Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
Cody flew toward Brando again, but Frank managed to catch him before he
got too far. “Don't do it, Cody,” Frank warned. “Don't let
him get to you.”
“You're right,” Cody agreed.
“But let's call the policeâor my dad. We'll get to the truth
then.”
Brando's grin turned to a scowl. “Pay attention to your pal
here, Chang, and back off,” he snarled. “In fact, I think I'll give
the cops a call myself. Seems to me
I'm
the one being
bugged here.”
Frank turned to Cody. “He's right,” Frank said quietly.
“We have no proof that he's done anything.”
As Frank and Cody retraced their steps out of the courtyard, Cody
couldn't resist a final jab. “Don't think you're getting away
with anything, Mike,” he called over his shoulder. Frank turned and walked
backward, so he could keep an eye on Brando.
“You'll slip up,” Cody yelled as they left the
courtyard, “just like you did the last time.”
“We've got to get that guy, Frank,” Cody said as the two
walked back to the cable car stop. “He's been out of prison two days, and
he's already managed to attack us both.”
“I agree that it's probably more than coincidence that he was
standing a few yards from where I was pushed,” Frank said. “But coincidence
won't cut it. We need proof, Cody.”
“But how are we going to get that?”
“Our best bet is to find out who interrupted your shipments and
who's sending the threatening
e-mails,” Frank answered.
“You know, it might be time to tell your father about your suspicions.”
“Maybe you're right,” Cody said. “I want you and
Joe to help, but it's not fair to put you in such danger.”
“That's not what I mean,” Frank said. “It's
just that your father has contacts who could help. For example, he knew that Brando took
some computer training. Your dad could contact the prison where Brando served time.
Maybe they could check the hard drives of the computer he worked on. Even when you
delete files, they're still in there somewhere. If Brando sent the messages to you
from a computer in the prison, a trained technician might be able to pull them
out.”
“That sounds good, Frank,” Cody said. “I see your point,
but just give me a little more time. I'd like to see what we can find out first.
Dave's been working on the e-mails. He might have something for us by the time we
get back.”
While Frank and Cody waited for the next cable car, Frank saw Mike Brando
emerge from the alley and slink off into the crowd. Brando probably pushed me, Frank
thought, but we've got to get some proof. I wonder how Joe's doing.
â¢Â  â¢Â  â¢
While Frank and Cody were narrowly escaping danger on
the cable car and then confronting Mike Brando, Joe was pursuing his own lead.
When the brothers split up, Joe sped quickly after the dark green car he
was sure had been tailing them. It took him a few blocks, but he finally spotted the
car. Within minutes he settled in a few cars back, so the other driver wouldn't
spot him.
Is this the same guy who nearly kicked me off Cody's roof? Joe
wondered. Looks like the same kind of hat and jacket. Of course a lot of people wear
that style.
“So why did you follow us from Sergeant Chang's,” he
muttered. “What do you want?”
Joe expertly wove Cody's car through the lanes of traffic, keeping
his quarry in sight. He watched the dark green car pull into Golden Gate Park. Then the
cars in front of Joe slowed as the light at the intersection ahead turned yellow, then
red.
Joe pounded the steering wheel once in frustration. He watched the green
car take the first left inside the park. Joe waited impatiently for the light to turn
green again.
At last he was able to continue. He pulled into the park and turned
left.
There were no cars on the street ahead of him. From the high seat of the
SUV, he was able to scan
over and around the cars parked along the
street and within scattered parking areas. But nothing looked like the car he'd
been following.
Finally he did spot the dark green sedan parked at the Polo Field. The
area was very crowded, with lots of pedestrians ringing the track and filing into the
Polo Field stands.
Joe drove around the area, searching for someone dressed in a dark jacket,
wraparound sunglasses, dark knit cap, and gloves.
“Nothing,” he muttered. Then suddenly Joe saw his quarry. The
driver of the green car was headed for the stands along the side of the track.
One thing's sure, Joe thought as he parked the SUV and took up the
chase on foot. This guy followed us from Sergeant Chang's, and I'm going to
find out why.
But once again his target slipped away. Joe searched the polo stands for
fifteen minutes but couldn't find the person. “I don't give up this
easily,” Joe muttered. “If I can't get you, I'll settle for the
car.”
He headed back toward the green sedan. He knew he'd have no trouble
finding it if it was still there. It was parked at a sloppy angle, and Joe figured the
driver had been in a big hurry.
As he walked toward the parking area, Joe felt a
whoosh of air behind him. He turned just in time to see the person in the dark windsuit
and knit cap drive by.
Only this time the person wasn't in the green car. The person was
behind the wheel of Cody's SUV!
Frustration spilled into anger as Joe watched the man he'd been tailing drive off in Cody's car. “He must have hotwired it,” Joe muttered, feeling Cody's keys in his pocket. He whipped around, looking for a police officer or a guard, but saw no one.
“Yes!” he finally said, spotting the large complex of buildings making up the Golden Gate Stables. Within minutes he had rented a horse and was saddled up and on the bridle trail.
The trail was nearly empty, so Joe made up time by galloping along in the direction that Cody's SUV had gone. When he met up with slower riders, he left the trail and carefully made his way along the street.
At last he spotted Cody's vehicle a block ahead,
weaving in and out of traffic, working its way toward the west end of the park. In the distance Joe saw the white foam of ocean waves beyond the park. A honking horn behind him drew his attention away for a second. He skillfully moved the horse back on to the bridle trail.
When he glanced back at the street again, he saw Cody's vehicle ahead. It was parked on the grass under a grove of cypress trees near the oceanside entrance to the park.
Joe rode slowly toward the car. He could see no one inside, so he guided the horse to a halt under the cypress grove. He dismounted and tied the horse to a small tree. Across the street a full-size windmill stood in a small garden. Its sails turned in the breeze from the ocean.
Cautiously, Joe approached Cody's car. It had been abandoned, the driver's door slightly open.
“What's this?” Joe mumbled, reaching inside the car. A set of keys on a simple brass chain protruded from the ignition.
Joe opened the glove compartment and found the owner's manual. Without touching either key, he pulled on the brass chain. The ignition key came out, and he dropped the two keys between pages of the owner's manual. Then he put the manual in his jeans pocket and closed the car door, locking it.
He ran quickly through the cypress grove, searching for the man who had stolen Cody's car. There was no one there.
Joe doubled back to the car and hurried out of the park to the open area stretching to the oceanfront.
A wide stretch of concrete, crisscrossed with parking lines, connected the park to the oceanfront street known as the Great Highway. A short cement wall separated the street and sidewalk from the low grassy dunes, the sandy shore, and the Pacific Ocean. The wind blew across the water, swirling sand up from the dunes and depositing it on the street and in Joe's eyes.
There were no cars on the street, and as Joe walked toward the beach, he noticed a sign. The street would be closed that afternoon, the sign said, so that the city could sweep.
Joe knew there would be no swimmers in the water. Posted warnings forbidding swimming warned of a dangerous current. But a few people were scattered along the wide beach. A mother and two children were building sand castles, a boy was walking his dog, several young women were sunbathing, a couple of older men were fishing, and a girl was pacing the sand with a metal detector.
Nobody in a dark windsuit, Joe thought as he gazed
down the beach in both directions. Sea gulls swooped and called, watching for their lunch to appear.
Joe ran back across the highway, uncomfortable about leaving the horse alone much longer. On his way he passed a hot dog vendor stirring a steaming bin with a long-handled spoon. Joe walked up to the vendor's cart.
“How ya doin', young fellaâwhat can I getcha?” The vendor greeted Joe with a big smile topped by a bushy mustache.
“Some information, I hope,” Joe said. “Did you see anyone run out of the park in the last few minutes?”
“Sure did,” the vendor said. “You.”
“Besides me,” Joe answered. “Before I did. Dressed in a dark windsuit.”
“Don't think so,” the vendor said, looking around. He took off his hat and seemed to be thinking hard. “Nope. I had some customers about ten minutes ago. I was pretty busy with them, so I might have missed him.”
Next Joe raced into the glassfront restaurant just outside the park entrance and asked the cashier the questions he'd asked the hot dog vendor.
“You know, I might have seen who you're talking about,” the young woman said. “Was it a man or a woman you're looking for?”
“I'm not sure,” Joe said. “Could be either one.”
“That's what I'm thinking, too,” the cashier said, nodding her head. “This person came tearing out of the park, looked around for a minute, then turned and raced back in. Seemed to be heading toward the windmill. But I couldn't tell you much more than that. I sure couldn't give you any kind of ID, if that's what you need.”
“Thanks a lot,” Joe said. “You've been a help.” He sped back into the park. Glad I took Cody's keys, he told himself. Whoever it was must have realized there was no place to hide out here and ran back in to grab the SUV again.
Cody's car was still parked where it had been, and the horse was still tied to the cypress tree. From behind him, Joe heard the sails of the windmill creaking in the wind. Joe crossed over to the small garden of purple and orange flowers that surrounded the windmill.
The structure was fifty to sixty feet high, and each of the two crisscrossed sails looked as if it was nearly that long. As the sails came down, they missed the deck by only a couple of feet. As they climbed back up, the wind from the ocean wrapped them in greenish gray fingers of fog.
A third of the way up, a large overhanging deck with a railing encircled the stone-block building. A plaque near the windmill said that it had been built in
1902 to pump water to a reservoir and had been restored in 1981.
Joe walked around the sidewalk that circled the base of the windmill. A much smaller building stood at the end of a path in a wooded area. Joe reasoned that was probably a pumphouse or maintenance shed.
There were several window openings in the wall, some round and some rectangular. From where Joe stood, they all had been closed off with brick or cement, although his line of sight was partially blocked by the large deck above his head.
A few concrete steps led down to large double doors made of rusted steel in the base of the windmill. In the doors were two holes about four inches square. Joe looked through one and saw only a round dark room. A few paper cups and some leaves littered the floor. There were small piles of trash either blown in or thrown through the square holes.
Joe thought he heard a noise from inside but couldn't be sure what it was. Probably an animal or bird, he thought. But the twitch he felt at the back of his neck told him he ought to make sure.
He checked to see if he was alone. There was no one in sight. At this end of the park it was still damp and foggyânot ideal conditions for strolling.
Then he heard another sound. It was a woman's
voice, and it sounded as if it was coming from inside the windmill. He couldn't hear the words, but she seemed to be arguing with someone.
The double doors seemed to be held together by a rusted padlock. Joe glanced around again. Then when he checked out the padlock, he saw that it was attached only to the pin on the hasp of one door. Someone had gone in this way. He pushed on the door.
He held his breath and peered inside. It was very still within the dusty room. As he stepped inside, a waft of fog entered with him.
As Joe closed the door, the light was blocked out and he stepped into nearly total darkness. Only dim light filtering in through the two square holes and a sliver of light on the wall above gave him any bearings at all. A scratching scuttling noise above sent a wave of heat down the back of his neck.
His thoughts came quickly. There's a door or window up there to the deck. Whoever was in here heard me come in and stepped out onto the deck.
He heard the woman's voice again. It sounded as if she said “away,” but then her voice was muffled.
I was right, Joe thought. She's out on the deck. But someone must be with her. And she doesn't sound too happy about that.
Joe squinted to get a clearer picture. He was very
cautious as he edged around the room, his back to the wall. He tried to remain calm, but his pulse beat faster and louder with each step. He knew he was an easy target. He looked around for something with which he could defend himself. This will have to do, I guess, he thought, reaching for a short plank of wood.
His eyes now used to the dark, he spotted something in the cornerâa navy blue ski cap. He immediately thought of the driver of the green car. He picked up the cap and stuffed it into his back pocket. As he did, something slipped to the floor.