095-Danger on the Air by Franklin W. Dixon

Author:Franklin W. Dixon [Dixon, Franklin W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-08-07T15:13:32+00:00

Chapter 8

Tomorrow Is Doomsday

While Frank Hardy was in New York, his brother, Joe, was back in Bayport, laying a trap for the Masked Marauder. A police detective named Bryce Thomas explained what was going to happen.

"This Marauder guy expects to find a briefcase full of bills at the corner of Chelmsley Avenue and Fisherman's Lane," said Thomas. "He wants somebody to be standing there with the briefcase and he doesn't want it to be a cop."

Joe, seated across from Thomas in Mona's office, nodded. "That's where I come in, right?"

"Right," said Thomas. "You'll be holding the briefcase. When somebody asks for it, you give it to him."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that," agreed Thomas. "We'll be watching the whole thing. Whoever takes the briefcase won't get very far."

"There won't be any money in the briefcase, will there?" asked Joe.

"No," said Thomas. "We're stuffing it full of old newspapers, so that it'll have the right weight."

"What if the Marauder notices that I'm not alone?" asked Joe.

"He won't. We'll have our best undercover people on the job. The Marauder will never know he's being watched."

"Sounds good," said Joe. "When should I be there?"

"The Marauder wants to pick up the briefcase at nine o'clock this evening. You'll be there at five minutes of. Don't be late."

"You can bet I won't," said Joe. Then, as he and Thomas stood to leave the office "I just wish Frank could be here for this."

At five minutes of nine that evening, Joe was standing at the corner of Chelmsley Avenue and Fisherman's Lane, a large, dark briefcase in his hand, waiting for the Marauder. It wasn't the best neighborhood in Bayport. In fact, it could reasonably be called a slum. Joe was feeling nervous just standing there, minding his own business.

The sun had gone down about fifteen minutes earlier and the sky was still grayish blue. People wandered about aimlessly. Cars honked their horns as they passed. Loud music played out of windows and from boom boxes carried by passing teenagers.

So where's the Marauder? Joe wondered, cautiously scanning the crowds of people around him. How am I even going to know him when I see him?

For that matter, where were the police? He looked around and saw no sign of the undercover officers that Bryce Thomas had assured him would be watching. Well, he thought, that makes sense. If I could spot them that easily, they wouldn't be very good undercover police, would they?

Not far from where Joe stood, a crowd of restless-looking teenagers was hanging around in front of an all-night pool hall, laughing and making rowdy noises. Joe didn't recognize any of them. Every few minutes, one of them looked curiously in Joe's direction, as though he was trying to figure out what Joe was doing there. Joe ignored him, or at least tried to.

Joe glanced at his watch. One minute of nine. Will the Marauder get here on time, he wondered, or will I end up standing here all night, waiting?

"Hey, you!" said a voice just over his shoulder.

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