Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Hardys.
A few weeks later, Lachlan awoke to sunlight streaming through her window and she arose despite herself. It was five in the morning, but she'd be able to get all kinds of things done before the rest of the house woke up.
Fenton Hardy and his sons were eating breakfast just after seven that morning when a strong knock came at the front door.
Joe answered it, and was surprised to see Lach standing there, looking worried. "Hi," she said.
"Hello, come on in." They walked into the kitchen, and everyone greeted each other. Lach had never liked small talk, and she was curter than usual now.
"Well, why I came was… Michael and Patrick have disappeared. I went to wake them up just now, and they were gone." She held up her hands in a shrug.
The Hardys stared. Fenton spoke first. "You're absolutely sure they're not in the house? Maybe they're in the basement?"
Lach shook her head. "I searched everywhere. We can look again, but," she shrugged helplessly. "And their bedroom windows were closed and locked, and the house alarm was still on."
The Hardys exchanged looks. "Let's go search," said Fenton, and everybody went next door.
The house was completely empty. They returned to the Hardy house. Somehow, it was more cheerful.
"I guess we should call the police," said Lach.
"No," said Fenton quickly, and the teens all stared at him.
He sighed. "Frank, call your school and tell them that you two won't be able to make it today. Lachlan, call Michael and Patrick's school and tell them the same thing. Don't say that they're missing. Use the phone in my study."
Nobody spoke until the phone calls were made.
"What's going on?" Frank asked his dad pointedly.
Fenton sighed again. "David and Ruth James… those aren't their real names. They are actually federal agents. They did work as missionaries, but they were on government payroll. The story about them rushing off to take the place of that missionary who died suddenly? That's not true; they just needed an excuse to get back out into the field."
"When was the last time that they were, uh, active as spies?" asked Joe.
"Just before Michael was born," said Fenton. "They wanted to keep their children safe," he said with a humourless grin.
"Why do you know all this?" asked Frank.
"Because I have ties to the agency. The Jameses moved next door to us in case something like this happened."
"So, where are the kids?" asked Lach. "Who has them? How do we get them back?"
"Well, I don't know who, exactly, has them, but it's certainly someone connected with their operation."
"What's the operation?" asked Frank.
"I don't know that either."
"Can we contact this government agency?" asked Lach, looking highly suspicious.
Fenton Hardy nodded. "Yes. I'm going to make a few calls right now. You guys, sit tight." He left the room.
"Who is your dad?" asked Lach, thoroughly confused.
Frank smiled. "He's a private detective, and he used to work for the NYPD. Like he said, he's done some work for the government."
"We've done some detective work, too," put in Joe.
Lach nodded. Silence fell.
Lach cleared her throat. "How long do you think your dad is going to be? 'Cause I have stuff to do…" She pointed in the direction of her house.
Frank paused. "It'd probably be better if you stayed here. We can find something to do." Another awkward silence.
"Are you hungry?" asked Joe. "I am. We never finished breakfast." The three moved into the kitchen.
Joe looked at his cold and rubbery breakfast. "Frank? You wanna make more eggs?"
"No."
Joe sighed. He didn't like cooking, and usually the smoke alarm went off if he ever tried it.
"I'll cook or bake something," volunteered Lach. "It'll keep my mind off things."
Frank looked at her and shrugged. "Sure, if you want. Since Mom and Aunt Gertrude went off visiting relatives, there hasn't been much real food around."
"What are you going to make?" asked Joe.
Lach considered. "What do want to eat?"
It was almost noon before Fenton Hardy emerged from his study. He entered the kitchen to find stew simmering on the stove, racks of cooling cookies on the counter, fresh bread in the oven, his sons doing dishes, and Lach mixing something in a bowl. All three were adorned in aprons.
Fenton couldn't help himself. He laughed. "When'll lunch be ready?"
"About twenty minutes. We just have to wait for the bread to finish baking," answered Lach.
Frank turned to his father, his hands dripping dishwater all over the floor. Lach objected, and Frank put his hands over the sink and waited for Lach to get him a towel. "What'd Washington have to say?"
"They couldn't tell me the details of the Jameses' operation, but it is related to arms smuggling from Boston to the Middle East. The Jameses are over there now, and are working with a team that is making headway. Hence the kidnapping of their children in order to discourage them."
"Are they gonna quit?" asked Lach.
"No." Fenton sighed heavily. "They can't be contacted without blowing their cover."
"So they don't even know that the boys are gone."
Fenton looked at her and nodded. "Correct."
Lach was outraged, but she didn't say anything. She understood. She didn't like it, but liking things didn't matter. Frank put a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"But they're going to search for the kids, right?" said Lach, stepping closer to Fenton. "The U.S. government isn't just going to…" She saw the expression on Fenton's face, and her voice rose in spite of herself. "They can't–"
"They aren't," he said, his voice hard. "That's where we come in."
Joe wanted to smile, but managed to hide it. He loved detecting.
"I have some information about the Boston end of things," Fenton explained. "After lunch, we can study it thoroughly. Tomorrow, we'll fly there, and do some investigating. Lachlan, I don't want you going home. Stay here, near the boys or me. Sleep in Frank's room tonight; he can sleep on Joe's floor. We don't need to lose anybody else, and I don't know what they've done next door – bugging, et cetera. And now, let's eat lunch."
The afternoon was spent poring over the uncensored parts of the Wassa files, as they were called. The name of one of the higher-ups in the organization was believed to be Wassa. The group seemed to have infiltrated quite thoroughly the governments of small, inconsequential Middle East and Eastern Bloc countries. Separately, they held no power, and so, no superpowers had objected. However if all the nations could act together, much havoc could be wrought.
The Boston connection was a small part of the whole, but it was the headquarters of the smuggling ring. Not many Wassan weapons originated in the States, but all arrangements were set up on American soil. This was the iffy part of the Wassan operation. If problems developed, all clues pointed back to Boston, rather than Wassa itself. Wassa could nicely divorce itself from the mess, and simply find another weapons supplies. This, at least, was what the agency had deduced. They did not have proof, but rather circumstantial evidence. They could have gone after the Boston connection harder, if they wished, but they preferred to concentrate upon the larger fish, the whole of Wassa. New information had recently been gleaned that pointed towards another tie between the Middle East and the East Coast, and so the Jameses were again called into service. It was for this reason that Fenton Hardy felt that visiting Boston might just be a good idea.