Street Spies by Franklin W. Dixon

was taken into custody by police. An official police spokesperson refused to comment. However, there was speculation that there may be a connection between this incident and the mayor's get-tough stand on bicycle messengers. The mayor is considering a plan for strictly curtailing the use of bicycles by messengers in Midtown Manhattan. In other news ..."
    Joe turned the radio off. "That's all we need," he said disgustedly. "Talk about a cover being blown. Now the whole world knows."
    "At least they didn't give your real name or say they'd turned you loose," Frank said. "That's something." He put the confiscated radio carefully behind the seat. "Let's just hope we can get to Gus before it's too late."
    Half a block from SpeedWay, on Front Street, Joe spotted a parking spot. "Let's leg it from here," he said, pulling the van against the curb.
    Frank was on Joe's heels as they dashed down the block and through the front door of the dispatch office. Everybody was clustered at the far end of the room, listening to the radio.
    Apollo looked up and brightened as he saw Joe. "Hey, here's Hot Dog!" he exclaimed. "So it wasn't you who got blown up, after all!"
    "Yeah, it was," Joe said. Bruce was sitting at the dispatcher's desk. "Where's Gus?"
    "He's not here," Bruce said.
    "Where can we find Gus?" Frank snapped.
    Bruce's mouth dropped open as he heard the tone in Frank's voice. "He got a phone call and left. If you hurry, you might be able to catch him in the parking garage down the block." Puzzled, he looked from Frank to Joe. "What's going on here, anyway?"
    He received no reply. The brothers turned and dashed out the door and down the street.
    "There he goes," Frank cried as they rounded the corner by the parking garage. He pointed at a hobbling figure who was just entering the garage.
    Seconds later Frank and Joe were inside the garage, too. But there was no sign of Gus.
    "The elevator!" Joe shouted, pointing to a pair of elevator doors in the wall. The numbers above the door were lighting up in succession — 1, 2, 3. At the third floor, the elevator stopped.
    "Upstairs," Frank yelled, racing to the stairway beside the elevator. "Let's hit it!"
    They were almost to the second floor when they heard a heavy door slam and the sounds of a violent struggle. Gus's panicked voice echoed in the concrete stairwell.
    "Get away from me! Get your hands off!"
    There was a resounding whack that Joe recognized immediately. It was the sound of Gus's cane hitting flesh. Then a thud, and a short, gurgling scream. And then a loud clatter, as Gus's cane slid down the stairs and came to rest on the second-floor landing.

Chapter 12
    "Come on!" Frank yelled as the door slammed' again, the echo reverberating through the stairwell. "We've got to help!"
    But they were too late. A limp body tumbled down the stairs, arms and legs windmilling.
    It was Gus. He lay at their feet, a bloody gash ripped across his face, one leg twisted gro-tesquely under him.
    He wasn't moving.
    Without a second's hesitation, Joe dashed for the third floor landing. As he bolted through the door, he watched as the elevator door slid shut. He ran over and slammed his hand against it in frustration. Over his head, the light flashed on.
    Joe lunged back through the stairwell door and took the stairs down three or four at a time. On the second-floor landing, Frank was kneeling beside Gus, feeling for a pulse. "Get help!" Frank ordered. Without a word, Joe ran down the stairs.
    At the far end of the ground floor opposite the exit, Joe saw a dark figure run through the shadows toward the cream-colored van. The van's door was slammed and its engine roared to life. Joe started to dash toward it but realized he'd never reach it before it pulled away. He'd be an easy target, silhouetted against the exit. He ducked down behind the cars. Let them come to me, he thought. There's only one way out of this place. He felt in his pocket. Yes, it was there — · the last transmitter.
    The van