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 support and comments.
Welcome to Cascade
A Sentinel/Hardy Boys Crossover Story
By EvergreenDreamweaver and Talefeathers
Chapter 8
"Connor...anything?" Jim Ellison demanded of the Inspector as she hung up her telephone.
"Sorry, Jimbo, but nobody seems to have seen anyone answering that description," she replied, shaking her head. "I've contacted everyone I can. My list of reliable snitches isn't as long as yours, you know," she added defensively, as he scowled.
Jim grimaced down at his desk. He hated to be called 'Jimbo,' and Connor knew it – and did it anyway. "Doesn't matter how long it is, if no one's delivering the goods," he grumbled. "I sacrificed a new pair of Nikes just to hear Sneaks say he hadn't seen or heard a thing!"
"Your own?"
"Well...no...snitch fund," he admitted. "But still..."
"The guy's a pro," Rafe commented ruefully, scratching out another name on his own list. "He's staying out of the way of the locals – and moving from hotel to hotel to keep ahead of us!"
Ellison glumly regarded his notes. There was absolutely nothing helpful there. He looked at the clock. Three-forty-eight. "I think I may as well head home," he said. "I'm not getting anywhere. Sandburg's had babysitting duty all day, and that included visiting that rock band. It's only fair I give him a hand." He began to tidy up the desk, feeling frustrated. Not only had no one's informants come through for them, their elaborate plan of luring Andrei Marchlewicz seemed to have been a failure as well. Blair had reported 'no dice,' when he'd called, although apparently the meeting with Valhalla had gone well. And Simon wouldn't care if he left early, since Daryl's safety was at stake...
"Ellison! My office!"
Um...then again...Jim shoved a few file folders into his desk drawer and got up to answer the summons.
"You wanted to see me, Captain?"
"Anything?" Simon Banks stared up at him with bloodshot brown eyes, and Jim felt a pang of sympathy. Not only did Banks have Thor's safety to ensure, with all the political repercussions that entailed, he had an assassin running around Cascade just waiting for another chance – and they'd dangled his only child as a lure. Simon knew, of course, that if anything had happened, he'd have been informed...but that didn't mean he couldn't want some reassurance.
"No sir, nothing. Sandburg reported that everything's been quiet, and they're staying in the loft. I thought I'd head home."
"Do you want me to pick up Daryl later? Or leave him at your place?"
"Leave him," Ellison said. "We figured on him staying, and there's no sense in ruining things for him by taking him away from his company. You're welcome to come by, though." He grinned. "But you can't sleep there...we're running short on accommodations as it is!"
Banks nodded, his tired eyes lighting a little. "I'll see you later, then."
#####
"I am...well, not bored, exactly – we have things to do. But...antsy, I guess," Joe said quietly to his brother, under cover of one of Mik Leinonen's renowned drum solos. He and Frank were in Blair's little bedroom, but the French doors were wide open, letting in each crashing chord and guitar riff, as the boys played the new Valhalla CD for the third time.
Daryl was sitting on the loveseat avidly reading the lyric booklet, following along with the singers. Blair was stretched on the couch in the living room with his eyes closed; there was no way the man could be asleep, but he insisted that he could rest just fine. "I wish we could do something to help with finding this Martin guy!" Joe looked around, stealthily. "Do you suppose we could sneak out? There's the fire escape door right here..."
"Sneak out." Frank regarded him with utter disapproval. "Sneak out and do what, precisely? It isn't like we can go somewhere and investigate something, Joe – we're basically in protective custody to keep us away from Andrei Marchlewicz! And if he took the bait and followed us here, sneaking out would only get us killed – you realize that? I, for one, didn't care for the feeling of those bullets going over my head last night!"
"I know, I know, neither did I...but I don't like feeling so helpless," Joe groused. "We're usually able to solve things on our own."
"We're in a strange city – and I mean that in more ways than one!" Frank pointed out good-humoredly. "And we're guests of police officers, bro – now is not the time to go running off on our own. I don't like being not in control either, but..."
"And Blair keeps looking at me," Joe cut in, frowning in puzzlement. "He looks at you, too, but he really looks at me. When he thinks I don't notice it."
Frank snorted unsympathetically. "Maybe it's a cop thing. He isn't the first police officer to look at you funny."
Now it was Joe's turn to snort. "Very funny. Not like that. Like...I dunno. Like he expects me to say or do something weird!"
His brother shrugged. "Sounds like he's right on target to me!"
"Blair's curious about everything," a new voice put in, and the Hardys both jumped a little in guilty surprise, as Daryl came into the room. Joe hoped that he hadn't heard anything in the 'trying to sneak out' portion of the conversation! "Remember, I told you he used to be an anthropologist. He's always looking to find out more about everything, and then he pulls out these little nuggets of information later – drives Dad crazy, but it does come in handy sometimes." He grinned at Joe cheerfully. "Don't worry about it, Joe – you're just being filed away in his brain, that's all."
"Oh, swell."
Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening, and a pained shout. "SANDBURG! Turn it down!"
"Ooooops!" All three boys cringed a little, then slunk guiltily out of the bedroom to face Jim Ellison's wrath. They were relieved to see that he looked more tired than angry. Blair had bounced upright at his roommate's bellow, and was now standing beside him with a comforting hand on his shoulder, talking very softly and earnestly as Ellison rubbed at his ears.
"Sorry, Detective Ellison." Frank hastily turned the volume down. "We didn't realize you were home."
"It wasn't Blair's fault we had it so loud," Joe added to the apology. Now he was remembering something he'd nearly forgotten about Ellison: the man had extremely acute hearing. The blasting stereo must have been deafening to him! "We're sorry." Nice, Hardy, he thought to himself. The man offers to let you stay in his home to protect you, and you break his eardrums!
"No harm done," Ellison conceded, his tight expression easing. "But remember, we have to live with these neighbors, guys, okay?" His gaze slanted down to Blair's face, and he smiled a little. "It's okay," he added a soft reassurance to his Guide. He glanced at Frank. "I thought we'd settled that you called me 'Jim'."
"That was before we blasted you with the stereo," Joe said, still slightly nervous, but Ellison just chuckled and headed for the kitchen, where he rummaged in the refrigerator for a bottle of water.
"Anything turn up?" Blair inquired of his partner, when Ellison had established himself on the long sofa with his water. Blair sat down next to him; the boys found seats on the big chair and loveseat, all listening intently.
"Nope. And no nibbles here?"
"Uh-uh."
"Since he hasn't surfaced and hasn't taken the bait, that means he'll probably strike at Thor during the concert tomorrow night, doesn't it?" Frank speculated.
"Probably," Jim grunted.
"Which will be a security nightmare," Blair added grimly.
They sat silently for a few moments, with only the muted sounds of Valhalla to accompany their gloomy thoughts, then Blair slapped his thighs and got to his feet.
"It's too early for dinner, but we need to do something fun, to get us outta this funk, guys!" He eyed the boys speculatively. "Do you play poker?"
#####
"How does he DO that?" Frank disgustedly watched Blair rake in a pile of chips...again. "He wins almost every time! I thought I was a pretty good poker player, but..."
"You are," Jim acknowledged, expertly shuffling the cards. "If anyone can give Sandburg a challenge, it's probably you. But," he shrugged, and dealt swiftly, "I figure he sold his soul to the Devil long ago, when it comes to poker."
"Hey, I had to finance my way through college and grad school!" Blair defended himself. "Pool and poker were my main sources of income, back then! And I haven't made a pact with the Devil," he added, frowning at his partner. "You're just jealous, man."
"Ohhh, I don't think so." Ellison surveyed his cards impassively. No one could do a poker face like Jim Ellison.
"It's a good thing we aren't playing for money." Joe looked ruefully at his dwindling pile of chips. "I'd be broke long before now!"
"It's a good thing I don't have to finance college by playing poker." Daryl's pile of chips was nearly as small as Joe's. "I thought I'd learned from Dad, but I guess I was wrong."
Jim leaned over the table towards him. "You DO play just like Simon," he confided. "Does that tell you anything?"
"Frank, what are you figuring on majoring in?" Blair asked now, frowning abstractedly at his cards. "I know Daryl's doing the Criminal Justice deal, since he's thinking of police work."
"Same for me," Frank said. "Only I don't think I'll be going into law enforcement, exactly. Since our dad is a private investigator, Joe and I plan on joining his firm eventually."
"We've had some practice, both helping Dad and on our own," Joe put in. "We're not ruling out the police, or FBI, but it's not our first choice." He smiled blandly at the police officers. "Sometimes we work better when we're...um...operating without police presence."
Blair grinned teasingly at his partner. "Sometimes that's true of Jim and me as well."
"Sandburg!"
"Face it, Jim, you know it's true."
"Is the music too loud for you?" Frank inquired, still slightly apprehensive that their Valhalla CD – now playing on its sixth repeat – would bother the big detective, but Jim shook his head.
"No, it's fine now. Not really my taste, but not as bad as some." Jim listened for a moment to the intricate guitar work. "Good guitarist. Just not—"
"Not Santana," Blair finished for him, laughing.
###
"I'm starting to get hungry," Joe admitted, looking at his watch when the next hand had played out, with Frank the winner. "It's almost seven."
"Then let's do something about dinner. Can everyone live with ordering in pizza?" Blair asked, getting to his feet and reaching for the kitchen phone. "Tell me what you like and don't like," he requested, dialing from memory.
Jim got up too, and opened the fridge door. "Chief, we're almost out of Coca-Cola." He glanced around at the three boys. "How much of that stuff do you kids drink, anyway?" he inquired with a smile to take away the sting. "Sandburg and I can have beer, but I think someone's going to have to make a quick run to get some more Coke."
"I'd offer to go...but I don't suppose it would be a good idea for Joe or me to do it," Frank ventured.
The older detective gave him a curious look. "You saying you'd go?"
"Well...yeah. If you wanted," Frank said hesitantly. He looked at Joe. "Maybe it would shake something loose...You want us to?"
"God, NO!" Blair covered the phone with his hand. "Jim, stop teasing them! I'll go get it; no one's gunning for me!"
"Other than the usual psychos," Jim murmured.
Blair hung up the phone a few minutes later. "Pizzas will be here within 30 minutes," he announced. "Plenty of time for me to run down to that little grocery on 4th and pick up another 12-pack of Coke. Or do you guys want something else? Root beer?"
The boys shook their heads. "Coke's fine," Joe said. He gestured towards the table, covered with the detritus of a poker game: discarded cards and plastic chips, a half-empty bag of pretzels, a can of mixed nuts. "We should clean this up, huh?" As Frank raised his eyebrows in disbelief, Joe grinned cheerfully at his brother. "Hey, I'm trying to be a good guest, here. Stop acting so surprised!"
Ellison eyed the younger Hardy with new respect. "I LIKE this one, Chief! Can we keep him?"
"No. We can't," Blair said flatly. "Sheesh, having these guys around makes you act like YOU'RE 17 again!"
Ellison just smirked – and then set to work helping Joe clean up the mess.
Blair headed for the door, stopping to buckle on his shoulder holster. "All right, I'm heading for the store. Last chance to change your minds about beverages." He waited a beat. "Hearing none, I'm outta here. Back in about 20 minutes with a 12-pack of Classic Coke – right about the time the pizza should be here!" He departed, closing the heavy metal front door with a bang.
A man trotted past 852 Prospect, dressed in shorts, t-shirt and running shoes, and a baseball cap. A black fanny-pack was strapped about his hips – an unusually heavy fanny-pack. Andy Martin had spent a very long, hot afternoon alternately jogging up and down Prospect and its adjoining streets, and sitting on a conveniently-situated bus bench under a shady tree, where he could relax, munch peppermints and keep an eye on the building in question. Once he'd even trotted into the lobby and checked the mailboxes to ascertain which apartment housed Detectives Ellison and Sandburg. Although he'd noted an uncomfortably high number of patrol cars cruising the neighborhood, Andy's cool composure hadn't slipped a notch, and he'd managed to keep himself under the radar, as far as being noticed.
He'd followed the long-haired, pretty detective and those damned kids back here, from the hotel. He'd watched when the big, tough-looking cop had arrived home. And now the pretty one had left on foot. That meant that there was only one cop – and three kids – in the apartment.
Time to get moving.
