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 Talefeathers of the HDA.
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].
The stories in the series were written in 2006 and 2007. Technology does not match today's levels. Nor does airport security!
Thank you, Sarai, for your continued reading and comments.
Welcome to Cascade
A Sentinel/Hardy Boys Crossover Story
By EvergreenDreamweaver and Talefeathers
Chapter 4
Even as he launched himself towards the gunman, Jim Ellison knew he wasn't close enough; knew he couldn't get there in time to stop the assault. The best he could possibly do was alter the aim...
Ellison was well aware that if the bullet went up, there was a chance of ricochet and someone getting hit by a slug – but if it went down, it was almost certain that someone would get hit. He dived forward, his hands outstretched and clasped together tightly, and slammed them upward underneath that extended arm – just as a soft pop! and then a second one, signaled the silenced weapon's discharge.
Although loud to the Sentinel's ears, the sounds were unheard by most of the crowd – which had exploded into screaming pandemonium at Jim's warning shout. The detective made a grab at the shooter's arm, but missed, and his momentum sent him down flat on the floor, where he was nearly trampled by a suddenly panicked group of people. He swore, scrambling ungracefully back to his feet and looking wildly about, trying to spot the assailant – to no avail. Whoever it had been had melted into the throng and disappeared.
He could hear Simon's distinctive bellow over the cacophony, yelling for exits to be sealed – but it was already too late; people were clawing their way out the doors despite police and staff efforts to contain them – guilty and innocent alike.
Pulling his gun from the back holster concealed by his dinner jacket, Ellison spun about to see if either of the shots had found its mark. His gaze focused in on a small cluster of people beside the dais, and recognized several members of Major Crimes huddled about...someone...who was sitting on the edge of the little platform. He was just about to start making his way through the crush of people to join his colleagues when his arm was seized.
"We're all going to be killed! They'll massacre everyone! You're a police officer, aren't you? DO SOMETHING!" A heavyset matron with silver-blonde hair arranged in an elaborate coiffure was gripping him desperately with one red-taloned hand.
"Ma'am, if you – I have to—" Vainly, Jim tried to free himself from the babbling socialite.
"What if he's still here, just waiting for another chance...?"
Before Ellison could make another attempt at disengaging his arm, a familiar voice cut through the woman's hysteria.
"Belinda, for God's sake, quit the damned caterwauling! No one was trying to do anything to YOU! You're not in the slightest danger. Now shut up, and let the detective do his job."
The society matron gasped in shock. Jim turned his head sharply, and beheld the speaker standing behind him – a man nearly his equal in height with iron-gray hair, glasses and a mustache, dressed in evening clothes; his eyes gleaming and a sardonic grin etched on his narrow features.
An answering smile lit the detective's eyes. "Hi."
With an affronted huff, the woman let go of Jim's arm and stomped away through the crowd, muttering balefully to herself.
"Thanks, Dad. I owe you," Jim continued, indicating the departing socialite with a tilt of his head.
"I've wanted to tell her to shut up for years," William Ellison said with malicious candor. "I couldn't pass up the opportunity!" His mocking smile faded. "Are you all right, Jimmy? What just happened, anyway?"
"Assassination attempt," Jim said briefly. "We were on the lookout for it, but..." He sighed. "And I'm fine, Dad. But I do have things to do, so..."
"So go do them," the elder Ellison said. "Good to see you, Jimmy. Tell Blair hello for me." He touched his son lightly on the arm and stepped away, disappearing into the excited throng of party-goers.
Jim hurriedly threaded through the crush of people and made his way to the platform. Simon was there, his height and the slight elevation making him stand out above the rest. He was barking orders into a cell phone, and addressing officers surrounding him, at the same time. Additional police presence was being called for, as well as paramedics.
As he neared the Major Crimes group, Jim's nostrils flared slightly as he picked up the unmistakable coppery tang of blood. He felt his heart tighten in his chest with worry; Blair had been one of the detectives closest to Thor...If his partner had been hit, trying to protect the singer...He shoved between two elaborately-gowned women and got a clear view – and heaved a sigh of guilty relief.
Thor was seated on the edge of the dais, his dress jacket off. Megan Connor knelt before him, winding a white linen dinner napkin around his left forearm. Blair and Joel Taggart hovered protectively; Joel scanning the crowd and Blair offering soothing murmurs. The singer's massive bodyguard loomed over him, scowling ferociously at everyone.
Ellison could hear phrases, both English and Norwegian – he assumed – as Thor bewailed the occurrence.
"Helvete! Han skjøt meg! Can't believe...OW! Forbanner...damn it, that hurts! Å min Gud, this is...ouch!"
"Believe me, man, I know exactly how you feel," Blair commiserated. "But it's not bad, really. You'll be just fine." He looked up as Jim approached, and overwhelming relief shone in his eyes. "Jim! Oh man, you nearly gave me a heart attack!"
"I almost had him," Jim griped. "But he got away in the crush."
"Anything?" Captain Banks demanded, pausing in his phone conversation.
Ellison shrugged. "A guy. All I really saw was a black coat sleeve and a gloved hand. And the gun and silencer." Something teased at his sense memory – some elusive aroma, that had mixed with the gun-oil scent, sharp and sweet...but he couldn't quite pin it down. And he couldn't be absolutely positive that the odor was associated with the gunman, and not someone else in the crowd, anyhow...
"This is your fault!" the bodyguard burst out angrily. "If you had decent security measures—"
"SVEN! No!" Surprisingly, Thor came to the Cascade police's defense, his head jerking up, his long blonde hair swinging. His blue eyes snapped as he stared down the hulking man hovering over him. "They did everything they possibly could. If I go out in crowds, I take the risk." He looked down at his arm, where Connor was still keeping pressure on the wound. "This...this is nothing. But it hurts," he added ruefully.
Emergency medical personnel swept into the room at that moment, and the police officers turned their injured guest over to the attentions of the paramedics.
#####
The Hardys and Daryl Banks had returned from their foray to the Torpid Turtle, pleasantly well-fed and ready to take up their vigil once more. Even though Jim had semi-promised that they might get to attend the Valhalla concert, perhaps even help with security, they didn't want to forego any chances at seeing the famous rock stars, or get candid pictures of them.
The back alley was still crowded, although less so than it had been before; evidently word had gone out that only Thor had entered the building, and none of his bandmates were around; therefore, only the most diehard fans had lingered to wait for his departure.
While waiting the three boys chatted idly, continuing the conversation they'd started in the restaurant.
"So, you're staying in Bayport to go to college, then?" Daryl asked.
"Mmm-hmmm." Frank hitched himself up on the hood of a conveniently-situated SUV, putting himself a couple feet higher than the rest of the crowd. "I wouldn't have minded getting away – but Bayport U's the obvious choice for saving money. I can live at home, after all, and just commute to classes."
"Yeah...I coulda done that with Rainier," Daryl agreed, "but..."
"But you don't pass up a full ride at Duke!" Joe pointed out.
"Exactly what my dad said," Daryl admitted. "Although...I almost gave it up and just entered the police academy. That's what I want to do anyway – be a cop, like Dad!"
"What made you change your mind?" Joe asked, as he rapidly scanned through his photos and deleted some to clear out space on the card.
"Jim and Blair," the dark-skinned youth said with a reminiscent smile. "They sat me down one evening and hammered from both sides. They kept telling me that having a college education would make me a better cop – and that I could probably test out of half the courses at the Academy anyway, especially if I majored in Crim. Jus...and pointed to Blair as an example. Jim reminded me that I'd start at a much higher pay rate with a degree." He grinned. "And Blair kept saying 'you've got the scholarship, man – don't give it up! Ask me about paying off student loans...just ask!' I decided they made a lot of sense." He paused, considering it for a moment. "You know, I don't think anyone could outlast those two if they decided to talk you into something! Blair argues you to death and Jim just sits and stares at you until you give in from fright!"
The Hardys laughed appreciatively.
"I'm sorta glad Frank's staying in Bayport," Joe admitted. "I'd kind of miss him if he wasn't around underfoot."
"Underfoot?" his older brother repeated in disbelief. "Since when am I under your feet?"
Joe just chuckled and went back to deleting bad photos.
###
The group waiting around the back door was dwindling as more time passed, but the boys didn't want to give up. They were, however, getting tired and a bit bored, and conversation had lagged.
"Wonder when it'll be over?" Joe speculated, checking his wristwatch.
"Gotta be pretty soon," Daryl hazarded a guess – also looking at his watch.
Frank opened his mouth to comment, but before any words emerged, they were startled to hear screams and shrieks coming from inside the Convention Center.
"Wow, I didn't know those old guys could yell like that," Daryl marveled. "Wonder what Thor did that got 'em so excited?"
The screams didn't diminish, and perhaps 30 seconds later the door burst open and a wave of panicked people in formal dress streamed through. Daryl and Joe clambered hastily atop the SUV hood beside Frank to avoid getting knocked to the ground.
"Shooter! Somebody shot at Thor!"
"There's a murderer loose in there!"
"We're all going to be killed!"
"Get out of my WAY!"
Some impulse or other made Frank leap to his feet, balancing precariously on the car hood, and begin taking photos as rapidly as his camera would allow. More and more people came running out of the building, and the elder Hardy kept his finger on the shutter button, depressing it again and again. He didn't bother trying to zoom in or focus – just kept snapping pictures.
Joe looked at him curiously for a second or two, then pulled out his own camera and activated the video option, panning back and forth to capture the frenzied scene.
Daryl, meanwhile, was sitting on the car hood, stunned. All he could think of was that his father and the other detectives of Major Crimes – essentially his extended family – were in that building with a bunch of seriously terrified people...and an armed killer!