“Chet,” Joe Hardy whispered, “we’ll figure a way out of this.  Don’t give up.”

“H-he killed Lydia,” Chet said softly.  The two teens were tied up in the back of the panel van.

Joe glanced to the front of the van.  Two men sat in the front seats. They were ignoring their captives in the back of the dark van and Joe figured it might be the only chance he and Chet had to get untied and try to escape.

“Chet, we need to get back to back,” Joe instructed quietly.  “I’ll untie you and then you can untie me. Try not to worry.  When I realized they were going to take us, I dropped my watch in the alley.  Dad and Frank will find it.”

“Maybe we should leave a clue in this van, too,” Chet suggested.

“Good idea,” Joe smiled at his friend.  “You got anything they would recognize?”

“My class ring!” Chet worked his high school ring off his finger.  He tucked it under the rubber mat on the floor.

That accomplished, the two youths moved together as quietly as possible.  Joe felt behind him until his fingers touched the nylon rope around Chet’s wrists.  Joe gritted his teeth as he tugged on the cord, not feeling the slightest give.

He silently sighed.  This was not going to be easy.  He decided to ask Chet a few questions.

“Chet, I know you recognized that guy with the mustache,” Joe asked quietly as he tried to jam his fingers into the knot, “but what about the other three?  Were they on the bridge, too?”

“Nope,” Chet whispered in reply, “just the mustached guy.  I’ve never seen the other three.”  

* * *

“This is great,” Frank smiled, looking down at the slip of yellow paper in his hand.  “The lighter was purchased by the police, as you said,” Frank glanced at Max Boyle, “and there is a notation about the engraving.”

Max pulled out his reading glasses and perched them on his nose.  He glanced at the paper in Frank Hardy’s hand.  “I remember this one.  It was purchased for a janitor who will be retiring at the end of this year,” Max offered.

“Yes,” Frank agreed, “and Joe and I already met the gentlemen our first day in Alabama.  His name is Job Thomas.”

Chester Morton raised his eyebrows.  “I guess we’re going to visit Mr. Thomas next?”

“You bet,” Frank said, “right after we check in with Dad and Joe.”

* * *

Sam Radley glanced at his watch, and then peered through his sun glasses at the blue and white plane touching down on the asphalt tarmac.

“Right on time,” the blond detective commented as he pushed Iola Morton’s wheelchair toward the small plane.

“We really appreciate the fact that you’re traveling with us, Mr. Radley,” stated Betty Morton as she followed Sam and her daughter.

“It’s my pleasure,” Sam smiled.  “Besides, Fenton calls the shots and it was his idea.  Escorting two lovely women to Alabama certainly beats chasing some crazed thief down a dark alley, though.”  Sam was glad to see Mrs. Morton smile.  He knew the family was going through a horrific time and he’d hoped his feeble attempt at humor would lighten their spirits a bit.

“Whoo-hoo!” Jack Wayne shouted and waved his straw cowboy hat in the air above his head.  He jogged toward the trio as they approached the small plane.  He grinned and scooped Iola right out of her wheelchair. 

Iola gripped Jack’s neck as he carried her into the plane.  “There you go little lady,” Jack said as he carefully buckled the petite girl into a seat.  “We’ll be on our way shortly to see your brother.”

Iola turned her hand so her palm faced her chest.  She gently tapped the tips of her fingers against her chin and moved her hand forward with the palm facing upwards.  She mouthed the words, “Thank you.”

“You are very welcome, Miss Morton.”

In minutes, the other two passengers were securely seated and the plane soared into the sky above Bayport.

* * *

“I told you that Mo would take care of it,” Dixon grinned as he hung up the phone and faced Brian Jackson.  “He’s got that fat boy from the bridge and some other kid; prob’ly one of that detective’s snoopy kids.”

“What’s Morris gonna do with ‘im?” Brian asked.

“Don’t worry,” Vernon assured the man.  “Said he’s gonna put ‘im in the hole.  Nobody will find ‘em there.”

“He’s goin’ to kill them?”

“Naw, he won’t have to.  Nobody ever goes into that swamp.  Those boys’ll die and rot away.”

* * *

“Where are Joe and Chet?” Frank asked as he and Chester Morton entered Fenton Hardy’s motel room.

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Mr. Hardy said, cocking an eyebrow.

“That’s weird,” Frank commented.  “We should have seen them on our way back along the main street, but there was no sign of them.  We even waited for half an hour in the van, but they didn’t show.”

“We thought maybe you had picked the boys up or something,” Mr. Morton added, suddenly sounding concerned.

“Let’s give them a little time before we call the National Guard,” Fenton suggested with a smile.  “Maybe they found a clue and are following up a lead.”

“Speaking of clues…” Frank quickly explained to his father about the initials engraved on the lighter.  “I’d like to go question Mr. Thomas.”

Fenton rubbed his chin thoughtfully and glanced at his watch.  It would be at least a couple hours before Sam arrived with the Morton women.  “I’ll go with you, son.”  He then turned to Chester.

“Why don’t you stay here?  When Joe and Chet arrive, you can fill them in on what you and Frank uncovered.”

“Right,” agreed Mr. Morton with a nod.  “I’ll hold the fort and wait for the boys to get back.”

* * *

Joe had just felt a little give in the rope around Chet’s wrists when he realized the van had stopped moving.  He quickly scooted away from Chet and was blinded by the sun that suddenly filled the back of the van as the back doors were yanked open.

“Come along, kiddies,” Morris Grafton taunted as both boys were hauled out of the vehicle.

Joe and Chet walked side by side along a rocky path.  The man called ‘Grafton’, that Chet recognized from the bridge, led the way with the man he’d called ‘Gene’.  The other two men walked behind the boys, carrying hand guns.

It worried Joe that the men were so freely using their own names and that they hadn’t tried to hide their identity.  That, the young detective knew, wasn’t a good sign.  They weren’t concerned about Joe and Chet identifying them later.

In minutes, the group had reached their destination, and Joe realized with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, why the kidnappers had not bothered to conceal themselves from the teenagers.