Danger in the Extreme by Franklin W. Dixon

eyes.
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    Swiftly Frank replaced the box of darts and closed the closet door.
    The key turned in the lock.
    Frank dashed to the bed and dropped to thefloor. Too low! There was no way he could fit under the bed frame.
    As the door opened, Frank darted into the bathroom. He climbed into the shower and silently closed the curtain.
    He recognized the voices of Rick Salazar and Amanda Mollica out in the main room.
    â€œI want to know why he’s acting this way,” Mollica was saying, concern in her voice.
    â€œWhat do you mean?” Salazar asked. “He always tries to steal the show.”
    â€œBut this is different. These are incredible chances he’s taking. He opened his chute so late at the opening ceremony that I thought he was going to die.”
    Salazar sounded impatient. “Amanda, you don’t have to hang with us anymore if you’re going to wig out like this.”
    â€œI’m just asking what’s going on.”
    â€œIt’s all part of a plan,” Salazar answered. Frank heard him pull something out of a dresser drawer.
    â€œThis is gonna be the greatest stunt anyone ever pulled off,” Salazar continued. “But we don’t need you if you’re not up for it.”
    Then they left the room, and Frank couldn’t make out Mollica’s reply.
    Frank eased out of the shower cautiously. In only a few more seconds, he could complete the search. Going to the dresser, he opened each drawer inturn. Salazar’s clothes, his ice axes—nothing unusual about them—a headset walkie-talkie.
    A headset walkie-talkie? Frank lifted the specially designed, lightweight radio from the drawer. It was the kind sky divers used to communicate with each other in midair. A plastic earpiece allowed you to talk without using your hands to touch anything. Why would Salazar need one? He didn’t skydive.
    Frank put the radio back where he found it, then looked at his watch. There was time to check one or two more rooms before Joe would arrive to pick him up.
    He opened the door a crack. The hall was clear. Stepping out, he noticed the room-service tray he’d left outside the door. He wiped his forehead in an exaggerated gesture of relief. He couldn’t believe Salazar hadn’t noticed the tray and suspected something.
    With his foot, he slid the tray down the hall a few feet. Now no one could be sure which room it belonged to.
    If Salazar, Sammy Fear, and Jim Edwards were all in on something, Frank wondered, wouldn’t they want their rooms to be close together?
    He knocked on the room across the hall. No answer. He jimmied the lock and stepped inside. In the closet, Frank found a neat row of business suits. This was obviously not the room of a Max Games athlete. He slipped out.
    When he put his ear to the door to the left of Salazar’s room, Frank heard the television yapping away. He moved on to the next room down.
    This one was also empty. He went in and immediately knew he’d found Jim Edwards’s room. Clothes were strewn all over. Edwards’s bright green racing suit was draped over the desk chair, and snowmobile parts littered the bed and floor.
    He sifted through a stack of papers on the desk. Edwards had three letters from snowmobile companies. Each one said almost exactly the same thing: if Edwards won the Max Games they would seriously consider sponsoring him in the future.
    At the bottom of the pile, he found another interesting letter. It read:
    Dear Justice:
    I’m pleased to hear you’ll be competing in the Max Games snocross event. I’m aware that you usually receive a five-thousand-dollar fee to appear at such events.
    Unfortunately, due to financial limitations, I can’t pay you to be here. However, I can offer you great television exposure and a chance to attract top sponsors.
    I hope you’ll still be able to compete.
    The letter was signed by Fred Vale.
    Frank felt a chill go down his