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    The Chase for the Mystery Twister
    The Chase for the Mystery Twister
    The Chase for the Mystery Twister
    Ebook126 pages1 hour

    The Chase for the Mystery Twister

    By Franklin W. Dixon

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    About this ebook

    The Hardy Boys head to Oklahoma, where crime is spinning out of control in the wide-open spaces of tornado alley. Frank and Joe encounter a bizarre phenomenon: the aftermath of a fierce twister that defies scientific explanation. To get at the truth, the Hardys will have to put themselves in the path of destruction—and face the explosive fury of a criminal mastermind.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAladdin
    Release dateFeb 26, 2013
    ISBN9781442489110
    The Chase for the Mystery Twister
    Author

    Franklin W. Dixon

    Franklin W. Dixon is the author of the ever-popular Hardy Boys books.

    Read more from Franklin W. Dixon

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      Book preview

      The Chase for the Mystery Twister - Franklin W. Dixon

      The Chase for the Mystery Twister, by Franklin W. Dixon. Aladdin.

      Contents

      1. A Rough Ride to Twister Alley

      2. In the Shadow of a Twister

      3. The Disappearance of Toby Gill

      4. The Mystery Twister Strikes

      5. Blown Away

      6. Up in Flames

      7. A Hidden Fugitive

      8. The Wrong Gun

      9. The Black-Haired Man

      10. Caught on Tape

      11. Uncovering the Impostor

      12. A Spectacular Theft

      13. The Telltale Weather Vane

      14. A Hundred-Foot Drop

      15. Monster Truck Terror

      16. Caught Inside a Tornado

      1 A Rough Ride to Twister Alley

      Whoa! Joe Hardy shouted as the left wing of the twin-prop commuter plane dipped and the plane shuddered, battered by strong winds.

      It’s just turbulence, Frank Hardy assured his younger brother, not looking up from his book.

      Joe peered out the window at the gray blanket of clouds surrounding them. The six-foot, athletically built seventeen-year-old was usually fearless, but small planes combined with bad weather made him nervous.

      I thought we’d be flying on a big jet, he said, running his hand through his blond hair and shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

      I guess no big jets go to Tulip, Oklahoma, Frank responded, casually turning a page.

      You’ll need to put your tray table up for landing, a flight attendant told Frank. Still reading, Frank pushed the table into its closed, locked position.

      Joe looked at his slightly taller, brown-haired brother in wonder. Either you have nerves of steel, or that’s the greatest book ever written.

      We’re going to be meeting the author, Frank explained. I’d like to be able to understand half of what he’s saying.

      "Debris Patterns of Midwest and Central Plains Windstorms, by Lemar Jansen, Joe read aloud from the book cover. I don’t suppose that’s on the best-seller list."

      Do you want to take a look? Frank asked as the plane pitched back and forth in the wind.

      Right now, I couldn’t make sense of a comic strip, let alone a college textbook, Joe said. He closed his eyes. Let me know when we’re on the ground.

      Now, Frank replied.

      Joe’s eyes snapped open just as the wheels touched down. A few seconds earlier, all he could see were gray clouds. Now the small plane was braking on the runway. He looked above at the dark, ominous sky. Wow, that’s what I call low cloud cover.

      Let’s hope Phil is on time, Frank said, sliding his book into his carry-on bag. I hope we can get off the road before those thunderclouds let loose.

      • • •

      The Tulip, Oklahoma, airport was so small, there was no baggage carousel. As Frank and Joe scanned the luggage lined up against a wall inside the terminal, they heard an announcement: Frank and Joe Hardy, please report to the customer service representative in the baggage claim area.

      The Hardys turned and began to laugh when they saw their friend Phil Cohen standing close by, speaking through his cupped hands. Beside him were their two suitcases.

      You are now looking at the customer service representative, Phil said. Let’s get a move on.

      In the parking lot, Phil hefted his friends’ suitcases into the bed of a battered 1973 blue pickup truck.

      These are your wheels? Joe asked, nudging Frank.

      Hey, I’m just an intern, Phil replied. "I’m lucky Mr. Jansen lets me drive any of the Windstormers’ vehicles."

      Windstormers? Joe asked.

      That’s the name of Mr. Jansen’s tornado-chasing team, Frank told his brother.

      Joe felt the dimpled depressions on the truck’s roof and hood. It looks like someone took a hammer to this thing.

      Any storm-chasing vehicle worth its salt has those, Phil said proudly. They’re from hailstorms that happen often around here.

      Phil told his friends more about his spring internship with Lemar Jansen, one of the leading researchers and experts on tornado debris patterns. I’ve had to learn a lot about meteorology—the study of weather—and how to operate the different equipment used to forecast and track windstorms.

      Sounds exciting, Frank said.

      It does, doesn’t it? Phil said. So far, though, it’s been a lot of hard work and waiting around. But I think that’s about to change.

      As they pulled out onto the two-lane highway, a hard rain began to fall. Talk about a lousy day for traveling, Joe said.

      That’s true, but it’s a perfect day for the first tornado of the season, Phil noted, gazing up at the threatening sky. Warm air has been pushed up from the Gulf of Mexico and moved beneath the cold, dry air left over from winter.

      If I understand Mr. Jansen’s book correctly, that spells trouble, Frank concluded.

      It spells fun if you’re a Windstormer, Phil replied.

      Cool. The only twister I’ve seen is the one that dropped Dorothy’s house in Munchkinland, Joe said with a smile.

      Well, Joe, you’ve come to the right place to see the real thing. We’re in Twister Alley, Phil said. He flipped the windshield wipers to full speed as the rain increased. More tornadoes touch down here than anywhere else in the world. In fact, some locals call the town of Lone Wolf the tornado capital of the world.

      That’s a distinction I’ll bet they could live without. It must be really bad for tourism, Frank said.

      You’d be surprised, Frank, Phil replied. Tornado chasing has become a thrill sport for a lot of people.

      Joe spotted the headlights of a tractor-trailer coming toward them from the other direction.

      Sounds like a dangerous pastime, Frank remarked.

      Dangerous in a lot of ways, Phil agreed. Mr. Jansen had a lot of close calls last tornado season. He and his researchers nearly collided a dozen times with thrill seekers following the same twister.

      As the tractor-trailer drew closer, it sounded its horn loudly. Phil— Joe warned his friend.

      The huge semi passed within a few feet of their pickup truck, creating a crosswind that drove the smaller vehicle off onto the soft shoulder of the road. Phil countered, keeping a firm grip on the steering wheel and turning back toward the highway.

      Frank’s head shot back as the passenger side of the truck passed within inches of a posted speed limit sign before Phil finally brought the pickup back onto the highway and under control.

      Man! That guy must have been doing ninety! Joe exclaimed.

      I wonder where he’s going in such a hurry, Frank said.

      The only thing in that direction is Tulip, Phil replied.

      We should report the driver before he really hurts someone, Frank suggested. Did anyone get a look at what company owns the truck?

      It was unmarked, Joe replied. Just painted plain white. The guy inside had black curly hair and a mustache, but that’s all I could see.

      Did you notice the Doppler effect? Phil said out of the blue.

      The what? Joe asked.

      The Doppler effect, Phil repeated. As the truck got closer, the acoustic waves of his horn rose in pitch. After it passed, the sound faded to a dull moan.

      Phil, we were a few inches away from being roadkill back there, Joe said. This is probably not the best time to be giving us a science lesson.

      Sorry, Phil said, smiling. I’ve just learned so much from Mr. Jansen the last two weeks. It’s the principle of how the Doppler radar works. That’s what the Windstormers use to track tornadoes.

      I read about that, Frank told his friend. A radar reflection from a moving object changes frequency, depending on whether the object is moving toward or away from the radar.

      In our case, the moving object is the tornado, Phil added. That’s how meteorologists get the computerized images of storms that they show on the TV news.

      Well, right now the radar in my stomach is trying to bounce some waves off the nearest burger place, Joe joked.

      Good luck. Phil laughed. There’s nothing but cornfields for the next ten miles.

      A garbled voice suddenly crackled over the citizen’s band radio in the truck. How close are you to Route Thirty-one, Greg? Come on?

      Sounds like we picked up some trucker on your CB, Frank said.

      No, this is set to a special frequency, Phil replied as he turned up the volume.

      I see it, Jed. Looks like an F two, another garbled voice replied.

      Who is that? Joe asked.

      Jed is Jed McPlat. Greg is his boss, Phil said, tilting his head to look at the sky through the top of the windshield.

      His boss? In what business? Frank asked.

      The storm-chasing business, Phil replied. Greg Glover and his team are our chief competition.

      Buckle your seat belt, Jed, Greg Glover’s voice came over the radio.

      That sounded loud and clear. They must be getting closer, Frank said.

      A split second later, a black

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