Speed Times Five (8 page)

“Phew!” Joe said, brushing the grit off his clothes. “I've heard of people surfing avalanches before, but not landslides.”

“I'm glad it was more dust than rock,” Frank said. “It was still a close call, though. We're lucky to escape with just a few scrapes and bruises.” He coughed some of the dust from his lungs.

As the haze cleared from the forest, the sounds of shouting drifted through the trees. “Help! Help!”

Instantly forgetting their aches and pains, Frank and Joe ran through the rubble toward the sound. Ahead of them, they saw the three people they'd previously spotted near the bottom of the slope. Kelly Hawk and a cameraman were struggling to pull the other member of the TV camera crew out from under a fallen tree. The woman's legs were pinned by both the tree and a pile of small rubble from the landslide.

The brothers raced to the woman's side and began digging with their hands. Kelly Hawk regarded the Hardys with a look of wonder.

“I can't believe you two are alive,” she said. “You must be the luckiest guys on earth.”

“You're pretty lucky, too,” Frank replied. “Any closer and this slide might have buried all three of you.”

“We were getting a shot of the clear-cut,” said the cameraman. “Kelly was telling us about the dangers of erosion. Then you topped the hill and . . .”

The woman under the rubble groaned.

“Hang on,” Joe said. “We'll have you out in a minute. One of you should use the emergency phone. Warn them about the slide area, too.”

The cameraman stopped tugging on the tree and phoned for assistance. As Frank, Joe, and Kelly Hawk lifted the tree off the woman, the sound of a chopper echoed over the hills. The cameraman pulled his coworker free and the Hardys did some quick first aid.

“I'm all right, really,” the woman said groggily. “Just a little banged up.”

“It's better if you don't move,” Joe said. “The medics will be here in a moment.”

The chopper set down a short way from the forest, at the edge of the slide. A few minutes later, the blue-suited LMP paramedics had the woman stabilized and packed into the chopper. The cameraman went with them as the helicopter lifted off once more.

As Kelly Hawk and the brothers watched the airlift leave, their emergency radios crackled to life.

“This is a warning to all racers,” Bennett's voice said. “Conditions in grid 87-849 are hazardous and may lead to rock slides. Racers should proceed with extreme caution, travel in groups, and consider alternate routes.” He repeated the message twice and then signed off.

“The race goes on,” Frank said.

“There's no business like show business,” Joe noted. As he spoke, he saw figures skidding down through the settling dust behind them. “Some people won't stop for anything.”

Turning back, the brothers saw that Kelly Hawk was already hiking up the trail ahead of them.

“The pack is catching up,” Frank said. “We'd better get moving.”

He and Joe trudged out of the forest and jogged up the trail beyond. They kept Kelly Hawk in sight for a while, but she was fresher than the brothers and soon pulled away from them.

The afternoon wore on slowly and the air grew hot and muggy.

Much of the pack had caught up with the Hardys by the time they reached the final rappelling challenge. The brothers weren't the only ones running out of energy, though. Robert Frid fell behind the Hardys once more, and Roger Baldwin was just completing his rappelling when the brothers arrived.

The race trail came to an abrupt halt atop a hundred-and-fifty-foot cliff. Race officials waited to assure the safety of the contestants as they rappelled down the cliff face to the path at the bottom. Several
racers sat at the top of the cliff, working up the energy to continue.

Joe and Frank had done similar events in X-games competitions before, and they breezed down the cliff face with no difficulty.

“Whew!” Joe said as they reached the bottom. “A nice change from hiking.”

“But not a very long change,” Frank said, indicating the dirt trail before them. The rolling hills were past them now and the path wound through the green forests toward their next checkpoint—St. Esprit.

The Hardys passed Baldwin in the woods and, as the sun sank toward evening, had their sights on Kelly Hawk once more.

“I'm glad we're not the only ones getting tired,” Frank gasped.

Joe nodded, too winded to say anything.

A small tent city in a campground on the outskirts of St. Esprit slowly came into view. Kelly Hawk jogged wearily ahead of the brothers.

“Let's see if we can catch her,” Joe suggested.

Frank nodded, and the two of them began to trot. Soon the trot turned into an all-out sprint as the brothers poured every ounce of their energy into a big finish.

Kelly Hawk glanced back when she heard the pounding of their footsteps behind her. She began to run as the brothers drew near. Soon the three of them were racing neck and neck for the checkpoint. Sweat drenched the bodies of all three
competitors and their breathing came in short gasps.

With a final lean, Frank crossed the finish line first, followed by Hawk and then Joe. All three of them staggered to the checkpoint desk to register their times.

Kelly Hawk's support crew came racing in from the sidelines, bringing her a water bottle and letting her lean on them as she left the registration table. Chet and Jamal came right behind, pressing water into the Hardys' hands.

“Boy, you look beat!” Chet said.

“You don't know the half of it,” Joe replied. He sipped his water and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

“We've got the tent set up and the bikes all ready for tomorrow's leg,” Jamal said.

Frank nodded his approval and puffed out air.

“We've even got hot food,” Chet added.

Joe put his arm around Chet's shoulder. “Now,
that
is the best news I've heard all day.” Together, the four friends walked to where Chet and Jamal had set up camp.

“How far back in the pack are we?” Frank asked as Jamal served him some stew.

“You're in good shape,” Jamal said. “Even the leaders didn't come in too much before you. Victoria Clemenceau and Michael Lupin are in that bunch. Then you guys and Hawk.”

“I saw the college group and that triathlon guy coming in as we walked over here,” Chet added.

Joe munched a mouthful of stew. “I guess surfing that rockslide saved us as much time as it cost us helping the camera crew,” he said between chews.

“I wouldn't recommend it as a race tactic, though,” Frank said, rubbing his bruises.

“The rappelling points served as bottlenecks, which helped you out, too,” Jamal said. “They had safety crews for only a couple of lines at a time, which gave the slower racers a chance to catch up.”

“A clever tactic to keep things interesting for the TV coverage,” Chet noted.

“We make the local news lately?” Joe asked.

“Not much,” Chet said. “The race gets some coverage, and they mentioned the rockslide you were in today. Mostly it's the usual stuff: trade problems, experimental medicines gone missing, a few police chases, a bear wandering into a resort.”

“Quite a bit of stuff on Kelly Hawk's Native American group, too,” Jamal added. “They've been on the news nearly every night, protesting.”

“Not without cause,” Frank said, “judging from the clear-cut we saw.”

“They're causing quite a ruckus,” Jamal said. “There've been some arrests.”

Frank and Joe nodded, and the group ate in silence for a while as the Hardys tried to regain some of their strength. Night crept over the camp as they relaxed. Vince Bennett stopped by with a camera crew for a quick interview. The Hardys were polite but terse in their comments. The crew soon looked bored and Bennett motioned them to move on.

“I'll check with you boys later,” the race coordinator said with a wink.

“Only if you catch us before bedtime,” Joe said.

Frank sighed as the crew walked away. “Not the best interview we've ever given.”

“We're tired,” Joe replied. “Why don't we check over the bikes and then turn in.”

“Good idea,” Frank said. He and Joe got up.

“Want us to go with you?” Chet asked.

“Nah,” Joe said. “Just make sure our sleeping bags are ready when we get back.”

They all chuckled and the brothers headed toward the bike storage area.

The campground didn't have the same level of facilities as the Fire Creek Mountain lodge. The race crew had installed a number of bicycle racks in the wide empty area between the camp showers and the vending machines behind the registration building. The spot they'd chosen wasn't well lit—only a dim glow from the neighboring buildings illuminated the area.

Most of the other racers had retired for the evening. The bicycle rack was deserted save for a lone figure crouched over the bikes. The man worked quickly and quietly. A black ski mask obscured his features.

The dim light from the distant shower building reflected off the small wire cutters in the saboteur's right hand.

9 Collision Course

“Hey, you!” Joe called. He sprinted toward the saboteur and threw a punch at the man's head. The man ducked out of the way and swung the wire cutters at Joe's face.

Joe reeled back, almost running into Frank as the older Hardy charged forward. Frank spun out of Joe's way and launched into a martial arts kick.

Frank's kick caught the man in the right forearm, and the wire cutters flew from the saboteur's gloved hand. The man staggered back, then turned and hopped over the first bicycle rack.

The Hardys leaped after him. The saboteur cleared three racks in succession like an Olympic hurdler. The brothers charged right after him, but their jumps weren't as clean. Joe nearly got caught
in the last rack, and Frank had to reach out to steady his brother.

The slip allowed the saboteur to open up a big lead on the Hardys. He disappeared into the shadows behind the registration building. Their legs aching, the Hardys sprinted after him.

“Which way did he go?” Joe asked as they skidded to a halt behind the structure. The building was a long log cabin camp office that Vince Bennett had pressed into service for the race crews. The surrounding woods crept up almost to the back of the building. The shadows under the boughs were black as night; those near the cabin were not much brighter. The brothers saw no sign of the saboteur.

“Let's split up and circle the building,” Frank said. “Whistle if you see him.”

Joe nodded and lit out to the right, while Frank circled left. They met by the vending machines in front of the building without finding anything.

Joe shook his fist in anger. “Whoever he was, he was quick and clever,” Joe said ruefully.

“Maybe not clever enough,” Frank replied, his brown eyes peering into the darkness toward the camping area. He pointed toward a figure moving away from them through the small sea of tents. “Let's go,” he whispered.

Joe nodded and the two of them sprinted quietly toward the figure. It was hard to keep the man in sight among the darkened tents, but the Hardys quickly closed the distance. Frank motioned that
they should circle around either side, and Joe nodded his agreement.

Cutting through the tents, they soon got in front of the man and stepped out simultaneously from either side. The man jumped back as the brothers popped out in front of him.

“Robert Frid,” Joe said, recognizing the man by the light of the distant campfire. “What are you doing lurking around?”

“You almost scared me to death!” Frid said, clutching his chest theatrically. He was wearing a navy blue shirt and pants but no ski mask. His right pocket, though, bulged with an unseen object.

“What do you have in your pocket?” Frank asked.

Frid frowned at the older Hardy. “Popcorn. Not that it's any of your business. What are you guys doing skulking around?”

“Just a little security patrol,” Joe said. “We found someone tampering with the bikes—and you're the only person we saw near the bike rack.”

“I went to the vending machines,” Frid said. He pulled a small bag of prepackaged popcorn out of his pocket and shook it at Joe. “See? Popcorn. Who appointed you two cops?”

Before the brothers could answer, Maggie Collins and Quentin Curtis arrived. “Hey, Bob,” Quentin said, “did you get lost or something?”

“These guys are hassling me,” Frid said. “They think I was messing with the bikes. Tell 'em I was with you before I went to get popcorn.”

“He left us only a couple of minutes ago,” Maggie Collins said.

“See?” Frid replied. “I didn't have time to go messing with any bikes.”

Frank scratched his head. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “Sorry for hassling you. C'mon, Joe.”

“Why don't you guys get some rest?” Curtis said, his voice tinged with hostility. “You've already gotten into enough trouble for
two
races.”

Joe nearly turned back to confront Frid, but Frank stopped his younger brother. “Just ignore it,” Frank whispered. “Let's hit the showers and go to bed.”

“Showers?” Joe said as they kept walking. “I don't know. I feel as though dirt is all that's holding my bruises together.”

“I know what you mean,” Frank said. “We also need to talk to Bennett before we turn in.”

“It looks like another restless night.” Joe sighed.

On their way, the brothers searched for the wire cutters the saboteur had dropped but couldn't find them.

“He must have doubled back and picked them up,” Frank said.

“Frid would have had time to do that,” Joe noted.

“Not that we could prove it,” Frank added.

Despite their lack of solid evidence, the Hardys found Bennett and told him about the possible sabotage. The race organizer promised to look into the incident and to post a guard around the equipment
areas. After the conversation, the brothers hit the showers and retired for the night.