Free Speed Times Five by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

the TV coverage,” Chet noted.
    â€œWe make the local news lately?” Joe asked.
    â€œNot much,” Chet said. “The race gets some coverage, and they mentioned the rockslide you were in today. Mostly it’s the usual stuff: trade problems, experimental medicines gone missing, a few police chases, a bear wandering into a resort.”
    â€œQuite a bit of stuff on Kelly Hawk’s Native American group, too,” Jamal added. “They’ve been on the news nearly every night, protesting.”
    â€œNot without cause,” Frank said, “judging from the clear-cut we saw.”
    â€œThey’re causing quite a ruckus,” Jamal said. “There’ve been some arrests.”
    Frank and Joe nodded, and the group ate in silence for a while as the Hardys tried to regain some of their strength. Night crept over the camp as they relaxed. Vince Bennett stopped by with a camera crew for a quick interview. The Hardys were polite but terse in their comments. The crew soon looked bored and Bennett motioned them to move on.
    â€œI’ll check with you boys later,” the race coordinator said with a wink.
    â€œOnly if you catch us before bedtime,” Joe said.
    Frank sighed as the crew walked away. “Not the best interview we’ve ever given.”
    â€œWe’re tired,” Joe replied. “Why don’t we check over the bikes and then turn in.”
    â€œGood idea,” Frank said. He and Joe got up.
    â€œWant us to go with you?” Chet asked.
    â€œNah,” Joe said. “Just make sure our sleeping bags are ready when we get back.”
    They all chuckled and the brothers headed toward the bike storage area.
    The campground didn’t have the same level of facilities as the Fire Creek Mountain lodge. The race crew had installed a number of bicycle racks in the wide empty area between the camp showers and the vending machines behind the registration building. The spot they’d chosen wasn’t well lit—only a dim glow from the neighboring buildings illuminated the area.
    Most of the other racers had retired for the evening. The bicycle rack was deserted save for a lone figure crouched over the bikes. The man worked quickly and quietly. A black ski mask obscured his features.
    The dim light from the distant shower building reflected off the small wire cutters in the saboteur’s right hand.

9 Collision Course
----
    â€œHey, you!” Joe called. He sprinted toward the saboteur and threw a punch at the man’s head. The man ducked out of the way and swung the wire cutters at Joe’s face.
    Joe reeled back, almost running into Frank as the older Hardy charged forward. Frank spun out of Joe’s way and launched into a martial arts kick.
    Frank’s kick caught the man in the right forearm, and the wire cutters flew from the saboteur’s gloved hand. The man staggered back, then turned and hopped over the first bicycle rack.
    The Hardys leaped after him. The saboteur cleared three racks in succession like an Olympic hurdler. The brothers charged right after him, but their jumps weren’t as clean. Joe nearly got caughtin the last rack, and Frank had to reach out to steady his brother.
    The slip allowed the saboteur to open up a big lead on the Hardys. He disappeared into the shadows behind the registration building. Their legs aching, the Hardys sprinted after him.
    â€œWhich way did he go?” Joe asked as they skidded to a halt behind the structure. The building was a long log cabin camp office that Vince Bennett had pressed into service for the race crews. The surrounding woods crept up almost to the back of the building. The shadows under the boughs were black as night; those near the cabin were not much brighter. The brothers saw no sign of the saboteur.
    â€œLet’s split up and circle the building,” Frank said. “Whistle if you see him.”
    Joe nodded and lit out to the right, while Frank circled