narrowed his eyes at me. “You should be more careful about making accusations like that,” he said. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. And besides, who are you, coming in here and announcing I’m a suspect?”

  “I know you said those things,” I replied. “Frank heard them too.”

  My brother nodded.

  “I’m not denying that I said them,” said Beller. “But you’re taking this all out of context. The reason I said that Henry would pay is because I was about to buy his auction house out from under him.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “It’s a publicly traded corporation,” Beller explained. “And I just became the majority shareholder. If Henry had lived, he’d be working for me. Until I fired him, that is.”

  “Prove it,” said Frank.

  “I don’t need to prove anything to you kids,” said Beller.

  Chief Malrova stepped up. “Actually Beller, you do. Frank and Joe aren’t your average kids. They’re connected to some of the country’s most powerful law enforcement agents. Plus, they’re working very hard to ensure the safety of you and your guests this weekend. So you’d better show some respect.”

  Beller cocked an eyebrow. “Fine,” he replied. He got on the phone with his lawyer and asked him to rush over the paperwork.

  “Now, if you don’t mind,” said Beller, snapping his phone shut, “I would like to get back to planning my wedding.”

  Ella laughed. “That’s what you think,” she said.

  Clearly exasperated, Beller threw his hands up and asked, “What’s the problem now?”

  “There’s not going to be any wedding, Jake,” Ella replied. “Bobo and I are going home.” Turning on her heel, she walked away without a single glance back.

  “Wait a second,” said Beller as he ran after Ella and Bobo. The security guard followed.

  “I’ll handle this, boys,” said Chief Malrova, as he chased after them.

  Once Frank and I were left alone, he said to me, “This is totally nuts.”

  I shook my head, trying to make sense of all the craziness. We’d foiled an evil twin and a dognapping fiancé, but we still hadn’t cracked the real case.

  And then Frank’s phone rang. As soon as he answered it, his face went pale.

  “It’s the bomber?” I whispered.

  Frank nodded.

  12

  Busted

  “Yes?” I said into the phone.

  “Pretty gnarly chase scene, don’t you think?” asked the same muffled voice from earlier.

  “Who is this?” I demanded.

  “I’m not telling,” he replied.

  The guy was really getting on my nerves. “It’s one o’clock. You’ve had your fun. People are going to die unless you tell me where you hid the bomb.”

  “Don’t worry,” the guy replied. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

  “But—”

  Click. The phone went dead.

  I flipped it over and zoomed in on the map.

  Little did the guy know that, thanks to my tracer, “soon enough” was actually right about now.

  “Do you have the location?” asked Joe, as we both huddled over the tracer. I held my phone so tightly that my knuckles turned white.

  The next few seconds seemed like an eternity, but finally we saw the blinking red light. The caller was back at the car auction.

  “I’ll bet it’s Tanner,” I said as we raced to the scene. “Maynard’s excuse that he was jealous of me and Maria was a little too convenient. Come to think of it, maybe they’re working together.”

  I glanced at my brother, who was just a couple of steps behind me. His leg was bleeding through the bandage. “Does that hurt?” I asked.

  “Nah,” said Joe. “I’m fine.”

  I knew he was bluffing, but there wasn’t time to argue. Joe wasn’t about to let his injury get in the way of our mission, and I didn’t blame him. I just hoped it would all be over soon, for his sake and for the sake of the hundreds of Billington Resort guests.

  Because honestly? I was starting to freak out. Never had I seen the kind of devastation we might witness if we failed.

  Fortunately, we didn’t fail often. And I was determined not to this time.

  When we finally got to the auction, we found it plenty crowded. There were three times as many people in the parking lot since we’d last been there, and an excited energy filled the air. It looked like the selling had already begun. All the cars were lined up and ready to go. Maria was sitting in the silver Cadillac, and the car was perched on the auction block.

  This British dude was in charge of the bidding. When he called out numbers, he spoke so quickly that all of his words ran together. “We have $100,000. Do I hear $125,000? Come on, 125. Someone? Beautiful car. Mint condition. Going once, going twice. Yes, thank you, gentleman in the back with the green shirt. $125,000. I have 125. 125. Now do I hear $150,000?”

  Tanner was shining a blue Jaguar. When he saw me and Joe approach, he smirked. This guy had such an attitude—too much to be totally innocent.

  I checked the scanner. No dice. The red light was still moving, and in fact, the bomber was heading toward one end of the parking lot, near the exit. We had to hurry.

  I headed to the left, and Joe followed close behind.

  A minute later we zoomed in on the bomber.

  The guy was wearing a black baggy sweatshirt. The hood was pulled up around his face, so there was no way we’d be able to recognize him.

  It looked like he was on the phone, but as soon as he saw us approach, he ran.

  “Stop,” I yelled, as if he would actually listen to me. “Get back here!”

  He was heading toward the other end of the parking lot.

  We chased him, but before we got close enough to ID him, he threw himself into his car—a beat-up silver hybrid.

  As he sped away I realized that now Joe and I were really stuck. There wasn’t a cop car in sight. Where was everyone?

  “Too bad we left our bikes behind,” Joe said.

  I turned around and looked at the long line of shiny sports cars behind us. “Well, we do have the next best thing.”

  “Huh?” asked Joe.

  “Follow me,” I said. I ran to the end of the line and opened up the door to the first convertible I saw. It just happened to be Brian Conrad’s dad’s BMW 507. And, by some stroke of luck, the keys were inside.

  “Really?” asked Joe.

  “I hate to do this, but it’s for a good cause,” I said as I got in and gunned the engine. “Why don’t you take a different one? I’m hoping we can cut him off.”

  Joe didn’t need to be asked twice. He ran past a few cars and hopped into the green Aston Martin. “I’ve been wanting to drive one of these ever since I saw my first James Bond movie,” he shouted. “Let’s get this sleazeball.”

  We revved up our engines and started to pull away. We didn’t make it very far, though, because Maynard jumped in front of our path and drew his gun.

  I screeched to a stop. “You move another inch and I’m shooting,” said Maynard.

  My jaw locked as I stared down the barrel of the gun. I wanted to argue, but for some reason I couldn’t find my voice.

  Joe started honking the horn. He leaned his head out the car window and yelled, “Dude, don’t shoot. We’ve got to go. Just trust us. This is an emergency.”

  When I finally snapped out of it, I started pleading with the guy too. “Seriously, Maynard. We’ll explain everything to you later.”

  “I thought there was something strange about you two,” Maynard said. He was clearly not willing to budge. “You guys asked too many questions. I should have known you had an ulterior motive. First Justin’s twin, and now you—if Henry were around to see this, he wouldn’t believe it.”

  Chief Malrova raced over. “Are you going after the bomber?” he asked me.

  “We sure are,” I said. “He took off a few minutes ago, but we can still catch him. If we can get out
of here, that is.”

  Malrova flashed his badge at Maynard. “I order you to let the boys borrow these cars.”

  “Okay,” said Maynard, lowering his gun. “I’m not going to argue with the cops.” He stepped out of our path, and we sped away.

  We didn’t have any trouble finding the bomber. The resort exit let out onto a one-way street, and the guy was stalled at a light, just half a mile away. But when he saw us approach, he sped through it, narrowly missing getting hit by a truck. As soon as it was safe, Joe and I ran the light too.

  We followed the bomber as he pulled onto the freeway. Soon we were all weaving in and out of cars.

  I stared at my speed gauge, watching as it quickly went from seventy, to eighty, to ninety, and even a hundred.

  The bomber quickly turned off the freeway. Joe and I did the same. We were speeding down a suburban street at close to a hundred miles an hour. And the Toyota was no match for the sports cars. We were practically on his tail.

  The desert sun beat down intensely, but the guy was still wearing his hood so I couldn’t ID him.

  Suddenly he veered off into the dirt.

  I didn’t know how these old cars would handle on the desert landscape, but I was about to find out. Yanking the steering wheel to the right, I followed.

  It was a bumpy, bone-rattling ride as I sped past cacti and boulders and tumbleweed. The suburban sprawl of Phoenix faded behind us. We were heading into nowhere. Miles and miles of desert stretched out before me.

  And I was so close to the bomber—that is, until my car started shaking even more violently than before. Next, I started seeing things kind of fuzzy. I blinked, not knowing what was up. Smoke was rising from the hood of the car, and the dials on the dashboard were spinning like crazy. Something was seriously wrong with the BMW.

  The car made a clanking, growling noise and then petered out to a stop.

  It must have overheated.

  As Joe sped past me, he turned his head and yelled, “You okay?” He started slowing down.

  “It’s just the car, but forget about me,” I shouted. “Go after the bomber!”

  Suddenly Joe’s car made a huge arc through the desert. A thin layer of dust rose up into the air. He was coming back for me.

  We didn’t have any time to spare, so I climbed to the hood of my car.

  Joe whipped by me and then pulled a fast 180. Soon he was racing toward me.

  When he was just a few feet away, I leaped from the hood of the BMW and landed in the Aston Martin.

  I guess he was going faster than I realized, because I ended up in the backseat.

  “Nice move,” Joe called over his shoulder.

  “Always works in the movies,” I said, as I quickly scrambled to the front seat of the car. “Let’s get this guy.”

  Joe shifted the car into third, fourth, and then fifth gear. Within moments we were right on the tail of the Toyota.

  The bomber veered left, catching us by surprise and throwing us off track. Suddenly he had the lead again.

  This chase could go on for hours. The desert was huge and sprawling. There were mountains in the distance, but for all I knew, they were hundreds of miles away. We were running out of time.

  Not good.

  Suddenly we heard a loud popping noise, and the Toyota slowed to a crawl.

  The guy had a flat! He stopped the car, leaped out, and made a run for it.

  Joe slammed on the brakes and we scrambled out.

  When I finally got close enough, I grabbed him. Joe pulled back his hood. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

  The person who was making the threatening phone calls? The one who was responsible for the bomb that was going to wipe the Billington Resort clear off the map?

  Ashley McGill.

  SUSPECT PROFILE

  Name: Ashley McGill

  Hometown: Riverside, California

  Physical description: 19 years old, 5’9”, blond hair, blue eyes.

  Occupation: college student in Wisconsin

  Background: Has lived all over, everywhere from Florida to France, Tokyo to Colorado.

  Suspicious behavior: She knew too much about the bomb for a regular wedding guest. She was always popping up at inconvenient times.

  Suspected of: Killing Henry Peterson with a car bomb and planting a second bomb that may blow up the Billington Resort.

  Possible motives: It can’t be just to get out of going to a boring wedding, so she must have some other problem with Beller.

  13

  Too Little, Too Late

  I was so stunned to find out the truth, I loosened my grip. She kicked me in the shins, elbowed Frank in his stomach, and then broke free.

  Frank and I started our chase after Ashley. It was the same desert scene, but now we were on foot. “Of all the suspects on our list, I can’t believe it didn’t occur to us to add Ashley McGill.”

  “It should have been obvious from the start,” said Frank. “She kept popping up at the most inconvenient times. Plus, she’s got some major beef against Beller’s environmental policies.”

  “True,” I said. “Though she probably wouldn’t use that terminology.”

  “Huh?” asked Frank.

  “If she’s so militant about the environment, I’ll bet she’s a vegetarian, too,” I replied.

  We were both sprinting now. Ashley was so close. I reached out to grab her, but she shot forward.

  Frank lunged, but missed her by a hair.

  Moments later she stumbled on a rock and we caught up to her. I managed to get her in a headlock. Frank pulled her hands behind her back and slapped on the handcuffs we’d borrowed from Chief Malrova earlier in the day.

  “Let me go,” Ashley cried, as she struggled to pull free.

  “Now why would we do that?” I asked.

  “Because Beller is the real criminal here,” said Ashley.

  “You mean he planted the bomb?” Frank asked. “Now I’m really confused.”

  “No,” Ashley replied. “I planted the bomb, but only because Beller is destroying the environment. He needs to be taught a lesson.”

  Oh boy, I thought. What a whack job. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

  “Of course,” she said.

  Frank loaded Ashley into the back of the Aston Mar tin and then slid inside after her. “You need to tell us where the bomb is,” he said. “This is important.”

  “I’m not talking,” said Ashley.

  “You’re already responsible for one death. Do you really want to have hundreds more on your conscience?” asked Frank.

  “Jake Beller is the one who should be worried about his conscience,” said Ashley. “He’s been buying up all this beautiful desert land in the name of corporate profits. Do you know how much wildlife he’s killed with his construction projects? Eagles have been displaced. Snakes have been run over by tractors. There are bats and jackrabbits and all sorts of insects that he’s ignoring. More than a quarter of our country’s frogs and toads live in Arizona, but do you think Beller cares?”

  “This is unbelievable,” I said, putting the car into gear and heading for the highway. “We’re talking about human beings here. How is killing Henry Peterson saving the animals?”

  “The first bomb was supposed to be a warning,” said Ashley. “Henry wasn’t supposed to be in the car.”

  “Try telling that to Henry,” said Frank. “Oh wait, you can’t—because you’ve already killed him!”

  “You guys are failing to see the bigger picture here,” said Ashley.

  What a lunatic! I glared at her in the rearview mirror. The more she tried to explain herself, the angrier I got.

  “It was supposed to be symbolic,” Ashley explained. “Those muscle cars use so much gas with their V-eight engines. They destroy the environment. It’s the same mentality. But like I said before, Henry wasn’t supposed to die. He shouldn’t have even been inside that car. They gave me his schedule. He was supposed to be in a meeting with hotel management at the other
end of the resort. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

  “He loved that car,” I said.

  “It’s a sad thing to love a machine,” said Ashley.

  “Don’t go moralizing on me,” I said. “You’re responsible for a man’s death.”

  “And hundreds more, too, if you don’t tell us where the bomb is,” Frank added.

  “Stop trying to scare me,” said Ashley. “I’m not falling for it. I know they’ll evacuate the resort. And then Beller’s wedding will be ruined. He doesn’t deserve any better. Trust me.”

  “Ashley, you don’t understand. They’re not evacuating. No one believes the bomb is real,” I insisted.

  “You’re bluffing,” said Ashley. “If I told you now, all I’d be saving is a bunch of horrible buildings. Buildings that never should have been there in the first place.”

  I checked my watch. It was already 2:00 p.m. and we’d barely made it to the freeway. Ashley obviously wasn’t able to realize the truth. We’d have to prove it to her. I stepped on the gas and leaned forward. Come on, car, I silently pleaded. Don’t fail me now.

  “Who are you working for?” asked Frank.

  “No one,” Ashley replied. She bit her bottom lip and glanced out the window.

  “You said ‘they’ gave you Henry’s schedule,” Frank pointed out. “We know you’re not alone in this, and at some point, we’re going to find out who your partner or manager is—so you may as well tell us now.”

  Ashley shook her head. Frank and I continued questioning her, but she didn’t say another word for the entire drive.

  Fifteen minutes later we were at the resort. The auction was still going strong. They’d sold about half the cars, and the buyers were bidding on an antique Porsche. We got out of the car and wove in and out of the crowd in search of Chief Malrova. When we finally found him, we handed Ashley over.

  “She’s part of some environmental terrorist group,” Frank explained. “But she won’t tell us which one.”

  “And she won’t tell us where the bomb is,” I added.

  Ashley blinked at the crowd. “What’s everyone doing here?” she asked. “Aren’t they scared?”

  I shook my head sadly. “I told you, Ashley. No one believes the bomb threat is real.”