I do not think it would be a good idea to wait for bad weather and bad mood before I continue with this story, especially since the plot was already there. It took a while and a really bad start, but finally here's something I'm fairly happy with posting...
RagnaICE: How did you know that Day after Tomorrow is a fave movie of mine? I love Dennis Quaid in it! Referencing your comments in Thieves War - you're right about my brain getting mess up because of too many stories. And some of those will be put on backburner for a while ...
I Remembered a Storm-tossed Night
Chapter 7
Don't you hate it when you suddenly find yourself dependent on the weather for inspiration? –Jolly
HBHBHB
10
Fenton Hardy made his way back to his motel in London. He was totally exhausted, having been working non-stop chasing up on almost impossible leads for the last six days. Most trails would have gone cold in three months, and most detectives would not have been able to pick up anything. But Fenton was not an ordinary detective, and his ability to think outside of the square had enabled him to solve some truly baffling cases. And this one was personal. His intuition did not fail him and he was happy to have found some interesting leads on the case of his sister-in-law's death. He dropped his notes onto the bedside table. He would be going through them again in detail after a refreshing shower.
It had been almost a fortnight since his wife received that mysterious letter from her sister, Sarah, from London with a coded message that said that his younger son was still alive. He had been disbelieving at first. But Frank had been insistent that the picture of the young man on the web was Joe. And he, wanting to believe, had chosen to believe.
And when he found out that the detective in charge of the case was James Conner, and that the case was close under mysterious circumstances, he had packed up and flown over to personally follow up on the case. He had reasons to suspect that Sarah and her husband were killed to get to Joe, at least that was what the secret note had implied, and for the sake of his son's safety he needed to find out what happened right here in London. But he had to admit to himself that the reason for anyone wanting 'Paul', beyond that of the typical kidnap-for-ransom scenario, eluded him. And there were so many questions to which he had no answers to. For example, why had Mr. Reginald Schwarz allowed the London Metropolitan Police to simply declare the deaths as accidental and closed it? Did he hire his own detectives to investigate further? Did he even know that there might be other people after his 'grandson'? He would have to think of someway to get an interview with Reginald Schwarz when he returned to the States.
Frank had been rather angry at first when he was told that he had to stay in the States to finish up the international money fraud case for the FBI. It was his mathematical model and algorithm that had successfully tracked those suspicious money transfers, Fenton pointed out reasonably. And Hardys and Radley Investigations Inc. was due to present their findings to the FBI within the week.
Fenton smiled as he recalled how Frank had actually sulked at his directive. That was, until they found out that Paul/Joe had returned to the States to assist his grandfather in the running of Schwarz Shipping Lines Ltd. After which Frank was more than agreeable to the idea of remaining in the States. Fenton had no doubt that his eldest was plotting to meet up with Joe somehow even back then. So he had been sternly reminding him firstly of the need to complete the FBI project, and secondly to only watch the movements of the Schwarz. No contact until they had irrefutable evidence that Paul was Joe, and also when they could present a clearer picture to the powerful shipping mogul that Joe's life might be in danger.
He could only hope that Frank would listen. He knew Frank had a tendency to throw logic out of the window where his younger brother was concerned, and he seriously doubt that the six years had made any difference to that particular behavior. The situation had become much more delicate now that Schwarz had made a public announcement that his grandson Paul would soon be taking over as the CEO of his shipping company. He was not even sure how to approach the mogul to tell him that his grandson was not really his grandson. That was a situation heading for potential scandal of mega proportions.
And especially now that he had irrefutable proof that Paul Schwarz was indeed his younger son, Joseph. He had found out that Paul was a regular blood donor to the Red Cross here in London. And he had managed to, quite illegally; obtain a sample for DNA testing against his own. When it came to the welfare of his family, he was not above bending a few rules or even laws. The result was out yesterday, and it tested 99.8 percent affirmative that the two blood samples belong to father and son. Frank had been ecstatic when he called home with the news yesterday. He could almost hear his elder son saying I told you so through the phone.
After finishing his shower, Fenton wrapped a towel around his waist and settled down onto his bed to peruse his work so far. James Conner had given him a detailed report on the suspected sabotage of the private yatch, citing unusual damages to the yatch given the mildness of the storm which the expert sailing couple had wondered into. The strange bruises on Sarah's body also indicated the possibility that the body had been strapped onto the boat after death. Unfortunately, there was no evidence of any third party on the yatch. Whatever happened on that yatch that stormy night, the sea had held on tight its secrets.
Fenton sighed. That was the end of the road for the yatch and the primary crime scene.
But, there were always other means of tracking what happened. And track he did. He went back to the marina where the yatch was parked. He wandered around the place, familiarized himself with the environs. If he were to be the saboteur, what would he do? How would he do it? Where was the vantage point where he could casually observe everything without being seen? Fenton ruthlessly backtracked all those movements and possibilities. And he founded the restaurant. It was located on the little hilltop just half a mile from the marina. The tables from the restaurant's balcony had afforded the diners and unimpeded view of the marina. Several waiters and waitresses had told him about a strange man who had been there consistently during the two weeks before Sarah's death. That man had been obsessive about always taking one of the three balcony seats, and had gone to the extent of leaving a deposit to reserve one of those tables almost permanently. And according to one of the waitress, he had a pair of binoculars with him. The restaurant staff had been more than happy to assist in the sketching of a portrait. And when Detective Conner had helped identified that man as a free-for-hire mercenary, Fenton knew he hit pay dirt.
And he continued digging deeper into the mystery surrounding the deaths of Nigel and Sarah Schwarz.
11
From within the London Metropolitan Police building, a phone call was made via cell phone to an unknown location.
"Hardy's here in London investigating the Schwarz case."
"Who?"
"Fenton Hardy. He's a private investigator. A very good one of international repute."
"Why the heck was Hardy even on this case?"
"Apparently, Sarah Schwarz was related to the Hardys. She and Hardy's wife were sisters… and Conner's assisting him… seems that they were pals and had worked together before"
"Damned… and thanks for the tip off..."
There was a click and the line went silent.
12
The blond headed young man stood confidently at the railing, his deep blue eyes focused on the massive construction work below. This was an important project that was entrusted into his care, and he was determined to see it completed perfectly and on schedule. Project Atlantis will lived up to its namesake. He would not let his grandfather down.
From the shadows beyond the platform, Reginald Schwarz stood and observed the actions of that young man.
'My grandson,' he thought. 'Maybe not quite, but still my grandson in every way that mattered.'
He watched as his grandson gestured one of the supervisors over, and then heard him issue crisp and clear instructions. Reports from his men had indicated that they were truly happy to follow his lead. Yes, Hardy's younger son had charisma and was a natural leader. And the Intellectual had done a beautiful job with the programming while preserving much of the boy's original personality. And those would serve the boy well when he took over both the shipping company and as one of the board members of the Consortium. In fact, Reginald had no doubt that his grandson would become the key board member, just like he was.
Darn! Even he was forgetting that the young man was actually Hardy's son!
Reginald shook his head and smiled. Yes, he had made a good choice and the right choice. At the end of the day, all that matters was The Cause. And this young man before him certainly had the aptitude to see it through to the end.
He started to walk towards his grandson.
"Good morning Paul," he greeted, and was gratified to see Paul's eyes brightened with love and pleasure when he saw him.
"Good morning grandpa," Paul responded warmly. "I see you were here to check if I had blown up anything yet, huh?" Paul teased.
"But of course! I knew you inherited your father's knack for imploding buildings…"
They both laughed in fond remembrance. Nigel Schwarz worked as a building demolition expert, and was one of the foremost demolition specialists in the industry before he was killed in that freak accident, and had even worked on a number of Hollywood sets. Nigel had refused to work for his father, claiming shipping was boring. He would rather be out there adventuring and blowing up buildings. Then both fell silent for a moment as they both paid tribute to the dead son and father.
Then Paul said in a more serious tone, "I've made some changes to the schedule. This project should still be able to complete on time, despite the cut in funding."
"I've seen your report. That was an ingenious move. Well done, Paul."
Paul blushed. "Thanks."
"I've also taken the liberty to study our money transfer schema," Paul continued, taking Reginald by surprise. "… and have isolated the patterns to those transfers. I had our mathematician working on reverse engineering the mathematical model that could have been used to track those transfers…"
Unbelievable, Paul had actually taken that initiative. This was beyond his expectations.
"… You know my wife's finance and applied mathematics major. Ehlana's currently working on an alternative and hopefully more effective schema."
"Very good, Paul. But there's something else." Reginald prompted.
"I am interested in the mind behind that mathematical model." Paul confessed.
Reginald eyes narrowed, "if I might ask why?"
"At first I had thought it was the mathematics," Paul replied unhesitatingly. "... then, as we broke down and tested the algorithm, I realized that it wasn't the maths, but the heuristics. That person, whoever that was, had a unique understanding of numbers, and had clobbered together a series of simple and common equations in a unique combination to form a remarkably effective tracking algorithm."
Turning to face his grandpa, Paul continued with a shrug, "… and I thought that might be someone you might be interested in getting on our side."
"I'll get someone to look into the matter."
Interesting, Reginald thought. This was most interesting.
"But ah, we have to make a move, grandson of mine." Reginald said. "We've to prepare for the upcoming AGM and the shareholder's meeting."
Paul took a last scan at his project. Satisfied that everybody knew their responsibilities, he gave his grandpa a quick affirmative nod and accompanied his grandpa up to the helicopter pad.
13
"Come on, James, pick up your bloody phone!" Maggie cursed as she rang her partner for the fourth time.
She was on her holiday visiting her brother and nephew in Bangkok, Thailand, and had accidentally bumped into a most interesting situation.
"Conner here."
Finally he picked up the phone, Maggie grouched.
"Hey James, you won't believe what I have to tell you!"
"Maggie! Aren't you supposed to be on your break? Absolutely no work and no contact – wasn't that what you decreed?" James queried, surprised.
"Nigel Schwarz's alive. He's here in Bangkok teaching at my nephew's elementary school and he's going by the name of Mr. Black…"Please review!