Chapter X

"Of course, I forgive you!" Callie brushed it aside impatiently. "What do we do now?"

Joe frowned. "I've been thinking about that. The first thing is to go through these logs and see if we can find out Jerry's last name and tie him to one apartment. Then we can stake out the place. These should give us a pretty good idea what time he usually gets to work."

Callie began laying the sheets out on the bed, her brown eyes scanning them intently. "You know, Joe, it was a good idea to come back here and make a plan. I'm very impressed."

Joe shot her a grateful glance. It had hurt a lot to leave that building without taking action, and Callie's praise took some of the sting away. She really was a good egg, for the most part.

"See anything?"

Callie nodded. "The name Jerry Stryker, over and over. But it doesn't match any of the names on the apartments."

"Huh." Joe picked up the auto log and flipped to the day before yesterday. He scanned the times marked. Sure enough, from 12PM to 5PM the vehicle "TOSCA" was signed out to Jerry Stryker.

He looked at the apartment list. First floor, A. Wong. Doubtful. Second floor, J. Li. Well. "J" could be for Jerry, if he used an alias. Third floor, B. Ramgulam. Not likely. Fourth floor, H. Weiss. No. Fifth floor, K. Smith. Sixth floor, G. Townsend. Okay, "G" could stand for Gerald, but where was the Stryker?

"I don't know, Callie. Any ideas?"

Callie sat on the bed. "Well. You said he called her "babe" on the phone. And Frank said the same thing about the woman he was arguing with. So maybe it's his girl's place. Maybe it's a whole different name."

Joe nodded. "Well, at least that clears Alissa. There's no A. Grant here."

Callie rolled her eyes. "Unless that's a stage name. Either way, it doesn't help us narrow it down any."

Joe ran his hands through his blond waves. "I'll admit I'm kind of beat, Callie. My thinker seems to be turned off." Darn it, Frank, this is your job, where are you?

Callie glanced at the clock. "It's late," she admitted. "Wait, Joe! I have an idea! And Alissa's just the key! She likes to chat - maybe a little casual conversation will get the name of Jerry's girlfriend out of her!"

Joe yawned widely and nodded. "Worth a shot. Let's check Frank's book for the hours of the Opera House and hit the sack." He checked the time and date on his watch and shook his head, his face serious. "You know, Callie, I hate to say it, but if we don't close this thing up in the next couple of days, you're going to have to fly back to New York."

Callie opened her eyes in astonishment. "Why, Joe Hardy, of all the chauvinist - I thought we were agreed - "

"No, no - " Joe held up his hand in protest. "I didn't mean it that way! I meant that Frank and I flew here with one of our tickets on a courier discount, and part of the courier gig is that you have to return with a delivery on a certain day! It's how you earn the ticket.

Dad got us the deal, and it's his reputation at stake. So as long as it's humanly possible, somebody has to fly on that plane and make the delivery. And if only one of us can stay and free Frank, well, I'm not being a chauvinist, Callie, it's just that I have more experience, and this is Frank's life we're talking about."

Callie was staring at him and he continued tiredly, "I'm sorry, Callie. I'm just trying to do the right thing."

Callie blinked. "Oh. No. I'm not mad, Joe, it's just..." she shook her head slightly. "It's just that, for a second there, you sounded exactly like Frank!"

Despite his tiredness, Joe couldn't sleep. It seemed to him that every time he closed his eyes the empty bed next to his reproached him, until he finally got up and turned on the light. Okay, if sleep was out of the question, maybe eating would help. There was a vending machine in the alcove down the hall. Pulling on his robe and slippers and filling his pocket with change, he eased quietly into the hall and locked the door behind him.

The hallways had subdued evening lighting, but the vending machine area was well-lit. Joe lingered over the display, finally selecting three candy bars and a can of soda for good measure, and started back down the hall. He was about halfway back to his room when he stopped dead, his heart thudding painfully. A figure, all in black, was kneeling outside his bedroom door. From the look of things, he was trying to pick the lock. And apparently he was good at it, because in another second he pushed on the door and slid stealthily inside.

Joe drew his breath in through his teeth. What now? With sudden resolve, he decided that he'd had enough caution for one day. Time to catch somebody in the act. In a few quick steps, he was beside the door. Then he counted to three, pushed the door inward and hit the light switch simultaneously, ducking low in case his intruder had a gun.

The intruder, startled by the interruption and dazzled by the sudden light, floundered by one of the beds. It was all the opportunity Joe needed. He leapt across the room, his shoulder sinking deep into the culprit's abdomen to release a satisfying whoosh of air. As they tumbled to the carpet with Joe on top, the younger Hardy figured out two things: firstly, that he was much better as a man of action, and secondly, that his victim, still breathing raggedly as he managed flip over Joe's head and reverse their positions, was no amateur. He closed a vicious grip on Joe's throat. Joe aimed a kick, but the grip didn't even loosen. He tried twisting away, but the man in black seemed to have superhuman powers of strength. In one last desperate effort to breathe, he swung the hand still clutching the soda can at the assailant's head. It connected just above the ear. Joe heard the man grunt, then felt him go limp on top of him.

Joe lay still, both trying to catch his breath and decide whether or not this guy was playing possum. After a minute, coughing a little and rubbing at his throat, he pushed the limp body off of him and studied it cautiously. It remained still. Nonetheless, he kept as much distance as possible and a weather eye for trouble as he tied the man's arms behind him with the belt from his bathrobe, using another belt for his ankles and a pair of socks for a gag.

Then he sat back on his heels and studied him. So, what was this all about? Had someone followed him from the apartment? Was this the same figure he thought he'd glimpsed as he and Callie were leaving the Opera House? Carefully, he reached into the man's pockets, feeling for identification. He found a small caliber gun with the safety on which he slipped into his bathrobe pocket and a small plastic I.D. card, nothing else. But he didn't need anything else. He recognized the plastic card at once. He had once been given one himself, by the owner.

Arthur Gray. Of The Network.

Joe looked from his unconscious captive to the card, chewing his lip. This case was taking a few too many twists for comfort. The good news was that the kidnappers weren't on to them. The bad news was that it looked as though the Gray Man had decided to either ship them out or find out what they knew, or both - and that he was past asking nicely. This guy probably wouldn't have risked breaking into his room if he was just sent to keep an eye on them. Joe made a sudden decision. He hooked the intruder under the arms and dragged him to the vending machine room. Some skulking around revealed a decent-sized gap between the soda machine and the wall, and he tucked the man in black into it, out of sight. When he came to, he'd probably get away, but that couldn't be helped. Joe couldn't risk calling the police and he sure couldn't haul this guy along with him, so he'd just have to take his chances on his staying out cold for a while.

He hot-footed it down the hall and knocked softly but insistently on Callie's door. The door swung open quickly on a disheveled Callie. "Joe! I heard some thumping next door! Is everything all right?"

Joe grimaced. "Not exactly. But it's under control for the moment. Callie, we need to dress and pack and check out right away. No time for explanations - I'll tell you everything later. Start now. I'm going to settle with the desk." Callie opened her mouth, then closed it firmly and turned back inside of her room. Joe could hear the sound of drawers opening and closing. With a sigh of relief he went back to his own room and picked up the phone.

"Hi. This is rooms 312 and 314. We have - um - a family emergency and need to check out right away. What do we owe you?"

There was a pause as the desk clerk checked the computer. At last she said, "Actually, sir, you paid by credit card and are paid up through the end of the week. I can credit a refund to your card."

"Huh." Joe was running this rapidly through his brain. "Any chance we could get that refund in cash?"

"Only two hundred dollars of it, sir. Hotel policy."

"Good enough." Too bad Frank had been kidnapped with the credit card. Oh, well. "Could you have a bell hop bring it up to our room? I'll sign for it. We're in kind of a hurry."

"Certainly, sir. And I hope your emergency isn't serious. Would you like me to call a cab for you?"

"Er - no. Thanks. Someone is picking us up." He hung up the phone and pulled on his jeans over his pajamas, then got out his and Frank's suitcases. The bellhop at the door interrupted him, and he signed the necessary papers and accepted the envelope of money. After stuffing the envelope into his jacket, he began opening Frank's drawers and thrusting his things into his bag pell-mell, shaking his head at the mess he was creating. His orderly brother would never approve, but it couldn't be helped.

Just then Callie walked in. "I'm all packed. Now what - not like that, Joe. Here, let me. You get your own stuff together." With a few deft manipulations she had the clothes lying smoothly and was emptying the next drawer inside the suitcase. Joe turned to cramming his own clothes into his suitcase and in just a couple of minutes they were done. "Great," Joe breathed. "Now we just need to leave without using the front door. Let's try the parking garage. There must be people coming and going through there all times of day and night."

Callie looked a question, but to Joe's relief, didn't ask. She just picked up Frank's bag and moved to the hall, where her own bags were waiting. "The stairs, I presume?"

"Yeah. All the way down - past the lobby and into the parking levels." They made their way stealthily down the stairs, slowed by their bags. Joe, grunting under the weight of Callie's garment bag, wondered in passing what girls found to carry in all that luggage. They reached the parking garage and made their way out of the side entrance into the street. So far, so good. Joe only saw one flicker of suspicious movement in the shadows, and that turned out to be a wino. Still, it didn't mean anything. Those Network guys were good. Callie raised her eyebrows at Joe, and he gestured with his head for her to follow him. Down the steep hill they trekked, hauling their luggage, then over a block and up another hill. Joe decided to himself that dragging suitcases up and down the hills of San Francisco would never rank high on his choices of exercise. When he was fairly sure that no one was following and completely sure that his arms would break off if they didn't rest, Joe called a halt by a pay phone in front of a drug store. He fumbled in his jacket for a quarter.

Callie watched him. "Anything you'd like me to do?"

Joe nodded and reached into his back pocket for Frank's guide book. "Find us another hotel."

Callie accepted the book without comment. "We're hiding out?"

Joe nodded, dialing the taxi service number displayed on the pay phone. Joe gave the taxi service the address of the drug store and sat down on one of the bags to wait. Callie, absorbed in the guide book, seemed disinclined for conversation, and he was glad, because he wanted to think. What he found himself thinking about was what he'd like to do to Jerry Stryker, and, more importantly, to the Gray Man. After dwelling on these thoughts with relish for a while, he felt Callie pull the hood of his jacket up over his head so that it shadowed his eyes. Looking up at her, he noticed that she had taken the scarf from the neck of her jacket and tied it around her head.

"I'm not cold," he protested.

"That doesn't matter. You said we were hiding out. This will make us a little less recognizable."

"Oh. Good idea." He lumbered stiffly to his feet as a taxi rounded the corner and pulled up to the curb. What a long day. Some vacation.

In the taxicab, he let Callie give directions, barely listening. The taxi wound its way through the confusion of the San Francisco streets, then finally stopped in front of a painted stucco building. He stared through the window, fumbling for his money. The sign over the bright red door was in Chinese, but underneath, in smaller letters, was painted Hotel Hong. He raised his eyebrows at Callie, who winked at him. The driver left them on the sidewalk with their bags. It was the first time it occurred to Joe to look at the time. He whistled when he saw how late it was. Still, a tug on an old fashioned bell pull brought footsteps scurrying. A small oriental woman opened the door to them, bowing and murmuring soft greetings in Chinese. They followed her into the spotless lobby, still dragging their bags. She bustled behind the lobby desk, turning on an overhead light and gesturing to a book in front of her.

A sudden thought occurred to Joe. "Do you speak English?"

"No Ingliss," beamed the woman, gesturing to the book again. Joe looked down, and saw that it was a floor plan of all the rooms. There was a star marked on what he assumed were the occupied rooms. He looked at Callie and shrugged, then selected two adjoining rooms with baths on the second floor - one double and one single. The price was written on each room, and Joe reached in his jacket to peel off some bills from the refund money. The woman nodded and bowed again, chuckling something else in Chinese. Then she clapped her hands and a sleepy young bellhop who looked enough like her to be her son staggered out of a door behind the desk to take their bags. They followed him up the stairs. He opened both rooms for them, offering their keys with a bow.

Joe looked at Callie. "Say, I know I owe you an explanation -"

Callie waved it away, yawning. "Tomorrow. Well, this place certainly is clean. See you in the A.M., Joe."

"Yeah." Joe shook his head, smiling. "You sure are a good sport, Callie."

"Of course. How else could I have lasted this long with your brother? Good night, Joe."

Joe was still smiling as her door closed and he wandered into his own room for a well-deserved rest.