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].
This particular story was written in 2007. Technology does not match today's levels.
Missing Persons
A Hardy Boys/Sentinel Crossover Story
By EvergreenDreamweaver & Talefeathers
Chapter 4
Mid-afternoon found the Hardys enjoying a quiet interlude at the spacious loft on Prospect. Sandburg and Ellison had fed them a lunch of sandwiches and fruit upon arrival, and then Blair had started preparations for what he promised would be a supper they'd never forget.
"Ostrich chili!" he announced triumphantly, appearing not to notice the dubious looks the Hardy brothers exchanged. "It's great, trust me! But it does have to simmer quite awhile, so I'm going to start it now."
Jim chuckled, evidently understanding Frank and Joe's reluctance regarding the proposed dinner menu. "It really is good," he encouraged them. "In fact, Joel – you remember Captain Taggart? – almost ate himself sick on it, he likes it so well. So don't worry."
"I'm too wiped out to worry about ostrich chili," Frank admitted unwillingly, trying to stifle a yawn and failing. "I know we need to start going over what you guys found, if anything, and the case notes we brought, but..." He broke off, yawning again. "'Scuse me."
'Hey." Jim rested a hand on the dark-haired Hardy's shoulder. "Why don't you catch a few Zs? We've got time to do all that a little later, and you aren't in any shape for a sensible discussion right now; you're too tired."
"Use the bed in my room," Blair concurred. "Just kick off your shoes and flop on top of the spread, if you want. Nap as long as you need to."
Frank looked longingly in the indicated direction, then glanced back at his brother. "You okay with that?"
"Sure." Joe waved him on. "Go ahead. I'm good."
"Well...okay, I guess." Without further dissembling, Frank followed the suggestion. He disappeared into Blair's room, shutting the French doors behind him.
Jim's sensitive hearing caught the sounds of shoes being removed, and then a heavy sigh as Frank lay down – followed by steady, even breathing that indicated almost immediate sleep. He turned to Blair and Joe, smiling. "Bet he's out like a light. Well...although it hurts me to admit it, I think it's my turn to do laundry. Hope you have all your dirty clothes in the bathroom hamper, Chief, because I'm sure not going in your room to get anything now!"
Blair laughed as he meticulously chopped onions. "Go ahead; everything's in." Ellison nodded and quietly ascended the stairs to his bedroom to gather more items. A few minutes later he left the apartment carrying two large baskets of clothes stacked on top of each other.
"Washer and dryer are in the basement," Blair explained to Joe, who nodded. The younger Hardy was drifting about the apartment, seemingly unable to settle down anywhere. He wandered over to the kitchen and watched as Blair continued to work, cutting onions, then cloves of garlic.
"Want to help?" Sandburg smiled, nodding to a fat green pepper which waited on the counter. "That needs to be chopped up."
"Uh...you know, I think I'd rather not, if it's all the same to you," Joe muttered, embarrassed at his own churlishness. Although he'd seen Sandburg and Ellison working together in that kitchen, and they seemed to manage it with surprising ease and grace, it seemed awfully small to him for two people. He was used to the spaciousness of their kitchen at home.
Blair seemed unfazed. "No problem," he said cheerfully, and attacked the pepper. Joe drifted back to the living room and stood in front of the bookshelves, idly toying with the objects thereon. Candlesticks...a squatty little statuette...He squatted down and began inspecting the multitudes of CDs, then stood again and restlessly roamed over to the balcony doors. He stared out at the sunshiny afternoon.
A whisper cut through the quiet serenity of the loft, barely audible to Blair in the kitchen. "It just never gets any easier."
Sandburg stilled, setting his paring knife down silently. He hoped Joe would feel free to speak, and although he wanted the boy to understand that if he wished to talk, Blair would be glad to listen and try to help, he wasn't going to leap in. It was going to have to be Joe's choice. He waited, trying to exude calmness and serenity. He'd had a lot of practice at it over the years with his partner.
Joe turned his head and saw Blair standing quietly and gazing at him, evidently waiting for him to continue if he so wished, but not pushing. The younger Hardy smiled a little sheepishly. "Sorry...I guess that sounded a little...over-dramatic, huh?"
Blair shook his head gently. "Nope."
Joe sighed. He hadn't intended to confide in Sandburg – he thought highly of the man, and respected him, and liked him, and consequently wanted to impress him, but still, Blair was a relative stranger, and Joe wasn't much on sharing his innermost feelings in any case. But there was no impatience or ridicule on Sandburg's face, merely an attentive concentration and a desire to help. Blair wasn't likely to belittle him, or dismiss his fears, Joe realized, and the urge to do something...to confide, to share his worries and concerns, was too strong to be ignored.
Joe found words spilling out of his mouth, almost of their own volition: "I mean, you know, you would think it should get easier. We've lived with this – feeling, fear, whatever – all our lives. We've known for a long time that Dad's job is dangerous." He paused and a reluctant grin spread across his face as he considered the fact that it wasn't merely Fenton's job that was dangerous any more; he and Frank had garnered their full share of attention from the criminal element in the past few years, and gotten into a pretty appalling number of scrapes. "Heck, we've known that from our own personal experiences!"
Blair nodded encouragingly. When Joe didn't immediately resume speaking he began quietly tidying up the kitchen. Chili preparations were going to have to wait for a bit. Exit the sous-chef and enter the Shaman of the Great City; Joe needed someone to listen and...just maybe...counsel.
Joe returned to staring out the glass doors at the bright glint of the Sound in the distance. He was fiddling nervously again, this time fussing with the cord to the blinds. He dropped it and returned to the shelves of CDs, absently taking out one and looking at it, then thrusting it back and removing another. In his distraction, he fumbled one jewel case, nearly dropping it on the floor.
Managing to catch it, Joe glanced guiltily at Sandburg, jolted out of his introspection. "Sorry."
"Not a problem." Blair smiled. "You seem a little twitchy, pal. There's a ratty little park just down the block, remember? Not much, but there's a basketball court of sorts. Feel like shooting some hoops?"
For the first time, a genuine smile lit Joe's face. "That would be great! But don't you have to fix your chili?"
"It can wait a little while." Blair went to the storage closet and retrieved a basketball. "Lucky thing we both changed into shorts earlier, huh?" He grabbed two small bottles of water from the fridge, slid his keys into his shorts pocket and scribbled a brief note to Jim to explain their absence. "C'mon, let's go."
###
Their game of one-on-one was fairly one-sided. Blair was no slouch at basketball, and his skills had been honed by playing against Jim – and a couple of times, practicing with the Jags! – for the last several years, but Joe was currently like a man possessed on the court. He was pouring all his energies – all his anger, frustration, fears – into the game, and Blair was merely there to give him someone to dart around or shoot over.
They stopped to catch their breath and drink some water after the magic score of 21 was reached, Joe began shooting again – but now his movements were more relaxed, almost lazy. Blair moved beneath the basket to rebound for him.
"You're very good," Sandburg commented. "I'm not surprised; you and Frank are both athletic, but – you're VERY good."
"Thanks. We both played in high school. And we've been playing driveway or park basketball since I was a little kid. Dad taught us to play," Joe replied. "When we first started, we'd play one on one-and-a-half." He laughed softly, glancing at Blair, who returned his smile. "I was the half."
Sandburg chuckled appreciatively.
"I was maybe five or so...never figured out the point of the game then, but I sure enjoyed running around the court. Frank was probably close to seven then, and he was tall for his age. He actually knew what he was doing. Looking back now, I imagine I was in Dad's and his way more than anything else. But they never complained." He backed up and put up a three-point shot that swished sweetly through the net. Blair clicked his tongue admiringly and tossed in a lay-up before passing back to Joe.
"I remember...when Frank would start to get that funny little frown on his face that means he's getting annoyed," Joe continued, "I remember Dad would put the ball in my hands, pick me up, and run to the basket so we could score." He laughed, and so did Blair. "That'd keep me happy long enough that I'd go off to the side and do...whatever five year olds do, and then Frank and Dad could actually play for awhile. Sometimes I just ran around and around the edge of the court...I remember that."
"Sounds like your dad's a smart man." Blair retrieved a missed shot, pivoted and banked one off the glass.
"He is. Frank's just like him." There was no envy in Joe's voice, only pride. He stopped abruptly, clutching the basketball. "This is all wrong, Blair! This wasn't supposed to happen! This was a routine missing persons case. And damn it, he'd FOUND her! There wasn't even the slightest hint of any danger!"
"I know."
"It's all wrong," Joe repeated miserably. "Dad's disappearance means that he's stumbled onto something – and it's probably something pretty big. Or...or, I suppose one of his enemies could have tracked him here, but...I mean, he's disappeared before, but then, we usually knew he might be heading into danger. This time it came out of nowhere! We don't have any idea what it is he's discovered, or how to find him. All we have is partial case notes that he left at home – and you guys!"
Sandburg grinned; he couldn't help it. "Don't be too quick to discount our help, Joe," he teased gently.
"No, no, I didn't mean that!" Joe replied, chagrined. "You guys are the best; you're awesome; I know that. We're lucky we've got you. I just meant—"
"I know what you meant. But don't give up on your dad just yet, and don't give up on us – especially on Jim. He's a very talented investigator; there's none better. And he's learned some...um...rather unconventional...uh...methods, both from his time in the service and when he was in Peru with the Chopec tribe. Or did you know about that?"
Joe nodded. "Daryl told Frank, and Frank told me. And I saw it in action when we were looking for you guys in Bayport." He sighed. "I agree, he's amazing. If anyone can follow a trail that doesn't seem to exist, it's Jim. And you're not so bad yourself," he added, smiling, and tossed Blair the basketball again.
###
Jim Ellison had brought a basket of clean laundry upstairs to his apartment and found Blair's note. After checking quietly to make sure Frank was still sound asleep, he donned shorts and a tank top and made his way to the park. While still some distance from the basketball court he jacked up his hearing carefully, sorting out Blair's and Joe's voices from the cacophony of other sounds impinging on his senses. He wanted to get an idea of the tenor of their conversation.
"...he's amazing. If anyone can follow a trail that doesn't seem to exist, it's Jim. And you're not so bad yourself."
The Sentinel smiled a little; sometimes the old saying about not eavesdropping because you'll hear bad things about yourself didn't hold true. He appreciated and was touched by Joe's implicit faith in him, although it was a bit daunting to realize he had to live up to the boy's expectations! And he was glad that Joe also was aware of Blair's talents and abilities.
He'd been half afraid that Blair might 'talk' Joe to death, given half the chance, but his best friend's instincts had apparently served him well – as they almost always did. Blair had the innate ability to offer comfort and advice and cheer people up with his off-the-wall tales of 'far-away places with strange-sounding names,' and if he hadn't had to resort to tribal tales to make Joe feel better...well that was okay, too!
Jim moved closer, catching the attention of the two on the court. "Looks like you've run Sandburg ragged," he noted. "Want to try it against someone closer to your size?" He grinned as he issued the challenge.
"Hey!" Blair protested automatically. "Quit picking on the short guy!" He whapped Jim lightly and ducked the return gentle swat aimed at his head. "Actually, I need to get back to working on dinner." He patted Joe's shoulder. "Thanks for the game, Joe."
"Thank you," Joe replied with a grateful look. "Sure, Detective Ellison, why not?"
"It's Jim," Ellison reminded him, and swatted the ball out of his hands with the swiftness of a striking snake.
Blair watched for a few moments and then returned to the loft and his chili preparations, knowing that for all his encouraging words about Jim's abilities, they were still faced with a very large problem.
#####
Jim and Joe returned from the park flushed and sweaty and exhilarated by their game, which Jim had apparently squeaked out by a last-ditch long shot. Joe looked much more relaxed, and headed for the shower while Jim went down to the basement to collect another load of clean laundry. When he returned, he took his own turn in the bathroom, and then joined Sandburg in the kitchen to make a lettuce salad. Joe, still feeling slightly unsure about his presence in that crowded space, offered to set the table if Jim would hand him the things. Smiling quietly, Ellison complied.
Frank emerged from Blair's room about the time the chili was being dished up, looking much refreshed, and the four men settled around the supper table. To the Hardys' surprise, the ostrich chili was delicious, and accompanied by buttered French bread and Jim's salad, filled them comfortably. They didn't talk of the case during dinner, but kept the conversation on other things.
"Is Daryl in town?" Frank asked. "It's been awhile since we've heard from him."
Blair was shaking his head. "No, he's not here right now. After he finished the year at Duke, Joan – that's his mom – offered to take him to the Caribbean for a vacation. So he's currently on the island of St. Croix – lucky kid!"
Joe whistled. "Sweet! Why didn't anyone offer to take YOU to St. Croix?" he demanded of Frank, who grinned and shrugged. "For that matter, why didn't anyone offer to take ME there for a graduation present? I'll have to e-mail him and ask how he wangled it."
Jim rubbed his jaw reflectively. "He wangled it by having competitive divorced parents," he pointed out.
"True." Joe took another slice of bread and chewed it thoughtfully. Maybe he didn't want a vacation in St. Croix, if that's what it took.
After dinner they settled in the living room, finally ready for serious work. Frank and Joe got out the meager file they had brought, and the Cascade police officers offered what few clues they had garnered.
"So that's who he was looking for." Ellison gazed thoughtfully at the photo of Bobbi Van Lansing. "Actually, he'd found her – found her hotel, anyway, only she wasn't there when he was."
Frank picked up a piece of paper. "The Silver Reef," he read. "That's where she is staying. At least that's what Dad told me on the phone. He said it was nicer than his motel!"
"Hey, we didn't know that; that's a great place to start!" Blair said approvingly. He reached for the telephone book to look up the address.
Jim consulted the file folder he'd brought home from work. "I'm pretty sure 'L. Twrs' is the Lincolnshire Towers," he said. "There were only a couple of possibilities as far as building names go, and we didn't find any matches with personal names."
"What's Lincolnshire Towers?" Joe asked.
"Office high-rise," Blair told him. "And...ta-da!" He waved another piece of paper in the air in triumph. "After Jim pinned down Lincolnshire Towers, I found a match for the telephone number...or rather, I located a number that matched after I tried altering the number we found."
Ellison shifted, looking uncomfortable. "I thought we had it right," he said defensively.
"Jim, man, those numbers were seriously scribbled," his partner reassured him. "Anyone could have missed it."
"What was it?" Frank asked curiously. "I mean, how did...?"
"Whoever wrote it makes their fours and their nines almost the same way," Blair explained. "When I tried using four instead of nine, I got a number of someone who actually has an office in Lincolnshire Towers."
Both boys perked up at this encouraging news. "Who is it?"
"Businessman by the name of John Sartellis. Nothing popped up on him, but I figure we might have a little chat with him, just in case."
"We tried him at the office number but he wasn't in," Jim added. "His home phone's in the book, but when I called there, all I got was an answering machine. So evidently Mr. Sartellis has gone out for the evening."
"We'll try him again tomorrow," Blair said.
Now it was Joe's turn to yawn. He flushed with embarrassment. "Sorry...jet lag, I guess."
"I think that your body just realized it's been up almost 24 hours straight," Sandburg commented. "What time did you have to get up to catch your plane? It's after midnight by your internal clock, and you didn't have a nap like Frank did."
"There isn't anything more we can do...?" Frank fretted. "I feel so useless. We flew out here to find Dad, and all we've done is sit around and let you feed us and entertain us, and—"
"Hey." Jim held up a hand to stem the flow of words. "We've got more than we did before. We've got a name, a picture, a hotel, another name, a location...we're getting there. We'll find him."
Frank nodded reluctantly. Joe stifled another yawn.
"C'mon, let's get you two situated for sleeping." Blair got to his feet. "If one of you takes my bed and the other the couch—"
"Where'll you sleep?" Joe cut in.
Blair grinned. "There's a lot of room on the floor of Jim's bedroom, and I've got a sleeping bag and two foam camping pads up there already. We're all set."
"Jeez, Blair, we ought to be the ones sleeping on the floor, not you!" Frank protested.
"As H would say, don't sweat it, my man. I don't mind at all – so long as Jim doesn't step on me when he gets up in the morning."
Fifteen minutes later, as the two detectives mounted the stairs to the loft bedroom, only Jim heard his Guide's whisper:
"It's been too long since you practiced that reading with your fingertips, O Sentinel mine. You ought to have caught that phone number, ya know."
"Don't push it, Chief, unless you want to find yourself sleeping on the balcony instead of the floor."
Blair chuckled very softly, unalarmed by this threat. "I've got some tests in mind that we probably ought to run..."