Disclaimer: We do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, nor do we own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and are making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s). Co-written with RokiaHDA.

For those of you who are not familiar with The Sentinel's characters, we hope this will be a pleasant introduction to them for you. For those of you who are already acquainted with Blair, Jim, Simon and the others – enjoy! Trying to fit these four stories into two different story arcs [Hardy Boys and The Sentinel] just barely worked. Band of Brothers and Welcome to Cascade take place before September Song [Hardy universe] begins, and any time after The Perfect Partner [Sentinel universe]. Missing Persons happens right after Fanfare for June [Hardys]; A Matter of Public Record takes place any time between Death on the Fourth of July and February Flirtations [Hardys], and before Remodel and Rebuild [Sentinel].

This particular story was written in 2015. Technology does not match today's levels, but it's fairly close!

Thank you, thank you, thank you to those readers who have waded through these four crossover stories. I hope you got some small measure of enjoyment out of them.

A Matter of Public Record

A Hardy Boys/Sentinel Crossover story

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 3

Once each man had his choice of coffee in front of him, and dinners had been ordered, conversation resumed regarding Sentinels. Blair was happy to talk about his favorite subject – one he seldom got to mention – and Jim had resigned himself to the fact that the Hardy kids were now going to be part of a very small, select group.

"Was that enough of a demonstration of enhanced sense of smell?" Sandburg asked now, smiling. "I probably couldn't have come up with a better way to show you."

"Totally awesome," Joe nodded. He took an appreciative sip of his coffee. "And you definitely found a place with good coffee!"

"Of course, you've had your suspicions for a long time, haven't you?" Ellison inquired, smiling too. "I had to use the senses more than I liked to, several times when you were around. Frank not so much, but you…!"

"Some," Joe admitted, "but mostly I just thought you had really super-strong, sensitive hearing. That was impressive enough!"

"Could you just tell us about it?" Frank requested. "We don't know what questions to ask."

So Sandburg and Ellison told them, talking quietly beneath the chatter and clatter of the others in the room. With breaks for receiving their meals, and pauses and interruptions while they ate, they spoke of Blair's search for a full-fledged Sentinel, based on his studies of Richard Burton's – "the explorer, not the actor" – book. Blair explained how although there were hundreds of partials, of varying degrees of enhancement, someone with all five senses heightened was rare, indeed. "We did encounter one other person with all five, but she…had other issues. I couldn't use her as a thesis subject," Blair said diffidently. They told the Hardys about cases which Jim's abilities had helped solve, that otherwise might never have been resolved.

"And don't you dare call me a walking crime lab," the Sentinel warned Frank, pre-empting a comment the elder Hardy was about to make. "I heard enough about that from Sandburg!"

"Okay, okay, I won't – but you are!" Frank sighed.

"It's great, of course – but as you read in Burton's book, just a bit ago, and in my stuff you found online, and as I mentioned back at the hotel, there are also drawbacks," Blair said more soberly. "Serious hazards that have to be taken into account."

"Such as?" Frank asked.

"Spikes, allergies, sensitivities, zone-outs, sensory overload…"

"And the human element," Ellison added grimly.

Again they spoke of cases to illustrate their point. They told of Lee Brackett, the rogue CIA agent who had threatened to annihilate Cascade with the Ebola virus so that Jim would use his senses to help Brackett commit a crime. Of the time when merely touching beads coated with heroin paste had put Jim in the hospital, and a simple over-the-counter cold remedy had sent him into hallucinatory episodes. How a few grains of the drug Golden had blinded him – thankfully, temporarily. How judicious use of a dog whistle could incapacitate him completely – and dog whistles are easy to acquire. How a criminal with knowledge of Sentinels could get white-noise generators to 'blank out' certain areas, if desired.

"And consider," Blair waved his fork to illustrate his point, "what it would be like to have your sense of smell or taste so acute that anything – anything – is too strong; strong enough to make you gag. Not just scuzzy smells, like garbage, but things that are supposed to be alluring, like perfume, or enticing, like pizza, or coffee—" He gestured at their surroundings, then continued "or strawberries – or pleasant, like flowers. All of them make you sick. You can't eat anything even remotely spicy or flavored. Anything touching your skin – your clothes, for instance – irritates so much you want to tear it off. Your clothes and your skin."

"Sandburg, some of us are trying to eat, here," Jim growled.

"Oops. Sorry." Blair grinned unrepentantly.

"So what do you do? How do you cope?" Joe asked, frowning. "I mean, you seem to be okay with eating and drinking and touching things…"

"That's where Sandburg comes in," Jim replied. He reached to lay a hand on his partner's wrist where it rested on the table, squeezing gently. "He's come up with tips and tricks and coping mechanisms. The best one by far is imagining dials, so I can regulate input. He also developed disgusting tests – and demands endless practice until reactions are automatic. Most of the time anyway."

"You know darned well that you don't have to practice anymore; you've had it nailed for a long time now," Blair retorted with a smile.

"Blair, you're the 'companion' Burton mentioned," Frank said. "Aren't you?"

"That's the one good thing Brackett did for us," Jim said, before Blair could reply. "He gave us a name. Guide. Both what Sandburg is, and what he does. Even if it does make him sound like a German Shepherd."

"Jim!" Blair snatched his hand from beneath his partner's, and smacked him on the arm.

"Guide. Guide." Joe rolled the word around on his tongue. "It fits, doesn't it? But how does it work? What do you do, Blair? Can anyone do it for Jim, or just you?"

The two older men both chuckled.

"I thought it could be anyone," Sandburg said, with a rueful smile. "I thought it was just a case of someone being around and handy. But – in Jim's case, anyway – it doesn't work like that. Apparently Guides are born, not made…at least, to some extent. At any rate, some are better at it than others."

"As I mentioned, Connor pinches. Not a pleasant association," Ellison grumbled.

"And as for how it works, I can't explain it, why it's me and not someone else. It just is, although maybe it's because I taught him the tricks first, I don't know..."

"Nope," Ellison mumbled, shaking his head firmly.

"I can reach Jim if he's in a zone, usually, given some time. I can ground him when he's using his senses, and he says they work better if he's touching me when he uses them. I guess I'm kind of like an amplifier." Sandburg smiled at his partner affectionately. "And he says he doesn't mind too much, having me around, anymore. He's gotten used to me."

Ellison rolled his eyes. "I didn't have much choice," he retorted, but his smile belied his words. "And it's not my imagination; things really do work better if Blair's there," he added to the Hardys. "Blame it on personal chemistry, or something. Sometimes other people can do it too." He glanced at his Guide and elevated one eyebrow in question, giving a tiny head-tilt toward the boys.

Blair grinned and gave a tiny shrug. "Your call. Tell whatever you're comfortable with," he whispered.

"Other people…" Ellison said slowly, watching Frank's and Joe's faces as they listened. "For me, I mean." He fastened his gaze on Joe. "You, for instance."

Joe's eyes went comically wide. "Me?" he squeaked. "Me?"

"Just marginally," Ellison qualified with a small grin. "Not like Sandburg can. But yes, you. I noticed it after we first met, in those tunnels. It…helped, having you there."

"Holy sh— cow." Joe looked from Jim to Blair. "ME?"

Frank looked equally dumbfounded. "Joe? A Guide? Like you?"

Sandburg was shaking his head. "No, not exactly. I think Joe is likely the Guide equivalent of a one-senses-heightened person. There are probably tons of people like that around, but you'd have to have a Sentinel to identify them. And maybe even that wouldn't work. It would depend on the Sentinel."

Joe was still looking stunned. "Wow." He glanced shyly at Jim. "I – um, I mean, uh, I'm glad I was able to help you…when you needed it," he murmured.

"So am I," the big detective smiled.

"Guides don't necessarily need Sentinels," Blair continued, "but Sentinels evidently need Guides. The one other full Sentinel I encountered – I mentioned her before – didn't have one. Although I don't know if it would have made a difference. She…she was…" He paused, chewing his lip.

"She is permanently locked up in a mental facility with all her senses and everything else fried to a crisp," Jim growled. "And good riddance. She didn't deserve a Guide. She killed people – she may have murdered her potential guide, for all I know; she stole nerve gas, she committed several other crimes, and intended to commit more…and she tried to kill Sandburg, and came way too close—"

"We don't need to talk about that now," Blair said gently. "It's over and done with, and everything came out all right."

"Daryl mentioned that you'd been almost drowned," Frank put in, "by someone who had stolen some nerve gas. Was that her?"

"Well, there, see, you already knew about it. Another reason not to drag it up. Back to a main point: this has to remain as secret as possible," Sandburg emphasized. "You know now, and we can't exactly mind-wipe you, so you're part of the clan, so to speak, but—"

"Because, kids, neither Sandburg nor I wants to someday wake up and find ourselves strapped to a cold metal table in some secret government lab somewhere – or being sold off to the highest bidder in Uzbekistan, or Beijing, or Baghdad," Jim interposed grimly. Blair shuddered, his eyes bleak.

"We get it. We really do," Frank replied. "We've had more dealings with secret government agencies than you might expect. We know the value of secrecy."

"You what? Oh God, no…" Sandburg sank back in his seat, his face losing all color.

"What agencies?" Ellison demanded harshly.

Frank glanced at Joe, whose blue eyes met his steadily. The younger Hardy nodded encouragement. "The Network," Frank admitted. "We've worked with people from it several times – one person, anyway. Not always by choice."

Instead of looking either relieved or concerned, Jim merely looked puzzled. "That's one I don't know."

"And you never will, at least not through us," Joe vowed. "Swear to God, Jim, we won't let this slip to anyone."

"I guess all we can do is take it on trust," Ellison sighed. "You okay?" he asked Blair, who was still very pale. "Sandburg? Breathe, Chief."

"I think I need another cup of coffee," Sandburg muttered shakily. "Or maybe something way stronger. My nerves are shot, man."

"Something fancy this time?" Frank suggested, endeavoring to ease the tension. "I saw one on the coffee menu that was called Chocolate Frosted Doughnut – and another one named Cinnamon Twist, or something like that."

"There's Raspberry Chocolate Truffle," Joe read from the menu, "or maybe Bananas Foster?"

"Good Lord, those sound disgus— uh, I think I'll go with the Prima Italian Roast," Jim said, making a belated attempt to be tactful.

Chuckling, and looking a bit less upset, Blair perused the menu himself. "Hazelnut Cream," he declared. "Order from here, or go up to the bar?"

Before they could decide, their waitress approached and inquired about dessert. Having already studied the dessert menus, the men were ready.

"Pie," Jim said immediately. "Cherry, if you've got it. Apple if you don't have cherry."

"I'll have the cheesecake," Joe decided.

"That flourless chocolate cake with the caramel sauce," Blair put in his order, brightening up.

"Strawberry tart," Frank chose. "And we can get different coffees up at the bar, right?"

"That's right," the girl smiled, and left to fill their dessert orders. The four men made their way to the coffee bar and ordered their fancy beverages, then sat down again to await dessert.

"Are you two driving back to Bayport tonight?" Blair inquired a few minutes later, cutting delicate bites of his chocolate cake and dragging them through the caramel sauce before happily popping them in his mouth.

"No – we weren't sure how long it was going to take you to kill us," Joe replied cheerfully, "so we contacted a friend who lives here. Tony will let us crash at his apartment, since he doesn't have to deliver our bodies to Mom and Dad." He paused to savor a bite of cheesecake, while both Ellison and Sandburg burst into laughter.

"We aren't quite that bad, are we?"

"I dunno, you looked pretty grim when we arrived," Frank said. "Hey, what do you have lined up for tomorrow? You said you aren't starting your seminar until Sunday morning."

"Thought we'd look around the city a little bit. Neither Sandburg nor I have spent much time here."

"I've seen the airports numerous times," Blair said glumly. "Nothing else."

"That's pretty much the same for me. So we're going to play tourist."

"Would you like a couple of guides – with a small 'g'?" Joe grinned. "Frank and I know NYC pretty well, and we'd be glad to hit the highlights with you. And say, Frank, we could take them to lunch or dinner at Marco's! Best Italian food in New York," he added to the two detectives. "Our cousin Bella Scarpetti owns it; she inherited it from her parents."

"Sounds good," Ellison nodded approval.

Blair was smiling too; he'd finally relaxed again, after the 'secret government agency' revelation had so unnerved him. "What sorts of places did you have in mind?" he asked. "I'd – we'd – kind of like to see the 9/11 Memorial and Ground Zero, you know?"

"Definitely," Frank agreed. "And maybe the Statue of Liberty? Or is that too touristy?"

"And you've gotta hit Times Square," Joe put in. "There's a Hershey's store there that has two floors full of nothing but chocolate, and there are some other specialized chocolate shops as well. And Toys-R-Us has an indoor Ferris Wheel," he grinned.

"Actually, we do need to visit chocolate shops; we promised Rhonda we'd bring her fancy chocolates from New York," Jim said, "so that would be great. And I don't know about you, Chief, but I'd like to see the Statue of Liberty."

"I would too," Blair said quietly. "And I think I'd like to take a walk in Central Park, if we have time."

"Done, and done," Frank smiled, "We can lunch from food carts or a deli or something, and wind up with dinner at Marco's. I'll text Bella, or call her, and make sure they expect us." His smile widened. "We'll get the royal treatment if we're bringing out-of-town guests."

"Yeah, otherwise Tink'll have us eating in the kitchen or something," Joe grumbled.

"Tink?" Blair raised an inquiring eyebrow.

"That's what Joe calls Bella. She looks kind of like Tinkerbell," Frank laughed. "And she wouldn't make us eat in the kitchen. Well, Joe she might. Not me, or you."

The two detectives from Cascade exchanged intrigued glances. A cousin who looked like Tinkerbell and owned an Italian restaurant, but who would make Joe eat in the kitchen?

"I'm beginning to feel like I dropped into a storybook," Blair murmured.

"I admit, we have some kinda interesting friends and relations," Frank replied, and returned his attention to his strawberry tart.

"I'm getting another refill of this." Ellison indicated his coffee cup and slid out of the booth. "Chief? Want me to bring you another?"

"No thanks, man, I'm good."

Jim strolled off to the self-service area. While he was waiting his turn, and trying to decide if he wanted another Prima Italian Roast or maybe Kona this time, he idly picked up on Frank and Blair's conversation, which seemed to be about the care and feeding of Sentinels. Trust Frank to pump every last bit of information out of Sandburg that he can! Turning his head, he noted that Joe was no longer in the booth – probably gone to the men's room. Just then, some electronic chimes sounded, and Frank pulled his cell phone from his pocket. Jim watched the elder Hardy's face light up, and heard Frank murmur "Hello, baby!" Quirking an eyebrow, Jim decided to filter that particular conversation out!

A moment later, Blair joined him. "Didn't want to sit there and eavesdrop," Sandburg chuckled. "I'll just hang here with you."

"Yeah, I tuned it out too." They moved a step or two up in line. Jim was still debating the pros and cons of Italian versus Kona when he heard another telephone ring nearby – the phone located behind the counter. Not even thinking about it, he turned his attention to the barista who picked up the call and whoever was on the other end.

"Ardelle's."

"Tell Max," a malicious voice hissed, "to say goodbye to his little enterprise. I'm giving you fair warning: there's a bomb in one of the booths, and the timer triggered with this phone call. Sayonara!" The caller cut the connection with a click.

"Wh-what? Hey, what did you say?" The barista was yelling into the phone – to no avail.

"Jim? What was it? You heard, right?" Sandburg tugged at his partner's elbow. "What's wrong?"

Ellison grabbed in return, gripping both of Blair's biceps. "It was a bomb threat, Chief," he whispered frantically. "Someone said there's a bomb in one of the booths and the phone call triggered it!"