Danger in the Extreme by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

spine. Here was evidence that Vale was having money problems.Could that be the reason for all the wild stuff going on?
    Frank tossed the letters down and went over to the phone. There he found a yellow sticky pad with a short note on it: “Talk to Fear again about quick $.” Frank remembered seeing Fear and Edwards together in the pit area after Joe’s first wreck. What were they in on?
    Frank made one last search of the room. The one thing he didn’t find was a spare snowmobile track like the one the thug had used to smash his face just a couple of hours earlier. But of course that could still be at the stadium. Frank hoped Joe hadn’t run into trouble.
    He needn’t have worried. By the time he’d retraced his steps and escaped unnoticed out the hotel service door, Joe was waiting for him.
    Frank jumped in the van and pulled off his tie.
    â€œThat thing strangling you?” Joe joked.
    â€œLike a rope,” Frank said, tossing the offending garment into the back of the van. “How’d the ceremony go?”
    Joe flashed his gold medal. “Nice, huh?”
    Frank studied it. Almost the size of a hockey puck, the medal showed a snowmobile and rider flying through the air. Around the edge, lettering said, Third Annual Max Games Snocross Champion. “Beautiful,” Frank said. “I can’t wait till I win one for ice climbing tomorrow.”
    Joe wheeled the van through the quiet streets. “Find anything in the hotel?”
    â€œI think I got some good clues.” Frank told Joe about what he’d found and the conversation between Mollica and Salazar.
    â€œWhat could the big stunt be?” Joe asked, mostly to himself.
    â€œDon’t know,” Frank replied. “But I thought it was pretty strange that Salazar had a target rifle and a skydiving radio.”
    â€œFred Vale must be behind it all,” Joe said. “That letter just about proves he’ll go broke unless the Max Games do great this year.”
    Frank stared out the window for a moment, thinking. “How did Edwards act at the awards?”
    â€œTotally cool,” Joe answered. “I’m starting to change my mind about him. He seems like a good guy.”
    â€œDon’t make friends too quickly,” Frank warned. “I figure he’s involved in all this somehow.”
    Both Hardys were exhausted by the time they pulled into the driveway. They talked to their parents for a few minutes—Frank tried to explain his swollen face—then went upstairs to go to sleep.
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    Joe bolted upright in bed. His clock radio read 5:15 A.M. He listened intently. A car hummed by, its lights making his curtains glow for a second.
    There! He heard it again. A sound from outside.
    He got up, slipped on some sneakers, and padded over to Frank’s room.
    â€œFrank. Wake up,” he whispered.
    â€œWhat? Huh?” Frank rolled over.
    Joe heard the noise again. A clunk, like something metallic hitting the driveway. He went over to Frank’s window and peered out. There was the van, right where he’d parked it. He could see the small hole the ice ax had made in the roof.
    He heard the noise again, and the van seemed to rock a little—or was it his imagination?
    Now Frank was fully awake.
    Joe held a finger to his lips, motioning for his brother to stay quiet. Together they crept downstairs and outside, where it was cold and dark.
    Joe edged silently around the back of the van. At first he didn’t see anything unusual. Then his eyes adjusted to the darkness.
    He motioned for Frank to take a look.
    Frank followed Joe’s gaze. The side door of the van was open, and someone was inside.

11 A Cold Contest
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    The Hardys crept forward, Frank leading the way. Staying close to the side of the van, Frank leaned over and peeked in the open door. He saw something move and pulled his head back quickly.
    â€œOne guy, I think,” he whispered