Trouble in Warp Space (13 page)

“I think,” Frank said, “it all boils down to who, besides Stiller, might benefit if the series went under. And how that person ties into Monumental Broadcasting.”

“But how can we figure that out?” Iola said.

“We can talk to Sandy O’Sullivan for starters,” Joe said.

It didn’t take the four friends long to walk through the rain to Sandy’s office. They knocked on the door, and when there was no answer they went inside.

The found the young writer/producer slumped over her desk. She looked exhausted, and her face was stained with tears. She wiped her red cheeks with her sleeve as the group came in. “Oh!” she said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were here.” She began to aimlessly straighten the papers on her
desk. “I’ve got so much to do, just to shut this place down.” Her lower lip quivered and she bit it to keep from crying.

“Sandy,” Frank said, “we’re sorry about the show. We’re also pretty convinced that
Warp Space
has been a victim of deliberate sabotage.”

“Sabotage?” Sandy said, confused. “That’s crazy. Who would sabotage the show—and why?”

“We’re hoping to find out,” Joe said, “and we need your help. Before we can find the saboteur, though, we need to ask a strange favor.”

“What?”

Joe looked directly into her eyes. “Can we see your Spacefleet pager, please?” he asked.

Sandy looked puzzled, but she said, “Um . . . sure. I have it right here.” She pulled a pager, just like the one they’d found in the locker, from her belt.

Joe and Frank looked at each other and smiled. “We’re glad you have that,” Frank said. “It proves you’re not the person behind all this trouble. Can you tell us who else has these pagers?”

“Sure,” Sandy said. “Stan Pekar, Rod Webb, Claudia Rajiv, Peck Wilson, Bruce Reid, Geoff Gross, and two of the UAN execs who greenlighted the show.”

“Good,” Joe said. “Now, we need two more things. We need e-mail addresses for all those people, and
we need to take a look at their
Warp Space
contracts.

“That would be highly irregular,” Sandy said. “I don’t think I could show you, legally.”

“It might save the show,” Frank said.

Sandy looked so torn that they feared she might break down again.

“Tell you what,” Joe said. “We’ll tell you what we’re looking for, and you can check the contracts for us.”

Sandy bit her lip again. “Um, I like you guys, and you’ve been very helpful,” she said. “But how do I know I can trust you?”

“You can call Officer Con Riley at the Bayport PD,” Frank said. “He’ll vouch for our integrity. We promise not to reveal any contract details you divulge to us.” Frank wrote Con’s number on a piece of paper and handed it to Sandy.

“All right,” she said. “If you guys check out, I’ll tell you what you want to know. Can you step out of the office for a moment while I make the call?”

“Sure thing,” Joe said. He and the others stepped outside and closed the door.

“What do we do after Con vouches for you?” Iola asked.

“First,” Frank said, “we check those contracts. Then we set a trap for a saboteur.”

A few minutes later Sandy reopened the door.

“Well,” she said, “it looks like you’re on the level.” She handed Frank a piece of paper. “Here are the e-mail addresses you need. Come on in, I’ll show you the contracts.”

“Great,” Joe said. “And could you do us one more favor?”

“Sure.”

“Could you get in touch with the people on that list in about forty-five minutes and have them check their e-mail?” Joe asked.

“Okay, but why?”

“Just tell them that you got a nasty flame and you’re wondering if they got the same garbage or if
you should report it to the police,” Frank said. “It’d be best if you called them from home.”

Sandy nodded. “Okay. So long as you call me immediately if your suspicions pan out.”

“Sure thing,” Joe said. “Now, tell us about those contracts. Then we’ll need to send some e-mail.”

“You can use my computer after I’ve gone,” Sandy said.

•  •  •  

By nine-thirty the teens had checked the contracts, and Sandy had gone home to make her calls.

“What now?” Iola asked.

“We’re going to send an e-mail to the suspects in the case, demanding a ransom for the pager and the number it contains,” Frank said. “We’ll set up a meeting for midnight, and the person who shows up will be our criminal.”

“We think we know who it is,” Joe said typing on Sandy’s computer, “but we need to erase any doubt. I’ll take a couple of minutes to set up a phony Yipmail account for us to use, then we’re golden.”

“That’s why you told Sandy to call the suspects and have them check their e-mail,” Chet said.

Joe winked at him. “Bingo. You’ll make rocket scientist yet.”

“I’d settle for TV star,” Chet said.

Frank and Joe took turns at working the computer for about fifteen minutes while Iola and Chet looked on.

“There,” Joe said. “The trap is set. Now all we have to do is wait.”

Chet folded his arms over his chest. “Waiting is the hardest part.”

Midnight was still two hours away when the Hardys finished their setting up their blackmail scheme. They chose
Warp Space
’s bridge set for the ransom drop. They went to the bridge immediately after locking up Sandy’s office and set up a stakeout. They went over the set and the surrounding areas carefully, making sure that the saboteur wouldn’t be able to outmaneuver them.

With an hour and a half to go, they selected places to hide and divided the tasks needed to make the trap work. They turned off all the regular lights so that only the displays on the consoles illuminated the room. Dim lighting was essential to their plan. Illumination from the multicolored control panels gave the set an eerie glow.

“I’ll stand by the cell phone and hit the lights when we catch the saboteur,” Iola said. “The fire alarm is right by the light switch, so I can pull that in case we need help.”

“Sounds good,” said Joe.

“I’ll block the elevator exit,” Chet said. The carpenters hadn’t finished reassembling the set’s fake elevator after Joe’s brawl. Thus, it was an obvious avenue for escape. “There’s plenty of carpentry stuff and flats back there for me to hide behind.”

“I’ll wait near the main entrance to the set, where they put the cameras,” Joe said. “That leaves the decoy job to you, Frank.”

Frank nodded and pulled the blue alien mask over his face. “We’ll have a bit of an advantage if the saboteur thinks I’m Stiller. The low lights will help with that deception,” he said, taking up a position near the bridge’s command chair.

Chet checked his watch. “We’ve still got an hour and fifteen minutes left, guys,” he said.

“If I were the criminal,” Joe said, “I’d get here early, to try to catch the blackmailer by surprise.”

“Yeah,” Chet said. “That makes sense. I just hope I can stay awake. I’ve been working long hours lately, you know.”

“In space, no one can hear you snore,” Frank said.

The rest of the group chuckled. As the sound of their laughter died away, the soundstage door creaked open.

“They’re early!” Iola whispered.

Joe shook his head. “We’re set,” he said. “Everyone take your places.” He melted into the shadows near the front of the set. Chet quickly exited through the elevator. Iola followed him out and took her position near the fire alarm, fairly close to her brother.

They all kept still, trying to make as little noise as possible. A few moments later they heard voices
coming their way. “There are two of them!” Iola whispered. Chet nodded.

Frank sat patiently in the command chair, waiting for the saboteur to arrive.

The voices grew louder, and the sound of footsteps echoed through the darkness. A moment later Bruce Reid and Jerri Bell walked into the dim light of the control room.

“Not the end of the world,” Reid finished.

“That’s easy for you to say,” the young actress replied. “You’ve been in a bunch of shows before. I may never recover if my first role is a flop.”

“The role’s not a flop,” Reid said. “You’re great in it. People know that there are good actors on shows that don’t get renewed.”

Suddenly the two of them stopped and peered into the shadows where Frank was sitting. “Stan? Is that you?” Reid asked.

Joe stepped out of the darkness, “No,” he said. “It’s Frank and Joe Hardy.”

“What are you guys doing here?” Reid asked.

“We might ask you the same thing,” Chet said as he stepped out of the elevator.

Jerri Bell glanced around nervously. “We were feeling bad about the show,” she said.

“We left the party and decided to take a walk to clear our heads,” Bruce continued. “We came down here to have one last look around.”

“Then you’re not interested in the pager?” Iola
asked, coming through the elevator door and standing next to her brother.

“What pager?” Jerri and Reid asked simultaneously.

Frank, still in his alien disguise, stood up. “I’m not surprised,” he said. “We weren’t expecting them.”

“You mean you were meeting someone here?” Jerri asked. “Who?”

“The person who sabotaged the show, we hope,” Joe said. “You two need to get out of here, or you’ll spoil our trap.”

“Spoil nothing,” Reid said excitedly. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

“We don’t have time to add new cast members into our screenplay,” Frank said. “The best thing you can do is get out of here. We don’t want the saboteur getting suspicious.”

Reid nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said. “If that’s all we can do. Come on, Jerri. We’ll go back to the party. You can reach us there if you catch whoever it is.”

“Fair enough,” Joe said. “Keep your fingers crossed.”

“We will,” Jerri said. She and Reid turned and left quickly.

“Well,” Chet said after they’d gone, “that got the old adrenaline pumping.”

“Let’s try to settle down again,” Frank said. “The
night’s early yet.” The teens returned to their stations and waited quietly.

Three quarters of an hour later, they heard the stage door creak open again. This time, though, no talking followed the noise, only soft footfalls on the concrete floor.

As the teens waited tensely, a shadowy figure crept through the darkness toward the bridge set. When he got there, he spotted Frank sitting in the command chair. The person stood at the edge of the set, just out of range of the dim light from the consoles.

“Stiller?” said the intruder. “I thought you were still in the hospital. Taking my pager was a mistake.”

“I’ve been expecting you,” Frank said, making his voice hoarse so that the saboteur wouldn’t realize he wasn’t Stiller. “Why don’t you step into the light, Mr. Webb.”

Rod Webb stepped forward, so that he could be seen clearly. “So,” the director said, “you figured out it was me, even after I fed you all that information to make you think it was Jerri Bell encouraging your vandalism and petty theft. I’m impressed. I didn’t think you had that many brains.”

“You’d be surprised what I know,” Frank said in his alien voice. “I know that you’re not making much money on this assignment. You did it just to
fill out your contract, betting that the show would fold quickly. When it didn’t, you decided to help it along. Too bad. You could have made some real money if
Warp Space
took off.”

“Who could wait that long?” Webb said. “You certainly didn’t want to. Did you think I was feeding you all that juicy info for your own benefit? Did you think I didn’t know who was behind all the petty thievery? I knew you were causing accidents, hoping to drive up the prices of collectibles. I turned my back on what you did because you and I
both
wanted the show off the air. If the show flew, I’d have been locked in for another three years. Why should I waste my best years on this penny-ante network? This way, we both make out.”

“Maybe you do,” Frank said, playing his Stiller part to the hilt. “I’m not so lucky. When my loot runs out I get to be a gofer on another show. At least, that’s how it
might
have been, if you hadn’t tried to kill me.”

Webb shrugged. “What else could I do?” he said. “When my pager went missing, I knew you’d taken it. I couldn’t chance you stumbling onto my connection to Monumental Broadcasting. They’re lining up a sweet deal for me—a deal I can’t pass up. It was just my bad luck that you hid the pager before I zapped you.”

He walked casually toward the command chair. Frank stood as he approached.

“Too bad,” Webb said. “A smart guy like you should have figured if I tried to kill you once, I wouldn’t hesitate a second time.” He drew a gun from his pocket and pointed it at Frank.

“Now, Iola!” Chet called.

At the sound of her brother’s voice, Iola switched on the big floodlights. The blazing display dazzled Webb for a moment. In that instant Joe rushed forward and knocked the gun from the director’s hand. Frank aimed a punch at Webb’s chin, but the director stepped back, away from the blow. As Chet Morton charged in through the elevator door, Webb leaned against the bridge control panel and stabbed one of the buttons.

Foosh!
The panel blew up in a huge shower of sparks. The Hardys and Chet staggered back. Webb tossed a console chair into Chet’s midsection and fled. Chet went down, but Frank and Joe recovered and ran after the saboteur. The director bolted straight for the stage door with the brothers in hot pursuit.

As they ran, Joe spotted a long cable snaking along the floor from one set to the next. “Hey, Frank!” he said, pointing.

“Go for it,” Frank said. “I’ll catch him when he falls.”

Joe reached down and grabbed the cable in both hands. He reeled back and cracked it like a whip. The cable snaked out in front of Webb, tripping
him. The director fell sprawling to the floor, and before he could get up Frank caught him and clouted him in the jaw.

Webb went out like a light.

Frank smiled and pulled off his borrowed mask. “Good work, Joe,” he said.

The sound of police sirens echoing through the open stage door told the brothers that Iola had done her job. She and Chet soon caught up with the Hardys. Together, they found some spare electrical cord and used it to tie Webb up.