Typhoon Island
Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
A Shaky Start
“I can see the landing strip next to the harbor,” Frank said. “Check the regular landing gear, would you, Joe?”
“Roger,” the younger Hardy replied. He flicked a switch on the control panel and a light came on. A moment later whirring electric motors extended the wheels below the airplane’s pontoons. “Landing gear: check,” Joe said.
The plane’s engine sputtered.
“What’s wrong?” Callie asked.
“I don’t know,” Frank replied. “We’re losing power. Joe, help me out here.”
The two brothers began methodically checking controls and throwing switches. Despite their efforts the engine’s coughing grew steadily worse.
With a final gasp the engine stopped. The small plane plunged toward the sea.
Chapter 1:
Plunge into Paradise
Chapter 3:
Are We Having Fun Yet?
Chapter 14:
Caught in the Crossfire
“Don’t worry, Mom,” Callie Shaw said into the phone. “I’m sure the weather will be fine.” She covered the phone’s receiver with her hand and mouthed, “I’ll be off in a minute,” to her friends standing nearby.
Frank Hardy arched his eyebrows at his girlfriend and pointed toward his watch.
Callie nodded, indicating that she knew they were running late for their flight.
Frank looked at his brother, Joe, and Joe’s girlfriend, Iola Morton, and shrugged. Joe and Iola shrugged back.
Callie motioned for them to keep quiet. “Yes,” she said into the phone, “I’ll call when we get to San Esteban. Yes. I’ve gotta run. Yeah. Okay. Give
my love to Dad. Bye.” She hung up the phone and walked toward her friends and their luggage. “Sorry about that,” she said. “If cell phones worked down here, I could have called on the way.”
The four teens began to walk quickly down the street, heading toward where they were supposed to pick up their rental plane. “I don’t remember whether cell phones work on San Esteban or not,” Joe said.
“Having no phones might actually
add
to the island’s ’get-away-from-it-all’ feeling,” Iola noted.
“I suppose,” Callie said, “but here on Kendall Key it’s just a pain.”
“Any trouble at home?” Frank asked, putting his arm around his girlfriend’s shoulder.
Callie tousled Frank’s hair playfully. “Mom says she’s concerned about a tropical storm heading this way,” she replied. “Mostly, though, she’s just got worried-parent syndrome. Even though the four of us have been planning this vacation for months, and even though Iola has family on San Esteban, my folks
still
aren’t used to their little girl going off on her own.”
Iola smiled. “My big brother cured my parents of that—at least a bit.”
“Yeah,” Joe added, “after wondering what trouble Chet was getting into all these years, your folks have it easy with you.”
Iola laughed. The warm Kendall Key wind tugged
at her dark hair, and she pushed her bangs back out of her eyes. “I should point out, Joe, that most of the ’trouble’ Chet has gotten into has involved you and Frank.”
Both Hardys grinned. “We may be good at getting people into trouble . . .,” Joe began.
“But we’re even better at getting them
out,”
Frank finished.
“Well, no trouble on this vacation, please,” Callie said. “I’ve worked too long and hard saving up money for this trip. The only thing I want to do on San Esteban is relax.”
“Your wish is our command,” Frank said, bowing dramatically.
The four friends walked quickly across the crowded downtown boulevard toward the dock. San Esteban, their destination, was only a short flight away from Kendall Key, which was just off the Florida coast.
San Esteban was not a very large island in the Caribbean, but it was an independent country with its own elected government. Several small cities dotted its coast. The interior of the country was filled with mountains and jungles. Most of the life of San Esteban centered on its shores, and tourism was its main industry. Its beaches were famous for their soft white sand, and its people well-known for their hospitality.
Though the capital of San Esteban had a large
airport, there were no direct flights to the coastal city of Nuevo Esteban, where the teens would be vacationing. Fortunately Frank and Joe had their pilots licenses, and the group had saved enough money to charter a small plane for the trip to the island and back.
Joe checked his watch. ’We’ll be lucky if they haven’t rented our plane out from under us,” he said. “That late connection really cost us time.”
“We’ve got the plane for half a day,” Frank said, “so it shouldn’t be a problem. I called them before we made the connecting flight to alert them we might be late.”
“I’m more worried about meeting up with Iola’s cousin,” Callie said. “There’s no way we’re going to get to San Esteban by the time we were supposed to meet her.”
“Don’t sweat it,” Iola replied. “I can call Angela at a pay phone where she works. She told me her job puts her close to the airport.”
“Someone told me it wasn’t very far to the rental office, either,” Frank noted. “Though I’m starting to wish that we’d taken a cab from the airport.”
“What I want to know,” Callie said, “is why the airplane rental office isn’t
at
the airport.”
“Well,” Joe replied, coming to a stop at the end of the street, “take a look.”
Before them stretched a long, wide wooden dock lined with numerous smaller piers that jutted out
into the ocean. Fishermen stood on the wharf repairing their gear and working on their boats. A few tourists darted among them, some sightseeing, others chartering fishing boats.
At the far end of the dock stood a small plywood shack with a big sign propped on top of the roof. Hand-painted red letters on the sign read
RUIZ BOAT & PLANE RENTALS.
Joe looked at the weathered building and the fading sign, and frowned. “Not a storefront that inspires confidence.”
Frank shrugged. “This isn’t Bayport, Joe,” he said. “Besides, the island’s chamber of commerce recommended it.”
“I’m thinking there may not have been a lot of choices,” Callie said.
“Other rental offices go to the island,” Iola replied, “but according to the travel agency, this is the only one that sends planes to Nuevo Esteban.”
“Well,” Joe said, “I guess it’s either this or we cancel our vacation.” He smiled wryly and adjusted his travel bag strap on his shoulder. “Come on.”
They hauled their luggage up to the service window at the front of the shack. Despite its outward appearance, the inside of Ruiz Rentals looked fairly clean and well organized. A short, thin man wearing a white muscle shirt and an old Boston Red Sox cap sat behind the small table that served as a desk. His hair was dark and curly, and
at least three days’ growth of beard decorated his chin. He smiled, showing a missing tooth in front.
“Hello,” he said, “may I help you?” He spoke with a slight Caribbean accent.
“We’re Frank and Joe Hardy,” Frank said. “We have a plane reserved.”
“I wondered when you would get here,” the man said. “I almost rented your plane out.” He smiled. “This is not high season, but there’s still quite a bit of demand.”
“But we called from the airport,” Joe said defensively.
“You must have spoken to my brother, Pablo, on San Esteban,” the man said. He handed a small stack of forms to Joe. “Sometimes the phones between here and there do not work so well. I’m Jose Ruiz. Pablo runs the business, but I help him out on Kendall Key sometimes. Please read the rental agreement while I swipe your credit card. Then I’ll show you the plane.”
Frank handed Jose his card, and the Hardys read and signed the agreement. It included the usual insurance clauses and waiver of liability. Jose returned the credit card and gave Frank the slip; Frank signed it.
Jose opened a door in the side of the shack and joined the teens outside. He handed a set of airplane keys and copies of the rental agreement to
the Hardys. “Take these,” he said with a smile, “and follow me.”
The rental agent and the four teens walked to the boardwalks rail. Jose pointed over to an airplane that bobbed on the water next to a short, floating metal pier. The plane was an older single-prop model with pontoons on the bottom, and
RUIZ RENTALS
and a serial number were stenciled on the tail.
Frank frowned. “I thought we were getting a Sullivan Brothers amphibian, not a converted Station-air,” Frank said.
“Sorry,” Jose replied with a shrug. “The plane we planned to give you has some mechanical trouble.”
“Isn’t that a Sullivan amphibian sitting there, right next to the Stationair?” Joe asked. He pointed to a larger, newer plane that was rolling gently on the waves nearby.
“That’s the one with the engine problem, hombre,” Jose said. “Don’t worry, I adjusted your price. See?” He took the copy of the rental receipt from Joe and pointed to the bottom line.
Joe and Frank glanced at the figure on the paper, then at each other, and finally at their girlfriends. Iola and Callie looked hopeful and clutched their travel bags. Clearly the brothers couldn’t turn down the substitute plane at this point.
“Well,” Frank said, “I guess it’ll have to do.”
Jose smiled. “Excellent. She’s in fine shape.
Passed inspection just last week. I know you’ll have fun flying her.”
“Just as long as she gets us to San Esteban,” Joe replied.
“I guarantee it,” Jose said. “My brother would kill me otherwise! Do you need help with your bags?”
“We can manage,” Iola said. She, Callie, and the brothers picked up their luggage and toted it down the wharf to the small metal dock. They crossed to the airplane, unlocked the door, and loaded in their belongings. Finally they climbed in themselves.
Frank seated himself behind the pilot’s yoke while Joe took the copilot position. “We’ll trade on the way back,” Frank said.
“That’s okay,” Joe replied. “You’ve got more experience with this type of plane than I do.”
“This isn’t the
newest
plane, is it?” Callie said as she buckled herself in. She looked around the cabin, clearly a bit uneasy.
“Sometimes vacationers can’t be choosers,” Frank replied. “It’s either this or wait on Kendall Key until they get the Sullivan plane fixed.”
“I’m not waiting another minute to start my vacation,” Iola said firmly. “Let’s get this bird in the air. Next stop: paradise.”
“Please leave your troubles at the dock before boarding,” Joe added in an official-sounding voice.
He and Frank went over the preflight checklist, then started up the engine. The old plane sputtered
a bit, causing the girls to shift in their seats. Soon, though, the brothers had the engine purring like a contented pussycat. Joe cast the plane off, and Frank pulled them away from the dock.
They taxied out past some fishing boats and into the area of the harbor designated for takeoffs and landings. Frank pointed the nose of the converted Stationair into the wind and revved up the engine.
The plane bounced over the waves as it gained speed, then rose into the late-morning sky.
“Yippee!” said Iola. “So long school, so long books, so long homework! Hello white sand beaches and days with nothing to do but relax!”
The air over the Caribbean was clear and calm as the Hardys charted a course toward San Esteban. To the northeast, though, they all spotted thunderclouds.
“That must be the storm my mom was worried about,” said Callie.
Frank shuffled through the papers in the cockpit. “Well, they didn’t give us any weather advisories for the flight,” he said. “So we should be clear all the way to the island.”
“Let’s hope that we have clear skies for the whole vacation,” Iola said.
“Afternoon showers are common in the Caribbean,” Joe commented. “But they usually blow over by evening.”
“A good time for a siesta, I’d think,” Callie said.
“Or shopping.” added Iola.
“We’ll have plenty of time for all of that,” Frank said. “We’ve got ten days until we turn this bird around and head home.”
The old Stationair soared through the morning sky. Miles of blue-green ocean passed beneath them. Occasionally the teens could make out a fishing boat or a small coral key or a pod of dolphins racing across the water’s surface. Mostly, though, they enjoyed the beautiful serenity of sun, sky, and ocean.
“I’m feeling relaxed already,” Iola said, leaning back in her seat and closing her eyes.
