“Cute girl,” Noah said, “but blindly loyal to The Rabbit. Well, this break’s over. I’ve got a story to file. Catch you later.” He headed across the infield toward the media center.

  “So what do you think of Becky?” Joe asked. “She seems pretty sure that Manion’s the bad guy here. Even thinks he could have caused his own crash just to set up The Rabbit.”

  “Sounds a little far-fetched to me,” Frank answered. “But this whole competition is really weird. I’d like to get a look at the medical report of his crash injuries, just in case.”

  “The hospital’s still crawling with reporters,” Joe pointed out. “Let’s go join them.”

  The Hardys walked back to the medical center. Dozens of people still milled around outside and inside the building. The security guard who had been at the front door was no longer at his post.

  Frank and Joe slipped inside and scanned the area. “There’s the guard,” Joe said, watching a track officer talking to a small crowd of reporters. “It’s the same one that was here before, when J. J. got us inside. He might remember us. Just act as if we still belong here.”

  “J. J. said that Manion’s in that room in the back,” Frank said, nodding toward a closed door. “I’ve got an idea. It’ll work if I can just get back there without getting stopped. Stick with the guard. Keep him busy as long as you can.”

  Joe wandered over to join the other journalists interviewing the guard. Frank slipped past and hurried to Manion’s door. When he reached the room, a nurse was just going in with a tray of medication.

  “Excuse me,” Frank said. “J. J. Quinn sent me over to sit with Manion for a while.”

  “There’s someone in there now,” the nurse said. “Mr. Cristal is still asleep. Did you clear this with the security guard up front?”

  Without answering, Frank pushed the door open for her and then followed her in. He was relieved to see the familiar face of one of the members of the pit crew in a chair by the window. The man immediately recognized Frank.

  “J. J. told me you were here,” Frank said, thinking fast. “Take a break and get something to eat. I’ll sit with Manion until you get back.”

  “Great,” said the pit crewman. “Here’s my beeper. Yell if he wakes up. I’ll be right back.”

  Frank sat in the chair and smiled at the nurse. She seemed reassured and placed the tray on the bedside stand. She then changed Manion’s IV bag with another bag full of medicine and replenishing fluids.

  Frank looked around the room. There was only one bed and one chair besides the one the pit crewman had taken. Near the door was a nurse’s station with a sink and a short counter with drawers. Cabinets lined the wall above.

  When the nurse finished, she went to the nurse’s station and recorded some notes in a black book. Then she placed the book in a drawer, smiled at Frank, and left, closing the door behind her.

  Frank waited a couple of minutes to make sure she was really gone, then went to the nurse’s station. It’ll just take a few minutes to look through these notes, he told himself. You’re right by the door—you can hear anyone coming. He took a few deep breaths as he flipped through the small black book. Finally he found the first report made after Manion was brought in from the crash.

  He read as fast as he could, trying to memorize a couple of key pieces of information. It wasn’t easy—many of the notes were in the cryptic shorthand that doctors and nurses often use. Suddenly he heard a loud whooshing noise, and he jumped. He relaxed a little, though, when he realized the whoosh was the sound of his own blood pounding through his temples.

  The next noise he heard was definitely coming from outside his head. Footsteps tumbled along the hallway outside the room. Frank slapped the notebook together and shoved it into the drawer. He didn’t know which came first: the door pushing open or the loud “Hey!” that came from Manion’s bed.

  4 Chasing the Truth

  * * *

  Frank felt trapped. Manion slowly pulled his head up from the pillow. His head was very wobbly, moving back and forth on his shoulders. “Hey,” the patient repeated. “Who’re you? What do you want?”

  At the same time that Manion spoke, the door pushed open.

  “Here I am,” said the voice from the other side of the door. Manion’s crew member poked his head around. “I’m back. Thanks for giving me the break.”

  Frank felt a rush of relief flooding through his chest. The crew member didn’t seem to find it odd that Frank was standing at the nurse’s station. He went straight over to Manion’s bed. “Hey, boss, lie back. You’re supposed to be resting.”

  While the crew member calmed Manion down, Frank quietly backed out of the room. He hurried to the front of the building and motioned for Joe to follow him outside.

  “I take it you got inside the room,” Joe said, joining his brother. “Did you find out anything?”

  “Plenty,” Frank said. He told Joe about his stint in Manion’s room. “And here’s the deal,” he concluded. “Manion was unconscious before he crashed!”

  “Before?” Joe repeated.

  Frank nodded.

  “So he was sabotaged,” Joe said, “not the car!”

  “Now all we have to do is find out why he lost consciousness while he was driving,” Frank pointed out. “Did he have some physical problem? Or was it something else?”

  “Maybe he was drugged,” Joe wondered out loud.

  “You mean injected with something?” Frank said. “Or do you think someone gave him something in his food or drink before he got in the car?”

  “Or after,” Joe said.

  “What do you mean?” Frank asked.

  “A tube in the helmet leads from the driver’s mouth to a high-pressure drinking bottle inside the car. When a driver needs fluid, he pushes a lever next to the throttle. The liquid feeds from the bottle right into his mouth.”

  “So someone could have spiked that fluid,” Frank said.

  “It’s possible,” Joe said.

  “Think back,” Frank said. “When you were taking the photos of the wreck, did you see the drinking bottle? Was it still intact?”

  “I didn’t have time to check things out,” Joe said. “I knew I had to shoot fast before they dragged the car away. Let’s go to the media center. I can upload the photos and see what I’ve got.”

  Frank and Joe walked across the infield, through the paddock parking lot, and into the media center. Inside, dozens of journalists worked on their stories about Manion’s crash. Print reporters clicked away at computers; television reporters recorded voice-overs for the video that cameramen had shot. Photographers checked their closeups on monitors.

  Joe found a free computer and began feeding in his photos. While he worked, Frank opened the package J. J. had given him. “Anything interesting?” Joe asked, still watching his screen.

  “It’s pretty much what J. J. told us it was,” Frank answered. “And he’s included a note describing the originals. He says they were written in block letters, in black ballpoint pen ink on plain white paper. The threats are pretty explicit, but also pretty standard stuff: ‘You’re going to die,’ ‘You’ll never finish the race,’ ‘Get out while you can.’ That kind of thing.”

  He opened another folded piece of paper with typing on it. “This must be the transcript of the phone message. Looks like it’s more of the same. It says Manion’s headed for a crash at Indy. J. J.’s note says that the phone call was traced to Hugh’s apartment in London. The postmark for one of the threats was also London. Another threat was sent from here in Indy, and the third was apparently hand-delivered. It was shoved under the door of Savanne’s suite.”

  When he saw Noah wandering over to join them, Frank put the papers back into the envelope. He met Noah halfway and led him away from Joe’s computer. He wasn’t ready to include him in the Hardys’ theorizing yet.

  “I’ve been looking for you two,” Noah said.

  “Hey, Noah,” Frank said. “What’s up?”

  “I’ve been doing some investigating, and I think I’ve come across something big: a new suspect in the sabotage of Manion’s car.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Have you ever heard of Doobie Poliano?” Noah asked.

  “Maybe,” Frank answered. “Who is he?”

  “D. B. Poliano, better known as Doobie, owned a Formula One team several years ago,” Noah explained. “The first driver he ever signed was Manion Cristal. Manion had done some small-time racing but had not been very successful. But people who knew Formula One racing could see his potential. Doobie took him on as a rookie.”

  “Yeah, I remember something about that. I knew the name Poliano sounded familiar. Does he still have a team?”

  “No. After his rookie year, Manion jumped to Kristièn Savanne’s team—it was flashier and had a lot more money. Poliano went bankrupt within months. For years he blamed Manion for his losses. Then he pretty much dropped out of the scene. No one’s seen him for years.”

  “I have a feeling you’re going to add ‘until now’ to that sentence,” Frank said.

  “You got it,” Noah agreed. “Doobie Poliano has been spotted here in Indy this week.”

  “And you think he might be targeting Manion?”

  “Well, he blames Manion for all his trouble,” Noah said. “Seems to me he’d be a prime suspect.”

  “Have you seen him here?” Frank asked.

  “No,” Noah said.

  “Who has? Have you talked to any of these people?”

  “Actually Becky Hannah told me about it. If you want to talk to her, I could set something up.”

  “Yes, please,” Frank said.

  “Good. Well, I’d better file my story on the crash,” Noah said. “See you guys later?”

  “Yeah, maybe,” Frank said. “We’ll be hanging here at the track this afternoon. I’ll be at the Velodrome for bike practice this evening.”

  “Maybe after your session. Are you going to the press party the American team is throwing?” Noah asked.

  “Sure,” Frank answered. “We’ll probably stop by after my practice.”

  “If we don’t run into each other before then, Becky and I will see you there,” Noah suggested.

  “Cool,” Frank said.

  After Noah left, Frank went back to Joe and told him what Noah had said about D. B. Poliano.

  “I remember hearing about him a few years ago,” Joe said. “It sounds like he might be a legitimate lead.”

  “If Becky’s telling the truth,” Frank pointed out. “We need to make sure he’s really been seen and that she’s not just throwing that name out to take the heat off of The Rabbit. Remember, she’s paid to tell everyone that Hugh is innocent.” He looked at Joe’s computer screen. “How’s it going?”

  “Pretty good,” Joe said. “It’s taking longer than I thought, though, because I’m zooming in on some of the shots and making extra prints.”

  “Great,” Frank said. “The extra time and effort will be worth it. I’m going over to the paddock now to track down J. J. Join us as soon as you can.”

  Joe nodded, still watching the computer screen.

  It took only a few minutes for Frank to get from the media center to the paddock. J. J. was nowhere in sight, so Frank used his cell phone to call him. When he got J. J.’s voicemail, it could mean one of two things: either J. J.’s cell phone wasn’t turned on or the line was busy. Frank knew there was no way J. J.’s phone was turned off because he always had to be available to the entire Cristal crew. So J. J. had to be talking to someone else.

  Frank left a message and waited for J. J.’s return call. Restless, he paced a little. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered to himself. “I’m totally wasting time here.”

  He checked his watch. Fifteen minutes had passed since he left the message for J. J. He shoved the phone back in his pocket. I have to be at the Velodrome for biking practice at six o’clock, Frank thought, and my bike’s at the hotel. Joe should be here in another twenty minutes or so. I’d save time by going to pack up my bike instead of just waiting here. If we get into Manion’s garage later, I can stay longer and just leave from here to go to the Velodrome. That’s the best plan.

  Frank sprinted to the media center parking lot and the Hardys’ van. Traffic was light, so it took only ten minutes to drive back to the hotel. Frank parked in one of the loading zone spots and hurried inside.

  The lobby was full of people, most of them standing in a long line that snaked up to the registration desk. In the short time it took Frank to cross to the elevators, he heard seven different languages.

  He checked his watch again as he stepped off the elevator. “Looking good,” he whispered. “I should beat Joe back to the paddock.”

  The fifth floor hall was empty. He hurried quietly along the thick carpet. As he approached the room he could see something was wrong. A paper-thin sliver of light outlined one side of the door. Someone had been in his room—or was still there.

  His heart began to beat fast. He swallowed hard.

  Frank pinned himself against the wall and slid toward the door. He focused all his energy on two senses: sight and hearing—especially hearing. He strained so hard to detect the slightest sound that he realized he was holding his breath. He stopped moving for a few seconds and took a quiet deep intake of air through his nose. Then he started toward the door again.

  As Frank got about a yard away from his room, he heard a strange noise coming from inside. It was a scraping sound, like metal against metal.

  Suddenly the noise stopped. For a few seconds, a heavy silence filled the hall like a bank of fog. Another sound then trilled through the air. From his pocket, Frank felt the vibration of his ringing cell phone. Pressing his back hard against the wall, Frank watched as the door to his room began to open, an inch at a time.

  5 Unsportsmanlike Behavior

  * * *

  Frank’s pulse filled his head with sound—almost enough to drown out the trill of his ringing phone. He reached into his pocket and turned it off as the door to his room slowly pulled back.

  He looked around the hallway, then darted for the door to the stairway exit. Quietly he pushed the door, slipped through the opening, and crouched down. The top half of the door was a window, so he hid himself behind the lower half and peered through the bottom corner of the window.

  As he raised his head just enough to view the hallway, he saw a figure dressed in jeans, a dark jacket, and a cap sidle from his room and pull the door shut. Then the person turned and headed straight for the stairway—Frank’s hiding place.

  Frank ducked out of sight and backed away from the door a little. The door pushed open, and Frank saw the intruder’s leg and arm. Frank waited until the person was halfway through the door before shoving it closed.

  “Whaummmmph.” A strange sound burst from the person Frank had trapped with the heavy door. It sounded like air being squeezed from a bellows.

  Frank released the door a little, just in case he’d done any major harm. The person was still trapped, with an arm and a leg on either side of the opening. “Who are you?” Frank demanded of the intruder. “Why were you in my room?”

  “Mmmm. Uhhnnngg.” The person groaned and snorted a couple of times, but wouldn’t talk.

  “Give it up,” Frank said. “Or I—” Frank’s words were swallowed in his own groan. With a sudden kick, his captive pushed the door back into Frank. Without looking back, the person leaped for the stairs. Frank flung himself forward to tackle the fleeing intruder, but he missed and slammed to the floor in a belly flop.

  Frank stood up and was immediately assailed with an overwhelming dizziness. He leaned over to let the blood rush back to his head. Once he shook off the pain, he shot down the stairs, taking two at a time. Somewhere in the stairwell below he heard a door slam, so he stopped at each floor, opened the door, and scanned the hallway for his prey.

  After going down a few flights of stairs, he noticed a small metal triangle on the landing next to the door leading to the second floor hallway. He picked it up carefully and dropped it in his pocket. Then he checked the second floor. He found that the hall was completely empty in both directions, and he didn’t hear any footsteps.

  He continued down the stairs and flung open the door to the lobby. He scanned the large open room, but saw no one matching the description of the man he had pinned in the fifth floor exit door. He’d lost the trail.

  He raced back up to his room. At first it looked as if nothing was out of place. The bed was made and there were fresh towels in the bathroom, courtesy of one of the hotel maids. The drawers and closets looked untouched. His computer was still secure.

  “Looks like it wasn’t a thief,” he whispered to himself.

  He walked to the small desk in front of the window. Papers and other things strewn on the top were just as he’d left them. As he scanned the surface carefully, though, he noticed something. Hanging off the corner of the desk was a short braided cord. It was gray and about six inches long. He studied it for a moment without picking it up. It didn’t look familiar.

  Frank called hotel security and reported the intruder. The security officer arrived immediately and took Frank’s statement. Then Frank took the silver triangle and the piece of cord and left.

  Frank checked his watch. It was five-fifteen. He grabbed his bike and gym bag and hurried down to the van. By the time he got back to the track and parked the van, Joe and J. J. were waiting for him.

  “Hey, there you are,” Joe called out. “We’ve been looking for you.”

  “I returned your call a little while ago,” J. J. added. “He says you guys want to see—” J. J. was cut off by his ringing cell phone.

  “Yes,” J. J. said into the phone. He paced as he talked. While J. J. huddled with the phone, Frank casually led Joe a few yards away.

  “Where were you?” Joe asked in a low voice. “You look like you’ve been in a crash yourself. Your face is all red, and you’re kind of limping.”