EXTREME DANGER
by
PiperMerlyn
Chapter 12
The Chapters
Frank
I moved to run onto the track but the motocross support crew swept past me. A part of me knew that I’d only be in the way yet I wanted to help. Joe grabbed my shoulder as if he was going to drag me with him to the scene. “Come on, Frank.”
“We’ll just be in the way.” I heard a siren and glanced over my shoulder to see an ambulance roaring toward the track. “Come on, let’s get out of everyone’s way.”
Joe looked like he wanted to argue but he followed me as we got a few feet out of the way but still close enough to watch everything. I spotted Carter Bean and his partner Jack as they got out of the ambulance and rushed to the biker’s side.
I could hear a distant and annoying clicking and when I looked to my left, I saw Monroe taking pictures. I felt a sudden urge to snatch that camera and smash it.
Joe tugged my arm and pointed to where biker number four sat up, coughed and threw his hands up in the air. “He’s all right. Look.”
The crowd whooped and cheered. The biker tried to stand but Carter and Jack insisted on helping him onto a stretcher. I figured they wanted to make certain there were no broken or fractured bones or other internal injuries. They loaded the biker into the ambulance and turned on the flashing light on the roof.
I watched Monroe take a picture of Carter and his patient through the rear window of the ambulance as they drove away. I blinked as it hit me. “Of course.”
Joe snapped his head around to look at me. “Of course, what?”
It was at the back of my brain. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it but it definitely bothered me. “Joe, how many ambulance services do you think are in this city?”
He gave me a strange look. “I dunno. Two, three? Who knows, who cares. Philadelphia’s a big town.”
“So why are the same two paramedics on the scene three times in as many days?”
Joe started to answer and then stared at me. He watched the ambulance until it disappeared around a turn. “Were they hired by the Big Air Games?”
“Maybe. But why just Carter and Jack? How on earth can they police the entire games? It’s a big area, thousands of people both fans and athletes. How can they be the only paramedics?”
Joe shook his head and make a 360-degree turn, looking around. “I see three ambulances, one which was probably closer than they were.” He nodded his head to a white ambulance with orange and yellow detailing.
“So why have those two shown up at each accident?”
Joe frowned at me. “But what’s his motive, Frank? Why cause these accidents? If it’s just to respond first to the accident?”
“I think you just answered your own question.” I watched the support crew douse the remnants of the burning bike.
Joe popped me on my shoulder. “You know I hate it when you do that. So you’re saying Carter wants the attention, the accolades?” He looked around to where Monroe was snapping pictures of the bike. “You think they’re in it together?”
“I don’t know.” I sighed. “It’s possible. Let’s go talk to some of the other bikers. Maybe they saw someone suspicious hanging around.”
Joe glanced around again and nodded. Then his eyes went wide. “Frank, don’t look now but we’ve got a problem.”
“We’ve got several problems,” I said, getting aggravated. “Come on.”
“Bogey at ten o’clock.”
“Joe—”
“I wasn’t sure until I got closer but...guys? What on earth are you doing here...like that?”
I knew that voice. I felt my own eyes grow wide as I realized who it had to be. I swallowed hard and turned around. “Uh...Chet?”
Chet Morton nodded, staring at us like we were aliens. Then I remembered the hair. He studied me for a moment and then lowered his voice. “Why are you dressed like that?”
Joe sighed. “Chet, what are you doing here?”
Chet cleared his throat. “I love extreme motocross. Remember all those times we went dirtbiking out on the back field of the farm?”
I nodded, remembering how we’d race around the dirt track, jumping small hills, pretending they were much bigger. “Yeah, but...”
“Well, motocross is kind of the extreme version of dirtbiking. Higher jumps, longer tracks. Dad and I have been planning this week for a long time, ever since we found out the Big Air Games would be this close to home.” Chet ran a hand through his light brown hair and shrugged. “I know you like to skateboard,” he told Joe. “But I didn’t know you two were into extreme sports this much.”
Suddenly his brown eyes went wide. He glanced at the destroyed bike and got an excited look on his face. “Aha!”
Joe and I shared a look. Chet had helped us on our ‘cases’ before we were recruited by ATAC. He rescued our hides on more than one occasion. But he didn’t know about ATAC, he couldn’t know about it. “Chet, keep your voice down,” I told him.
He grinned. “You’re undercover, right? On a case? Maybe catching Mr. X?” His grin widened. “It’s not like it’s not on every newspaper in town.”
“Yes, yes, and yes.” I mean why lie about it when he was right on all counts. He just couldn’t know about ATAC, that’s all.
Chet pulled a camera out of his pocket. “I’ve got to take a picture.”
Joe frowned. “Why?”
“Iola would love to see the new Joe Hardy,” said Chet with a grin. “Come on, smile.”
Joe ducked behind me. “Chet, no. Don’t you dare.”
I held up my hands like I was stopping traffic. “Okay, you two, stop.”
“Come on, guys. Callie and Iola would love a couple of photos.”
“Not like this.” I made a grab for the camera but Chet was faster. “Promise me. No pictures, no sharing.”
Chet sighed and pocketed the camera. “Oh all right.” His round face lit up again. “So, can I help?”
I shared another look with Joe. His expression told me he didn’t think that was the best idea. I ignored him. “Chet, the biker who’s bike caught on fire—”
“Mike McIntyre. Awesome biker. Some say he’ll be the next McGrath or Windham.” Chet motioned to where a group of guys in motocross jackets were standing with the crew, barely two feet away. They were talking about the accident.
“Do you think it was Mr. X?” asked one of them.
“It had to be,” said another.
“I can’t believe Mike’s okay. Did you see how he fell? Head over heels, man!”
“Mike’s lucky to be alive.”
I listened for a few minutes and cleared my throat, making them all look at me. “Did you notice anyone near the bikes before the race?” I asked. “Someone maybe you didn’t know?”
A biker with long brown hair shook his head. “No, dude. There’re too many security guys around. Everyone’s worried about Mr. X.”
Another biker agreed. “The only people I saw had official clearance. You know, guards, crew, medics, safety inspectors.”
I nodded, shared another look with Joe who rolled his eyes. As we drifted away, we could hear the guys still talking about McIntyre. Apparently he was not only a star athlete but a great guy. Everybody seemed to like him.
We headed back to the track and Joe sighed. “Okay, fine. Let’s say those two paramedics are behind it. What about GR SK8TR?”
Chet looked over at Joe. “What’d you say?”
Joe said the screen name again. “Why?”
“It’s been popping up on the official Big Air message boards for the last month or so. Whoever it is, threatens each competition but nothing ever happens. It usually just scares everyone.” Chet took a deep breath. “On the message board, his icon is the Grim Reaper, like on the Reaper boards?”
Joe looked at me. “G-R...Grim Reaper.” He looked around the stadium and then turned back to me. “If Peterson wasn’t out of the picture...”
I blinked, remembering Ollie’s demonstration of how to sabotage a skateboard. The skateboard he’d used to show us had had a Grim Reaper design on the bottom. “Joe, how big an explosion would that cause?”
Joe shrugged. “I don’t know. Nitro is volatile and the more there is the bigger the boom.”
I tried to envision it. “The skateboard would break apart, the boarder would be killed or badly injured....Debris would injure nearby skaters or fans. But it would be enough to scratch any competitions for awhile. Maybe forever.”
Chet gave us an uneasy look. “What are you guys talking about?”
“Joe, you said the board you bought didn’t have liquid bearings. Can you just look at boards and tell?”
He started to shake his head. “Not really. The trucks and wheels look the same. The boards glide smoother, the wheels rotate faster...” He stared off in the direction of the stadium where the skateboarding competition was being held. “Frank...I don’t know, but Jenna might have a board with liquid bearings.”
Chet arched an eyebrow. “Who’s Jenna?”
I spotted Mr. Morton coming toward us and lowered my voice. “Your dad’s headed this way, Chet. We’ll explain later. Joe, come on.”
We headed for our motorcycles but not before I spared a quick look over my shoulder. Chet looked disappointed and a bit upset. Maybe later, we could explain things. I pulled my helmet on. “Let’s go.”
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The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The authors have just borrowed them for an adventure or two. The authors promise to put the boys back when they are done with them. The authors do claim copyright to the original characters in this story. Please do not borrow original characters without express permission of the authors.