In Plane Sight (10 page)

“Maybe they landed the plane nearby and came after you,” Jamal suggested.

“Could be,” Joe said, “though we didn't see the plane land in the fog.”

“Hang on,” Frank said. “The tracks we saw on the ice might have been from a plane, right?”

“It'd be pretty risky landing on that ice,” Jamal said.

“But they'd need to pick up the second hijacker,” Joe said. “And shooting us might seem a good idea to the thieves—to get rid of witnesses.”

“It still doesn't explain where the gun came from,” Frank said, “unless the pilot had it in the cockpit.”

“Criminals have been known to carry weapons,” Jamal said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Three quarters of an hour later they arrived back at Scott Field. The night was pitch-black. Patches of fog still limited visibility at the airfield. Jamal had borrowed the car he was using from Elise; arranging to rent one would have taken too much time.

“She was really glad you guys were okay,” Jamal said as he pulled the car into the administration building parking lot. “This whole thing really has her flustered.” They parked the car and got out. “She said I should slip the car keys through the mail slot in the door. She was going home to try to get some rest.”

“All the trouble with the show must be pretty stressful,” Joe said.

“I think she used the words ‘worst nightmare,'” Jamal said. He pushed the keys through the mail slot of the building. Frank checked the door, just to make sure it hadn't been taped open again. It hadn't.

“I'm surprised the whole airfield isn't crawling with police and reporters,” Frank said.

“It was earlier, but you know how those media vultures are,” Jamal said. “They move on if there's no fresh meat to circle.”

“Cops and investigators need sleep too, I guess,” Joe commented.

“I'm sure they'll be back in force tomorrow morning,” Frank said. They cut around the building and headed toward the Cessna; Jamal wanted to check it one more time before they turned in.

As they passed by the old control tower, Joe stopped suddenly. “Look!” he said.

A shadowy figure was moving around in the darkened room at the top of the tower.

11 Tower of Peril

“Let's check it out,” Frank said. The three friends tried the door at the base of the control tower. It was open.

“Taped, just like the door to Flaubert's office,” Joe said.

“These guys need to get some new tricks,” Jamal whispered.

“Sometimes the old tricks are the best,” Frank said.

They crept into the base of the tower, which appeared to be mostly storage space for spare parts and other items connected to the maintenance of the tower and its equipment.

Finding the stairs, they moved quickly up to the second floor, which housed the electronic guts of
the control tower operations. The stairs from the second floor wound up one wall of the tower to the third-floor control deck. As silently as they could the teens ran up into the control room.

As they topped the stairs, they saw a black-garbed figure bent over one of the radar control panels at the far side of the room. The computer beside the panel was on, and the intruder seemed to be working at the keyboard. The black ski mask pulled over his head was proof—as if the taped door weren't enough—that he was
not
part of the regular air traffic crew.

When he heard the boys' footsteps, the surprised opponent rose quickly and flicked the computer's off switch. He turned as the teens ran at him. By the time Frank got to him, the burglar was ready.

The masked man kicked the chair he had been sitting on at the group. It shot across the floor on its metal wheels and caught Frank and Joe in the legs.

As they staggered, the criminal grabbed a folding chair stacked against the wall nearby. He swung the chair into Frank's back, and the elder Hardy crashed to the floor. The burglar tried to catch Joe on the backswing, but the younger Hardy seized the chair and shoved hard.

The burglar stumbled back across the room. Joe tried to pin the intruder against the wall with the chair. The burglar dropped suddenly and swept his
left leg into Joe's knees. Joe fell back, hard, but Jamal rushed in to take his place.

Jamal jabbed with his left, then aimed for the burglar's chin with a right uppercut. The intruder countered the first blow, but couldn't entirely deflect the second. Jamal's fist caught him on the jaw. The burglar staggered back into the glass door leading onto the balcony.

As the Hardys got to their feet, Jamal bore in on their enemy. The burglar opened the door behind him and stepped out onto the mesh floor of the balcony. Jamal rushed onto the narrow walkway after him.

The burglar kept backing up, drawing Jamal farther around the balcony.

“Keep him pinned, Jamal!” Joe called as he and Frank rushed through the door after him. “We'll circle behind!”

“Got it,” Jamal said, aiming another punch at the intruder's head. The felon blocked the blow. Frank and Joe ran to the other side of the balcony to take him from the back.

When Jamal threw his next punch, the burglar blocked it and surged forward. He snapped his forehead into Jamal's face, head-butting him. Jamal staggered back, and the intruder shoved him hard.

Jamal toppled over the balcony railing, barely grabbing hold of the steel rail as he went. He hung over the edge, his feet dangling in the air.

The intruder dashed past Jamal and back into the control tower.

“Jamal!” Joe cried as he and Frank raced to his rescue.

The brothers grabbed hold of their friend's arms and quickly hauled him back up to the balcony. As they did so, the burglar ran down the stairs and out of the control tower.

“Thanks, guys,” Jamal said. “Sorry I lost him.” He looked dazed.

“We may catch him yet,” Frank said. “Are you okay?”

“Still seeing spots in front of my eyes from when he head-butted me,” Jamal said.

“Wait here,” Joe said. “We'll catch the guy.”

He and Frank tore through the control room and back down the stairs. When they exited the control tower, they saw no sign of the burglar.

“I think I saw him go toward the east row of hangars!” Jamal called down to them from the balcony above.

“Thanks!” Joe yelled back. He and Frank sprinted toward the hangars and soon caught sight of the figure. He was darting between the buildings up ahead.

“This time he's not giving us the slip,” Frank said. He sped up, and Joe ran to keep up. They darted into the narrow walkway between the two hangars where the burglar had disappeared.

As the Hardys came out from behind the
buildings, a flash of movement to their right caught their attention. They thought it might be the burglar, but a moment later they spotted the guy up the alley, moving in the opposite direction. The brothers turned and ran after the man.

Before they had gone a dozen steps, though, a bloodcurdling scream split the damp air.

“Help! Help me!”

It was a woman's voice, and it was coming from the other side of the service buildings behind the hangars.

For a moment the brothers hesitated.

The frantic cry sounded again. “Help!”

“Let's go,” Joe called to Frank. He turned and ran toward the scream. Grumbling, Frank did the same; he didn't want to lose the intruder.

They dashed between two of the cinder block support buildings and came out near the front of the cafeteria. As they emerged from the narrow alley, they saw a woman lying crumpled on the ground next to a large puddle of water.

“Are you all right?” Frank asked, rushing to the woman's side.

The woman raised her mud-covered face, and they saw it was Rita Davenport. “A man came out of the fog and attacked me!” she said.

“What did he look like?” Joe asked.

“He was wearing black clothes and had on a black mask,” she said.

Frank scowled. “We knew the burglar had an accomplice,” he said. “There were
two
people aboard Brooks's stolen plane. Did he hurt you?”

“I thought he was going to,” Ms. Davenport said, “but no. He just knocked me down. I'll be all right. Just give me a minute.”

“The two guys must have arranged to meet behind the hangar,” Joe said. “When we chased the guy from the control tower, they split up.”

“And one of them attacked Ms. Davenport,” Frank said. “Possibly as a distraction.” He helped the frightened woman to her feet.

“Whether they planned it or not, we've lost those guys now,” Joe pointed out.

“W-Would you please walk me back to my motel room?” Ms. Davenport asked. “Or maybe Mr. Manetti's room. I just don't feel safe alone.” She brushed her tangled blond hair away from her pretty face and looked at the brothers.

“Sure thing,” Frank said. “We'll make sure you get back safely.” He and Joe escorted Ms. Davenport back across the airfield to the old motel. As they walked, they heard police sirens approaching Scott Field.

“Looks like Jamal got in touch with the police,” Frank said. “Too bad we don't have much for them.”

“Helping Ms. Davenport was more important than catching that burglar,” Joe told him. “I'd hate
to think that anyone got hurt, even if we were chasing a criminal.”

“Thanks again,” Ms. Davenport said as they reached the motel. “Mr. Manetti is in room forty-two.”

“No problem,” Joe replied. “But I wonder, what were you doing prowling around the airfield so late at night?”

“I wanted something to drink, and the machine at the motel was all out of the soda I like,” she replied. “I remembered that the machine near the cafeteria had the same brand, so I went there. It didn't seem like a dangerous idea at the time.” She knocked on Manetti's door.

“Just a minute,” a man's voice called from inside. A moment later Tony Manetti, dressed in a bathrobe, appeared at the door. His hair was wet, and he had a towel in his hand. “Rita?” he said. “What's going on?”

“A masked man jumped me near the cafeteria.”

“That's awful,” Manetti said. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine,” Davenport said. “I just need someplace safe to sit and relax awhile.”

“Come on in,” Manetti said. “You can stay as long as you need to. Just let me get dressed.” Turning to the Hardys, he added, “Thanks for bringing her back to the motel.”

“No problem,” Frank said. Eyeing Manetti's wet
hair, he asked, “Where were you just a little while ago?”

“I was here, taking a shower, until you came,” Manetti said. “Why do you ask?”

“I was with Mr. Manetti until I went for my soda,” Davenport said. “We were talking about business possibilities at the air show tomorrow.”

“If there
is
an air show tomorrow,” Joe said. “With so much trouble, I wouldn't be surprised if it was canceled.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Manetti said. “There are too many industry people meeting here. There's important business to be done. For a lot of folks this is a make-or-break show every year.”

“Is it make or break for you?” Frank asked.

“Nah,” Manetti said. “I try never to put all my eggs in one basket. Anyway, thanks again, boys. I'll take care of Rita now.” She stepped inside, and Manetti closed the door.

“Come on,” Frank said. “We'd better get back to Jamal.” He and Joe looked back toward the control tower. The police cars were gathering around it.

As they began to walk in that direction, a voice called them. “Hey, boys, what's all the commotion about?” It was Jack Meeker. Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, he stood in a motel room doorway.

“Yeah, what's going on?” growled Rock Grissom,
appearing in another doorway. He was dressed in a robe and was rubbing his eyes.

“A break-in at the control tower,” Frank said.

“It seems to me that trouble must like you guys,” Meeker said. “It seems to follow you everywhere.”

“Isn't this motel a little low-class for you, Mr. Meeker?” Joe asked testily.

Meeker smiled. “I like to stay close to the action,” he said. “Though I'll admit, there's more action here than I expected.”

“Nothing to worry about,” Frank said. “You should go back to bed.”

“I won't have some kid telling me what to do,” Grissom said. He went back into his room and emerged moments later dressed in black leather pants and his fleece-collared black aviator's jacket. “I'm going to check my plane,” he grumbled, striding out onto the tarmac.

“Well,” Meeker said, “never say I don't have more sense than Rock Grissom. Good night.” He closed the door to his room, and a moment later his light went out.

Joe and Frank headed for the control tower. When they got there they found Jamal standing near the tower door, talking to several police officers. Elise Flaubert, looking as though she'd just been dragged out of bed, stood talking to another officer a short distance away.

“Are these your friends?” the lead officer asked Jamal as the Hardys walked up.

“Yeah, that's Frank and Joe,” Jamal replied.

“Get in the back of the patrol car, boys,” the officer said. “We're all going down to the station to talk over your involvement in these crimes.”

12 The Legend of 878

“But we're
not
involved in these crimes,” Joe said. “We've been trying to prevent them.”

“Look, kid,” the officer said, “all I know is that lately, whenever something odd happens at this airport, you kids are in the middle of it. So get in the patrol car and we'll all go down to the station and sort things out, understand?”

“Sure, Officer. No problem,” Frank said, reluctantly giving in. He, Joe, and Jamal got into the back of the patrol car, and they all rode down to the police department.

The Scottsville station consisted of a single large room. There was a receptionist's desk up front, and a low wooden railing separated the public area from an area holding four metal desks, one for the
head of the squad and the others for the on-duty officers. Another room in back had three cells for prisoners.