Free Line of Fire by Franklin W. Dixon

floor, set in the middle of the building. Without letting go of Joe, Frank threw himself over the edge.
    As they dropped, a gunshot rang out over their heads.
    Joe closed his eyes—and suddenly found himself stopping, then bouncing in the air.
    His eyes popped open. He was on a net, which was springing up and down like a trampoline.
    Frank was already on his knees, pulling Joe to the safety of the floor.
    "What?" Joe said as he and his brother started moving again.
    "Elevator shafts," Frank explained, pointing to the hole above them. "They just haven't put the elevators in yet. The safety rules say that ; nets have to be strung across the open shafts every few floors. I figured there had to be at least one net between us and the ground." '
    He pushed Joe back to the stairs. "Now come on, before George decides to drop in on us."
    They dashed across the floor, Joe still shaking his head. "He thinks there'll probably be a net between us and the ground. And people think I'm the crazy one in this team."
    Taking the steps two at a time, they raced down the final flight of stairs. Soon they were back on the first floor.
    "Which way to the van?" Frank asked. "All this running has left me turned around."
    "This way." Joe pointed. "I remember passing those big metal boxes."
    Frank broke into a jog, quickly retracing their path. "We've lost him for now, but we have no idea when he might turn up again."
    They reached the edge of the site, which was now crammed with workers. Mingling with the crowd, they worked their way out to the street.
    "You know," Joe said to Frank, "we can cut right through that building across the way."
    "The warehouse?" Frank said.
    "Yeah. We're parked right on the other side. And anything that will save us a few steps ..."
    "Fine," Frank agreed. "We get in the van, get out of here, then find a pay phone." He smiled grimly at his brother's puzzled expression. "We still have to tell the Philadelphia police to search for a bullet. I think an anonymous call might be better than walking up to one of the cops at the site."
    Joe grinned. "I guess we might have a hard time convincing a cop to take us seriously." Frank's face was still white with concrete dust, except where running sweat had carved little streaks.
    He shrugged. "Well, come on."
    They crossed the street, working their way to the rear of the rapidly gathering crowd. Apparently the workers who'd been lounging in front of the warehouse had either joined the rescuers or were part of the crowd. The Hardys had no problem moving past the open double doors of the warehouse.
    The first floor was huge and cavernous. It reminded Joe of an enlarged, dingier version of the Bayport records room. Bays of shelving stretched twelve feet up to the ceiling, and they were crammed with a jumbled assortment of? packing crates and cardboard boxes. Some of the boxes were broken open, displaying all sorts of paper goods. They even passed a collection of crushed party hats.
    Ahead of them was another set of double doors, also standing ajar. Joe could understand why. The air inside the warehouse was musty, stagnant, and hot. Any breeze would be welcome.
    Joe ran the back of his sleeve across his eyes, trying to wipe away some sweat. It would be good to get into the van. It had air conditioning, and each of them had a change of clothes stowed in a secret compartment under the floorboards.
    He was stepping forward eagerly as they reached the doorway. Then he stopped sharply.
    A large green car was drawn up in front of the door.
    And sitting in it, his pistol aimed straight at the brothers, was George.

Chapter 11
    The wide central aisle of the warehouse stretched behind Frank and Joe. They knew that running down that open space would only earn them bullets in their backs.
    So, as George got out of his car and rushed the door, Frank darted right, and Joe left.
    Joe sighed as he heard heavy footfalls come after him. Just my luck. Godzilla picks on me again. How did he know where to find