Disclaimer: We do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, nor do we own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and are making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s). Co-written with Talefeathers of the HDA.
For those of you who are not familiar with The Sentinel's characters, we hope this will be a pleasant introduction to them for you. For those of you who are already acquainted with Blair, Jim, Simon and the others – enjoy! Trying to fit these four stories into two different story arcs [Hardy Boys and The Sentinel] just barely worked. Band of Brothers and Welcome to Cascade take place before September Song [Hardy universe] begins, and any time after The Perfect Partner [Sentinel universe]. Missing Persons happens right after Fanfare for June [Hardys]; A Matter of Public Record takes place any time between Death on the Fourth of July and February Flirtations [Hardys], and before Remodel and Rebuild [Sentinel].
The stories in the series were written in 2006 and 2007. Technology does not match today's levels. Nor does airport security!
Thank you to Sarai for the continued support and comments!
Welcome to Cascade
A Sentinel/Hardy Boys crossover story
By EvergreenDreamweaver & Talefeathers
Chapter 5
When he reached the end of his video capabilities, Joe switched off his camera and put it back in his pocket. Frank was still snapping random pictures, but more slowly now, as the mad dash of people exiting the Convention Center had dwindled to a trickle. Daryl still sat on the car hood, looking distressed.
"What did you decide to take all the pictures for?" Joe asked, as Frank finally put his camera away.
"Just felt like it," Frank said, grinning. "Maybe something I took will turn out to be a special photo that wins awards. A Pulitzer Prize, maybe! I can sell it to a newspaper and get rich. 'Panic in Cascade...' or something like that!"
Joe just looked at him – and then snorted derisively. "Right."
"Hey!" Frank defended his notion, "It could happen!"
But Joe was no longer paying attention. "Daryl," he said, leaning down beside the other boy, "you okay?"
Daryl muttered "yeah," but didn't look up from studying the pavement.
Realizing how worried he must be about his father and the other detectives, Joe patted his shoulder comfortingly. "C'mon, let's see if we can go inside and find your dad, and Jim and Blair – and find out what happened!"
They approached the door and tried to open it, only to find that it was, of course, locked from the inside.
"Well..." Joe offered, "I've got my trusty lockpick set with me..." He reached into his pocket.
"Are you CRAZY?" Daryl expostulated. "You wanna break into a building swarming with police right after an assassination attempt?"
The Hardys looked at each other. If they'd been alone, they might have tried it, but after all, Daryl was a police captain's son...Obviously there were some differences in outlook between a policeman's kid and a private detective's!
"You're right," Frank conceded. "Let's go around front and see if they'll let us in that way. At the very least we can find out what happened, maybe."
Accordingly, they walked around the massive building to the front entrance. An ambulance was just pulling away with a little hiccupping yelp of the siren, as they rounded the corner. As they had expected, uniformed officers were guarding the doors; as they approached, they were immediately stopped by one, whose name tag read 'Czerny.'
"Sorry kids, can't go in there. We're not letting anyone in right now. There was a shooting—"
"We know that!" Joe exclaimed. "Daryl's worried about his dad!"
"I'm Daryl Banks, Captain Banks' son – he's head of Major Crimes," Daryl said, taking the lead. "He's inside...could we go in and find him, please?"
Officer Czerny shook his head. "Sorry, no—"
"And Detective Ellison and Detective Sandburg," Frank put in helpfully. "We just want to make sure they're all right."
The policeman was beginning to look a little flustered. "I can't let you in," he repeated. "But...Ellison and Sandburg, huh? Maybe I can send someone to find Captain Banks or one of the detectives, and they could come out and talk to you. How's that?"
The boys exchanged three-way glances. "That would be okay," Daryl said at last.
The officer stepped inside the glass doors and briefly consulted with a woman in uniform, who nodded and departed. Joe, Frank and Daryl waited. Officer Czerny stayed just inside the closed door.
Perhaps five minutes later, their patience was rewarded by the arrival of Simon Banks, still looking resplendent in his evening clothes, but wearing a harassed expression. He stepped outside.
"Daryl? I'm kind of in the middle of something—"
"Dad!" Somewhat to the surprise of both the Hardys and Captain Banks, Daryl shot into his father's arms, clutching him tightly. "I was afraid you'd been shot," Daryl's muffled words sounded from the vicinity of Simon's shoulder. "You – or Jim, or Blair..."
Captain Banks' expression softened, and he encircled his son in a comforting embrace. "I'm sorry, son...I didn't realize you knew what happened. I'm all right," he soothed. "I'm fine, Jim's fine, Blair's fine."
"Was anyone hurt?" Joe asked when Daryl at last stepped back a little. "People came stampeding out saying that there was a shooting, that there was an assassin loose in there..."
"Unfortunately, that's the truth," Banks admitted. "But the only one hurt was Thor—"
"THOR! Thor was shot? Was he hurt badly? Is he okay?" All three boys bombarded the captain with anxious questions.
"Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa, calm down. It was just a graze on his arm; he'll be fine. They took him to a hospital to be checked over, but I doubt that he'll even need stitches," Banks reassured them.
"Did you get the guy?" Frank inquired – and knew the answer to his question by the captain's disgruntled expression.
"No. Ellison deflected the gun as he shot, and made a grab for him – he was that close – but didn't get him. We figure he escaped in that mad scramble before we got the exits sealed." Banks looked at the three boys consideringly. "I'm going to have to go down to the precinct when I leave here," he apologized. "Want me to have a patrol car run you three back to the house?"
Daryl's eyes widened almost comically. "Are you kidding? Dad, there's an armed assassin running around loose and you want us to go back to the house ALONE?"
"Son, I doubt that he's going to go after you," Banks joked. "You'd be safe. You aren't a rock star with an agenda, after all."
"I don't care," Daryl said stubbornly. "We'd rather go down to the station with you – wouldn't we?" he appealed to the Hardys, who both nodded eagerly. No matter the reason – whether they were nervous about a roaming assassin, or just didn't want to miss out on any action – they definitely did not want to be sent home to Daryl's house!
"We'll stay out of the way," Frank said, "but we would rather be with...well, we'd feel safer..."
Captain Banks pulled a cigar from his pocket, and stuck it – unlighted – in his mouth. "All right, all right," he sighed. "I'll try to wrap things up here so we can go. Czerny—" he added, as he pulled open the door and went in, followed by Frank, Joe and Daryl, "The boys are going to wait for me here in the lobby."
"Yessir, Captain Banks!" Officer Czerny nodded crisply, and pointed to a grouping of chairs not too far from the doors. "Sit down, fellas."
#####
In a pleasant hotel room which overlooked the Cascade Convention Center, a shadowy figure dressed in black stood at the window, tiny powerful binoculars trained on the front entrance doors. So...those three kids were connected to the police, somehow? They'd been in the back alley, taking pictures.
The shadowy figure set down the binoculars and pondered the situation carefully.
#####
The scene in the Major Crimes bullpen was one of tired concentration – with a surrealistic edge provided by the few detectives present still being in evening clothes. Simon Banks was in his private office, on the telephone; Ellison and Sandburg were seated close together at Jim's desk, apparently trying to compile a report on what had occurred at the fundraiser, since Jim was the only who had even glimpsed the shooter. Rafe and Taggart were sitting at their respective desks, looking up things on the computer database. Brown had remained at the Convention Center to oversee what little wrap-up was needed – Forensics had dug out the two slugs from a wall behind the dais, but there was nothing else to go on – and Megan Connor had accompanied Kjetil Hakonsen to the hospital and from there to his hotel, where she would remain on guard for the time being.
Frank, Joe and Daryl were seated at Brown's desk – centrally located enough that they could hear everything going on, but abiding by their promise to try and stay out of the way, they were being quiet. Daryl was playing computer solitaire while the Hardys got out their cameras to review their photos and film footage.
"If I'd just been a little faster," Ellison muttered despondently now, resting his head on a fist. He was rapidly developing a headache. "I almost had him..."
"Jim, man, don't be so hard on yourself. You did what no one else even came close to doing: you kept Thor from being killed. You deflected the gun! If you hadn't done that, we'd have a dead rock star on our hands" Blair consoled his partner. He shoved back a dangling strand of wavy hair which had escaped his formerly tidy ponytail, tucking it behind his ear. "And you could have been shot doing it," he added accusingly.
"But if I'd been able to grab the guy—"
"We'll get him," Sandburg vowed. "I hate to sound callous...but since he didn't succeed, he'll probably try again. We'll get another chance at him."
Ellison snorted a little at that. "Now that's really looking at the bright side, Chief." He rubbed at his forehead, grimacing.
"You okay?" Blair's query was very soft. A monosyllabic grunt was the only response. "Jim? Talk to me."
"Just a headache, Sandburg; I'll be fine."
Instead of arguing, Sandburg reached to lay a hand over his friend's, gently rubbing his thumb over Jim's knuckles. "Dials..." he breathed, so softly that there was no chance of anyone hearing him, aside from the Sentinel.
Giving in, Ellison closed his eyes and let the feeling of Blair's fingers stroking his hand blot out any other input for a moment. He took a deep breath, visualized those damned – no, those blessed – imaginary dials, and inched the one for pain downward. When he opened his eyes again, it was with a sense of blissful relief – and to his partner's smiling gaze. "Thanks, Chief. Why do you put up with me when I'm such a grouch?" Jim whispered, turning his hand beneath Blair's and squeezing his fingers briefly.
Sandburg grinned. "'Cause it's such a rush, bossing you around," he teased softly. "Better now? Need to take some aspirin?"
"Much better. No, I don't need the aspirin. Let's get this report finished. I just wish I could figure out what it was I smelled...there was something overlaying the gun oil, aftershave or cologne, or...something. And I'm pretty sure it was the gunman, not someone else."
"You'll get it eventually," Blair assured him, and turned his attention to the report they were attempting to compile.
###
Although tired, the Hardys were finding this situation fascinating. Usually their interactions with the police force were brief and to the point – reporting a crime or attack, getting assistance – but this glimpse of the inner workings of Major Crimes was a new experience. They were gaining a new respect for the detectives, whose investigations seemed to be made up of a myriad of tiny details, each one which needed to be pursued...just in case.
Joe was watching his little 'movie' when something made him frown and rewind it. Surely he couldn't have seen what he thought he did...He played it again, looking for the particular spot he'd noticed. There it was...
"Frank." He nudged his brother. "Look at this. Did you take any shots of these people coming out?"
Frank craned his neck to see, and then began flicking through his pictures, one after the other. "Probably. Let's see..." Finding the appropriate area, he slowed down, scanning the photos with concentration. "Yeah, here. See, there's the lady in the red dress...why?"
"Because," Joe replied, "I'm pretty sure that's Mr. Martin, from the plane, coming out of the Convention Center." He reached a hand for Frank's camera and stared at the photo intently.
His brother, frowned, puzzled. "Mr. Martin...?"
"You weren't paying any attention," Joe said, "but it was the guy sitting next to me on the other side, remember? We exchanged names – he said he was coming to Cascade on business."
"That's kinda funny," the older boy ruminated. "If he was here for a business trip, how likely is it that he'd be at a fundraising event for a rock star – a just-scheduled event, at that?"
"I suppose he could be a Valhalla fan," Joe conceded, still looking at Frank's camera display screen. "It just seems funny. I'm surprised I recognized him, though – he's so sorta...nondescript. The only thing that stood out about him was the peppermints!"
Jim Ellison's head jerked up, and he spun around to face the teenagers. "PEPPERMINT!" he barked. "That's it! That's what it was!" He was beside Joe in two strides. "What's this about somebody and peppermint?"
Shocked, Joe recoiled away from the fierceness in the detective's eyes. "Uh...sorry...didn't mean to distract you," he apologized. "It's just that we found a picture of a guy that was on our plane, who was at the reception tonight. He had this sorta odd habit...he ate peppermint candy the whole time we were in flight...he reeked of peppermint..."
"That's what I smelled!" Ellison exclaimed. "On the gunman – it was peppermint! I figured it was cologne! Show me the photo!" he demanded. Now Blair was there too, leaning over his partner's shoulder – and Joel and Rafe as well.
"Ewwww, peppermint cologne?" Rafe murmured in an aside to Taggart. "That is the epitome of tacky!"
Joe held out the camera. "There," he pointed. "That guy. Andrew Martin."
"I'd swear I've seen that face somewhere before," Rafe mused.
"Local talent?" Jim asked, scowling down at the picture.
"I don't think it was local," Rafe replied.
"Do you think you could pick him out of a mug shot book?" Blair asked Joe, who nodded.
"I think so, yeah. He was really average-looking, but I remember his nose looked like it had maybe been broken...and he had a distinctive scar on his right wrist."
"I didn't really look at him," Frank confessed, "but I'm willing to try, too."
"Let's find you some pictures to look at, gentlemen," Jim said. "Would you like a cup of coffee? Some Pepsi? It may be a long night!"
#####
"There. That's him." Joe said positively, some time later, looking up from a book with the ominous label International Assassins. "That's Andrew Martin."
Jim and Blair, who had been shepherding the boys through their search, both looked at the photo and the accompanying data. "Real name, Andrei Illyovich Marchlewicz," Blair said, stumbling slightly over the complicated name. "Jeez, he's Russian AND Polish? Except that he's not, he's listed as American..."
"He didn't speak with an accent," Joe offered.
"Identifying mark: scar on right wrist, from incident with barbed wire," Jim noted with satisfaction. "Broken nose. It all matches. Parents – Russian mother, Polish father, but born and raised here in the U.S. And he's got quite the résumé."
Frank had resumed looking at the digital pictures on his camera and Joe's little video. "Guys," he said now, quietly, "He's looking directly at the camera in this one. What are the odds that since we saw him...that he saw US, as well?"
