“You can’t just ignore them,” Camille Hardy pleaded. “They’re your family…my family…and Monica’s family.”

Owen stared at his wife. He turned away and sighed. “It’s not them, Cami,” he said softly. “It’s me. I have always been a disappointment to them.”

Camille glanced at her daughter, sleeping sounding in the hospital bed. “Let’s move this conversation to the hall.” She took Owen’s hand and tugged gently.

“Owen,” the pretty brunette began, “the man I married was bright, funny and good hearted. What’s so disappointing about that?”

“Junior was smart; Gert, well, she’s strong and loyal,” Owen said. “Fenton, he’s the brave one, but me? I was nothing. I didn’t fit.”

“So you went out of your way to make people believe you were different from the rest of your family,” Camille surmised. 

“That’s me,” Owen grinned roguishly, “the black sheep of the Hardy clan.” 

“I’m not asking you to leave Perry Shore and move to New York,” Camille countered. “I just want our daughter to know them.

“My father’s a drunk,” Camille continued, “and my mother ran off with my father’s best friend. Some family I have to offer Monica.”

Owen looked at her and smiled. “You win, Cami, you win. Maybe this summer we can go down and visit.”

Camille reached over and kissed her husband. “That would be great.”

* * *

“Hey, Jack!” Conner Bailey greeted his younger friend. “What brings you over here tonight?”

Jack Wayne grinned at his pilot friend. Conner stood six-feet tall with sandy blond hair. He was twenty-five, and one of the best air-jockeys Jack knew.

“You know that funny camera thing your dad has that separates images from a distorted background?” Jack questioned. Conner’s father was an archeologist.

“Yeah,” Conner replied, handing Jack a soft drink from the refrigerator. “It’s here. Dad let me borrow it to take some pictures from the air.”

Jack pulled out the small backpack. “Scout found this today. There are letters on the inside, but the ink has bled into the dark fabric and can hardly be seen.”

“The camera might be able to pick up the ink pattern more clearly,” Conner nodded his head. “It’s worth a shot, Jack, but it seems like a lot of trouble for a pack that probably should be tossed in the garbage.”

“I guess,” Jack agreed. “I don’t know why, but I think it was odd to be where we found it. It might be important.”

* * *

At ten o’clock, the phone rang in the Hardy house. Franklin Hardy put his hands on his son’s shoulders as Fenton picked up the phone.

“Fenton Hardy, here.”

“Bring the money to the picnic ground at ‘Cliff Side Park’ in one hour,” David Conley quickly ordered.  “Just you, Hardy. Not your old man or any cop buddies, or this brat of yours dies.”

“I’ve got your money and I’ll guarantee you safe travel to wherever you want to go,” Fenton replied, guarding his anger. “I’ve got my pilot’s license and I’ve got a plane standing by.” Fenton hoped the man wouldn’t try to check up on his aviation status. Fenton could fly a plane, but he needed several more hours before he’d get his license.

“Good,” the kidnapping smuggler laughed.  “Once we’re safely at my destination of choice, I’ll tell you where to look for your kid.” Before Fenton could respond, the phone went dead. 

“Franklin, we’ll take half-a-dozen plainclothes cops and surround the picnic area,” Chief Ezra Collig stated. “Fenton will be wearing a hidden microphone. Hopefully, Conley will let something slip that will tell us where Joe is being held.”

The men gathered in the room all solemnly nodded, then set about preparing for the ransom delivery.

* * *

Frank Hardy was supposed to be asleep in his bed. Worried about Joe, he’d gotten dressed and crept quietly down stairs. He sat on the kitchen floor under the table, listening to all the grown-up talk. He didn’t understand everything that was being said, but he figured out that something important was going to happen soon.

He willed himself invisible as he moved closer to where his dad was standing. Luck was with him and no one noticed the seven-year old child.

“Look Fent,” Sam Radley was saying, “it’s not that I don’t trust the efficiency of the police, but I’m going to be there also. If something goes wrong and you’ve got to go to the airfield, I’ll have a better chance tailing you than a bunch of cops in squad-cars.”

“I agree,” Fenton answered, running a hand through his dark hair. “Take your car up past the picnic grounds, and then come by foot to the trees nearby.”

“That’ll put me between you and the road to the airfield,” Sam grinned. “I’m outta here!”

Frank suspected that Uncle Sam was going to go find Joe. He knew that Joe would need him, so the boy slipped into the hall and pulled on his jacket and a pair of shoes. 

Looking around to make sure no one saw him, Frank went out the front door and made his way to Sam’s car. He tugged on the door handle and smiled when it opened. Frank climbed into the backseat, and squatted behind the driver’s seat under an old blanket Sam kept in there for his dog.

Minutes later, Frank heard the car door open and felt someone settle into the seat in front of him. He knew it was Uncle Sam because he recognized Sam’s cologne.

As the car pulled away from the curb, Frank sent a silent message to his brother, ‘Hang on Joey; I’m coming to get you!’

The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The Hardy Boys Fan Fiction authors of the Hardy Detective Agency have just borrowed them for an adventure or two. The authors promise to put the boys back when they are done with them. The authors do claim copyright to the original characters in this story. Please do not borrow original characters without express permission of the authors.