Chapter 3: Joe
I couldn't believe my eyes.
Three teenagers named Frank, Joe, and Jemma? Wanted for bank robbery?
"What's going on, Frank?" Jemma asked.
My brother shook his head. "I have no idea. For a second, I thought that we were in trouble for wrecking that dune buggy."
I scoffed. "That doesn't seem so bad now, does it?"
"Compared to bank robbery?" Jemma asked. "No."
I reached for the mission box. "What else is in here?"
Frank pulled out a few more newspaper clippings and started reading them. "They're articles about the convenience store robberies. All of them happened here in the Bayport area. And they were committed by two teenage boys and a teenage girl who look exactly like us."
"Oh, just lovely," Jemma said sarcastically.
"Now it's been reported that their names are Frank, Joe, and Jemma," said my brother, putting down the clippings. Jemma immediately snatched them up and scanned them. She really used that photographic memory of hers to the max sometimes. "You know what this means, don't you?"
"The cops are going to come after us?"
"Exactly. I wouldn't be surprised if they're on their way here right now."
Jemma put the clippings back into the box. "I guess we'd better hurry then."
I started digging further into the mission box and found three pairs of night vision goggles, a set of high powered binoculars, and a small electronic gadget with a screen and keyboard.
"What's this?" I asked.
Frank took the palm sized device and studied it carefully. "Oh, it's one of those wireless pocket communicators," he explained. "We can retrieve phone messages with it or receive e-mails no matter where we are."
"Even if we're running from the law?" Jemma asked. She was fiddling with the bandage around her hand.
Frank smirked. "Relax, Jem. We don't even know what's going on yet. Is there a mission CD in the box?"
I looked inside. A homemade CD lay on the bottom. "Yeah, here," I said, handing it to Frank.
My brother read the label. "Wanted."
I sighed. "It doesn't sound too good. Pop it in, Frank. Let's see how much trouble we're in this time."
My brother slid the disc into the computer and clicked play. A second or two later, the screen went blank.
"They go by the names Frank, Joe, and Jemma," a deep voice boomed over the speakers.
Newspaper headlines flashed across the screen, followed by grainy black and white photos of two teenage boys and a teenage girl.
"And they're Wanted," said the voice.
The images froze. A trio of picture frames slammed down over the three blurred heads of the teens. There was a loud clank sound that sounded like a prison door slamming.
The word WANTED appeared in large block letters above the framed portraits.
"No one knows their real identities," the voice continued. "They look like Hardys. They sound like Hardys. But they're doing things that the Hardys would never do."
The pictures faded. A neatly typed police bulletin rolled across the screen: a long list of local crimes.
"Frank and Joe are Wanted for the following convenience store holdups: Blue Jay's Mini-Mart, May twenty-fifth. Burger Bob's, May thirtieth. Grocer's Corner, June fifth. Dolly's Deli, June ninth."
"Wow, we've been busy," I muttered. Jemma was silent behind me as we stared at the screen.
Frank slapped my arm and turned back to the screen.
"The teens are also suspected of several other crimes that, at this time, cannot be proven," said the voice on the speaker.
A motorcycle repair garage appeared on screen. I recognized it at once. 'Hey! That's Mickey's place on the highway!"
Frank shushed me.
"Three motorcycles vanished last month from Mickey's parking lot," the voice explained. "We believe the thieves stole them so that they could impersonate you."
"Great," I said. "They have motorcycles, too."
The screen turned black again. Then a video image appeared. It looked like footage from one of the local TV stations. The camera was pointed at Bayport Bank on Main Street. A crowd of police officers surrounded several witnesses.
I recognized the red-haired lady from this morning.
"Look, Frank! There's that woman who kept staring at us when we drove down Main Street."
Frank nodded. "Now we know why. She thought that we were the robbers, revisiting the scene of the crime."
I turned to glance at Jemma and saw her staring intently at the screen. Her eyes were narrowed into slits and her mouth was squashed into a line. She was glaring at our impersonators.
The voice on the speakers described the bank robbery in detail. "There were four witnesses: two older women waiting in line at the bank, the teller herself, and a bank guard who seemed to be sleeping through most of the robbery."
"At least he won't describe us to the cops," I said.
"Yeah. We did that ourselves," Jemma muttered.
A second later the guard proved me wrong. "I think they used motorcycles," he told a reporter. "I heard engines starting."
I slumped back in my chair. "We're sunk."
"Shhh!"
"Robbing a bank is a federal crime," the voice went on. "Police from coast to coast will be on the lookout for a group of teenagers by the names of Frank, Joe, and Jemma."
"Who ride motorcycles," I added.
The TV news reports faded away.
"Of course, American Teens Against Crimes realizes that you three are being framed," the voice continued. "At this very moment, our agents are investigating the matter, scanning the area for clues and suspects."
A map filled the screen. Tiny dots lit up the Northeast coast.
"Until we learn more, we want you three to lie low," said the voice. "Find a hiding place and stay there until further notice. Do not, I repeat, do not try to investigate this case on your own."
I glanced at Frank. His face was locked in a frown. Jemma was still glaring at the screen.
"This is a very serious matter kids. Somebody obviously knows who you are. They may even know what you do for the ATAC team. It may be the result of a security leak and we don't want to take any chances."
Playback the parrot ruffled his feathers. His sudden movement startled me.
"Bad boys!" he squawked.
"Playback, quiet!" Frank hissed, stroking his wing.
How could he be so calm?
We were WANTED!
The voice continued. "Frank, Joe, Jemma, this is not an assignment, this is a warning. Leave your house immediately. Find a place to hide. And do not contact us with your cell phone. Use the pocket communicator we gave you. We will be sending you daily e-mails to update you on the situation."
Frank picked up the wireless device and nodded.
"Trust no one," the voice went on. "Not your friends, not your family, except for your father, who will understand when you escape. Keep your eyes and ear open at all times."
I glanced at Frank and Jemma.
"Above all, remember one thing," said the voice. "Frank, Joe, and Jemma Hardy are WANTED."
A flashing red light flickered behind our photos.
"This disc will reformat itself in five seconds. Four. Three. Two. One."
The screen went blank. A loud rock song blared from the speakers – "Wanted Dead or Alive."
Frank leaned forward in his chair and turned off his computer. Then he sat back in his chair and looked at me and Jemma.
"Start packing," he said. "We have to get out of here. Now."
I stood up and Jemma followed my lead. "Where are we going to go?"
Frank shrugged. It was Jemma who spoke up. "How about Dad's old fishing cabin in the mountains? We haven't been there in years."
"Yeah," I said, "Not since you got poison oak."
Jemma glared at me. "Hurry up. Go pack a bag. We might be gone for a while."
Jemma and I headed out the door, but I stopped. "Frank?"
"Yes?"
"What's going on? Why would someone want to frame us?"
Frank looked at me. "Maybe they're getting revenge. We've put a lot of people behind bars, Joe."
"Yeah, but who?"
Frank held up his hands. "Your guess is as good as mine."
"Maybe it's the bandana dudes."
My brother laughed. "They're not smart enough to rob a bank. And which one of them would be impersonating Jemma?"
I ran back to my room to grab my backpack. While I was throwing in extra pairs of socks and underwear, I noticed that my cell phone was ringing.
I had a call.
I was about to push a button on the phone when I remembered something: This could be dangerous.
I shoved my phone into my backpack without answering and zipped it up. I ran into Jemma, literally, on my way back to Frank's room. I noticed that she had two backpacks with her.
"What's with the second pack?" I asked her.
She shrugged. "One has clothes in it, the other has gadgets and things we might need to survive. Like PopTarts and Twix," she said, grinning cheekily at me. Sometimes, I was glad to have a sister who hid food in her room like a squirrel getting ready for winter.
Frank was almost done packing. 'Do you have room in your bag for the night vision goggles?" he asked Jemma.
She nodded and put the goggles in her gadget backpack. I saw something made of paper start to stick out, but she quickly shoved it back under the material of the backpack.
"Ready?
"Ready."
"Ready."
We opened Frank's door and stepped into the hallway. Quietly, we crept to the top of the stairs – and then the doorbell rang.
We froze.
I glanced at Frank and then back at Jemma.
"I'll get it!" Aunt Trudy shouted room the dining room below.
We peered over the railing and watched Aunt Trudy open the door.
"Can I help you?"
Two police officers stood in the doorway. "Hello, Ma'am," said one of them.
Mom and Dad walked into the foyer.
"What's going on?" asked Mom. "Is there something wrong?"
Dad took a step forward. "John, Bill," he said, extending his hand. "How are you guys doing?"
The officers shook his hand. "We're doing fine, Fenton," said the taller cop.
"Did you want to talk to me?" Dad asked.
The officers looked a little nervous. One of them glanced down at the floor while the other spoke.
"Actually, Fenton, we're looking for Frank, Joe, and Jemma," he said.
"Frank, Joe and, Jemma?" Dad repeated.
Mom let out a little gasp. "Are they in some sort of trouble?"
The taller police officer cleared his throat. "We're not sure, ma'am," he said. "We'd like to take them down to the police station for questioning."
