Frank Hardy groaned as he levered his six-foot-one frame out of the leather recliner where it had spent the whole day.
"Are you fifty? You make more noise getting out of that chair than Dad does." Joe Hardy mocked his brother from a prone position on the sectional.
"At least I'm capable of getting up. You look like you're melding into the couch."
Joe grunted as he flipped through categories on Netflix. "Can you bring some more chips on your way back from the kitchen?" He shook an empty family-sized bag of Doritos at Frank.
"I'm not going to the kitchen; I'm going to Dad's office to work on scanning."
There was never any shortage of menial tasks to be found in the world-famous detective's office. Frank found more enjoyment in digitizing Fenton's paper records than Joe, who found the task to be lacking in excitement.
"Suck-up. Real detective work is done in the streets, not the office."
"You tell Dad that. Or better yet, tell Mom. I hear she's looking for someone to clean out the garage."
Joe jumped to his feet as if a cobra had suddenly appeared in the cushions. "I'll come with you. Maybe Dad has a new case."
Frank chuckled. "You're so predictable." He then ducked without looking as he sensed Joe's attempt to swat the back of his head. "Like I said, predictable."
The boys galloped down the stairs and barged into Fenton's office. They stumbled to a halt as they realized their father was on a phone call.
"Golden domes," Fenton said, facing away from the doorway. "The blue rooster is on the train. I'll snag us some portraits." He placed the landline back on its hook.
Joe and Frank exchanged looks of mingled confusion and concern.
"You having a stroke?" Joe asked. "Or is this some boomer slang I'm not familiar with?"
Fenton smiled. "You disappoint me. I thought by now you two would recognize code when you heard it."
"What's going on?" Frank asked. "Are you doing some government contracting?"
Fenton stood and grabbed the jacket hanging by his desk. "Normally I couldn't tell you that, but you've been requested specifically. Come on, we're going for a drive."
"All right!" Joe fist-pumped as Frank grinned in jubilation.
A half-hour later found the trio pulling into the parking lot of an interstate diner that probably failed to reach three stars on Yelp.
"This is less glamorous than I had hoped," Joe said. "Where's the secret lab with killer robots?"
"This is just a briefing," Fenton said. "Detective work isn't all James Bond gadgets."
Joe harrumphed. "It should be."
"Sorry to disappoint," Frank added, "but there's probably no supermodels here either."
Joe's mood improved significantly when they found their contact sitting at a sticky syrup-covered table and reading the New York Times while sipping coffee. He was dressed in a shabby gray suit and was completely forgettable in every aspect.
"Hello, Mr. Gray," Fenton said as they slid into the other side of the booth.
"It's always a pleasure doing business with the Hardys," the Gray Man said with a wan smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I'll cut to the chase. What do you three know about Swift Enterprises?"
"It's the single most advanced research corporation in the world." Frank said. "Tom Swift has more patents than Tesla, Edison, and Musk put together. They do everything from aerospace engineering to medical innovation."
Joe yawned. "Frank is a Swift fanboy. He's been obsessed with their work ever since we visited the headquarters."
The waitress arrived at their table and Joe ordered scrambled eggs, hashbrowns, pancakes, waffles, and bacon. Frank requested a soda and Fenton asked for coffee.
"We consulted with Swift Enterprises on a case," Fenton explained once the server had exited earshot. "But I suppose we're not here because of their work in non-stick surfaces. Swift Enterprises is a key defense contractor."
The Gray Man nodded. "You hit the nail on the head. The Network has noticed a substantial uptick in Swift Enterprises military gear hitting the black market."
Frank rubbed his chin. "That's not surprising. There's a lot of equipment being sent to a country known as being one of the worst in the world for corruption."
"We don't believe the war in Ukraine to be the cause," the Gray Man said, lifting a briefcase from the floor and setting it next to him.
"Why?" Joe asked.
"Because the hardware on the market consists mainly of protypes."
"Someone's stealing top secret military research projects?" Fenton asked, eyebrow cocked.
The Gray Man nodded.
"Did you check the legal department for a guy that never smiles?" Joe asked as he began to devour the food that had just arrived.
"You asked all of us here for a reason," Frank pointed out. "I assume we're being asked to look into this."
The Gray Man retrieved some documents from his briefcase and spread them out on the table. "The Network has decided to open an investigation into Swift Enterprises. The visible portion of the investigation will take the form of a formal audit, headed by a trustworthy private individual."
"Me," Fenton said with a frown as he studied the papers. "And the invisible portion?"
"All the details you need to be concerned about are in those files," the Gray Man responded. He snapped up his briefcase and rose to his feet, tossing a few rumpled dollar bills on the table as he exited.
"I thought the food was on him," Joe said with a mouth full of potatoes. "That won't even cover the tip."
Frank and Fenton busied themselves studying the folders the Gray Man had left.
"It looks like the Network sees Tom Swift Jr. as a conduit for investigation," Frank said. "It wants us to get close to him."
"That must be why it included these internship applications for Swift Enterprises," Fenton added. "We could enroll one of you to get a different perspective on the organization."
"No, that's a waste of personnel," Joe said as he scraped his plate clean. "Tom already knows we help you out, he would be suspicious if one of us showed up as an intern while you're auditing his dad's company."
"And you don't know the first thing about engineering," Frank needled.
"Exactly," Joe said, unfazed by Frank's insult. "We need someone who can get in and report to us without Tom realizing they're working with us."
The boys looked at each other and spoke at the same time.
"Callie," Frank said.
"Vanessa," Joe said.
The argument lasted the whole ride home.
"Callie is experienced in investigative work," Frank asserted as they walked into the house. "She's helped us out in the past, and she knows what she's doing."
"Vanessa knows science," Joe retorted. "She won that prize in Seattle and won't embarrass herself if she actually has to do any technical work. Don't you agree, Dad?"
Fenton shook his head. "I'm not getting in the middle of this. You can come talk to me once you two reach some kind of understanding." He failed to see Aunt Gertrude kneading dough as he entered the kitchen. "And for the love of God, whoever you choose, please do not have a teenage girl pose as a hooker."
Aunt Gertrude shrieked in horror.