Street Spies by Franklin W. Dixon

Author:Franklin W. Dixon [Dixon, Franklin W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780833526168
Google: KmSVPwAACAAJ
Amazon: 0671716115
Publisher: Tandem Library
Published: 1988-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

"Blackmailed!" Joe burst out. "Who was that on the phone ? "

Tiffany sagged into a chair. "I don't know," she said.

Joe's mind raced, the questions coming fast. First he had to know if he was being set up, or if the call was real. "Was it a man or a woman?" he asked.

"I couldn't tell," Tiffany repeated. "The voice sounded like an echo, like it was in a cave or something." Her voice broke. She looked scared. "Whoever it was said I'm in real big trouble."

"What kind of trouble?" Joe asked. He studied her. He'd swear this wasn't an act. She was genuinely frightened.

Tiffany hesitated, as though wondering why she should tell him.

"You need help," Joe said urgently. "I can help you."

Tiffany hesitated. Then she shrugged. "Things can't get any worse," she said. "It's that thing you've got in your hand." She pointed at the circuit board Joe was still holding. "It's top secret. The voice on the phone said that they've been pirating stuff like that. Sending it to the competition—out of this mailroom! And if I don't cooperate with them, they'll make it look like I'm the one who's been doing it!"

"What do they want?" Joe asked. "Did they give you any instructions?"

Tiffany buried her face in her hands. "No, nothing," she said. "The voice said there'd be orders for me later."

She dropped her hands and looked up at Joe, tears staining her cheeks. "What am I going to do, Joe? My father will kill me if he thinks I've been helping his competition!" She shook her head, dazed. "I can't believe this is happening. Maybe it's some kind of joke."

"I don't think so," Joe told her. He wanted to say more, but he wasn't sure how far he should go. If this was some kind of trap, he could blow their whole investigation by spilling too much. But if the blackmail call was genuine, Tiffany needed his help. He had to get some answers, and he had to get them fast.

"Tell you what," Joe said, handing back the circuit board, "do you have someplace to lock this up? Someplace where nobody can get at it?"

"Yes," Tiffany said. "Over there." She indicated a small floor safe.

"Lock it up," Joe instructed her. "I'm going to talk to a friend. Maybe he can help. Give me the number here, and I'll call you later this afternoon." He grinned at her. "In the meantime, stay cool. We'll come out of this okay."

Outside, Joe pulled his headset out of his messenger bag and put it on, trying to look nonchalant. But when he bent over to unlock his bike and speak into his microphone, his voice was urgent. "Frank, do you read me? Frank, come in."

There was a crackle of static. "Roger, copy clear," came the reply. "Got a problem?"

"I need to talk to you and Dad as soon as possible. Where are you?"

"I just tracked Lightfoot on a delivery from World-Wide's Wall Street office up to Midtown," Frank reported. "The run was clean — no side-trips.

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