The Network Mystery

By Cassidy Montague

Chapter 1 "Waking Up Is Hard to Do"

Joe Hardy woke to the taste of a girl who was no longer his girlfriend on his lips and the vision of her fresh in his mind. He blinked his eyes several times to clear the sleep from them and sighed as he settled back against the warm softness of his pillows. As he woke more fully, the girl's face faded until it was the ghost of a vision that it had been since her death only a year before.

Sorry, Iola, he thought again, not for the first time in that last year. I'm so sorry that you were the one who died. It should have been me.

Joe rolled over onto his side and buried his face into the pillow, ignoring the chiding of his older brother in his ears. Frank always insisted that Iola's death was no more Joe's fault than it was Frank's or Chet's or anyone else's. It was the fault of Al-Roussasa, the Assassin who had set the bomb in their car and blown it to kingdom come, along with dark-haired, pixie-faced Iola Morton.

It was Al-Roussasa's fault, Joe reminded himself. And Al-Roussasa is now dead – he had paid the price for everything he has done.

Stretching, Joe finally sat up and looked toward the window in his room. He could see a beam of sunlight through a break in the curtains and he turned to look at the clock on his bedside table. 7:00 a.m. Why on God's green earth was he awake this early on a Saturday? He didn't like mornings as a rule and waking up at 7 a.m. on a day when he had no school was absolutely insane.

All right, Hardy, Joe told himself. Let's move. Up and at 'em boy. You know why you're up. Vanessa wants you to help her at the rummage sale. And you have to go and pick her up before you go!

Joe sprang to his feet and went into the bathroom he shared with his older brother, Frank. Joe brushed his teeth before running a comb through his blonde curls and washing his face and hands. He applied deodorant before digging into his closet for a clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt. The first t-shirt he came to read featured a rabbit in front of a car with a mad driver that read: "I'm only nice to one person everyday, today is not your day, tomorrow doesn't look good either."

Since it was a t-shirt that his current girlfriend, Vanessa, had given him, it was the perfect shirt to wear for the day. He pulled his t-shirt on and found a pair of clean socks, put them and his tennis shoes on and galloped down the stairs.

"Morning, Mom!" he crossed to his mother and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "How's my favorite lady in the whole world today?"

Laura Hardy cast an amused glance at her blue-eyed son. "I'm just fine. And what has you so cheerful this morning?"

"It's beautiful out!" Joe pointed to the living room where sunlight shone in, lighting it. "Can't you just see yourself out in that today?"

"Who are you and what have you done with my son?" Laura waved a spatula at him. "You've been replaced by a clone."

Joe laughed. "I'm in a good mood is all," Joe sat down at the table and dished two already prepared pancakes onto a plate. It took no time at all to eat them, or the next three pancakes that came off of the griddle. "Mmm, good pancakes, Mom. Where's Dad?"

"Out fighting with the lawn mower," Laura motioned to the backyard with her spatula. "He thought that since he'd be home for a bit that he might get to know the back lawn again. I think the lawn mower is winning, though."

Joe laughed. "You might remind him that you have to pump the handle twice, then pull the cord."

"I might," Laura smiled mischievously. "And I might let him fight with it a while longer. I'd hate to deprive the mighty hunter of his morning's amusement."

"You're bad, Mom," Joe laughed.

"I know," Laura said. "I take after my youngest son."

Joe burst out laughing even hard and he got up to give his mom a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"I've gotta scoot," he said. "I told Van I'd pick her up and bring her to the rummage sell. Her car's broken."

"Have a good day, honey. Sell lots," Laura grinned. "Where in the world is Frank? Isn't he going with you?"

"He's supposed to meet Callie there," Joe agreed. "He wasn't up when I was in the bathroom, though. I've gotta get! Bye!"

With that, Joe practically flew out the door and raced to the large van that he shared with his brother. In moments he was gone.

- - - - - - -

Coughing and rubbing at his forehead, Frank Hardy woke slowly, feeling the weight of the day pressing down on already sore lungs and sore throat. Hacking until he thought a lung might be making a bid for freedom, Frank struggled to breathe steadily until the coughing abated and he was able to sit up in his bed.

"This is the pits," he groaned as he slid his feet off the bed.

Frank rubbed at his eyes and looked toward the bathroom door. Seeing that it was cracked open, the signal that said the bathroom was available; Frank got up to his feet and walked into the bathroom. He dug into the medicine cabinet until he found a half-full bottle of cough syrup. After downing a healthy dose, he put the bottle back and washed his face.

I feel like crap, he thought with a sigh. I feel worse than crap.

There was no way, though, that he was going to miss school just because he had a cold. Frank rubbed at his eyes again and dug into a drawer for a comb. After combing his hair down he brushed his teeth and went back into his bedroom. He found a blue polo shirt folded neatly in the top drawer of his dresser and took out a pair of jeans from the closet. After dressing he struggled with his shoes until he gave up and put on his one pair of slip on shoes.

Frank walked slowly down the stairs, holding onto the handrail in case a bout of dizziness swept over him. The dark-haired young man found his mother at the kitchen counter, whistling a tune as she read her newspaper.

"Mom?" he said uncertainly, wondering why she had pancakes going on the griddle when it wasn't Saturday. Was it?

"Good morning, sweetheart," Laura turned her attention from the newspaper to address her firstborn. "How are you today?"

"I feel like crap," Frank admitted. "Why are we having pancakes today?"

Laura cocked an eyebrow at him. "Because we have pancakes on Saturdays, remember? You must not be feeling well."

"It's Saturday?" Frank rasped. "I forgot…"

Laura put her hand on his forehead and frowned. "You don't seem to have a fever. Maybe you should just go back to bed. You can call Callie and tell her you don't feel well."

"Callie!" Frank exclaimed. "I forgot that too. I promised her I'd help with the rummage sell. Can't let her down. I'll just take some orange juice."

He drank two glasses of orange juice and jumped when he heard muffled cursing from behind him, coming from the vicinity of the garage.

"What?" he asked his mother.

"Your father is in there, fighting with the lawn mower," Laura looked totally bemused at the thought. "I think he's enjoying it, don't you?"

Frank thought about it, a smile ruining his attempt at serious contemplation. "Didn't we get our mouths washed out with soap for using that kind of language?"

"You did," Laura agreed affably. She was cut off by yet more cursing and something that sounded like a muffled ring of metal – the kind of sound a lawn mower makes when it's been kicked by a shoe-clad human foot.

Frank laughed and coughed. "Mom, you could tell him…"

"Oh, I will," Laura sipped at the cup of coffee that had been sitting beside her newspaper. "Eventually."

Frank laughed again. "I've got to go. Can I take your car?"

"Of course," Laura sighed. "You should stay home in bed, though."

"I'll take it easy," Frank promised. "If I feel worse I'll come home. Promise. Alright?"

"Alright," Laura gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Go forth and sell, my son."

Frank laughed again. "I will. Bye, Mom. Tell dad I wish him and the lawn mower my best."

Laura flashed her oldest a wicked grin. "I will."

- - - - - -

"Hello, baby!" a blonde-haired, brown-eyed young woman approached Frank as he walked into the large recreation hall of the Calvary Church in Bayport. The young woman, Frank's girlfriend Callie Shaw, gave Frank a kiss on the cheek and hugged him. "You don't look so well. Are you all right?"

Frank nodded and coughed again. "Woke up with a cold this morning," he explained. "But I didn't want to let you down. I can handle a little work for a while."

"You didn't have to come, Frank," Callie touched his forehead with the back of her hand. "Well, you don't feel feverish. Are you sure you fell well enough to do this? Van and Joe are both here and there's several others from the church helping out as well – you could go back to bed."

"Oh, I will," Frank nodded. "But not right now. Right now, I feel up to helping so where do you want me first?"

Frank saw his brother and his brother's ash-blonde girlfriend, Vanessa, standing near some CD shelves. They were putting CDs on different shelves, sorting them alphabetically and by genre.

"That way," Callie explained to Frank. "People who are looking for certain kinds of music don't have to sort through that whole stake trying to find what they want. The hard part was getting them to agree on a system!"

Frank grinned; he could well imagine the kinds of arguments Vanessa, who was methodic and logical about things and Joe, who was sort of fly by the seat of his pants orient, had. He laughed and went to help another of the helpers set up some new tables near the front of the large room.

"We've only got another hour!" Callie exclaimed a few minutes later as she set up a variety of kitchenware onto the first of the new tables. "Hurry, hurry!"

Frank and the other helper, a man named David Chambers, set-up two more tables before Frank turned to help Callie sort out the men's clothing. Another helper piled up different types of shirts and trousers and hung up suit jackets on a rolling bar behind the table. Joe and Vanessa finished off the CDs and moved on to the videos and DVDs.

"Go and get something to drink," Callie told Frank a little later. "You look flushed. Come here."

She pulled Frank closer and checked his forehead again. "You're getting feverish, babe. I think maybe you should go home now."

"There's not much longer, right?" Frank asked. "I can finish up."

He coughed several times, hard and he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "I think I will get something to drink. Want anything?"

"No," Callie smiled and kissed his cheek again. "I'll get something later. Go on."

Frank made his way over to the snack table and found another cup of orange juice that he drank down in one drink. He found more in a pitcher nearby and poured some more into his glass.

Turning away he stopped when he saw a familiar figure standing nearby. Standing near the back wall of the room was a man Frank never thought to ever see in a church, much less near a rummage sale. The man was nondescript, so ordinary you would normally look past him if you didn't know him. Medium height, neat-cut hair, wearing a rumpled gray suit, the man known as Arthur Gray, was talking to another man. Frank stepped closer to him then stopped as Gray handed a large briefcase to the other man. The man snapped open the case for just a moment, peeked in through a crack and nodded. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope.

Frank, mesmerized, watched as Arthur Gray, otherwise known by the secret agent name of "The Gray Man" took the envelope and opened it. Something shining, catching the light from overhead into its depths, fell into Gray's hand. He smiled and nodded before he put it back into the envelope, stuck the envelope into his inner jacket pocket and slipped out the side door of the Church.

Diamonds, Frank thought, numbly. The Gray Man just bought diamonds!