High-Speed Showdown (7 page)

He twisted his head to look over his shoulder. “Joe?” he called. “Are you okay?”

Joe was on his knees, clutching the chrome railing. He managed a grin and called back, “Sure. I love water rides!”

Sleuth
came to a halt and began to rock from side to side in the swell. From behind him, Frank heard the sudden racket of a big outboard motor. When he turned to look, Connie had scrambled back into the boat, and she and Angelo were speeding away. There was already fifty yards of open water between
Sleuth
and the big black inflatable, and the gap was widening fast.

“Are we going after them?” Joe asked.

Frank thought for a moment. “I don't think so,” he said. “We know where to find them, after all. And I'm very curious to find out what they were up to out here. They weren't scouting for a spot to watch the races from, that's for sure!”

“They were obviously monkeying with the marker buoy,” Joe told him. “Let's have a look.”

Frank steered the boat in a wide circle that brought them to just windward of the yellow buoy, then hurried to the railing as the boat drifted down to it. Leaning over the side, he grabbed the buoy and lifted it out of the water. A length of narrow cable came with it.

“Joe, look at this!” Frank said excitedly, after scanning the cable.

“There's a nick in it, just below the buoy,” Joe said after a moment. “It looks as if somebody tried to cut the cable.”

“Or was interrupted in the middle of cutting it,” Frank said. “Care to guess who?”

Joe shook his head. “That's a no-brainer. I prefer challenges. We'd better go back and tell the race officials about this.”

Frank kept the engine at full revs on the way back. The noise kept him from talking to Joe, but it didn't keep him from thinking. They couldn't accuse Connie and Angelo of the sabotage. They hadn't actually seen the two cutting the cable. But still, he and Joe could alert Magnusson, then let Connie know that she and her friends were being closely watched. If that brought their sabotage to a halt, fine. And if it didn't, he and Joe would find a way to get the evidence they needed.

As they neared Bayport, they passed more and more boats. A couple of miles from harbor, Frank saw a cabin cruiser headed the other way that had a big Official sign taped to its side. He slowed down and gave Joe a questioning look.

“That must be one of the check boats getting on station for this afternoon's time trials,” Joe said, after a look at his watch.

“I forgot all about them,” Frank confessed. “I hope we don't have any trouble finding Magnusson. We've got to warn him about Connie.”

They docked
Sleuth
in its usual spot, double-checked
the lines, and walked quickly toward the exit from the marina. They were almost to the gate when Frank saw Dave Hayman and Barry Batten coming in their direction. Their bright orange jumpsuits were splotched all over with oil stains.

“What happened to you guys?” Joe asked Dave.

“A burst engine seal,” Dave told him. “We'd just fired up the engines when it happened. If it had happened while we were under way, we might have burnt out the engine. As it is, it's just messy. We were pretty lucky, I guess.”

Frank glanced over at Joe and raised one eyebrow. Another “accident”?

“Lucky?” Barry said, frowning. “There's nothing lucky about this meet. It's jinxed. I've got half a mind to pull out of it.”

A look of alarm crossed Dave's face. Frank wasn't surprised. If Barry carried out his threat to withdraw from the race, there went Dave's big break.

“Hey, come on, Barry, accidents happen,” Dave said soothingly. “Let's go get cleaned up and get ready for the time trials. You watch—we're going to blow the doors off the competition.”

“Huh,” Barry grunted, and walked away.

Frank asked, “Have you seen Gerald Magnusson?”

“Yeah, about fifteen minutes ago,” Dave replied. “He and a bunch of VIPs were on their way to board the judges' boat. It's that big motor yacht
that's tied up at the end of the dock. They're having a buffet lunch on board before the time trials start.”

“We'd better try to catch him,” Frank told Joe.

“Right,” Joe replied. “But, Dave? Just one thing—whatever happened with that guy Chuck, the one who got sick? Is he okay?”

Dave looked down at the ground. “Oh, he's a lot better today,” he said. “But he won't be in any shape to race for a while. If we turn in a good time this afternoon, Barry's promised to let me be his throttleman for the next few meets. I'd better go. He doesn't like to be kept waiting.”

Frank looked around. Barry was standing near the gate with his hands on his hips. Dave ran to join him. The two crossed the street, with Dave making obvious gestures of apology.

“I don't envy Dave,” Joe said, as he and Frank turned and walked out the dock. “I know he's getting something he wants a lot, but it looks to me like he's paying a big price for it.”

“I know,” Frank said. “I wonder what he's so nervous about. Just the strain of keeping Barry happy? Or is it something more—”

A gruff voice broke in. “Hold it right there. Where do you kids think you're going?”

Frank looked up in surprise. The man who was blocking their way was built like a piano mover, with a barrel chest and a belly that overhung his belt. Over one pocket of his dark green shirt was a
sewn-on patch that read Newcastle Trucking. Over the other was embroidered the name Skip.

“What's it to you?” Joe replied, irritated. “We've got official passes. See?” Joe held up the pass Magnusson had given him.

“Everybody and his uncle has official passes around here,” Skip said, not even sparing a glance at the piece of pasteboard. “Pass or no pass, you keep your distance from that boat, get it?”

He pointed to the slip on his left. The boat was dark green, the same shade as the man's uniform. Its twin canopies looked as if they'd been lifted from a pair of F-16s. The only decorations were the boat's number, D-19, and the words
Newcastle Trucking
.

“Nice-looking boat,” Frank said. “Pretty fast, too, huh?”

“Never mind whether it's fast or not,” the man growled. “The boss doesn't want anybody hanging around here, okay? Now move it, before I decide to move it for you.”

“I guess your boss just bought the marina, right?” Joe replied. “Funny, there wasn't anything in the paper about it.”

Skip bristled. “Listen, wise guy—” he began.

Frank tugged at Joe's arm and said, “Come on, Joe. We've got more urgent things to do than hang around talking to this . . . friendly gentleman.”

As the two Hardys walked away, Frank looked over his shoulder and called cheerfully, “Have a
nice day!” He wished he could have gotten a snapshot of the guy's expression. It would have made a great Halloween card.

They hadn't gone more than a few yards farther when Joe said, “Um—Frank? Guess what. No yacht.”

Joe was right. The docking space at the end was vacant. “They must be having their VIP lunch out on the water,” Frank guessed. “Lucky them. I guess warning Magnusson will have to wait. Let's hope that the swim Connie took will scare her into giving up her plans, whatever they are.”

They turned around just in time to see Dennis walking toward them. There was a bounce in his step, and a smile peeked through his beard.

“Hey, guys,” he said. “Aren't you planning to watch the time trials?”

“Sure, but I'm still not too clear what they're for,” Joe confessed.

Dennis's smile widened. “I'm not surprised. This meet
is
pretty complicated, what with the different classes and different flights in each race. But let's say we forget about the small fry and just pay attention to the big boats. There are too many for them all to race safely at the same time. So the race committee decided to narrow down the field, from eleven boats to just six.”

“How?” Frank asked.

“A couple of ways,” Dennis replied. “The fastest boat in today's trials is automatically in, at pole
position. Then there are two elimination heats. The first two boats in each of them get a spot in Saturday's race.”

“That's just five entries,” Joe pointed out.

“Good counting,” Dennis said with a grin. “The boats that came in third and fourth in each elimination heat get to run in the consolation heat. And the top boat in
that
one is in the big race, too.”

After a moment, he added, “Not that that's much consolation. Racing is tough on a boat. After today's run, then the elimination races, the consolation winner is likely to be pretty battered.”

“In other words,” Frank said, “the fastest boat in the time trials doesn't race in the eliminations, and that gives it an automatic advantage in the big race on Saturday.”

“You got it,” Dennis replied. “Wouldn't you know I had the rotten luck to draw the number one spot for the time trials.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Joe asked.

Dennis made a face. “Believe it. What you want to do is go just fast enough to beat the others, but without straining your engines. But if you don't know how fast the others go, because they haven't gone yet . . . well, you get the idea.

“I'd better get moving,” he continued. “Hey, why don't you bring your boat around and follow me out? That way you'll get a good spot to watch.”

“Great!” Frank said. “We'll be right back.”

He and Joe hurried to
Sleuth
and got under way. They reached the other side of the marina just as the sharklike shape of
Adelita
nosed out of its slip, moving barely faster than a walk. Frank circled around and came onto a course parallel to the other boat. Dennis waved one hand in a circle, then pointed toward open water. A V of white water began to form under the bow as
Adelita
picked up speed. Frank adjusted his throttle to keep pace with Dennis. He sat back and smiled as the breeze ruffled his hair.

They were coming abreast of the harbor mouth when Joe let out a startled shout. Frank looked around. What was wrong?

Just at that moment, a gigantic ball of orange flame surged up from the stern of Dennis's boat.

9 Racing the Clock

The flames billowed up from
Adelita'
s engine compartment, topped by a growing column of black smoke. For one moment Joe was too startled to react. Then he lunged forward and grabbed
Sleuth
'
s
fire extinguisher from its bracket on the forward bulkhead.

“Pull alongside!” he shouted to Frank. As the distance between the two boats narrowed, Joe shifted the extinguisher to his left hand and picked up a boat hook. The instant he was close enough for the long pole to reach, he hooked the other boat's gunwale, pulled the two craft closer together, and leaped across the foaming gap onto the deck of the racing boat.

Miguel had already managed to unlatch the
cover of the engine compartment. He used a long-handled wrench to raise it a few inches, while Dennis sprayed foam through the opening. Joe pointed the horn of his extinguisher at the opening, too, and pressed the thumb lever. The hiss of the two extinguishers was even louder than the angry rumble of the fire. The color of the smoke shifted to white, and suddenly the flames vanished.

Joe and Dennis continued to spray the engines with foam for another thirty seconds or so. Then, as if on signal, they both stopped at the same moment. The only sound was the slap of the waves on the side of the boat and the muffled putt-putt from
Sleuth's
idling motor.

“Whew!” Dennis said, wiping his forehead. “That was nasty. Thanks for your help, Joe.”

“I think we skip the time trials,” Miguel observed.

“I think you're right,” Dennis said in a choked voice.

Joe asked, “Does that mean you're out of the race?”

Dennis shrugged and continued to stare down at the engines. “It depends on how much damage was done. If we can get the engines back in shape fast enough, we can still run in one of the elimination heats tomorrow and get a spot that way.”

“What happened?” Joe continued.

“I'd like to know the answer to that one myself,” Dennis replied. “You think you guys could give us a tow back to the dock?”

Joe swallowed. He was ready to try, and he knew Frank would be, too. But taking a forty-foot boat under tow in a crowded harbor was no job for casual boaters. Luckily, before he had to answer Dennis's request, a tugboat approached. Its captain had seen the smoke and offered to help. Miguel scrambled up to
Adelita
's bow, caught the towline, and fastened it securely to the bow cleat. Then he raised his clasped hands over his head to signal to the tugboat crew that the tow was securely attached.

The note of the other boat's powerful diesels rose in pitch. The thick rope came dripping out of the water and straightened out. For a long moment, nothing seemed to happen. Joe realized that the line must be stretching. Would it hold? Then
Adelita
started to move.

Joe looked around. Frank was following at a safe distance. He caught Joe's glance and waved. Now that the emergency was past, Joe began to wonder. Had the fire been an accident? Or was it part of a real and increasingly dangerous plan to wreck the regatta?

Once back at the dock, Joe helped Dennis and Miguel maneuver
Adelita
into its slip. Frank tied up
Sleuth
nearby and joined them, just as a blond guy in white coveralls came running up.

“Dennis!” he exclaimed. “I heard what happened. Are you two okay?”

“We're fine,” Dennis replied. “I'm not so sure about the engines, though. Joe, Frank—meet Pavel, one terrific mechanic.”

The Hardys said hi to Pavel, who nodded briefly and went immediately to the boat's engine compartment. Pulling a small, powerful flashlight from a side pocket, he shone the beam on the soot-blackened engines.