Thanks to max2013, hlahabibty, Caranath, Xenitha, and ukfan101 for their reviews. As I said initially, I had the first three chapters written, and here is chapter three. Now the wait begins. I will post each subsequent chapter as soon as it is complete, but I can't promise it will be soon. RL spends too much time getting in my way. Enjoy.
"What?" The word exploded from Frank's chest. Whatever he might have thought the agent was going to say, this hadn't even made the list. He took a deep breath to steady himself. "A job? I don't understand."
Malone leaned back in the chair again, more in control now that the first words were out. "You interested me when we met in January, so I did some research on you. I was... impressed to say the least. Computer skills, detective experience, recommendations from senior members of the bureau..." She ticked each item off on one of her fingers as she spoke. "And you're the right age."
"What do you mean 'the right age'?" His eyes narrowed.
The agent's expression went blank, a slight tightening around her lips the only indication of discomfort or nervousness. "I... We need someone who can pass as a college student. More specifically, a college dropout." She looked him straight in the face. "It's taken us a while to track down this guy's location, and I don't want to lose him. If the pattern we've seen is any indication, he'll be on the move again in a few months. Then we have to start all over." The fingers of her left hand curled in toward her palm. "Again." The word came from between clenched teeth.
Despite everything, Frank found himself growing interested. An actual case, working with the FBI – even if he didn't know the details, and even if it only lasted a few months – sounded much more inteesting than reorganizing the files at his father's office while he waited for the Joe to graduate from college the next year. But there was something off here...
"What happened to your partner?" He had to admit he felt somewhat gratified when Malone flinched.
"What do you mean?" Her expression morphed into one of unconcern. He also had to admit to being impressed at how quickly she recovered. "I don't have a partner.
"Not now, you don't," he said, "but I'm fairly sure the Bureau wouldn't be sending a rookie undercover without backup. And you just said you needed someone who could pass as a college dropout. Nothing personal, but you look more like a high school student than a federal agent." Her shoulders stiffened as he paused to let the words sink in. "Look, I need to know what happened before I can make any decisions." His head tilted to one side. "Was he found out? Did your guy discover you're on to him?"
Malone snorted delicately, and her shoulders relaxed. "No. He was being a good samaritan, changing an old man's tire in a grocery store parking lot, and was hit by some guy who backed out of his space without looking. Broken leg, concussion." She sighed. "He's on desk duty for a few months while his leg heals, and by that time..." She shrugged. "Perfectly innocent accident, less than optimal timing."
Frank nodded, understanding her frustration. "So, what's your guy done?"
"False IDs." Malone leaned forward. "Normally it wouldn't be our jurisidiction, but they keep being found in states other than where he's operating at the time."
"Are they good?"
This time she nodded. "Some of the best we've come across. Licenses from at least twenty-eight states, almost picture-perfect. We know he's down a guy and some equipment as his last location was raided by state troopers in Rhode Island. The guy turned state's evidence to reduce his sentence, so we at least have an idea where the operation was headed next."
Frank raised an eyebrow. "And that is?"
"Moscow, Idaho."
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
"So, what do you think, Dad?" Frank finished drying the roasting pan, then put it away with the rest of the cookware. He and his father were cleaning up after dinner, his mother and aunt sitting outside in the cool early summer evening. "Should I take it?"
After Agent Malone had left, he had sat in the now-empty room thinking over what she had said before making the drive back to Bayport, and when his mother jokingly asked why it had taken so long for him to get home, the story had spilled out.
Fenton Hardy regarded his older son with shadowed eyes. "It could be a good opportunity for you son. Experience, connections..."
"But?" The unspoken word had hung in the air at the end of his father's sentence.
There was a long pause. "I don't want you to take this the wrong way, Frank, but are you sure you're ready for something like this?" He held up his hands to forestall the words of protect he knew would be coming. "I know you and your brother are good." A faint smile crossed his face. "You were taught by the best, after all. But this will be different. For starters, you'll be alone."
"No. Agent Malone and I will be partners. With back up." Frank could hear the note of irritation in his voice and tried to swallow it down.
Fenton raised his hands again. "That's true, but you don't know her all that well, her strengths and weaknesses, how good she is, and there are details about your back up they won't share with a contractor." He paused. "And you won't have Joe." He looked at his son. "I trust your judgment, Frank, and will back you up no matter what you decide, but do you want your first case of this type to be with someone you don't know as well as your brother?"
Frank froze. Intellectually, he had realized if he took the job he'd be doing it without Joe, but had he really understood what it meant? They had worked as a team for so long, they could react automatically to almost any challenge. What would it be like working with someone he would have to explain his actions to? He turned his gaze toward his father. "So, you think I should turn it down?"
"I didn't say that," his dad responded. "I think you need to decide what to do. I just think you need to decide it with a full understanding of what you're getting yourself into." He stood, turning toward the living room. "I'm going to go see if you mother would like some tea." As he was about to leave the kitchen, he turned to face Frank again, smiling. "It's good to have you home, son. Happy graduation. And welcome to the real world." He chuckled as he left the room.
Frank swallowed, sighed, then walked over to where the phone hung on the wall by the sink. He punched in Joe's cell phone number and took a deep breath. The phone rang once, twice...
"I'm only taking a break for dinner." Joe's voice sounded muffled, the words not entirely clear.
"What are you eating?"
There was a swallowing noise, then a moment of coughing before Joe came back on the line. "Frank? Geez, 'bro, I thought you were Aunt Gertrude. She's been calling every few hours to make sure I'm studying and not goofing around." The sound of something being crumpled sounded in Frank's ear.
"Well, you are, right? Studying I mean." Frank leaned against the counter, a smile forming on his face.
"What do you take me for, an idiot? Don't answer that." There was a pause, and Frank could tell Joe was taking another bite of something. "Of course I'm studying. Or I was. Now I'm eating. Then I'll go back to studying." Another bite. "So, what's up? I'm pretty sure you're not calling to tell me to study harder."
"I know a lost cause when I see it," Frank said, a laugh escaping from his lips. "And, yes, I'm kidding." The laughter died as he remembered the reason for the call. "Look, I don't want to take up to much of your studying time, but I have a question for you." He paused, trying to think of the best words to use. "I've been offered a job."
Joe spluttered into the phone. "Dude, you just got home, what, two hours ago? How could you...?"
"Remember the FBI agent I told you about? The one who was looking into Roger's disappearance?"
"Yeah, why?" There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line. "She wants you to work with her? Are you planning on joining the Bureau?" Disbelief and suspicion crept into Joe's voice.
"No." Frank made sure the word was firmly spoken and was almost positive he heard a relieved breath coming from his brother. "She wants me as a contractor. Short-term only. It should just be a couple of months at the most."
"Oh." There were chewing noises, then a noisy swallow. "You taking it?"
"I think so." Frank paused. "I wanted to run it by you first."
"Why?"
"Because you're my partner. I didn't want you to hear it from Mom or Dad and think I was deserting you."
Joe grunted. "Oh. Good. Well, anyway, it should be more interesting than spending your days filing cold cases in Dad's office. And don't tell him I said that."
This time Frank laughed. "I won't. Mainly because I was thinking the same thing."
A muffled shout came from Joe's end of the line. "Hey, 'bro, I have to go. My study partner says dinner break is over. Good luck, and tell me everything."
It wasn't until the call ended that Frank realized he hadn't found out what Joe had been eating.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Training started in earnest the day after Frank arrived in Washington. There were briefings on their identities, sessions with with more senior agents regarding wardrobes, and meetings with tech staff about the types of surveillance equipment they would have access to. Except for the technology, which Frank wished he could spend more time investigating, most of it was fairly routine.
Except that he wasn't working with Joe.
Agent Malone – Kara, he kept needing to remind himself – was bright, attentive, and ambitious, Frank could see that right away. She also had very limited experience with undercover work, and it was getting to her in a big way. Their handlers had them act out different situations in their new personas, and each time, Malone could only get so far before she forgot an important piece of character work or tripped on a minor detail. Once their wardrobes had been worked out, Frank insisted they continue the training sessions in their new clothes.
His was fairly simple – distressed jeans with patches over the knees, a tighter than he would usually wear t-shirt, and a faded plaid flannel button up shirt. He hadn't had a chance to get his hair cut and used it to the character's advantage, keeping it messy and hanging in his face.
Malone's outfit was another matter entirely.
"Explain to me again why I'm dressed like this?" Agent Malone's irritation radiated from her like an aura surrounding her body. Her eyes were granite and her shoulders so tight Frank could almost see the proverbial chip on them, both of which provided an interesting contrast to the purple-tipped ponytails hanging from either side of her head and the artfully torn, pink 'Hello Kitty' t-shirt she wore over a black tank top.
"It's a disguise," Frank said, making sure to keep his voice even. He was fairly sure her service revolver was hidden somewhere in the baggy camouflage pants she wore, and he didn't want to antagonize her. There was something about the operation that displeased her, and he hoped it wasn't him. After all, she had been the one to call him. He cleared his throat before continuing. "One that would be more effective if you didn't carry yourself like a federal agent."
"I am a federal agent," she snarled, glaring at him. "Or have you forgotten that fact?"
Frank pushed the bangs from his eyes. He hated when his hair was this long. Even though he knew it was necessary for the job, it made it hard to see everything he needed to. "Not now you're not. Now you're Carrie McAllister. You can keep the anger as part of your character – it fits the pseudo-goth look you've got going on – but you've got to loosen up your posture, or no one's going to buy that you're who you say you are. Watch." He took a breath, then relaxed his shoulders making his neck to droop slightly, the hair flopping back over his eyes, then forced his expression into one of annoyance. "Dad said I hafta look out for you, so you gotta come with me. Got it?" The words, spoken in a nasal Boston accent, sounded bored and resigned.
Malone stilled, her eyes widening. "How do you do that?"
"Practice," Frank said in the other voice. "A whole lotta practice." He straightened up, cleared his throat, and raised an eyebrow at her. "Your turn."
She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. As she exhaled, she slumped her shoulders down, tilted her head to the side, and shifted so most of her weight was on her right leg. When she opened her eyes, most of the anger was gone, replaced by a petulant sullenness. "This better?" Her native Boston accent deepened, the 'r' at the end of the word disappearing.
"What's your name?" Frank straightened up, deliberately using his own voice.
She rolled her eyes at him. "Really? You can't keep track of your sister's name? Jerk."
"And who am I?"
"Zack McAllister," she said, a hint of loathing in her voice. "My wicked lame older brother. Loser who's never met a comic book or a computer he doesn't like better than a person."
Frank nodded. "Not bad. You're still a little stiff. And don't embellish too much. It's easier if you keep it simple."
Malone straightened, her expression changing to one of grudging respect. "It's not just computers you're good at, is it?"
"What do you mean?"
"You make this look easy," she said, her hand making a sweeping motion. "I called you from out of nowhere to assist us, and not only are you not nervous, you're giving me advice on how to go undercover. How long have you been doing this anyway?"
"A long time." Frank pushed the hair out of his eyes again. "My brother and I have been solving mysteries for years. Sometimes with our dad, sometimes on our own."
"If he's anything like you, we could use you both at the FBI."
A chuckle escaped from Frank's lips. "Uh, no. Joe doesn't do real well with people telling him what to do. He'd spend more time in trouble than on the job." He shook his head. "Definitely not. Once he graduates we're opening our own agency." His eyes took on a faraway look. "It's been our dream since we were kids. We make a great team." He pulled himself back from thoughts of the future. "Now, let's try that again."
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
After several days of going over their new personas, Kara was feeling more confident in her ability to become Carrie McAllister. She and Frank – Zack, I need to think of him as Zack – had gone to one of the nearby malls for an afternoon to see how others would react to their characters, and she was feeling rather pleased with the results.
At one point, she and Frank had disappeared into a crowd of older teenagers and watched with glee as their handlers scanned the food court trying, with limited success, to find them. A half hour later when they emerged from the group with ice cream cones, the older agents had whisked them back to the office, complaining about the action. Frank had merely cocked his head to one side and said, "I thought the point was to blend in, to make other kids think we were their age. I'd say we did pretty well."
The handlers – babysitters, Frank had called them in his Zack persona – were not impressed, and left them in one of the conference rooms to report on their behavior to the higher-ups.
After a half hour with no word from any of the other team members, Kara felt herself getting nervous. "What if we get in trouble?"
Frank simply shrugged. "If they want us to get used to being these other people, then they can't complain when we are." He moved his hand up and down, indicating her ripped jeans and studded leather jacket. "Can you see Zack and Carrie waiting around for an adult to tell them what to do and where to go?"
"I guess not." She let out a breath, watching as his eyes darted toward the door. "What?"
"Footsteps. Get back into character."
She relaxed her shoulders and shifted most of her weight onto one hip. As the door opened, she casually lifted one hand and started examining the fingernails on her right hand. Her index finger was chipped again. Have to make sure I watch it when I'm shooting, she thought. I must be catching in on the trigger guard.
"Why the hell did I get called out of work this time? What the hell were you two doing?" Kara didn't recognize the voice that came from the doorway, and it caught her by surprise. The Boston accent was deeper than her own, and the anger in the words were clear. She flinched without meaning to, noticing from the corner of her eye, that Frank stood stock-still, intentionally not acknowledging the other person in the room. She turned to see who the speaker was, and started.
The man appeared to be in his early sixties, had salt-and-pepper hair covered by a faded Red Sox baseball cap, was unshaven with a week old beard sprouting from his cheeks, wore a plaid jacket over a tattered, button-up shirt, and had an annoyed expression on his face.
"Carrie, what were you doin' in that mall?"
Kara blinked. The voice... It was Agent Vickers.
"Carrie?!" The anger in that one word was crystal clear.
"Nothin'" Frank spoke the word in a tone that indicated he didn't care who was asking or how pissed off he might be.
Vickers stomped over to the table and pushed a chair out of his way to stand next to Frank. "You don't get to use that tone with me, Zack. Don't forget, I'm the one in charge here, not you."
Frank lifted his eyes to the older man's, tilted his head to one side, then lifted his right hand – palm facing in – and calmly gave the man the finger. "Like. I. Care."
Kara sucked in a breath, her eyes closing. Oh, G-d, no. She opened her eyes in time to see Vickers slap the top of Frank's head with an open palm.
"You better care, you stupid punk."
"What're you gonna do if I don't, send us back to Boston?" Frank snorted. "I'd rather be there than this pit stop."
The two men glared at each other for a moment, then Vickers straightened up. "Not bad," he said, a grin starting to form on his face. "You think fast on your feet. Of course, I'd expect as much from one of Fenton's sons."
"Thank you, sir," Frank replied. His lips twisted in an expression of chagrin. "Sorry about the rude gesture, sir."
Vickers laughed and held out his right hand. "Arthur Vickers. I'll be the accompanying adult for the two of you. Widowed father of you two delinquents. And no need to apologize, I think it's just what Mr. McAllister would have done." He glanced at Kara. "I think you may have shocked Agent Malone, however."
Kara shook her head, feeling the color coming back into her cheeks. "Maybe just a little."
"You'll get over it," Vickers said. "You have to if you're going to be successful undercover." His expression sobered up. "Which will be sooner than I had thought. Apparently our entrepreneur got his shop set up more quickly than we thought he would. We're heading out the day after tomorrow."