A/N: I am so sorry for the long time between updates. Life has been beyond stressful lately, and while sometimes writing is the only thing that keeps me sane, it's still hard to make time for it. But just knowing that you guys are out there reading this story keeps me motivated, and even though it may take me a while, I will update! Thank you all, as always, for the continued support and reviews – keep them coming!!
Also, a huge thank you to my incredible betas (you know who you are!) for the wonderful suggestions and reminding me (very gently) when I'm being overly paranoid about my writing!
Disclaimer: I'm too tired for anything resembling wit at the moment. Needless to say, I don't own Nancy, Frank, Joe, Carson, or Fenton (or Lerner or Krieger, but they're very bad men and I don't want them anyways). The other characters in this chapter are my own creations, for better or worse.
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Despite his misgivings about Pennington, Frank was impressed with how quickly the agent got the ball rolling. He wasted no time in commandeering a conference room, assembling his task force, and getting the briefing started. Frank, Joe, and Nancy were all seated on the same side of the conference table, next to Pennington, who was at the head. A large projection screen was behind him, displaying a large picture of John Krieger, his triangular scar visibly prominent on his cheek. It was a grainy black-and-white photo, as if it had been taken by a security camera. But despite the blurriness, the expression on Krieger's face was no less menacing than Nancy remembered. She suppressed a shudder as Pennington spoke.
"This is John Krieger, a.k.a. Jonathan Kimball, a.k.a. Jared Fugazzi, to name a few of his known aliases. He escaped from his jail cell in Cairo approximately three weeks ago. The Egyptian authorities are working with our government and providing full cooperation – needless to say, they want him back, and they want him back fast.
"Krieger was originally apprehended for the attempted assassination of a U.S. Senator. However, because he attempted the assassination on Egyptian soil and endangered the lives of Egyptian citizens, he was taken into their custody. Details on how he escaped are unclear, but we know that he re-entered the U.S. shortly after his escape."
Pennington tapped a key on his laptop, and the image changed to Jack Lerner's mug shot.
"Jack Lerner. Krieger's suspected accomplice. Arrested for misdemeanor kidnapping and misdemeanor assault in San Francisco six years ago. Paroled two months ago for good behavior. He failed to show up for his first meeting with his parole officer, and the local PD hasn't been able to track him down since. There are no known connections between him and John Krieger, other than the fact that they were both apprehended by Agents Hardy and Miss Drew, back in their teenage amateur detective years."
Joe felt his blood heat at the faint smirk on the agent's face, and his hands clenched into fists under the table. Pennington rose, oblivious to the angry look on the younger Hardy's face. He moved slightly to the side to avoid the projector's glare.
"These are our targets, men. One John Krieger and one Jack Lerner. All evidence currently points to them being responsible for the bombing in Memphis, as well as the abduction of two men."
"Our fathers," Joe interrupted, earning a scathing look from Pennington.
"Personal vendettas aside, these men are a threat to our nation and its citizens, and are on the FBI's Top Ten Most Wanted List. Bringing them in would be a huge coup for this field office. So let's make it happen."
Now anger surged in Frank as well. Personal vendettas weren't acceptable, but a personal thirst for glory was? From the looks on Joe and Nancy's faces, he could tell that they were also disgusted by the agent's choice of words. But they all kept their thoughts to themselves, because they knew that they needed the Bureau's resources in tracking down their fathers. Even as Pennington was conducting this briefing, the crime lab was running the license plate number that Frank had gotten from the car rental agency. In addition to their own extensive database of information, the Bureau had access to resources such as traffic camera feeds and the local police department's database of traffic violations.
As smaller, separate conversations broke out amongst the agents, Joe leaned over to his brother.
"I hate this," he grumbled under his breath. Frank nodded in understanding. "I know. But there isn't anything else we can do. The only lead that we have on Lerner and Krieger is that license plate, and Pennington's team is going to be able to follow up on it much faster than we could on our own."
Nancy, on the other side of Frank, heard this and leaned in closer to the brothers. "They may be helpful now, but having this many people involved in bringing in Krieger and Lerner could be a problem."
Before either Frank or Joe could respond, a young woman rushed in the door, carrying a laptop, her white lab coat flapping at her sides. Her glasses were slightly askew on her face, and behind them, her bright green eyes gleamed with excitement.
"I found it," she declared, triumph ringing in her voice. She set her laptop down on the other end of the table opposite Pennington and plugged the A/V cable in. An image appeared on the screen behind her, somewhat blurred as Krieger's photo had been. Nancy squinted at the screen, trying to make out the image. Then, suddenly, her eyes widened as she realized what she was looking at. It was the back of a car, a maroon compact, with a Montana license plate. The plate number matched the one that Frank had gotten from the manager of the Pinnacle Car Rental agency.
"I tried running the number across all recent traffic violations, but I couldn't find anything. Then I took the number that you gave me, and superimposed it on the template of a standard Montana license plate. I saved that image, then ran a search of that exact image file against the archived video feed from the traffic cameras in the local area. Nothing came up there either. Then I started to play around with the pixels in my license plate image, altering them so that…"
"Agent Marshall," Pennington interrupted. He glared at her. "We don't need a play-by-play. Where was this image taken?"
Penelope Marshall flushed. She pushed the glasses up on her nose with her finger, running her other hand nervously across the top of her auburn hair. "Of course, sir. I'm sorry."
"It's okay, Agent Marshall." Joe Hardy spoke up, giving the girl a reassuring smile. "This is really interesting stuff that you've done. It's just that time is kind of tight for us right now." A pretty smile bloomed on Agent Marshall's face, some of her embarrassment fading. Pennington's lips thinned, but he said nothing. Regaining her composure, Marshall tapped a key on the laptop, and the traffic camera image changed into a map of Helena, with a large red dot appearing near the downtown area.
"That dot represents the camera that took the picture." She tapped a few more keys, and the map zoomed in so that they could see street names.
"I tried to see if I could pick up the plate on any other cameras in the area, but I couldn't find anything."
One of the agents on Pennington's team spoke up. "Did that camera take any other pictures of the vehicle? Anything that would show us the identity of the driver or passengers?"
Agent Marshall shook her head. "That one picture is all I was able to find."
"What else is in that area, Agent Marshall? About within a five mile radius of where that picture was taken?" Frank asked.
Marshall hit a key on the laptop, and the street map turned into a satellite view of the area. "The map isn't very clear, but I know there's a shopping center nearby." She pointed to a single story, wide structure on the map. "Right there."
"There's a park nearby as well," another agent supplied. "I take my kids there sometimes to play." He pointed at a wide green area on the map.
"There's also a church," a female agent seated across from Nancy pointed out. "You can't see it very clearly on the satellite view, but it has a large cemetery next to it, which is showing up as another large expanse of green up there."
Nancy's throat tightened at the mention of a cemetery. They had already been to her mother's grave – she couldn't handle the thought of another cemetery, this time somehow involving her father.
"What else?" Frank said gruffly, as if he, too, were afraid of that possibility.
Agent Marshall bit her lower lip thoughtfully. "I think there's a…" Her voice was soft as she used her mouse to pan to the left side of the satellite image. "Yes, there it is," she said more clearly, pointing to a large grey building on the screen. "The train station is only about a mile from where that traffic camera is." Behind the building, many lines running in parallel were visible, presumably railroad tracks.
"A train station," Nancy murmured.
"Lerner," Frank finished the thought.
"It fits," Joe said, nodding. "This whole thing has been about a personal vendetta that these men have against us." It was not lost on the group that Joe was deliberately echoing Pennington's earlier words about vendettas. "And for Lerner, trains have a very direct connection to us."
"What do you mean, Agent Hardy?" Pennington demanded.
"We first met Jack Lerner on a train," Frank said, answering for his brother. "He and his wife organized a mystery event under the guise of pursuing the Comstock legend in memory of an old friend. But in reality, they were interested in finding Jake Comstock's diamond for themselves, in order to use it to locate a gold mine that he had discovered. Lerner kidnapped my brother and another woman on the train before we were able to apprehend him and his wife, as well as her cousin who was also trying to get his hands on the diamond."
"The diamond was lost at the bottom of the San Francisco bay," Nancy concluded, picking up the tale. "And Jack Lerner went to jail empty-handed."
"It makes sense that Lerner would involve trains somehow in this. All along, he's made this personal. He's made this about us. Our link with him began on a train; it makes sense that he'd try to end it on one." Joe looked at Pennington squarely. "They went to the train station. I know it."
Pennington eyed Joe for a moment, then nodded. "We'll go with this, because it's the only lead we've got right now. You'd better hope you're right about this, Hardy." He looked around the table at his task force.
"Let's go."
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They arrived at the train station in teams, all converging in the crowded parking lot. Pennington stood in the center of the group, barking out orders.
"Lewis, Roberts, search the parking lot for any sign of a vehicle matching our description. Hans, Fuller, I want you to go over the trains behind the station with a fine-tooth comb – no train leaves this station without being searched. Agents Hardy, you're with me. We're checking out the inside of the station."
The agents dispersed, and Nancy moved to follow Frank and Joe. Pennington raised a hand and glared at her.
"This is a manhunt, Miss Drew. No civilians allowed."
"As a civilian, Agent Pennington," Nancy said through gritted teeth, "I am allowed to enter a public facility of my own accord. I believe it's a little thing called freedom." She flipped her reddish-blonde hair over her shoulder and stepped ahead of the three men. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a train station to investigate."
She entered the revolving doors of the building without a backwards glance. Pennington, still speechless, simply glared at Frank and Joe. Frank returned the stare without flinching, while a hint of a smirk played on Joe's lips. Finally, Pennington sighed and shook his head. "I don't have time for this." With that, he entered the revolving door, leaving Frank and Joe to follow.
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The interior of the train station was surprisingly dim. Skylights and long windows allowed natural light to enter the building, but shadows thrived where the rays of the sun did not reach. As Frank's eyes adjusted to the dimness, he took in the rows of wooden benches, peppered with people waiting for their trains. He scanned the crowd but did not see anyone that even remotely resembled either Krieger or Lerner. Next to him, Joe was doing the same, mentally comparing each face against the images stored in his memory. From the lack of recognition in Joe's eyes and the mounting frustration, Frank knew that his brother had reached the same conclusion that he had. Krieger and Lerner were not there.
A movement nearby caught Joe's attention, and he turned to see Pennington headed for the information desk located at the center of the station. The counter was an elaborate affair, a hexagonal marble structure with a thin wall of the same stone rising behind it. On the wall was a digital marquee with the train schedule, which was constantly changing. Just above that was a large antique black clock, a stark contrast to the digitized board, but a complimentary reminder to the passengers about the time nonetheless. Joe briefly entertained the thought that Pennington might be going to gather further information about the train schedules, but then he caught a glimpse of strawberry blond hair. He tapped his brother on the shoulder.
"Frank." Joe tilted his head towards Pennington. "Looks like he's heading for Nancy."
Frank swore mildly under his breath. "Will that man never give up?" The brothers hastily followed the senior agent, catching up to him just as he reached the female detective. She had just stepped away from the information desk, a small smile on her face. Ignoring Pennington altogether, she spoke to Frank and Joe.
"I found out where the station manager's office is. The attendant at the information desk called ahead and let him know we were coming. He's expecting us."
"Surely you didn't alert the attendant as to why we're here," Pennington said, his voice indicating that he clearly had no such hopes.
"Of course not," Nancy replied, smiling guilelessly at Pennington. "What do you take me for, an amateur?"
This time, Joe didn't even bother trying to hide the smirk on his face. Nancy turned on her heel, once again leaving the men to follow.
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The station manager was a man who clearly believed that an empty desk was the mark of an empty mind and was determined to prove to the world that his own mind was anything but. Old magazines and newspapers were spread all over the surface of the desk, leaving no inch uncovered. Resting precariously on those were dirtied paper plates, crumpled napkins, and multiple Styrofoam cups with brown liquid dried on the inside. Crumbs from his latest meal dotted the middle-aged man's pinstriped shirt, and as they walked in, he was making a vain attempt to brush them off his paunch and onto the floor. Nancy barely suppressed a wince at the mess – if Hannah saw this, she would have a heart attack.
Pennington stepped forward, flashing his badge.
"Agent Pennington, FBI. And these are Agents Frank and Joe Hardy." The brothers pulled out their own badges and showed them to the manager. When it became obvious that Pennington did not plan to introduce Nancy, Frank cleared his throat. "And this is our friend, Nancy Drew."
The station manager nodded at all of them. Though the smile on his face was genial, his brown eyes were filled with apprehension. Clearly the FBI did not come knocking on his door every day.
"I'm Thomas Bale. Tom for short." He offered his hand to Pennington, but belatedly realized that his hand was also covered in crumbs. He quickly wiped it on the thigh of his pants before offering the hand to Pennington again with a smile. Pennington glanced down at the hand, then back at the manager. Clearly he found the man lacking and made no attempt to hide it. Bale cleared his throat in embarrassment and let his hand drop to his side.
"What can I do for you?" he asked.
"We're looking for these two men," Pennington said gruffly, taking the mug shots out of the manila folder he had been carrying and handing them to Bale. "Our information leads us to believe that they are somewhere in the vicinity of this train station. Both men are extremely dangerous and are considered a threat to the general population. Finding them is of extreme importance. Have you had any reports of unusual incidents in this station or from any of the trains that have passed through today?"
Bale shook his head, his eyes shifting from the pictures in his hand to Pennington's face. 'No, sir, I haven't. Everything has been running smoothly."
"Is it possible you might have seen them somewhere in the station, just in passing?" Frank asked.
Bale shook his head again. "No, I don't think so."
"Think harder, Mr. Bale," Joe pressed. "This is really important."
"I'm sorry," Bale said, flustered. "But you have to understand…hundreds of people go through this station every day. It'd be impossible for me to remember all of them."
"We don't need you to remember all of them, Mr. Bale. We just need you to try to remember these two. Please, look at those pictures again."
Bale heard the hint of desperation in Nancy's voice, and it tugged at something in him. He looked down at the images of the two men, wincing as he registered the menace that radiated from the men's eyes. Whoever they were, Bale had no doubt that they had done very bad things. He wracked his brain trying to think if either of the pictures triggered any kind of memory, but he came up blank.
"I'm sorry," he said, his eyes finally meeting Nancy's hopeful blue ones. "I just don't remember seeing them."
"We're going to need a complete schedule of every train going through this station today, both freight and passenger," Pennington demanded, switching tacks, not willing to waste any more time on this man's lack of memory. "From this point on, no train leaves this station without being searched by my team."
"Now wait just a minute," Bale said, pushing away from the front of his desk and straightening from the slouched position he had been in. "I realize that finding these men is important to you, but we can't just disrupt our entire schedule here. This station runs like clockwork – even the slightest delays will wreak havoc on our system."
"So will having one of your trains blow up."
Bale immediately paled, and for a moment, Joe was afraid the station manager was going to faint. He couldn't say that he agreed with Pennington's harsh delivery of the threat that Krieger and Lerner posed, but it had certainly been effective in getting Bale's attention.
"Do you still have any issues with us searching your trains, Mr. Bale?" Pennington asked, his voice dangerously low. Bale shook his head quickly.
"No, sir," he stammered. "I'll get you a copy of the schedule, the names of the engineers…" Bale began rifling haphazardly through the stacks of papers perched precariously on his desk. Just then, the phone on his desk rang, startling the man and causing him to knock a sheaf of papers off the desk.
"Damn," he muttered under his breath. He didn't need this. Being a station manager was supposed to be easy, Bale thought. His biggest headache should be managing the schedule of the trains coming and going, not dealing with psychopathic bombers.
"What?" he barked into the phone, after locating it under a pile of old newspapers.
"Mr. Bale," the voice on the other end said hesitantly. Bale recognized the voice as one of his employees, Jimmy. He tried to smooth the edge out of his own voice. The last thing he needed was everyone thinking he was a bad boss, or worse, that something very dangerous was going on.
"Yes, Jimmy, what is it?"
"Mr. Bale, the Connelly freight train was just reported as being stalled on its tracks just east of Bozeman."
"Have you tried to get the engineer on the horn?"
"Yes, sir. No one's responding."
Bale cursed under his breath. No, he definitely did not need this.
"Who's listed as the engineer on that train today?"
"It's Ed Melby, sir."
"Alright Jimmy, thanks for letting me know. I'll take care of it."
Bale hung up the phone and stepped behind his desk. A few more casual shoves of paper and he unearthed his keyboard. He began punching in some keys, ignoring the other people in the room entirely. Which did not sit well with Pennington.
"Well," the agent demanded. "What was that about?"
"Just a stalled train," Bale muttered absently, finally finding the file that he was looking for. He pulled up the list of contact information for the engineers, missing the look that the agents and Nancy exchanged amongst themselves. Finding Melby's cell phone number, he picked up his phone again and dialed. After several rings, Bale was just about to give up when, suddenly, the phone was answered.
"Melby?"
"Oh, so that's what his name was," the voice on the other end chuckled, and Bale felt chills race down his spine.
"Who the hell is this?" Bale demanded shakily.
Pennington stepped forward, gesturing to the speaker button on the phone. Bale complied, depressing the button and quietly replacing the handset on its cradle.
"It's none of your concern. But, more importantly, who are you?"
Bale looked at Pennington, questioning. The agent nodded.
"This is Thomas Bale, the station manager of the Helena Railway Station. One of our trains was reported as being stalled, and Melby was listed as the operating engineer. Since this is his cell phone you're answering, I'd like to know who you are."
"The station manager, huh? Tell me, Mr. Bale, do you happen to have a certain Frank and Joe Hardy there with you? And a Nancy Drew as well?"
Bale's eyes shot to the people in question, startled. Pennington turned to Frank and gave another short nod.
"We're here, Lerner," Frank said loudly, easily recognizing the voice on the phone since it was his second time hearing it that day.
"Good," Lerner responded, and his voice hardened. "It seems you've followed our trail, despite the lack of a clue. But I shouldn't have expected any less from you three. As a result, I'll be nice and give you a little reward."
"Yeah? What's that?"
"Time, Mr. Hardy. Your fathers are still alive, which buys you a little time."
At this news, Frank released the breath that he hadn't even known he had been holding. Nancy's shoulders slumped forward slightly with relief, and Joe put a reassuring arm around her and squeezed tightly.
Lerner continued. "If there's one thing you three should have learned from this little game we've been playing, it's how important time is. So I'd strongly suggest that you get moving."
"It's us you want, Lerner, not them. Stop playing games. We know where you are, and we'll find you. So why don't you just leave them alone?" Joe demanded.
"You're right, Joseph," Lerner said, his voice brittle. "It is you three that I want. And if you know what's good for you and your fathers, you'll come alone. Just you, Frank, and Nancy. If I catch even a whiff of cops, your fathers will be blown to pieces before you can even say 'bomb'."
The sound of a click followed, causing Bale to start. He lifted the receiver back to his ear frantically. "Hello?"
"It's no use," Frank told him, dragging a hand through his hair. "The clock's already ticking; that's all he wanted us to know."
"He said 'was'." Bale's face was deathly white, and he looked at Frank in desperation. "When I asked him about Melby, he said, 'that's who that was'."
Frank, Joe, and Nancy all looked at each other, then at Pennington. For a simple man, Bale wasn't stupid. He knew what that look meant.
"No. No, Melby can't be dead. He's a good man. I know him. Know his wife and kids too. Two kids, cute as can be. Still in grade school. He can't be dead."
For once, Pennington was neither sarcastic nor rude. "I'm sorry, Mr. Bale. But you need to prepare yourself for that possibility."
Frank felt a tug of sympathy for the man, but inside him, a coil was wound tight.
"We have to go," he stated, his tone brooking no argument. Still, it shouldn't have surprised him that Pennington gave him one.
"You three aren't going out there alone. My task force is going with you."
"No way!" Joe interjected. "If Krieger and Lerner see us show up with the cavalry, there's no telling what they might do."
"We can't risk that," Nancy said, "not with our fathers' lives on the line."
Pennington turned the force of his glare on her. "And I suppose you think you're going with them, Ms. Drew?"
"She goes," Frank said shortly. "And I'm done arguing about this. You heard what Lerner said. We already know that he and Krieger have proven themselves to be unpredictable, and there's no telling what they'll do if we show up with an entire FBI task force. You have no right to risk our fathers' lives, not to mention any other innocent civilians that might be involved in this. And if you attempt to, I'll have you called up on charges so fast your head will spin. Think about how that'll look on that record you're so proud of."
Pennington's glare could have cut through glass. But Frank didn't back down. Finally, Pennington stepped forward, getting right in Frank's face.
"Thirty minutes, Hardy. That's all of the head start I'm going to give you."
Frank nodded, not willing to argue further. With any luck, thirty minutes would be all the time they needed. He tried not to even consider the alternative.
Because Lerner had made one thing very clear: time was running out.
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