J.M.J.

Chapter 6

Callie was still asleep when the Hardys gathered for breakfast the next morning. Martin had gotten up and come down to eat, although he was shy and unwilling to talk. The Hardys tried to act calm and ordinary, talking lightly to each other and to Martin.

"Do you like pancakes?" Laura asked him as she poured batter onto the griddle. "If you want something else, I'm sure we could come up with something."

"I like pancakes," Martin said softly without looking up.

"Mom makes some pretty great pancakes," Joe told him with a confidential wink.

Martin didn't even smile.

"Was it fun riding on the plane yesterday?" Frank attempted to get some reaction out of the boy.

That did seem to spark Martin's interest a little bit. He looked up and then nodded slowly.

"I remember the first time I rode in a plane," Joe said. "I was probably a little younger than you. I didn't understand why the plane didn't have to flap its wings like a bird does."

"Why doesn't it?" Martin asked him.

"Uh, well, something about the air passing over the top of the wings faster than the bottom of the wings." Joe scratched his head. "You could probably explain it better, Frank."

"You're doing all right," Frank told him with a teasing grin.

"Is it magic?" Martin asked. "Mom said it wasn't."

"She must have just gotten confused because obviously, it's magic," Joe replied, eagerly seizing on the explanation.

Frank rolled his eyes and was about to retort, but then Fenton decided to step in.

"We need to make some plans for the day," he said. "I think it would be best if you stayed here and kept an eye on things, Frank. Joe, I think it would be best if you and Chet kept searching for that car you saw the suspect driving. Unless you have some other idea?"

Joe shook his head regretfully. "I wish I did, but there isn't anything. There hasn't even been another note."

"Can I help look for the car?" Martin asked suddenly.

Everyone looked at him in surprise. This was first spark of enthusiasm they had seen from him.

"Do you like looking for things?" Frank asked him.

Martin nodded. "I'm good at it."

"Well, then, I've got some things I could use help looking for," Frank said. "But I think we're going to have to look in the attic. It's kind of dusty and dark up there. That wouldn't bother you, though, would it?"

Martin shook his head. "No, it sounds fun."

HBHBHBHBHB

It must have sounded fun, because Martin wouldn't wait after breakfast was finished. He insisted that Frank take him upstairs right away. Really, all Frank was looking for were some of his old toys that were stored away in the attic. He figured Martin might as well play with them. To add to the adventure, Frank found a couple of flashlights which they used instead of turning on the overhead lights.

"Are there ghosts up here?" Martin asked in a hushed tone.

"I've never seen any," Frank replied carefully. "You're not scared of ghosts, are you?"

"Not much," Martin claimed. "Mom says you're good at getting rid of ghosts."

"Your mom told you about me?" Frank asked in some confusion.

"Uh-huh. After we went to see you at the hospital. She says you catch all kinds of bad guys."

Frank chuckled softly. "I always have help when I do, so it's a good thing you're along, in case we run into any ghosts in the attic."

The attic was fairly large—for an attic, anyway—and Laura was a meticulous organizer, and so it was hardly as cluttered as might have been expected. Frank shone his light over the various stacks of boxes. They were all labeled, of course, which took away from most of the mystery. Frank spotted a box labeled Frank's Toys right away.

"What are we looking for?" Martin asked.

"Well, I think there are some missing dinosaurs, for one thing," Frank said.

"Dinosaurs?" Martin asked in excitement. "I love dinosaurs!"

"You do? So did I when I was your age. I think someone might have kidnapped all the dinosaurs, though, and locked them up in one of these boxes."

"Oh no! Can we get them out?"

"We can try, but it's not going to be easy. You see, we can't just go around opening all the boxes."

"Why?"

"Well…" Frank paused, trying to remember the sorts of things he used to pretend when he was a kid. "The other boxes might have bombs in them that will blow up if we open the wrong one."

"For real?"

"No, just for pretend."

"Oh, okay." Martin grinned. "How do we know which ones are the right boxes?"

Frank rubbed his chin. "We'll have to tap on them. If the boxes have bombs in them, they'll start ticking, but if it has the dinosaurs, they'll start calling for help."

"Okay." Martin ran to the nearest box and pounded on it a good deal harder than what Frank would consider a tap. Immediately, Frank started rapidly clicking his tongue. Martin made an exaggerated gasp. "Oh no! It's a bomb!"

"It won't blow up as long as we don't open it," Frank told him. "Just stay calm."

The game went on for about five minutes before Martin finally picked the right box. Frank started calling softly, "Help! Help us!"

"I think it's the dinosaurs!" Martin said.

"Are you sure?" Frank asked. "Don't forget that if we open the wrong box, it'll blow up."

"I'm sure," Martin insisted.

"Okay." Frank pulled the box down. He pulled the flaps back slowly, pretending to brace for an explosion. Then, once the box was open, he pretended to sigh in relief. "I guess it's okay."

Martin peered eagerly into the box and then gasped in delight. There were a number of toys in the box, but dinosaurs made up a sizeable portion of them. The first one Martin reached for was a T-Rex whose jaw could open and close. Frank remembered that one well. It had been one of his favorites. For a moment, he stared at it, thinking that the Frank who had played with that toy would have never imagined he would someday be what he was now.

"Can I play with these?" Martin asked, pulling Frank out of his dismal musings.

"Sure," Frank said. "You can play with anything you want in this box."

Martin set the T-Rex aside and started digging in earnest through the others. Frank picked up the dinosaur and looked at it, opening and closing its mouth a couple of times. Its paint was faded and scuffed, and the hinge in its jaw was much looser than Frank remembered. If he shook it just right, it would fall open by itself. That was much different than the realistic dinosaur he remembered playing with.

"I don't have any toys like these!" Martin said in great excitement. Obviously, the scuffs and the wear-marks didn't mean much to him.

"I'll carry the box downstairs so you can play with them down there," Frank offered.

HBHBHBHBHB

Callie woke up with a start, wondering for a moment why she was in a strange bed and where she was. Then she remembered. She was back in Bayport, sleeping in the spare bedroom in the Hardys' home, no less. The sun was shining through the window with a quality that told Callie that it was no longer early morning. In a panic, she reached for her phone and was astonished to discover that it was 10:30. She was still tired, but the surprise of having slept in so late propelled her out of bed and to her suitcase.

It was only after she had pulled out some clothes for the day that she realized that back in Washington, it was only 7:30. Later than she usually was able to sleep, but not at all astonishing when she was actually given a chance to sleep in without interruption. The Hardys had probably already thought of this and were unconcerned with how late she had slept.

There was a bathroom attached to the bedroom, and so she showered and got dressed. She hesitated a bit before leaving the room. It sounded so insurmountably awkward to meet any of the Hardys, but of course, she had to make sure that Martin was all right. He would surely be wondering where she was by now.

The house was surprisingly quiet as she came downstairs. The first person she met was Laura, who smiled and asked her how she had slept.

"A little too well, apparently," Callie said with a chuckle.

"You had every reason to be tired," Laura assured her. "I can make you some breakfast if you like."

"Thank you, but it's all right," Callie replied. "It's late enough now that I might as well wait for lunch." She didn't add that she generally didn't eat breakfast. She usually didn't have the time when she was rushing out the door to work and to get Martin to daycare. At this point, it felt weird to actually eat breakfast. However, she did accept Laura's offer of an apple.

"Where's Martin at?" she asked after she had followed Laura into the kitchen to get it.

"He's playing in the backyard with Frank," Laura told her.

"Oh." Callie pursed her lips slightly as she pictured this. "I'm sorry if he's been any trouble. I know that we're putting you out quite a bit by staying here at all."

"Of course not," Laura told her. "We're happy to have you here. Although we do wish it was under better circumstances."

Callie nodded. "Is there any word on Iola?"

"No. Not yet. Fenton and Joe are out looking again now, and I'm sure they'd let us know if they had learned anything."

"Why isn't Frank with them?" Callie asked abruptly.

Laura only hesitated a moment. "They talked it over this morning, and they all decided that it would be best for Frank to stay here, just in case anything happens. I'm sure it won't, but it's always best to be safe."

"Mm-hmm." Callie took a bite of the apple and chewed it thoughtfully. Then she said, "I'd better go and see about Martin."

She stepped out onto the back porch, where she found Frank sitting on the steps while Martin was enthusiastically kicking a ball around the yard.

Frank looked up when he heard the door open and smiled at her. "Good morning."

"Morning," Callie replied, but before she could say anything else, Martin noticed her presence and came running toward her.

"Mom!" he shouted. "Frank's letting me play with a whole bunch of fun toys!"

"Oh, he is?" Callie cast a questioning glance at Frank, who shrugged.

"They're my old toys. They're not doing any good sitting in the attic."

"Watch what I can do!" Martin called, continuing to kick the ball and then immediately run after it.

"That's great, Martin," Callie told him. She hesitated and then she sat down next to Frank on the steps. "I hope he's not wearing you out," she said quietly.

Frank chuckled ruefully. "I'd like to say that it would take a lot more than one four-year-old to wear me out, but getting hit by a car does change things a bit."

"You're all right, though, aren't you?"

"Oh, sure. I just get tired faster than I used to, and I get a lot stiffer more easily than I used to. Which, I suppose, was going to happen anyway."

"So they say," Callie replied. "I thought you wanted me here so your mom wouldn't be alone. She wouldn't be alone with you staying with her, so it really was just to keep Martin and me safe, wasn't it?"

"That's most of it," Frank admitted. "But I really would be out looking for Iola if we had anything better to go on. As it is, there isn't a lot of point in being out there and leaving the house here unguarded."

"No," Callie acknowledged. "I guess not." She sighed and bowed her head. "You are going to find her, right? And stop the people who are doing all this?"

Frank took longer to reply than he would have if he was convinced on either point. "We'll find her for sure. These people are going to make sure that we do. As for stopping them, we're going to try."

"I guess that's all you can do," Callie admitted.

HBHBHBHBHB

Joe jumped out of the car as soon as he had parked it and ran toward the group already gathered on the edge of the cliff. Chet wasn't far behind. They both looked over the edge before they said anything to anyone there. A dark blue car lay partially crushed at the bottom.

After staring at it for a few sickening seconds, Joe turned to his dad, who was one of the people gathered there. "Do we have a license number from it yet?"

"Yeah. They just radioed it up." From the look on Fenton's face, Joe really didn't need the rest of the explanation. "It is the same car that you were following the other day."

A civilian had reported spotting the wrecked car at the base of one of the cliffs just outside Bayport, and since it matched the description of Wade Smith's car, the police had notified the Hardys. A small rescue team had reached it only a short time before Joe and Chet had arrived.

"Is…is there anybody in it?" Chet asked, half-sick with concern.

"There isn't anyone in it now," Fenton said. "But it's partly underwater, as you can see. They haven't determined yet whether anyone was in it when it went over."

"They weren't," Joe said grimly. "Getting wiped out in an accident doesn't make sense for a Network agent."

"That's all right for the agents, but I wasn't really worried about them," Chet retorted.

Joe knew what he meant. The real question was whether Iola had been in the car. There was no doubt that the Network would have sent her over that cliff if it benefitted them in any way, and the details of their plan were so murky that it was impossible to say whether it would have benefitted them or not.

The group waited silently for more news to be radioed up from the rescuers below. A few pieces came in, bit by bit. The car was in neutral gear, indicating that it had been pushed. No seatbelts had been used at the time it went over. The airbags had deployed. There were no obvious traces of blood anywhere.

"I don't think she was in there," Joe said finally. "I don't know what the point of this was. Maybe it was just supposed to be a distraction. Anyway, I…" He let his sentence trail off. There was no point in continuing to search for the car now. The chances of just happening to spot Wade Smith were too ridiculously low to even be seriously considered.

"Maybe you'd both better go home," Fenton suggested, glancing at Chet as well. "I'll let you know if they find anything else."

"But…" Chet started to protest.

"If it's worth anything," Fenton said, "I think Joe is right."

"I don't want to sit around at home," Chet insisted. "Isn't there anything we can do?"

No one had any suggestions at the moment. Finally, he and Joe decided to go back and fill Frank in and see if he could come up with any ideas. They walked slowly back to Joe's car, trying to crowd out the images of that crushed car with plans and theories, but none of them were solid enough.

When they reached the car, Joe spotted a piece of paper under the windshield wiper. Apprehension rising in him, he looked around, but there wasn't anyone else around. He hadn't heard anyone drive up, either, but the time that they had been there would have been ample for someone to come and leave this on his car. He pulled it off, careful not to touch the wiper itself. Of course, there wouldn't be fingerprints on it, but there was no point in destroying the one in a million hope.

The message on the paper was quickly taken in. There was another chess board. A black rook was moving horizontally so that it was behind a black pawn. This time, the move was described as Rook to Queen's Knight 34.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Chet asked, peering over Joe's shoulder.

"Who knows?" Joe admitted. "They're not even trying to pretend that the moves they're depicting are really possible, so that's obviously not the point." He chewed his lip as he considered what it could mean. The number thirty-four had to be significant, but nothing came to mind. "I'd better show this to Dad," he said finally, turning to go back to where Fenton was standing.