Joe gritted his teeth as the van barreled forward. But the helicopter was lifting off right in front of them. And straight ahead was the cliff’s edge, only twenty feet away.
Hitting the gas, Joe steered the van through a wild skid that brought them almost to the brink of the long drop to the water below. Safely stopped, he brought up his hand, his thumb and index finger about an inch apart. “Missed it by this much.”
“The helicopter or the cliffside?” Frank asked sarcastically. He gazed over the edge of the cliff, across the turbulent blue-green sea, trying to spot which way Coates’s helicopter had gone. “I guess we just wait for Chief Collig—” The steady thwump-thwump-thwump of an approaching helicopter cut off his words.“It’s the police chopper!” Joe shouted.
The copter’s cargo-bay door burst open and Con Riley waved them over. The boys quickly boarded the bird, and it lifted off the ground, turning even as it rose into the air. The swifter police chopper soon had Coates’s escape craft in sight. Seconds later, they were flying above it. Joe wondered if Coates and his secretary had even spotted them. “Now what?” Frank said. “We can’t shoot them down,” Todd said.
“I have an idea,” Joe spoke up. He pulled several lengths of chain, maybe eight feet long, from a canvas bag lashed to the side of the fuselage. “I saw this in a movie once. They used some cable, but this should do the trick.” “What are those things?” Frank asked. “They’re used to tie down aircraft in rough weather,” Todd explained. Joe counted out the lengths of chain. “We have six of them. If we can entangle one of the chopper’s rotor heads, these babies will wrap around the pitch rods.”
A wide grin creased Frank’s face. “In other words, Kimmy won’t be able to steer.”
A wicked smile curved Todd’s lips. “That’s right. She’ll have to bring it down.” “I’ll go up front and tell Con and the pilot what we’re up to,” Frank said. “Let’s wait until we’re above the ocean. I don’t want Coates crashing through the roof of someone’s house.” A moment later Frank returned. “When we’re above the water, the pilot will take this chopper down as close as he can. Joe, I’ll hold on to you while you play bombardier and toss the chains.”
“Gee, thanks,” Joe said as he slid the cargo-bay door open. A blast of wind and noise hit them. Joe took several chains in his hands. Frank got securely braced inside the bird, then took a good grip on Joe’s belt. Seconds later they were above the ocean. The police chopper swooped to within feet of the fleeing helicopter, so close Joe could feel the police chopper shudder in the slipstream of Coates’s heli copter. Joe felt he could almost reach out and grab the fleeing craft’s rotors.
He let go of the first chain. It missed the blade by inches, rattling off the side of Coates’s chopper. Then he dropped the second one. A complete miss. He dropped the third one. Kim managed to swerve the helicopter away at the last second. He dropped the fourth One.
Bull’s-eye. Coates’s helicopter suddenly plummeted down ward toward the sea, zigging and zagging crazily as Kim tried to maintain control. It hit the water with a big white splash. Todd stared down at the sea in frozen horror. “For their sake I hope the coast guard arrives soon. That water’s freezing.” “Bombers! Bombers!” Joe didn’t know what was louder: the chanting of the crowd, the stomping feet, or the beating of his own heart. He took a deep breath to calm himself.
Bayport’s coach had just called his last time-out. They had time for only one final play—a give-and- go. Coach Moran looked Joe in the eye. “Joe, I know you love to shoot, but I want to see you pass this time!” The ref blew his whistle for play to resume, and the Bombers and the Slickers trudged back out onto the court. The crowd came to its feet for the final seconds of play.
“Bombers! Bombers!”
Joe broke free of his man and took the inbound pass. Immediately, two Slickers came running for him. Great, Joe thought, now I’m double-teamed. Dribbling through heavy traffic, Joe was relieved when Frank appeared, setting up a pick to block Joe’s guards so he could get free again. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, Joe leaped up like a gazelle, soaring high into the air.
In a fraction of a second, his eyes took it all in, as if the game had suddenly shifted to slow motion. Jake Berman had sniffed out the play—he’d intercept the pass if Joe tried it. In midair, Joe shifted the ball from his right hand to his left to avoid the block, twisted his body sideways, and dunked the ball inches from Berman’s face. The crowd erupted—standing, cheering, screaming, and howling with delight—as the buzzer sounded, ending the game.
The bleachers quickly emptied of Bayport fans, who spilled out onto the basketball court. They mobbed Joe, patting him on the back, slapping high-fives, finally lifting him onto their collective shoulders and carrying him around the sports arena.“We’re number one! We’re number one!” they chanted. Frank, also riding high on the shoulders of his teammates, ended up next to Joe. He shook his head in amazement. “Great shot, Joe. This is one time I’m glad you didn’t follow orders.” Joe gave his brother two thumbs-up as they were carried into the locker room for a post-game celebration. “I just hope Coach feels the same way!” Joe shouted back.
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