7 Lights! Camera! Action!

  * * *

  Joe’s assailant clenched his forearm hard against the front of Joe’s neck. With one last gasp, Joe forced air into his lungs and jammed his elbow back into the person’s body.

  A groan from behind him told Joe he’d hit his mark. When he felt the slightest loosening of that burly arm’s grip on his throat, he gathered all his strength and prepared himself to take the advantage. Leaning forward, he pulled his attacker up over his body. Then with one quick jerk forward he threw the person off his back and watched the body sail through the air. It landed on the ground with a thud.

  Joe’s legs were still a little wobbly. He leaned forward again, bracing his hands on his knees, and took in a few large gulps of air. With his brain cleared and his body ready for the fight, he started for his attacker, who was scrambling to stand a few yards away.

  Before Joe could grab his assailant, the person bolted down the drive alongside the garage. Joe chased after his attacker, but after a few turns he lost the trail. Frustrated, Joe realized that whoever it was had disappeared into the darkness.

  • • •

  While Joe was snooping around the garages and waiting for J. J., Frank was downtown at the police briefing about Hugh Conney’s arrest.

  Frank and Noah had parked behind police headquarters and joined the several hundred other journalists who were hurrying inside the building.

  “Can you believe the turnout for this?” Noah said, shaking his head.

  “Sure,” Frank replied. “The majority of these reporters and photographers are from countries other than the United States. In some countries, the Grand Prix drivers are huge heros.”

  The briefing room was medium size. Frank and Noah took seats toward the front. Within minutes all the seats were filled and reporters and photographers filled all the available standing room.

  On the raised platform at the front of the room sat a long table surrounded by chairs. Several microphones were propped on the table. Various broadcast reporters took turns adding mics from their stations to the cluster that was already on the table. Photographers checked light settings, and television cameramen jostled each other for good positions.

  Finally several people filed onto the platform and took seats behind the table. Frank recognized some track security officials. Others wore city police uniforms, and there were a couple of men and one woman in plain clothes.

  The police spokesperson introduced herself, then got right to the point. “I know you have heard that Hugh Conney has been arrested,” she said. “I’m sure you’ve also heard that Manion Cristal checked himself out of the track medical center and has since disappeared. We have reason to believe that Mr. Conney has had something to do with Mr. Cristal’s disappearance.”

  Loud whispers filled the room. Reporters who had been speaking quietly into their own microphones in the back of the room began feeding the news in many different languages. Camera flashes blasted the room with bright light. At least a dozen reporters jumped to their feet and shouted questions at the speaker.

  “Okay,” the police spokesperson said. “Now, we’re going to have to have some order in here, or you can just forget the whole briefing. If you want the information, let me give it to you at my pace. After I’ve finished with my statement, I’ll open the floor to questions.”

  The journalists seemed to settle down a little. Some sat back down, and the ones who had been giving a live feed to their stations resumed speaking in quiet voices.

  “Not long ago Hugh Conney was seen under the west stands of the track having a heated argument with Manion Cristal,” continued the spokesperson. “Our witness saw this argument escalate to a shoving match, and Mr. Cristal was pushed to the ground. Then Mr. Conney was seen picking him up and carrying him off to an unknown destination. In an attempt to get a closer view of the scene, our witness moved from a more distant location to a closer one. In so doing, he lost sight of the two drivers and did not see what happened after Mr. Conney carried Mr. Cristal off.”

  The spokesperson referred to a piece of typed paper, then finished her statement. “On the strength of this eyewitness report, we obtained a warrant to search Mr. Conney’s vehicle and hotel suite. Evidence linking him to Mr. Cristal was found. Subsequently we picked up Mr. Conney. He is being held at the moment as a material witness in the disappearance of Manion Cristal—but we expect to file revised charges soon.” She put the paper down and looked out at the crowd. “Now I’ll take your questions,” she said.

  “A certain length of time has to pass before a person is declared missing,” Frank said. “When was Manion officially declared a missing person?”

  “That time is determined by the circumstances of each case. In this one, factors such as Mr. Cristal’s physical and emotional condition as a result of his recent accident were taken into account. Added to that was the apparent fact that he was actually picked up and taken away to an unknown location. We have yet to find Mr. Cristal.”

  “Did Hugh tell you where he took him?” a journalist asked from the back of the room.

  “All communication between investigators and Mr. Conney is off limits for questions at this time,” the spokesperson answered.

  “Can you tell us about the evidence that you found during the search?” another reporter asked in a heavy French accent.

  “This case is not closed by any means. It is an ongoing investigation. And I’m not making any comments or answering any questions about the investigation itself, the evidence, or statements made by the material witness.”

  “Will you identify the eyewitness?” someone asked. “Is it someone involved in the race?”

  “We won’t identify the person at this time,” the spokesperson answered. “I think you can assume that if the witness observed something under the stands at the track, he might have some involvement with the Formula One event.” The spokesperson looked over at one of the men in plain clothes, who was shaking his head.

  “Okay, everyone, that’s it for now,” the spokesperson said. “We’ll keep you posted about the next briefing.”

  Everyone behind the table stood up and filed back out of the room, ignoring the shouted questions and calls from the journalists.

  “Well, that was quick and dirty,” Noah said. “And they didn’t offer much time for questioning. It’s a pretty slim story so far—but a huge one.”

  “I’d like to know who the eyewitness is,” Frank said as they joined the others who were leaving the briefing room.

  “Me too,” Noah said. “I hope we find out more tomorrow.”

  Once outside police headquarters, Frank turned to Noah. “Thanks for the lift down here,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Come on,” Noah said. “I’ll give you a ride over to the hotel.”

  “No, I’d like to walk,” Frank said. “It’s only a few blocks away.”

  “Okay. See you tomorrow morning at the Velodrome! I know it’ll be a great race.”

  Frank watched Noah pull away, then headed toward the hotel. As he walked, he tried to call Joe on his cell phone, but he got the voicemail and left a message. He had the same experience when he tried to call J. J., then Becky.

  It was nearly midnight when Frank got back to the hotel. He checked with hotel security, but they had nothing to report regarding the identity of the intruder. As he walked through the door to his room, he was overcome with an eerie feeling, much like the one he had when he’d confronted the intruder earlier.

  “Joe?” Frank called. “Are you home yet?” There was no answer. Frank’s thoughts returned to the person who’d prowled around the room. What did he want? he wondered. He checked the room again for any evidence he might have missed, but he found nothing.

  As he showered, he went over the press briefing in his mind. Is it possible that the rivalry between the two top Formula One drivers in the world has jumped the track to actual crime? he wondered. Does Hugh Conney have something to do with Manion Cristal’s disappearance?

  Finally Frank tumbled into bed. As he drifted off to sleep, he pushed all the unanswered questions about the case out of his mind. Instead he thought of the bike race the next day and saw himself flying around the Velodrome track to the finish line.

  • • •

  While Frank was walking from police headquarters to the hotel, Joe was driving the van out of the media parking lot at the track. He noticed a dark SUV pulling out of the lot at about the same time. Even with the lights in the parking lot, Joe couldn’t see through the SUV’s tinted windows.

  As he drove, Joe couldn’t shake the idea that the SUV was following him. He checked his rearview mirror frequently. Once in a while he’d lose sight of the SUV—but then he’d check again, and there it would be. It seemed to vanish and then materialize like a phantom.

  At last Joe reached the hotel. As he pulled into the hotel parking garage, Joe checked his rearview mirror again. Like a scene in a movie, the mirror captured the image of the SUV slowing down as if to turn in after him. Then it sped away.

  Joe wheeled the van around in a big U-turn in the parking garage and sped back out onto the street. He could see the SUV a few cars ahead. Carefully, he stayed back, always keeping his target in sight. When he realized they were driving out of town, he opened a map on the passenger seat.

  By periodically checking the map and following the signs along the streets and highway, Joe guessed they were driving out to Falcon Lake. On the map the lake appeared as a large body of water in a heavily wooded area west of town. Signs identified the area surrounding the northern half of the lake as a wildlife preserve.

  The SUV driver pulled into a secluded area along the road on the north end of the lake and parked the vehicle. Joe followed suit, pulling into a wooded area off the road and out of sight of the SUV driver.

  The night was very dark. Only a sliver of a moon shone in the sky.

  Ahead of Joe stood a huge shagbark hickory tree with three knots on its trunk. As Joe passed by the tree, the “knots” sprang away from the trunk and fluttered off to join their bat brothers who were busy feasting on mosquitoes and gnats. Lightning bugs glowed and swooped near Joe’s head. And what looked like two fireflies in a tree turned out to be the glowing yellow eyes of an owl looking for a midnight snack.

  Countless other animals scuttled through the fallen leaves, snapping twigs beneath them. Joe tried to ignore the creepy noises of the dark woods and focus on tracking the person ahead.

  Although the woods did not thin out any as Joe went deeper into the preserve, a fresh new scent filled his nose. The ground began sloping down an embankment, and he thought he heard the rhythm of moving water. He hid behind a tree as he and the person he was following neared a small clearing.

  As his eyes adjusted to the moonlit scene ahead, he looked around. The ground curved back up again to a spectacular steel-and-glass mansion. It arched above the lake and was surrounded by tall lush trees. A few smaller buildings rose farther back in the woods behind it.

  The SUV driver hurried up to the huge house and disappeared around the back. Joe waited a few minutes but saw no more activity around the house. He carefully crept out from behind the tree trunk and started toward the mansion.

  He was sure the house would be protected by an alarm system, so he took a moment to scan the branches around the buildings. Though he saw no telltale sign of a security system, he stayed on high alert.

  Despite how carefully he was moving, he couldn’t shake a weird stabbing sensation in his gut. He felt like every step brought him closer to the house—and farther from safety.

  He was only a few yards away when his premonition proved accurate. First floodlights from three different directions pinned him like a wild animal in headlights. Then, with a sound eruption that sent the birds and animals fleeing, a crazy choir of sirens and alarms told the world that Joe was there.

  8 Flipped Out

  * * *

  Joe was stunned for a few seconds by the noise and bright lights. When he saw a video camera mounted on the side of the house and aimed right at him, though, he charged into action.

  Shielding his face, he raced away from the house and into the dense woods. From behind him he heard a door slam and the pounding of footsteps. In response, Joe ran faster, sprinting through the woods at top speed.

  After several minutes he stopped and ducked into a tangle of undergrowth. For a while he heard someone thrashing through the woods. He was sure the person was searching for him.

  Eventually it was quiet. He waited a few minutes to be sure no one was around, then he stepped out from his screen of tangled bushes. Convinced that he was safe, he wound his way back through the trees to the road.

  When he reached the secluded area where the SUV was hidden, he stopped. He strained to hear any noise that would indicate he was being followed, but there was nothing but the weird crackles and chirps of the woods at night.

  “Okay,” Joe whispered. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.” He picked the lock of the SUV and quietly opened the passenger door. The inside of the vehicle was totally clean—there was nothing on the seats or floor. He flipped down the visors but found nothing but a mirror attached to the back of one.

  Frustrated, he popped open the glove compartment. “That’s what I figured,” he whispered. “It’s a rental—no identification of the driver.” He brushed his hands under the driver’s seat. One of his fingers trailed across something that felt like a thin rope. He grabbed it and pulled out a short gray cord wrapped around a small bulky roll of black cloth.

  This looks familiar, he thought. Joe recognized it as a match to the piece of gray cord Frank had found earlier in their hotel room.

  He laid the small bulky package on the front seat of the van and pulled the gray cord. The bundle unrolled, revealing a small tool kit. Inside he found a pair of needlenose pliers, a couple of screwdrivers and small wrenches, a file, a lockpick, and a slim pair of razor-sharp scissors.

  He took all the tools out and checked the bottoms of the pockets. They were all empty. There was nothing in the SUV that gave him a clue about the driver’s identity.

  Joe replaced the tool kit and climbed out of the vehicle. He closed and locked the door, then he raced back to his own van and drove out of the area.

  By the time Joe got to the Hardys’ hotel room, Frank was in deep sleep. Better not wake him, Joe thought. He’s got to be in great shape for the race tomorrow.

  Joe’s night was not so peaceful. He spent restless hours reliving his attack outside Hugh Conney’s garage and the subsequent pursuit of the SUV driver. Was someone prowling around inside The Rabbit’s garage? Was it the same person who grabbed him from behind and nearly choked him? And was there a connection between that person and the driver of the SUV?

  • • •

  Thursday morning Joe woke up to find a note from Frank saying that he’d left for breakfast with the other cyclists.

  Joe called J. J.’s cell phone and got voicemail. He left a message saying he was sorry they hadn’t connected the previous night, then he suggested that they meet up later that day. Next Joe called Noah and arranged to meet him for breakfast at a café at the track.

  Over sausage and Belgian waffles, Joe and Noah talked about the press briefing the night before. “Man, I can’t believe it,” Joe said. “I wonder how Becky’s taking all of this.”

  “Not very well, I’m sure,” Noah answered.

  Joe stabbed a piece of sausage. “I hear there’s some interesting recreational areas around town,” he said casually, changing the subject. He decided not to go into any details about his adventure the night before. “Are there any places to wind-surf or boat?”

  “Falcon Lake is pretty cool,” Noah said. “It’s a wildlife preserve west of town. Nice lake, lots of animals and birds. It’s a great place for hiking and water sports.”

  “That’s all public land?” Joe prompted.

  “No. The preserve itself is public—it belongs to the city. But it borders only the northern half of the lake. The southern half is surrounded by private property.”

  “Does all that property belong to one owner?” Joe asked.

  “No—actually it’s only partially developed,” Noah answered, pouring more syrup on his waffle. “Some of the land is still as raw as the preserve. The rest is divided into a few very secluded, very exclusive estates. All of the land has been sold. The undeveloped part will be developed eventually.”

  “Who owns the estates?” Joe asked.

  “Most are owned by local industrialists,” Noah answered. “They use them for entertaining or as guest houses for clients or friends who travel here from abroad. I’m sure we’ve got Grand Prix fans staying in some of them this week.” Noah sipped his coffee. “And a few of the homes are owned by local sports celebrities,” he continued. “You know—pro basketball and football players. Some of them might be at the party for the burn center on Friday night, by the way. It’s a good opportunity to interview celebrities from other sports.”

  Joe and Noah finished their food and paid their bills. Outside, the sun was shooting through red and gold leaves. The air was warm but crisp with the scent of autumn.

  “It’s a great day for Frank’s race,” Noah said as they walked toward the parking lot. “I think I’ll head on over now and get a feature or two for the evening news. You want to ride with me?”

  “No, thanks. I need to do a little work before the race,” Joe said. “I have about an hour. I’ll be over in a little while. J. J.’s planning to go too. Save us some seats?”

  “You got it,” Noah said. He quickly got into his car and drove off.

  Joe climbed into the back of the Hardys’ van, closed the door, and fired up his laptop computer. Armed with the information Noah had given him, he went to the Internet. It took him only a few clicks to access the county’s office of land records.