Danger in the Extreme by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

to Joe.
    â€œI say we rush him.”
    Frank nodded. He sprang in front of the door, only to get hit in the mouth with a long-barreled flashlight.
    Joe saw his brother crumple to the ground in pain. A figure dressed all in black, his face covered with a ski mask, jumped from the van.
    The guy sprinted past Joe toward the street.
    â€œGet him!” Frank shouted.
    Joe took off down the driveway. With his runningback’s speed, he figured he’d catch this joker in no time.
    Frank’s assailant had other plans, though. He cut across the Hardys’ front lawn.
    Joe saw what the guy was running for: there was a mountain bike leaning against the Hardys’ mailbox post.
    The two of them were going full speed when they made it to the street. As Joe was about to make a diving tackle, he felt his foot go out from under him. He’d slipped on a patch of ice. He went down hard, cracking his elbow on the pavement and yowling in pain.
    Joe tried to stand up. If he could knock the guy off the bike, he and Frank could get some answers.
    But what he saw sent a rush of fear and adrenaline through his body.
    The bike speeding toward him had steel-studded ice tires. They’d shred his skin like razor blades.
    His attacker pedaled furiously.
    Joe dove toward the curb. The front tire of the bike clipped his right heel, and then the rider was gone into the darkness.
    Joe sat up and caught his breath. His right shoe had a two-inch rip in it, but he was unhurt.
    He got up to check on his brother. Frank was inside the van, rummaging around. His lip was swollen and bloody, and his face was a kaleidoscope of colors from the attack the night before, but other than that he was okay.
    â€œNothing seems to be missing,” he said.
    Joe rubbed his arms to keep warm. “We must’ve scared him off before he could find whatever he was after.”
    Frank nodded. “Did you see who it was?”
    â€œHad a ski mask on,” Joe said. “But I’d bet the fact that he was riding a mountain bike with mean-looking ice tires means he’s connected to the Max Games somehow.”
    The Hardys heard their mother’s voice. “What’s going on out there, you two?”
    Frank slammed the van door shut. “Let’s get some breakfast.”
    Laura Hardy gasped when she saw Frank’s newest injury. “What happened now?” She got some ice for his swollen lip from the freezer.
    â€œSomebody broke into the van,” Joe said. “We chased him off.”
    Mrs. Hardy handed Frank the ice. “Should I wake your father? Or call the police?”
    Frank shook his head. “The guy didn’t get away with anything valuable.”
    â€œAnd if I find out who it was, he’s not going to get away with clocking you in the face.”
    â€œJoe,” Mrs. Hardy scolded. “Sit down. Since we’re all up, I’ll make some pancakes.”
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    Several hours later, the Hardys met Jamal outside the athletes’ entrance to the climbing wall.
    â€œYou juiced, Frank?”
    Frank knocked fists with Jamal. “You got it, man. Big day today—ice climb, then sky surfing.”
    â€œWhat happened to your face?”
    â€œHe tried to stop a truck with it,” Joe quipped.
    Frank punched his brother in the shoulder, then started to fill Jamal in on everything that had happened since the previous night.
    As they walked to the benches around the wall, Frank spotted Mollica, Fear, and Salazar and had to clam up. “I’ll tell you more later,” he whispered.
    Jamal nodded. They set their climbing gear down on the bench right next to Salazar’s.
    One official was busy checking the hardness of the ice, while another started and stopped the electronic clock over and over again, making certain it worked perfectly.
    Frank glanced up at the sky. Clear, not too cold. It was going to be a beautiful day.
    Rick Salazar ruined Frank’s mood by