Gold Medal Murder by Franklin W. Dixon Read Free Book Online

I was in pretty good shape. Being a superspy and all, I get a lot of exercise. But this place was filled with… with giants and amazons and freakishly strong-looking men and women! Often you could tell their sport just by looking at them. Legs like steel pillars? Track. Biceps bigger than my head? Discus. Doing a stretch that seemed to simultaneously dislocate their hips, neck, legs, and spine? Gymnastics.
    Frank was there as well. I caught his eye and he nodded, but that was it. With Scott already a little suspicious, it seemed best not to spend too much time near him. We just went our own ways, each subtly keeping an eye on Scott. Not that I thought that anything could happen to him here, in the middle of all these people, but still—better safe than sorry.
    For about an hour, all of the athletes “trained” in front of the cameras. Scott would dive in the water, swim a little ways, get a dozen or so photos taken, and then repeat the whole thing. All around the stadium, other athletes were doing the same thing, so that the papers and TV crews would have some good shots for the coming days of competition. Finally, all of the athleteschanged into their official Team USA jumpsuits, which were white with red and blue piping around the wrists, necks, and ankles. Then they got together in front of the pillar that would eventually hold the Olympic torch, which was fittingly shaped like the Statue of Liberty. This was the final group photo. After this, it would be time for some real training.
    â€œThe Star-Spangled Banner” came on, and everyone in the auditorium stood with their hands over their hearts as the television cameras rolled. Suddenly, the sound cut out. There was a high-pitched feedback explosion, and then Scott’s voice came rolling out of the speakers.
    â€œThis whole thing is a joke. I could whip any of those other athletes. And don’t even get me started on my teammates—lazy, good-for-nothing.”
    For the first few seconds, people were frozen. But as Scott’s voice droned on, insulting the Olympics and his team, people started gasping, laughing, and shouting. Loudest of all was Scott himself.
    â€œWhat the? I never said any of that! Someone turn this off!”
    Worst of all, the television cameras were all still rolling. I knew what the headlines of tomorrow’s papers were going to be. This was a public relations nightmare. Even though it sounded like Scott’s voice, I couldn’t believe he would say all of these things. Something wasn’t right, and I had to put a stop to it.
    I ran to the audio booth from which the sound was being projected. There was no one in it. I looked over all the equipment. Finally, I spotted a blinking green light on what I guessed to be a CD player. I jammed the eject button, and Scott’s voice finally cut out. I grabbed the CD. I wanted to take a closer look at it.
    I heard someone behind me. As I turned around, a voice called out.
    â€œJoe Hardy! I thought that was you.”

CHAPTER 6
 FAKE OUT
FRANK
    â€œWhoa! Sweet ride, Nance.” Joe let out a long whistle.
    He was right—her car was hot! It was a pimped out sky blue convertible hybrid! I’d never seen anything like it.
    â€œThis is not standard issue,” said Joe, exploring the electronics along the dashboard.
    â€œNope,” said Nancy. “This is a specialty model. One of a kind, thanks to these two.” She pointed to Bess and George.
    â€œYou guys did this?” said Joe. “I love a girl who knows her way around an engine!” He wiggled his eyebrows at Bess, and she stuck her tongue out at him.
    â€œAll right, enough flirting,” I said. “Get in the back. The last thing we need is for you and I to be seen together!”If a picture of the two of us together got out, my cover would be blown. ATAC would not like that. And there were media types all over the place. Thankfully, they’d been a bit too busy