Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 1

Joe Hardy spotted two thugs at the far end of the shopping mall. He nudged his older brother, Frank.

Frank drew in his breath sharply. In their filthy T-shirts, oil-stained jeans, and long, matted hair, the newcomers looked mean. The one on the left had a thick chain wrapped around his hand that dangled nearly to the floor. The other carried an open switchblade knife. No doubt about it—they were aching to fight.

Frank felt a surge of energy jolt through his body as he and Joe prepared for action. “Wait till they pass the pet shop,” he muttered.

“Maybe we should go greet them,” Joe replied, his hands balling up into tight fists and his blue eyes narrowing in anticipation of the battle to come.

Frank shook his head. “Let them come to us.”

The mall became eerily empty. Quiet music played in the background as though nothing unusual was happening. Suddenly, as if on cue, the two thugs darted forward. Joe’s hard right sent his target crashing to the floor. Frank’s spinning karate kick hurled the second thug backward through a store window.

Frank was turning to congratulate his younger brother when he heard the roar of motorcycle engines. He spun around. From the opposite end of the mall two more thugs, bare-chested under denim vests, were racing toward them. Each held a sawed-off shotgun.

Frank grabbed for the thick plastic band on his left wrist, took aim, and pressed a blue lighted button. A tiny flechette dart flew from an opening in the band. A blue trail traced its path clearly. The dart flew wild and passed between the bikers. Frank saw their teeth as they laughed at him. He jabbed the button again, but his weapon was empty.

“Frank!” Joe shouted as the thugs brought their guns up to take aim. “What do we do now?”

Frank swallowed. “I guess we die,” he said calmly.

The two bikers were no more than ten feet away when the lights dimmed and the mall itself faded away

The game was over.

Frank took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Then he reached up to unfasten his helmet. After slipping it off, he found himself back in the everyday world. The mall, which was so real only seconds before, had been replaced by an empty room the size of a basketball court. The walls were covered with a thick plastic material painted flat black. The only light came from small ceiling-mounted spots.

“Oof!” Joe exclaimed as his blond head emerged from under his plastic helmet. “That was something. I feel like I’ve been in a real fight—and lost!”

Frank was about to reply when a door opened at the far end of the room. A tall, slender young woman in faded jeans and a blue blazer came in. Even in the dim light, her long red hair seemed to glow. Though only twenty-seven, Amanda Boggs was co-owner and creative director of Xy-rodian, one of the hottest video game companies in Silicon Valley, California. The Hardys had stopped by to visit on their way to VidCon, a video game exhibition in San Francisco, and Amanda had offered to give the brothers a personal tour.

“Well, guys?” Amanda said, as she drew closer. “How do you like virtual reality?”

“Fantastic!” Joe replied.

“Amazing,” Frank added. “I felt as if I were really in that mall.”

“Where can we buy one of these, Amanda?” Joe asked. “I can’t wait to show this to our friends back home in Bayport.”

The young woman laughed. “Death Mall is still in the development stage. And for a while at least, games that use entire rooms will be too high priced for anyone but theme park and arcade operators.”

Frank handed her his helmet. She placed it carefully on the carpeted floor, then turned to Joe. “Let’s get you two out of the rest of this gear.”

“What was it you called these helmets?” Joe asked as he passed his over.

“Head-mounted displays.” Amanda set the helmet down next to Frank’s. “They’re almost like television sets. The visor’s a flat LCD screen, but the image appears to be three-dimensional.”

“It sure does,” Frank said. “It felt as if we were right inside the mall.”

“That’s because the image is coordinated with your movements,” Amanda explained. “When you move forward, whatever you see on the screen seems to get closer. When you turn your head, the screen shows what’s behind you. Basically, the helmet talks to the computer, telling it where you’re looking at each instant, and the computer then sends back the appropriate image. Okay, let’s have the data gloves.”

Frank and Joe slipped off the thick plastic gloves and unsnapped the connections to their data suits. Frank recalled how strange it had been to see his hands move in front of him and know they were nothing more than a computer-generated image of hands.

Amanda checked the gloves over and set them down, then said, “Now the suits.”

The data suits were like the one-piece jumpsuits worn by fighter pilots and astronauts. Frank unzipped his and carefully stepped out of it.

Joe handed his suit to Amanda. “The suits talk to the computer, too, don’t they?” he said.

“That’s right.” Amanda paused to hand the two suits to a young man in a lab coat who had just entered the room. He hung the suits on wooden hangers as Amanda continued talking.

“The suits tell the computer how and when you move,” she explained. “At the same time sensors in the floor tell the computer your exact location. Come on. I’ll show you the rest of the operation.”

As he and Joe followed Amanda out of the room, Frank said, “Fm really glad Dad suggested we visit here. I thought Xyrodian was only a video game company.”

“That’s how we make our money now,” Amanda replied. “But virtual reality is the future, and we intend to stay on the cutting edge.”

They turned into a long hallway that could have been in Bayport High. The half-dozen people chatting in the hall could almost have been high school students. They wore jeans and T-shirts, and some had portable stereos clipped to their belts. Frank glanced at a bulletin board as they passed. Someone was selling a pair of tickets to an upcoming rock concert. This was not like any business office Frank had ever seen, and from the expression on his brother’s face, he knew Joe was thinking the same thing.

“I’m going to show you where we develop our video games,” Amanda said as she stopped at a closed door. She quickly punched a five-digit code into the electronic lock, then turned the doorknob. “Very top secret stuff,” she said with a smile.

Frank and Joe followed her inside. The room was larger than they had expected, at least three times the size of a classroom. Tall partitions divided it into cubicles. In the nearest cubicle, a young guy in jeans and a black T-shirt sat at a drafting table, drawing a group of ninjas. In the cubicle next to his, a young woman with a crew cut and headphones hummed along with something they couldn’t hear as she operated a bank of video equipment.

“This is our research and development lab,” Amanda said, “where we work on new game ideas and technology.” From every direction came the clicking of keyboards and an occasional beep. “These kids are geniuses when it comes to having fun.”

From somewhere nearby Frank heard an argument begin. A couple of employees lifted their heads at the noise, frowned, and went back to work.

Amanda made an exasperated sound. “Don’t tell me they’re at it again!” she exclaimed.

Frank and Joe followed her to a large cubicle littered with soda cans, fast-food bags and boxes, and piles of papers. On one of the computer monitors a lone ninja did a backflip over and over again.

The two men in the cubicle were both in their midtwenties, but that was all they appeared to have in common. The one sitting at the long worktable was wearing a rumpled Hawaiian-print shirt and torn jeans. He hadn’t shaved for days, and his shaggy blond hair flowed down over his collar. The other, who stood in the center of the cubicle with his hands on his hips, wore a dark gray suit, a red- and blue-striped tie, and highly polished black shoes. The part in his brownbhair could have been drawn using a ruler.

“Okay, what is it this time?” Amanda asked loudly.

The two men turned to face her.

“Nothing,” the blond guy said.

“Nothing?” the one in the suit said, his voice rising. “Honestly, Willie, I don’t think you’ve heard a word I said!”

“That’s enough,” Amanda said, raising her hand like a traffic cop. “I’ve got some visitors I want you to meet. Frank and Joe Hardy. They’re in the area for the VidCon show, and I just let them try out Death Mall.”

She turned to Frank and Joe and added, “Meet two of our star designers. The one in the funny shirt is Willie Gage, who’s just been made head of the department. And the one in the funny suit is Jack Milner. The bikers in Death Mall were his idea.”

Milner straightened his tie. “Amanda,” he began, “Willie hasn’t written a progress memo on Ninja Masters Three in nearly four weeks. I can’t operate like this!”

Willie rolled his eyes, then pulled a keyboard onto his lap and typed something quickly. A few moments later the laser printer on the table hummed and spit out a sheet of paper. Willie handed it to Jack, who glanced at it and then, red-faced, crumpled it up and threw it in the corner.

Amanda retrieved it and chuckled. Frank glanced over her shoulder and read,

MEMO TO: Jack Milner FROM: Willie Gage SUBJECT: Progress

Ninja Masters III is nearly complete. My work was due yesterday. So what if it’s late? Sales are expected to break all Xyrodian records, as usual. No autographs, please.

“Typical,” Jack said angrily. “Willie spends his time making little jokes, and the rest of us have to scramble to cover for him. Why should I put up with this?”

Amanda’s smile disappeared. “Because Willie’s the boss, remember? The decision to promote him was one that Tom and I made together.”

“Oh, hey,” Willie interrupted. “That reminds me, Amanda. Tom called for you. He wants you to stop by his office so he can meet Frank and Joe.”

“Oh? When did he call?” Amanda asked.

Willie shrugged. “An hour ago? I was wrapped up in the Ninja game. Anyway, he said it was urgent.”

Amanda made no effort to, hide her annoyance. “Next time somebody gives you a message for me, would you please remember to pass it on right away?” she snapped at him. “Come on, Frank and Joe. It’s time to meet Tom.”

Thomas Trent’s office was at the opposite end of the building from the spacious R&D lab. The wood-paneled walls, thick carpets, and huge modern desk could have belonged to any top executive, but the Xyrodian president’s suite was also fined with a collection of arcade video games, from one of the first models of Pong to the very latest 3-D interactive game. Thomas Trent was an old acquaintance of Frank and Joe’s father, the internationally known detective Fenton Hardy. When Trent heard that the Hardys were driving to San Francisco on their spring break, he’d insisted they swing by Xyrodian to see how video games were made.

Amanda made the introductions, then excused herself. “I have to go settle a war between Gage and Milner before they murder each other,” she said, and hurried out. Trent had stood up behind his desk to greet the Hardys, and Frank saw that he was in his late forties with graying hair and the beginnings of a paunch.

“Have a seat, boys.” Trent waved his hand toward two leather chairs and gave the Hardys a welcoming smile. “I’m glad you found the time to take a look at what we’re doing here at Xyrodian.”

“It’s been a real treat for us,” Frank replied as he and Joe sat down. “Death Mall is awesome.”

“We have high hopes for it,” Trent said.

The executive hesitated for a moment, pushing a paper clip around on his desk. Then he said, “I’ve followed your career as detectives, you know, and I’m very glad you’re out here.” He paused again, then took one deep breath and spoke. “Frankly, I need your help.”

Joe was instantly alert. “What’s the problem, sir?” he asked.

After one final hesitation, Trent said, “Half of our new games and ideas are being stolen— highjacked right out from under our noses. Industrial espionage. It’s the only explanation.”

“That sounds pretty serious,” Frank said.

“It’s very serious,” Trent replied. “Our games and ideas are our only product. When someone steals them and beats us to the stores with cheaper versions, we end up with nothing. Take a look at this.”

He hit a key on the computer keyboard on his desk and swiveled the monitor so Frank and Joe could see it, too.

“This morning I compiled a list of all the games we’ve had stolen in the last six months,” he explained.

Frank and Joe watched as Trent typed in his password and logged on to the computer. The list of stolen games didn’t appear. Instead, a brightly colored cartoon took over the screen while tinkly music emerged from the speaker.

“What on earth—” Trent sat up straighter as a small animated figure darted onto the screen, pursued by four cartoon thugs. Frank saw at once that the crude animated figure being chased was supposed to be Trent. The little character ran frantically from one end of the screen to the other until the four thugs trapped him. Two of them picked him up by the legs and banged his head on the ground several times. Then they walked away, leaving a still figure behind.

The screen cleared. Slowly large, crude letters appeared, bright yellow against a blue background. The message was clear. It read, You die, Trent!

Chapter 2

Joe read the ominous message on the screen, then glanced at Trent. Was this some kind of joke? The executive was staring at the monitor as if transfixed. His hand groped across the desktop until he grasped a roll of antacid tablets.

The door banged open, and Amanda rushed in. “Sorry to interrupt, Tom,” she began, “but maybe you can manage to talk some sense into these two.”

She fell silent as she noticed the message on the screen. Willie Gage and Jack Milner were right behind her, still arguing. They peered over her shoulder. They, too, fell silent.

Trent shook himself, then raised his eyes to them. “I hope this is important,” he said.

“Well … n-not really,” Jack Milner stammered, riveted by the message on the computer screen. “It’s just … I was telling Willie he ought to document his work better, that’s all.”

“Nothing important,” Willie added quickly. “We can handle it ourselves.”

“Good,” Trent said as he pressed a sequence of keys. “Do so. And maybe one of you geniuses can figure out how to get this garbage off my screen.”

“I’ll get right on it, sir,” Jack said. He and Willie edged out of the room.

“Amanda, hang around, if you will,” Trent added. “I’d like you to be in on this. Would you shut the door?”

Amanda pushed the door closed and pulled a chair up next to Joe’s. Joe noticed how tense her face and shoulders were.

Trent cleared his throat and said, “I was telling Joe and Frank about our problem. I’m hoping to talk them into helping us solve it.”

Amanda’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I can’t say I think much of that idea,” she said.

“It’s not really our sort of investigation,” Frank had to agree. “What about the FBI?”

Trent made a steeple of his fingers. “We tried them. They didn’t come up with a single lead. I think we have to take a different approach. Video game manufacturers from all over the world are going to be at VidCon, displaying their latest products. I’m sure our counterfeiting thieves will be there, too. According to your father, you are both avid players. If you hang out at VidCon and keep your eyes and ears open, maybe you’ll hear something the FBI missed.”

“I think you and I should discuss this, Tom,” Amanda said.

“Oh? Why?” Trent demanded.

Amanda hesitated. “Well, to be honest, I think Frank and Joe are too young for this kind of operation.”

Joe Hardy bristled. Trent burst out laughing. “You, of all people,” he said. “Don’t you remember that article about you, the youngest chief officer of a multimillion-dollar corporation? How old were you then, twenty-four?”

Amanda’s cheeks reddened. “That’s different,” she muttered. “Besides, this could be dangerous.”

“Frank and Joe can make up their own minds about that,” Trent replied firmly. “Look, when we started Xyrodian, we agreed to leave all the business decisions to me and all the creative ones to you. This is a business decision. Those thefts are killing us. They’ve got to be stopped. If Frank and Joe are willing to take us on, I say we give them a chance. What do you say, guys?”

“I’m game,” Joe answered instantly.

“Count me in,” Frank added after a pause.

“Then we’re on,” Trent said. “I’ll give you any assistance you need. Just let me know.” He stood up to shake their hands, then moved to the door with them.

In the reception area, Frank turned to Amanda and asked, “Did you really start Xyrodian when you were just twenty-four? That’s amazing.”

Amanda’s cheeks turned pink. “Actually, I was twenty-one. But we didn’t really hit it big until a couple of years later.”

Joe raised his eyebrows. “So that’s what Mr. Trent meant when he said, ‘You, of all people.’ “

Amanda studied the tops of her shoes. “I was always the youngest in my class. It wasn’t easy.”

“No, I guess not,” Frank said. “How old were you when you graduated?”

The color in her cheeks deepened. “Fifteen,” she said.

“That is young,” Joe remarked. “But, hey, I know three or four kids who finished high school at sixteen, so I guess fifteen isn’t that young.”

Amanda eyed him coolly. “I was fifteen when I got my bachelor of science degree from MIT.”

Joe gave an awed whistle, then said, “What did you do for an encore?”

“Kept studying,” she replied. “Two years at Todei University in Japan, then another year at Cal Tech, working on an advanced degree.”

“A kid genius, huh?” Joe suggested, following her into the hall.

Amanda frowned impatiently. “Maybe we should continue with your tour now,” she said. “If you’re going to help us, you should know everything that goes on here. Anyway, I need to make sure Jack’s getting rid of that message on Tom’s screen.”

“What’s the story between Jack and Willie?” Frank asked, hurrying to keep up with Amanda. “Why are they at each other’s throats like that?”

Amanda shrugged. “They’re both very gifted, but Jack likes everything in its place, and Willie is scattered. So they irritate each other. It’s just a conflict of style—worse on some days and better on others.”

They reached the door of the R&D lab, and Amanda punched in her access code. The door clicked open, and the Hardys followed her inside. She glanced into the first cubicle at the artist in the black T-shirt, then entered quietly with Frank and Joe right behind her.

“We might as well continue the tour here,” she told the Hardys. “This is Chuck.” Amanda placed a hand on the artist’s shoulder. “Mind if I show our visitors around?”

Chuck waved a hand in agreement and kept working.

“This is our starting point in game design,” Amanda said, picking up one of his completed sheets. The drawing paper was divided into panels, like a page from a comic book, but bigger. “Every game, from start to finish, is made into a storyboard.”

“So Chuck makes up the story?” Joe asked.

“Well, no. There’s a script, the same as there’d be for a movie or TV show,” Amanda replied, pointing to a thick sheaf of papers in a cardboard binder. “What Chuck draws is basically what you’ll see on the screen.”

She led Joe and Frank to another cubicle. Here a young man in combat fatigues was working on a larger drawing of a ninja, using only tiny dots made with a fine-tipped pen. He looked up and grinned.

“Yo, Amanda,” he said. “Want me to tell the tourists what’s going on?”

“Sure, Bob, if you don’t mind.”

“I’m working on an animation sequence for Ninja Masters Three,” Bob replied. “This dude is the lead ninja.”

“Why are you doing everything in dots?” Joe asked. “Why not just draw lines?”

“Good question,” Bob said. “The thing is, pointillism—drawing in dots—looks better on a computer screen. If you look very closely at a monitor, or even a TV screen, you’ll see that the picture is really a field of tiny dots, or pixels.”

“Come on, I’ll show you how it works,” Amanda said. “Thanks, Bob.”

Two cubicles down, a woman in a tie-dyed T-shirt was feeding drawings into what looked like a photocopy machine. The computer on her desk hummed constantly.

“Nell’s scanning the completed art, putting it into digitized form and loading it onto her hard disk,” Amanda explained. “Here, I’ll bring some of the art up onto the monitor.”

Amanda rapidly pressed a series of keys. A tiny ninja appeared in one corner of the screen. She pressed two more keys, and the ninja grew huge, so quickly that Joe felt an urge to step back from the screen. What had appeared to be solid fines a moment earlier were now clearly separate dots.

“Now watch this,” she added. Grasping the computer’s mouse control, she moved an arrow on the screen back and forth between the outlined head and a row of colored panels at the bottom of the screen. With each click of the mouse, a tiny square turned from white to a color. Soon the ninja’s head was flesh-colored, complete with shadows.

“That’s how we color our characters,” Amanda said, sitting back. “When they’re reduced to proper size, you’d never imagine it was all done with dots. After that we deal with the animation itself. Some of it can be done by computer, but good animation is still more art than science.”

Joe noticed a big window at the end of the room. “What’s over there?” he asked. “It looks like a recording studio.”

“It is,” Amanda said. She closed her eyes and cried in an eerie, high-pitched voice, “Help! Help, please!”

Joe looked at Frank. He knew that voice, but couldn’t place it. Frank seemed puzzled, too.

“Give up?” Amanda asked, smiling.

“No, wait,” Joe blurted out. “That’s the Queen, from Killer Fighting Bees. Right?”

“Right,” Amanda said. She seemed a bit disappointed that he had gotten the answer. “We hire actors most of the time, but when we’re in a rush it’s easier to do the voices ourselves.”

She glanced at her watch and added, “Nearly seven o’clock. Let me check in on Jack and Willie. Then I’m going to get something to eat.”

“Why not let us take you to dinner?” Joe suggested. “I have a lot more questions to ask.”

Amanda hesitated, then relented with a shrug. “Okay,” she said. “But it’s my treat—a sort of payment for your services.”

As the trio reached Willie’s cubicle, Frank saw that the game designer had his feet up on the desk and the computer keyboard on his lap. The sounds of classic 1950s rock were leaking out from his stereo headphones. When Amanda tapped him on the shoulder, he hit the stop button on his disk player, slipped his earphones off, and sat up.

“How are things between you and Jack?” Amanda demanded.

“Oh, okay,” Willie said, blinking. “Sort of.”

“Sort of okay, or sort of not okay?” Amanda shot back.

“I promised to write more memos about what I’m doing, in case I’m hit by a bus or something,” Willie replied. “But the real problem is, he hates me.

“Willie, you know that’s not true,” Amanda told him. “Jack’s just upset about your getting the promotion instead of him. Cut him some slack, okay?”

“I’ll try,” Willie grumbled. “But no way is anyone going to turn me into a corporate robot. You’ll never catch me in a white shirt and striped tie. Or even a striped shirt and a white tie.”

Amanda rolled her eyes. “Did Jack manage to get that garbage off Tom’s screen?”

“Yeah, finally. He thinks it was probably some local hacker who accessed the mainframe through an outside line. No big deal.”

Amanda frowned. “I don’t like to think that our system is open to hackers. We’d better take steps to secure it—right away. Oh, we’re going to get something to eat. Want to come along?”

Willie shook his head. “I’ll be here all night.” Saluting the Hardys, he put the phones back on and returned to his monitor.

Frank looked around the lab. “It looks as if no one else is going home, either,” he remarked. “Does the R and D department always work late?”

“We keep pretty loose hours,” Amanda told him as she started back through the lab. “Loose everything, in fact. I’ll let you in on a secret, Frank. Jack and Willie are only two of the weirdos in this room.”

The Hardys’ black van was in the visitors’ slot in the parking lot. Joe took the wheel and turned onto an access road from the industrial park to El Camino Real. The only other car in sight was a blue midsize sedan.

“Is this restaurant in Silicon Valley, too?” Frank asked as Joe turned onto a four-lane road lined with gas stations and fast-food outlets.

Amanda laughed. “Silicon Valley isn’t really a specific place,” she said. “It’s just an unofficial name people gave to this area south of the airport, down to San Jose and beyond. All this used to be fruit and nut orchards. Now it produces computers, video games, software—anything high-tech.”

Joe glanced in the rearview mirror. The blue sedan was one car back. Frowning, Joe accelerated and put two more cars between them.

‘The pirating that Tom talked about,” Frank said. “Just how bad is it?”

“Pretty bad,” Amanda admitted. “We can sink a million dollars into developing a single new game. Ordinarily we expect to earn back that much and more. But in the last year almost twenty of our games have been pirated.”

“That’s bad, all right,” Joe said. He glanced up. The blue sedan was right behind them again. He pulled out to pass a semitrailer. The sedan stayed with him. As it pulled under a streetlight, Joe caught a glimpse of the driver. He thought he’d recognize him if he saw him again.

“Tom and I are the only ones who know how bad the problem really is,” Amanda continued. “But rumors are starting to spread. When we bring out a new game and it’s pirated right away, people notice. Whoever the thieves are, I’m sure they’ll be at VidCon tomorrow. Everybody in the business will be there, the honest ones and the crooks alike.”

“We’ve got a tail,” Joe announced. “I’m going to try to shake him.”

“A tail!” Frank exclaimed.

Joe pressed down on the accelerator. The van responded briskly. He moved over to the passing lane and overtook a pickup truck. The blue sedan was boxed in behind the pickup truck for the moment. Joe continued to speed up and pull away. Without warning, brake lights flashed on in front of him. A car stopped abruptly to turn into the lot of an ice-cream stand. The right lane was blocked by a slow-moving delivery truck.

Joe cut the wheel hard to the left. He missed the stopped car, but the van went straight into oncoming traffic. Horns blared as a set of headlights bore down on them.

“What are you doing?” Amanda screamed.

Joe fought to pull the van back into the proper lane, but it was too late. “Hold on,” he yelled to his two passengers. “We’re going to crash!”

Chapter 3

The oncoming cars passed by, missing the van by inches. Joe thought fast when he saw a break in the line of cars moving toward them. He cranked the wheel to the left, turning the van across the two left lanes. He caught a glimpse of a terrified face as a motorcyclist swerved and passed, but Joe had no time to take it in. The van began to slide out of control—straight toward a gas station. As the van bounced up a small incline, Joe saw with horror that they were heading directly for the gas pumps. In another moment they could be at the center of a fireball.

Joe pressed and released the brake as quickly as he could pump his foot up and down. The van slowed, then miraculously stopped one inch from the first gas pump.

For a long moment Joe, Frank, and Amanda sat in silence, stunned by the swift sequence of events.

Finally Amanda said in a quavery voice, “We’ve arrived at the place. It’s just up ahead on the left. Cielito Lindo. I hope you like Mexican food.”

As they turned into the parking lot, Frank asked, “Any idea who could have been following us, Amanda?”

“I don’t know anyone with a car that color blue,” she said, wide-eyed. “I didn’t get a look at the driver. And I have no idea why you’re so sure he was following us.”

‘Take my word for it,” Joe said grimly. “He was. The question is, why.”

Inside, they ordered nafchos, chili con queso, and enchiladas, with a side of guacamole. The boys tried to focus on who might have tailed them from Xyrodian headquarters, but Amanda kept changing the subject back to video games.

“It takes a special person to know what story line will play,” she said, “and to know what’s technically possible. A designer who can do that is worth his weight in gold.”

“Someone like Willie Gage?” Frank suggested.

“One of the very best,” Amanda replied. “He’s like a kid—which may be why he’s so good.”

“What about Jack Milner?” asked Joe.

“Jack, too,” Amanda told him. “Technically, he’s one of the best.”

The platters of food began to arrive, and the conversation was put on hold. When they finished eating, Amanda handed the waiter her charge card.

“If there are so few gifted games designers,” Frank said as the waiter left, “why isn’t it easy to find out who’s stealing other people’s ideas?”

Amanda pushed her long red hair back from her face. “You don’t have to be a genius to steal someone else’s ideas,” she said. “You just have to be smart enough to know which ideas are worth stealing. The worst part is, thefts can ruin the designers, too. A designer’s income is determined by how well his games sell. If a pirate siphons off half the sales, that’s money right out of the designer’s pocket.”

The waiter returned and leaned over to whisper something to Amanda. She frowned. “That’s ridiculous. Try it again.”

“Sorry, miss,” the waiter said. “I tried three times. The company insists I destroy the card.” Pulling a pair of scissors from his pocket, he cut Amanda’s charge card in two, then placed the two halves on the table in front of her.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Joe demanded.

“Apparently my card’s been reported stolen,” Amanda said, flustered. “Somebody keyed in a wrong digit, obviously.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of the check,” Frank said, pulling out his wallet.

“Thanks,” Amanda said a short time later as they walked out to the parking lot. “I’ll call my bank tomorrow and straighten this out.”

“Has anything like this ever happened before?” Joe asked her.

“No, but to tell you the truth, Silicon Valley is full of hackers, and it wouldn’t be surprising if one of them decided to alter my records. Like every other successful company, Xyrodian has made its share of enemies.”

The boys dropped off Amanda at Xyrodian beside a bright red Italian sports car. “That’s yours?” Joe asked and whistled appreciatively.

Amanda tossed Joe a grin as she climbed into the car. “Next time I’ll drive us to dinner,” she said. “See you at the show tomorrow,” she added, and sped off.

“That thing probably gets speeding tickets when it’s parked,” Joe remarked with a touch of envy, then pulled away, too. “Do you get the feeling she’s not telling us everything she knows?”

“The thought definitely entered my mind,” Frank replied dryly. “I mean, if your company’s products were being pirated and someone tailed you to a restaurant and your credit card was reported stolen, wouldn’t you be worried?”

“Maybe she’s not the suspicious type.” Joe turned onto El Camino Real. “Or maybe it’s us she doesn’t trust.” A moment later he turned to Frank. “Our tail’s back again,” he said, pointing out the blue sedan that had fallen in behind them.

“No big surprise,” Frank said. “What do we do this time—bounce him, lose him, or pretend he’s not there?”

“Let’s find out how determined he is,” Joe suggested.

The sedan stayed behind the Hardys all the way to their hotel in San Francisco. As the van entered the garage, the sedan’s driver sped off, apparently satisfied that the brothers had turned in for the night.

“I wish I’d gotten a good look at him,” Joe said in frustration.

“Don’t worry,” his brother replied. “I have a feeling we’ll see that face again.”

The next morning Frank and Joe found their way to the convention center for the opening day of VidCon. Inside, the sounds of video games bombarded them from every direction as they edged through aisles crowded with distributors, promoters, players, and games from around the world.

“Wow, look—Martian Conquistadores!” Joe said, heading toward a booth. “I want to give this one a try.”

“Patience, little brother.” Frank grabbed Joe’s arm with one hand while he studied the VidCon floor plan clutched in the other. “Business before pleasure. Xyrodian’s booth is right over here.”

At the booth the Hardys found Amanda, Tom Trent, Willie Gage, and half a dozen other Xyro-dian employees they didn’t know. Some of them were passing out balloons emblazoned with the Xyrodian logo while others were handing out shiny foil game stickers.

Amanda spotted Frank and Joe and waved them over. “Did you just get here? How do you like it so far?” she asked, raising her voice to be heard over the racket.

“I feel like I’m inside a video game,” Frank joked. He noticed Willie challenging a long line of kids to beat him at Xyrodian games. The kids were cheering and offering loud advice. “He’s having fun,” Frank remarked.

“He loves this stuff,” Amanda said, laughing.

One of the staff members came up and whispered something to Amanda. Her face became stony.

“What’s wrong?” Joe asked as the staff member walked away.

“A pirated game’s just turned up,” Amanda told him. “One that isn’t even on the market yet. I’d better tell Willie. He’s going to have a fit.”

“We should check this out,” said Frank. “Where is it?”

“The name on the booth is Pratt Video,” Amanda replied. “According to Ted, you can’t miss it. There’s a huge crowd waiting to play.”

Joe and Frank went off in search of Pratt Video. Just as they found it, Amanda and Willie caught up with them.

Willie’s face was bright red. “If Ted’s right, I’m going to have a little talk with this guy Pratt,” he said menacingly.

“Willie, behave,” Amanda said quickly.

On a big video screen in the center of the booth was a home version of a killer zombie game. Joe stared at the screen, amazed at how detailed and smooth the animation was. A long line of people stood waiting to play it, while a heavyset man in a bright blue suit sat beside it wearing a satisfied expression. The tag on his jacket identified him as Simon Pratt.

When Willie saw the game, his face became even redder. “You, Pratt,” he shouted. “That’s my game, you thief! Do you hear me? That’s my game!”

Pratt gave Willie a big smile, then lit a cigar and blew the first puff of smoke in Willie’s direction.

“Where’s the game system?” Frank asked Amanda quietly.

“Probably at the rear, behind that curtain,” she replied.

Frank shouldered his way to the back of the booth, with Joe and Willie right behind him. Lifting the curtain, he saw a game unit. He pulled out the cartridge. From the front of the booth, there were loud cries of protest.

“The label says Zombie Massacre—Next Wave Video,” Frank told Willie. “Are you sure this is your game?”

“Of course I am!” Willie declared. “The only reason we’re not showing it is that we’re working out a few details at the higher levels of play.”

Frank noticed that the label wasn’t quite straight. There seemed to be another one under it. He peeled back the label and found a Xyro-dian sticker, hand-printed with Zombie Street Fight, Version 1.2. Not for Distribution.

Amanda let out a gasp. “It’s not even a copy! That came right from our lab!”

From behind her a gravelly voice said, “You clowns have one second to put that cartridge back.”

“You crook!” Willie shouted, lunging at the big man. “You stole my game!”

“Amanda,” Frank said, “take Willie back to the booth. Joe and I will handle this.”

Amanda did as Frank asked. As they walked away, Pratt said to Frank, “If you boys want to play, you’ll have to get in line.”

“This isn’t a game, Mr. Pratt,” Frank said. “You’re in possession of stolen property.”

“Yeah? Prove it,” Pratt shot back.

Frank held up the cartridge, with the Xyrodian label clearly in view.

Confronted with this evidence, Pratt almost dropped his cigar. “Hey, l-listen,” he stammered, looking from the cartridge to Frank and back again. “I bought that cartridge legitimately.”

“Try telling that to the judge,” Joe retorted. “I don’t think you’ll get very far.”

Sweat pearled on Pratt’s forehead. “I’ll shut off the game, okay? I made an honest mistake, that’s all.”

“Not so fast,” Frank said. “Whoever sold you this cartridge is a thief, and he or she also involved you in a crime. Your only hope is to come clean and tell us everything you know.”

“Keep your voices down, will you?” Pratt pleaded, glancing nervously over his shoulder. “I can’t talk here. It’d be suicide. Tonight, after Vid-Con closes, okay? Someplace private.”

“Name it,” Joe said.

Pratt scribbled on the back of one of his business cards and handed it to Frank, who glanced at it and said, “We’ll be there.”

Back at the Xyrodian booth, Frank gave Amanda the cartridge and told her what Pratt had said.

“He’s stalling,” she said. “Or lying. Or both. Where does he want to meet you?”

Frank showed her the card, and she frowned. “Oakland, down near the docks.” She explained to the boys where the address was. “Why there, and why in the middle of the night?”

Jack Milner joined the conversation. “Maybe he loves spy movies.”

Amanda ignored him, telling Frank and Joe, “I’m coming with you tonight.”

“That’s not a great idea,” Frank said instantly. “I’ll go tell Pratt to change the place where we’re meeting.”

“Good idea,” Joe said.

A minute later Frank returned and told them Pratt had disappeared.

Amanda, her face set in a mulish expression, said, “If you’re going to the docks, I’m coming.”

“This could be a trap,” Joe pointed out.

“I know that,” Amanda snapped. “That’s one reason I’m coming. I also have a pass to get onto the docks. And you’ll need a lookout, won’t you? I’ll take a cellular phone with me in case I need to holler for help.”

Frank checked with Joe and gave a tiny shrug. This was Amanda’s case, in a way; it was her company that was being ripped off.

Tom Trent stalked over to them. “Jack, I need you,” he said. “That cartoon threatening me is back on the computer. I thought you got rid of it.”

Jack was offended. “I did,” he snapped. “Either the jokester put it back or it managed to spread to other sectors of your hard drive.”

“Well, get rid of it,” Tom said. His jaw jutted forward. “For good, this time.”

He led Jack to the workstation at the back of the booth. Amanda listened as Jack started working at the keyboard, then said to Frank and Joe, “Xyrodian is not having a terrific day. Maybe you two should take a look around while we get our act together.”

Frank caught Joe’s eye and gestured to move off. He knew a brush-off when he heard one.

The Hardys spent the rest of the day roaming the aisles of VidCon, checking out all the new games and equipment, and asking discreet questions about Next Wave Video, the name on the pirated killer zombie game cartridge. No one at the convention admitted to having heard of the company.

That evening when Joe and Frank left the show, trailed by Amanda, they found tendrils of pale gray fog drifting up to their knees. After they climbed into the van, Amanda gave Joe directions to Oakland. By the time they reached the docks, the van’s headlights were barely cutting a swath through the thick fog.

“Welcome to the Bay Area,” Amanda joked as Joe slowed down at a gate. She opened her window and leaned out to show a pass to the guard, who waved them through. “We do a lot of business down here,” she explained. “After our game designs are complete, we ship them to a factory in Korea, where the cartridges are produced in bulk. Then the cartridges are shipped back to be distributed across the United States.”

“I wonder if that’s why Pratt wanted to meet us here,” Frank mused.

“Only one way to find out.” Joe stopped the van beside a tall stack of metal shipping containers. “You have a pretty clear view from here, and you’ll be out of sight,” he told Amanda. “Keep the car doors locked, and if you see anyone, give us a shout on the walkie-talkie.”

Joe and Frank walked out onto the dock. The powerful floodlights, like those at a sports stadium, barely cut through the thickening fog. On their left, rows of shipping containers, stacked four high, stretched out of sight. Each was the size of a small trailer truck. To the right, a giant crane was working late plucking containers off the deck of a ship and stacking them beside the others.

Joe stepped up to the steel rails along which the crane moved, squinted through the fog, and said, “I think I can make out a car parked over near the crane. You think that’s him?”

“He wrote to meet him near the water,” Frank replied as the fog closed in on them. “Let’s give it a try.”

Joe and Frank started toward where they assumed the car was, staying close to the wall of stacked containers.

Suddenly a siren began to wail. Farther off, another one picked up the screeching, and the two split the night air.

Joe and Frank stopped. “Do you think somebody spotted us?” Joe whispered.

Frank frowned. “I don’t think there’d be this much uproar for— Joe, look out!” He gripped Joe’s arm and pointed upward.

Joe raised his head. High above them a giant container was being shifted by the crane. But now the crane, shaking ominously, was moving rapidly along the tracks in their direction.

“There’s something wrong,” Joe said. As the words left his mouth, the arm of the crane jerked. For a fraction of a second, the container seemed to hang in midair directly above Frank’s and Joe’s heads!

Chapter 4

Frank grabbed Joe’s collar and pulled him out from under the plunging container. The two boys stumbled and fell to the ground just as the arm of the crane swung wildly away from them, flinging the container into the fog. The cement dock shuddered under the impact from the blow. For a long moment afterward there was nothing but shocked silence. Then Frank heard anxious shouts and the sound of running feet.

“Let’s get away from here,” Frank muttered. “Just in case someone meant to drop that on us.” He and Joe ducked into a narrow aisle between two rows of containers.

“Whew, that was close,” Joe commented. “Too close. Do you really think we were the target?”

“I don’t see how or why,” Frank replied. “But if we were, they missed.”

“Just warn me the next time you decide to play a game of Killer Containers,” Joe said.

Frank chuckled, then said, “Let’s go look for Pratt. I want to find out if he had anything to do with this.”

“Me, too,” Joe said. Then he froze. “Uh-oh. Trouble.”

Frank squinted into the fog. Two big guys were blocking the entrance to the aisle between the stacked containers. It was hard to tell in the fog, but one appeared to be holding a club and the other a length of chain. As they started toward the Hardys, Frank murmured, “This is deja vu. But I’m not wearing a helmet and data gloves this time.”

“Maybe they were the models for those thugs in Death Mall,” Joe quipped.

“I’m not hanging around to find out,” Frank declared. “Time for a strategic withdrawal. Oops— too late.”

Two other men were walking toward them from the other end of the narrow aisle. They, too, had weapons in their hands. In the blurred light, the men appeared gigantic and seemed to be surrounded by halos.

Wordlessly, Frank and Joe took up defensive positions back to back, ready to do their best against impossible odds.

Their opponents closed in slowly, cautiously. The ones Frank was facing were about ten feet away when they abruptly stopped.

“Hey, what is this?” the one with the club demanded. “They’re just a couple of kids.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” his partner said. “Kids, that’s all. Yo, what are you doing here? You got no business being here at night.”

Without relaxing his defensive stance, Frank said, “We’re supposed to meet somebody.”

“Go on,” the first man said. “Who are you going to meet at this time of night? And how’d you get past Grandpa at the gate?”

Frank was trying to figure out the best way to answer when sirens sounded in the distance. They were drawing closer. The two guys Frank was facing cocked their heads to listen. Then the one with the club said, “Guess we’ll let you tell your story directly to the cops.”

“Fine with us,” Frank said.

Fifteen minutes later he and Joe were escorted by two of the four guards across the dock to a police lieutenant and two uniformed officers.

Lieutenant Martel, a tall, thin man in gray slacks and a rumpled sports shirt, listened to the reports, then gave Frank and Joe a sour look. “Can anyone confirm this tall tale of yours?” he demanded.

“Amanda Boggs, the co-owner of Xyrodian Video Games, is waiting for us in our van right now,” Joe told him. He explained where they had parked, and Martel gestured to one of the officers to check it out.

They waited in silence until the officer returned. “I found the van, Lieutenant,” he reported. “It’s empty. There’s no one in the vicinity, either.”

The lieutenant stared at Frank and Joe coldly. “Any more fairy tales you’d like to try out on me?”

Frank gave him Tom Trent’s home number as well as the names of several members of the police department back in Bayport. Martel led them inside a building, made a couple of calls, then leaned back in the chair he had taken over.

“Okay, I’m satisfied,” he said. “You’re not crooks. But showing up here at night was very dumb. You could have gotten yourselves badly beaten up, even killed. There’s a big problem with pilferage here, and the guards you met tonight are pretty tough. They have no patience with anyone they think is a thief.”

“We told you, we only came to keep an appointment with Simon Pratt,” Frank told him. “And we’d still like to keep it, if you don’t mind.”

“Pratt?” the lieutenant said, in a strange voice. “You didn’t hear about him?”

Both boys shook their heads.

The lieutenant hesitated. “Pratt was killed down on the dock tonight.”

One of the officers stepped forward. “Follow me,” he told the Hardys. He led them out onto the dock. The revolving lights of more police cars, two fire trucks, and an ambulance cast a red glow on the fog and made silhouettes of a huddle of spectators. The officer, Sanchez, sidled through, then stopped. Frank and Joe caught their breath.

At the center of the crowd was a green convertible—or rather, what was left of it. The container that had missed Frank and Joe earlier was lying on top of it, collapsing it like a stepped-on soda can.

“Mr. Pratt was in the car when it happened,” Officer Sanchez said somberly.

“Who did it?” Joe asked.

The police officer shrugged. “It was an accident. The guy who operates the crane from that booth up at the top said the machine just suddenly went wild. He couldn’t do a thing. Some kind of short circuit, I guess. We’re lucky more people weren’t killed—you two, for instance.”

“It wasn’t an accident,” Frank said simply. “Pratt was killed to keep him from talking to us.”

“Do you have any proof?” Sanchez asked sharply.

“Well … n-no,” Frank stammered. “Not yet.”

“If you come up with anything, tell it to the lieutenant,” Sanchez said. “But for now I’m going to have to see you off the property. These docks are off limits to the public.”

“What about our friend Amanda?” Joe asked. “We can’t go without her. She might be hurt or something.”

“We’ve got people all over these docks,” the officer replied. “If she’s here, we’ll find her. Come on, I’ll see you to your van.”

At the van Sanchez waited for them to pull away. Joe started the engine and drove alongside the warehouses in the direction of the gate. “How can we just leave like this?” he demanded. “Somebody sabotaged that crane and murdered Pratt to keep him from talking. I’m sure of it.”

“You’re probably right,” Frank replied, “but we can’t get near the crane now—the place is swarming with cops. Besides—” He broke off, then said, “Joe, look. In the alley next to that warehouse. Isn’t that the car that was following us before?”

Joe doused the headlights and pulled past the narrow alley to stop. Frank already had his door open. They cautiously approached the blue sedan. There was no one inside, but they saw a lighted window in the warehouse a dozen feet farther down the alley. The Hardys’ shoes crunched on the gravel as they crept toward the window and looked in. The glass was cracked and thick with dust, but they could make out a small, bare room lit by a single fixture in the center of the ceiling.

Frank caught his breath. In the middle of the room, facing the window, was Amanda. She was arguing with a man in a dark blue suit.

“You shouldn’t have come here, certainly not with them,” the man said angrily. “For someone who’s supposed to be a genius, you make bone-head moves.”

“What was I supposed to do, let them snoop around on their own?” Amanda retorted. “I called to warn you as soon as I could.”

Joe grabbed Frank’s arm. The man had just turned, giving the Hardys a glimpse of his face. Joe whispered, “That’s him! The guy who was following us!”

Frank put a finger to his lips. He just missed something Amanda had said. He moved his ear closer to the crack in the window and heard the man say, “You’re the one who asked us to solve your problem, remember?”

“Yes, but I didn’t know— Look, what do you expect me to do about Frank and Joe Hardy?”

The man brushed his jacket back to put his hands on his hips. Joe’s grip tightened painfully on Frank’s arm. Attached to the man’s belt was a holstered .38 revolver.

“The Hardys?” the man repeated coolly. “Simple … get rid of them. How you do it is up to you, but do it, and do it fast.”

Chapter 5

Moments later Amanda and her companion left the room. “Quick,” Joe whispered. “We’ve got to get out of sight.”

He drew Frank into the shadow of a large wooden packing crate. They watched as the man in the blue suit entered the alley, started his car, and backed out. Joe took out a felt-tip pen and jotted down the license number on his wrist.

“He had a gun,” Joe said.

“I noticed,” Frank replied with grim humor. “And he didn’t sound like he was planning to start the local chapter of our fan club. But where’s our dear friend Amanda? The one who said she didn’t believe anyone was following us yesterday.”

They walked cautiously out of the alley. As they approached their van, Amanda came out of the warehouse.

“There you are,” she called. “I’ve been searching all over for you. Where have you been?”

“Having a talk with the cops,” Frank replied. “Where have you been?”

“As I said, looking for you,” she replied. “When I heard sirens and then saw police cars drive in, I tried to reach you on the walkie-talkie, but you didn’t answer. So I got worried and went to look for you.”

Joe patted his back pocket. The walkie-talkie was gone. “I must have dropped it,” he said.

“No problem,” Amanda said. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I’m freezing.” She walked past them toward the van.

Joe glanced over at Frank and knew that he, too, was wondering why Amanda was lying to them. The most obvious reason was that she was hooked up with the piracy ring. Could Amanda be stealing from her own company—and from her partner, Thomas Trent? Could she really be planning to kill Frank and Joe?

Frank took the wheel this time. Before driving off, he turned back to Amanda and said, “Pratt’s dead.”

“I know,” she replied. “It’s terrible.”

“How?” Joe asked her. She looked confused. “How did you know about Pratt?” he added.

Amanda hesitated before saying, “Um … while I was looking for you, I overheard some guys talking. They said a container had fallen on a car and Pratt was dead.”

Joe glanced at Frank and saw that his jaw was set in a hard, angry line. If Amanda was going to tell them lies, couldn’t she at least take the trouble to make them credible?

She continued, “I don’t understand what Pratt had to say to you. What did he have to gain by talking to you?”

“He was scared,” Frank said. “And mad at whoever dragged him into this, I don’t think he realized that Zombie Street Fight was stolen.”

“Nobody’s that dumb.” Amanda snorted.

“He sure acted surprised when we showed him the Xyrodian label on the cartridge,” Joe said.

“I still think Pratt was behind the piracy right from the start,” Amanda said hastily. “He must have hired a hacker to tap into our computer and pull the program. Probably the same guy who installed that threatening computer message for Tom Trent.”

“What about the cartridge?” Frank asked. “Somebody lifted that from your R and D lab. Why would anyone do that?”

“I don’t know about the cartridge,” Amanda said uncertainly. “But that doesn’t matter now. It’s pretty obvious that the case is closed. You guys can kick back and enjoy the rest of VidCon.”

“We’ll see,” Frank replied as he pulled onto the freeway. “But we need to talk with Tom tomorrow. He’s the one who asked us to look into the piracy problem, after all.”

Amanda frowned. “Sure, go ahead. But I know he’ll agree with me. Would you mind taking me home? The lot at the convention center closes at twelve, so my car’s locked in.”

They rode to Amanda’s home in a silence that was thick with unasked, and unanswered, questions.

Amanda lived in a new condominium complex not far from the Xyrodian headquarters. Joe noticed that the parking lot was full of expensive convertibles and sports sedans, along with a whole row of big cross-country and touring motorcycles.

Frank pulled into a vacant slot, stopped the engine, and said, “We’d better see you to your door. Whether the case is closed or not, someone was killed tonight. Let’s not take chances.”

Amanda shrugged. “If you insist,” she muttered. As she approached the front door, she pulled what looked like a credit card from her purse and inserted it in a slot in the wall.

“Hello, Amanda, welcome home,” a man’s voice said. “The time is now one thirty-four a.m.”

“Kon-nichi wa,” Amanda responded. “I have two guests with me.”

The door clicked open, and lights went on in the entrance hall and the living room. From hidden speakers came the sound of ocean surf.

“Who was that?” Frank asked.

“My condo,” Amanda answered, with a laugh. “This is the latest thing in security systems. I programmed it to understand only Japanese passwords, a different one each day. Kon-nichi wa means hello, or rather, good morning. Once I give it the correct password, it understands English, too. Come on in. I’ll show you a few of my other high-tech goodies.”

As they followed her inside, Joe asked, “Why did you say you had two guests?”

“The security system has a variety of detectors that tell it how many people are outside the door,” Amanda replied. “If I don’t confirm that they are with me, the door won’t open even if I give the correct password, and the system puts in a help call to the nearest police station.”

She led them into the living room. Aside from a leather couch and two matching chairs, the only furnishings were a huge TV projection system and three bookcases filled with electronic gear, video cassettes, and game cartridges.

“I’m a hopeless gadget buff,” Amanda confessed, pulling a CD from its case and slipping it into a player.

The TV screen came to life with an incredibly realistic picture of the dungeon of a castle. Amanda took a game controller from the shelf and began manipulating the joystick. On the screen the picture changed as if the spectator were walking down a corridor to a heavy wooden door, which creaked open. A dragon with green metallic scales reared up and opened its mouth. Joe flinched as it belched orange flames.

Amanda laughed and clicked off the game.

“That’s on CD-ROM, right?” Joe asked.

“That’s right,” Amanda said. “One CD can hold as much as four hundred thousand pages of text in digitized form. Animated pictures use up memory a lot faster, of course, but you can still get a game like this on a single disc.”

Next she pulled what looked like a portable three-by-four-inch television off the shelf.

“I’ve seen those before,” Joe said.

Amanda shook her head. “No, you haven’t. This is not a television set. It’s a satellite navigation system. It can pin down your exact location, within a few yards, anywhere in the world.”

“The army used those during Desert Storm,” Frank remarked. “I read an article about them.”

“Yes and no,” Amanda replied. “They did use locator units that worked off the network of navigational satellites, but this can show you local road maps, traffic jams, weather forecasts, and even the best route from one place to another. Ten years from now, it’ll be standard equipment in every new car.”

“Every car in the country talking to satellites?” Joe said. “That’s hard to believe.”

Amanda sniffed. “That’s what people said a few years ago about cellular phones.”

Then she showed them a black notepad about the size of a paperback book.

“This is an executive helpmate,” she explained. “With this I can send and receive faxes and E-mail, access database networks, make hotel and airline reservations—you name it. You don’t have to plug it into a phone system; it runs off two penlight batteries.”

“How?” Frank demanded.

“VLSI—very large scale integrated circuits,” Amanda told him. “Just one of the chips inside is a complete cellular phone, and it’s no bigger than a penny.”

“Where do you get all this stuff?” asked Joe.

“I’m still in touch with friends in Japan,” she replied. “We swap all the latest hardware back and forth.” All at once she yawned. “Oh,” she said, glancing at her watch. “I hadn’t realized how late it was.”

“We’re going,” Frank said quickly. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Near the freeway on-ramp, Joe spotted the blue sedan again. “I can’t believe this,” he said to Frank. “What do you say we turn the tables on him this time?”

“Just what I was thinking,” Frank replied.

Joe let the car follow them back to their hotel in San Francisco. He found a space down the block and began to pull into it. The sedan drove by slowly, then sped up and turned the corner, just as it had the night before. Joe gave a satisfied chuckle and put the van in motion again. “Now we’ll see where he’s going,” he told his brother. A few minutes later Joe let out a groan as the blue car turned onto the freeway.

“Not back to Silicon Valley,” he complained. “This route is getting very boring.”

“At least traffic is light right now,” Frank pointed out. “You can stay pretty far back without losing him. Chances are, he’ll never know we’re here.”

“Who do you think he is?” Joe asked.

“He’s got to have something to do with the pirating of Xyrodian’s games,” Frank replied. “Otherwise he wouldn’t have been at the docks tonight, and he’d have had no reason to tell Amanda to get rid of us.”

“Anyway, we’ll know pretty soon,” Joe remarked as the car up ahead signaled a right turn and followed the next exit ramp.

A few minutes later the sedan pulled into an office complex a few miles from Xyrodian and parked. “Keep going,” Frank told him. “Then turn back after a quarter of mile. We don’t want this guy to notice us.”

“You took the words out of my mouth,” Joe replied, following Frank’s instructions.

After making a U-turn and returning to the office complex, Joe pulled into the parking lot and stopped far from the blue sedan. A solitary window on the ground floor glowed with light. “There’s our man,” Joe commented as he killed the engine. “I wonder what he’s up to here.”

“Let’s go find out,” Frank said, reaching for the door handle. “But stay low. Remember—he’s armed.”

Joe took the lead, walking warily and staying in the shadows. Near the building, they dropped to their hands and knees and made their way along the wall, sheltered by a low hedge. When they reached the window, they cautiously raised their heads to peer inside. In the office a group of men sat around a conference table, talking. All of them had their jackets off, and every one of them was wearing a gun.

“We’d better get out of here,” Frank murmured.

“Fin with you,” Joe replied.

He was starting to crawl away from the window when a voice said, “Hold it right there, boys. Stand up with your hands in plain sight and turn around slowly.”

Joe and Frank did as they were told. The man from the blue sedan stood behind them. His .38 police special revolver was no longer in its holster. It was drawn and leveled at them.

Chapter 6

For a long moment the man stared at them, never lowering the barrel of his revolver. Then he began to laugh softly. “Joe and Frank Hardy, I presume,” he said. “Not bad. I never spotted you tailing me.”

He holstered his gun, reached into his coat pocket, and pulled out a small leather folder. “Daniel Bennett, U.S. Customs Service. I imagine you boys are wondering what’s going on.”

Frank studied Bennett’s badge and ID card carefully. “You’re right about that,” he said.

Bennett’s smile widened. “Okay. Come on in and meet the guys.”

“The guys?” Joe asked.

“Special task force Alpha Zebra Victor,” Bennett said. He led them into the building and down a well-lit corridor to a door labeled A-to-Z Video. Inside was a reception area with framed pictures of video games on the walls and an arcade machine next to the receptionist’s desk. Bennett crossed behind the desk and threw open another door, revealing the room that Frank and Joe had spied on from outside. The five men seated at the table turned at once to them.

Bennett said, “Gentlemen, these are the two fellows we were just discussing—Joe and Frank Hardy.”

The others seemed a little surprised, but not unfriendly. Frank noticed that the center of the table was covered with eight-by-ten prints taken at VidCon. One of the photos showed him and Joe at the Pratt Video booth earlier that day.

“Have a seat, boys,” Bennett continued. “I guess it’s up to me to do a little explaining.”

Some of the others at the table nodded in agreement.

“The reason I’m telling you anything at all,” Bennett said, “is that I’ve received complete background checks on you two. You both check out fine.”

“I told you they would,” one of the others said. “I knew Fenton Hardy years ago, when I was working out of the New York office.”

“That’s why you’ve been tailing us? Because Customs is investigating counterfeit video games?” Frank asked.

Bennett nodded. “We’ve been tailing any suspicious-looking characters going into or out of Xyrodian. You two seemed pretty suspicious.”

“But Amanda Boggs knows we’re on the case,” Frank said. “Why didn’t she tell you? Why did you follow us to the docks tonight?”

“Amanda told us you were clean,” Bennett said. “But we can’t take anyone’s word for it.”

“You told Amanda to get rid of us!” Joe protested. “We heard you!”

“He didn’t want you to get hurt,” one of the other agents snapped, leaning forward in his chair. “Look, you two. We know that you help your dad out on a case now and then. But this situation is dangerous. There’s a lot of money involved, and the closer we come to catching the smugglers the madder they’re going to get. I suggest you leave the detective work to the professionals.”

Faced with the agent’s anger, Joe decided to change the subject. “What’s this place?” he asked, glancing around him.

“This is a dummy corporation,” Bennett told him. “During the day it looks like a real video game company. We’re hoping that the pirates will approach us and offer to sell us counterfeit games. Then we’ve got them.”

Joe frowned. “But I thought the Customs Service concentrated on stopping smugglers.”

“They are smugglers—high-tech smugglers,” Bennett retorted. “And they’re every bit as ruthless as the old-fashioned kind. But today they smuggle ideas out of the country—computer software, the latest music CDs, laser discs of the hottest new films—”

“And video games,” Frank said.

Bennett nodded. “Right. These pirates manufacture cheap, shoddy versions of these products overseas, then smuggle them back into the country and sell them at half the price of the genuine article.”

“Are a few video games important enough for you to set up an operation like this?” asked Joe.

“You bet,” another of the men at the table said. “You’re looking at a billion-dollar business. That’s why we’re asking you two to just back off and let us do our job.”

“Sorry, sir, but no can do,” Frank said with a determined look. “Thomas Trent hired us to crack this case. He thought that as teenagers we could hang around the arcade games at VidCon without being noticed, and pick up information that you might miss. Why not let us help you?”

“I give up!” Bennett threw up his hands in exasperation. “It’s too late to talk about this tonight. How about if I meet you tomorrow at the Xyrodian booth at VidCon? We’ve got a mobile lab set up in the parking lot to inspect counterfeit games on the spot. I’ll take you by there, and we’ll see what we can work out then.”

“Sure,” Joe agreed, hiding his relief with a huge yawn. “Now that I know you won’t be chasing us, I can get a good night’s sleep for once.”

When Frank and Joe arrived at the Xyrodian booth the next morning, they found Amanda, Tom, and Bennett talking together. The co-owners of Xyrodian smiled as the Hardys approached.

“I hear you fellows went fishing last night and caught a customs agent,” Tom said, his smile widening.

“Don’t be hard on them,” Bennett said. “They did some fine detective work. It’s not their fault that no one told them we were on the case.”

“I didn’t think I had the right to tell them,” Tom said sheepishly. “Isn’t your investigation secret?”

“It was until last night,” Bennett said.

Amanda said, “Anyway, with Pratt gone, our problems are over. He must have had someone stealing the codes for him en route to the overseas factory where the games are assembled. That’s how technology pirates usually do it, isn’t it?”

“Usually,” Bennett said, his smile fading.

“Now that that’s behind us,” Tom added, “we can put all our energy into designing and making games again. And selling them, of course.”

Frank opened his mouth, but Bennett stopped him with a tiny shake of his head. Obviously, the agent didn’t want to discuss doubts in front of Amanda and Tom about whether Pratt really was the mastermind behind the thefts.

“Hey, everybody!” Willie Gage approached the group, dressed in his usual flowered shirt, faded jeans, and sneakers. “Frank and Joe—just the average guys-on-the-street I want to see,” he added with a grin. “Allow me to tempt you with one of Xyrodian’s latest strokes of genius.”

He pulled a small hand-held game unit from his pocket and flipped the switch. The LCD screen lit up in full color. “What do you think?” he asked Joe.

“Wow! That’s amazing,” Joe said, admiring the bright, fast-moving images.

“You bet it is,” Willie replied. “It holds up to three full-feature games—animation, sound, the works—all in a size to fit in your shirt pocket. So—you want to test it for us?”

“Willie,” Amanda said as he handed the unit to Joe, “I thought we agreed you were going to stop carrying the prototype around with you.”

“Sorry, boss,” Willie said, smiling as he watched Joe begin the first round of Warthog’s Revenge. “I’d heard that our counterfeiting problems were over, so I figured it would be okay.”

Amanda frowned, but then she shrugged “Oh, go ahead, have fun,” she said to Joe.

“Thanks,” Joe replied, his eyes on the tiny screen. “I will.”

Bennett cleared his throat. “How would you guys like to come along with me?” he asked.

Joe was too engrossed in the game to answer, but Frank said, “Thanks, that’d be great.” He gently kicked Joe’s ankle.

Joe looked up. “Uh—sure,” he said. “Thanks.”

After saying goodbye to the Xyrodian crew, Bennett led Frank and Joe out a side door of the convention center to a big, featureless parking lot. Trucks with the logos of famous game companies were parked next to campers and trailers that apparently housed exhibitors whose budgets were too modest to allow them to stay in hotels. Bennett marched up to one of these and rapped three times on the door. It opened, and he stepped inside with Frank and Joe right behind him.

All the fittings of the camper had been ripped out and replaced by workbenches and banks of electronic equipment. At the far end, two technicians in white coats were busy dissecting video game cartridges.

“Wow,” Joe said, looking up from his video game. “This rig isn’t bad.”

“This lab is a vital part of our fieldwork,” Bennett agreed. “Let’s say we turn up a shipment of video game cartridges that we suspect might be counterfeit. If we send a sample back to our central lab, it might be three or four days before we find out if it’s genuine or counterfeit. But with this mobile unit, we can take the cartridge apart and analyze it on the spot. There’s something over here I want you to see.”

He led them over to a microscope sitting on the workbench. It had two eyepieces on top, like a pair of binoculars. He glanced through it, then stepped aside to let Frank peek into it.

Two transistors came into view, their tiny circuits resembling a map of a city. “What are they?” he asked, stepping aside to let Joe have a turn.

“EPROMs—electronically programmable readonly memory chips,” Bennett said. “They hold the code that controls a video game’s music and sound effects. We took the one on the left from that cartridge you found at Pratt’s booth yesterday. The one on the right was supplied to us by Xyrodian.”

“But they look exactly alike,” Joe said, his eyes still glued to the microscope.

“They are,” Bennett said. “Down to the smallest detail. Not only that but the plastic shells, the circuit boards—everything is exactly the same. Everything except the label on the cartridge.”

“But the label underneath that label was Xyro-dian’s,” Frank pointed out. “Isn’t that proof enough of where it came from?”

Bennett shook his head. “It’s evidence, but not proof. This integrated circuit gives us conclusive proof that that cartridge wasn’t a counterfeit shipped in from overseas. What it does mean is that the cartridge had to have been stolen directly from the Xyrodian lab.”

Joe scowled. “I don’t think Pratt knew that when he bought the rights to sell the game.”

“Maybe not,” Bennett said thoughtfully. “But he did know who sold him the cartridge. And that knowledge probably cost him his life. Look at this.”

He pulled open a drawer and removed a large transparent plastic bag. Inside was a wireless remote controller with two joysticks and several push buttons.

“We found this on the docks last night, crammed between two shipping containers,” the customs agent continued. “The receiving unit was wired to the emergency override controls on the crane.”

Frank stared at him. “You mean somebody killed Pratt just as if he were playing a video game?”

“Exactly,” Bennett said grimly. “And the perpetrator could have been anywhere on the docks, as long as he or she could see both the crane and Pratt’s car.”

“But how could the person know where Pratt would park?” Joe asked.

“He didn’t,” Bennett replied. “All the murderer had to know was that Pratt was going to be on that dock. The crane can cover the whole wharf. It was a dead certainty that Pratt would park within range.”

“In other words—” Frank began.

“In other words,” Bennett said, “someone at Xyrodian is not only a crook but a cold-blooded murderer!”

Chapter 7

The Xyrodian booth was as crowded as ever. Everyone who walked by stopped, tried one of the new games, and got a sticker or balloon. Amanda was talking animatedly to a Japanese businessman. The only words Frank could understand were Warthog and Death Mali

Tom Trent was talking with two guys wearing identical “Dead Armadillo Gameware” T-shirts. He raised his eyes as Frank and Joe entered the booth.

“Did Bennett give you the grand tour?” he asked.

“He sure did,” Frank replied. “That mobile lab is quite a setup.”

Willie looked up from the controls of Satellite Space Walk and said, “I’d like to borrow that rig of theirs for a weekend sometime. But I don’t suppose they lend it out.”

A young woman whose name tag read Sarah came over to Tom and said, “Excuse me, chief, but I think we have a problem.”

“Nonsense,” Tom said. “Our problems have all been taken care of. Right, fellows?”

Before Frank could think of a suitable reply, Sarah pointed to the screen of the workstation at the back of the booth. Frank saw four burly figures chasing a frantic Tom Trent from one side of the screen to the other. The threatening computer message was back!

Tom’s jaw dropped. Then he said loudly, “Jack? Where’s Jack?”

One of the other designers said, “He decided to grab an early lunch. Want me to get him?”

“Never mind,” Tom said. “Amanda, I need you.”

Amanda broke off her conversation in Japanese and came over, just as the Trent figure on the screen was being bounced on its head. “Uh-oh,” she said.

“Will you please get rid of that program right away?” Tom demanded.

Amanda frowned. “I can try, but it’s not really my thing. What you need is an accomplished hacker, one who knows all the tricks.”

Tom turned and called, “Willie? I need you.”

Willie passed his game controller over to a ten-year-old onlooker and said, “What’s up, boss?”

“I want you to track down that program and get rid of it. Apparently Jack can’t hack it.”

Willie grinned. “I’m not surprised. Jack isn’t really the kind of guy who’s had a lot of firsthand experience with pranks like this.”

“You mean, it takes one to debug one?” Amanda joked.

“Something like that.” Willie’s grin widened.

Tom broke in. “Just take care of it, will you? And if you find out that someone from Xyrodian put it there, draw him a map to the nearest unemployment office!”

Willie gave him a thumbs-up sign and said, “You got it, dude.”

“He’s pretty mad,” Joe remarked as Tom stalked off.

“I don’t blame him,” Amanda said. “How would you like to find death threats on your computer screen? I hope Willie can get rid of it. A good hacker can design a program to hide in your files, then let it run itself every morning or every two weeks or every time you enter a particular word or command—whatever. This is probably just a little joke by one of the guys Pratt hired to design our specialized software.”

Frank scrutinized her. Amanda had played down each suspicious incident, from the tampering with her credit card record to the fact that the stolen Xyrodian cartridge had a prototype label on it. Why was she so determined to ignore any evidence that this hacker—and the video game thief—was possibly a Xyrodian employee?

“Excuse me,” Amanda added. “I’d better get back to Mr. Ito. He’s the CEO of one of the cartridge manufacturing companies we use.”

As she walked away Joe said, “It doesn’t look like there’s much we can do here. Anyway, my stomach’s rumbling. Let’s hunt up the snack bar.”

“Good idea,” Frank replied.

As they approached the snack bar, they spotted Jack Milner sitting alone in a booth toward the back. In his dark suit and tie, he seemed comically out of place among all the T-shirts.

The Hardys bought cheeseburgers and sodas and carried their trays over to Jack’s booth. “Hi, Jack. Can we join you?” Joe asked.

“Sure, sit down,” the game designer said, sipping through a straw.

“What do you think of the show so far?” Joe asked, sliding his tray onto the table and sitting down across from Jack. “The new surround-sound arcade units are incredible, aren’t they?”

“I guess. Personally, I find it all too noisy,” Jack said as Frank sat down next to Joe. “And too crowded. But I suppose that’s the appeal for guys like Willie. He’s been having a great time.”

“Willie seems like a fun guy,” Frank said.

“You don’t work with him,” Jack replied bitterly. “To him everything’s a joke. Arid those pranks of his—all they really do is show how immature he is.”

“What kind of pranks?” Joe asked between bites of his cheeseburger.

Jack shrugged. “Once he programmed every computer at Xyrodian so that whenever a male employee logged on, the words ‘Hey, your fly’s open’ came on the screen. Another time, he hacked the system at the bank down the street to put a credit limit of two and a half dollars on Tom Trent’s charge card.”

Frank had been paying as much attention to his burger as to Jack, but now he started listening very carefully.

“Was that hard to do?” he asked.

Jack shrugged. “It couldn’t have been easy. Banks spend a lot of money trying to make their systems secure. I have to admit that Willie’s a good programmer, but he’s so juvenile. And so are the games he designs. I had this terrific idea for a game, and he refused to let me pursue it. The concept was too grown-up for him.”

“What was the concept?” Frank asked. “If you don’t mind telling us.”

“Not at all,” Jack said. “It’s a strategy game called I’m the Boss. Each level is part of a giant corporation. You enter on the ground floor and climb the ladder to success while making sure that your rivals don’t get ahead of you. Every time you get the better of someone, you win points—money. With enough money, you get to the boardroom. If you manage to knock off the other board members before they get you, you win.”

“It sounds like a fighting game,” Joe remarked. “Where does the strategy come in?”

“All over the place,” Jack insisted. “For instance, you can make alliances with your rivals. If you double-cross them before they can do it to you, you win extra points. It’s a very exciting concept.”

Frank finished his cheeseburger, then said, “Oh, by the way, Amanda and Tom were looking for you.”

Jack got halfway up from his seat. “They were? Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“It wasn’t anything important,” Frank replied. “That weird computer cartoon popped up again. But it’s okay—Willie’s dealing with it.”

“Willie!” Jack stood up, straightened his tie, and buttoned his jacket “We’ll see about that.”

As he stalked off, Joe said, “Free fireworks display coming up at the Xyrodian booth.”

“Looks that way,” Frank replied. “Maybe we should go watch.”

When they reached the booth, Willie was still at the workstation and Jack was nowhere in sight. Amanda told them that she had sent him home for the afternoon. Working the booth was obviously too stressful for him.

“Maybe we’ll check out a few more new games, then,” Joe said.

“Good idea,” Amanda replied. “The word on the floor is that Rescue at Two Thousand Fathoms, over at the Marplot booth, is great.”

Frank and Joe took her advice and spent almost an hour rescuing the crew of a disabled submarine while fighting off sharks and a mysterious green house-size blob. Finally they made their way back to the Xyrodian booth.

Willie came over to them. “Have I got news for you,” he said.

“Oh? What?” Joe replied. “You got rid of that poison pen program?”

Willie glanced around. He lowered his voice and said, “A lot niftier than that. I know who the video game pirate is. You won’t believe it!”

“Amanda thinks it was Pratt,” Frank said carefully.

Willie snorted. “Pratt wasn’t bright enough.”

“Then who?” asked Frank.

“I need to get one more piece of evidence,” Willie replied. “Then we can nail him.”

“No, tell us,” Frank insisted.

“Uh-uh. Not till I’m one hundred percent sure. Catch you later, dudes.” Willie walked toward the door before Joe and Frank could react. After a glance at each other they bolted after him.

A few minutes later Joe and Frank were heading onto the freeway, three cars back from Willie’s bright orange compact car.

“I’m getting to know this route pretty well,” Joe remarked, pressing the accelerator to keep up with the speeding car. “He must be heading back to the Xyrodian office.”

Willie drove past the exit for Xyrodian. A few miles farther south, his car left the freeway and sped down a road lined with windowless steel warehouses surrounded by high chain-link fences. A freight train rumbled past on the tracks that ran behind the warehouses. A couple of miles down the road, the orange car turned in at the entrance to one of the warehouses. Willie’s hand emerged from the driver’s window and inserted a card in a slot. The gate slid open, then closed the moment he was through.

“Do we follow him?” Joe asked, pulling in behind a parked tractor-trailer truck.

“Wrong question,” Frank replied. He indicated the fifteen-foot-high fence topped with coils of razor wire. “Can we follow him?”

They got out and watched from behind the truck as Willie entered the warehouse. Then they approached the main gate on foot. A couple of minutes’ study convinced them that there was no way through-

“Let’s try the back,” Frank said. “Maybe there’s another gate.”

At the rear, a spur track ran from the railroad line into the factory enclosure. The paired gates, wide enough to let a freight car pass through, were held closed by a thick chain and a padlock the size of a fist.

“I guess we’re out of luck,” Joe said.

“It looks that way,” Frank replied, shoving on one of the gates. To his surprise, it moved, scraping over the gravel surface. He pushed harder, and the gate swung a little more, leaving a gap just big enough to slide through.

“Somebody left too much slack in the chain,” Joe said. “Pretty sloppy work, if you ask me.”

“True,” Frank said, “unless it was left that way on purpose. Come on.”

They slipped through the gap and ran to the rear door of the warehouse. Frank pulled a small flashlight from his pocket before giving the door a careful push. It swung open.

“Somebody put tape over the lock,” he said in a whisper. “I don’t think Willie’s alone in there— and I doubt if he knows he has company.”

Inside, the only light came from three or four dim fixtures high overhead. That was enough, though, to reveal the long rows of steel shelving filled with cardboard cartons. The shelves reached nearly to the ceiling. Frank went over to the nearest one and checked out the label on the box.

“This is Xyrodian hardware,” he reported. “The games systems must be stored here, then shipped to distributors around the country.”

Above them hung a network of rails and a couple of idle cranes.

“What kind of place is this?” Joe demanded.

“It must be an automated warehouse,” Frank said. “See, that forklift over there doesn’t even have a place for an operator. It uses a laser to read the bar codes on the boxes. Once the forklift finds the code it’s after, it can take the box from the shelf to the loading area without anyone doing a thing. The computer does all the work.”

“I’d like to come back and watch this system in action,” Joe said. “Where do you think Willie is?”

Frank frowned. “I don’t know. Maybe we should split up and—”

Just then the lights went out. A moment later a hum of electrical machinery filled the air. Frank heard the swish of rubber tires drawing near. He grabbed Joe and pulled him flat against the steel shelving just as something large, with a single ruby eye, rumbled past in the blackness.

“Somebody started the forklifts,” Frank whispered. “We’ve got to stay out of their way.”

“Great—but how?” Joe demanded.

Before Frank could answer, the beam of a powerful flashlight sliced through the darkness a couple dozen yards away.

“You!” Frank heard Willie’s voice shout in a mixture of fear and triumph. “I knew you were the one, you creep! And I can prove it!”

There was the noise of something heavy falling, and the flashlight went out.

“Willie!” Joe shouted, rushing forward in the darkness. “Are you okay?”

“Help!” Joe heard him answer. “He’s going to—”

Willie’s words died in the empty space between them. Joe froze, listening. There was no sound.

Chapter 8

“We’ve got to get to him!” Frank cried, fumbling for his tiny pocket flashlight. He found the switch just in time to see a robot forklift heading straight toward him, its two prongs at chest level. Scrambling to the left, Frank pulled himself up onto one of the nearby shelves, and heard Joe do the same. The machine lumbered by, missing Frank by inches.

“Frank, you okay?” Joe shouted.

“Are you?” Frank yelled back, waving the dim light.

Joe hopped down and hurried over to join his brother. “What now?” he demanded.

“We’ve got to find Willie,” Frank replied. “But where did he—”

Something—a faint stirring or a change in the noise level—alerted Frank. He grabbed Joe’s shoulders and hit the floor. A moment later one of the overhead cranes zoomed past, its heavy claws lowered to head height.

“I feel like a character in a video game,” Joe said breathlessly as he stumbled to his feet. “I like it better when I’m the one holding the controls.”

“Come on,” Frank replied grimly. “If we’re lucky, maybe we’ll find some power pills to swallow along the way.”

A moment later Frank rounded a corner and spotted Willie’s flashlight on the floor, as though Willie had dropped it there. Frank and Joe started toward it, aiming their flashlight straight ahead.

As Joe stooped to pick up the flashlight, Willie appeared at the far end of the aisle, his fists clenched.

“Willie!” Frank shouted, running toward him. Joe followed right behind, Willie’s flashlight beam swinging crazily as he ran. In the darkness beyond, Frank heard Willie grunt as something—a large object or perhaps a person—fell on him from behind.

“Hurry!” Frank yelled to Joe. Frank could barely make out Willie grappling with someone or something. He was distracted by the sound of another forklift heading toward them from behind.

“Behind you!” he shouted to his brother, spinning around to face the machine. Joe swung around, too, but just as he aimed the flashlight beam in the direction of the forklift, Willie’s flashlight went out.

“Climb the shelves, quick,” Frank shouted.

Once the forklift had passed, Frank and Joe dashed toward the spot where they had last seen Willie. When they reached the intersection of the two aisles, they had to stop. Half a dozen robotic forklifts were hurtling back and forth while a crane zoomed along overhead. Getting to Willie would be like crossing the freeway at rush hour.

“Why don’t they bump into one another?” Joe demanded.

“The computer must keep track of each one’s location,” Frank explained. “Unfortunately, the computer wasn’t designed to watch out for people in the aisles. We’ll have to watch out for ourselves. Wait till I give you the word, then make a dash for it.”

Frank shone his faint light around and quickly calculated the speed and distance of the nearest forklifts. The moment the one on the left passed them, he slapped Joe on the back and shouted, “Go!”

Joe made it across the aisle in three long strides, then jumped for a shelf as an unseen forklift rumbled toward him from the side aisle. “Okay!” he shouted. “Your turn.”

Once again Frank watched and waited. At the right moment he took a deep breath and dashed into the center of the aisle. He had been so intent on watching the forklifts that he had forgotten the overhead crane, Its arm caught him solidly across the shoulders, sending him staggering. He fought to recover his balance and nearly fell to his knees.

Another forklift was nearly on him now. He scrambled away from it, ducking into the safety of the aisle next to Joe’s.

“Frank! Are you okay?” Joe called, through the wall of boxes that separated them.

Panting, Frank carefully moved his arms. Nothing was broken. “Yeah, I think so,” he called back. “I just got an idea.”

He wrestled one of the cartons from the shelf behind him, waited until another forklift was approaching, and tossed the box into the aisle in front of the machine. The forklift hit the box straight on, ripping it open, then stopped dead. A few seconds later a second machine came to a halt just in back of the first one.

“Joe, throw boxes into the aisles,” Frank called. “The forklifts are programmed to stop when they hit something. The others stop to keep from colliding with them.”

As he maneuvered another heavy box off the shelf, he heard the sound of other cartons landing on the floor as Joe adopted his tactic. In moments the wide aisle was full of stalled machines. Frank ducked into the next aisle to rejoin his brother, then cupped his hands to his mouth.

“Willie!” Frank shouted.

No one answered.

“I’ll take this aisle,” Joe said quickly. “You take the next one over.”

At that moment a dim light came on in the far comer of the warehouse, casting eerie shadows along the corridors. Frank watched a solitary fork-lift lumber down the aisle, then slowly coast to a halt. The warehouse was suddenly silent again.

“Let’s find Willie and get out of here, quick,” Frank said. “I’ve got a funny feeling there’s something—”

Frank was interrupted by the distant sound of creaking metal, as if someone were opening an enormous door with hinges that needed oiling. Then he heard a thunderous crash followed by another creaking sound.

“The shelves!” Joe shouted over the sound of a second crash as he ran to join his brother. “They must be toppling over one after another, like a row of dominoes!”

Frank grabbed Joe’s elbow, and they raced up the aisle toward the front of the building. Near the wide double doors was an entrance bay that sheltered them as one rack of shelving after another tilted sideways, dumping its contents on the floor.

“What do you think is causing this?” Joe demanded over the incredible racket. “An earthquake?”

Frank shook his head. “I suspect that someone used an overhead crane to pull one rack of shelves over sideways. As it fell, it hit the next one and knocked it over, and so on.”

“And Willie?”

Frank grimly faced the devastation. “If he’s still in there, he needs help—more help than we can give him. We’d better find a phone and call the police.”

At the front of the warehouse, Joe groped for the latch on the double doors and started to slide one of them aside. All at once he was blinded by what seemed like a hundred powerful spotlights, all aimed straight at him.

Reflexively both brothers raised their arms to shield their eyes.

“Police! Freeze!” an amplified voice boomed. “Keep those hands in sight!”

Their pulses racing, Frank and Joe stayed motionless as four figures came running toward them. An instant later the Hardys were facedown on the pavement. Two officers put plastic handcuffs on them, then patted them down for weapons.

“They’re clean, Sergeant,” one of them called.

“Okay, what are you kids doing here?” the sergeant demanded, pulling Frank, then Joe, to his feet. “How much gear did you manage to lift?”

“We’re not thieves,” Frank said. “We came here to help our friend, Willie Gage. He works for Xyrodian. And he’s still in there. You’ve got to find him, fast!”

The police officer glanced inside, then whistled. “You guys really tore the place up, didn’t you! And you say somebody’s still in there? Where?

Kogan, Arditty, get them to their feet. Alvarez, radio for the emergency medical squad.”

The Hardys indicated as best they could where they had last seen Willie, and a team of officers began to search the rubble. After a few minutes the torn sleeve of a brightly colored Hawaiian shirt came into view. The rest was hidden under a high mound of heavy cartons. Moving quickly and carefully, the officers shifted the cartons aside, but it was obviously too late. Willie Gage was dead, crushed under half a ton of video game machines.

Chapter 9

Frank and Joe watched from the backseat of a police cruiser as the ambulance drove off with Willie’s body. A moment later the officer at the wheel started the engine.

“Where are you taking us?” Frank asked as the car was set into motion. He shifted his weight sideways. His hands were still cuffed behind his back, and it was impossible for him to find a comfortable position on the seat.

“Down to the station, to answer some questions,” the driver’s partner replied.

“Are we under arrest?” Joe wanted to know.

“That’s for the chief to decide,” the officer said. “But if I were you, I wouldn’t make any plans for the next couple of years. Breaking and entering, vandalism, maybe even homicide—”

“Homicide!” Frank exclaimed, outraged. “That’s ridiculous! We didn’t kill Willie. We went there to try to help him!”

The officer who was driving said, “I’d advise you to keep your mouths shut until you’ve talked to a lawyer.”

Frank turned to Joe, who was visibly shaken by the strange and dangerous turn the case had taken. Then he tried to concentrate on the now-dark landscape of shopping malls, fast-food restaurants, apartment complexes, and tire outlets and block out the rising tide of fear inside him.

The two cops parked beside a gleaming modern police station and hustled Frank and Joe in through a rear entrance. They found themselves in an office, facing a trim middle-aged man with gray hair and steady blue eyes. The engraved sign on his desk said, Roger Fry—Chief.

He finished reading the report in front of him, then looked up. “You two have had a very busy evening. Take the cuffs off them, Alvarez.”

“We didn’t kill Willie,” Joe blurted out. “He found a clue to who’s been pirating video games, and the pirate killed him before he could tell us who it is.”

Chief Fry raised one eyebrow. “Pirates? You mean like Captain Hook?”

“It’s true,” Frank insisted. “Listen, Chief, that warehouse is full of Xyrodian Company hardware—”

“Of course it is,” Fry interrupted. “It belongs to Xyrodian. Now, not another word until you’ve seen a lawyer. I’m not having this case thrown out on a technicality!”

Frank persisted. “Sir, if you’ll just call Amanda Boggs, one of the co-owners of Xyrodian, she’ll vouch for us. Or Dan Bennett of the U.S. Customs Service.”

Joe chipped in. “Or Ezra Collig, the chief of police in our hometown of Bayport,” he said. “He can tell you about us,”

The chief let out a long sigh, but he jotted down the names on a pad. “As it happens, Ms. Boggs and Mr. Trent are on their way over here,” he said. “We’ll see what they have to say. But right now I want to see some ED.”

Frank and Joe reached for their wallets.

“Remove the driver’s licenses,” the chief continued. He took them, glanced at them, then passed them over to one of the officers standing at the side of the room. “Here, Kogan, run their names through the federal NCIC computer,” he told him. “Top priority.”

Officer Kogan was obviously a little worried as he said, “Sorry, Chief. The computer’s down.”

“When it starts working again, then. I want background checks as soon as possible.”

“Amanda and Tom will clear us,” Frank said as Kogan left the room.

“Not another word, young man,” Chief Fry said sternly.

In the silence that fell, Frank heard a distant door slam, then the click of rapid footsteps and raised voices in the hallway outside. The door opened. A uniformed officer looked in and said, “Chief, there’s a young lady here. She says you’re expecting her.”

Amanda pushed past him and rushed into the room. “Frank! Joe! Are you okay? What happened?”

Chief Fry got to his feet. “And just who might you be, young lady?” he demanded.

“I’m Amanda Boggs, co-owner of Xyrodian,” she replied, handing him a business card. “Tom Trent, my partner, is on his way here. I can confirm that Frank and Joe Hardy are working for us in a confidential capacity.”

The chief’s face softened a little, but not much. “If that’s so,” he asked, “why did they trip the electronic alarm on your warehouse?”

“We found the back door rigged so it wouldn’t lock,” Joe said.

Amanda frowned. “Someone must have shut off the alarms, rigged the lock, then reactivated the system before you guys showed up.”

“Which means it was someone who’s familiar with the system,” Joe pointed out.

“Yes—or a very good hacker,” Amanda added.

There was a tap on the door, and Officer Kogan returned. “The computer’s back up, Chief,” he said. “I’ve got those background checks for you.”

He put two stacks of printouts on Fry’s desk, then stepped back.

Frank and Joe let out a sigh of relief,

The chief scanned the first page of each report quickly. Then, his eyes widening, he began to read more carefully. Finally he set the two reports on his desk.

“Well, well,” he said softly.

“Can we go now, Chief?” Frank asked.

Fry looked at him narrow-eyed. “Go?” he repeated. “You boys aren’t going anywhere for a long, long time.”

“What are you talking about?” Joe demanded.

“You two are wanted for multiple homicides in four states,” the chief said, tapping the reports with his index finger. “There are also warrants outstanding for your arrest on charges of kidnapping, assault, grand theft auto, and bank fraud.”

“That’s impossible!” Frank exclaimed. “Amanda, does Dan Bennett know about this? He can clear us.”

“Til call him now,” Amanda replied, pulling her cellular phone from her purse and dialing a memorized number. She identified herself, then explained the situation and told Bennett where they were. “Get right over here,” she concluded, “and bring the background files on Joe and Frank with you.”

Twenty tense minutes later an officer showed Dan Bennett into the room. “I don’t know what this is about, Chief, but there’s obviously been a mistake,” he said, handing Fry his credentials.

“No mistake,” the chief said. “I have positive information that these two are bad news.”

Bennett pulled two sheets of paper from his briefcase and put them on the chiefs desk. “I ran these checks just yesterday,” he said. “They’re clean.”

“And we came up with this today,” Fry retorted, lifting Frank’s thick file and offering it to Bennett.

The customs agent frowned as he studied the report. “I don’t see how this is possible,” he said, shaking his head.

“May I see the report?” Frank asked.

With Joe and Amanda looking on, he compared the most recent report with the one Bennett had brought with him. “Are these supposed to be from the same files?” he asked.

“That’s right, the NCIC,” Bennett replied.

“Then why does one always refer to me as Frank Hardy and the other one as Hardy, Frank?”

“What!” Chief Fry came from behind his desk to study the documents. “You’re right. There’s a discrepancy.”

“The file that calls Joe and Frank serial murderers is obviously the work of a hacker,” Amanda said.

Chief Fry ran his fingers through his hair and said. “Impossible. The NCIC computer is hacker-proof.”

“But your computer isn’t hacker-proof. It was down a few minutes ago,” Joe pointed out. “Why?”

The police chief shrugged. “Computers go down. Who knows why?”

“What if someone tapped the phone lines between here and Washington?” Joe continued.

“Our system doesn’t use phone lines,” Fry told him. “The signals go by microwave relay to Sacramento, then via satellite to D.C”

“Then the computer at the relay station in Sacramento will have a record of having transmitted your request for our record to Washington, right?” Frank said.

“Good thinking,” Amanda replied.

“Chief,” Frank said suddenly, “will you let me use your computer for a few minutes?”

“I’ll vouch for these two,” Bennett offered.

“Well, if you, as a federal agent, will take the responsibility,” the chief said reluctantly.

Soon Frank was busy at the terminal, with Amanda offering advice at his side and Joe, Chief Fry, and Agent Bennett looking on. A few dozen keystrokes later, columns of numbers and letters appeared on the screen. Frank scrolled down to the bottom, then back up again.

“That’s it,” Frank said, leaning back in his chair. “There have been no communications today between this station and the NCIC in Washington. None.”

“Someone obviously intercepted the call,” Amanda said.

“Or got into the system here,” Frank pointed out. “That’d be the easiest way to do it.”

Chief Fry stared at them incredulously. “You mean someone broke into our computer?” he demanded.

Amanda nodded and said, “It looks that way, Chief.”

It wasn’t long before Frank and Joe were released. They returned to their hotel for a huge dinner and a long, well-deserved sleep. The next day was Sunday, and Joe and Frank arrived at VidCon after lunch to find the convention center more jammed than ever. At the Xyrodian booth everyone was dazed by the terrible events of the day before.

Tom approached Frank and Joe and said, “Sorry about last night. I was so shaken by the news about Willie that I took the wrong exit off the freeway. By the time I found my way back to the police station, you had already left.”

“That’s okay,” Frank said. “We were pretty upset ourselves.”

“Nobody here is in very good shape today, as you can imagine,” Tom continued. “Jack Milner was so agitated that he showed up this morning wearing socks that didn’t match. When one of the other designers pointed it out, I thought Jack was going to faint on the spot. I had to send him home to unwind.”

Amanda came over. “Look,” she said. “Someone I know at Wombat Software brought this over a little while ago.”

She showed them a small carton packed with video game cartridges, and pulled one out. The label read Next Wave Video. Amanda peeled back the comer of the label to reveal a Xyrodian logo underneath.

“There was this, too,” Amanda added, unfolding a letter. It offered to sell the North American rights to the enclosed games for a very low price. “See—the address on the letterhead is in Daly City,” she said. “That’s a factory town just outside San Francisco.”

“Where did the people at Wombat get this?” Tom demanded.

“By Express Mail this morning,” Amanda told him. “They’re as concerned about piracy as we are, so as soon as they realized these were our games, they passed them on to us.”

“We’d better check this out,” Frank said.

“I’m coming, too,” Amanda said.

“And I’ll alert Dan Bennett,” Tom added.

The address in Daly City turned out to be a small one-story office building with peeling paint and a faded For Sale sign nailed to the wall. A piece of paper was taped inside one of the office windows. In computer-generated letters it read, Next Wave.

“This looks pretty suspicious to me. I say we wait for Dan,” Amanda said as she stared doubtfully at the building.

“Let’s see if anybody’s home,” Joe said. He knocked on the door of the office. To his surprise, the door swung open at his touch. Peering inside, Joe saw that the room was nearly empty, except for some old papers scattered on the floor and two new arcade video games against the far wall.

“This is weird,” Joe said, stepping inside. Frank and Amanda were right behind him.

“Weirder than you think,” Frank said. “Look.”

The screens on the two arcade machines had just lit up. In place of the usual attract-mode display, one showed the words, “Play me Joe,” and the other, “Play me Frank.”

“Those are Xyrodian arcade machines,” Amanda declared. “This is the most obvious trap I’ve ever heard of. Let’s get out of here and wait for Dan.”

“We don’t even know if he’s coming,” Joe pointed out. “And if he does come, we don’t know when he’ll be here. Hey, look, this is one of my favorite games—Back Alley Brawler.”

“That could be an important clue,” Frank said, joining him at the machine.

“It’ll still be a clue when Dan gets here,” Amanda told them.

“Look, I’ll just play one round, okay?” Joe said as he pushed the start button. Instantly knife- and club-wielding attackers appeared on the screen, and Joe began battling them in expert fashion.

Amanda scowled at them, then began to examine the other machine. There was a small gap between the back of it and the wall. She leaned over to peer into it and let out a frightened gasp.

“What is it?” Frank demanded, hurrying to her side. Amanda was white with shock. She pointed, and he peered behind the machine. Firmly attached to the printed circuit board was a lump the size of a golf ball made of something like modeling clay. “Plastic explosive,” he murmured in horror. ‘The kind terrorists use.”

Frank examined the area behind the other machine. Joe, engrossed in the game, didn’t even notice him. There, too, was a lump of the powerful explosive.

“This is serious,” Amanda said tensely, looking over Frank’s shoulder. “I helped build the prototype of this game. That stuff is wired to the circuit for the attract mode—what you see on the screen when no one’s playing. The instant the attract mode is activated, the electric current will detonate the explosive.”

“And when will that happen?” Frank asked, turning to face her.

Amanda eyed him gravely and said, “The moment Joe loses.”

Chapter 10

“Hey, what are you guys whispering about?” Joe asked, still working the joystick and buttons.

Frank looked past him at the video screen. Joe’s hero was down two lives and was now battling a trio of thugs with baseball bats. The game was definitely getting tricky.

“Joe,” Frank said quietly. “Don’t panic, but this game is going to blow as soon as you lose.”

“What!” Joe gasped, his hands flying. “Unplug it!”

“We can’t,” Amanda said. “It’s wired directly into the wall.”

“Then get out of here!” Joe shouted.

“No way. We’re not going to leave you here,” Frank told him.

Amanda added, “If I can get to the back, maybe I can reset the switches for easier play.”

“No, get out, quick!” Joe repeated. “I know this game. It pauses between levels. While the next screen is coming up, I’ll follow you out.”

Frank grabbed Amanda’s arm and headed for the door at a flat-out run. As they were leaving the building, Joe caught up with them.

“Faster,” he shouted.

As they ran out toward the street, Frank saw Dan Bennett walking casually toward the building. Frank lunged at him, forcing him backward into the shelter of a parked delivery van. “Hey, what’s going—” Bennett yelled.

At that instant the building exploded. Chunks of cinder block and shards of glass rained down around them.

Frank raised his head to check on Joe and Amanda. They looked okay. The building didn’t. The front wall was entirely gone, and so was a good deal of the roof.

“That was close,” Joe said breathlessly. “Another few seconds …”

Frank clapped his shoulder. “I’m just glad you’re a good Back Alley Brawler,” he said.

The Hardys and Amanda spent the next hour answering questions from the local police, the fire inspector, and the lieutenant who commanded the bomb squad. By the time they were done, the fire engines had finished their work and left.

Joe was moodily examining a large dent made in the roof of their rented car by a chunk of flying concrete. Dan Bennett came over to join them.

“I tracked down the owner of the building,” he reported.

“Did he tell you anything about Next Wave Video?” Frank asked eagerly.

“Not exactly,” Dan replied. “According to him, the building’s been vacant for months. In the last six weeks only one possible tenant has even looked at it. The guy who set that trap for you must have broken in.”

Joe frowned. As far as he could recall, the lock on the front door had been okay when they arrived. But maybe the guy they were after was an expert at picking locks as well as at hacking computer security systems. There was no way to check, now—the door lock had probably been blown all the way to Mendocino.

“The bomb squad found the ID plate from one of the video machines,” Dan continued. “Is there any way we can run down the serial number today, Amanda? Or do we have to wait till Monday?”

Amanda considered for a moment, “The workstation at our VidCon booth is tied into the company’s mainframe. I’ll get that serial number checked.”

Bennett passed her a slip of paper with the serial number, and she put in a call to the Xyro-dian booth. “Hi … Jack?” she said. “I thought you were taking the day off. Listen, can you hunt down some information for me and call me back?” She explained what she needed, then hung up.

“Good,” Bennett said. “Now I want the three of you to come back to A-to-Z Video with me for a full debriefing.”

Joe groaned. “More questions?”

“I’m afraid so,” the customs man said. “Lots of them.”

They followed Dan to the office of the Customs Service sting operation. As they were turning into the parking lot, Amanda’s phone beeped. She held a murmured conversation with someone, then clicked off. Frank glanced back at her. There were new lines of shock and worry in her face.

“What’s the matter?” he asked. “More bad news?”

“That was Jack,” she replied. “According to the records at our headquarters, that machine is still sitting in our warehouse, waiting to be shipped.”

When they reached A-to-Z, Amanda passed the information on to Dan. “I don’t see how that helps us much,” he said. “What happened yesterday showed that the crooks have access to your warehouse. This just confirms that.”

“I’m going to order a restructuring of our entire security system first thing tomorrow,” Amanda declared, her voice cold with anger. “I won’t put up with any more of this!”

“You won’t have to,” Dan said, setting up a cassette recorder. “With your help, we intend to crack this case. Now, if I can ask you a few questions—”

“Few” turned out to be an understatement, Joe realized as, two hours later, Bennett finally switched off the recorder and stood up to stretch.

“That’s it for now,” he said. “Just one more thing, and I don’t want to have to say this twice. The three of you are to stay out of the field. Is that clear? We’re not just dealing with video game pirates any longer. We’re hunting a ruthless murderer. And if any new information comes your way that might help in our investigation, pass it on to me immediately. Is that understood?”

Frank, Joe, and Amanda nodded wearily and started for the door. Outside, it was already almost dark.

“I’m starving,” Joe said.

“Me, too,” Frank replied.

Amanda glanced at them. “I guess we could get something to eat. Let me check in with Tom first.”

While she made her call, Joe took out the little handheld game Willie had lent him and began playing.

“Haven’t you had enough of video games for one day?” Frank asked wearily.

“It helps me relax,” Joe said, his thumbs busy on the game’s controls.

“Right—until it explodes,” Frank joked.

Amanda put her phone away and said, “Tom’s calling a top secret strategy meeting for this evening. I talked him into holding it at my place. I don’t trust the security at the office anymore.”

“What’s so top secret?” Joe asked, as they got into the car.

“We’re going to brainstorm a new set of measures to protect our prototype games from the pirates,” she replied. ‘Tom says he has some nifty ideas. And we have to pick somebody to take over Willie’s job as head of design. I guess we’ll give Jack a try this time.”

A couple of miles from A-to-Z, Joe spotted a diner and pulled in. They took a booth at the far end, and both Hardys ordered double burgers with the works, fries, and shakes. Amanda asked for a health salad with diet dressing and extra sprouts.

When the food arrived, they dug in. After a few bites, Frank said, “I wish we knew more about Next Wave Video.”

“There’s no such company,” Joe told him, between bites of burger. “Remember? The guy who owned the building had never heard of them. That letterhead must have been printed up just to lure us into the trap.”

Amanda nodded. “That’s easy enough to do these days, with a desktop publishing program and a laser printer. The game cartridge labels were probably generated the same way.”

“I know that,” Frank said with a touch of impatience in his voice. “But Pratt had a cartridge bearing the Next Wave label on the opening day of VidCon, which means that Next Wave existed, at least as a label, before Joe and I got on the case. So you’d think someone would know something about the outfit. If they’re selling counterfeit cartridges, they’ve got to have some way of receiving payment for them.”

“Hmm,” Amanda said. “We might be able to track down the thieves if …” Her voice trailed off and she stared into space as if working out a complicated problem in her head.

“Don’t forget, Dan Bennett warned us to stay out of the field,” Frank said. “If we start knocking on doors and he finds out, he’s not going to like it.”

“We don’t have to knock on doors,” Amanda replied. “We’ll let a computer do it for us. Dan didn’t say anything about not doing a database search, did he? Today’s Sunday—we’ll have the office to ourselves.”

“Good idea,” Joe said.

Frank wasn’t so sure, but he, too, agreed.

Amanda waited impatiently while the Hardys finished their meal, and then the three of them drove to the Xyrodian headquarters. The building was floodlit from the outside, but the windows were all dark.

Amanda walked up to the front door and punched in her code. The door clicked open, and the lights in the hallway came on. “This way,” she said. “We might as well work directly on the mainframe.”

She had to punch in her code four more times before they reached the entrance to the main computer room. “This is a clean environment,” Amanda explained as they walked into a small glassed-in cubicle. ‘The temperature and humidity are kept within tight limits, and the air is completely changed once very thirty seconds. Even the floor is on springs, in case of earth tremors. Tap the glass.”

Joe tapped, and realized that the glass was a couple of inches thick, like the windows that protect bank tellers.

The outer door closed, and the inner one clicked open. Inside, three big computers occupied the center of the floor, as tall and wide as picnic tables turned on end. A row of tape drive units occupied one wall, and several control consoles took up another. There was a faint hum from somewhere, as if the whole room were alive.

“I thought everybody used microcomputers these days,” Frank said.

“We do, for most of our work,” Amanda said. “But when you start working with computer-generated animated graphics in full color and real time, you need the power of a mainframe or, in this case, a couple of them.”

“I count three,” Joe remarked.

Amanda grinned. “Good for you, Joe. But the one on the end is special. It’s one of the fastest supercomputers ever built, the same model that’s used to monitor space shuttle missions and to solve incredibly complicated problems in math and physics. We’re using it as our reality engine to power Death Mall.”

“A supercomputer dedicated exclusively to one game?” Frank said, amazed.

Amanda nodded. “You played Death Mall,” she said. “Just think how many different data channels are involved, how many different decisions have to be made, and all in real time, too. Believe me, we had to work very hard to keep the program within the capabilities of a single supercomputer.”

She moved over to one of the control consoles and sat down. “Pull up some chairs,” she said. “This may take a while.”

“What’s your strategy?” Joe asked.

“First, let’s try the important user networks,” Amanda replied, her hands flying over the computer keys. “Those are like electronic bulletin boards that allow computer users to communicate with one another. I’m setting up a simple search program that will look for the string of characters ‘Next Wave,’ and flag it whenever it turns up.”

“What about bank accounts and phone company accounts?”

“I might be able to access those, with a little work,” Amanda said, “but it would be against the law. What I can do is run a search of every phone book in the United States, every corporation in the country, and every newspaper or magazine article that deals with the video game business. Anything else you can think of?”

“How many hours is this likely to take?” Joe asked.

Amanda smiled mysteriously. “Wait and see.”

While they waited, Joe pulled out the pocket game machine and started playing. He was really getting the hang of Warthog’s Revenge, but as he played, he couldn’t help feeling a little sad. So much of Willie Gage’s wacky personality shone through in the game.

After barely half an hour the high-speed line printer in the corner of the room came to life. Joe and Frank scanned the sheets with Amanda. When she reached the last page, she slapped the wall in frustration. “Nothing!” she said. “The only mention the computer could find of anything called Next Wave is an arts festival in Brooklyn.”

She stood up impatiently and added, “Let’s get out of here. I don’t want to be late for that meeting with Tom and Jack.”

Amanda entered her code to leave and tugged at the door. Nothing happened. She tried again, but the door stayed locked. “Huh,” she said. “Murphy’s Law at work.” She opened a small box labeled Emergency Door Release and tugged at a red handle. Still the door didn’t budge.

Suddenly Joe heard a loud hissing sound from somewhere up near the ceiling. “What’s going on?” he said.

Amanda looked up. “Oh, no!” she cried out. “The fire system’s been activated!”

“Is that bad?” Frank demanded.

“The worst!” Amanda replied, tugging frantically at the door release handle. “You can’t use water or foam to put out a computer room fire.

It would ruin the machines. So we flood the room with carbon dioxide instead.”

Joe felt a chill down his spine that didn’t come entirely from the outside. “How does that put out a fire?” he asked.

Amanda was grim. “The carbon dioxide smothers the flames,” she said. “In less than a minute there won’t be any oxygen left in this room!”

Chapter 11

“Frank, we’ve got to get out of here!” Joe yelled over the noise of hissing gas. The room was becoming colder as a cloud of colorless, odorless carbon dioxide started to engulf them.

Frank frantically searched the room. Near the printer was a metal table stacked with papers. He ran to it, knocked the papers to the floor with one arm, and pulled the table toward the door. Lifting it high over his head, he heaved it at the window.

The heavy table simply bounced off the thick glass and crashed to the floor.

“We have to get some air in here!” he yelled as he righted the table. Joe realized what he was doing and ran over to help him position the table directly under the air vent.

“Can you reach it?” Frank demanded as Joe clambered up onto the table. Amanda continued punching her code into the keypad beside the door. Frank’s chest was heaving as he tried to draw in oxygen. It was as if someone had tied a plastic bag over his head.

Joe’s fingers inched up the wall toward the vent. Extending his arms as high as he could, he grabbed the grating over the air vent and pulled. For a long moment nothing happened. Then the grating fell into his hands.

“The louvers!” Frank gasped. “Break them open!”

Joe stood on tiptoe now and felt for the steel slats of the vent’s closed louvers, the icy wind burning his face and forcing him to shut his eyes.

“Can’t … reach,” he gasped.

“Wait!” Frank grabbed a computer keyboard from one of the worktables. Jerking its cable loose, he handed the keyboard to Joe.

Joe grasped the keyboard by one end and pounded the louvers with the other end. After two powerful blows, the keyboard began to crack, Then, suddenly, one of the slats gave way under the frantic beating. Then another and another fell from the ceiling. A cool blast of fresh air broke through the vent. Joe inhaled deeply. Reaching up again, he grabbed a length of a broken slat and pulled, ripping out the louvers and the surrounding framework. Fresh air began to drift down into the room. Moments later, as Joe was climbing down from the table, the hissing stopped. The supply of carbon dioxide had run out.

Amanda straightened up, taking big gulps of fresh air into her lungs.

“I don’t know what happened,” she said, frustrated. “What set off the fire extinguisher? And why wouldn’t the door open? It should have.”

“Can you fix it?” Frank asked, studying the small keypad mounted on the wall.

“I’m a programmer, not an engineer,” she replied. “But I know how this keypad works. All I need is to get inside it.”

Four screws held the keypad in place. “Here, try this,” Joe said, offering her his penknife. A few minutes later she had removed the screws and pulled the keypad from the wall. It came away easily, trailing red, yellow, blue, black, and orange wires behind it.

After removing the tiny screws that held the wires to the keypad, Amanda studied the wires closely. “Now, if I remember correctly,” she murmured, “it’s these two.” She isolated the red and blue strands and touched their exposed ends together.

Nothing happened.

“Try yellow and blue,” Joe said.

Amanda gave him a curious look, then followed his suggestion. The door gave a faint click. When she tugged at the handle, it swung open.

“Hey, am I ever glad to be out of there,” Joe said when they reached the hallway. “That was way too close.”

“I don’t understand,” Frank said. “The building seemed empty when we got here. Somebody could have been hiding in the dark, I guess, but how could he have known we were coming? We didn’t know ourselves until we were halfway through dinner. Someone must have followed us.”

“Not necessarily,” Amanda said. “The door and the fire system are tied in to the main security computer. Someone must have planned for me to die in the computer room, either tonight or at some other time.”

“But how?” Joe asked.

Amanda sighed. “The computer keeps track of where people are in the building, by noting which doors they open with their personal access codes,” she answered. “Anyone could have voided my code for the inside door of the computer room and had it trigger the fire system. He could have set it up weeks or even months ago.”

“But how could he have gotten past the security system?” Frank asked. “Where is it?”

“In a cubicle near the executive offices,” she replied. “And it wouldn’t be hard to interfere with it— if you knew where it was and how to reprogram it. It’s designed to keep intruders out of the building, after all, not out of its own operating system.”

Joe nodded. “Which means that the most likely culprit is someone who isn’t an intruder in this building but who works at Xyrodian.”

Amanda’s expression was cold. “Are you saying that one of my own employees tried to murder me? That’s impossible!”

“Isn’t it pretty obvious by now?” Joe answered. “I mean, whoever killed Willie got into the Xyrodian warehouse without a problem.”

“And the killer knew we were meeting Simon Pratt on the dock, too,” Frank added.

“I won’t listen to another word,” Amanda snapped. She took off with long, angry strides.

“It’s the only explanation that fits,” Frank said, hurrying to catch up to her.

“That’s just because you haven’t thought of the right one yet,” she replied. “Why would someone at Xyrodian pirate our games? What would he have to gain? Isn’t that the first rule of detective work, to look for a motive?”

“Motive’s only one factor,” Frank told her. “Opportunity and means are even more important. If only one suspect has both means and opportunity, he’s the guilty one, even if you have no idea what his motive might be. And practically everybody at Xyrodian has both means and opportunity.”

“Should we search the building?” Joe asked. “The person who shut us in and turned on the gas could still be here.”

“We can check that easily enough,” Amanda said. She led them to her office, booted her computer, and tapped in a few instructions. Seconds later she said, “We’re the only ones present— unless somebody is invisible to infrared and ultra-sound and makes less noise than a feather landing on the floor.”

“Or somehow got around your security system,” Frank pointed out. “By the way, shouldn’t the fire department have responded to that alarm?”

Amanda stared at him. “Of course they should have! And the police and our private security agency, too. Where are they?”

“Whoever booby-trapped the computer room probably disabled the call-out feature, too,” Frank replied. “He wanted to be sure no one came to rescue us.”

Amanda shook her head. “I’ll get someone to go over the whole system first thing tomorrow,” she said, glancing at her watch. “I’m going to be late for that meeting at my place. Tom and Jack won’t like standing around in the parking lot waiting for me.”

They drove most of the way to Amanda’s house in silence. It was obvious to the Hardys that Amanda was still angry at the suggestion that someone at Xyrodian was betraying her and the company.

Finally Frank broke the tense silence. “Just out of curiosity, Joe, how did you know which two wires to connect back there?” he asked.

“I didn’t,” Joe admitted, a little embarrassed. “It was just a wild guess.”

Amanda let out a small laugh.

“Good for you,” she said. “But one lucky guess doesn’t mean the rest of your guesses are right. I still think you’re crazy to suspect that these crimes are the work of a Xyrodian employee. That’s the one thing that separates us from a lot of other companies. We really are like a family.”

“Crimes happen, even within families,” Frank pointed out. “At first we suspected that Pratt was the criminal, but then he was killed.”

“Well, you can’t suspect Willie, at least,” Amanda said sadly. “Poor Willie. And I guess you don’t think that I’ve been robbing myself, never mind trying to blow myself up or suffocate myself.”

Unless, of course, you knew you’d get out, Frank thought. Amanda was, after all, the one who had discovered the bombs in the video games. And what if he and Joe hadn’t managed to escape from the booby-trapped computer room? Would she have suddenly found a way to get the door to open? She could have staged both stunts to divert suspicion from herself. But what was her motive?

“That leaves us with Jack and Tom,” Joe said.

“And practically every other designer and programmer at the company,” Amanda added. “And every hacker in the Valley, for that matter.”

“My hunch is that it’s someone closer,” Joe replied. “Someone who knows your day-to-day movements.”

“Jack? Tom? Impossible,” she snapped. “Jack can’t stand the thought of violence. He hates any kind of fighting, punching, or kicking in our games. You know, he once actually wanted to produce a game called Clean Up Your Room!”

“What was it like?” Frank asked, chuckling.

‘The hero had to clean up a room, putting everything in its place, working against the clock,” Amanda answered, also chuckling. “Each level was a different room in a house. The last level was going to be the yard. The hero had to mow the lawn, trim the hedge, and rake up all the clippings to win.”

“It doesn’t sound like a hot prospect for video game of the year,” Joe said.

“We all thought he was joking,” Amanda said. “We couldn’t believe he was actually proposing such a dopey idea. Willie never let Jack forget it. Every time Jack said something Willie thought was too off-the-wall, Willie would say, ‘Jack, clean up your room!’ “

“If you eliminate Jack, that leaves Tom,” Frank pointed out.

“He wouldn’t have anything to gain,” Amanda answered. “He already owns half the company.”

“With you out of the way, he could get full control of Xyrodian on his own,” Frank said.

“Look, let’s not discuss this anymore,” Amanda said abruptly. “It’s creepy. Besides, here’s my turnoff.”

Joe steered the van into the condo complex and found a spot in front of Amanda’s unit. They were approaching the door when Frank stopped them with an upraised hand. “Did you leave the door open, Amanda?” he asked softly.

“Of course not,” she answered. “Why?”

“Because it’s open now,” Frank replied.

“Great, just what I needed. A robbery,” Amanda moaned. “I’m calling the police.”

As Amanda reached for her phone, Joe and Frank moved silently forward. Pushing the door open just enough to get through, they made their way inside. Even in the darkness, they could see that someone had really upended the place. Books, magazines, and electronic equipment littered the floor.

Frank signaled Joe to take the upstairs. He waited for his brother to start up, then moved forward silently into the living room. The mess there was just as bad, or worse. The shattered projection TV screen lay in the middle of the room. Frank crept around it and looked through an archway into the den.

Suddenly he stiffened. In the far corner, near the desk, something moved in the shadows. Frank narrowed his eyes and stared. It was the form of a man, crouching near the wall. The burglar was still here!

Chapter 12

Frank crossed the room in three quick strides and leaped, landing on the burglar’s back.

The stranger let out a sharp grunt as the momentum of Frank’s attack sent both of them crashing into the wall.

The burglar raised his hand and struck at Frank’s head with something hard. Frank rolled away from the blow and retaliated with a fierce left to the midsection.

Gasping for breath, the intruder dropped his weapon. Frank had just enough time to see that the weapon was a phone receiver before the man began to scramble away.

“No, you don’t,” Frank growled, catching one of the man’s ankles and pulling.

The intruder fell hard. Before he could recover, Frank was on top of him.

Just then the lights came on. Frank froze, his fist cocked ready to let loose, as he recognized Tom Trent.

‘Tom! Frank!” Amanda screamed from the doorway, her hand on the light switch. “What are you doing? Are you both insane?”

Joe came running down the stairs three at a time and stopped in the doorway next to Amanda.

Frank clambered to his feet and helped Tom up. “In the dark, I thought he was a burglar,” he explained. He thought, but didn’t say aloud, that Tom’s behavior still seemed suspicious.

“Tom, what were you doing here? How did you get in?” Amanda demanded.

“I, uh—I saw the door was ajar. I came in and saw the mess and decided to call the police. I’d just picked up the phone when somebody jumped me. I thought it must be the burglar, so I tried to knock him out.”

“Why were you phoning in the dark?” Frank asked, trying to keep the skepticism out of his voice.

Tom’s face turned darker. “I didn’t want to touch the light switch, in case the burglar left fingerprints,” he said.

From the entrance hall a voice called, “Hello, all. Sorry I’m late. I— Amanda, what on earth happened here?”

Jack Milner came into the room and looked around in utter confusion.

“I had a visit from a burglar,” Amanda told him. “Frank thought Tom was the burglar, and Tom thought Frank was, so they started beating up on each other.”

“Oh, of course,” Jack said, still clearly confused. “That makes perfect sense.”

“Okay, freeze!” a new voice ordered. Two police officers came through the doorway, guns drawn. One of them, a young woman whose name badge said Tomkins, looked around the room and shook her head, clearly astonished by the level of destruction. Her partner, Officer Del-gado, shifted his narrow-eyed gaze from one occupant of the room to another, daring them to try anything.

“It’s all right, officers,” Amanda said. “This is my place, and these people are all friends of mine. Whoever did this is long gone.”

“The alarm came in just three minutes ago,” Officer Tomkins said in a neutral tone. “Do you have some identification?”

Amanda handed over her driver’s license and Xyrodian employee ID card. The two officers inspected them, then holstered their revolvers. Del-gado pulled a walkie-talkie from his belt and murmured a report to headquarters.

“We’ll have a technician here soon to dust the place for prints,” he reported. “Meanwhile, Ms. Boggs, would you mind checking around and making a list of everything that’s missing?”

Half an hour later the police team had finished its work and was gone. Everyone pitched in to help Amanda straighten up.

“And you didn’t find anything gone?” Joe asked her for the third or fourth time.

Amanda shook her head. “But that doesn’t mean anything. The most valuable things I own, a burglar could take and leave behind at the same time.”

Frank overheard. “Information, you mean,” he said.

“Right. Trade secrets, to be exact.” She pushed her red hair back from her face and checked around the living room. “All these gadgets— without the right information, and the right intelligence, about all you can do with them is tie a rope to them and use them for boat anchors. Information is the lifeblood of our industry—of our whole society.”

“Amanda?” Tom called from the stairway. “I move we postpone our meeting till tomorrow. There’s nothing that can’t wait a day, and I’m too beat to think straight anyway.”

“Good idea,” Jack agreed. “It’s been a very tiring day.”

“All right.” Amanda shrugged. “First thing tomorrow, in my office, okay?”

After they left Joe turned to her and said, “I think there must be important evidence against the pirates somewhere in your computer system.”

“Why?” Amanda asked.

“Why did you decide to use the main computer room tonight and not one of the remote workstations?” he returned.

“I knew it would be faster, for one thing,” she replied slowly. “And the mainframe can directly access a lot of files that are trickier to get to from a remote terminal. Why?”

“Before Willie told us he’d found a crucial clue, he was working in the main system, wasn’t he—trying to track down that threatening cartoon that kept appearing on Xyrodian’s computer screens?” Joe replied.

Amanda gaped at him. “That’s right! And whatever he found made him decide to run to the warehouse. How could I have missed that?” She paced to the end of the room, then back. “The warehouse records are copied to the main system every night for safety. The computer must have been rigged to try to kill me only if I got too close to the secret. This is terrible!”

“Do you still think that the crook isn’t a Xyro-dian employee?” Frank asked her. “Whoever got in here this evening knew how to get past your security system.”

Amanda shook her head. Turning, she walked over to the window and stood with her back to them for what seemed like a long time.

When she turned again, her face was grave but determined. “Whatever Willie was after is probably still at the warehouse,” she said.

“Why do you say that?” Frank asked. “For that matter, why did he even go there? Couldn’t he talk to the warehouse computer from anywhere?”

“That’s just it—he couldn’t,” Amanda blurted out. “The executive program for the warehouse computer and the passwords to access it are top secret. A skillful hacker could ruin the company overnight by fouling up our inventory records, shipments, everything. But once Willie was on the spot, he wouldn’t have had any trouble getting into the system. He was one of the best.”

“Can you get into the system?” Joe asked.

Amanda gave him a haughty look. “I’m one of the best, too,” she declared, then laughed softly. “Besides, I happen to know the passwords!”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Frank asked.

The Xyrodian warehouse was only ten minutes from Amanda’s condo. At the gate Joe inserted her card for her. The gate slid aside, and Joe pulled up to the door. Inside, the warehouse was still a disaster area, but the office in the corner had escaped destruction and remained intact. Amanda sat down at the terminal and said, “Okay, what do you want to see?”

“For a start,” Frank replied, “can we set up a spreadsheet that cross-checks the cartridges received from the manufacturing plant against those shipped out and those that are still on hand?”

“Sure. From how long ago?” Amanda asked, her fingers already flying over the keyboard.

“Since the counterfeiting started,” Frank told her.

“It’s going to be a long list,” she warned him. “We’re a big company, you know.”

After about ten minutes of watching the words “Please wait” blink on the screen, they had their answer. Of hundreds of thousands of game cartridges, all but thirty-seven were accounted for.

“Normal inventory shrinkage,” Amanda said. “In other words, some cartridges got broken, some fell behind a shelf somewhere, and some got taken home to the kids. What now?”

“What was Willie looking for when he came out here?” Joe asked. “Some sort of computer virus, right? So let’s do the same.”

“We have programs that search out viruses,” Amanda told them. “Any company that relies on computers has to. But we don’t have one installed here. It would take all night to do a search manually.”

“Not necessarily,” Frank said. “What if you do a count of the number of lines of code in the warehouse executive program and the subroutines, then compare it with a secure copy of the program? You have a backup copy somewhere, don’t you?”

“Of course we do,” she snapped. “It’s at my—” Her jaw dropped.

“So that’s it,” she said, wide-eyed. “The burglar must have been after my copy of the warehouse software. Once he inserted his virus in that copy, too, he’d be safe. Willie was enough of a hacker to find the virus without a comparison copy. He knew all the places viruses can hide. That’s why the thief killed him—Willie must have found it!”

“What now?” Joe asked.

“Now we hit the warehouse floor and actually count the cartridges,” Frank said. “That spreadsheet we just looked at may have as much to do with reality as one of Xyrodian’s most far-out games!”

“Wait, these will help,” Amanda said. From a file drawer she produced two devices that looked like walkie-talkies with pencils linked to them by a length of curled cord. “These are portable scanners,” she explained. “Just run the pencil over the bar code on the game carton, and it’ll tell you what’s inside and where it’s supposed to go. I’ll be at the computer, trying to find the virus.”

Joe followed Frank to the farthest corner of the warehouse, and the two of them began to work their way through the jumbled wreckage, carton by carton. An hour later a tired, dusty Joe called out, “I think I’ve got something.”

“What is it?” Frank demanded, joining him.

“The scanner thinks this box contains a hundred cartridges of Zombie Street Fight,” Joe told him. “But the cartridges inside are unlabeled.”

“And look,” Frank added excitedly. “The destination on the scanner screen doesn’t match the one on the packing label!” He grabbed one of the cartridges, and he and Joe hurried back to the office. Amanda was slumped over the desk, typing away. She straightened up, blinking, when they rushed in.

“Do you have a machine that can play this cartridge?” Frank demanded.

“At this time of night?” she replied sleepily. Then she waved to a Xyrodian game system in

the corner. Frank turned it on and slipped in the cartridge. What came up on the screen wasn’t Zombie Street Fight. It was a game Joe had never seen before, called Doomsday Avenger.

Amanda gasped, completely awake now. “Where did you find that?” she exclaimed. “That game won’t hit the market for another six months!”

“It was in a box labeled Zombie Street Fight,” Joe told her. “Here’s the scanner info.”

Amanda entered the information on the computer, studied the screen, and said, “I don’t believe it—we’re pirating our own games!”

“And look at the destination,” Frank continued. “It’s a freight depot. Anyone could waltz in there and pick it up. No company name, just a meaningless shipment number.”

“I’m going to try something,” Amanda suddenly said. “I’m going to tell the computer that this order has just been shipped out.”

Frank and Joe watched as she typed in the commands. The screen went dark for a moment; then the entry vanished.

“That’s what I thought,” Amanda told them. “As soon as the counterfeit games are shipped, all records of them are erased. That’s why those numbers we looked at matched so well.”

“But who’s making the counterfeits?” Joe asked.

Amanda made a noise of disgust. “We are! Our plant overseas is completely automated. The machines don’t know what software is in the cartridges they manufacture. Somebody sends them the code, and they install it, that’s all. And if the computerized records on this end are changed, we might never figure out what’s happening— except that people are turning up with our games before we start to sell them, and the company’s going broke when it should be making money.”

“How does the code get to the factory?” Frank asked her. “On a diskette? A tape cassette?”

“No, we send it by phone,” Amanda replied. “But only two people—Tom Trent and I—know the passwords that authenticate it. Why would Tom counterfeit his own games?”

“Money,” Frank suggested. “He cheats you out of your share, and Uncle Sam out of his income taxes. How much could he clear that way?”

Amanda shook her head sadly. “I don’t know—maybe hundreds of thousands a year.”

“Tom wasn’t calling the police tonight when Frank spotted him,” Joe exclaimed. “He broke into your apartment to search for your backup copy of the inventory program’s code so we couldn’t compare it to the one here!”

Chapter 13

“Tom!” Amanda moaned. “I can’t believe it!”

“Have you two had any important disagreements?” Frank asked.

Amanda shook her head. “Not really. Last year he made a lot of noise over how much money we were investing in Death Mall, but he’s come around since then. He’s even played it a few times.”

“We should call Dan Bennett right now,” Frank told her.

“No way. I’m not going to accuse Tom without solid proof,” Amanda told him. “If you guys are wrong, I’ll lose my friend and partner forever.”

“There’d be proof on the mainframe, wouldn’t there?” Frank asked.

Amanda eyed him warily. “There might be.”

“Can we hunt for it from here?” Joe asked.

“I don’t know,” Amanda replied. “I’d need to access all of Xyrodian’s individual microcomputers at once, but I can’t get into them from outside headquarters.”

“Okay, then,” Joe said, already heading for the door. “Here we go—back to Xyrodian.”

“Great name for a new game,” Frank commented.

At headquarters Amanda led the way to the computer room. Frank eyed the door warily, but Amanda assured him that she had disabled the lock.

“Here’s the plan,” she said, sitting down at a keyboard. “I’m going to do a search of every file Tom’s worked on in the last couple of months. It’s like browsing through his file cabinet.”

“That shouldn’t take too long,” Joe commented.

Amanda gave him a funny look. “A file cabinet with three or four hundred drawers and thousands of files,” she added. “We may be at this for what’s left of the night.”

Joe watched Amanda and Frank scroll through page after page of information. After an hour or so, he’d had it. He pulled out the pocket game machine and started playing Warthog’s Revenge.

He had to admit that he was getting good at it. The fingertip controls took some getting used to, but he had already managed to play through the first fifteen levels with no real effort.

Suddenly Amanda said, “Look, here it is!”

“That’s it—the virus?” Frank asked.

“Yup. It’s not very creative, actually. The only clever part was hiding it in the accounts payable program. Who’d think to look there?”

“Does Tom use these files a lot?” Frank asked.

Amanda nodded vigorously. “All the time. He’s the businessman on our team.”

“Hey,” Joe called, “I’ve almost got this game beat. Just one more level to go!”

“I’m glad you’re having fun,” Frank muttered, his eyes fixed on the monitor.

“It’s really nifty,” Joe continued. “You should see—”

“Joe,” Frank snapped. “Can’t you see we’re busy? Save it for later.”

Joe said, “Sorry. I’ll— Hey, what’s this?”

“What’s what?” Amanda asked wearily.

“My game—it just went out of control.”

“It’s a prototype,” Amanda told him. “WilMe probably didn’t finish it.”

“But it’s putting really weird stuff on the screen,” Joe said. “It’s not even a game anymore.”

Amanda swiveled her chair and stretched out her hand. “Here, let’s see.”

Joe handed it to her, then watched her study the scrolling columns of letters, numbers, and funny symbols.

“It looks like computer code,” Frank commented.

“It is,” Amanda gasped. “I should know—I wrote it myself.”

“Oh?” Joe said, surprised by her reaction. “What’s it for?”

“It’s one of the major subroutines for Death Mall,” she whispered, stunned.

“But how did it get on Willie’s game machine?” Joe demanded. “And why?”

“How, I don’t know,” Amanda said. “But why is obvious. Someone is planning to steal it—to smuggle it out.”

“Why not just send it over a phone line or make a copy of the magnetic tape?” Joe asked.

“Useless, without the proper password,” Amanda said. “I planted a logic bomb in the code. That’s a subroutine that automatically erases the code at a preset date or the first time someone tries to copy it or print it out without supplying the password first.”

“And how many people know the password?” Joe asked.

Amanda tapped her chest. “One. Me. That’s why the pirates copied the code directly onto a microchip. It’s the one way of stealing it that I didn’t think of and guard against, because we’re testing new chips all the time.”

“Amanda,” Frank said slowly, “when did the company commit itself to the Death Mall project?”

“About eighteen months ago,” she replied.

“And when did the piracy problem start cropping up?”

“A couple of months later, I guess.” She fell silent and frowned in concentration, then said,

“Frank, that’s it! The piracy and counterfeiting are just a blind. The real target is Death Mall!”

“You guys just lost me,” Joe admitted.

“Look at it this way,” Frank said to him, “If Xyrodian is known to have problems with pirates outside of the country, then when Death Mall is pirated, the authorities will look overseas for the culprits.”

“That’s where most counterfeiting happens, after all,” Amanda added. “Manufacturing plants don’t have the greatest security. So Bennett and his task force keep looking at suppliers in Korea, Singapore, wherever, and all the time the thief is right under their noses. Who’d think of looking for the entire counterfeiting ring right inside the company that’s being ripped off?”

Joe nodded slowly. “Okay, I see that,” he said, “though I think Agent Bennett already suspected that someone inside the company was involved. But why would anyone go to so much trouble to steal one game?”

“It’s not the game, it’s the technology that it embodies,” Amanda explained. “The program that we just found hidden in Willie’s game machine, for example. That particular section tells the computer how to react to the players, to make the bad guys duck, punch back, turn and run, whatever. That one section of code represents almost a year’s work by a team of some of the best programmers in the world. What is that worth in terms of the lead a pirate would have on everyone else in the industry? Millions, I’d guess, and that’s just one part of the package.”

Joe, impressed, said, “We’re playing for pretty high stakes here. High enough to tempt even someone like Tom Trent.”

“I’m afraid so,” Amanda said sadly. “I want to get this evidence on videotape. It may be important later.”

She led the way into a lab filled with test equipment. There she wired the pocket unit to an impressive piece of equipment that included a color monitor and a VCR.

“This is equipped to play out a game automatically,” she explained. “That will save Joe the effort of playing through all twenty levels again.”

She inserted a videocassette and threw a few switches. The game came on the screen. Joe took mental notes as the hero made all the right moves at each level Then the code from Death Mall came on. Amanda’s face grew grimmer. “I still can’t believe it,” she said as it came to an end and the screen went gray.

“We’d better face Tom with this first thing tomorrow,” Joe said, covering a yawn. “But right now I am totally wiped. I don’t think I can stay awake long enough to drive back to the hotel.”

“We can’t go back to town anyway,” Frank said. “Not and get back here early enough to catch Tom before he goes in to VidCon.”

“Why don’t we just bag some z’s here?” Amanda suggested.

Joe looked around the room. “Here?” he repeated warily.

“Sure. If you’re tired enough, you can sleep anywhere,” Amanda said, settling back in her chair. “Just close your eyes.”

Joe decided to give it a try, just to prove that she was wrong. She wasn’t.

Frank groggily opened his eyes. Sunlight was streaming in the windows. He looked around and saw Jack Milner standing in the doorway, watching.

“Good morning,” Jack said. As usual he was wearing a suit and tie. Every hair on his head was just so, and his shirt was so white it practically gleamed.

“What time is it?” Frank asked, sitting up and trying to work a crick out of his neck.

His voice woke up Amanda and Joe, who blinked and peeked around blearily.

Jack consulted his watch. “Six fifty-eight. I thought I’d get in a little office time before Vid-Con opens. Monday’s my favorite workday. Everybody else drifts in so late that I have the place to myself for hours on end. But what on earth are you doing here?”

“Investigating,” Amanda replied. Frank was glad to see that she realized the need to keep their discoveries secret.

“Isn’t that the job of the police?” Jack said. “It’s important to have clear lines of command and responsibility, you know. Otherwise you have anarchy.”

He glanced around the room and added, “Goodness knows we have enough disorder around this company already.”

“The police have their role, sure,” Amanda said. “But with this case, they don’t necessarily have the technical know-how to get anywhere.”

Jack sniffed. “But two teenage detectives do, I suppose? Never mind. It is your company, after all—yours and Tom’s.”

Amanda stood up and took a deep breath. “That reminds me,” she said. “Do you know if Tom’s in yet?”

“Why, yes, he’s in his office,” Jack told her.

“Let’s go,” Joe said, springing up.

“I’m going to put in a call to Bennett first,” Amanda said. She crossed the room to a telephone, dialed out, and spoke in an undertone.

Frank glanced around. The videotaped evidence and the pocket game machine were sitting on the workbench nearby. He picked up both and handed the game to Joe, who couldn’t resist having another go at Warthog’s Revenge.

“What are you doing with that?” Jack demanded in a shocked voice. “Give it to me at once!”

Joe looked up. “What’s the matter?” he asked, pressing the pause button.

“You have no right to use that piece of equipment,” Jack said. “It’s part of a top secret Xyrodian project. It’s supposed to be in our prototype room under lock and key.”

“Willie lent it to me to field-test,” Joe explained. “Don’t worry. I’ll be careful with it.”

Jack frowned. “He had no right to lend it to you or anyone. I must insist—”

“It’s okay, Jack, really,” Amanda said, rejoining them. “Joe’s been very careful with the machine, and I don’t think he’s going to let it fall into the hands of our competitors.”

Jack threw up his hands. “I really don’t see the point of having rules if nobody pays any attention to them,” he proclaimed. “But as I said before, it is your company. Excuse me, I really do want to get something accomplished this morning.”

He stalked out of the room. Frank and Joe exchanged grins. Jack’s obsession with orderliness was incredible.

“I couldn’t reach Bennett,” Amanda reported. “I left a message on his machine, telling him we’d cracked the case and asking him to get over here as soon as possible.”

She picked up the videocassette, swallowed twice, and said, “Now for Tom. I hate this, but it has to be done. Come on.”

Her face pale but determined, she led Frank and Joe down the hall to Tom Trent’s office. The door was open. Tom was sitting at his desk, riffling through a stack of printouts. His jacket was off, his tie was loose, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in days.

“Well, you three are on the job early today,” he said with a smile.

“It’s no use pretending, Tom,” Amanda said. “We found out the truth.”

“Good for you,” he said, his smile fading. “But just what truth are you talking about, and why are you accusing me of pretending?”

Amanda shook her head sadly. “You’re the one who’s been pirating our games, Tom?”

He pulled his head back and peered at her over the rims of his reading glasses. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” he finally said. “Seriously crazy, if you ask me. Frank, Joe—have you tried to talk her out of this ridiculous idea?”

“It’s not ridiculous,” Joe said. He held up the videocassette. “The evidence is right here.”

“And in records that we can trace directly to you,” Frank added. “Dan Bennett is on his way over now. Once he sees what we’ve learned, I imagine he’ll arrest you on the piracy charge.”

“Arrest me?” Tom’s face turned red. “All three of you are insane!”

“What I can’t understand,” Joe said, “is how you could have killed Willie and tried to kill Amanda. Being greedy is one thing, but murdering the people who worked with you—I never would have guessed that of you, Mr. Trent.”

“Murder …” Tom’s face turned from red to purple. He stood up and clenched his fists. “I’ll fix you for that!” he shouted, and lunged at Joe.

Chapter 14

Joe’s eyes widened with surprise as Tom lunged at him. When the older man was just a couple of feet away, Joe took a swift step to the left, let him surge past, then grabbed him from behind. Tom struggled for a few moments against Joe’s bear hug. Then he relaxed, giving up.

“Hey, take it easy,” Joe said, releasing Tom but keeping a cautious eye on him. “It’s nothing personal. If we’re wrong, tell Dan Bennett your version of what happened.”

Tom slumped down on the large couch against one wall of the office. “This is insane,” he said. “Why would I counterfeit my own games? And killing Willie? And Pratt? It’s impossible!”

“What’s so impossible? You did it for the money,” Amanda replied. “People commit crimes for money all the time. And you counterfeited the games mostly as a screen to hide the fact that you were planning to sell Death Mall’s technology to the highest bidder.”

“Willie found proof of your guilt in the warehouse the other night,” Joe added. “So you had to kill him.”

Tom shook his head and spoke to Amanda. “I admit I had serious doubts about getting into virtual reality when you and Willie first came to me with the idea. But now I’ve seen what it can do. Death Mall is the game that’ll put Xyrodian in the history books. Why would I do anything to mess it up? As for murdering Willie, he and I were good friends. You know that. I even liked those crazy shirts of his.”

Amanda didn’t seem to hear him. “I can’t believe you betrayed me like this,” she said. “What were you going to do, start another company without me, using the money and the ideas you stole from Xyrodian?”

Joe tensed for action as Tom pushed himself up from the couch. But all he did, once on his feet, was pace back and forth across the room.

“Look, I have no idea what this so-called evidence of yours is,” Tom said. “But if you want proof of my innocence, just look in my files. Everything I’ve worked on for the last year is right there for you to see. You know how much importance I place on clear, methodical records.”

“We looked into your files last night,” Amanda said. “But you’re an intelligent person. You wouldn’t leave clues behind in your own files.”

Tom stopped and stared at her. “You’re saying I must be guilty because there’s nothing incriminating in my files? I guess you could prove that George Washington was a British agent, too—he never did anything that would prove he was one. What about my private locked files? Did you go through them?”

“Of course not,” Amanda replied. “You know I can’t get into them without your password.”

Tom went behind his desk. “Good, then have a look,” he said, typing on the keyboard of his computer terminal. “If you find anything that connects me with the counterfeiters, I’ll be glad to go to jail.”

Amanda glanced over at Frank and Joe questioningly.

“Why not?” Frank said. “Maybe you’ll find something relevant.”

“Okay,” Amanda said, walking around the desk. “I’ll need a complete list of your passwords.”

Tom typed in a few more keystrokes and a list of passwords came up on the screen. “I keep my passwords in a file,” he said. “Under ‘Passwords.’ “

“It’s so obvious!” Amanda exclaimed. “I don’t know how I could have missed them.”

Trent smiled. “That was Willie’s idea. He was sure that no hacker on earth would look for them there.”

Amanda shook her head. “Poor Willie,” she said. “He never could resist a good joke. He once wrote a subroutine that, when you tried to save a file, put the words, Tress any key to delete entire system’ on the screen. That would have caused a few nervous breakdowns, except that he couldn’t resist telling everyone about it in advance.”

Amanda began scanning the subdirectories, examining any files that sounded relevant. Frank and Joe stood behind her, watching the monitor. Amanda was halfway through the third subdirectory when she stiffened. Moving the cursor to a file called Kidd.Doc, she pressed Retrieve. Joe saw columns of numbers come on the screen.

Amanda stared at them for a moment, then pushed her chair back and glanced wonderingly at Tom. “What is it?” she demanded. “Were you sure no one would ever see these files? Do you get a kick out of flirting with danger?”

“What is it?” Frank asked.

“I just noticed a file named Kidd,” Amanda replied. “And if you’ll remember, Captain Kidd was a notorious pirate. When I retrieved the file, I found a complete list of all the games Tom counterfeited and how much he made on each one. Plus there’s a detailed list of distributors who aren’t picky about the source of the games they sell. Simon Pratt’s on that list, by the way.”

“I’ve never seen that file in my life!” Tom exclaimed. “Amanda, you’ve got to believe me!”

Amanda exited the file before Trent could protest or, worse, delete all the evidence with a keystroke. “Let’s see what Dan Bennett thinks,” she replied.

“But this is absurd,” Tom protested. “Why would I keep a complete file of my supposed criminal activities and then invite you to look at it? That just doesn’t make any sense.”

Frank exchanged a glance with Joe. Tom had a point. Something about this didn’t fit. If Amanda had hacked her way into the system last night and discovered the files, that would be a different matter. But why would anyone lead a bunch of investigators directly to the evidence that might well help convict him of murder?

“I can’t imagine how you thought you’d get away with it,” Amanda said. At that moment a familiar tinny tune emerged from the computer terminal. The threatening cartoon was back again. Everyone turned to look at the monitor as the four thugs chased the tiny Tom Trent, caught him, and dropped him on his head. Once more the words “You die, Trent!” appeared on the screen.

“I suppose you think I’m responsible for that piece of idiocy, too,” Tom said bitterly. “Why I’d do it is beyond me, but you don’t seem too interested in logic, Amanda.”

“I debugged that.” Amanda sounded confused. “I tracked it down in the mainframe and erased it!”

“Then where could it be coming from?” Frank asked Amanda.

“One of the smaller systems that feed into the mainframe, maybe,” Amanda replied. “Every workstation and microcomputer in the company has some sort of link to the mainframe. It could be any department in the company.”

“Why don’t you try tracing it?” Frank suggested.

“I can try,” Amanda said skeptically. “But I’m not sure what it will accomplish. We have enough evidence against Tom already.”

“Don’t even dream of looking for evidence that might clear me,” Tom told her sarcastically. “Your mind is obviously made up already.”

Amanda held her hands out to him. “Tom, that’s not fair! I’d love to think that you’re innocent. But I can’t shut my eyes to the facts.”

“I don’t want you to,” he replied. “But look at all the facts, not just the ones that weigh against me.”

With a tortured look, Amanda turned back to the keyboard. After a couple of minutes of concentrated work, she said, “Okay, it came from the mainframe, but that’s not its ultimate source. Does anybody remember the dates and times when it appeared before?”

“It showed up a few days ago,” Joe said. “When we first arrived.”

“That was Thursday, around eleven in the morning,” Frank said. “We were in this office when it first appeared.”

“Good,” Amanda answered, and began typing again.

“Then it came back again at VidCon,” Joe offered. ‘The first day of the show, remember?”

“Right,” Amanda replied. “And that was around noon … no, earlier.”

“It was ten in the morning,” Frank said. “I know because we’d missed the opening ceremony. But how does this help? What good does it do?”

“I’m running a check on all computer activity company-wide for those times,” Amanda replied. “If we get a match, then we’ll know the cartoon’s origin.”

“And once you know the origin, you know who sent it?”

“Close, anyway,” Amanda answered. “At the very least we’ll be able to tell what department the threat came from. My guess is that Tom set it to go off at a time when he knew people would be around to see it.”

“You’ll bend anything to fit your theory, won’t you?” Tom exclaimed. “How on earth would I have known you people would show up in my office at seven-fifteen this morning?”

“He’s got a point,” Joe said.

“The cartoon could be set to go off a certain amount of time after he starts using the computer,” Amanda argued. “Or just randomly, the way it did at VidCon.”

Trent, Frank, and Joe watched as she continued typing with complete concentration.

“Okay. Tom, or whoever programmed the threatening cartoon, didn’t think we’d get this far,” she said. “The message really isn’t from the mainframe. It’s from the accounting department’s computer, which sends a message to the mainframe whenever Tom signs on. That gives the computer his location and tells it where to send the program. That’s how the cartoon always finds him.”

“So the computer’s programmed to pass the information around?” Joe asked.

“That’s right,” Amanda said. “It’s like passing a note to somebody in class. One person passes it to the next, then to the next, until the note reaches the person it was meant for.”

“So you’re playing teacher now, right?” Frank asked.

“Exactly,” she said. “In this case, the accounting department just passed the note, so they’re not the guilty party. Right now I’m telling the computer to check to see where the note came from, which won’t be hard because we know where it ended up. It’s as if you had everyone in the class who touched the note stand up. Then you could follow the trail backward to the guilty party.”

“Wait a minute,” Frank said. “Everyone here works on a computer so much of the time. Couldn’t someone keep track of everybody that way?”

“Possibly,” Amanda replied. “As a matter of fact, Jack once worked out a program to do just that, but we scrapped the idea.”

“What was the idea?” Joe asked.

Amanda shrugged. “He figured the program would keep people from goofing off, I guess.”

“He even suggested rigging the doors so that we’d know where all of our people were the moment they entered their personal code,” Tom added. “Willie used to drive Jack crazy. You’d have had a better chance of finding Willie out in the parking lot working on his car than inside working at the computer.”

While the computer was engaged in checking all the records of computer use, Amanda said to Tom, “Remember the time Willie was working on Shoot the Tube, and he invited about fifty surfers to come by for a party? Jack nearly had a fit when Willie tried to claim it as research. But that was a great game.”

“It was a great party, too,” Tom said, smiling.

Amanda sat up straighter as the screen went blank. When it came back on, the top line read, Source unit: RD2.

“Oh, no!” Amanda cried. She spun around to face her partner. “Tom, I’m so sorry! Can you ever forgive me? Everything makes perfect sense now.”

“What is it?” Joe demanded, studying the screen. “What does that message mean?”

Tom said grimly, “It means that the original source of that idiotic program was one of the computers in our research and development lab—Jack Milner’s computer, to be exact.”

“Jack? A pirate?” Amanda asked, stunned.

“Not just a pirate,” Frank told her. “He’s a murderer as well!”

Chapter 15

Amanda began typing furiously. “I’m going to try to bring up a directory of the hard disk in Jack’s computer,” she explained, “but I’m not sure—Uh—oh.”

In brightly colored oversize letters, the words “Game over” flashed onto the screen.

“He must have rigged some kind of personal alarm,” Amanda said. “Now he knows we’re trying to crack his files.”

“It’s time to ask Jack a few questions,” Frank said, heading for the door. But before he could take two steps, alarms started going off all over the building.

“What’s that?” Joe asked, startled.

Tom ran for the door. “If that turkey has set a fire in the building, I’ll tear him to pieces!”

Frank, Joe, and Amanda followed Tom into the hall, where he quickly unlocked the door to the closet that contained the building’s alarm system.

“Everything’s going off,” Tom yelled above the din of bells, horns, and sirens. “Fire, earthquake, break-in, even the alarm that tells us the mainframe’s crashed!”

“I’ll enter the codes to shut them down.” Amanda selected one key from a crowded ring, inserted it in a slot, and punched a six-digit number on the alarm system’s keypad. But the din continued.

“Jack must have rigged the alarm to bypass the control panel,” Amanda guessed. “In about twenty seconds we’re going to have everyone in our front yard from the local ambulance corps to the Atomic Energy Commission. Jack must be hoping to use the confusion to mask his getaway.”

“How do we shut down the alarms?” Frank asked.

“Through the research and development lab,” Amanda answered, taking off down the hall.

It was no use. The door didn’t respond to Amanda’s code. Tom’s code didn’t work either.

“Joe, go tell the fire department it’s a false alarm,” Amanda said. “I’ll keep trying the door.”

Joe raced back down the corridor and through the lobby. As he reached the outside door he saw five fire trucks, four police cars, a private security van, and Dan Bennett pulling into the parking lot.

By the time Bennett got out of his car, Joe was explaining the situation to the fire chief, without much success.

“Joe, what’s going on?” Bennett demanded, flashing his Customs Service ID to the fire chief.

“We just figured out that Jack Milner is behind the whole plot,” Joe said. “He’d rigged all the alarms to go off as soon as we got into the computer file and found the evidence.”

“Is he still in the building?” Bennett asked.

“I think so, but all the doors to the research and development lab are locked,” Joe replied.

“Okay. I’ll explain the situation to these people, then join you inside,” Bennett said.

Joe raced back into the building to find Amanda, Frank, and Tom still clustered around the locked door.

“We could break it down,” Frank suggested.

“These doors are reinforced with steel,” said Tom, “and so are the walls. The whole building is supposedly earthquake-proof.”

“How about going in through a window?” Joe offered.

“The R and D lab doesn’t have windows,” Amanda said. “And there are six lockable doors between here and there. It would take an armored division to break in.”

Suddenly the intercom unit next to the door buzzed. Amanda pressed the button and said, “Jack, is that you? Come out now. This is crazy.”

“Don’t try to break in,” Jack’s voice replied over the intercom. “The first move you make, I’ll destroy the mainframe.”

“Maybe you should talk to him,” Frank said to Trent.

The company president nodded and moved closer to the intercom. “Jack, it’s me, Tom,” he said into the small panel. “Let’s talk this over reasonably. What do you want?”

“What do I want?” Jack replied. Frank was sure he heard a faint giggle at the end of the question. “I want you to stay where you are. That’s what I want.”

“Why are you doing this? You must have an aim in mind,” Tom continued.

“Sure I do,” Jack replied. “I want this place to be different. The way it is now, everyone gets away with everything. Look at Willie Gage. He never followed any of the rules, and what happened? He got a promotion!”

“Jack, that’s not quite the way it was,” Amanda said, leaning toward the speaker. “We’ve never had many rules around here.”

“A water balloon fight in the parking lot? That’s not against the rules? And what about the rap group he hired to perform at the company picnic?”

“People liked it,” Tom said. “The rap group made the party fun.”

“I hate rap music!” Jack’s voice snapped back. “But you let Willie get away with anything. You never even took my advice on a dress code. And

then you promoted him! I should have had that job!”

“Is that what this is about, Jack?” Tom asked. “Willie was right for the job. He had more experience than you. That’s why we promoted him.”

Dan Bennett joined the group as the alarm bells stopped ringing.

“You always liked Willie better than me,” Jack’s voice continued over the intercom. “If Willie had set off all the alarms, you’d have thought it was just a prank.”

“No, Jack, this is serious,” Tom insisted. “I’d like you to unlock the door and come out now.”

“Not until you promise that things are going to be different around here from now on.”

“Different? In what way?” Tom asked.

Frank saw him glance at Bennett, who mouthed the words “Keep him talking!” Tom nodded.

“For a start, we’ll establish a dress code,” Jack’s voice proclaimed. “Coats and ties only in the office, and maybe sports jackets on weekends. And no visiting between offices. And no gum chewing. I hate watching people chew gum. And only one coffee break each morning and afternoon.”

Joe rolled his eyes as Tom said carefully, “Those are interesting proposals, Jack. I’ll give them some thought. Is there anything else?”

“Well, yes.” Frank thought he heard another giggle. “I want to be able to design really involving games like Clean Up Your Room!” Jack answered. “And I have another terrific idea for a game. It’s called No! You’re Not Old Enough.”

“Sounds interesting,” Tom said. His face showed utter disbelief. Covering the intercom with his hand, he turned and said to Amanda, “I think he’s totally wigged out.”

“I’ve still got some details to work out,” Jack continued. “But the general idea is that each time the hero tries to do something dangerous, a message comes on that says, ‘No! You’re not old enough,’ and he loses points. To win, you have to play it safe.”

“That’s something we can talk about,” Tom said. “But you’ll have to come out first.”

“That’s why I started selling Xyrodian games to Pratt and the others, so I could start my own company and design my kind of games,” Jack continued. “Pratt said he would be my partner, but he let me down. He shouldn’t have done that. It hurt my feelings.”

Bennett, stern-faced, motioned Frank, Joe, and Amanda away from the intercom. “He’s either crazy or pretending to be crazy,” he said. “Whichever, we’ve got to get in there.”

“He’s in the most secure part of the whole building, and he knows it,” Amanda told him.

“There must be a way in,” Bennett insisted.

Amanda said, “The locks are electronically controlled, and they aren’t responding to any of our codes.”

“Wait!” Joe exclaimed. “Remember how we shorted the lock’s wires to open the computer room door? Will Jack be able to tell what we’re doing if he’s monitoring the controls?”

“Maybe not,” Amanda answered. “But can we take the risk? He’s threatening to destroy the mainframe.”

“He’s holding your computer hostage?” Bennett asked incredulously.

“That’s the way it stacks up,” Amanda said.

“Does he have any weapons?” Bennett asked. “Guns, dynamite, anything like that?”

“I don’t think so,” Amanda replied. “He’s a programmer at heart. The computer is his weapon.”

“Is there anything on that main computer that can’t be replaced?” Bennett asked.

Amanda thought for a long time before saying, “We should have backup copies of almost everything.”

“Then let’s give it a shot,” Bennett said.

While Tom continued his conversation with Jack, Joe began carefully removing the tiny screws that held the door code keypad in place.

“Here goes,” Frank murmured. He disconnected the wires and touched the yellow and blue together. There was a faint click.

Jack didn’t seem to have noticed. “And when Willie fiddled with your credit card, everybody thought it was hilarious. But I play one little joke on Amanda’s credit card and nobody laughs. It’s just not fair!”

Drawing his gun, Bennett slowly pushed the door open and started down the corridor while Frank, Joe, and Amanda followed at a safe distance. Moments later the group was stopped by another locked door. Once more, Joe opened it.

“Do you think he knows we’re coming?” Joe asked, as he started to work on the next door. “He could be monitoring us right now.”

“If he were, he’d start talking on one of these intercoms,” Amanda replied.

Moving more quickly with practice, Joe got the door open, and he and the others followed Bennett down the corridor that led to the R&D lab. When they reached the door, Frank said, “Last one.”

This keypad was mounted lower on the doorframe than the others had been. Joe hunkered down and began unscrewing the keypad. As he worked on the first screw, he leaned his shoulder lightly against the door to steady himself. With no warning, the door swung inward. He nearly fell forward into the lab. Jack hadn’t even bothered to lock the door!

Joe pulled back, sensing a trap. But when he and the others followed Bennett inside, they found the room empty.

“Look!” Amanda said in a whisper. She pointed to a long double strand of wire that ran from the lab’s intercom near the door, back along an aisle of cubicles.

Bennett took the lead, following the wires straight to Jack’s cubicle. In the middle of the desk was a disassembled cellular phone. The wires from the intercom were attached to it. The light on the phone was on, indicating that it was in use.

“He’s talking from an. outside phone somewhere,” Amanda cried. “He’s escaped!”

Chapter 16

Dan Bennett looked at the electronic components on the desktop and said, “Would somebody please tell me what’s going on?”

“Jack wired the intercom to a cellular phone,” Amanda explained. “A kid could do it.”

“Wait. I’ve got an idea,” Frank said. “Joe, go tell Tom to keep talking, no matter what. And let him know that Jack isn’t a nut. He’s just stalling for time while he makes his getaway.”

“What’s your idea, Frank?” asked Amanda.

“I just remembered something my buddy Phil Cohen once told me,” Frank replied. “He said it’s possible to use the phone company’s computer to keep tabs on which cell a particular cellular phone is using.”

“What’s a cell?” Dan asked.

“It’s a small area served by a single two-way radio setup,” Frank explained. “If you make a phone call from a moving car, the central computer automatically hands your call off from one cell to the next one. Which means that the computer knows the location, within a pretty small area, of anybody who’s making a call on a cellular phone.”

“Even if the person’s not making a call,” Amanda corrected him. “There’s also what’s called the paging channel. The station in any cell keeps track of all the phones within its range and feeds the information back to the computer. That’s how the system knows which cell to activate when you have an incoming call.”

She fell silent for a moment, then let out a gasp. “Of course,” she said. “That’s how Jack was able to keep track of where I was all the time. He used the paging channel. It’s as if I were always carrying a homing device on me. And Tom carries a cellular, too. So did Willie.”

“The question is, can we get the cooperation of the phone company quickly enough to do any good?” Frank said.

“I think I can swing that,” Dan said. He pulled his cellular phone from a case on his belt and started to dial.

Joe returned and murmured, “Tom’s got Jack describing another of his game ideas. This one’s even weirder than the others. All I heard was the title—Sewage Plant.”

“That’ll wow ‘em,” Frank predicted dryly.

He quickly filled Joe in on the plan. As he was finishing, Dan turned off his phone and said, “We have permission to patch into the telephone company’s computer system. Amanda, is that something you can handle?”

“Like falling off a log,” she replied, and sat down at a nearby terminal.

“We have to be able to follow him,” Frank pointed out. “And he’s got a good head start.”

“No problem,” Dan said with a grin. He punched another number, waited, and said, “This is Bennett. I’m at Xyrodian, and I need a chopper, now. That’s the best you can do? Okay, ten minutes, max.”

As he turned off the phone, he gave Frank and Joe a wink. “Let’s get out to the parking lot,” he said. “The chopper will be right along.”

From her computer, Amanda said, “I’ll stay here and pass along any information I get. Happy hunting.”

A couple of minutes after the Hardys and Bennett reached the parking lot, a small helicopter set down. They ran over to it, ducking under the rotors, and climbed in. The helicopter was in the air even before they finished strapping themselves in. Bennett took the front seat next to the pilot, while Joe and Frank shared the back.

As the ground fell away, Bennett passed back two helmets with attached microphones and earphones. “Can you guys hear me?” he asked over the intercom circuit.

“Loud and clear,” Frank replied.

“Me, too,” Joe added.

“We’ve got Amanda on the line,” Bennett continued. “I’ll patch you fellows in.”

“The number corresponds to the one on Jack’s car phone,” Amanda’s voice said. “That means he’s driving a light gray two-door with California plates. Do you want the license number?”

“If we’re close enough to read the number, we’re close enough to recognize his face,” Bennett replied. “Any word on his location?”

A short silence, then Amanda said, “He’s on or near Route One-oh-one, probably northbound.”

Bennett passed on this information to the pilot. The helicopter banked sharply and came around to a northerly heading.

“He’s just passed into the cell near Mountain View,” Amanda added. “It looks as if he’s heading for San Francisco.”

“Here, use these,” Bennett said to Frank and Joe. He passed back two pairs of lightweight binoculars. Frank held them to his eyes and looked down toward the highway. Suddenly he seemed to be within fifty feet of the ground. He could even make out the teddy bear on the rear shelf of a southbound sedan.

“He just turned east,” Amanda suddenly announced. “Where’s he going? To jump into the bay?”

Frank tried to visualize a map of the Bay Area. “Isn’t there an airport over that way?” he asked.

“Sure,” the pilot said. “Palo Alto. I just came from there.”

“I think you’d better head back there,” Frank suggested. “That’s probably Jack’s goal.”

Bennett nodded and said, “Take us there, fast.” The chopper banked sharply, and the noise of the engine increased.

“Bad news, guys,” Amanda’s voice announced. “Jack just hung up. Tom couldn’t keep him talking any longer. Ajid it’ll take too much time to tap into the paging channel. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Frank replied. “We think we know where he’s headed.”

“And I think I just spotted him,” Joe added excitedly. “To the left, on that narrow road. See the dust?”

Frank saw the gray car speeding along the back road.

While the chopper swerved in the direction of the car, Bennett radioed for backup units. Then he looked over his shoulder and said, “The timing’s very tight. We might lose him in spite of everything.”

“Not a chance,” Joe declared. “Let’s go right in to deck level.”

The pilot glanced at Bennett, who nodded. Instantly the helicopter went into a steep dive, its target the gray sedan. “I’m going to give him a couple of bounces,” the pilot told them. Descending to treetop level directly above Jack’s car, he made the chopper move sharply down, then up.

The second time he did it, Jack’s car swerved wildly.

“How about setting down in the middle of the road up ahead of him?” Joe suggested.

Moments later the chopper was hovering just inches above the concrete. Jack’s car came around a curve, braked sharply, and veered into a driveway. A moment later it was speeding away from them, back in the direction it had come.

The chopper pilot muttered angrily and put his craft in motion again. This time he passed over the gray car, only a few feet above it. Bennett grabbed a microphone from the instrument panel and thumbed the red button on the side.

“You in the gray sedan,” his voice boomed out. “This is the United States Customs Service. Come to a stop immediately and exit the vehicle with your hands over your head.”

Jack’s response was to try another racing U-turn, but this time he finished with his rear wheels spinning uselessly in a ditch.

“We’ve got him now,” Dan said.

“Do we?” Joe demanded. “Look!”

The car door swung open. Jack Milner sprang out and ran for a nearby grove of trees. He had a briefcase in one hand.

“Down,” Bennett ordered, pointing to make sure the chopper pilot understood.

The moment the runners touched the ground, Joe was out and running. He knew that Frank was behind him somewhere, but this was a race he meant to handle on his own.

In spite of Jack’s long lead, Joe gained on him with every stride. Jack was nearly to the edge of the grove of trees when Joe launched himself into the air and caught the murderous game designer around the knees. They toppled to the ground together.

“Okay, Joe, I’ve got him covered,” Dan said, holding his revolver in the regulation two-handed grip.

Joe pushed himself to his feet and rejoined Frank.

“You think you’re so smart,” Jack said, sitting up and trying to brush the dirt from his suit jacket “Gage thought that, too. But I showed him. My games were better than his, no matter what any of them said.”

“Jack,” Frank said as Bennett produced a pair of handcuffs from under his jacket, “It’s time to clean up your room!”

Frank and Joe watched with satisfaction as the last of the thugs went flying through the plate-glass window of the pet store. Suddenly they heard the roar of powerful engines. From the far end of the mall, two menacing hoods came speeding toward them on motorcycles. Each had a sawed-off shotgun propped up on his handlebars.

Joe spun on his heel and brought his flechette bracelet to bear on them. The button clicked on empty.

“Frank!” he cried out. “What do we do now?”

“I guess we—” Frank paused, then added, “We blast them back to Grunge City!”

Raising his hand quickly, he sent four fle-chettes tracing through the air toward the bikers. Three of the darts were on target. The two motorcycles skidded out of control and plunged into a reflecting pool. A cloud of steam rose.

Suddenly Frank’s helmet was filled with the sound of applause in living stereo. He carefully removed his helmet and exchanged grins with Joe as Amanda burst through the door into Xyrodi-an’s virtual reality room.

“You guys were fantastic,” she announced. “We were all watching you on the monitors. Death Mall is definitely the hit of VidCon!”

The room began to fill with game designers, players, and executives from other companies. All had been bused out to Xyrodian headquarters for a first look at Death Mall.

“That was amazing,” one of the fans said, looking with awe at Joe and Frank. “How did you two get to be so good at fighting bad guys?”

Joe laughed. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said, smiling. “I guess we play a lot of video games.”