ATAC BRIEFING FOR AGENTS FRANK AND JOE HARDY MISSION: Investigate sabotage on the set of a pirate-themed, action-packed reality television show. LOCATION: Bayport waterfront. POTENTIAL VICTIMS: Show contestants and crew members. SUSPECTS: The surly mechanic on the set seems out for revenge, but there are also more than a few competitive contestants who will do anything to win.... This mission requires your immediate attention. This message will be erased in five seconds. Franklin W. Dixon is the author of the ever-popular Hardy Boys books. 1 A Thief by Any Other Name "Gun it, Frank! He's getting away!" Joe said. "Tell me something I don't already know!" I replied. My brother Joe was right. If we didn't do something fast, Jules Kendallson, the motorcycle bandit, would give us the slip -- again. Joe and I opened up the throttles on our custom bikes and roared after Kendallson. The Northside Woods whizzed past. We ducked branches and darted around the tree trunks blocking the overgrown trail. Every twist and turn presented a new danger -- a new place to wipe out. Kendallson didn't care. He was an expert rider and could have done well on the motocross circuit. Instead he'd turned to crime -- stealing bikes instead of racing them. It was up to Joe and me to catch him. "Frank, low branch!" Joe's voice blared loud and clear over the two-way radio in my helmet. As I ducked, the tree branch scraped the top of my helmet. Without it, I'd have gotten a nice set of scratches. But if Joe hadn't warned me, I might have lost my head. "Keep your mind on the trail, big brain!" Joe chided. My face went red, partly because of what Joe said and partly because I knew he was right. My brother's weakness was that he charged in without thinking; mine was that I sometimes thought too much. "Worrywart!" I called back. "Just stay with him!" Both Joe and the bandit were ahead of me now. Kendallson twisted his bike around a sharp turn and launched into the air, over a shallow ravine. Joe skidded in the turn and didn't get as good a jump. He landed hard just below the ravine's rim and lost valuable time as he motored up to the top. I hit the jump better and landed in front of him. I grinned. Sometimes it pays to be the more cautious, older brother. "Man, that guy is good," Joe said as he roared up behind me. "If he wasn't, he wouldn't have eluded the cops for so long after busting out of jail," I replied. "Let's hope they throw away the key this time," Joe said. "They will, once we catch him," I added, trying to sound more confident than I felt. Kendallson had slipped away from us twice before. Plus he was definitely the better biker. Fortunately Joe and I had been riding the woods north of Bayport since we were kids. We knew these woods better than the crook. "I'm going to motor around to the left," Joe called over the headset, "and try to cut him off by Benson Ravine." "Check," I replied. "I'll herd him in that direction." I angled to the right and accelerated again, jumping over the low hills like they were whoop-de-doos at a motocross track. Joe cut in the opposite direction, with the bandit riding between us about fifty yards ahead. The trees zipped past as I easily swerved and bobbed through the familiar terrain. I was catching up to the bandit. Now I just needed to force Kendallson south so Joe could catch him at the ravine. Benson Ravine is a wide streambed that cuts through the middle of the wooded hills north of Bayport. The stream rambles through the forest before eventually emptying into Barmet Bay. There's only one easy way over the ravine, which makes that crossing an ideal trap. Kendallson spotted me as I angled in on him from the west. He turned east, just like I hoped he would. He wove between the trees ahead of me, keeping dangerously close to the trunks. He clearly wanted me to crash into one, but I knew the area too well for that. Besides, I'd learned my lesson with the tree branch earlier. I couldn't see Joe through the forest ahead of us, and I hoped the bandit couldn't see him either. With a little luck, Joe would reach the crossing first. Kendallson glanced back at me as he rode. Little by little I was catching up, and he knew it. Suddenly he ripped off his helmet and threw it at me. Now that was a stupid thing to do! The helmet bounced off the forest floor once, and then skipped toward my front tire. I swerved around it and looked up just in time to see a big tree trunk zooming toward my face. I turned hard, nearly laying the bike on the ground. My back tire kicked up a cloud of dirt and pine needles. I barely missed the tree in front of me and came close to another on my right. I kicked myself upright again and zoomed after the bandit. He was heading toward the ravine, just as Joe and I had planned. I was blocking his way upstream, so he headed downstream, toward a big old tree trunk that had fallen across the gu