J.M.J.

Author's note: Thank you for continuing to read! Special thanks to everyone who left reviews on the previous chapter!

Penlew: That would be terrible if Fenton's nightmare came true…

Drumboy100: Thank you again!

Max2013: *Looks very innocent* Now, why would you think a thing like that?

Before we move onto the next chapter, I do have a question. This story is the thirty-fourth that I've published on this website. I know from looking at other authors' profiles that at this point, it's getting a little tricky to find stories on my profile. Now quite a few of these stories are one-shots. Some of them are stand-alone one-shots that I couldn't do much with, but most of them take place in a WWII alternate universe. I was thinking I could republish those one-shots into one story with each one-shot as a "chapter" which is where I would post future entries into that universe. I was wondering what anyone thought of that idea. There are pros and cons to republishing them and leaving them as is, but I'm kind of leaning toward republishing them. If you have any thoughts either way, you can let me know in a review or PM or even on the poll I'm putting on my profile.

Enjoy the next chapter! God bless!

Chapter IV

Biff tugged at his shirt collar as he and the Hardys stepped off the plane in Fenghuang, the capital city of Ziyou. Despite being the capital, it was a very small airport with only a few gates. Passengers even still had to climb down a moveable staircase and walk across the tarmac to get to the gate. The sun was setting, but it had been beating down so hard all day that it hadn't had time to cool down. It was a very humid, oppressive heat, and mosquitoes the size of wasps were buzzing around.

"No wonder they said not to get off the plane until after you'd put on bug spray," Biff grumbled. "And it's so hot. I thought we were in the Himalayas. Shouldn't it be cool?"

"It's summer. What do you expect?" Joe asked. He was trying to tease him, but he was tired from the long flight and more than a little disappointed in the temperatures himself, so it came across sounding snappy.

"Fenghuang is too far south," Frank explained. He had spent some time studying the geography of the country. "We'd have to go farther north to really get into the mountains where it would be cooler, and even there, it would still be warm this time of year."

"We're not here for the climate," Fenton reminded the boys. "Let's get through customs and then try to find Jim and Jones."

They weren't expecting any trouble with customs, but the Hardys had traveled enough internationally to know that there can always be unexpected problems. When one of the officers came toward them and asked to speak with them, they thought that it was just some question about something in one of their bags.

"Is something wrong?" Fenton asked to that end.

"So very sorry, Mr. Hardy," the officer said. "I think it would be better to talk in the office."

Fenton glanced at the boys. "All of us?"

"Yes, I'm afraid I must insist on all of you."

Fenton could feel himself tensing up at this. This didn't feel like standard procedure for a possible customs violation, and he could tell from their faces that the others didn't think so either. In fact, it felt a little like a trap set up by Black Rose. However, they could hardly start their trip out by causing trouble with the Ziyou government, so they had to go along, even though they were on their guard.

The officer led them to an office and held the door open so that they could all troop inside. Another man was seated at a desk in there. He wasn't the sort of person the Hardys or Biff were expecting. He was a white man with salt-and-pepper hair and a frown on his face. Joe decided instantaneously that he didn't like him.

"This is Mr. Edmund Wight," the Ziyou officer introduced him. He then proceeded to introduce the Hardys and Biff. "I will leave you to talk." Then, much to the surprise of the four newcomers, he turned and left the room.

"What is this?" Joe demanded as the door swung shut behind the officer. "Who are you and what do you want?"

"You already know who I am," Wight replied in a decidedly British accent. "At least, you know my name. I'm with the British government. I've heard of you, Mr. Hardy, and your sons, so I found it rather interesting that you would choose Ziyou for a vacation spot, especially right at the moment."

"What do you mean by that?" Fenton asked, making the snap decision to play innocent. "We heard that Ziyou is a very nice place. Although you might be right about coming right now. The boys were just commenting about the heat, which is going to take some getting used to. But as I told them, we're not here for the climate. We're here to help with the mission."

"Ah, the mission. And which mission might that be?" Wight asked.

"The Angels of Charity mission," Fenton replied.

"Odd," Wight commented. "Given your reputations, I would think you would be more likely to be here on an investigative mission than a religious one."

"Well, it's always good to give back a little bit," Fenton said. "Now, why exactly did you want to talk to us? Why should the British government be interested in American citizens going to Ziyou as missionaries?"

"Most other American citizens, we wouldn't be interested at all," Wight replied. "Now, let's stop being cute, shall we? I know as well as you do that you're not here to spread the Good News. You're here to investigate what's going on in this country. I doubt in any official capacity, since I don't think the American government would send teenagers on a mission like that. You Americans have done some crazy things over the years, but this would be a bit much. I want to know what exactly you're investigating and why."

Fenton paused a moment. "If we were here on an investigation, I really don't see how any of that would be any of your business."

Wight put his fingertips together. "You're not going to tell me, are you? Well, then, I won't waste any more of your time. I apologize for any inconvenience. Do let me know if you change your minds. It could be more important than you realize to put a stop to what's going on here, and the best way of doing that is generally for everyone on the same side to work together."

"If you come up with anything you would like us to investigate, we might be able to find some time apart from the mission," Fenton said.

This put an end to the interview without anyone knowing much more than they had before the interview.

Biff looked over his shoulder as they left the door to the office behind them. "There's something fishy about him. I hope we won't run into him again."

"I think we will," Frank said. "What did you make of him, Dad?"

Fenton shook his head. "I don't know. I'll check with my contacts and see if I can find out anything about him."

"I don't trust him," Joe said flatly. "He's got something up his sleeve, and I have a feeling it just might be a tattoo of a Black Rose."

"They seem to usually get tattooed behind their ears, but I see your point," Fenton said. "We need proof before we could make any accusations like that, especially since Edmund Wight has some kind of understanding with the government of this country, judging from the way customs was cooperating with him. We all need to be very careful when it comes to him."

Whatever Wight's intentions were, he didn't seem interested in causing the Hardys further trouble at the moment. Customs finished with them quickly and let them go on their way.

Once they were through, they spotted two familiar faces in the crowd of people waiting to greet other passengers. Jones and Jim saw them at practically the same moment and waved. At least, Jim merely waved. Jones came running forward and nearly tackled Frank with a hug. Then she balanced it out by hugging Joe and Biff and giving Fenton a hearty handshake.

"You guys have no idea how excited I am that you're here," Jones said, although from the way she couldn't keep still, they were getting a good idea. "It's so great to see a friendly face. Don't get me wrong. I love what I'm doing here, and everyone's been great, but it's not like being around old friends. You should have been here when I saw Jim for the first time. I may have nearly mobbed him."

"I can imagine," Frank replied with a chuckle. "It's great to see you, too. And you, Jim."

Jim smiled and nodded in agreement. "I am sorry it is not under happier circumstances. I am sorry if I do not seem very joyful to see you."

"No worries there," Biff assured him. "You've got a lot on your mind. You've got to fill us in on the whole story, because I have a feeling we're still missing part of it."

"I will," Jim promised, "but not here. There are too many people. It would be too easy for someone to listen."

Fenton nodded. "Right. I think we'd better be on our way. Did the mission send a vehicle or will we have to take a taxi?"

"We've got a car," Jones told him. "I don't have a license here—apparently, an American driver's license isn't good enough for them—but Jim does, and since the mission is short-handed, they were willing to let him drive their van. Speaking of which, you guys do realize that part of the deal for you to go undercover as missionaries is that they are expecting you to help out with some of the missionary work, right?"

Joe grinned. "By the time they see the kind of missionaries we'd make, they'll be begging us not to help out anymore."

"That's what you think," Jones replied. "Most of the missionary work we do is helping out poor and homeless people. You know, running a homeless shelter and a soup kitchen and handing out clothes and other necessities, things like that. The organizers of the mission don't really believe in doing a lot of preaching except by example, so all they do on that front is hand out these little, compact copies of the New Testament. I think even you could handle that."

"Hmm. Well, I guess that doesn't sound too bad, actually," Joe said.

Jim and Jones led them out to the parking lot. Their van was unmistakable. The wording on the side was in Chinese, but there was a picture of angel handing out bread and clothing painted across the back panels of the van.

There were three rows of seats inside, although the back row didn't have any windows. Joe and Biff were elected to sit back there since they were the youngest members of the group. There was some grumbling about that, but Fenton reminded them that they weren't here for a vacation and they needed to take it seriously.

When they were finally on the road, they asked Jim to tell them his story in full, but he shook his head. "It is not far enough to the mission to talk about all of that," he said. "I will tell you later. The most important thing now is Uncle Jie."

"Yes," Fenton agreed. "I know it isn't easy for you, but tell us everything you know about his murder."

Jim shivered. "I do not like to think about it. It happened two months ago in the house that we were renting. I had a job with a manufacturing company. It was long hours and the pay was not good, but it was still better than what the same job would be in China. Uncle Jie was also working, but he was doing his political work, too, and he could not work as many hours as I. He was often at the house by himself, since that is where he did much of his political work. When I came home from work that night, it was nearly eleven o'clock. I saw that the lights were off and I thought that he had gone to bed. I turned the lights on and that is when I found him." He scrunched his face slightly as if he was trying to hold back tears.

"How was he killed?" Fenton asked as gently as he could. "I'm sure you'd rather not say, but it's important to the case."

"I know." Jim bit his lip. "He was stabbed. The police here thought it was with something round, like an ice-pick, instead of with a knife. They said that he had been stabbed at least thirty times and there were other bruises and cuts which made them think that he had been beaten first, or maybe while he was being stabbed." His voice broke and he had to clear his throat before he could go on. "As I said over the telephone, he was holding a black rose in his hand. I remembered it from when I was an exchange student in Bayport and there was that group that called themselves Black Rose."

"Yeah. You know, on second thought…" Biff stopped himself. He had been about to try to relieve a bit of tension by jokingly saying that he wished he would have stayed in Bayport, but then he remembered his promise to Mr. Hardy not to crack any dumb jokes while he was there.

"On second thought, what?" Frank asked when Biff didn't finish.

"Nothing. Uh, but how is knowing all that going to help us catch the creeps who did this?" Biff asked.

"We can look for similar MOs," Fenton explained. "If other victims were killed in the same or a similar way, especially something rather unique like this, chances are good that the person is responsible in both cases. Then we can try to look for connections between the victims. Beyond that, knowing how the murder was done gives us insight into the killer's psyche."

"Yeah, he's sick," Biff said.

"Most killers are," Frank told him. "Although, I'll admit, this one seems especially sick."

"Do you have any ideas of specific people who could be suspects, Jim?" Fenton asked. "Did you ever notice anyone following your uncle or your uncle acting strangely or anything like that?"

Jim shook his head. "No."

Joe scratched his chin. "Have you ever heard of an English guy named Edmund Wight?"

They all saw Jim's eyebrows knit together in the rearview mirror. "No, I do not think so."

Jones glanced at him questioningly. "Wasn't that the guy who called the mission that day, wanting to talk to you?"

There was a moment's hesitation. "Oh, yes," Jim admitted. "It was. He wanted to ask me some questions about my uncle. I did not know who he was. I thought he was a reporter, so I did not tell him anything."

"You thought he was a reporter?" Joe asked. "What is he, then, if he isn't?"

"Perhaps he is." Jim shrugged. "I do not know. I thought, perhaps, he was something else since you asked about him. If he is just a reporter, how did you know about him?"

"We really don't know about him," Joe replied.

Shortly after that, they reached the mission. It was a large house, which Jones explained had one belonged to a wealthy family. About fifteen years earlier, they had dedicated it to helping the poor and had paid to bring in missionaries from America. It was still an impressive-looking house, but Joe's attention was drawn to a little building down the street that looked out of place among the Eastern-style buildings. With its steeple and its whitewashed walls, it looked just like any one of the hundreds of 1800s-era churches that Joe had seen in the U.S.

He pointed it out to Biff. "Funny that the homiest looking thing here would be a church."

"Oh, that's the other mission," Jones explained and then laughed. "We sometimes joke about them being our rivals, but the truth is, they're our best allies. It's run by some Polish Catholic priests. There are only three of them here in Fenghuang, but there are others in some of the other towns. I guess the Poles got first dibs on this mission territory or something like that. They're always willing to help out with serving meals and that sort of thing, and they all speak better Chinese than I do. Only one of them speaks a word of English, though. Come on. I've got to introduce you guys around."

She led the way into the Angels of Charity mission. There were some children playing in front, and inside were about a dozen older adults who were talking in low voices or dozing on mats on the floor. A woman of around forty-five with curly blonde hair hurried to meet the newcomers as soon as they came in the door. A concerned frown dominated her face.

"Wanda, these are the Hardys and Biff Hooper," Jones told her. She gestured to each of the Hardys in turn. "This Fenton Hardy, and his sons, Frank and Joe. Guys, this is Wanda Lakin, one of the organizers of this mission."

"I'm glad to meet you," Wanda said, although she couldn't even muster a small smile. "Jones told me why you're here. I hope you realize that we're only letting you stay here as a favor to Jones. We're a religious mission. We want to stay completely politically neutral. I don't want to sound rude, but I hope you understand."

"We do understand," Fenton assured her, although he was a bit put off by her words.

Another woman who was probably around thirty had followed Wanda. She had dark brown hair and she looked both surprised and confused to see the newcomers. "I didn't know we were getting new recruits, and I definitely never heard you talk to any that way before, Wanda."

"These ones are a bit different," Wanda said without taking her eyes off them. She nodded at the younger woman. "This is Alyssa Roche, another volunteer here. Alyssa, would you show them to the spare rooms?"

"Uh, sure." Alyssa waved for the others to follow her as she led them toward a hallway.