The Secret of Sigma Seven (14 page)

Authors: Franklin W. Dixon

BOOK: The Secret of Sigma Seven

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Gillis drove straight toward the rocks and, to Joe's amazement, went right over them. The hovercar disappeared below the cliffs and plunged toward the bay more than a hundred feet down.

“Oh, no,” Frank said urgently. “He went over the edge. Stop the car, Joe. You don't want to follow him there.”

“He never showed me how to stop this thing,” Joe said frantically, searching the dashboard for the right button or lever. “I don't know where the brakes are!”

“Use the remote!” Frank cried.

Joe grabbed for the remote control in his jacket pocket, but it was too late. Before he could reach it, the hovercar went over the edge of the cliff and began falling straight down toward the water far below!

16 Splash Landing

Joe's stomach lurched as the hovercar plunged toward the bay. It was like being in an elevator with a broken cable, he thought, except that this elevator shaft had a view that must have stretched for fifty miles in every direction. The rock walls of Barmet Cliffs shot past at high speed as the water rapidly rose toward him from below. Joe craned his neck over the edge of the car to get a look down at the water underneathâand immediately wished he hadn't. The bright blue surface was coming up awfully fast.

“The fans aren't doing anything to hold us in the air anymore,” Joe told his brother, trying to remain calm.

“What do you think this is, a jet?” Frank shouted
in return. “This baby flies on a cushion of air, and now there's no ground to support the cushion!”

“Let's hope this thing works on water, too,” Joe said, “or we're gonna be history.”

Just as it looked as though they were about to plunge into Barmet Bay, the air pressure kicked in again, like a parachute opening at the last second. Joe felt the hovercar hit the water with a solid
whomp
that almost knocked him out of his seat, and then he realized that the car was floating two feet above the water. He looked down and saw the whirring fans stir up a bowl-shaped basin of water directly underneath him. “We're in luck!” Joe exclaimed, wiping off the water that had splashed in his face.

“There he goes!” Frank shouted, pointing at Gillis's hovercar, which was already shooting out across the water ahead of them.

“Here we go again,” Joe said, pushing the joystick in Gillis's direction. The hovercar shot forward across the water in pursuit of the fleeing special-effects director.

“This is great,” Frank said. “I've always loved speedboat racing.”

Suddenly Joe heard the sound of a boat engine off to their left. He turned to see a motorboat slicing across the water, foam spewing up in its wake. The driver was watching the Hardys' hovercar with astonishment.

“Uh-oh,” Joe said, “I think that guy's too stunned by our hovercar to notice where he's going.”

“He's headed straight for Gillis's hovercar,” Frank added.

Gillis saw the speedboat coming, too. He yanked his joystick frantically to propel himself out of its path, but it was too late. As Joe watched, the speedboat plowed right into the side of Gillis's hovercar, ripping it neatly down the middle and sending Gillis flying high into the air. The special-effects director did a double flip and landed back in the water with a splash. The stunned speedboat pilot downshifted his engine and began turning in a circle, shaking his head as if he hoped that the past thirty seconds would turn out to be a bad dream.

“I hope Gillis didn't hit the water too hard,” Joe said.

“Yeah,” Frank said. “That speedboat really clobbered him. If that had happened on land, he'd be a goner for sure.”

“There he is,” Joe said, pointing into the waves stirred up by the crash. Gillis was bobbing back up to the surface, his arms flailing at the water around him.

“Help me!” he sputtered as the Hardys drew closer.

“Be glad to,” Frank said as Joe slowed the speedboat down. “In fact, we'd be glad to help you all the way back to the Bayport Police Station.”

â¢Â â¢Â â¢

A little while after they left Gillis with the police, Frank and Joe were sitting on the leather couches in the lobby of the Bayport Inn.

“So how did you figure out it was Gillis?” Brian Amchick asked. “I never dreamed it might be him.”

“Oh, logical thinking and a few brilliant deductions,” Joe said, lounging back on the comfortable sofa. “I mean, that's how we solve all of our cases, isn't it, Frank?”

“I thought it was usually dumb luck,” Chet said, popping another taco chip into his mouth. “These things are great. I've got to go back up to the con suite and get some more.”

“Well, I'm really impressed,” Brian said. “If I ever need any detective work done, you guys will be the first people I'll call. By the way, you'll never guess what happened to my uncle this weekend.”

“He got a job as Simon Devoreaux's new special-effects director,” Frank stated.

Brian's eyes opened wide. “Yeah! How'd you guess?”

“Oh, just another brilliant deduction,” Frank said with a grin. “All in a day's work for Joe and me.”

“He told me all about it this afternoon,” Brian said, leaning forward in his chair. “He couldn't talk about it before because the deal wasn't finalized, but now I can't shut him up. It seems that Devoreaux really did ask him to come here, but the plans got messed up because of all the weird incidents that were going on. Anyway, my uncle has developed this quick, cheaper way of doing special effects, and Devoreaux wants to use it in his films.”

Linda Klein walked into the room and zeroed in on the couch where Frank and Joe were sitting.
“There you are!” she exclaimed, a beaming smile on her face. “I've been looking all over for you. I wanted to thank you for getting the film back. You've really saved my life.”

“You're welcome, Linda,” Frank said. “How's Simon doing?”

“The doctors say he's doing surprisingly well,” Linda said. “Apparently, he didn't eat enough of the poisoned salad dressing to cause any serious damage. He'll be back making films in no time.”

“My uncle will be relieved to hear that,” Brian said.

“So I guess he won't be suing you guys when he's back up and around?” Joe asked.

“Nope,” Linda said, smiling. “He was stunned when he found out that his own special-effects director was behind the theft and the attempts on his life. He couldn't have been more apologetic about the way he'd acted toward the people at the convention. In fact, he's even promised to premiere his next film at BayCon as soon as it's finished.

“Oh, by the way,” she added, pushing her dark hair away, “I've got a message for you guys from somebody in the huckster room. A George Morwood. He's a dealer in videotapes.”

“Right,” Frank said. “We know him.”

“He said to tell you that he's been thinking it over and has decided he's been dealing with the wrong business associates,” she said. “From now on he's going strictly legitimate, whatever that means.”

“Who would have guessed?” Joe said, looking at his brother.

“Maybe we shook George up a little after all,” Frank said.

Chet crunched loudly on a taco chip. “You know, I think I've decided to become a full-time SF fan.”

“Really?” Linda Klein asked. “Do you read a lot of science fiction, Chet?”

“No, I only see the movies,” he said. He held up the bag of taco chips. “But I'm a fan of any place that gives out free food. Think I could buy an advance membership in next year's con?”

“Well, actually, we're thinking of charging a small amount for the food after this year,” Linda said.

A surprised look crossed Chet's face. “Why?” he asked.

“It seems that somebody ate an amazing amount of taco chips at the con parties on Friday and Saturday nights,” Linda said. “Frankly, we can't afford to supply enough food to keep up with the demand.”

Frank laughed. “It looks as if you're going to have to cut down on your eating next time, Chet, or you're going to drive BayCon out of business.”

“Chet cut down on his eating?” Joe said with a grin. “Now,
that's
science fiction!”

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.