The Genius Thieves

by Franklin W. Dixon

  "Hang on!" Frank shouted. He drove toward the building at top speed. The van lurched to the right as he swung left around the building. Cutting across the lawn, Frank headed straight for the gate.

  But by this time, Jed was outside on the road, past the gate. He had stopped his car and hopped out. As the van raced toward him, Jed grabbed the gate and swung it closed.

  "Look out, Frank! That's wrought iron!" Joe yelled.

  "I can't stop!" Frank shouted back.

  Chapter 11

  FRANK PRESSED ON the brakes. The van skidded to one side, then the other. Frank realized they were going to crash. In a split second, he yanked the steering wheel sharply to the right. The van veered away from the gate and onto the lawn. It ripped across the grass, straight toward a tall hedge.

  "Where are we going?" asked Joe in a panic.

  "He took the high road, and we'll take the low!" said Frank. The van crashed through hedge and onto a side street.

  "Much easier on the grillwork," said Frank as he drove toward the main road. "Now, which way did he go?"

  "Toward Kirkland, I think!" Joe said. The air filled with the smell of burning rubber as Frank stepped on the gas.

  They careened around a bend in the road. Frank eased up on the pedal. Then he moved his foot to gun the accelerator again—until he saw that he was about fifty feet from a line of cars stopped at a light.

  "Stop! Stop!" Joe screamed. Frank hit the brake and the brothers jerked forward. The van's tires left long, black lines as it headed straight for the last car.

  "Detour!" Frank said. He steered the van onto the shoulder of the road, where it came to a stop in the tall grass.

  "Hey, where'd you get your license — a department store?" one driver shouted back at them.

  The light ahead of the cars had turned green. Slowly the long line began to snake forward.

  "Look," said Joe. "There's Wilson, third from the back. Now we've got him."

  As if on cue, Jed's car pulled out of the line and onto the shoulder in front of Frank and Joe.

  Frank stepped on the accelerator—but the van wouldn't move.

  "We're stuck. The wheels are spinning!"

  "I'll push!" Joe replied. He hopped out of the van and braced himself against the back.

  After the second heave, the van edged out of the rut. Joe hopped in and they took off.

  The ride along the bumpy shoulder jostled the brothers. Far ahead of them, they could see Jed moving back onto the street.

  Frank pulled back on the road, right behind a silver-haired man in a dark green Porsche. "Come on, move it!" shouted Joe as he reached over and pressed the van's horn.

  "There's an easier way than that," said Frank. Before them, the road stretched out into a straightaway. Frank pulled into the left lane to pass the car. As he sped past, he glanced over at the man in the sports car.

  It was Mr. Rogers.

  "The plot thickens," Frank said. He floored the gas pedal and took off in a burst of speed. After he pulled in front, he checked the rear-view mirror. The sports car had speeded up and was now gaining on them.

  "Don't look now, but we've gone from being the chaser to the chasee," said Frank. He suddenly made a sharp left onto a side street. Joe's right shoulder banged into the door as the tires screamed.

  "Ouch!" Joe yelled.

  "Sorry about that," said Frank. He saw Rogers's car in the rear-view mirror as he swung right at the next block. Quickly he turned left, left, and right among the residential streets of Kirkland. The small side streets were pretty much deserted. Only one old brick building they passed was well lit up. Frank barreled on by it.

  All of a sudden the night air was pierced by a siren.

  "That was the police station, Frank!" Joe cried, slapping his forehead.

  A squad car pulled out of the station with its lights glaring. Frank pulled the van over to the curb. The car stopped behind him, and a police officer got out and slowly walked to the van.

  "I'm glad I let you drive," Joe said sarcastically.

  The officer looked into the van. "Testing out the streets, boys?" he said. "They work all right for you?"

  "Sorry, officer, I got carried away," Frank answered.

  "Maybe we can discuss this in the station house. You can leave your van here, and let it catch its breath."

  Frank and Joe followed the officer into the station house down the block. As they crossed the street, Mr. Rogers drove slowly by them, staring at Frank.

  The officer brought Frank and Joe into a drab but brightly lit room with five molded plastic chairs. "Have a seat, gentlemen," he said. "And I'll take your license and registration, please."

  While writing out the summons, the officer walked slowly back and forth. It seemed like hours before he finished.

  "Okay, Mr. Hardy," he said to Frank. "All I'm allowed to do is give you a speeding ticket. But I have a message for you—next time you pass through Kirkland, you better be extra careful, because I can make life very rough for you. Understood?"

  Frank nodded and took his ticket. The officer said, "Now I want you to give the keys to your friend here, who will drive you and your van very slowly out of town."

  Joe took the keys, trying to hold back a grin, and the brothers walked back out to the van.

  "So," said Joe as they climbed into the van, "you sure you feel safe with a 'stockcar racer' behind the wheel?"

  "Score one for you," said Frank. "Now let's get out of here."

  "Yes, sir," answered Joe. "And while I'm driving safely, you can tell me why that silver-haired guy was following us."

  Frank explained about Rogers as Joe pulled away from the station house.

  Joe drove carefully back toward Chartwell, going twenty-five miles an hour, stopping at yellow lights—and generally driving Frank crazy.

  "You're doing this on purpose, Joe—" Frank said as Joe slowed to fifteen miles an hour along the road by the river.

  "Shhh!" Joe said, interrupting. "What's going on over there?" They both heard a loud splashing noise by the boathouse. As they got closer, they could see the gleam of metal behind a hedge. Joe turned off the headlights and pulled over to the side of the road.

  They stepped out of the van and ran quietly across the street to the boathouse. By now they could see that the shining metal was a car, reflecting the light of a street lamp. Beyond it they could make out the silhouette of a person throwing a box into the river.

  They sneaked up to the car and immediately recognized it.

  "It's Jed's," whispered Frank. He looked inside to see a stack of cardboard boxes in the backseat.

  "Why is he trying to get rid of these boxes?" Joe asked. He stuck his head above the car to watch as Jed threw another box into the river. Then Jed turned to walk back to the car.

  "Oops," Joe said, ducking down. But it was too late. Jed stopped in his tracks. He looked left and right and then darted onto the dock and into an open side entrance of the darkened boathouse.

  Joe immediately ran after him. "Forget it," Frank called out. "You'll never find him in there. Besides, he has to come back to the car eventually."

  They opened the car door. The ceiling light shone on the boxes in the backseat. Joe reached in and ripped one open. Inside were a dozen pocket-size devices that looked like electronic beepers. On the side of each was a metal button.

  "What in the name of — " Joe picked one up and shook it. He pressed the button and put it up to his ear. No sound.

  "Let me try something," Frank said. He took the device and pressed the button, pointing it at the car's ceiling light.

  Dzzzzit! With a sputtering sound, the light flickered out.

  "I thought that might happen! You know what this is?" said Frank, his eyes glowing with recognition.

  Before Joe could answer, both of them were distracted by the sound of squealing brakes. Across the street, a sports car had stopped behind the van. A dark green Porsche.

  The door flew open, and Mr. Rogers stepped out. In the glow from th
e overhead light it was impossible to misread the expression on his face. He oozed anger. He slammed the door and stormed over to Frank and Joe's van and yanked the door open. Seeing nothing, he spun around and walked toward the river. "All right, Kenyon, I know you and your greasy buddy are around somewhere!"

  "Greasy?" said Joe. "Hey, where does he get off — "

  "Shhh!"

  Rogers jerked his head in Frank and Joe's direction. He reached into his breast pocket. Frank's body tensed as he watched Rogers pull out a shiny object.

  "It's a gun!" he whispered.

  Chapter 12

  "QUICK, OUT OF sight!" Frank said. Crouching low, he and Joe ran for the dock of the boathouse and crawled underneath it.

  A shot rang out as Rogers ran toward the boathouse. Frank and Joe heard a splash as the bullet sailed over the dock and into the water. Rogers cursed under his breath. The sound of muffled footsteps was all the brothers could hear for the next minute—and then there was total silence.

  Carefully, they positioned themselves so they could see out from under the dock.

  Rogers had found Jed's car and was examining the contents of the cardboard box.

  "He put his pistol away," whispered Frank.

  "Maybe he thinks those little electronic things are ray guns or something," said Joe.

  From within the boathouse came a crashing noise. Rogers ran toward it, jumped onto the dock, and found the open door.

  "Feeling a little clumsy tonight, Kenyon?" he snarled. Pulling a flashlight out of his pocket, he stepped inside.

  Dzzzzit! The flashlight flickered out.

  "These cheap dime-store pieces of trash!" he muttered to himself. He gave one last look into the boathouse, but obviously could make out nothing in the pitch blackness.

  Frank and Joe heard the crick, crick, crick of the dock's wooden planks as Rogers walked directly above them.

  Then, with a sigh of disgust, Rogers put the flashlight and the electronic device into his pocket and strode back to his car.

  As the car drove off, Frank and Joe climbed out from under the dock. "Jed short-circuited Rogers's flashlight, didn't he?" Joe said.

  "Right. He must have one of those little gadgets with him," answered Frank.

  Joe's voice was filled with excitement. "And those must be the things that — "

  He was interrupted by another loud crash from inside the boathouse. Frank and Joe turned toward the sound. A light went on inside. And out from the open door ran Jed Wilson, his face strained with fear.

  When he saw Frank and Joe, he turned and ran off the other side of the dock and along the river.

  Frank and Joe sprinted after him. In seconds Joe was right behind Jed. He dove through the air and grabbed Jed by the waist, pulling him to the ground in a perfect tackle. From out of Jed's pocket, one of the little devices fell to the ground.

  Frank ran up next to them and stood over Jed. He grabbed the device and showed it to Joe. "All right, Wilson," he said. "Something's fishy around here, and I'm not talking only about the boxes you threw in the river. Want to talk?"

  Jed's face was taut with anguish. "Okay, okay, I give up!" he blurted out. "Turn me in! I deserve it! Honestly, I didn't mean any harm—"

  "Whoa! Slow down," said Joe. "Maybe you should start at the beginning."

  "I should have known the minute I invented Electrojam I'd get into trouble. It was just for fun! I didn't realize that everyone would start short-circuiting other people's radios, TV sets, stereos — "

  "You mean those little gizmos — Electrojams— are what's blowing out all those box radios?" asked Joe.

  "Yes! I admit it," Jed said. "I invented them by mistake, but when I saw what they could do, I decided to sell a few of them through my company, ChipShape.

  "Usually I just sell software and computer games, but I thought I'd branch out with Electrojam. I thought it could be used for emergency shut-off switches, disarming electronic weapons.

  And—once in a while—for sabotaging radios. But I never thought it would get out of hand like that!"

  "Could they jam a computer?" Frank asked. Jed nodded. And Frank looked at his brother and smiled. A tie-in.

  "Finally, I went to all of my customers and told them I was recalling the Electrojams for a defective part. But really I was planning to destroy them all!"

  "Why did you run away from us?" Joe asked.

  "Well, I recognized Frank when he came here. And I thought it was only a matter of time before he figured out who I was and what my connection was to the sabotaged radios. When I saw you two tonight, I could tell you were coming after me to turn me in to the school authorities. So I figured the river was the quickest place to dump my Electrojammers. You have to understand how much it means to my parents that I'm at Chartwell — "

  "We're not going to turn you in," Frank said.

  "You're not?" Jed looked relieved, but puzzled. "Then why are you chasing me?"

  Frank thought quickly. "To protect you from the man we just saw. He's my roommate's father, and he works for the Bayport Bank and Trust. I overheard him say that he wanted to trail you."

  Joe was getting the idea. "Seems he suspects something about a large withdrawal from your account."

  Jed thought for a minute and then nodded his head. "Yes, there was something funny on my last statement. It showed that twenty-five thousand dollars was put in and taken out on the same day. I just thought it was a bank error." He smiled. "I wish my company did that much business in a day."

  "You have no idea where the money could have gone?" Joe asked.

  "Believe me," Jed said. "If I'd had that much, I'd have held on to it!"

  Frank and Joe looked at each other. Jed seemed sincere. Could he have been framed?

  "Hey - y - y, wait a minute," Jed said, picking himself up from the ground. "You guys are after that money, aren't you?"

  "What?" asked Joe. He and Frank exchanged baffled looks.

  "Yeah, you want to track down a quick twenty-five thousand dollars," he said. "What are you going to do if you can't, steal my idea? Try to get a patent? Oh, I've got your number — "

  "Easy, Jed," Frank said. He and Joe hadn't expected that. "You've got this wrong — "

  "Prove it," Jed answered, "I dare you."

  "We're out of here," Joe muttered to Frank. "Uh, listen, Jed," he said, backing away. "We've enjoyed meeting you, but we can't stay and talk. Maybe some other time — "

  With that, Frank and Joe turned to jog back to the van. "Dad's going to laugh when I tell him about this one," Joe muttered as they climbed in.

  Jed stood by the river, hurling insults at them as they drove away.

  The next day Frank mulled over the scene with Jed on his way to English class. He was so lost in thought that he walked right by Sarah.

  "Hey, why the cold shoulder?" she asked.

  "Oh, sorry, Sarah," said Frank. "Guess I'm just tense about getting my exam back today. I still think I blew it."

  Sarah laughed. "Something tells me you're in for a surprise," she said.

  They sat down in class, and immediately Mr. Osborn started handing out the papers.

  "Not bad, most of you," he said as he got to Brad's desk. Out of the corner of his eye, Frank could see Brad's grade: C + . Brad seemed pleased.

  "Mr. Pierce — " Osborn continued, "Miss Waterbury — " He handed Sarah her paper. A bright red A - was written at the top. Frank breathed a sigh of relief, realizing his must be close to the same grade.

  Sarah turned around and gave Frank a thumbs-up sign. Frank smiled back. Before long Mr. Osborn called out Frank's name and handed over his exam. Frank snatched it eagerly and looked at it. His face fell when he saw the grade.

  D-.

  He couldn't understand how it happened. He knew his answers were the same as Sarah's. Bewildered, he glanced through the exam. It was full of red marks. He read what he had written— and suddenly it all became clear.

  All the answers were different from the ones he remembered, and the
handwriting wasn't quite right. Someone had forged his exam and switched it with the real one.

  At the end of the exam was a note: "Frank, I expected more from you. Dean Castigan has asked that you see him in his office at the end of the school-day — Mr. Osborn."

  After class, Frank went up to Mr. Osborn. "I didn't write these answers, Mr. Osborn," he said. "I think someone is playing a trick. This looks like my handwriting, but I swear it's not! Someone substituted this test for mine. Please let me take the exam over."

  Mr. Osborn looked at Frank and said, "We might be able to work something out, Frank, but the test has to count. And I'd be careful about making a serious charge like forgery. You're obviously very upset, but I can't do much about it."

  Frank stormed into the hallway, where Sarah was waiting. "What happened?" she asked.

  "Someone wants me out of Chartwell," Frank said angrily. "And I don't know who."

  The rest of the day, he couldn't concentrate in his classes. At the end of last period, he marched down to Mr. Castigan's office.

  "Have a seat," Mr. Castigan said gravely. "I need to have a talk with you. You know, you haven't exactly gotten off to a good start at Chartwell."

  "Mr. Castigan, my English exam was forged. None of the answers matched the ones I put on the exam. And the handwriting wasn't mine."

  Castigan began pacing the floor. "Frank, I have your file here. Let's look at your admissions essay." He pulled out a piece of paper from Frank's admissions file, which was on his desk. Next to it he held up the English exam. "It looks like the same handwriting to me."

  "I know. It's a very good forgery. But you've got to believe me!"

  "I wish I could, Frank. But I can't ignore what I've seen this week. First it was the episode in the file room, and then the fire in your dorm room. I told the administration not to suspend you, just to keep a close eye on you—because I thought you had potential. But now even your schoolwork is suffering."

  "I swear to you, Mr. Castigan — "

  "Swearing won't be necessary," Castigan said. He looked directly into Frank's eyes, scowling.

  "Claiming forgery is the oldest trick in the book, Frank. You know, students have been expelled from Chartwell before. Don't make it worse for yourself. You are definitely on thin ice."