Danger in the Extreme by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

and all the whiteness of the snow suddenly went black.
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    Frank had watched helplessly as Joe disappeared into the top of a tall, snow-laden pine tree. His only thought as he fell was, How am I going to tell Mom and Dad that Joe is dead?
    Frantically, his heart trying to pound its way out of his chest, Frank steered his chute in the direction of the pine tree.
    He landed softly and cut his chute. He had to get to Joe.
    He found his brother facedown, spread-eagle in a snowdrift. “Joe!” he yelled, dropping to his knees next to the body.
    Joe lifted his head slowly. Snow plugged his nose and stuck to his eyebrows. “Am I alive?” he asked.
    Frank was so relieved he laughed. “Yeah, you’re alive.”
    â€œGood, ’cause I sure don’t feel alive.” Joe spit out some snow, rolled over, and sat up. He released the few remaining lines to his chute. “Good thing I hit that tree.”
    â€œYou made an excellent snow angel,” Frank quipped. “But I thought you were going to be playing a harp, bro.”
    â€œSo did I.”
    Several people came running across the field to the Hardys.
    Frank saw that one of them was Neal Jordan. “We saw it all!” Neal shouted breathlessly. “Joe, are you alive?”
    â€œWe were just discussing that,” Joe replied.
    Neal laughed. “That was some entrance, dude! Sammy Fear’s got nothing on you.”
    Agent Ardis and a couple of other agents helpedJoe to his feet. As they walked to the lodge, Ardis let the Hardys know he was angry.
    â€œWhy couldn’t you two land at the airport and get a ride out here like normal people?” he asked. “Or we could’ve had someone pick you up there.”
    â€œThe nearest airport is forty miles away,” Frank said. “And we were worried about what Sammy Fear might be up to.”
    Ardis shook his head. “He’s not up to anything. This is all absurd.”
    Frank bit his tongue. He didn’t want to get into an argument. And besides, he wasn’t positive that Neal was in any danger. After all, it would be foolish for anyone to think they could get away with kidnapping the president’s son.
    An armed agent let them through an eight-foot iron gate. The retreat was a huge log house nestled high on the side of a mountain. There was a concrete helipad out front, and several black sport-utes were parked along a drive leading up to the side of the house.
    â€œWow!” Joe said. “There must be room for twenty or thirty people to stay here, and the view is great.”
    â€œYup,” Neal said. “My dad has guests up here a lot. And there has to be room for these guys,” he added, nodding at the agents.
    Another agent let them in the front door. Inside, a fire crackled warmly at the far end of a long living room.
    Agent DuBelle greeted the Hardys with a concerned but friendly smile. “Agent Ardis radioed me about your accident,” she said. “It’s amazing you’re not hurt.”
    Joe agreed. They all sat down around a square coffee table in front of the fire. A tray of hot soup and sandwiches appeared only a few seconds later. The Hardys and Neal dug in.
    â€œIt wasn’t an accident,” Joe said. He and Frank related the story of the guy breaking into their van. “We must have caught him before he could get to Frank’s chute.”
    â€œHow do you know that?” Ardis said. “Your chute could have malfunctioned on its own.”
    â€œI doubt it,” Joe said.
    â€œYeah,” Frank added. “These are the newest chutes, and Joe’s an expert packer.”
    DuBelle stood up and went over to the fire. “It’s too much of a coincidence that someone broke into your van, and then your chute malfunctioned.”
    â€œRight,” Frank said. “That means the guy knew about parachutes.”
    â€œSammy Fear,” Neal said.
    Agent Ardis sighed