The Dangerous Transmission (9 page)

“Like Pierre Castenet,” Frank said. “Don't forget that he was prowling around the medical clinic last night before he ran to the top floor to hide. And he sure was threatening us at the Fire Pit. Maybe he had more of a reason to run than he admitted.”

“And we already know he's been bugging Jax for the tooth,” Joe added, typing “Pierre Castenet” in the search box on his screen. “Let's just see what the Internet has to say about him.”

“Was the person who brushed by you at the station wearing red and white, by any chance? Maybe he kicked me onto the tracks.”

“It happened so fast, and besides, I couldn't see anything in the fog. I'm going to check on Jax,” Frank said. He dialed the hospital and asked for the nurse's station on Jax's floor.

While Frank made his call, Joe searched for information about Pierre Castenet. They each finished their task at about the same time.

“Good news,” Frank told his brother. “Jax is still unconscious, but not in a coma. The doctors think
he should be awake in a couple of hours. They're ordering no visitors until tomorrow, but it looks like we'll be able to talk to him in the morning.”

“Great,” Joe said. “That means we can find out more about the tooth. Then we'll know our next step.” Joe saved some Internet data about Pierre Castenet into his documents file. “I've got some news too. Take a look at this.”

Frank bent over Joe's shoulder and read the three screens as Joe clicked through them.

“Hmmmmmm . . . Looks like Pierre's gotten into some trouble back home,” Frank noted.

“He's got the reputation of being the kind of coach who'll do anything to win,” Joe said.

“That just might mean he'd be the kind of coach who'd steal the Molar Mike, take it back to Canada, and smuggle it through customs—”

“And stick it in his team captain's mouth—” Joe continued.

“To send illegal plays to his team,” Frank finished.

Joe switched screens. “Check this out,” he said. “He's already had a lot of legal problems. There have been a couple of fights and lawsuits from the victims. Plus he's had some major fines imposed on him by this semi-pro league his team plays in. Then last year he got into a big jam—he was charged with embezzling money from the players' pension fund.”

“How'd he manage that?” Frank asked.

Joe clicked to the final screen. “He's got partial
ownership of the team. It's not a big stake, but it's enough to have access to the pension fund. It seems he took advantage of that and ripped them off.”

“What I want to know is how he's managed to stay out of jail,” Frank said. He straightened up and perched on the edge of the table. His shoulder ached, so he rubbed the muscles in his upper arm.

“Until recently he bought himself out of trouble,” Joe told his brother. “Now that they've found out where he got the money, it's a whole new ballgame. Plus he's in a lot more trouble now because his team isn't winning anymore. There's been a lot of commotion among the press and the public demanding that he be fired.”

“Of course, he might be able to fix that losing streak if he has a hidden receiver and mike planted in one of his key players,” Frank suggested.

“Exactly,” Joe said.

“I still don't understand why he's not in jail.”

“Apparently he's worked out some payment plan that will reimburse the fund,” Joe said.

“And if he loses his job, he won't be able to keep up the payments,” Frank observed. He rubbed some more of the medicinal cream into his shoulder.

“How's your shoulder?” Joe asked.

“Better,” Frank said. He made a few small circles in the air with his arm. “It really is. How's your side?”

“Sore. Pass some of that salve over, okay? Have you remembered anything more about the guy who
twisted your arm?” Joe asked, rubbing the cream on his bruised side. “Anything at all?”

“Nothing,” Frank said. “I've been over the scene in my mind a hundred times. It's like the guy who knocked me down the stairs. I've got absolutely nothing on either one.”

Frank began pacing as he talked. “I saw the guy in St. Martin's running away, but it could have been anybody. Stocky guy, bomber jacket, stocking cap.”

“He accused you of following someone, so he's got to mean that woman,” Joe said.

“Who was actually following
us,
” Frank added.

“I only saw her from a distance,” Joe said, “but like I said earlier, I know I've seen her face somewhere before.”

“Definitely,” Frank said. “I saw her through the binoculars, and I agree with you. She looks like a woman Dad chased down a few years ago, right? I don't remember the case. Let's dig into Dad's files and see if we can find her.”

Frank and Joe's dad, Fenton Hardy, was a professional detective. He was known by criminal justice authorities all over the world for his work on international cases.

Joe called up a special Web site, and then entered the set of passwords necessary to access their father's case files. His father had entrusted these passwords to his sons. In return, though, they'd agreed to use them discreetly.

“Go right to the international cases,” Frank said. Joe pulled up the list. Many of the listings included a photo of the culprit involved.

They spent the next half an hour scrolling down the list, checking photos, and reading case summaries. Occasionally they found a photo that seemed promising, but when they read about the case, they found out the woman had died or was in prison.

“Man, he's been busy!” Joe commented as he continued to scroll down the list. “Way to go, Dad!”

“Hold it,” Frank said. “Stop right there.” The tone of his voice made Joe lift his fingers right off the keyboard.

“Enlarge that face,” Frank ordered.

Joe put the mouse cursor on the photo and clicked. The image expanded to fill the screen.

“There she is,” Frank said. “That's the woman.”

11 Message from Mike

Joe looked at the computer screen. Frank was right. The woman glaring back at them was definitely the woman he'd seen through the binocular lenses the evening before.

“Hmmm, no name,” Joe murmured. “The only ID the authorities have on her is ‘AA42.' That's pretty weird.”

“Looks like she was a spy for the former Soviet Union,” Frank said, scanning the screen, “but they don't have any country affiliation listed since the U.S.S.R. broke up.”

“Could be that she's a freelancer now,” Joe offered.

“Ever since we first heard about the Molar Mike,” Frank said, “I've thought the perfect application for it would be espionage. How great would it be to be
in constant contact with a spy who is working for you? And best of all, the person wouldn't be wearing an obvious microphone that the enemy could find.”

“You're right,” Joe agreed. “Constant contact with agents in the field would be ideal. Especially if the enemy didn't know that the spy was wired to headquarters.”

“It says she did some of her best work as a spy in London,” Frank said. “But it says here that after her cover was blown, she got out of the business.”

“Or did she?” Joe wondered. “Getting her hands on the Molar Mike would guarantee a great comeback.”

“If the Molar Mike
has
been stolen,” Frank said, “she moves to the top of my suspect list.”

The Hardys climbed into their beds just after midnight. Frank's shoulder ached and now burned from a new application of the medicated salve. Joe's mind just wouldn't turn off.

“We definitely have to check on that shoe,” Joe said as he turned over.

“Mmhmmm,” Frank murmured in agreement as he shifted his focus from his shoulder to Joe's voice. “Tomorrow,” Frank mumbled.

•  •  •

By the next morning the gloomy weather had broken, and thin shafts of sunlight streamed through surprisingly white clouds. The Hardys were standing up in Jax's small kitchen, eating scrambled eggs
and spicy sausage straight from the skillet.

“Hurry up,” Joe said, swallowing his last bite. He washed it down with a tumbler of orange juice. “I can't wait to see how Jax is doing.”

“Let's hope he's put the Molar Mike someplace besides the office—somewhere safe,” Frank added. He grabbed the chamois cloth with the small container of shiny colored powder and dropped it into his pocket along with the photo of the pewter fragment. Joe shoved the cleaned-up black shoe in his backpack. Then they locked up the flat and left.

When the Hardys got to the hospital, they found Jax sitting up in a chair by the window, eating a big breakfast.

“I saw you guys walking up to the entrance,” he said. “I hope you're here to spring me from this prison.”

“Show a little gratitude,” Frank said with a grin. “They did a good job on you. You were a pretty pitiful sight when you came in here.”

“Okay, I'll grant you that,” Jax said, pushing away his tray table. “Now get me out of here.”

“First we have to tell you something,” Frank said, pulling a chair over to the window where Jax was sitting. Joe eased himself up to perch on the edge of the bed.

“You look kind of serious,” Jax said. His forehead crinkled into a frown. “What's up?”

“Do you know why you're here?” Frank asked.
“What do you remember about last night?”

“Not much,” Jax said. “I had gotten the raven for Nick in the taxidermy workroom. I heard a noise in the shop in front and went to see what it was. I don't really remember anything else. But I gather it was some sort of foul play.”

“That's right,” Frank said. “We think someone knocked you out.”

“Officer Somerset was here about an hour ago,” Jax said. “He thinks it was some sort of burglary or attempted burglary. The front door was jimmied open, so I called this morning and asked a local handyman to board it up. We won't know what's missing until I get out of here and check. So it was probably that guy who's been breaking in around the neighborhood, don't you think? The person who'd broken into the flat the night before?”

“Maybe,” Joe said. “You didn't see anyone before you got hit? Or hear anything besides that one noise?”

“That's right,” Jax said.

“How about smells?” Joe asked. “Did you smell anything odd?”

“That's a funny question for a taxidermist,” Jax answered. “There are so many odd smells in my lab.” He stopped to think, then finally answered, “But, no, I can't recall smelling anything. What's going on, you two? I get the feeling there's something you're not telling me.”

Frank told Jax how he had found him in the shop.

“And there's more,” Joe said. He looked at Frank and nodded.

“After the paramedics took you out of the shop, I looked around,” Frank continued.

“Did you find anything?” Jax asked, leaning forward in his chair.

“I did,” Frank said. “But I'll get to that in a minute. The main thing is what I
didn't
find.”

Jax looked as if he were trying to figure out what Frank meant. Then his eyes popped wide open, as if he'd just seen a ghost.

“You're not telling me . . .” Jax began, but his words trailed off as he looked over at Joe. Joe just nodded his head.

Jax looked back at Frank. This time his eyes narrowed into little dark slits. “Did you check the safe?” he asked in a very low voice. “Did you?” he repeated. “Was it there?”

“The safe was empty,” Frank said.

Jax slumped back into his chair. He rubbed his forehead with his fingers, as if he were trying to erase Frank's words from his mind.

Joe hopped off the bed and came over to stand by Frank's chair. “We were hoping it might be somewhere else,” Joe said. “Everything was in place in your office, and the safe door was closed. So we thought there was a chance you had moved it.”

“No, I didn't,” Jax said. He sat up again, alert, his shoulders tensed and stiff-looking.

“You have copies of all the specs and plans, I'm sure,” Frank said.

“Of course,” Jax said. “I even have another prototype of the transmitter itself. It's not in a tooth, but it could be. But whether I have other copies isn't the point.”

“We know,” Joe agreed. “If one of them hits the black market, the value of your invention drops through the floor.”

“It becomes practically worthless,” Jax said. “But there's more to it than that. It's my creation. My patent gives me exclusive production for at least a decade, so I can regulate the quality—and that's really important to me.”

Frank related his steps leading up to finding the empty safe. “We haven't reported the theft yet,” he added. “We wanted to talk to you first, to make sure it was really stolen.”

“You said there was something you were going to tell me later,” Jax said, “about something you found?”

Frank took from his pocket the container of powder he'd found not far from Jax's unconscious body. “Is this yours?” he asked. He handed Jax the container, using the cloth so as not to mess up any fingerprints.

Using the cloth the same way Frank had, Jax held the container under the lamp.

“This is pearl essence,” he said. “I have some in my shop. It's finely ground mother of pearl, derived from shells. I use it sometimes in my taxidermy mounts, to create the iridescent effect of fish scales. They shimmer and look absolutely like the real thing. But this isn't mine,” he added. “I've never used any containers like this. I don't know what this symbol is.” He pointed to a small icon on the canister.

“Do you want to call Officer Somerset and tell him about the Molar Mike?” Joe said.

“No!” Jax said. “I don't want the police on this yet.”

“Are you sure?” Frank asked.