Frank saw the curb looming near and jumped off his bike. He rolled as he impacted with the ground, listening to the crunch of metal as his bike hit the curb, flipped over and crashed into the guardrail.

Bruised, but still in one piece, he carefully got up. The truck was long gone and he hadn't even managed to get a tag number. He checked his motorcycle. It was dented a bit but still looked operable. He checked the motor. It turned over and started at once. Frank climbed on and rode to the next gas station. There, he used a pay phone to call the police. He was patched through to Sergeant Con Riley, a brown-haired, hazel-eyed cop in his mid- twenties that was the closest thing Frank and Joe had to a friend on the Bayport city police force. Frank told Con about the hit and run and promised to come down and file a report later that evening. After hanging up he got back on his bike and continued on his way to Principal Dylan's house.

Todd Dylan, a tall, lean man with straight red hair parted on the left was in his mid-forties. He was popular with all the students at Bayport High as well as with their parents. He opened his door as Frank pulled to a stop outside. "Thank you for coming," he said to Frank, smiling as the youth got off his cycle and removed his helmet. "Do come in," he added stepping aside so Frank could proceed him into the house.

"Are you okay?" Frank asked once he was seated in the living room across from Dylan. "You seemed agitated when you called."

"It's the gymnastic tournament," Dylan told Frank. "It was only announced this past week and already things have started going awry."

"Is that why Joe is one of the contestants?" Frank demanded, worried about his brother being used. "So he can keep an eye on things form the inside?"

"Absolutely not!" Dylan thundered, outraged at the suggestion. "I consider Joe to be the best gymnast Bayport High has," he continued. "Emily and Nick are good, but Joe is a natural. That's why I didn't want you to let Joe know. I want him to concentrate on the tournament, not the problems associated with it."

"What problems?" Frank asked, relieved he had been wrong about the principal's motives.

"One of the contestants at East Bridge was in an accident last night. Her brakes gave out," Dylan told Frank. "The police said they had been tampered with."

"Was she hurt?" Frank inquired.

"She has a broken leg from where she hit a tree," Dylan replied, his face grim.

"Okay," Frank said slowly. "Won't East Bridge just pick another contestant?"

"They can't," Dylan told him. "Once the contestants have been chosen only they will be allowed to compete. If one of our students was injured or had to cancel, then we would only have two entrants."

"You said problems," Frank suddenly remembered. "Where there any other accidents?"

"Cornwell lost two contestants this morning," Dylan stated, his face wrinkling with worry. "They were friends and were riding to school together. A witness said a dark green truck ran them off the road. Both boys are in comas."

"Why would someone want to eliminate the competition?" Frank asked thoughtfully. The description of the truck had not been lost on Frank but right now he was more concerned with motive. "A workout station and a trophy isn't worth trying to kill someone."

"There is a bit more to it than that," Dylan said, surprising Frank. "We all decided it would be better not to let the competitors know because we wanted to keep this a friendly competition, but the winner will receive not only the work-out station but also a round trip ticket to the Olympics and one hundred thousand dollars."

"A hundred thousand dollars?" Frank asked in disbelief. "Why? It's just a regional competition, isn't it?"

"Yes, but Steve Vaughn, the superintendent of schools, managed to work a deal with George Braun, the owner and CEO of Braun Enterprises. All the schools in the district will purchase supplies and computers from Braun Enterprises in exchange for the prize and publicity. The tournament is going to be broadcast live," Dylan informed him.

"Why so much publicity?" Frank demanded.

"Dr. Vaughn wants the gymnastics tournament to become as popular and national as the cheerleading tournaments are," Dylan explained.

"And what exactly is it you want me to do?" Frank asked.

"Keep an eye on our contestants," Dylan answered. "Maybe see if you can find out who has been hurting these kids. I know you and Joe are good at solving mysteries," he added.

"That's right," Frank interrupted him. "Joe and I are," he clarified, stressing Joe's name.

"You mean you can't do this without him?" Dylan asked, his brow wrinkling in worry.

"I could," Frank replied, causing the principal to brighten momentarily. "But I won't," he added. "Joe's and my relationship is built on trust," Frank explained. "If I were to investigate this without his knowledge and he found out it would shake that foundation. Besides," he continued, "Joe is directly involved in this and if he is a potential target, he has a right to know and as his brother, I have an obligation to tell him."

"If all the contestants know what's going on there will be a panic," Dylan cautioned Frank.

"Joe isn't the kind to panic," Frank pointed out. "And if he knows someone is trying to keep him from winning that will just make that much more determined," he added, trying to get him to realize why Joe knowing would be a good thing.

"I still wish Joe didn't have to know," Dylan said. "But I understand what you're saying and I respect your decision," he conceded.

"Good," Frank said, smiling. "Now, can I ask you a question?" Principal Dylan nodded his agreement. "Where did you call me from?" Frank wanted to know.

"Right here," Dylan replied, nodding at the phone. "Why?"

"Because on the way over here a dark green Ford truck ran me off the road," Frank told him, picking up the phone and looking for some kind of transmitter.

"Why didn't you say something before?" Dylan asked, concerned.

"Because I wasn't hurt and until you mentioned what kind of vehicle ran the Cornwell students off the road, I didn't know there was a connection," Frank answered, prying the top off the phone's receiver.

He frowned and put the phone back together and sat it down. Next he looked at the lamp on the table, then all over the room. He went outside and looked around with the principal following him.

"Footprints," Frank said, looking at the ground beneath the window.

"So someone overheard me talking to you and then took off to stop you from coming over," Dylan said.

"No," Frank disagreed with a shake of his head. "There wasn't enough time for the person to get over to my house before I left."

"Unless whoever it was heard me telling Dr. Vaughn I was going to call you and left then," Dylan said, frowning thoughtfully. "I discussed it with him before calling and asking for your help," he added, a bit apologetically. "But I never mentioned where you live," he added, wondering how the intruder could have known where to find Frank.

"Unfortunately, having everyone know where we live is part of the downside to Dad having his office at home," Frank said with a grimace. "All you would have to of done was mention our last name," he added.

Back at the Hardy home, Joe finished his paper and put his book and notebook back in his backpack. He entered Frank's room and saw his physics book lying open on the bed but no sign of Frank. He went downstairs in search of Frank and found his mother in the kitchen rolling out biscuits. "Where's Frank?" Joe asked, snitching a piece of the dough and popping it in his mouth.

"He had an errand to run," she replied, not looking up from her task. "He'll be back shortly," she added. "Have you finished your homework?"

"Yeah," Joe answered. "I guess I'll go for a run. Do I have time?" he asked.

"Be back in thirty minutes," she told him.

"Okay," he agreed. "To the park and back," he told her where he was going as he took off out the back door. He started down the street, waving at Mr. Clemmens, their new neighbor at the end of the block, as he rolled out his lawn mower. Joe hadn't seen Mrs. Clemmens, her having gone into the hospital the day they moved in, but Mr. Clemmens seemed nice enough, Joe thought as he ran on past the corner.

Thinking of the neighbors, Joe paid no attention as a green truck started it's motor and followed him.
Frank arrived home just as Mrs. Hardy was setting the table. He had stopped by the police station to file a report on the hit and run then hurried home to talk to Joe. "Smells good," Frank said, coming into the dining room. "Need help?" he asked.

"No," she replied with a smile. "What did your principal want?" she asked.

"I'll tell you and Joe at the same time," Frank prevaricated. "I guess he's still upstairs. I'll go and get him," he added and moved to leave the room.

"He left around thirty minutes ago," Mrs. Hardy said, causing Frank to stop and stare at her, his heart racing a bit faster.

He bit his lip and took a breath before asking in a calm voice, "Where did he go?"

"He went for a run to the park and back," she informed him. "He should be back soon," she added, seeing the worried look in Frank's eyes. "What's wrong?" she demanded, growing alarmed.

"Nothing," Frank quickly assured her, flashing a phony smile. "I'll go wash up," he added, leaving the room. By the time he returned, Mrs. Hardy was wearing a worried frown.

"He should have gotten home by now," she said, looking at her eldest son with troubled blue eyes.

"Let's give him five more minutes and then I'll go look for him," Frank said. "You know Joe," he added. "He'll probably be late for his own funeral."

Mrs. Hardy gave a half-smile at Frank's attempt at humor then went into the living room and sat down. Frank followed her and took a chair by the phone, amazed when it began ringing before his bottom had touched the chair.

"Hey, is Joe there?" came the deep baritone of blond and beefy Biff Hooper, Joe's seventeen-year-old best friend.

"No," Frank answered. "He went to the park and hasn't gotten back yet."

"Your mom said the same thing when I called earlier," Biff said. "And I waited for him to put in an appearance out front, but he never did."

"Did you see a dark green Ford truck in the area?" Frank demanded at once, alarmed.

"Yeah," Biff replied. "It had a dent on the right front bumper," he added.

"Where did you see it?" Frank asked, his heart racing.

"It was heading down the street past the park."