In Plane Sight (13 page)

The black-garbed figures approached cautiously at first but grew bolder when it became obvious Grissom was in no condition to fight back. They knelt to search Grissom's body and took something out of his coat. Then they stood up, and one of the people reached into his own coat, as if to draw a gun.

Frank leaned hard on the horn and flashed his headlights. He barreled full throttle straight toward the masked people. The thugs dived out of the way as Frank's Jeep rushed between them and their intended victim.

The elder Hardy hit the brakes, but couldn't stop quickly enough. The Jeep skidded across the airstrip and landed in the very tall grass on the other side.
The left-side wheels landed in a rut, and the Jeep almost tipped over. Frank spun the wheel, trying to set it right again.

Once he kicked in the four-wheel drive, the Jeep plowed up the slope through the tangled grass. As he turned the vehicle around, he saw the masked guys climbing into Grissom's airplane.

Frank spun the wheel hard and floored the gas, trying to get back to the field and cut these guys off. But the ground was very rough, and he'd made too wide a turn. As he neared the spot where Grissom lay, the stolen aircraft was already building up speed to take off.

The elder Hardy raced after them, but it was too late. Rock Grissom's stolen Sullivan Brothers aircraft soared off into the night sky.

Frank turned around and raced back to Grissom. He leaped out of the car and ran to the injured aviator's side. Grissom was unconscious and badly burned. The pupils of his eyes were dilated, and he looked as though he were slipping into shock.

A voice echoed out of the Jeep, and Frank remembered he had left his cell phone in speaker mode resting on the seat of the car. “Don't worry, Frank,” Joe's voice said. “We're on them. They won't get away from us.”

Frank dashed back to the Jeep and picked up the phone. “Never mind the thieves,” Frank said. “I need you down here. Grissom's in really bad shape.
We need to get him to a hospital, pronto. The car may not be fast enough.”

“But the thieves will get away!” Jamal interjected.

“We'll have to let them go again,” Frank said. “Grissom knows who they are anyway. I'll bet he'll testify against them—
if
he lives through this. Check their heading before you land. I have a feeling I may know where those guys are going.”

“Get the car off the runway, Frank,” Joe said. “We're coming down.”

Frank moved the Jeep away from the airstrip, and less than two minutes later, the Hawkins Air Cessna was on the ground. Jamal taxied over to Grissom, while Frank did what he could for the aviator's injuries. Then Frank and Joe loaded the wounded man into the back of the plane.

“I called ahead to the airstrip,” Jamal said. “They'll have an ambulance waiting when I get there.”

“Good,” Frank said. “I've done my best to stabilize him. If you can take care of Grissom, Joe and I will go after the thieves. What was their heading last time you saw them?”

“North by northwest,” Jamal said.

Joe whistled. “Straight toward Lake Kendall.”

“Keep the cell phone connection open as long as you can,” Frank said to Jamal. “Come on, Joe.” The brothers closed and secured the doors to the Cessna, then hopped into the Jeep.

As Jamal's airplane lifted into the air, the Hardys
got into the Jeep and tore down the old farm road toward the highway.

“I didn't see anyone driving away when I arrived,” Frank said. “The thieves must have been dropped off earlier and waited for Grissom.”

“That means at least three guys are working together on this,” Joe said. “Unless they took a taxi.”

“And left a witness?” Frank said. “I doubt it. Besides, we know there are five people in the Denny gang—if it's them. See if you can find a way around Lake Kendall on the map. There must be one, or the thieves wouldn't be able to get between their hideout and the airport so quickly.”

“You're thinking they're in that rusty barn we saw by the lake,” Joe said.

Frank nodded. “What we thought were snowmobile tracks on the lake were actually airplane tracks. We assumed that the criminals had just touched down to pick up the parachutist you fought with and then left again. But what if they meant to land on the lake all the time?” He screeched the Jeep off the dirt road and onto the highway heading toward Kendall State Park.

“I get it,” Joe said. “The tracks were there because they'd done it before—at least once.”

“That's where they took Jamal's Sullivan Brothers plane,” Frank said, “and Brooks's plane too. We didn't see it land because we were too busy trying not to get killed in the skydiving accident.”

“So you think they're taking Grissom's plane there as well,” Joe said.

Frank nodded. “We know Carl Denny either crashed eight-seven-eight into the lake or dumped it there deliberately.”

“That would mean he had knowledge of the area,” Joe said, “and you can't miss that old metal barn. That would explain why the sniper chased us for so long. He was trying to make sure we didn't find their hideout.” He pointed to a side road coming up. “Turn right here.”

Frank turned the car onto the side road but kept his foot firmly on the gas. “But why is Denny trying to steal these planes now? His old gang went to jail for five years, but he's been out. Why steal these planes now? What's he want?”

They drove in silence awhile as both pondered these questions. The cell phone's ring broke the silence. It was Jamal.

“I just got in,” he said. “The EMTs are working on Grissom, but a fax came from Phil Cohen while we were gone. It's a picture of Carl Denny.”

“Great,” Joe said. “Which one of the people at the show is he?”

“That's just it,” Jamal said. “He's not any of the people we were wondering about; he's the guy in the obituary from Grissom's pocket. Carl Denny is dead.”

The brothers sat in stunned silence for a moment.
Frank pulled them onto the road leading around Lake Kendall to the northeast shore, where they'd seen the old barn.

“But if Denny is dead, who's pulling these jobs?” Joe asked.

Frank looked puzzled a moment and then laughed. “Think about it a minute, Joe,” he said. “Denny's being dead makes perfect sense.”

A smile slowly crept across Joe Hardy's face. “You're right, Frank,” he said. “The date on that obituary was six months ago. That explains why these crimes are happening now—as well as the trouble with this particular set of Sullivan Brothers planes.”

“Well, I don't get it,” Jamal said, his voice echoing over the speakerphone.

“Has Phil found a photo of the gang yet, Jamal?” Frank asked.

“No,” Jamal replied. “Not yet.”

“Call Phil and tell him it's imperative that he find that photo,” Joe said. “And ask him to find out when the Denny gang got out on parole. I'm betting it's just over six months ago.”

“So the Denny gang, minus Denny, is behind all this?” Jamal asked.

“That's our guess,” Frank said.

“What did you say?” Jamal replied. “You're break . . . up!”

Joe hung up the phone. “We've lost the cell connection again.”

“That means we're getting close to where we parachuted down. Take the next trail on the left. If I'm reading this map right, we're driving to the back of the barn.”

“Just let me know when to kill the headlights,” Frank said. “We already know these guys have guns, and I'd rather they didn't see us coming.”

A few minutes later they turned off the car's lights and drove in the dark up the final curve to the warehouse. Frank stopped a short distance away. Joe tucked the cell phone into his pocket. They got out and moved cautiously through the woods up to the old barn.

The structure was as large as an air hangar. It had big metal doors on either end and a smaller door on one side near the back. The old farm building close to the barn had long fallen into ruin, though enough of its white columns remained to give an impression of its former glory. A row of airplane tracks led up from the frozen lake and stopped at the big doors on the lakeward side. The building had only a few small translucent windows. Dim light leaked out from behind them.

Joe and Frank crept up to the side of the building. They listened but heard no noise from inside. Trying to see through the windows without being seen was impossible even if they weren't totally transparent, so the brothers cautiously moved to the small door near the back. Frank checked it; it was unlocked.
They slowly opened the door and slipped inside.

The interior of the old barn smelled like a machine shop. Smells of oil, metal, electricity, and fuel filled the stuffy air. Large piles of junk lay near the door: spare parts from machines, both old and new. Three huge airplanes practically filled the room. The brothers immediately recognized the Sullivan Brothers custom planes owned by Hawkins Air, Clevon Brooks, and—the most recent arrival—Dale “Rock” Grissom.

Scattered about the floor lay the carefully crafted interiors of the Sullivan planes. The Hawkins Air plane was facing the door where the brothers came in. The Brooks plane was in the middle of the hangar, and the Grissom plane stood near the big doors on the lakeward side.

“See anyone?” Frank whispered.

“No,” Joe whispered back. “Let's look around. Obviously, we're in the right place.”

As the brothers stepped forward, the stolen plane's engine started, and its big prop spun to life. The plane lurched forward, and the propeller bore in on the brothers, threatening to cut the Hardys to pieces.

15 Flying Finish

The wind from the prop of Jamal's dad's stolen plane forced the brothers back. The deafening roar of its engine filled their ears. The plane rolled toward Frank and Joe, its deadly propeller a blur in the barn's dim light.

The Hardys backed into the junk piled by the door, and scrap metal rained down on them. They couldn't retreat any further. They were trapped.

“Down!” yelled Frank.

He and Joe dived to either side of the propeller, and it just passed over their heads. The boys rolled as they hit the floor, then quickly got to their feet again. As they did, Joe spotted a man in a black mask holding a rifle aimed directly at Frank.

Joe pulled the cell phone out of his pocket and
heaved it at the gunman. The sniper fired, but Joe's impromptu missile hit him hard as he pulled the trigger. The cell phone smashed into pieces, but the shot went awry, missing Frank.

Frank charged forward and grabbed the gunman before he could fire again. The two of them wrestled for a moment, Frank pinning the barrel against the masked man's chest. The man facing him was bigger and heavier than Frank. He began to force the teenager back toward the hangar wall.

Joe rushed to the plane cockpit's door just as the second masked man piloting Brooks's plane tried to get out. The younger Hardy hit the hatch hard, smashing the door into the thief's chest and arm. The man yelped and staggered forward. Joe grabbed him by the shirt and punched him square in the face. The man fell backward and hit his head against the fuselage of Jamal's stolen plane. He slumped to the floor, unconscious.

The gunman kept pushing Frank toward the wall. Out of the corner of his eye, Frank saw several big workbenches piled with rusty tools. They were right behind him. If the gunman pushed Frank into one of them, he wouldn't have to fire a shot; he could either break Frank's back against the table or strangle him by pressing the stock of the gun into his neck.

Frank threw himself backward onto the floor, pushing the gunman over him as he fell. The throw
worked. Frank let go of the gun, and the sniper sailed past him and smashed hard into a heavy workbench. The gunman groaned and tried to swing the gun around, but Frank sprang to his feet and kicked the man in the side of the head.

The sniper hit the floor like a sack of potatoes and didn't move. Frank went to help Joe and saw his brother already coming to
his
aid. “Let's tie these guys up and find out who they are,” Frank said.

The brothers scrounged some rope from the piles of junk and quickly had the thieves securely trussed. Then they pulled off the felons' masks.

“Mitchum and Jose,” Frank said, hardly surprised.

“Or, more accurately, Pablo Salvatore and John Michaelson, half of the remaining Carl Denny gang,” Joe said. “They must have heard us coming. Good thing they weren't better prepared.”

“Mitchum wasn't a very good shot anyway,” Frank said. “He missed us plenty of times in the forest.” Mitchum scowled back at Frank.

“He wasn't a very good security guard either,” Joe said. “I think Flaubert may need to find another.”

“And a new maintenance man too,” Frank added, looking at Jose. “No wonder Scott Field is such a wreck. Let's see if these guys found what they were looking for.”

The brothers stowed the thieves in the storage compartment of Brooks's plane. They spent the next few minutes searching through the hangar, but found
no sign of the missing coins. “Nothing,” Joe said.

“I guessed as much,” Frank replied. “If they'd found them, they would have stopped searching. Carl Denny must have died before he could tell the rest of the gang exactly where he hid the coins.”

Joe nodded. “He probably stashed the money when he was working at the Sullivan Brothers customizing shop. Since he was working on airplanes, it would be easy to hide some rare coins in the paneling or upholstery. Plus an airplane makes a great escape vehicle.”

“I think if we check,” Frank said, “we'll find that all the planes that have been ransacked during the air show were in the Sullivan Brothers custom shop on the night Denny made his big escape.”

“So, in the confusion of the police chase, Denny escaped in the wrong plane,” Joe said. “That makes sense. The planes were probably all painted fairly similarly at the time since they weren't finished. But if the stolen coins aren't here . . .”