The Crisscross Crime (11 page)

Frank went for the ladder leading down the face of the dam. Racine and the tattooed thug were sprinting free toward the shore, but Frank didn't care. He had to save Joe!

He swung onto the ladder, almost slipping off. Descending quickly, he kept one eye on the water, the other on the slick ladder rungs. He didn't see Joe anywhere. He must still be underwater, Frank thought. He wasn't sure how many seconds had passed—thirty, forty—how long could Joe last?

Finally he reached the bottom rung. The water splashed and bubbled all around him. He couldn't see anything, and he could only guess at how deep it was. If he jumped in, he'd be sucked under just as his brother had been.

He glanced toward the far shore. Meredith had scrambled down the steep muddy bank and was standing by the water. Biff was sliding down behind him. Frank saw Biff throw a punch. Meredith ducked, then dove into the water.

What was going on?

Frank scanned the reservoir. The water became calm about fifty yards out from the dam. There! What was that? Was it Joe?

Frank saw a head bob to the surface in the center of the lake. Joe appeared to be unconscious.

Then Frank realized why Meredith had dove in. He was swimming toward Joe. He was swimming out to finish Joe off!

His heart pounding, Frank rushed back up the ladder two rungs at a time. He had to get to a place where it was safe to dive in. He had to get to Joe before Meredith did.

Frank sprinted the length of the catwalk. Glancing down at the water, he saw Meredith stroking out powerfully. He was mere yards from Joe.

Frank made it to the end of the dam and ran down the ridge, finding a place to scuttle down the embankment. His foot caught on a root and he pitched forward, rolling, bouncing, tumbling down. He skidded to a stop at the edge of the water.

He jumped up, ready to dive in. Something held him back. It was Biff, his big hand on Frank's shoulder.

He followed Biff's gaze out over the water. There was Meredith, his arm around Joe's chest in the classic lifesaving position, sidestroking in to shore.

When Meredith got close, Frank and Biff helped lift Joe from the water. Frank slapped his brother on the cheek. “Joe! Joe!”

Joe coughed. His eyes opened. “Frank? What happened? I fell, I think. . . .”

“You're okay,” Frank said. “Meredith pulled you out.”

Meredith had flopped down on the bank, soaking and exhausted. He gasped for breath.

“Thanks,” Frank said.

Meredith was so tired he could only hold his hand up as if to say, You're welcome.

“What's the deal, Meredith?” Frank asked, helping Joe sit up. “You didn't have to help my brother.”

Meredith finally caught his breath. “I told you, man. I turned my life around.”

“You mean you're not part of this gang?” Frank asked.

“No,” Meredith said. “They tricked me.”

“Tricked you?” Biff asked.

Meredith shook the water from his long hair and retied his ponytail. “Those two,” he said, referring to Racine and the tattooed man. “Eddie Racine and Bobby Knapp, I knew them in prison. They told me they had a legitimate business going. Construction, they said.”

Meredith stared out over the water. “I don't want to be a janitor for the rest of my life, so I said I wanted in. They asked me to get some special blueprints from the courthouse.”

Frank nodded. “They show all the utilities.”

“Right,” Meredith said. “I started to feel like they were blowing smoke, though, because they
wouldn't tell me why they needed the maps. That's what me and Racine were fighting about.”

“Are they working with anybody else?” Frank asked.

Meredith nodded. “There's one other dude I know of. He's got dark hair. Larry Gainy's his name.”

Or Herve DuBois, Frank thought to himself.

“He was the one with the money,” Meredith said. “He paid me six bills for those prints, but I lost my wallet.”

Frank reached into his back pocket. “Is this it?” he asked, tossing the wallet to Bart.

“Hey, thanks, man.”

“Bad news, though,” Joe said, standing up. “Those hundreds are fakes.”

Meredith's upper lip curled in anger. He removed the bills and examined them. “Oh, man! I'll kill him. I can't believe it!”

“You'd better steer clear of your old pals from now on,” Frank said. “We think they're using those maps to plan bank robberies.”

Meredith looked scared. “And I helped them without even knowing it. This is bad, man. I'm in big trouble.”

“Maybe Frank and I can help,” Joe said. “Let us have a look at that latest set of maps you brought for them and we'll talk to the cops about what you did here today.”

“Hey, that'd be cool,” Meredith said. “I dropped the stuff up on the bank there.”

The four of them climbed up. Joe looked across the reservoir. Both the pickup and the wave-runner were gone. He wondered what the crooks were using the wave-runner for. They were fun for zipping around on—jumping wakes and stuff—but they weren't very good for anything else.

Meredith found the papers in the grass and unrolled them. Then he used rocks to pin down each corner.

Frank immediately recognized these pages as the ones missing from the first set he and Joe had found. “Here,” he said to Joe. “Here's where the yellow line branches out and disappears on the first maps we saw. On these you can see that they all lead to different parts of the reservoir. You can tell which storm drain leads directly from the dam to downtown.”

“Did you give Racine a copy of these?” Joe asked.

“Yeah,” Meredith said. “He grabbed it out of my hand when you guys came after us.”

“So they have everything they need to pull another heist,” Frank said. He studied the map. “We know the next false alarm is going to be at the suburban branch of New England National, but we don't know which downtown bank is really going to get hit.”

“Unless . . .” Joe said. “Unless it's not a bank at all.”

Biff crossed his arms. “What do you mean?”

Joe looked at Frank. “Dad said Herve DuBois stole the special ink used for U.S. currency. A month ago, somebody got hold of the printing plates at the mint. What else do you need for perfect counterfeiting?”

Frank remembered what Sylvia had said. “The micro-coded paper!”

“And Sylvia said they store it right here in Bayport. That's got to be the next target!”

Frank scanned the maps, “Okay, okay, but where would you store something so important?” He held his finger over the middle of downtown Bayport, then moved it half an inch, to where he thought the very end of State Street would be. “The Federal Armory,” he said, pointing. “Of course! They'd store it at the Federal Armory. There's a yellow line going right under it.”

“They're going to hit it and use the storm drain to escape, like before,” Joe said.

Frank rolled up the maps. “We've got to tell Con,” he said.

•  •  •

The Hardys and Biff jogged back to the van, while Meredith got into his rusted car. He said he had to change clothes and get back to work. Frank and Joe promised to explain his situation to the police.

Joe held his T-shirt out the window as they drove, trying to get it dry. “You think DuBois will try to hit the armory today?” he asked.

“I don't know,” Frank replied. “There's been a robbery each of the past two days, though. It would fit the pattern.”

“Think the police will listen to us?” Biff asked.

Joe pulled his shirt back in and put it on. “They'd better,” he said.

The tires squealed as Frank whipped into the police station.

The three friends ran inside, only to be stopped by the desk sergeant.

“Stop right there!” he said. “Who are you here to see?”

Con Riley stepped out into the hallway. “It's okay,” he said, waving Biff and the Hardys forward.

They joined Con in the Situation Room, where at least ten other officers sat waiting.

“I told Chief Collig about your theory,” Con said. “We've got to respond to every alarm, of course, even if we think it's a fake call. But we have officers here ready to respond to every downtown bank as soon as any call comes in.”

“It's not going to be a bank,” Frank said.

“What?”

Several officers turned and scowled at the three teenagers.

Frank went to a desk and unrolled the maps.
“We think the leader of the thieves is an international counterfeiter named Herve DuBois.”

Con looked doubtful. “Why would he rob banks?”

“It's all a setup,” Joe said. “They want you running all over town while they go for the real target.”

“Which is?” one of the officers asked.

“The Federal Armory,” Frank said.

Laughter broke out all through the room, then quickly died down as Chief Collig strode into the room.

“What's this about the armory?” he asked.

“It's the next target,” Frank said. “That's where the micro-coded paper is stored. The thieves are escaping into the storm drains. That's why we haven't been able to catch them.”

Now it was Chief Collig's turn to have a hearty laugh. “Storm drains? Armory? You've got to be kidding, son. The armory is crawling with armed guards. No one would dare.”

He walked over to a giant wall map of Bayport. “Gentlemen,” he said, addressing his officers. “We expect a false alarm to come in from the outskirts, but the
real target,”
he continued, glaring at the Hardys, “will be one of the downtown banks.”

Frank started to protest, but the desk sergeant ran into the room.

“We got it!” he shouted. He held up a piece of
paper. “We have an alarm at a branch office of New England National.”

Chief Collig smiled. “That's our false alarm.” He pointed at two officers. “Wiggens, Marks, go check it out. Everybody else, go to the downtown banks you've been assigned. And be careful—these men are dangerous!”

The room became a frenzy of noise and motion as all the officers got up to leave. The first ones out ran smack into another officer on his way in.

“We've got another alarm!” he shouted over the commotion.

“Where?” Collig asked.

“The downtown branch of Bayport Savings.”

Collig clenched his fist in the air. “Just as I said it would happen.”

Frank looked over at his brother. How could he and Joe have been so wrong?

“Biff,” Frank said. “Follow Con to Bayport Savings. If it turns out it's really being robbed, make sure he puts a man at every storm drain nearby—especially those in the parking lot.”

“You got it, Frank.” Biff ran out after the officers.

As quickly as the Situation Room had become a beehive of activity, it became as still and quiet as a tomb. The Hardys were left standing completely alone.

“Do you still think it's the armory?” Joe asked.

Frank paused, then nodded firmly.

“Okay, then. I say we go check it out.”

Outside, the downtown streets were bristling with the signs of a dangerous situation. S.W.A.T. team snipers were perched atop the taller buildings.
Black-and-white cruisers and unmarked cars blocked the entrances to all the banks. Their light-bars flashed out warnings, but the sirens were silent.

Officers stationed themselves safely behind the open cruiser doors, and sternly waved pedestrians back. Everyone seemed ready for a showdown.

Frank started up the van.

“Take the side streets,” Joe said. “The police have the middle of State Street blocked off.”

Frank wove slowly through back streets until they were within a block of the armory. Frank stopped the van. He took a deep breath before getting out. “Ready?”

“As I'll ever be,” Joe replied.

Unlike the area just a couple of blocks away, the area around the armory was calm.

Frank waited on the street, while Joe took the cement steps two at a time up to the front door. Before he reached the top step, a young man in camouflage fatigues had opened the huge wooden door. He had a black assault rifle slung over his shoulder.

“May I help you, sir?” he asked.

Joe stopped a few feet from the soldier. “Ah, this may sound funny,” he said, scratching his head. “But we—that's my brother and I—think somebody may try to rob you guys today.”

The soldier grinned. “You're joking, right?”

“Ah, no. Do you mind if I speak to your commander?”

The soldier placed a hand lightly on the stock of his rifle. “I don't think he has time for this.” The soldier laughed. “Thanks for your concern, though.” He stepped back inside and slammed the door.

Joe headed down the steps. “He seems to think everything's okay.”

“That was a pretty mean-looking rifle,” Frank said. “I can see why he's not too worried.”

Joe put a hand on his brother's shoulder. “I can tell
you're
still concerned.”

Frank nodded. “This has to be the target. Come on. I have an idea.”

Joe followed Frank back to the van.

Frank opened the rear gate and rummaged around. He pulled out a tire iron and a big flashlight. “You carry the maps,” he said to Joe. “Find the nearest storm drain.”

The Hardys soon came across a drain lid behind the dry cleaner next to the armory compound. Joe noticed the dry cleaner employees watching them from inside while Frank pried up the edge of the heavy cast-iron lid. “We've got an audience,” he said.

“Good,” Frank replied. “I work better with somebody watching.” He motioned for Joe to help push the lid aside. “Okay,” he said. “I'll go
first.” He stepped down on to the ladder and then disappeared into the darkness below the street.

Joe went next, pulling the lid closed after he was in.