The Ghostwriter Secret (16 page)

It was time to settle this once and for all.

“Mr. Bart,” said Steve, “where
is
the solar plexus?”

Bart smiled and pointed to his abdomen.

“Why didn't you just say stomach?” Dana asked.

“Because,” said Bart, “the simplest way to say things is seldom the most enjoyable.”

“Yeah, come on, Dana,” said Steve. “Solar plexus sounds completely ace.”

The trio moved over to the mouth of the passageway. Bart positioned himself on one side; Dana and Steve crouched on the other.

“Ready?” asked MacArthur Bart.

“Yeah,” said Steve.

“I don't know,” said Dana.

“Help!” shouted Bart. “Help! One of the boys is injured! He's bleeding!”

Steve heard footsteps and saw the walls of the passageway glow orange with the light of a flashlight. Someone was approaching.

J
ACK
A
NTRIM STEPPED
out of the passageway.

“What—” was all he managed to say before MacArthur Bart landed an uppercut to his chin. Antrim dropped his flashlight, reeled back, and put his fists up. “Scott! Get in here! They're trying to escape!”

Bart and Antrim moved into the center of the cave, punching and counterpunching, dodging and circling.

Another set of footfalls echoed.

“Let's come at him from both sides,” Dana said hurriedly. He repositioned himself on the other side of the passageway.

In the dim light of Antrim's flashlight, Steve saw the
second ghostwriter emerge into the room. Even in the dark, Steve recognized him: It was the doorman.

Dana screamed. The doorman turned toward Steve's chum. Steve panicked. Now that the brute's back was to Steve, how could he punch his solar plexus? Dana launched himself at the ghostwriter, and the man came stumbling back toward Steve, who was still crouching. First the doorman, then Dana, tripped over Steve and came crashing onto the cavern floor. There was a dull thump.

Steve reached for Antrim's flashlight and shone it on the pair of bodies. Dana turned back to the light, his eyes huge. The doorman wasn't moving. “He hit his head on a stalagmite,” Dana said.

“I think you mean a stalactite,” said Steve.

“No,” said Dana. “I mean a stalagmite.”

Steve thought about it for a second. Dana was right. Too bad. “Whatever,” Steve said.

“I think we sort of kayoed him,” Steve said.

“I think we totally kayoed him,” said Dana.

Steve stared at the man on the ground. Even though the doorman had been ready to fight them seconds earlier, and shooting at them a couple of days ago, Steve felt a little worried about him.

“Is he breathing?” Steve asked.

“I don't know,” said Dana.

Steve crouched down next to the man on the ground.

“What are you doing?” Dana asked.

“Checking his pulse,” Steve said. He saw the tattoo, “rage will always be my last refuge.” But Steve froze when he rolled up the man's sleeve. The tattoo continued.

“He's fine,” said Dana. “I can see him breathing.”

But Steve still stared at the man's arm. He remembered the ghostwriter from yesterday, staring down at his crossed arms. So this was how these thugs masqueraded as writers—their tattoos were permanent cheat sheets that helped them write a page from the Bailey Brothers on command.

Behind him, Steve heard a man groan and drop to the floor.

S
TEVE TURNED AND POINTED
the flashlight toward the sound. Antrim was on the ground, moaning softly. Bart, the sleeves of his sweater rolled up and his hands balled in fists, was still standing.

“Come on, boys,” said Bart. “Let's get out of here.”

The two boys followed the writer down the passageway and into the main chamber of the cave. A series of electric lamps lined the walls. Steve was dumbstruck. Four shiny sports cars were parked in the middle of the cavern. Ornately framed paintings, wrapped in plastic, leaned against a rock column. Marble statues stood next to stalagmites. Wooden crates were
everywhere. It looked like an underground bank vault.

“What's with all the treasure?” Dana asked.

“This must be where the B. Syndicate hides all their loot,” Steve replied. Something on a small card table in the middle of the chamber caught Steve's eye. There, next to a pile of magazines, was Steve's green backpack. He ran for it.

“Steve!” shouted Bart. “What are you doing? We need to get out of here.”

“My backpack!” Steve said.

“We don't have time,” said Bart.

“Just leave it,” Dana said.

But Steve kept running. He got to the table, slipped on a wet rock, picked himself up, and put on his backpack. Then he ran back to Bart and Dana.

“That was so dumb,” Dana said.

“I need my detective kit,” Steve replied.

“Never mind that,” said Bart. “I overheard the ghostwriters say there were two ways out of this cave.” He pointed to the right. A faint breeze came from that direction. “That way leads to the ocean. The other way leads to an opening up on the cliffs.”

“Let's go up,” Steve said.

Bart nodded. They worked their way toward the back of the chamber, which narrowed to a steeply sloping pathway. Soon the electric lamps ended. Steve
got out his flashlight and handed Antrim's to Bart.

Bart led the way, Dana was second, and Steve brought up the rear. He hoped he could run like that when he was Bart's age. He wished he could run like that now. Steve couldn't believe he was escaping from a crime syndicate after sort of rescuing his hero. As he jogged in the near dark, he played the past few days' events over in his mind. Like the Bailey Brothers would say, this had been a dilly of a case. Steve had never known what that meant, but he thought he did now.

After following the passageway up for what seemed like miles, Steve felt cool air on his face.

“We're getting near the opening,” Bart said.

And he was right. Soon Steve could make out the silhouettes of trees and the starry sky ahead.

And then they were outside again. They kept going for a few minutes and then paused for a rest. Steve, Dana, and MacArthur Bart paused by the trunk of a tall tree and caught their breath.

“We did it,” Bart said.

Dana was grinning.

Bart stroked his beard. “We'll rest here for a couple more minutes, then find our way to the road, which should be over that way. We'll try to find a ranger and get a ride back to San Francisco. Then we'll figure out how to take out this gang once and for all.”

That plan sounded great.

Steve reached into his backpack and pulled out a pen and the copy of
The Treasure on the Chinese Junk
Antrim had given him. “Mr. Bart,” Steve said, “now that we're out of there, would you do me a favor? Would you sign this book for me?”

“Steve,” said Dana, his smile gone, “I don't think now is the best time for this. We're still kind of escaping right now.”

“Those guys are all kayoed,” Steve said. “I can't stand thinking that this book is signed by a ghostwriter.”

MacArthur Bart laughed. “Sure, Steve.” Bart winked at Dana. “Don't worry, I sign fast.” He scribbled something and gave it back.

Steve studied the book in the moonlight.

Steve smiled.

Dana shook his head. “First the backpack, now this. It's like you want to get caught.”

Steve wheeled toward his friend. “For your information, going back for the backpack was important. The Nichols Diamond is in my backpack, okay?”

Dana's eyes grew large.

“What,” Steve said. “You think I'd be stupid enough to hide it in my room?”

Dana shook his head. He was looking past Steve.

Steve turned around.

MacArthur Bart was holding a gun.

“O
H, NO,” SAID
S
TEVE
. “No no no no no.”

“I'm afraid so, Steve,” said MacArthur Bart.

“So you're not MacArthur Bart!” said Dana.

Steve shook his head slowly. “No. He is.”

“Yes, I am,” said Bart. “You're figuring it out, aren't you, detective?”

“I'm not,” said Dana.

“This was all you,” said Steve.

“What?” asked Dana. “What's going on?”

Steve ignored him. “You made up this whole kidnapping business.” Bart nodded. Steve continued,
“We didn't just escape. That was all just a dance back there, a trick to get the diamond. You're the thief who broke into Fairview's mansion.”

Steve couldn't take his eyes off the gun in his face.

“Very good,” said Bart.

Steve put his hands over his eyes. “And I tipped you off to the plant in the drill.”

“You did?” Dana asked.

“He did,” Bart said. “In his weekly letter to me. I was dismayed to read that you'd cracked my scheme for smuggling the diamond out past Fairview's security system. Impressed, but dismayed. But I'm so glad you clued me in about the plant. You were so proud of yourself, Steve!”

Steve slouched.

“You lied to us!” said Dana. “You're not a writer! You're a crook.”

Bart turned. “I'm both,” he said. “The story I told you in the cave was true. Up to a point. I am a very private person. And I did write the Bailey Brothers books—all of them. And I did get writer's block. But that's where the truth ends.

“You see, I'd become accustomed to a certain lifestyle—nice food, exotic travel, et cetera, et cetera. You boys probably wouldn't understand.”

Steve hated it when people said that.

“And though the Bailey Brothers books were
successful, wildly successful, I'd need to keep writing them if I wanted to keep the lifestyle up. But like I said, I had bits and pieces of a story but couldn't finish a book.

“And that's when I had an idea. As a mystery writer I was rather uniquely skilled at devising clever crimes. Why not start committing some? Crimes for which I could never be caught.

“After years of creative despair I was inspired. My first idea was my most brilliant: I destroyed all records of my existence. That was a lot easier to do back then; a simple fire in a courthouse basement and you could make all traces of your identity vanish. Then I leaked the story about MacArthur Bart's never existing to the newspapers. The name was simply a pseudonym, the story went, used by ghostwriters who wrote the Bailey Brothers mysteries for a hundred dollars a book. I hired a bunch of cons to pose as ghostwriters—they also became the muscle in my organization.

“Of course, my publisher tried—and still tries—to keep the fact that I don't exist quiet. Kids like to think there's a real MacArthur Bart. But anyone who does a little digging finds out that I don't exist. And how can the police catch a man who doesn't exist?”

“So you're the one who tattooed the Bailey Brothers stories on the ghostwriters' arms,” Steve said.