the engine, and with the tires squealing, he took off.
Tucked firmly under his arm was a tan leather briefcase.
Chapter 14
"HE MUST BE HEADING for the highway! Let's get him!" Joe shouted.
He and Frank ran to the van. This time Joe took the driver's seat. He threw the van into reverse and slammed out of the space.
Honnnnk! The bleat of a car horn made Joe screech to a sudden stop. He narrowly missed broadsiding a station wagon.
"Watch it, Joe!" Frank said. "A little less speed will get us there as fast."
Joe had slammed the van into first and spun on some gravel. They had careened toward a thick cement pole. Joe spun the wheel and sped to the exit to find ten motionless cars lined up ahead of them, waiting for a break in the traffic.
"Joe—" Frank said warningly.
"We're going to lose this guy if we don't do something!" Joe passed everyone by driving up on the curb. They entered traffic accompanied by a chorus of honking horns.
Even so, the cyclist had disappeared. "We blew it," Joe said in disgust.
"Okay, we blew it," Frank agreed. "But I've got another plan."
"Like what? This guy is probably halfway to Bayport by now!"
Frank reached for the cellular phone and punched a few numbers in, saying, "Okay, Callie, you wanted to be part of the action? Well, here goes — "
"Callie? Why — "
"She can drive over and wait for him by the entrance ramp. Then she can either tail him or stall him."
Callie said she would set off immediately. As Frank hung up the phone, Joe yanked the steering wheel to the left and sent the van swerving into an opening in the fast lane. "Okay, we're starting to move," he said.
Frank gripped his armrest as Joe jumped from lane to lane. "This might not be so bad after all," Joe said.
"Hey, calm down, Joe!" Frank interrupted. "The cops are out! All we need is to be stopped for reckless driving!"
Joe's eyes darted up ahead of them a quarter of a mile, where a police car had stopped in the breakdown lane, its lights flashing. Joe slowed and stayed in one lane.
As they got nearer the police car, an officer was just climbing back into his cruiser. The person he had stopped was blocked from Frank and Joe's view by a tractor-trailer.
"Somebody probably trying to drive in the breakdown lane," Frank said. "Sound like a familiar trick?" he asked sheepishly.
Joe looked over to his brother and grinned. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the police car drive away. Then the tractor-trailer slowly moved ahead to reveal who the police officer had stopped.
A man standing beside a motorcycle, with a tan briefcase.
"There he is!" Joe said. "Go get the briefcase, Frank!"
Frank wasted no time. He pushed open the door and jumped out of the van.
Cars skidded to a stop and blew their horns as Frank darted between them. The motorcyclist glanced around and did a double-take. Then, tucking the briefcase under his arm, he mounted his bike and kicked it into action.
Frank was only inches behind him. "Oh, no, you don't — " he said, lunging for the briefcase.
But the only thing that Frank grabbed was a handful of gravel. He landed face first on the road as the motorcycle roared off.
"Come on, get in!" came Joe's voice. The van was now beside Frank, in the right lane. Frank jumped through the open door, still shedding gravel. A few cars ahead of them, the motorcycle had pulled into the same lane.
"He's playing it safe," Joe said. "He doesn't want to get stopped again."
The motorcyclist dodged from lane to lane, trying to put distance between himself and the Hardys. But Joe skillfully swerved and dodged into spaces between cars.
Finally the motorcyclist pulled onto the dotted white line between the lanes. He sped up, driving with cars on his right and left.
Practically at the same time traffic ground to a dead halt. Angry drivers opened the doors of their cars and moved outside to see what had happened.
Joe punched the dashboard. "Another jam! We've lost him now!"
Frank watched hopelessly as the
Tucked firmly under his arm was a tan leather briefcase.
Chapter 14
"HE MUST BE HEADING for the highway! Let's get him!" Joe shouted.
He and Frank ran to the van. This time Joe took the driver's seat. He threw the van into reverse and slammed out of the space.
Honnnnk! The bleat of a car horn made Joe screech to a sudden stop. He narrowly missed broadsiding a station wagon.
"Watch it, Joe!" Frank said. "A little less speed will get us there as fast."
Joe had slammed the van into first and spun on some gravel. They had careened toward a thick cement pole. Joe spun the wheel and sped to the exit to find ten motionless cars lined up ahead of them, waiting for a break in the traffic.
"Joe—" Frank said warningly.
"We're going to lose this guy if we don't do something!" Joe passed everyone by driving up on the curb. They entered traffic accompanied by a chorus of honking horns.
Even so, the cyclist had disappeared. "We blew it," Joe said in disgust.
"Okay, we blew it," Frank agreed. "But I've got another plan."
"Like what? This guy is probably halfway to Bayport by now!"
Frank reached for the cellular phone and punched a few numbers in, saying, "Okay, Callie, you wanted to be part of the action? Well, here goes — "
"Callie? Why — "
"She can drive over and wait for him by the entrance ramp. Then she can either tail him or stall him."
Callie said she would set off immediately. As Frank hung up the phone, Joe yanked the steering wheel to the left and sent the van swerving into an opening in the fast lane. "Okay, we're starting to move," he said.
Frank gripped his armrest as Joe jumped from lane to lane. "This might not be so bad after all," Joe said.
"Hey, calm down, Joe!" Frank interrupted. "The cops are out! All we need is to be stopped for reckless driving!"
Joe's eyes darted up ahead of them a quarter of a mile, where a police car had stopped in the breakdown lane, its lights flashing. Joe slowed and stayed in one lane.
As they got nearer the police car, an officer was just climbing back into his cruiser. The person he had stopped was blocked from Frank and Joe's view by a tractor-trailer.
"Somebody probably trying to drive in the breakdown lane," Frank said. "Sound like a familiar trick?" he asked sheepishly.
Joe looked over to his brother and grinned. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the police car drive away. Then the tractor-trailer slowly moved ahead to reveal who the police officer had stopped.
A man standing beside a motorcycle, with a tan briefcase.
"There he is!" Joe said. "Go get the briefcase, Frank!"
Frank wasted no time. He pushed open the door and jumped out of the van.
Cars skidded to a stop and blew their horns as Frank darted between them. The motorcyclist glanced around and did a double-take. Then, tucking the briefcase under his arm, he mounted his bike and kicked it into action.
Frank was only inches behind him. "Oh, no, you don't — " he said, lunging for the briefcase.
But the only thing that Frank grabbed was a handful of gravel. He landed face first on the road as the motorcycle roared off.
"Come on, get in!" came Joe's voice. The van was now beside Frank, in the right lane. Frank jumped through the open door, still shedding gravel. A few cars ahead of them, the motorcycle had pulled into the same lane.
"He's playing it safe," Joe said. "He doesn't want to get stopped again."
The motorcyclist dodged from lane to lane, trying to put distance between himself and the Hardys. But Joe skillfully swerved and dodged into spaces between cars.
Finally the motorcyclist pulled onto the dotted white line between the lanes. He sped up, driving with cars on his right and left.
Practically at the same time traffic ground to a dead halt. Angry drivers opened the doors of their cars and moved outside to see what had happened.
Joe punched the dashboard. "Another jam! We've lost him now!"
Frank watched hopelessly as the
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