Frank started up the van, and started the drive out of Bayport. Soon, they were on the freeway, heading towards New York City.
"With no phone in this van, how are we going to get a hold of Captain O'Rourke?" Chet asked.
"We're not," Frank said firmly. "Whoever has Dad made it clear that we are not to get the cops involved in any way, shape or form. So it's us three versus them."
Frank heard Chet gulp in the back seat. "Don't worry, Chet. We're not going in with guns blazing. First, we need to scope out this place and gather some intel so we know how to approach this," he said. "Our focus has changed a bit. Right now, let O'Rourke and Culligan focus on Times Square. Young can figure out his mole problem. Let's rescue Dad, and then we can help with Times Square."
"Makes sense, I guess," Chet said nervously, wondering what he had gotten himself into.
"What are you complaining about?" Joe teased. "You'll be running that radar Phil installed and keeping track of us."
"And we'll even buy you some Brooklyn-style pizza while you watch us on radar!" Frank grinned.
"Well, guys, if you're gonna put it that way," Chet smiled. "With extra pepperoni!"
Frank laughed. "Deal!" he exclaimed.
As the van approached New York City, Frank passed an exit that would have taken them into Manhattan. It was the same exit they used to meet up with Captain O'Rourke and Fenton Hardy.
"Uh, Frank, you forgot to get off at that exit," Chet pointed out.
"I'm going a different way," Frank said. "I have a funny feeling that whoever has Dad hostage is keeping tabs on Manhattan in case we visit Captain O'Rourke."
Chet's eyes grew wide. "Do you think they're keeping tabs on us?" he asked.
"We don't know for sure. But there's no sense in taking chances," Frank said.
"But wouldn't they keep an eye on the entrances into Staten Island?" Chet asked, noting that there were four bridges to get on to Staten Island.
"How would they know that we caught on to them being on Staten Island?" Joe countered. "That piece of paper must've fallen out of one of Dad's pockets when they threw that dummy out of the van. I seriously doubt Dad's captors planted it."
Chet shrugged his shoulders. "When you put it that way, it makes sense," he said. "So how are you getting to Staten Island?"
"We're going to take the southernmost route, which is through Perth Amboy, New Jersey," Frank said. "This is so far out of the way from Bayport that if they were keeping tabs on us, they would be least likely to check this bridge."
"I guess you've thought of it all," Chet grinned.
Frank smiled and said, "I tried to somewhat plan this on the fly."
Soon, they were crossing the bridge from Perth Amboy to the southwest part of Staten Island. Joe had the New York City map spread out on his lap.
"It looks like Walters Avenue is in the north-central part of Staten Island," Joe said.
With Joe being the navigator, Frank fought through traffic and about 45 minutes later, they were within a few block from Walters Avenue. Frank found a parking lot and pulled into it.
"Time to develop our plan," Frank said. "A couple of blocks back from here was a second hand shop. Let's leave the van here, and go to this shop. We'll gather some things to disguise ourselves. Unfortunately, in the rush of getting here, we forgot our costume and makeup kit back home. So we'll have to make do with what we can find."
"Why do I need to be in disguise?" Chet asked. "I'm staying inside the van, aren't I?"
"For our benefit, all three of us need to be in disguise," Frank said. "It couldn't hurt."
"Whatever you say," Chet shrugged as they climbed out of the van. All three of them started walking towards the costume shop when Chet noticed a pizzeria across the street.
"My Brooklyn-style pizza!" Chet exclaimed. "I'm liking Staten Island more and more already!"
"Let's get our stuff at the second hand shop first and don our disguises in the van. Then we'll get some pizza," Frank said, chuckling.
"Works for me," Chet beamed.
A few minutes later, they walked in the second hand shop. Frank and Joe were quickly able to find the materials they needed for disguises. They assisted Chet with finding some items for his disguise. They checked out at the register and then walked back to their van.
Frank and Joe put on their disguises. Frank had found some make up that provided an aging effect, and he and Joe both put that on. Frank's disguise consisted of a New York Yankees ball cap, a t-shirt of a local punk rock band, with a spiked belt and torn blue jeans. Joe put on makeup that made him look tan, black-rimmed glasses and a hoodie with a Staten Island logo. Frank and Joe then helped Chet with his disguise, which was a fake beard and a New York Jets jersey.
"Ready for that pizza, Chet?" Frank asked.
"I guess," Chet complained, scratching his face. "This beard sure is itchy!"
Frank looked through the bag from the store since there were extra items that they had purchased.
"How about this, then?" Frank asked. "Take the beard off. We have this spray that'll make your hair black, and put on sunglasses instead."
"You know what?" Joe said, "maybe I should make my hair black, too!" He quickly sprayed his hair, and it was jet black, and then he handed the spray can to Chet.
Chet tried that and smiled, "Much better!" he exclaimed. "I'm hungry, so let's get that pizza!"
The trio enjoyed a pizza dinner at the pizzeria down the street from the van. Chet ordered a Brooklyn-style pizza with extra pepperoni "to-go" for manning the radar later.
"I'm guessing you enjoyed the pizza?" Joe chuckled as they walked back to their van.
"That's an understatement!" Chet exclaimed, beaming. "While Mr. Pizza is really good, it doesn't hold a candle to genuine, Brooklyn-style pizza in New York City."
They climbed back in the van, waited for sunset, and then Frank and Joe put on their trackers.
"I sure wish our earpieces hadn't been taken," Joe lamented. "That would've come in handy."
"We'll make do with the trackers," Frank responded. Looking at Chet, he said, "So with that in mind, you need to keep focused on us in case something happens to us. Keep track of us, and watch out for any sudden, weird movements on the radar from us."
"Got it," Chet gave a thumbs-up to the Hardys.
Frank and Joe left the van, and started their way towards the address listed on the scrap of paper. With the sun setting, they were able to somewhat keep a low profile as they turned the corner on Walters Avenue. It was a narrow, one-way street that was full of houses.
"Dad's stashed in a house here?" Joe looked at Frank.
"Sure seems that way," Frank said. "Seems like an odd place to put him. I would have expected something a little more isolated, like an abandoned warehouse."
"Apparently, you've been thinking of many of our previous cases," Joe joked. "Maybe he's being held prisoner in a basement of this house."
Frank frowned. "It's possible. I just don't know how common basements are in New York City."
"I doubt they're holding Dad hostage in the living room," Joe remarked sarcastically.
Frank ignored his brother. "This is weird. Every house on this street has a double digit number. But Dad posted 4567 on this scrap. Is there another Walters Avenue that we missed?"
"Let's go back to that van and look at the New York City map again," Joe suggested. "It's only a couple of blocks back."
"We don't have much choice," Frank sighed. "I hope we didn't make a huge mistake with this clue Dad left for us."
Chet was shocked when they returned to the van. "That was quick!" he exclaimed with a mouthful of pizza while wearing the headphones.
"I think we got Dad's clue wrong," Frank said. "The address is listed as 4567 Walters Avenue. But all the houses on that street are double digit addresses, not four digit addresses. You know the headphones aren't necessary, right, Chet?"
"You didn't get the address wrong," Chet countered. "And it's a good thing I instinctively put on these headphones. Yeah, I forgot for a moment that you guys didn't have your earpieces. But check this out!"
Chet put the headphones on Frank's ears. "What in the world?" Frank exclaimed. "Somebody's snoring can be heard on here!"
"And don't forget," Chet pointed out, "the frequency is only set for the earpieces."
"And the range of the earpieces is only 2 miles!" Joe exclaimed. "So we know that the earpieces made it to Staten Island!"
"Too bad we can't narrow it down to where the earpieces are located," Frank said. "Wait! Someone's talking on the headphones!"
Chet flipped a switch on Phil's makeshift console, which moved the headphone feed to a small speaker.
"Wakey, wakey, Hardy!" a voice said sarcastically. "Time for dinner."
All three boys stared at each other in amazement! Fenton Hardy had to be on Walters Avenue!
Groaning could be heard in the background. "Dinner?" a groggy voice that the boys immediately recognized as Fenton Hardy. "Since when are you serving me food?'
"Since the big boss decided that you needed to keep up your energy," the voice responded. "You were going to be killed tonight, but the big boss is giving you an extension. He's dragging it out to see if your boys do something stupid and try to come back to New York City. Lucky for you, he called the house and it sounds like your sons and their fat friend went on a camping trip, according to your wife. Which seems to be the truth so far. Your son's police van is still in the driveway, and so is your wife's station wagon. The fat friend of your sons left his car there, too. They must have gone camping in another vehicle."
Chet turned red. "I swear, if that jerk calls me 'fat' one more time, I'm going to find that house myself and punch him in the face!"
Frank motioned him to stay quiet since the small speaker was at a low volume.
"They have a couple of friends who have camping trailers, so that would make sense. I told you that I raised my boys to be obedient," Fenton Hardy said weakly while he ate the food that was offered to him. "And I know they don't want me harmed in any way."
The voice, which sounded familiar to all three boys, chuckled. "You're dead either way, Hardy. It's just that you've been spared tonight. If it was up to me, you would've been dead already. I wasted too many years of my life in that prison!"
Frank and Joe looked at each other. Was their dad being held by Ted Huntley?
"Huntley, I caught you, fair and square," Fenton Hardy said. "Did you think you weren't going to be caught for murdering a cop?"
There was the sound of a punch to the face, followed by a groan from Fenton. "I killed that guy on my turf, Hardy! I own that neighborhood, not the cops! And you know I paid the cops handsomely to leave me alone. But I knew if I played the game perfectly, I would be paroled for good behavior, and then I could hunt you down. You need to learn a lesson! Simpson learned his lesson, although he learned it in the afterlife. And you're gonna learn it in the same manner! You're done eating, Hardy! The big boss will deal with you in the morning! Enjoy your last night alive!"
Huntley laughed and continued, "Hold on while I get the syringe set up. 35 cc's! Perfect! Well, this will keep you out all night! Can't have you yelling for help in this neighborhood!"
The boys heard another moan over the speaker, and then snoring a couple of minutes later.
"Huntley!" Joe hissed. "I thought he had nothing to do with this stuff!"
"Well, Dad did say that this case wasn't what it seems," Frank said grimly. "But I thought Huntley was the boss in his neighborhood. But who's the big boss over Huntley?"
Joe and Chet both shrugged. "I don't know," Joe said, "but for some strange reason, Huntley's voice sounded familiar. But I can't place it!"
"Yeah, I thought so, too," Chet said. "But I can't think of who it could be."
"I thought that as well," Frank said, "but I have no idea, either. But this is what's most important: we have to save Dad tonight and get him out of where he's being held before he's killed in the morning!"
"Well, we know he's within 2 miles of here," Joe said, "seeing as how the radar picked up our earpieces. So he's definitely on Staten Island. But we have to figure this out – and fast!"
"Is it possible Dad put this address in code?" asked Frank.
"Like what kind of code?" Chet asked.
"I think the code is in the number of the address," Frank said. "Huntley was concerned about Dad making noise in the neighborhood. So he didn't make a mistake about Walters Avenue. But we need to figure out what Dad meant by 4567!"
Joe studied the scrap of paper for a minute, and then slapped his forehead. "Frank, Dad made this beyond easy for us!"
"What do you mean?" Frank asked.
"Add up the numbers," Joe said. "4567 equals 22. Dad's being held at 22 Walters Avenue!"
Frank's eyes widened. "I think you're right, Joe! That street number makes sense!"
"Dad made it so easy that even I was able to figure it out," Joe joked, pointing his finger to his head.
Frank jumped into the driver's seat. "Let's drive by that house and see what we can figure out!"
A minute later, Frank turned the van on to Walters Avenue. Joe was keeping track of the street numbers.
"Ok, even numbers are on the left hand side," Joe said. "I'm watching."
The house numbers went in increments of two. The houses were listed 2,4,6,8 and so forth. Joe saw a house with the street number of 20, but the next house was 24.
"Where's 22?" Joe asked. "Somehow, it skipped from 20 to 24. The next house should have been 22!"
"We got the code wrong!" Frank groaned.