Thank you, everybody for the kind reviews!
I don't own the Hardys.
The city streets were bustling with an interesting mixture of people. There wee the Arabs in full Islamic regalia, the Westernized Arabs, and the Westerners, either tourists or businessmen.
Spencer and Sarah were quite obviously tourists, dressed in shorts and t-shirts, snapping photos.
"Being tourists and reporters are the best disguises," said Frank. "That's your excuse right there for being inquisitive and obnoxious."
Lachlan laughed. "Joe's certainly making the most of it." Joe was playing a spoiled rich kid on holiday with his uncle, Fenton.
"Yeah," agreed Frank. "There it is, in the next block. Let's stop by the gates, I'll take pictures, and you talk to the guards and see if they'll tell you anything at all."
"All right."
They strolled down the street and were dramatic in their awe of the building. Sarah struck up a conversation with one of the two guards. He was quite young and was eager to impress this young American girl with his knowledge of the English language.
Frank hid a smile as he heard Sarah inquire about other entrances, under the guise of her future profession. Remembering his own aptitude, Spencer asked after the value of the mansion, what sort of furniture it contained, if any rooms had been shut up. The upkeep must have surely cost a fortune.
After fifteen minutes, Sarah asked if it would be possible for them to see the inside of the house. The guard's entire manner shifted. "No, no, boss very… no, he not like, only business men come to house, only business… boss very not like…"
"He's private?" prompted Sarah.
"Yes! Private! Only business, no friends – I see TV I see friends!"
Confused, Sarah nodded for him to continue.
"American friends. New York. Friends!"
"Oh, the TV show!" Frank realized suddenly.
"Yes! I love!" cried the guard.
"I love it!" exclaimed Sarah. "And you like it, too! Wow! Small world!"
The conversation soon wound down, and Spencer and Sarah walked away.
"I bet they're in there," said Lach.
"Maybe, but it could just be some rich recluse."
"We need more information," decided Lach.
Frank nodded. "I'll contact the Agency when we get back, see if they can track down the 'boss' of the building. Maybe tomorrow Dad and Joe can go visit that guard. He sure was chatty, wasn't he?"
Before she went to bed that night, Lach checked her secure e-mail on the laptop she'd got from the Agency. Waiting for her was a report on the building she and Frank had visited that morning.
They'd tracked the owner down, but it had taken a lot of work. The house was owned by a network of companies that eventually connected to a front for Wassa operations.
The report also included rudimentary building plans, a promise of surveillance by undercover agents, and a suggested course of action.
In three days, on Thursday, the tour group was scheduled to have the entire day to spend as they wished. On that day, Lach would return to the front gate of the mansion and engage in conversation with the guards for as long as possible. The Hardys would be stationed around the neighbourhood, observing. The agents would attempt to gain entry by one of the back doors.
Lach fell asleep smiling.
The next two days seemed interminable to Joe. He was bored with being a tourist and wanted to get on with the detective work.
Thursday morning, Joe was awake before his alarm went off, possibly for the first time ever, and he and Fenton went down for breakfast at seven-thirty. They said hello to Spencer, who was just leaving the room.
Soon they were walking through the now-familiar streets. Fenton and Joe had a planned argument over revisiting a museum, and they separated. Joe stationed himself at a sidewalk café with a good view of the mansion. Fenton snuck out the back entrance of the museum and climbed to the roof of a nearby apartment block in time to see Lachlan wander towards the gates.
Frank appeared to be window-shopping, though he was really watching the mansion's reflection in the windows. He wondered if he'd be able to pick out the agents from the rest of the people on the street. He glanced at his watch and discovered that the agents were to have entered the building fifteen minutes earlier. He hadn't seen any activity at the house, and he hoped that no news was good news.
Lach was a fairly taciturn person, but she'd got a lot of practise being talkative over the past few days. Still, her conversation with the young guard was on the verge of drying up.
Desperate, she turned to the other guard, who had yet to speak. "So, how long have you been working here?" she inquired.
"He not speak English," said the young guard, and Sarah looked quite disappointed. She recovered nicely, however, and began telling stories about her language difficulties while travelling in France and speaking Quebecois French.
It seemed to Fenton that the mansion was abandoned. Like his son, he assumed no news was good news, but he really wished that his cell phone would ring, and the agents would tell him how things were going.
Joe was on the verge of exploding. He'd drunk four cups of tea, and had to go to the washroom something awful. However, he didn't want to leave his post for fear of missing something. Upon further reflection, he figured that if he did use the facilities, Murphy's Law would take over, the agents would make the rescue, and as soon as he sat down at his table again, his cell phone would chirp and inform that he could go home.
Tempting fate, Joe rose from his chair.
Frank nearly leapt out of his skin when his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He answered it, and discovered that he'd received a text message in code. It read: "Let's party, we won the game!"
Grinning, Frank hung up. Suddenly, he began sprinting down the sidewalk, shoving people aside. He darted out into traffic, drawing shouts and honks. Reaching the end of the block, he turned and ran back.
"Ah, I've got to go meet my friend, I'm sorry, good bye!" Lach hurried around the corner and entered a large shop. When no one was looking, she pulled the fire alarm.
Fenton removed a bag of rocks from his camera case and took careful aim at a first-storey window across the street. It shattered, and he pitched another stone.
Joe's phone began vibrating as he set down his backpack on the washroom floor. By the time he finished relieving himself, it had stopped.
Once Lach figured she had wreaked enough havoc, she began walking to the American Embassy. She walked quickly, hoping that she would soon see David and Ruth James.
It seemed to Joe that the city was noisier than it had been five minutes earlier, but maybe he was imagining things. He checked his watch. What was taking the agents so long?
Fenton watched several people scramble into the delivery truck he was driving, and as soon as the door shut, he hit the gas. He didn't look at his passengers until he was safely in the U.S. Embassy parking lot. He turned in his seat. "Well?"
He was answered by four very broad, unprofessional grins.