Free Motocross Madness by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

to go.
    â€œHey, Jamal!” Joe said, waving.
    Jamal nodded in their direction, but kept going.
    â€œHe must have his game face on,” Joe said.
    â€œLet’s watch the start of his race,” Frank said, “before we start prepping for our next heat.”
    â€œGood idea,” Joe said. The two of them pushed their motorcycles trackside, where they had a good view of the starting line. Jamal pulled his red and black bike up with the rest of the racers. Elizabeth Navarro was in the pack along with a half-dozen other riders.
    The starter gave the signal, and all of the bikes roared off the line. Jamal got off to a good start. He took the jumps cautiously and accelerated smoothly over the whole course. He’d soon built up a decent lead on the rest of the field.
    â€œGo, Jamal, go!” the brothers shouted as their friend’s bike whipped past.
    On the second lap, Jamal began having trouble.
    He slipped on three whoopdedoos and took several turns too wide. The other racers began to catch up.
    Elizabeth Navarro challenged him on the third lap. This seemed to make Jamal nervous. His slips became more frequent, and he nearly went down twice. Near the big U-turn, his tires almost brushed the hay-bale crash walls.
    â€œI can’t stand to watch anymore,” Joe said. “Too intense! I’m going back to the garage to get ready.”
    Frank shook his head. “I don’t know what’s up with Jamal. He seemed to have it together for the first lap, but now he’s falling apart.”
    Navarro took the lead, with Jamal well back in the pack.
    â€œI won’t give up on him,” Frank said. “Win or lose, I’ll see the race through to the end.”
    â€œYeah, okay,” Joe said. “Cheer him on for me. I’ll see you back in the tune-up bay.”
    Frank nodded as Joe pushed his bike away from the track and back toward the row of small metal garages.
    Joe felt disappointed that Jamal wasn’t doing better. He’d hoped that all of them might secure a place in the motocross finals later that day. He let out a long sigh as he unlocked their unit and slid the folding metal door up into the ceiling.
    As he did so, a muffled sound caught his attention.
    Joe looked around. The small bay was dark allthe way to the door that led to the connecting corridor in back. Something near the workbench in the rear corner caught his attention As he drew closer, he saw it was a person lying on the floor.
    Joe propped up his bike, picked up a nearby tire wrench as a makeshift weapon, then moved cautiously toward the back corner.
    Suddenly he recognized the figure lying there. “Jamal!”

9 Off Course
----
    Jamal was lying on the floor in his underwear, bound and gagged like a victim in an old-time gangster movie.
    Joe raced forward and knelt by his friend’s side. He quickly untied the struggling teen and removed his gag. “Jamal, what happened?” he asked.
    â€œI was changing, and somebody hit me from behind,” Jamal said. He pointed to a rising welt on the back of his skull. “The next thing I knew, I was tied up and lying on the garage floor.” He rubbed his head. “Why would anyone do a thing like that?”
    â€œSomeone wearing your armor is competing on the track, right this instant,” Joe said, putting two and two together.
    â€œSomeone is pretending to be me and is racing in my heat?” Jamal replied. He tried to get to his feet but staggered a little. Joe helped him up. “We’ve got to catch that guy!” Jamal said.
    â€œWe will,” Joe said. “You okay?” Jamal nodded. “Then let’s go. Hop onto the back of my bike.”
    Joe leaped into the saddle of his motorcycle and fired up the engine. Jamal pulled on a pair of sweatpants and hopped on behind him.
    The two of them raced back to where Joe had left Frank. The elder Hardy did a double-take when he saw Jamal on the back of Joe’s