Chapter 4: Hard Evidence

After a couple of hours sitting in an upright chair, Jonny's leg was aching. He got up and limped over to one of the walls, taking the cards and the crossword puzzle book with him. Slowly, carefully, he lowered himself to the floor so he could stretch his leg out.

What was that jerk Crandall doing to his father? What did he want him to do? People were always grabbing his dad to try and make him build something, or find something, or blow something up. That is, if they weren't just trying to kill him to keep him from finding them out.

If Jonny hadn't gone and gotten himself captured, they wouldn't have anything to hold against his father, and he could do whatever he needed to do to get away. Instead, Jonny had actually made things harder by getting hurt. Now his father wouldn't run because of what Crandall might do to him.

The door opened and Jonny looked up to see who was coming in. He hoped it would be Race, and that he'd get to watch Race beating the crud out of Crandall. Unfortunately it was just the guard, who looked startled to find that Jonny wasn't sitting at the table.

"Where are - oh," he said. "Why are you down there?"

Jonny shrugged. "What's it to you?"

The man wrinkled his brows, seeming puzzled by Jonny's hostility. "The medical technician wants us to move you to a different room where you'll be more comfortable."

"I'd be comfortable wherever my dad is," Jonny offered.

"That's not up to me. Do you need help standing up?"

"I'm not moving until you take me back to my father."

He blinked. "I could carry you."

"Just try it!" Jonny said, brandishing the pen that was his only weapon.

"I don't understand why you're so angry," the man said, sounding sulky.

Jonny rolled his eyes. "You do know you're a minion, don't you?" he asked sarcastically.

"What?"

"A minion. You know, a thug who works for the bad guys?" Jonny raised his eyebrows in a scornful expression.

"I am not a thug!" the man declared self-righteously. "And the people I work for are not 'the bad guys.'"

"Yeah, whatever." Jonny shrugged. "I'm not going anywhere unless it's to see my father."

The guard stared down at him for a couple seconds, then he went out and shut the door. Jonny thumped his head against the wall. Great. They were being held captive by a band of deluded idiots. He raised an eyebrow thoughtfully. What would happen if he undeluded one of them?

The door opened again and the woman from the doctor's office came in. Patricia. The guard was behind her, looking frustrated. "Jonny?" she said, squatting down in front of him. "You really should let Paul move you to a room with a bed in it."

"Unless it also has my father in it, I'm not interested," Jonny said stubbornly. "And my dog."

"We might be able to arrange for your dog, but your father is busy."

Jonny crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her. "Thanks, but no thanks," he said. "I'll just sit here and be uncomfortable."

"What good does that do you or your father, Jonny?" she asked in a persuasive voice. "There's no point in sitting in here on the floor. If some people had the brains God gave a grasshopper, they wouldn't have put you in here in the first place." Jonny just turned his head away, ignoring her. "Are you hungry?"

There was a rebellious rumbling in his belly, but Jonny ignored that, too. "I'm not eating anything without my father's say-so."

"What?" she exclaimed. "Come now, Jonny. That's not reasonable."

"My family follows certain rules when in the field. One of them is that none of us kids accept food from strangers." He gave her a sarcastic smirk. "Or minions. You qualify on both counts."

She tilted her head, her ponytail hanging to the side, and gave him a bemused look. "I'm a minion?" she asked.

"Well, yeah! It's probably in your job description. In the fine print that you forgot to read."

"Come on, honey, you can't stay here on the floor," she said, leaning closer and starting to take his arm. He jabbed the pen at her, but Paul caught his arm before he could connect and yanked him to his feet. Jonny let out an involuntary cry of pain.

"Hey, what do you think you're doing?" Paul demanded.

Patricia stood up and exclaimed, "Paul, what do you think you're doing? Let him go."

"He tried to stab you with a pen," the guard said, letting go of the death grip he had on Jonny's arm. Jonny stumbled and caught his balance against the wall, glaring at the creep.

"He's scared and angry. That's normal when they first get here." Jonny blinked and backed up a couple of steps. Normal? he thought. How often do they do this?

"I want my father!" he growled.

Patricia turned back to him. "Now, Jonny, I'm sorry, but I have no authority over that. I can only get you moved to a more comfortable room."

Jonny sighed. He had a feeling that if he tried to sit back down, Paul would grab him again even if Patricia objected. "Fine. Whatever. That thug there can make me do whatever you tell me to, anyway. I can't stop him." Paul was beginning to look seriously annoyed, but Jonny didn't care.

She reached out to put an arm around his shoulders, but he drew back despite the fact that it hurt to move. Sighing, she gave him a rueful smile. "All right, then. Follow me."

They walked through the blank hallways to a room that was a lot like the one he'd woken up in, except for two important differences. His dad wasn't here, and neither was Bandit. He looked up at Patricia. "What about Bandit? You said you could get my dog."

Paul spoke up before she could respond. "You lost your chance at having the dog in here when you tried to stab Patricia. Now, here's the remote control. If you call up channel 4 on the cable, you'll get a TV listing. Lie down and keep quiet."

Patricia was glaring at Paul, but she didn't say anything as they left him alone in the room. Jonny explored every nook and cranny, but there was no way out besides the door that had Paul on the other side of it. And everything that he might have been able to use to knock the big guy out was bolted to the floor. At last he sank onto the bed in frustration.

A few minutes later, Patricia came in with a bowl of soup and some grilled cheese sandwiches. He ignored her when she tried to talk to him, flipping on the cable instead. She set the tray down on the bedside table and left. When she was gone, he found himself struggling to hold back tears, wondering if he was ever going to see his dad again.


Race watched the arrival of the boat again on Phil's laptop. Phil stood watching over his shoulder. It stopped just outside IRIS's sensor range, and there were no people visible on the deck before the cameras died. "The registry number is Canadian," Phil observed. "We shouldn't have too much trouble tracking it down."

Raising his eyebrows, Race said, "Which most likely means that they don't think we can get any useful information out of it." He froze the image on the registry number and jotted it down. "They would be wrong, however," he muttered.

Phil was already on the phone to Transport Canada to find out who owned the boat. Race handed him the number and within minutes they had the information that it was owned by Brown's Boats, a rental firm out of Nova Scotia. Obtaining the phone number from information, Phil called and ascertained that the boat had been returned earlier that day, and that its radio was fried.

"Keep it there, please," Phil said. "That vessel was the scene of a crime. It must be sealed off. No one must be allowed on or off the boat. It must not be touched or tampered with in any way. The Canadian authorities will be there shortly to quarantine the vessel." When Corvin disconnected, he turned to Race and said, "Call Nadine and get a forensics team scrambled and ready to go. And find out where the nearest airstrip is." Then he called his opposite number in Canada and started the negotiations required to get an American investigation started on foreign soil, simultaneously walking swiftly toward his plane.

Following him, Race put in the requested call. They were in the air within ten minutes and on their way. After giving the pilot the heads up on where they were going, Race sat down in the back, listening to Phil dicker for clearance. It seemed to take forever.

Finally Phil closed his phone. "We've got it. I called in a couple of favors. Is the team ready?"

"Nadine should have them in the air by now. They'll meet us there."

"Good."

It was a short hop from Maine to Nova Scotia. The drive from the airstrip to the boat rental place took longer than their flight did. By the time they reached the docks, Race was itching for action, but they were the first to arrive. The local authorities had cordoned off the boat quite properly. Race stared at it in frustration, aware that he couldn't cross that line until the forensics team had given the okay.

Turning away, he went into the office, which was attached to a modest two-story house. The business was owned by a married couple who looked to be in their mid to late forties. The man had dark hair and was somewhat stout, and his wife was blond. Their names were Joseph and Emma Brown. After identifying himself, he asked if they had any security cameras.

"Oh, yes, sir," Emma said, shaking her head. "Boat theft has become a serious problem of late. We have two cameras covering the docks and one in here." She pointed up at the one in the back corner of the office.

Race smiled. Things were looking up. "Do you record the images?"

"Yes," said Joseph. "We cycle through the tapes every couple of weeks. Those kids rented that boat three days ago, so we should still have the tapes." He scratched his head. "Give me a minute and I'll find them." He left the front room of the office going toward the house.

Race turned to Emma. "So, tell me about these kids that rented the boat."

"Oh, they were just kids, really. About college age, I'd guess, six of them. Three boys and three girls. They had all the licenses they needed to operate the boat, and there didn't seem to be anything odd about them. What did they do?"

"We're not sure, exactly," Race prevaricated. "Did they say where they were going?"

"Deep sea fishing, they said." She grinned. "But they didn't have any equipment for it. I figured they were just going out to - you know." She shrugged. "Play around a little."

That was probably just the impression they'd wanted to leave to throw anyone off their tracks. Race wondered who they were.

"Did you notice anything unusual about them? Any identifying marks, scars?"

"One of the girls had braces," she said thoughtfully. "They were just a bunch of attractive kids as far as I could tell. Americans, of course, but they had all the right documents."

"Did any of them say where they were from?"

She shook her head. "The only one of them that did much talking was more interested in the weather. The other five seemed a bit distracted." Shrugging again, she added, "I thought I knew what by, but maybe I was wrong."

Her husband came back into the office again with six video tapes. "These are from about the right time," he said, holding them out.

"Do you have a machine where we could view them?" Race asked eagerly.

"Sure. Come on inside and I'll get you something to drink."

"Just a minute." Race poked his head out the door to yell for Corvin, but he was way out on the docks, talking to the team. Instead of trying to make himself heard across that distance, he pulled out his phone and called him. "Phil?"

"Race? What is it?"

"They've got security tapes of the people who rented the boat. I thought you might want to see."

"Give me five minutes," Phil said, then disconnected.


Benton could have sworn that the clock on the wall wasn't really moving. The time was passing very slowly. The sooner he talked to Crandall, the sooner he would see Jonny again. He refused to even consider the notion that Crandall wouldn't let him see his son. He had to.

Bandit had woken up and had come in to lie down by Benton's feet. Wherever Jonny was, he was alone. He didn't even have the comfort of his dog. Benton shoved the anger he felt down to a compressed simmer. There was nothing he could do about that now.

On the dot of seven o'clock, the door to the bedroom opened, and he heard footsteps approaching. Bandit jumped up and started barking. Putting the file he'd been attempting to read aside, he picked Bandit up and hushed him. Crandall walked in through the door followed by his guard. He paused and raised an eyebrow at the dog's presence.

"Perhaps that should wait in the other room while we talk?" he said, pointing at Bandit.

Grimacing, Benton got up and put Bandit through the door and shut it behind the little dog. Bandit's sense of his own size was grossly exaggerated. His protectiveness had gotten him into trouble before, and Benton had no wish to risk him now. He turned back to face Crandall who had seated himself as before.

"Have you gone through the files?"

"I have."

"What have you got to say?"

Benton wet his lips nervously. "I presume, under the circumstances, that you know something about my capabilities." Crandall nodded, his expression reserved. "There are two of these that fall outside my area of expertise. I'm not sufficiently versed in medical research to reverse engineer the cancer drug, nor to develop an anthrax vaccine."

"No?" Crandall said in a thoughtful tone. "That's probably true. Your specialities lie in other directions. Very well, I will make other arrangements regarding those two." Benton wondered uneasily if that meant abducting some other scientist and a hostage. "As for the others," Crandall continued, "since you have not mentioned them, I take it you believe you can accomplish them?"

"It may not be as simple as that," Benton said. "But I know enough about the subjects to make a realistic attempt."

"Please give me some idea of the avenues you would follow in each."

Pursing his lips in irritation, Benton picked up the first file. There was a reason he preferred working on his own to answering to some higher authority. He started outlining possible procedures for each of the projects, starting with the lock pick. He had moved on to the tank when he heard the sound of voices in the next room. A moment later, the door opened and a guard stuck his head in.

"Sir, Patricia wants to speak with you. She says it's urgent."

Benton was on his feet before he realized that he was moving. Patricia was the medical assistant. Had something happened to Jonny? The guard behind Crandall's chair raised his rifle to point it at him and Benton froze.

Crandall rose smoothly. "I will go speak with Patricia. Dr. Quest, I recommend you sit back down and wait. I won't be a moment."

Benton subsided into the chair. There wasn't much else he could do with that young thug pointing a gun at him. If Jonny had been hurt again . . . . Benton buried his face in his hands. What could he do? He was helpless. Crandall held all the cards as long as he had control over Jonny's well being.

Benton sat and waited, listening to his heart pound in his ears.


Jonny thought this was the craziest cable he'd ever heard of. They must have their own system, because he couldn't imagine they'd make money only showing old movies, old television shows and documentaries. There also weren't any commercials. He wondered how they managed it. Maybe they downloaded straight from the satellites and bypassed the standard cable networks.

He'd watched an episode of Gilligan's Island, followed by I Love Lucy. He fell asleep before Lucy had managed to get herself into trouble yet again. When he woke up, it was showing The Dick Van Dyke Show.

Disgusted, he turned it off and scooted up to a sitting position again. He wished he had the crossword book back.

The door opened abruptly, startling him into jumping, and Jonny hissed at the pain this caused him. He glared up to see who was coming in, but it was only Patricia, carrying another tray of food. "You didn't eat your lunch, Jonny," she said chidingly.

He shrugged. "I told you. I'm not supposed to accept food from strangers or people working for the bad guy." She let out an exasperated sigh and started to speak, but he cut her off. "You might as well take both trays away. I'm not going to eat anything until I've seen and spoken to my father."

"You're being unreasonable."

"Who said I had to be reasonable?" he said in a patient tone. "I'm the one who got kidnapped, knocked off the wall of my house and separated from my father. Besides, I'm twelve. Everyone knows that twelve-year-olds are the least reasonable people around, right?" He gave her a snarky grin. "I've got all the excuses in the world for being as obnoxious as possible."

"Still, you've got to eat. You're a growing boy."

"Whatever. My dad would kill me if I took food from you. I told you, it's a family rule." She just shook her head. "You said something earlier about how my reaction is normal? Angry and afraid, I think you said?"

"Yes. But -"

"You don't get it," he said, sighing deeply. "This isn't the first time I've ever been kidnapped. I'd bet most of the kids you get are kind of scared and don't know what to do. I'm not like that. This is normal life for me."

"You can't be serious."

Jonny shrugged. "My dad builds something some bad guy wants, the bad guy grabs one of us and tries to get it. We always get away, the bad guys never get what they want, and that's just the way things are." He gave her another grin. "Sometimes the bad guys even get very dead."

"We're not the bad guys, Jonny. We're just a corporation, looking out for its interests."

Jonny cocked his head and stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Let's see, a corporation that kidnaps kids and threatens to hurt them if their fathers don't do what they're told. Sounds like a bad guy to me. All that stuff about looking after interests, that's just weaseling out of responsibility."

She gave him a troubled look. "This isn't about the corporation. This is about you eating your dinner."

"And I've already told you. I won't eat unless I see and talk to my dad."

Pursing her lips, she turned and left the room, leaving the food behind. It was grilled chicken with zucchini and squash and fresh buttered bread. It smelled wonderful. His stomach growled, but this was the only card he had and he was going to play it for all it was worth.

He slumped back against the wall, wondering what Patricia was going to do.

A few moments later, he straightened abruptly when Crandall came in followed by an armed guard who wasn't Paul. "What's this I hear about you refusing to eat, Jonathon?" he asked, walking over to the bed and looking down at him.

Jonny gazed up defiantly, trying not to notice how the man towered over him. "It's a family rule not to eat food that strangers give you."

"I'm not a stranger," Crandall said, giving him a barbed smile. "I'm the man who's holding you and your father prisoner. That's a fairly close relationship, after all's said and done." Jonny wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean, so he didn't speak. Squatting down beside the bed, Crandall leaned very close. "Ultimately, I'm the one who determines whether your father leaves this place with you or without you." Jonny gulped.

"I still have to have permission from my dad," he said. "He has to tell me himself because I don't trust you." Taking a deep breath, he added, "Which is only reinforced by this menacing act thingy."

Crandall's eyes glinted. "You think it's an act, do you?" he said, putting his hand on the bandage that covered Jonny's stitches. Jonny looked at the hand, which went practically all the way around his leg. What was he doing? He looked up to see Crandall gazing into his eyes. At the moment their eyes met, the man gave him a nasty smile and began pressing his thumb hard into the wound. Jonny let out a cry of pain, but he couldn't shift away. Crandall's eyes bored into his, much the way his thumb was digging into the gash on his leg, and he was still smiling. Jonny dropped his eyes, and after a moment, the man released the pressure and stood back up. "Understand this, boy, I'm not acting a part here, and you are in very real danger."

Jonny didn't say anything, what could he say? He just turned away and crossed his arms. He felt weak and trembly, and his leg ached horribly.

"Now, because you're a child and this is very early in the proceedings, I am going to allow you to see your father." Jonny looked up at him, hope flaring. Crandall's expression darkened. "But don't get the idea that you can pull this again. I don't like games." Leaning down again, he grabbed Jonny's upper arm and yanked him to the edge of the bed. "Get up."

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Jonny got to his feet. Crandall didn't let go of his arm as he dragged him out of the room. Patricia was just outside, and her eyes widened when she saw the way Crandall was pulling him along. Fortunately, it wasn't very far to where his father was.

The guard opened an unmarked door that looked just like all the other doors on the hallway and Crandall jerked Jonny inside and through into another room where his father sat in a wingback chair. Jonny's leg hurt so much now that he had to fight to keep tears from leaking out the corners of his eyes.


Benton was worried. Crandall had been gone a long time. What was he doing? When the door opened again, he started to stand up, but the guard raised the gun again. Benton sat reluctantly back down.

A moment later, Crandall came back in holding Jonny by the upper arm and yanking him along without regard for his injury. His son's face was pale and tense with pain, and his eyes were shining with unshed tears.

Benton jumped up and ran to Jonny's side. "Let go of him, you're hurting him!"

Crandall didn't release his grip on Jonny's arm. "I know," he said calmly. Benton knelt beside his son and put an arm around Jonny's waist, prepared to pick him up when the villain let him go. The angle Crandall was holding his arm at forced Jonny to stand on tiptoe. "He was being insolent. Tell me, do you have any family rules that would cover this situation?"

Raising his eyebrows, Benton said, "I can think of half a dozen. Why?"

"He says he can't eat anything we give him without your permission."

"That is one of our rules," Benton said. A pleading note entered his voice as he went on. "Will you please let him go?"

Crandall released Jonny with a shove and Benton lifted the boy off his feet and put him down on the sofa, kneeling beside him once more. The bandage over the stitches was showing signs of recent seepage, and Benton gave Crandall a covert glare. Thus far, Jonny hadn't spoken, which was unusual for his son. On occasion, both he and Race had worried that Jonny's defiant attitude would get him into serious trouble.

"What's he supposed to do if he gets lost?" Crandall asked curiously, gazing at them with cool calculation. "If he's among strangers, what's he supposed to do, starve?"

"There are rules that cover that situation as well," Benton snapped. "They aren't relevant here."

"Ah." Crandall walked back over to his chair and sat down. "Well, perhaps you could give the boy permission to eat what we've given him, and Marcus will take him back to where his dinner is growing cold."

"I haven't seen what you've given him," Benton said automatically.

Crandall rose, seeming to expand with fury. Benton sensed Jonny shrinking beside him, and put a reassuring hand on his arm. "Do you think I'm play acting, Dr. Quest?" Crandall demanded. "I believe young Jonathon's now cured of that notion. Do I need to take steps to cure you?"

Benton stood as well. "No, I don't think that. But you can't expect me to -"

"I expect you to do as you're told, Dr. Quest," Crandall thundered. "Nothing more, nothing less. I have no interest in your family rules, and I don't want to be disturbed in this manner again. You will instruct Jonathon to do what he's told by my subordinates, and not to back talk them."

Inhaling deeply, Benton turned back to his son and knelt down again. "Jonny, you heard the man. Do what they tell you, and eat your dinner."

"I don't want to go away, Dad," Jonny said quietly. "I don't want to be alone."

Benton glanced back over his shoulder. "At least send his dog with him."

"Very well."

"Where is Bandit?" Jonny asked suddenly, sitting up. "What have you done with him?"

"I simply had Marcus put him in the bathroom to keep him from being underfoot." He glanced at the man in question. "Marcus, take young Mr. Quest back to his room, and then come back for the dog."

Benton helped Jonny get back to his feet and gave him a quick hug. "We'll be okay, Jonny. Everything will be all right."

"I know," Jonny said, hugging him back very tightly. He pulled away and limped disconsolately out of the room, followed by the burly guard. Benton watched him go, a chill coming over him. Jonny had always been defiant and a little overconfident in his dealings with the villains they'd faced in the past. He would speak out, and he would insist on being heard. And, it appeared, Crandall would punish him for it. Benton felt himself begin to shake with repressed rage.

"It's time we began again, Dr. Quest. I believe we were discussing the tank project."

Benton mastered himself and turned toward Crandall. "Yes, the tank project." Sinking into the chair, he outlined the techniques he thought would work. Crandall listened, nodding periodically, as calm and unruffled as before. This man was a sociopath, and he had complete control over Jonny's welfare.

Where were they? What was taking Race so long?