High-Speed Showdown by Franklin W. Dixon

‘Adelita.’ It’s an old folk song. So when I saw the name on that boat, it got my attention. But I never set foot on the boat. All I did was stand there, thinking of my grandfather. Then this big thug from Newcastle Trucking came and chased me away.”
    â€œA guy in a green uniform?” Frank asked. She nodded. “Yeah, he hassled us, too. Where were you between eight and eight-thirty this morning?”
    â€œRight here,” Connie replied, with a new tone of alarm in her voice. “Why? What’s it to you?”
    â€œIt looks like somebody sneaked into Barry Batten’s room and took his medallion,” Joe said.
    For a long moment, Connie stared silently into space. Then she shook herself and said, “Well, it wasn’t me. Just the idea of touching something carved out of whale ivory makes me sick to my stomach. And I haven’t been away from the house all morning. My mom can vouch for that.”
    â€œWhat about Angelo?” Joe asked.
    Connie jumped to her feet. “That’s it! Angelo was right, you’re just trying to discredit our organization. Get out of here, right now!”
    Frank blinked in surprise. Why had Connie just exploded like that? “Now, wait,” he began.
    â€œNo, get out!” Connie repeated, her voice rising. “Before I scream for help!”
    â€œOkay, okay,” Joe said, getting up from his chair. “We’re out of here.”
    Before leaving, Frank tore a sheet from his notebook and scribbled their phone numbers on it. “If you change your mind, get in touch,” he said.
    As they drove off, Frank said, “Did you notice that she didn’t really get upset until we asked about Angelo? I wonder if he’s the one who’s up to something, and she knows it.”
    Joe’s reply was cut short by the buzz of the cellular phone. Frank picked it up.
    â€œListen,” a muffled voice said. “I just spotted somebody messing with the race buoys. If you hurry, you can catch him red-handed.”
    â€œWho is this?” Frank demanded. The only response was a click. He told Joe what the caller had said.
    â€œSounds a little fishy,” Joe said, speeding up. “But what’ll it cost us to check it out?”
    â€œGo for it,” Frank said.
    Joe parked in the Waterside Inn lot. He and Frank dashed across the street to the marina and sprinted to the slip where Sleuth was tied up. Frank took the helm, while Joe cast off the lines.
    Once the boat was clear of the slip, Frank pushed the throttle forward and steered for the harbor mouth. A couple of hundred yards ahead, a group of windsurfers was crossing his course. The brightly colored sails shone against the blue sky and water.
    Frank started to pull the throttle back, to slowdown before passing the windsurfers. Suddenly he let out a startled exclamation.
    â€œWhat is it?” Joe demanded. “What’s wrong?”
    â€œThe throttle!” Frank replied. He wiggled the lever back and forth. It moved much too freely. “It’s not responding!”
    The rising whine of the powerful outboard covered Joe’s reply. Frank stared, horrified. The windsurfers were now dead ahead and Frank could not slow down!

12 Throttle Down!
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    â€œFrank, look out!” Joe shouted. “Slow down!”
    By now the group of windsurfers was less than fifty yards away. Some of them, alerted by the roar of Sleuth ’s motor, looked around to see where it was coming from. One surfer, in a green and black wetsuit, was so startled that he lost his balance and fell backward into the water.
    â€œI can’t slow down,” Frank shouted back. “The cable must be broken. Kill the engine, quick!”
    Joe instantly understood. He stood up and lunged back toward the stern of the boat. But just at that moment, Frank put the wheel hard over to port, to avoid the windsurfers. The boat banked sharply. Joe lost his balance and went