Read The Great Airport Mystery Online
Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
The Great Airport Mystery (5 page)
The Hardys said they were certain that, somehow, information had leaked out as to their real reasons for working in the plant. He agreed that it might be too dangerous for them to continue their undercover work there.
“I'm disturbed to hear about Art Rodax's conduct,” Mr. Allen declared. “I won't have a man of his character working for my company!”
“I suggest you say nothing to him,” Frank urged. “Every one of your employees is a suspect at present. If Rodax is fired, it may spoil our chances of getting to the bottom of the platinum thefts.”
Frank also pointed out that it would be unwise for Joe and himself to resign suddenly from their jobs. This might make it appear that their investigation had uncovered some clues and would put whoever was involved in the thefts doubly on guard.
“Then what will you do?” Mr. Allen asked.
“We'll get ourselves fired,” said Frank.
“How?” his brother questioned.
“From the beginning, Rodax has resented our being hired,” Frank said. “Maybe it's because he's mixed up in the racket, and he knows about us. Anyhow, I'm willing to bet he wouldn't need much of an excuse to fire us.”
Frank glanced at his wrist watch. “You know how fussy he is about having us report for work twenty minutes early. Well, we're now nearly an hour late. That should do it.”
After telling Mr. Allen that they would keep him posted on any new developments in the case, the young detectives went off to the messenger department. When they came face to face with Rodax, Frank could see that his plan was working out even better than he had expected.
“Do you know what time it is!” shouted Rodax. Although he seemed furious, the boys could sense that he was actually pleased with the situation.
“We couldn't get here any earlier,” said Joe.
“You won't have to worry about that any more!” Rodax bellowed. “You're fired!”
The boys pretended to be angry and concerned. “We'll report this to the main office!” Frank blazed.
“Go ahead!” Rodax yelled. “See how far that will get you!” He turned and stalked off with a self-satisfied air.
The boys left the factory and started for the airfield. On the way they discussed Rodax briefly.
“I wonder how pleased old sour face would be,” Joe remarked, “if he realized he'd played right into our hands!”
A few minutes later the Hardys were walking toward a small frame building. A sign reading “Ace Air Service” spanned its entire width along the roof. Another, smaller sign, “Office & Operations,” hung above the doorway. On the aircraft parking ramp the boys saw three single-engine and two multiengine aircraft bearing the firm's name. As they entered the building, a voice called to them:
“Frank and Joe Hardy?”
The boys turned to see a tall, lean man walking toward them. He wore a tan cloth jacket and sunglasses with green-tinted lenses. He extended his hand in greeting.
“I'm Randy Watson,” he said. “I fly for Ace Air Service. I have a plane all set.” The pilot added he had often flown their father on trips. “I've heard a lot about you fellows,” he added, smiling. “Are you on a case, or just going on a sightseeing ride?”
Before answering, Frank walked over to a large aeronautical chart attached to the wall. With his finger he circled an area, colored in shades of light green and brown, northwest of Bayport.
“We want to take some aerial photographs in this locale,” he said. “Joe and I are sure we spotted an ex-convict there. We're curious to know what he's up to.”
Randy stepped close to the chart and estimated the distance between Bayport and the area Frank had indicated.
“That's not far by air,” he observed. “We can use one of the single-engine ships.”
“We'd like to reach the area about noon,” said Frank.
The pilot checked his wrist watch. “That means we'll have to take off within the next ten or fifteen minutes.”
Joe hurried to the airport restaurant to order sandwiches and milk for their lunch, while Frank returned to the brothers' car to pick up the aerial camera and films. The boys reached the flight line just as Randy was completing a preflight check of the aircraft. In a few minutes they were strapped in their seats and taxiing toward the active runway.
The pilot remarked, “Because of the direction of the wind, that runway is the only one I can use to head the plane into the wind.”
He tuned his radio to the proper frequency and contacted Bayport tower. An immediate reply crackled from the plane's receiver.
“Ace Service Flight Two-Six is cleared to runway One-Niner. Wind's from the southeast at fifteen knots. Altimeter setting, Two-Niner-Eight-Six.”
Randy paused to check his instruments, controls, and engine magnetos. The tower then cleared him for immediate take-off. Turning into the runway, he eased the throttle ahead. Soon he and his passengers were airborne and taking a course to the northwest.
The boys gazed down at the earth below. The terrain became more hilly with each passing mile. The expanses of wooded areas looked like rumpled deep-green carpet. Here and there, lakes and small streams reflected the sun in bright flashes almost blinding in their intensity.
The pilot adjusted his course, checked his watch against the small clock mounted on the instrument panel, then said to Frank and Joe, “We should be coming up on the area you're looking for in a few minutes.”
The Hardys scanned the surface below more intently. Far to the left, Frank saw a narrow ribbon of paved road that he surmised to be the highway from which he and Joe had turned onto the secondary road. Frank requested the pilot to fly closer to the highway.
“There it is!” declared Joe. “That must be the secondary road we drove along!”
Frank peered directly downward. The road itself was not visible, but a telltale cleft that snaked among the trees told him it was there. Randy banked steeply to the right and paralleled the road.
“Can we fly lower?” Frank asked.
Randy examined the terrain. “It seems to be pretty desolate. I think we can drop to a lower altitude without breaking any air regulations.”
The pilot eased back on the power and allowed the nose of the airplane to drop a few degrees below the horizon. The large hand of the altimeter slowly moved counterclockwise, indicating a descent.
Randy leveled out at about five hundred feet, skillfully avoiding the hills. The cleft in the trees grew wider, bringing the road into view.
“Look!” Joe yelled. “That's where our car turned over. The saplings we used for leverage are still there!”
“Start taking pictures,” Frank ordered. “I'll keep an eye out for anything of special interest.”
Joe gripped the camera and pointed it downward. Randy banked the plane so the young detective could take more direct aim. Joe made several exposures as the pilot circled the area, gradually widening his turns.
“I just spotted something!” Frank shouted.
“What is it?” Joe readied the camera.
“It looks like the roof of a small cabin,” Frank replied. “If the sun weren't directly overhead, it would be hidden in the shadows. It's surrounded by trees and brush.”
“I see it!” exclaimed Joe. He focused the camera and released the shutter.
“The cabin is near the spot where we saw Bush Barney,” Frank declared.
“Do you think he could be hiding out there?” Joe questioned.
“It's possible. And perhaps our friend with the shotgun too!5”
The pilot rolled out of the turn. “We'll fly straight and level for a few seconds,” he said. “If we continue those tight turns for too long, we might get vertigo.”
Their straight course took them over an area on the opposite side of the road. Frank suddenly noticed a rectangular-shaped field that looked like a pasture.
“Fly over that way,” he said to Randy, pointing almost directly ahead.
The pilot eased the plane into a course around the narrow clearing. Frank and Joe saw that the grassy field was bordered by trees and dense brush. At one end loomed a high, steep hill.
“What do you make of it?” Frank asked, glancing at the pilot. “Do you think a small plane could land there, and take off?”
“I doubt it,” Randy said. “But let's go down for a closer look-see.”
He dropped the plane's nose steeply, pulling out over the clearing below tree level. He carefully dragged the field, then applied full power and turned sharply away from the steep hill ahead.
“That clearing is only about nine hundred feet long,” he told the boys. “The approaches are very bad. I doubt whether anyone could get a plane in there without rolling it up into a ball. And even if a landing were possible, he'd never be able to take off again.”
The boys' thoughts turned back to the airplane they had encountered on the road. If it had crashed, where was the wreckage? It must have pulled up and gone off. Did the roadblock and the red flare have something to do with the maneuver ?
Frank took over with the camera. Quickly reloading it, he photographed the open area. Joe peered through his binoculars. Suddenly he snapped up in his seat.
“Down in the clearing!” he shouted. “See those two men stalking along the edge!”
The pilot banked the plane and lined up for another low pass. As they approached, Frank also spotted the two figures. Joe focused his binoculars more sharply.
“I'm not sure,” he yelled excitedly, “but I think one of those men is Bush Barney!”
As the plane roared closer, the two men whirled around. They glanced up, then turned and ran into the woods.
“Quick!” Frank shouted to Randy. “Pull around and make another low pass!”
The pilot again pulled up steeply to turn away from the hill ahead. But just as he pushed the throttle forward for more power, the engine suddenly sputtered, then quit completely. Randy immediately dropped the nose in an effort to keep flying speed and avoid a stall.
The boys looked ahead. Through the windshield all they could see was a formidable array of trees, dense brush, and hills strewn with rocks and boulders. They tightened their seat belts and braced themselves for the worst. There was no place to land. They would have to crash!
CHAPTER VII
A Strange Request
RANDY Watson, his face grim, desperately switched fuel tanks. He pumped the throttle but the engine failed to react.
He put the plane into a gentle turn and headed down a narrow valley. The propeller slowly wind milled in the slipstream, as the anxious Hardys watched the ominous terrain rising steadily toward them.
The pilot continued to manipulate the fuel valves, mixture control, and throttle. Frank nervously glanced at the altimeter. They were rapidly losing altitude.
Finally Randy reached for a toggle switch marked “Booster Pump” and snapped it to the “On” position. He pumped the throttle vigorously. Suddenly the engine backfiredâonce, then twice. The boys held their breaths. There was a chugging sound for a few seconds! Then the engine roared to life.
Randy pushed the throttle to full power. Already the tops of trees were whipping against the plane, leaving green-colored streaks along the leading edges of the wings. The pilot eased back on the control stick and managed to pull away from the treetops. Ahead, he saw that the valley bent sharply to the right.
He banked the plane into a tight turn and followed the valley's course. It seemed to grow narrower second by second; the steep hills flanking each side squeezed closer. Randy checked the airspeed indicator, then raised the nose to gain altitude. Soon the hilltops were flashing by below them.
“Whew!” Joe exclaimed. “That was too close for comfort.”
“What happened to the engine?” Frank asked the pilot.
“Fuel-pump failure, I think,” Randy said. “Right now, we're operating on the booster. It's acting as a kind of auxiliary pump, and should keep the engine running long enough to get us back to Bayport.”
During the return trip Frank removed the second roll of film from the camera, and placed it with the other one on the seat beside him. Eventually the airport came into view, and Randy radioed the control tower for a straight-in approach. The boys could see an emergency truck stationed near the runway as they touched down.
A small crowd had already collected on the parking ramp as they taxied in. One of the group was Jerry Madden.
“What happened?” he queried anxiously.
“The pilot thinks it was fuel-pump failure,” Frank answered.
“I heard him declare an emergency on the radio in the hangar,” said Jerry. “When Lance Peterson heard you fellows were aboard, he asked to see you right away.”
“Lance Peterson?” Frank said wonderingly. “He wants to see Joe and me?”
The Hardys were so amazed at hearing Peterson's request that they momentarily forgot about their photographing mission and near crash. They hurried immediately to the chief pilot's office.
When the brothers arrived, Peterson greeted them with a smile. His attitude had apparently undergone a complete change since they had met the first time.
“I hear you boys had a pretty dose call,” he remarked.
“Close enough!” Frank responded tersely. He was eager to find out why Peterson had asked to see them.
The chief pilot looked haggard and worried. He sat down and nervously tapped the top of his desk with a pencil.
“I learned only recently that you two are amateur detectives,” he said.
“Yes, we are,” Frank admitted. “But what has that to do with your asking to see us?”
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