Deception on the Set (9 page)

“Those were a bunch of can poppers,” he explained. “They're basically devices that pop open small propane tanks. We added some more spark hits to ignite the propane. Normally, they're very safe.”

“So how could someone mess that up?” I asked.

“I suppose someone could've rewired everything to go at once,” he suggested. “It wouldn't be difficult, but you'd have to know what to look for.”

“Like someone in special effects?” I asked.

Bob raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, but all my guys were with me at the time, manning fire extinguishers. I was by the director, triggering the fires and explosion.”

“Who else would know what to do?” I asked.

“Well, anyone who has worked in special effects before,” he said.

Oh boy. That put us back to cross-checking the crew list with the Internet. I wasn't looking forward to that again.

“The stunt department would be familiar with the setup,” he added. “But they pulled out days ago. And frankly, I'm thinking about doing the same. This picture has too many wild cards involved to suit me.”

I thanked him and headed back to the makeup trailer to meet Frank, who would head there as soon as he could break away from Chelsea. As I walked, I mulled the clues over in my mind.

The first accident took place during a stunt. The second accident was a sabotaged set, which anyone could have figured out. But the third involved special effects. According to Bob, any stunt performer would be familiar enough with pyrotechnics to be able to rewire them. That covered the knowledge needed for two of the three accidents. The stunt team had quit, but there was still one stunt performer left on the show—or former stunt performer: the director, Josh Biehn.

Something Aunt Trudy had mentioned over breakfast stuck out in my mind. She said the accidents were probably
some sort of publicity stunt. And a new director could use all the publicity he could get for his first film.

When I arrived at the trailer, I found Meredith and her team busy creating more zombie and body parts. It seemed that there was never any downtime for their department. Frank was already there.

“Any luck with Chelsea?” I asked.

“She was out shopping with her assistant all day. And still thinks her agent hired us.” Frank shook his head. “She's thrilled but realizes that I can't talk about it. There were a lot of winks and the use of the phrase ‘need-to-know basis.' ”

I told him about what I'd learned from Bob as well as my suspicions about Josh.

“That makes a lot of sense,” he admitted. “And he could've hired a couple of guys to do it. But it doesn't explain the use of the Hardy masks.”

“I've been thinking about that,” I said. “We've been seen around the set a lot, so the saboteurs probably used the masks so that they would blend in, right?”

“Yeah,” said Frank.

“And if they ever got busted and had to get away, all they'd have to do is dump the masks and overalls,” I explained. “Then they could just blend into the crew.”

Frank nodded and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a call sheet. “Well, we can ask him for sure when we catch him in the act. When's the next sabotage-worthy scene?”

I looked over his shoulder and read what was scheduled
for today. It didn't give much in the way of description, but it did list the scene numbers. I opened my backpack and pulled out our copy of the movie script. I thumbed through it, looking for scene numbers. Each scene in the movie script had a header, but no numbers.

“These aren't supposed to be page numbers, are they?” I asked.

“Hey, Meredith,” said Frank. “Where are the scene numbers in a script?”

Meredith came over and glanced at the script. “Oh, that must be an early script,” she said. “When you write a script, you don't number the scenes. The scenes get numbered after a script goes into production. That's called a shooting script.”

Frank dug into his backpack and pulled out a script. “I still have the copy Chelsea gave me to run lines with earlier.”

He opened it, and sure enough, each scene had a header and a number. We compared the numbers with the shooting schedule for the day. Each scene for the day seemed pretty simple. They took place in abandoned buildings and mainly just had dialogue. No stunts or special effects.

Frank pointed to the bottom of the call sheet. “They give you a preview of tomorrow's schedule here.” He pointed to a row of scene numbers and descriptions. It also listed what departments would be needed.

I scanned through the scene numbers and thumbed through the production script. I quickly found what we were looking for.

“Tomorrow they're shooting that big scene in the airplane hangar,” I noted.

“Oh yeah,” said Frank. “That's the one where Chelsea's character flips that armored car.”

“And she survives?” I raised both hands. “Because she was a zombie the entire time.”

“See, I told you it made sense,” Frank said. “Either way, that stunt is first up in the morning.”

I scanned the call sheet. “It says here that Josh will be the stunt driver.” I looked up and shook my head. “How could he play Chelsea's character?”

“I can show you,” said Meredith.

She opened a cabinet and carefully pulled out a Chelsea mask. Just like the Frank and Joe masks, it had a full head of hair and everything. I have to admit, it was cool but kind of creepy.

Frank and I looked at each other. “So, stunt performers wear these kinds of masks?”

“All the time,” said Meredith. “In fact, Josh was very interested when we made this particular mask. He seemed to know the process, even.” She shook her head and left the room.

“Well, if they shoot that stunt first thing in the morning,” I whispered, “if I were a saboteur, I'd go out there tonight.”

I shoved the shooting script into my backpack just as Meredith returned. “You really should have Josh sign that early script,” she suggested, pointing to the script still in my
hand. “If this movie actually gets finished, it could be a collector's item.”

I smiled at Frank. “Wouldn't be a bad idea,” I whispered, pointing to the director's name on the cover page. “Think of how much more it'll be worth if he's arrested for sabotaging his own movie.”

Frank looked at the cover page, and his eyes widened. “I don't think he's going to be arrested,” he said. “Because he's not our guy. Look.”

He pointed to the cover page. When I saw what was written on it, my eyes widened.

“So how do you want to play this?” I asked Frank.

Frank smiled. “I think I have an idea,” he replied. “It's going to take careful planning, impeccable timing, and a few special effects of our own.”

“Copy that,” I said.

“Meredith, can you make up a few Frank and Joe Hardy masks for us?” Frank asked.

Meredith smiled. “Sure. If you'll help.”

“Deal.” Frank pointed to me. “Call Eric, Hector, and Amanda. See if they want to play a part in
our
production.”

O
KAY, THIS IS REALLY FREAKY,”
Joe said with a muffled voice.

“You're telling me,” I replied.

At that moment, looking at my brother was one of the most surreal moments of my life. It was as if I was looking into a mirror, or at least a carnival mirror. Joe wore a Frank Hardy mask. The face was expressionless and seemed a little fake, of course, but every detail was perfect, right down to the chicken pox scar by my hairline. It was so detailed because it was pulled from a mold made of my life cast this afternoon. I knew Joe probably felt the same way, because I was wearing a Joe Hardy mask. We looked at each other, at ourselves, both dressed in identical brown overalls, also on loan from the makeup department.

“If I were in therapy, this would be worth two, maybe three entire sessions,” said Joe.

We crouched behind a large cart loaded with light stands and gazed at the dark airplane hangar. Apparently, the Bayport Airport had rented out the unused hangar to the production company. There were no planes, but the hanger was full of equipment, sets, and props for tomorrow's shoot. Two vehicles were parked in the center of the large structure: a beat-up pickup truck and an armored car. Both would be featured in scenes bright and early tomorrow morning. If the movie's saboteurs were going to hit something, it would be one or both of those vehicles. Mr. Kavner had given us keys to the hangar so we could stake it out and wait for the culprits.

Joe and I waited an hour or so before trying on the masks. Since they'd been created that day, Meredith had instructed us to wait until the last moment. It's good that we hadn't had them on the entire time, because they were hot, hard to breathe through, and even harder to see through.

Luckily, I could still make out all the hangar's exits. There was the giant main door, big enough for planes to pull through, which we had locked down first thing. And there were also four small side doors. A set of metal stairs led up the back wall to a suspended office with large glass windows.

We didn't have to wait long. Shortly after nightfall, a side
door opened and . . .
we
walked through. The other Frank and Joe walked to the center of the hangar, split up, and headed for both vehicles.

“Everything else in place?” I asked.

Although I saw my own face staring blankly back at me, I could hear a smile in Joe's voice. “Oh yeah.”

“Go for it,” I instructed.

Joe kept low as he jogged toward the side door, the same one that the other Frank and Joe had just entered through. Next to the door was a large metal breaker box. Once he had covered the distance, he grabbed the handle on the side of the box and pushed it up.

CLACK!

The hangar's lights blazed to life.

“Okay, you two,” Joe yelled. “Give it up. The real Hardy boys have you surrounded!”

The two crooks scrambled out from under the cars and started toward the door from which they'd entered. They spotted Joe (or me) blocking the exit, then split up. The one dressed as Joe darted for the door on the next wall. It looked like an easy escape.

When he was a few yards away, the door swung open and Joe stepped into the light. At least, it looked like Joe. It was really our friend Amanda wearing a Joe mask and overalls. The crook skidded to a stop, turned, and sprinted across the hangar for the opposite door.

Meanwhile, the taller crook, the one wearing my face,
dashed for the next closest door. Before he was twenty yards away, it opened and “I” stepped into the light. But it was really Hector wearing a Frank Hardy mask. The crook slid to a stop and began backing away.

That was my cue. I sprang from my hiding place and ran toward the crook in my mask. When I was close, I veered away and jogged toward the metal stairs on the back wall.

“This way!” I said, and beckoned for him to follow.

I didn't have to look back to know that our plan was working. I could hear the saboteur's footsteps close behind. Since I wore my brother's mask and the crook wore my mask, Joe and I had hoped that the saboteur would think that I was his partner in crime. This way, I could lure him away from the others. I clanked up the metal steps two at a time. By now, the other crook would have found the final exit blocked by Eric, wearing my mask. The Hardy boys really did have him surrounded.

I reached the landing and threw open the office door. The abandoned room was littered with broken office furniture and scraps of paper. Dim fluorescent bulbs flickered above, casting the scene in fractured light. Brighter light streamed through the large plate-glass windows overlooking the hangar.

The crook's footsteps were close, so I stepped aside behind the open door. Once the figure tore through the
doorway, I slammed the door shut and locked the dead bolt.

The other me glanced around the room. “Where to now?” he demanded in a muffled voice.

“How about jail?” I asked as I removed my Joe mask.

Police sirens wailed in the distance, making the criminal search the room frantically for an escape route. I knew there wasn't one. Joe and I had scouted out the entire hangar beforehand. Everything was going perfectly according to plan.

The other me picked up a broken chair and raised it over his head. He stepped forward. I raised my arms, bracing for the attack. But instead of striking me, the crook threw the chair at the window.

CRASH!

The glass shattered and he dove out of the office.

“This wasn't part of the plan,” I muttered as I ran toward the window.

I expected to see the figure fall to the hangar floor below, but instead he shuffled across a thin metal catwalk. It was made of wire mesh and extended all the way across the hangar. The catwalk was suspended by rows of thin cables and ended just under a bunch of small windows. So there was an escape route after all.

“This is crazy,” I mumbled as I shimmied out after him.

The catwalk was so narrow that the crook couldn't run,
but he had a good lead on me. I reached out and grabbed the thin cables as I moved farther and farther out over the open hangar. Every step seemed to make the thing wobble.

When the other me was halfway across the hangar, he turned back. “Leave me alone,” he growled. Then he grabbed two cables and swung his hips.

The catwalk swayed beneath me. My right foot slipped, and I gasped as I struggled to hold on to one of the cables. The hangar below blurred as my foot dangled into space. I tightened my lips and pulled myself back up. Once both feet were planted, I continued to move toward the saboteur.

The crook didn't budge. Instead he stared at me as if he couldn't believe I was still following him. The police sirens were deafening as red and blue lights streaked across the hangar windows.