J.M.J.

Chapter 5

"He looked like he was about my age, no more than five years older, I'm sure," Joe was was riding with Chet, who was driving, and Frank, who was in the back seat. It was a long shot, but they were driving around a part of town with a lot of apartment buildings in the hope that Joe might spot the car that he had followed the day before or maybe even Wade Smith. It was a slim chance, and they didn't even know for certain whether Wade Smith was really involved. But it was all they had to go on, and so they were going to work at this angle until something better came up. Joe continued describing Wade. "He's white but has a pretty dark tan, brown hair, brown eyes about five-nine or five-ten, around a hundred and eighty pounds. There were no visible tattoos or scars, but he had long sleeves on."

"You'd never seen him before?" Chet asked.

"I'm not sure," Joe admitted. "Like I said before, there was something almost familiar about him, but I couldn't place him."

"You think he's Network?" Chet went on.

"I don't know. Logically, it seems like he practically has to be, but something about him didn't feel like the Network. They don't stand out when you don't know who they are, and he seemed like he was trying to stand out. But it has to be the Network behind this, so if he is involved, he must be one of their agents. Maybe they really are just trying to play mind games with us."

"We should be hearing from them sooner than later," Frank spoke up. "The entire point has to be to taunt us, and they're moving quickly, so I doubt we're going to have to wait too long before they try to rub it in our faces some more."

Chet gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening from the pressure. "I hope their games don't include hurting Iola."

Neither of the Hardys said anything. That was their hope, too, but after their experiences earlier that summer, they knew that it wasn't off the table. Joe turned to look out the window. He had been trying hard not to imagine what Iola must be going through. It was about the only thing that could keep him going.

Frank had also fallen silent, knowing that the plain truth of what was most likely wouldn't be helpful to any of them but neither would platitudes. He decided the best option was to change the subject just enough that it wouldn't be too obvious."I think they're waiting for our next move before they contact us again."

"What do you mean?" Chet asked.

"In the note we got, it showed a white knight removing a black pawn," Frank pointed out. "Clearly, this was meant to indicate Iola's kidnapping. The note Callie got before that had a black pawn and rook, and the pawn was the one moving there. I think that was instructions. They wanted Callie to do something, but I'm not sure what. Anyway, it seems that they're indicating us with the black chess pieces and themselves with the white ones. White made the last move, so now they're waiting to see what we do."

"So they think they're the good guys and we're the bad guys?" Chet asked skeptically.

"Everyone thinks they're the good guys," Frank pointed out. "Even when they do something they know is wrong, there's some part of them that thinks they're justified in doing it and anyone trying to stop them is an unjust aggressor. And yes, the Network thinks that their heavy-handed tactics in dealing with terrorists are right, even when they get innocent people hurt or killed, because it does shut down the operations that they're trying to shut down. They think we're going to do a lot of harm if we get them shut down, so yes, they see us the villains."

"Frank," Joe said suddenly, "are you sure you don't know what they want Callie to do?"

He turned around in his seat so that Frank couldn't escape him looking at him. The two knew at once that they were thinking the same thing.

Chet had spent enough time around the Hardys to recognize when they were exchanging information with just a look, although he hadn't learned to decipher that information himself. "What is it? What are you guys thinking?"

"The pawn is probably meant to represent Callie," Joe pointed out. "They want her to move backwards, towards the rook which is the only piece that looks like a building. In other words, they want her to come home."

"I still think she should," Frank insisted. "If she doesn't follow their instructions, they can still get to her. Not only that, but she'll be alone, too. We can watch out for her if she's here."

"We'd better watch her pretty closely," Joe said. "The Network knows what they're doing."

"I know." Frank glanced at his watch. "She won't be here until tonight. We'd better both meet her at the airport."

Whether by luck or by design, Frank had been able to get tickets for Callie and Martin to fly there that day. It hadn't been the most optimum of times, with a long layover in Minneapolis that would put Callie in at nearly ten that night. That worried Frank. That layover could be the perfect opportunity for the Network to get at Callie if they so chose. Frank cautioned her to stay in populated areas of the terminal at all times, but even that couldn't guarantee safety.

"We'd better keep looking," Chet suggested, and they all turned their attention once more to watching for either the car or the man that Joe and Iola had followed earlier.

About twenty minutes later, Chet pulled into the parking lot of a hotel which frequently rented rooms by the week or the month. After all, since Wade had probably been inventing the whole story of moving into town, a hotel was starting to look more likely than an apartment as a place to find him. Chet cruised through the parking lot slowly, but no one spotted the car that Wade had been driving.

Frank, however, spotted something else. "Chet, keeping going," he ordered sharply. "Drive down the street to the next hotel parking lot and pull in there."

"Wasn't that the plan anyway?" Chet objected.

"Yes, but we're going to stop no matter what we find there," Frank told him. "Just act normal, Chet."

"I don't know how I can drive a car not normally, but I'll do my best," Chet replied.

He pulled out onto the street again and drove about a block down, turning into the parking lot of a small, run-down motel. At Frank's instructions, he parked in one of the spaces and turned the car off. Then both he and Joe turned around to look at Frank.

"You remember Katrina Bayley, right, Joe?" Frank asked.

Joe let out a contemptuous snort. "Of course I do. We just had the displeasure of being debriefed by her back in June, remember? Don't tell me you saw her in that parking lot."

"How much do you remember about her from when we worked with her that time?" Frank asked.

Joe uncomfortably shifted in his seat. "Um, you would remember more than I did."

"I'm serious. I need to know that I'm not misremembering."

"Okay." Joe closed his eyes and tried to think back about five years. It was hardly pleasant memories, but at the same time, it was almost amusing compared to other memories from their days with the Network. "She was from Russia originally, but I'm sure that's not what you're questioning your memory about. Divorced, but she kept her ex's last name along with a bad taste in her mouth." He turned to Chet and added in a lower tone, "Frank apparently reminded her of her ex."

Chet wrinkled his forehead. "I don't think I want to hear the details of this story."

"I know you don't want to hear the details of this story," Frank replied. "None of that's important. She was living in Vermont, wasn't she?"

Joe thought for a minute or so. "Yeah. That's what she said, anyway. I'm not sure how much we can trust her on."

"Not much, but she didn't have any reason to lie about her interests. Remember how she was always quoting that one anime?"

"Yeah?"

"There was a car in that parking lot with a sticker of one of those quotes in the back window and a Vermont license plate."

Chet raised his eyebrows. "What are the chances that you would be able to recognize her car from that?"

"Terrible," Joe said. "She wouldn't even be using her personal car if she was here on Network business."

"I think it's worth calling Collig to see if he can get us the name of the owner of that car anyway," Frank said.

"And it's probably worth checking out," Joe added with a slight sigh. "Come on, Chet. Let's go and take a look at that car."

He and Chet got out and walked back to the other parking lot. They spotted the car right away. Although there were a couple of Vermont plates in the lot, there was only one of the make and model that Frank had described. They were careful not to step out into the open too much as they looked over the car, trying to avoid being spotted from the hotel windows.

"Well, what do you think?" Chet asked in a low tone.

Joe shrugged. "It might be hers or in might not be. It's hard to tell just by looking at it. Frank should find out for sure from the police."

"Then why did we bother to come and look at it?" Chet asked.

"It might be helpful to have a visual." Joe glanced toward the hotel. "I was also hoping that maybe Katrina saw us from the window and would come rushing out to move her car somewhere else. Either she didn't see us or she doesn't care."

Chet sighed and ran a hand through his short hair. "I don't understand any of this. I thought the Network was the good guys."

"So did we," Joe muttered. Then he heaved a long sigh. "I'm sorry, Chet. I didn't want any of this to happen."

"Obviously not," Chet replied.

"I should have just stayed away from her," Joe went on. "Maybe…"

"Maybe nothing," Chet interrupted. "I would ask how stupid you think these people are, but you can't possibly really think that they would think you didn't care about Iola just because you hadn't talked to her recently. Them dragging Callie into this proves it."

Joe nodded silently. He had told himself the same thing. It just seemed, in some odd way, that it would be easier to accept if he could have done something about it. It would at least make more sense of it. But it made enough sense as it was, if he would just admit it to himself. The Network wanted to get at him and the rest of his family, and they seemed to think that going through Iola and Callie was the best way to do it. Probably the only way to have prevented it being Iola was if Joe had been dating someone else more recently, and that would have never done. "They could have just cut to the chase and kidnapped me instead," he muttered.

"If it helps at all, I don't blame you for this," Chet said. "I know Iola doesn't either."

Joe rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I just wish we never would have gotten involved in the Network at all. That's where all our problems started." It hadn't quite been all of them. There was the problem that had led them to join the Network in the first place, but that one was so pale in comparison to everything that came afterward and it wasn't even resolved. But that was neither here nor there. The important thing was that they needed to find Iola. "It might be a waste of time, but pending what Frank learns about this car, I think we should stake it out."

"Won't this Katrina person see us?" Chet asked.

"Probably," Joe admitted. "But we've got to try something."

HBHBHBHBHB

Frank and Joe were still waiting at the airport at nearly ten-thirty that night. Callie's plane had been delayed in Minneapolis and wasn't scheduled to get in for another fifteen minutes. Frank was nervously bouncing one knee as he waited. He would have liked to pace around like Joe was doing, but he was tired after the day's investigation. Besides, pacing never really helped him calm down at all. There wasn't anything to worry about, anyway. Before she had had to put her phone on airplane mode, Callie had texted to say that she and Martin were seated on the plane to Bayport. Not even the Network could do much to them when they were packed into a plane with a hundred or so other people. They would get here.

Just then, Joe's phone buzzed. He whipped it out and looked down at the screen, frowning slightly as he did.

"What is it?" Frank asked.

"Sam Radley," Joe reported. "Someone finally came for that car we spotted earlier. It wasn't Katrina."

"Well, that checks with the DMV records that show it isn't her car," Frank pointed out with resignation. Even after getting that report, he had hoped that maybe it did belong to Katrina somehow after all.

"Yeah." Joe chewed his lip and then stuffed the phone back in his pocket. "I guess that would have been pretty obvious for a Network agent, but I thought they might be trying to get our attention."

"They tried playing games like that with us back in June," Frank reminded him. "If they really want to get us out of the way, they'd be better of just doing it."

They sank into silence for the remainder of their wait. Then finally Frank's phone rang. It was Callie.

"Hi, Frank," she said. She sounded a bit nervous and a bit tired, but Frank could hardly blame her for either one. "We just landed. We're still waiting to get off the plane. We were close to the back."

"Good," Frank said. "Was the flight okay?"

"Yeah, not too bad. Once we got out of Minneapolis, anyway." Callie chuckled slightly. "I was starting to think we'd never get out of there."

Frank didn't say that he had been worried about that himself. "If you don't mind, can you stay on the phone until you see us?"

"I was hoping you would suggest that." Callie's voice became a bit quieter as she said, "Hang on, Martin, we have to wait our turn to get off."

There was little conversation between them as Callie navigated getting herself and Martin off the plane. Finally, she reported that they had gotten off and were headed for the baggage carousels, where Frank and Joe were waiting for them. Frank felt as if his heart was picking up its pace as she came closer. He had seen her back in June and talked to her on the phone since then, of course, but that was different. He had been in the hospital in June and there had been so much going on, and then the phone left a barrier between them. There was a lot yet to be said between them.

Then Frank spotted Callie and Martin coming through the hallway that led from the concourse. "I see you now," he said into the phone.

Callie looked around and then she spotted the Hardys. She smiled and waved, leading Martin toward them. Frank stood up to meet them, and Joe finally stopped pacing around.

"Hi," Callie said, her voice hitching even in the midst of the monosyllable.

"Hi," Frank replied back, suddenly stricken by shyness himself.

"Nice to see you again, Callie," Joe said, sounding more normal than either of the others. "You too, Martin." He tousled the boy's red hair in a way that Frank could remember four-year-old Joe taking grave offense at. Perhaps he wasn't quite acting normally, either. He glanced at Frank, obviously expecting him to do or say something more, but when Frank remained frozen, Joe pulled Callie into a hug. "I'm glad you're here."

"Thanks, Joe," Callie replied, smiling in a way that looked more genuine now.

Then Frank took his cue and he also hugged Callie. Neither of them said anything, but their hug lasted a few seconds longer than Joe's had. It felt good to hold Callie again, and Frank was reluctant to let her go. But he forced himself to, and then he turned to Martin.

"How are you doing?" he asked.

"Good," Martin answered quietly.

"You're probably tired," Frank said. "And hungry. That's how I feel when I go on a long plane trip, anyway."

Martin nodded.

"Then let's get home," Frank said. "We can remedy both those things."

"Sorry if the accommodations aren't quite what you would have wanted," Joe put in.

Callie's cheeks colored slightly, but her reply was gracious. "No, it's all right. I understand that a hotel would be too risky, and I wouldn't want to have to impose on any of my other friends here, especially after how I've treated them."

"Nobody holds anything against you," Joe assured her.

"Maybe they should," Callie murmured softly.

HBHBHBHBHB

Iola had given up trying to break down the door to the shed. It was solid, and as Wade had said, it locked from the outside. She had practically worn herself out banging on it with her feet and it had gotten her nowhere. Wade had opened the door once and that was just to give her some water and give her a chance to use the restroom. She had been blindfolded for the latter and taken to some miserable, half-fallen outhouse. Wade had allowed her privacy, but he didn't let her get a look around outside. Otherwise, he had left her completely alone, in the dark, and tied hand and foot.

She was trying to sleep—which was difficult since she couldn't get into anything resembling a comfortable position with her hands tied behind her—when the door opened. At once, she sat up, hoping to get at least a peek at outside, but it was dark. Wade stepped in, carrying the battery-powered lantern. He must have charged it because it was much brighter now. Wade closed the door behind him and turned to look at Iola. Then he set the lantern on the table very deliberately. He let out a weary sigh.

"I knew we'd have to get to this, but I can't say I've been looking forward to it," he said.

Iola stiffened. "What are you talking about?"

"They hurt her, you know. You have to be hurt the same way."

Iola shook her head. "But I don't even understand what this is all about. I don't know who this woman you keep talking about is, but I do know that Joe and Frank wouldn't have hurt anyone."

Wade's mouth twitched with annoyance. "No, they didn't hurt her. They only got her killed."

"I don't believe you," Iola retorted, purposely not calling out the contradiction in what he had said.

"That's good," Wade said unexpectedly. "She believed that they were trustworthy. You'll suffer just as she did."

He took a step toward her, and Iola pulled her bound feet up to her, ready to kick at him if he tried to touch her. It wouldn't be much of a defense, but it was all she had.

"This won't be pleasant," he said, "but I can assure you that it won't last long."

He reached toward her, and Iola suddenly flung herself to the side, out of his reach. At the same time, she kicked out with both her feet, catching Wade in the right shin. He stumbled forward, landing heavily on his palms. He picked himself up, examining the raw skin on his hands.

"That was considerate of you," he said without irony. "Trying to make me mad so that this would be easier. The truth is that I just don't have any stomach for this sort of thing. But it has to be done. Justice won't be served in any other way."

"Justice?" Iola protested. "Where's the justice in this? I never did anything to you!"

"No, but she never did anything wrong, either," Wade said. "That's what the justice system gets wrong. There isn't any justice when you take a guilty life in exchange for an innocent one. It must be an innocent life for an innocent life."

"You're out of your mind."

"No. I wish I was. I've thought and thought about it. We have, from time immemorial, been executing murderers, and yet murders are still committed every single day. And it makes sense if you put yourself in the mind of a murderer. I've been doing that until I've thought I really would lose my mind, but I had to. I had to understand why they did it. So I've read about as many murderers as I could, ones that would be comparable to your Hardys. Not serial killers. They do it out of a perverse pleasure. I wanted the ones who did it out of anger or jealousy or convenience or greed. I'm pretty sure it was convenience in this case, but there aren't so many cases like that. Most people can't kill when they're cold. They have to be in a passion of some kind. That's why I'm having a hard time doing this. I'm still cold, looking at you, because you didn't do it. But it needs to be you that pays the price. You see, the murderers are hot. They're in a passion. In that moment, they don't care if they're going to have to die. They would rather die than have their object thwarted. They might change their minds later. But at that moment, they know the possible consequences and they're ready to take them, and that moment is the only one that matters. But if they knew that the ones who are dearest to them are the ones who will pay the prices, would they still do it? A serial killer would, but the ordinary sort would hesitate more, I think."

"You really are out of your mind," Iola insisted.

"Think what you will." Wade frowned. "I could be wrong. It's an untested theory. That is, I could be wrong about the majority of murderers. But I'm not wrong about those Hardys. They would almost be happy to die for their crime, because they know they're guilty. But to know that you died for their crime? You and Callie, both. That would tear them apart for the rest of their lives. Now. I promise this will be quick."